Chapter 19 - A Young Warg's Game of Thrones (Patreon)

Chapter 19

Summer still had the Seven Kingdoms in its grips. Robert was grateful for the breeze that made its way through the forests of the Kingswood. They took a stately pace and Sansa proved to be just as at home outdoors as she was within the Red Keep. She eagerly listened as he explained how the hunt would go.

“Anyone can kill a stag, but we are hunting something rarer. A white hart. Fortune will smile on us. It will represent a new beginning and prosperity.”

“Has one been spotted, then?” Sansa asked.

“Aye, that’s why I’ve been eager to resolve matters. Few dare to hunt game like that in my woods, but there is always a chance. For how would any know of the deed in all… this,” he gestured at the magnificent forest all around them.

“’Tis a race then against poachers. I understand the hunting dogs will corner the beast. The Hound Master was dubious at first, but they’ve grown used to Visha and her scent. It’s also partially covered by a dab of a fragrance on her, but either way they now get along with her.”

“Yes, once we catch his spoor, they’ll exhaust the beast. When it can flee no more, then I will finish it with a single powerful thrust!” 

Sansa was nodding appreciatively. “Will any spear work, or is there a specific type that is used?”

Robert eagerly told her of the different tools made for hunts. A spear for this sort of hunt was different than say a boar spear that had a heavy cross-guard. Sansa had a way of keeping the conversation engaging. She seemed so very interested in some of the minutest aspects and the reasons for them. In a way it was thrilling to share knowledge of one of his favorite pastimes. Everyone who normally went on hunts with him already knew the details he shared, but instead of trying his patience, he felt invigorated by explaining it all.

It almost makes me weep like a woman. This would be the kind of daughter I would have had with my Lyanna. Everything would have been better. Everything.

“Other than the white hart, will anything else be hunted?” Sansa asked.

“If the trackers are unable to find it, yes. There are other, lesser game to take. Stags of lower quality, boars, mayhaps an elk. Of course the huntsmen will hunt hares and rabbit to add to our provisions. Fresh kills always taste better than packed provisions, but that sort of task isn’t something I will be bothered with.” 

Sansa glanced skyward for a moment, and seemed momentarily lost in thought.

“I am always comforted by Visha’s presence. Especially after… everything. But I also feel safe by your side without her. I think Visha might like to try to hunt something on her own. Maybe bring down a deer, would that be acceptable?”

Warmth suffused him. She felt safe with him? And rightly so, he would protect her with his life. As to Visha hunting, he saw no harm.

“Aye, that will be fine, so long as it doesn’t distract the huntsman from their work. Warn them too so they don’t go loosing arrows at her.”

They continued their talk for a bit, and then it was time to rest. Walking, riding, and resting were key to avoid being sore in one way or another. It seemed like half the court was there with him. His Hand was keeping things going in King’s Landing, but his sons, Ser Andar and Ser Robar had joined. As had his brother Renly. Ser Beric, Thoros, Ser Loras, and a dozen other knights attended alongside Ser Barristan and Ser Boros.

Robert’s eyes blinked. Margaery was there too? He gave her a long look. She was such a pretty thing, but then turned away. Varys had explained how dangerous the situation was. Tywin Lannister’s reach was long and if he set aside Cersei, there would be a price. Robert did not like the notion that he was fearful of any man, but the Rains of Castamere’s haunting tune was a reminder that the Old Lion was utterly ruthless.

Lancel brought him wine and Sansa exchanged some words with others. The camp stirred when Visha came back dragging the carcass of a deer.

“The mighty huntress!” Robert crowed and lifted his wineskin in a toast. He swayed a bit, surprising himself. Normally he would have already been fully drunk, but he had drank only in moderation since he was with Sansa for most of the day.

Renly appeared beside him.

“She’s completely tame and mild within the Red Keep. I’ve even stroked her sleek fur, and yet she remains a wolf,” Renly said with a smile in his voice. “It is good to see some ladies join us in these hunts.”

Robert eyed his brother. He thought he was clever, but even only partially sober, Robert could see through his words.

“Lady Margaery is here, though I do not recall inviting her.”

“With Sansa here, and them being fast friends, she wished to attend as well. I did not want to deny my former squire his sister’s request. She’s no stranger to the hunt, what with her delight in hawking.”

Robert knew that Ser Loras had squired under his brother, but it wasn’t something that came to mind often.

“We must talk, Renly. My wife was nearly poisoned and it is unseemly to continue your scheme. Setting aside Cersei, the mother of my children, is foolish. I have been a shit king, but I’ve done some things right. I’ve endured,” Robert waved his hand, “all this and the endless parade of jackanapes this court has become. That’s kept the peace. I’ll not upend it now with such a ridiculous idea. Especially not after the death of Joff. She’s… she’s welcome to remain in court a little longer, but then she must leave.”

Renly looked frustrated, and Robert clapped him on the shoulder. Robert hadn’t meant to strike him that hard when he had done so, but his brother weathered it well enough.

“Or, she can stay if she is betrothed to someone. You are unwed. Match with her. She is as lovely as the dawn.”

“Mace wants his daughter to be the queen, not the Lady of Storm’s End.”

“Mace, is it?” Robert said. “You and Lord Tyrell have been planning this for some time, I suspect. But the answer is no.”

“Why not? Gods be good, brother, this is your one chance to actually be happy. Cersei makes you miserable. Be done with this bloody Lannisters once and for all. You say you have endured, but have you thrived? Can you not see yourself riding beside a queen who would not fight you at every turn, but delight in your hunts and cheer your victories?”

You paint a pretty picture, to be sure.

“Weaken the realm while the dragonspawn still lives? Have t’worry over the fucking Lannisters spending their fortune on a Faceless Man to end my rule?”

“He would not dare! The Westerlands have made too many enemies, if they do anything disloyal we can smash them.” Renly smiled broadly. “Together. Imagine, all three Baratheon brothers riding to war. We would be unstoppable.”

“Fool boy, you don’t have a fucking clue what you speak of. I ask again, why not wed her yourself, eh? I’ll not wed Margaery. Who then will take her hand that is as highly stationed as you?”

Renly made to speak, then mastered himself. His eyes seemed to sharpen.

“A betrothal, you say? Well, if she cannot be your queen, why not make her a future queen?”

Robert’s brow furrowed. “Tommen? She’s what, near twice his age?” 

“In seven years she’ll be two-and-twenty, and Tommen will be rapidly approaching full manhood. She would still be fertile, and her family is known for that trait. Bind them to us, Robert. You worry about the Targaryen exiles, so why not take steps to bring the loyalist families of the Mad King into the fold through marriage?” 

Robert didn’t want to think about dynastic politics. His head was already swimming.

“We will talk of this later, but since you seem so desperate to interfere with my own union, I’ve of mind to do the same. Between the three of us, we have but one son to carry on our family name. Stannis is not like to have another child with his ugly wife. Find a bride. Within the year.”

Renly stalked away and Lancel, his squire, approached. “More wine, Your Grace?”

“No, now be off with you.”

The joy of the hunt had turned sour, and he had drank more than he had intended. Robert misliked being overly drunk around Ned’s daughter. He didn’t feel kingly often, but around her he did. And too much wine ruined it.

“Ser Barristan, I have a mind to retire for the day. Convey my apologies to Lady Sansa and tell her she musht find other company.”

***

“My lord, it is too soon. And I’ll not… be lowering my value in such a way as you suggest,” Margaery said directly to Renly.

“We are out of time, Margaery. And I’m not suggesting you fuck him, but you can still seduce him. Ser Boros has night duty and the man is a dullard. I’ll ensure he is distracted and you can slip into his tent and then give him a small taste. I know you can do this.” 

Margaery wasn’t sure about that. The king’s moods changed as often as the wind.

“It could wait until my name day; I’m having Sansa bring the king to that celebration. I can be more refined and in more appealing clothing than this,” she countered.

“No, Robert would probably like you better like this.” Renly sighed. “I know I am pushing swiftly here, but my brother seems changed of late. I fear that my nephew’s death has made him try to be a more responsible king, and he worries overmuch about the Targaryens. The longer we wait, the less chance of success.”

She wished her grandmother were here with her to advise. Renly had a way about him that made you wish to do as he bid. His handsome features and melodious voice made many of the court ladies swoon. Margaery was less moved by such things, but she was not fully immune either.

“I can try, but you say that if it does not work I will need to leave court or be betrothed to someone else?”

“Aye, Robert wants peace between your family and his wife’s. You being gone makes Cersei happy; you betrothed to someone else removes the issue as well. I tried to offer Tommen… but with him so young it is premature. He wanted the two of us to wed.”

Margaery’s father wished her to be a queen. Margaery wished that as well. And yet, Renly would not be a poor match. Her brother loved the man and he was quite generous. Being wed to a Paramount Lord put her only second to the queen as far as nobility went.

“’Tis not the worst idea he’s had. I’ve been told Loras and I do resemble each other in the shape of our face and in our hair.”

Renly let out a laugh. “Ah, my lady, you are a delight. But no, while I am sure we could come to a satisfactory arrangement, I want the queen and the infestation of Lannisters gone. They hold too much power and the queen has animosity toward me.”

That night, just before the Hour of the Owl, Margaery moved toward the king’s tent. It was near the center of camp and a multitude of torches lit the area. Renly approached a sleepy looking Ser Boros and two other guards at his side. He had drink in hand and was beginning to speak of tomorrow’s hunt with them.

Tents were staked, and it would dirty her clothing, but she was able to lift a flap and crawl underneath. She suddenly felt horribly foolish and unsure of herself. Her grandmother would call her seven kinds of fool if she learned of this. Within the interior, Robert lay snoring loudly. He was not much to look at. The king was near naked and rolls of fat were covered in thick bristly hair. Far from any maiden’s fancy. The dim light of a single lantern was lit and she took it and lit one of the candles.

She smoothed out the thin fabric she wore and took a seat at the edge of his bed. Drool had coalesced on his thick beard, and a momentary bit of discomfort roiled through her. She pushed it down and gently pressed her hand on his arm and shook him.

He remained snoring.

Margaery gently shook him again. And again. Nothing.

She lightly pinched him, then pinched him a bit harder. Finally, he stirred and rolled his massive frame over. Margaery whispered. “Your Grace.”

He finally opened up his eyes.

“Huh, what iszit?”

Margaery put a finger up to her lips.

“Shh, Your Grace, Renly spoke with me and no one knows I am here. I must… I must speak with you, please.”

The king cursed and lumbered into a sitting position.

“Seven Hells, girl, how are you even here?”

“Please, Your Grace, not so loud. I would not want anyone to find me here like this.”

Margaery felt her snare close and work as she intended. Robert couldn’t call for his guard and reveal her without shaming her. She had wagered, prayed even, that he would not wish to see her disgraced. Or to give further credence to his wife that she was being replaced; by revealing she had been found in his tent alone.

“How did you get in here? Where is my guard?” Robert hissed with confusion.

Margaery put on a mien of innocence and concern.

“Outside, Your Grace. Please, I must ask, do you find me ugly? Have I displeased you in some way?”

He looked at her bleary eyed.

“I’m too drunk for this. You are beautiful, and you know it. But I’ll not set aside Cersei for you. Leave.”

Margaery felt irritation knot in her breast. Was that it? It was a direct command. She dared not press on his generosity lest his impatience cause him to shame her.

This was Renly’s fault! He had told Father how easy this would be. One last try.

She closed the space between them with an unhurried step and laid her hands on his arm.

“Your Grace, no, Robert, my brothers told me stories of your prowess. How they thanked the gods that you never found our father in battle. The great hero of–”

He cut her off as he withdrew from her grasp.  

“I said enough. I’ve not sounded an alarm for fear of your reputation, but this goes no further. Get out, or you will be exiled from King’s Landing, never t’return.”

Margaery knew the bitter sting of having failed in her task. A seed of fury began to sprout. How could this drunken oaf not see what he was missing? She smiled faintly, despite what she was feeling.

“You are too kind, Your Grace. Thank you for your kindness.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she shimmied out of the tent. Another moment went by and then Robert’s voice roared.

“RENLY YOU PISSANT! WHY ARE YOU JABBERING WITH MY KINGSGUARD WHILE I’M TRYING TO SLEEP? SEVEN HELLS, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LOUD YOU ARE?”

Margaery made good on her exit, with no one else the wiser.

***

I was growing used to being able to use one of my bonded animals senses while still mostly retaining my own skin. I could not smell better, but I could pick up scents with Visha, from Visha. In a similar way, with Eyes I could see with his vision from the sky. It required intense focus, and I couldn’t hold a conversation or really pay attention to my surroundings, but it was quite useful.

I had stirred to wakefulness along with half the camp when Robert had begun berating his brother at the top of his lungs. Given the hour, I had to wonder why Renly was even awake and why he would talk with Ser Boros of all people.

I’d rather be sleeping, but my curiosity has been roused.

After exiting the small wheelhouse I had been given, I asked Alyn what was going on.

“It seems the king’s rest has been disturbed by his brother. Nothing to worry about, my lady.” 

“Please attend. I’d like to stretch my legs before returning to my slumber.” 

Alyn nodded and with Visha by my side I walked a bit nearer to the King’s tent. Visha’s senses detected a variety of odors. The burning torches, the grass, the various animals, the stink of sweat, the perfume the king wore, as well as Lady Margaery’s own floral fragrances.

But not the scent of sex. At least not there.

It still shocked me how powerful Visha’s nose was. In the sprawling camp I knew that at least half a dozen ejaculations had occurred that night from elsewhere in camp. Two of smallfolk, the servants, huntsmen, and the like were acquainted. They called them sword-swallowers in the Seven Kingdoms. Despite being well-read, I idly wondered what homosexuals were called in parts of the world that didn’t put an emphasis on swords. Did the Dothraki have a term for it? The other four were individuals who had likely pleasured themselves or had nocturnal emissions.

Sometimes I got way more information than I really wanted to know, but when I really focused and identified the various bits of information, like I was doing now, it helped me construct what may have happened. My guess was that Margaery had successfully seduced the king, but given his drunken state, he couldn’t… perform. I suppose it was good of him not to take his anger out on Margaery, but he probably felt obliged to take his anger out on someone, and Renly was the nearest target.

Mystery solved, I returned to my private accommodations. It had been a kind gesture to provide something more than a tent. I hadn’t asked or requested, but it did provide a bit more luxury than other options. I wondered now what might happen. Was Robert going to set aside Cersei and plunge the realm into chaos? Being subtle with my words, trying to push him towards more responsible rulership, emphasizing how wonderfully stable his rule had been, had not seemed to work.

Pushing too hard would make him resent me. Still, conflict breaking out between the Reach and the Westerlands doesn’t present a huge problem for me personally. I just abhor the waste of human resources. And on the other hand, perhaps he is just being physical with her, and not planning on replacing Cersei. This would be bad for Margaery, but better for the realm than an attempt to make her the new queen.

Beyond just the loss of productive human capital, it might cause an issue with food imports into Stark lands during the winter. The seasons were quite strange in Westeros, but historical records kept by the Citadel show that very long summers tended to lead to very long winters. We’ve been enjoying a summer that was an extreme outlier, length wise. Lengthy winters led to starvation of the smallfolk in the north. It was troublesome, but other than keeping an eye on things and becoming better informed, I wasn’t sure what I could do to resolve the issue.

My social priorities were to continue to keep my positive relationship with the king, ensure both Tommen and Myrcella liked me, avoid making any enemies, and get people to stop trying to marry me off. I still wanted to learn who had ordered the murder of my brother, but I had few ideas on how to determine who had done it. Spying on specific occasions like planned small council meetings were one thing, but the odds of being in an animal right when someone was talking about a months-old scheme was very unlikely.

The king was rather peevish in the morning, and so I kept quiet as I rode beside him and Ser Barristan. Jory was a bit off to my right when one of the huntsmen hurried forward and bowed.

“Your Grace, we thought we had its spoor, but it was just a normal stag. Would you like us to proceed with that one or keep hunting?” 

Robert growled. “Is everyone around me incompetent? No, I don’t want any old stag. Leave it be and continue until you lay eyes upon my actual quarry!”

At midday, everyone rested for a lunch. Roasted rabbit, bread, and fruit that had been sent for was provided.

“I hope you’ve not grown bored of the hunt, Sansa. These things can sometimes take time,” Robert said after finishing off a disconcerting amount of food.

“The Kingswood is quite lovely.” I smiled. “Besides, Visha seems to be enjoying herself. Would you like to pet her? Whenever I get frustrated with something, she always cheers me up.”

Barristan seemed wary, but didn’t interfere when Robert stood and approached Visha. With a mental urge, I had Visha nuzzle his trousers and when he bent lower, she licked his face.

“I think she likes you! It is said that like recognizes like, she’s a hunter as are you.”

Was he though? Other people are doing the actual hunting he’s just there for the final blow.

It wasn’t as if I had qualms about lying. And it’s hard to stay on your guard and spot falsehoods when a canine bigger than a full grown Cane Corso was being affectionate. Visha was now larger than the largest hound in the kennels, and I know from the lore I read before departing Winterfell she still had several months of growth left.

“Haha, what a fine beast. I’m glad I didn’t listen to Cersei, did you know she wanted them banned from the royal apartments?”

“’Tis understandable that the queen would be more fearful and guarded of Myrcella and Tommen. Her worries are unfounded, but they are understandable.”

He barked out a laugh. “Tell me, Selmy, have you ever met a maid who is as generous of character as our Sansa? Her father and my wife are at odds, and yet she defends her. Would that all my subjects were so forgiving.”  

“There are few that could match her kind spirit, Your Grace. It speaks well of her upbringing.” 

“It surely isn’t so rare. The Tyrells laid dreadful siege to your ancestral home, and yet the Knight of Flowers squired for Renly and now they are bound by friendship,” I replied. “We are all united under a wish for the realm to prosper, there are just different perspectives on how to accomplish that.”

Both men chuckled in a friendly, if condescending way. My smile at their response was genuine. I wanted them to think me a kindhearted if naïve girl who saw the best in other people. The sharp reality was that very few people ever truly wanted what was best for everyone. Self-interest ruled the day in every society since the dawn of humanity. The trick was to ensure that people’s natural selfish desires could be channeled toward productive ends. That was the greatness of free enterprise based systems, if they could avoid falling into cronyism.

The difference between a state-owned business and a privately owned business was that the consumer could choose other options. This created an incentive to retain customers by providing things like exceptional service, higher quality goods, or lower prices. As people’s needs are often different from person to person, this also allows diversification. Maybe you wanted to pay extra for a higher quality good, while another would prefer to purchase based on price. Thousands to millions of different daily choices create price discovery and what the market would bear. A naturally occurring process that led to efficiency.

The central planners had never solved the economic calculation problem – and thus would always provide an inferior pricing system that was less sensitive than the dynamic naturally occurring market where people acted through their selfish desires. My statement suggesting that people should work toward the good of the realm out of some moral calling was indeed laughable, so even if their condescension was directed at me I took no offense, and didn’t bother to even acknowledge it beyond my smile.

After a satiating meal, we walked our horses in the slow route we took through the Kingswood.

“More wine, Your Grace?”

Robert, who was already a bit inebriated again, shook his head.

“No, I’ll call for it if I need it. You’ve been awfully helpful of late, Lancel. Do you think I’ll knight you just because you keep getting underfoot? Make yourself scarce, boy.”

“He is getting close to the age of knighthood. I believe he is the same age as Loras? Does he intend to participate in tourneys soon?” I asked out of curiosity.

Robert laughed. “Loras is a fighter – Lancel is a pale imitation of what a man should be. Twitchy and craven, he’ll never be knighted by me. His cousin probably will.”

I knew Lancel Lannister was the eldest son of Kevan Lannister, who was the younger brother to Tywin Lannister. The young man was often yelled at by the king, and I thought that was just unprofessional altogether. Yelling at recruits in boot camp is one thing, but once you are on the job a certain level of respect and decorum should be in play.

It is a less civilized time, and the hazing of squires seems to be a rite of passage. I expect that most such knight-to-squire relationships aren’t as toxic as this.

“Ser Jaime did win the last tourney. He rode magnificently. Hopefully he has time to give his cousin some aid in martial matters.”

Robert waved the comment aside, evidently done talking about his squire. When evening came, no sight of the white hart. I wondered how long we would be out here before he gave up on it.