The Black Wolf (Jon Snow SI, CYOA)
Part 45
The Red Keep – King's Landing
Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King, despite the lack of a king or even a queen, looked at the message that had come from Dragonstone and wondered what, if anything, he should do about it.
The raven had not carried a long message, and though he had other means of gathering information about what was happening on that island, for now, this was all he had to go on that Dragonstone had been taken by Jon Blackwolf.
With the permission of the Small Council, granted only because it was not worth offending the North by refusing, House Stark had seized control of Dragonstone, and Jon Blackwolf was now its lord, if only for a time.
Those ravens that had been sent south to bargain had mentioned a need for dragonglass, and since the material was considered worthless, no one on the Small Council cared if the Northerners wanted it, or even much about Dragonstone itself, despite its prestige, as they had much bigger things to worry about.
Allowing a kingdom such a foothold in the Crownlands might seem foolish. Had it been Dorne that asked, they would have been outright refused. But the North was making an effort to stay out of the affairs of the southern kingdoms, and Tywin Lannister didn't want them interfering now. As such, it was best to let them get on with their business.
However, Jon Blackwolf, someone in whom Tywin Lannister had a great deal of interest, had taken Shireen Baratheon as a ward of House Stark while also taking command of the island and the castle of Dragonstone.
If some Northern knight had simply wanted to be Lord of Dragonstone for a while, especially since the occupation was only meant to be temporary, then the Hand of the King was happy to approve.
It might even help stabilise the region. If defended by the North, as then the island would not become a haven for pirates and raiders. No, someone occupying a small island, even one with an important port, did not worry him.
What did concern the Hand of the King was Shireen Baratheon. Even though the note made it clear that Lady Baratheon had surrendered any claim to the Iron Throne, she still had a right to rule the Stormlands, and now she was a ward of House Stark.
Stannis had no children other than his daughter, and Renly Baratheon had died without fathering any children. As for Robert, his only remaining trueborn child was Myrcella Baratheon, who was in line for the Iron Throne, along with a few of Robert's bastards who had been forgotten about.
So Lady Shireen had a claim. Granted, it was highly doubtful the Stormlords would rally behind a sickly little girl, whose mother had failed to provide Lord Stannis with a son, and given that Shireen had been disfigured by greyscale, few lords would want to marry her, yet it was still a risk.
With the right support, she could be used as a puppet ruler of the Stormlands, and now the Starks had her in their custody. Had that been their plan all along? Or was this some scheme of an adviser of Lady Shireen's?.
It made sense that the Starks could have planned this. No one truly needed dragonglass. That was likely just an excuse for Lord Stark to send men and ships to secure the island, and Tywin had allowed it because he couldn't afford to anger the North.
Now that the wolves had that little fawn, and Lord Stark had sons who were not yet married, so might he force one of them to marry Shireen Baratheon with the idea that one of his sons could become Lord of Stormsend? That's what he would do in Lord Stark's place.
There was a polite knock on the door, and Tywin allowed his brother to enter, as they had an appointment.
"Kevan, how goes your work as Master of Whisperers?" he asked his younger brother.
The position wasn't well suited to a Lannister of Casterly Rock as it was not an honourable post, but Tywin needed someone he could trust, someone who was competent enough to gather information for him to have that seat on the Small Council. And with Lannister gold, many secrets could be bought.
"Not as poorly as I had imagined, Twyin," admitted Kevan Lannister. "The promise of coin has gotten quite a few tongues wagging, and I'm still sending men to act as agents for us across the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps even beyond".
Every noble family had informers; it was just that these days, House Lannister needed a lot more of them.
"So Keven, what secrets do you have for me?" asked Tywin.
Ser Kevan made himself comfortable in a chair before answering.
"I looked into the affairs of the North, as you asked. While Lord Stark is massing an army, they are marching to the Wall, not south. Nor have there been any real efforts to fortify Moat Cailin. As far as we can tell, the North is dealing with a King-Beyond-the-Wall," he reported.
Tywin knew his brother was not lying to him because, if nothing else, there would be no way to hide the movements of so many men if they were marching south. But something still seemed off.
"We need to know what's going on at the Wall," insisted Tywin, "Even if that means convincing men to take the Black and pass information to us".
He didn't need to explain to Kevan how that could be done. There were men in this very city willing to give up their freedom if it meant their families had enough coin to survive the coming winter and a roof over their heads.
"I'll see to it, brother," Keven promised, "But it will take some time to get men to the Wall".
There was nothing they could do about that due to the distances involved, so they moved on.
"The death of Petyr Baelish is of concern," said Kevan. "From what little we know, he was murdered while staying at a tavern in Gulltown, a few days before he was due to travel to the Eyrie".
Littlefinger had promised to bring the Vale back into the fold and ensure its knights did not go to war against House Lannister. With the former Master of Coin, who had been replaced after Tywin took control of the Red Keep, now dead, there was no one left to control Lysa Arryn.
"Any idea who killed him?" Tywin wondered.
Littlefinger had not been well-liked, so the list of people who wouldn't mind him dead was a long one. Still, it was a mystery who had done the deed. Baelish wouldn't be mourned, but he hadn't had any true enemies. At least, not as far as Tywin knew.
"I haven't been able to find out much," Kevan confessed. "I suspect one of the houses in the Vale that owed him gold decided to spend it on a skilled cutthroat instead of repaying their debt. Whoever performed the deed managed to sneak past Littlefinger's guards and escape without being spotted. That suggests a professional killer, not a common thug".
Tywin agreed with that. A skilled murderer would cost a pretty penny, more so if getting sent after such an important lord.
"Hence why I suspect a noble house of being involved, and given that Bailish wouldn't have been in Gulltown for long, it had to be someone who already had a hired killer in place" Keven was now saying "It was no secret where Littlefinger was going and word got to a noble house in the Vale they could have arranged the murder".
Tywin had already realised that they might never find Littlefinger's killer, and he didn't feel much inclination to try. Still, he had to be seen to be doing something, as Baelish had been sent to the Vale by the Small Council. As such, he'd been an agent of the crown when he died.
"Offer a reward for information," he ordered.
There were other matters to discuss, such as what schemes the Tyrells might be planning, whether the Dornish were up to anything, and whether or not Hoster had died yet.
"The old trout is still holding on to life," Kevan reported. "Catelyn Stark and her daughter, Sansa Stark, have travelled to Riverrun. According to our agents in the Riverlands, Catelyn intends to stay there to help her brother settle into his new role and to find a suitable match for her daughter".
Given that the Tully words were Family, Duty, Honour, that made sense. There was nothing suspicious about the noblewoman making such a trip. However, Tywin couldn't help wondering if more was going on.
Perhaps House Stark, who were expecting trouble with the Wildlings, would seek support from Riverrun and offer Sansa Stark in marriage to help gain that support, if Edmure Tully, who would soon be Lord of Riverrun, didn't simply give it freely like a fool.
"She might be trying to convince Lord Edmure to wed Sansa to some Riverlord," Tywin mused aloud. "Do we know of any potential matches?".
"There are a few, I'm certain," Kevan replied. "Aside from House Frey, as Walder Frey is always seeking to strengthen his house's position with marriage pacts, I'm sure there are a few suitable heirs. I'll have a list sent to you once I confer with the Maesters".
Tywin knew that Edmure Tully had no heir or even a wife, so it might be possible that Catelyn Stark would try to tie the Riverlands to the North more tightly by having Sansa marry her uncle.
"Her cousin Robin Arryn is a possible match," mused Kevan. "It might be what convinces Lysa Arryn to let her knights ride out to battle the Wildlings in the North is seeking aid".
Tywin was more concerned about an alliance between the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale, because that could easily challenge the Reach–Westerlands alliance currently trying to hold the realm together.
The Riverlands were supposed to be part of Tywin's Alliance as well, but that had only come together due to the need to deal with a mutual enemy, the Ironborn, and had not lasted once Kings Landing had burned.
"We'll have to keep a close eye on the Tyrells," said Tywin. "With no Joffrey for Margaery Tyrell to marry, they might start looking for other alliances. If Sansa Stark became the future Lady of Highgarden, that could bring the Reach into an alliance with the Starks, Arryns, and Tullys".
Something deeply concerning, as if the Northerners were able to deal with the troubles at the Wall easily enough, then they could turn that army south, link up with their allies, and take King's Landing.
"Any luck finding out about Jon Blackwolf's true origins?" questioned Tywin.
If the North was planning to make a move against the Iron Throne, then they would need someone to sit upon it. A son of Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar could appeal to the Northerners, and Tywin might just allow it if the situation was handled correctly.
"I've sent some of our agents to Oldtown," Kevan shared. "If there is any evidence that Rhaegar Targaryen cast Elia Martell aside and married Lyanna Stark, then they will find it there, I think".
If the North was planning to make a move with some of the southern kingdoms, then Tywin would need to adapt to the situation. Marrying his granddaughter to Jon Blackwolf, or perhaps Jon Targaryen, if that was the truth of him, could result in his blood sitting on the throne without further conflict and bring stability to the realm.
"I do have a bit of news about Blackwolf that wasn't in his message," said Kevan. "When the Northerners arrived, they had two ships with them that weren't from the North, one of which had a golden kraken on its sails. Rumour is that Euron Greyjoy, whose ship had been spotted near Dragonstone recently, attempted to board the Northern fleet and was slain by Jon Blackwolf".
Tywin considered this. If it were true, then it would only make Blackwolf seem like an even better candidate for the Iron Throne. He could be seen as a heroic prince, defending his people from raiders. The smallfolk and simpering maidens loved talking about such things.
"Find out what you can," Tywin ordered, "And send Myrcella in to see me".
Part of how Tywin was able to justify taking control here was that he was acting as a regent for Robert's last trueborn child, Myrcella, who had survived all the madness that had claimed many members of the Lannister family here in King's Landing.
Already, Myrcella had many suitors, those who believed that the young princess was their key to becoming the next king, but Tywin had no intention of letting anyone sit on the Iron Throne unless they had his approval.
"Grandfather, you wanted to see me?" asked Myrcella as she entered the office of the Hand of the King.
Unlike her mother, Myrcella was a sweet girl, not one to make demands and throw a fit when she didn't get her way. She would never be able to rule as queen in her own right, but she'd make a fine consort for a future king, and most importantly, she was his granddaughter.
Myrcella enjoyed dresses, and while she was becoming too old to play with toys, she hadn't yet flowered as a woman. This was not a big concern, as Tywin was sure he had a few years left in him. He felt sure that he should be able to carry on long enough to see Myrcella married to a king of his choosing.
"Yes, my dear," he said.
Myrcella was much easier to talk to than her mother had been. She sat and listened, trying to understand, rather than spew her needless opinions about things she had failed to grasp. Thus, he found himself more inclined to treat her kindly. She was bright enough to be worth teaching a bit about politics to, as a bonus.
"I need to talk to you about a potential match," he told his granddaughter. "You understand why you must marry, and while there is no rush, a betrothal may be necessary to bring stability to the land".
It was too soon to mention his possible plans for Jon Blackwolf, and he was the only potential husband in any case. Besides, while she was a good girl, she would likely let something slip, simply because that was what children did, they liked to share secerts.
So, for now, he would only let her know that he had potential husbands in mind and that she was to let him handle the arrangements. Myrcella was to keep playing the role of sweet little princess until the time came for her to do something very important for the family.
Later, if it was required, he would tell her about Jon Blackwolf, and he would make sure she had good opinions about the young knight.Part 46
Winterfell – The North
Robb Stark frowned as he read the message that had come by raven from distant Dragonstone. It was good news that Jon had made it there safely, only there had been trouble along the way. There had been yet another Ironborn attack, and another victory for the Black Wolf.
Not that Jon winning a fight was ever a bad thing, it was just worrisome that Jon had been in danger at all, and yet again had needed to fight the Ironborn. Although a world without Euron Greyjoy in it would be a safer place for all, that was sure.
In a way, Robb thought, it was better that Theon was dead and buried. Had he lived for this long, then Theon might have rushed off to avenge his uncle, despite never truly knowing Euron Greyjoy or even truly caring about the raider.
Looking back, Robb could see that Theon had never let go of the Ironborn ways, and he had never embraced the lessons that living here in the North should have taught him, nor had he understood what people here in Winterfell had tried to show him about honour and duty.
Not for the first time, he couldn't help wondering what Theon would have done if it had made it home to Pyke when Robb had helped him escape Winterfell. He suspected that Theon would have joined his family in raiding the North despite claiming to have been like a brother to Robb.
It wasn't easy, staying behind in Winterfell while Jon, his half-brother, was off having adventures and earning glory. But as his mother had often reminded him, what mattered was: Family, Duty, Honour. He had responsibilities. He had to do what was best for the family, and that meant his duty always came first.
Someone had to care for the castle and its people, as there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Then there was getting the dragonglass to the Wall, which was a matter of survival for the North. Someone had to oversee its journey up the Kingsroad to Castle Black.
Manderly ships, possibly even the Ironborn vessel that Jon had helped to capture (another detail that would have surely infuriated Theon) would carry the obsidian from Dragonstone to White Harbour, and then Manderly men would bring the dragonglass to Winterfell.
From there, it would be Robb's task to ensure it reached the Wall safely. Some of it would also need to be stockpiled here in the heart of the North and forged into weapons, as their father had commanded Robb to do before the older Stark had gone to the Wall with most of the fighting men.
It wasn't common knowledge, though word was spreading. People were beginning to whisper that Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch had been slain by wights, the creatures out of Old Nan's most chilling stories. If the Others of legend had truly returned, dragonglass and fire would be needed.
Robb longed to ride out and face the threat himself, to fight alongside his father. But his duty was here in Winterfell. He had Arya and Rickon to look after, and so he couldn't leave and go looking for glory of his own.
Besides, someone needed to keep an ear out for any whispers of Bran's whereabouts and to be here should the lost wolf ever make his way home.
"Anything interesting?" asked Arya as she entered the solar.
Rather than become sullen and withdrawn as feared, his youngest sister was enjoying her time, learning a lot from Dacey Mormont and showing an interest in what Robb was doing as the acting Lord of Winterfell.
"Jon has taken command of Dragonstone," he shared with Arya "That means they'll have started gathering the dragonglass, and Shirren Batheron has become a ward of our family, but she is staying on Dragonstone for now".
Father had made it clear that Jon would need to secure the dragonglass, even if it cost their family a lot and warding one little girl didn't seem like much of a price to pay. As long as it didn't drag the North into the turmoil of the South.
"Any word on if he has found any dragon eggs?" Arya wondered.
Robb couldn't help smiling when he heard that. Arya seemed convinced that Jon would do what generations of Targaryens and the Batherons had failed to do and find a lost dragon's egg, or failing that, find some piece of Valyrian magic.
"Nothing yet, little sister," he replied, "But I'm sure he'll keep looking since he's going to be there for a good long while".
They would both prefer to have Jon here, yet they understood that he was doing something important.
"How are your lessons going?" asked Robb.
He wanted to hear about something other than events happening far away that he could do nothing about, and Arya never failed to share her enthusiasm about her lessons. If nothing else, it was a good distraction from his worries.
The Red Keep – King's Landing
Loras Tyrell of Highgarden had become something of a bitter young man ever since his beloved Renly had died. It haunted him still. Loras missed Renly's smile, his voice, and the confidence with which he had declared his claim.
This should have been Renly's time to rule. It had all seemed to be falling into place. After Jon Arryn's death, Robert had sunk further into apathy, more interested in hunting and drinking than in governing.
Then, when Eddard Stark refused to come south and take up the role of Hand, it seemed like the gods themselves were clearing the path for Renly.
With Stannis isolated on Dragonstone, friendless and grim, the political landscape had looked ripe for the taking. Renly could have seized control of the Small Council, something Loras had believed with all his heart. From there, greatness would have followed.
Even if they couldn't have dislodged the Lannisters from the Red Keep at once, they'd had other plans in motion, careful alliances had been forged to one day bring the Stormlands and the Reach together into a powerful force. But none of it had worked out.
The Ironborn rebellion had turned the realm on its head. And everything had spiralled out of control when Robert died fighting the Ironborn.
As planned, Renly had married Margaery and brought the Stormlands into alliance with the Reach. It should have been more than enough to topple the Lannisters and to put Renly onto the Iron Throne.
It should have been Renly's time. They had all agreed to that. The lords had smiled, made their oaths, and raised their banners. Loras had ridden beside Renly, blade in hand and pride in his heart, dreaming of the day his love would be king. And now... now, that dream lay in ashes.
Renly was dead, murdered in the night by one of his guards, and Margaery was a widow. A widow due to the betrayal of Brienne of Tarth, or so everyone whispered. She had killed many before she was put down.
And Margaery? She couldn't even marry Joffrey to secure the crown. That golden-haired little bastard had gotten himself killed when King's Landing burned in a single fiery night.
Now they were shackled to the Lannisters, bound by necessity rather than trust. His father's latest scheme, to marry Loras to Princess Myrcella, was nothing short of madness.
As if Loras could pretend to desire women. As if he could ignore the fact that Myrcella was barely more than a child. The very idea turned his stomach, and it was a betrayal of Renly to add insult to the injury.
Sometimes he truly understood why his grandmother chided her son so often. Mace Tyrell was a plump sheep, easily led and blind to danger.
Loras had expected to be wearing a white cloak by now, to be a sworn brother of the Kingsguard, standing proudly beside his sister as she married Joffrey and wrapped the little prick in her thorns. Instead, the Kingsguard was full of Lannister men, not that there was a king to guard, and his sister's ambitions were as much ashes as parts of this city had been.
At least the city no longer reeked. Loras had to admit that Tywin Lannister was rebuilding King's Landing and the Red Keep with ruthless efficiency. The old lion knew how to command respect and to get things done, even Loras couldn't deny that.
"Why are we still here, Grandmother?" Loras heard his sister ask.
It was a fair question. If there were no more princes for Margaery to charm, what was the point of lingering? Let their father sit in Small Council seat and polish Tywin Lannister's boots, there was no need for the rest of them to be here.
"Because my fool of a son still believes he can marry one of your brothers to Myrcella Baratheon," their grandmother said with a withering sneer. "He thinks one of his sons will be the next king. As if the Reach hasn't bled enough, and for what? A single seat on the Small Council? As if they are anything more than Tywin Lannister's lackies".
Loras clenched his jaw. If Renly had lived, none of this would be necessary. There would be no Lannisters in power. His father would be Hand of the King, not Tywin Lannister.
"If we leave, we'll have no chance of staying in power," Margaery said quietly "I'm working my way closer to Myrcella as father wishes".
His sister had a gift for navigating treacherous waters. But Myrcella was still just a child, sweet, yes, polite, perhaps even clever, but powerless. She was a doll, dressed up and posed for the court, a justification for her grandfather to use to hold onto power.
Tywin Lannister had filled the Small Council and the Red Keep with loyalists and sycophants, all with crimson cloaks. None of them would bend to the whims of a little girl, no matter how charming Margaery might teach her to be.
"The old lion won't be around forever," Grandmother replied, her voice low. "And someone will have to rule through Princess Myrcella, and better us than another Lannister".
Margaery had something to add.
"She likes me. I tell her stories of Highgarden, of the Arbor's vineyards, of knights and songs. I weave trust with every ribbon I tie in her hair," his sister said "But the realm will follow her husband, and he will be whoever Twyin Lannister chooses, not us".
Loras thought there had to be a better way. After all, if the Baratheons could take the throne from the Targaryens, then couldn't the Tyrells do the same? But instead of taking action, his family seemed content to bide their time and play silly political games that would never get them anywhere.
"Well, I think we should go back to Highgarden," Loras said "Let's withdraw our support and let the Lannisters try to hold things together. When they fail, we can always return and put things right. We need to hold onto the Reach and perhaps gain other allies".
It wasn't a terrible idea, and grandmother promised to talk to father about withdrawing support, even if he was too stubborn to listen to others.
"Start preparing to leave," Olenna said at last, rising with the help of her cane. "We'll give Mace a week to see sense. If he doesn't, we go. With or without him, we can horde our strength at Highgarden, to grow strong, and when the time comes, we can return in force to claim what is rightfully ours".
The wheel was always turning, for now the Lannisters were at the top, but it would turn again, and House Tyrell would have its due.