Robb V
The party was camped for the night, the nights came swiftly this far south, unlike the long twilights he was used to at home. The tents were set up and the day's kills had been butchered and were cooking away, yesterday it had been a whole stag, butchered by Lord Tywin himself, tonight it would be several wild pigs gracing their table.
The wilds pigs were being cooked by Lord Tywin's personal chef, the tender loin, filet and ribs being served 'barbecued' with potatoes roasted in the coals, freshly baked bread and as much wine and westerlander dark ale as one could want.
The great crimson tent was set up for the night, the smells of cooking wafting into it and making his mouth water, the accompanying lords and banner men milling about before the serious business of eating and drinking began.
Apparently this 'stag' was an opportunity for a man about to be married to enjoy himself 'one last time' as a 'free man' with his friends, something that made him snort with amusement, were there whores present then maybe, but this just seemed like any other hunt to him. Better appointed with comforts thanks to his soon to be good brother, and rather larger and more boisterous, but still like a normal hunt nonetheless.
He let a little grimace tighten his face at that, 'normal' was not something one could ascribe to these last few weeks, surrendering to the Lannisters, travelling to Kings Landing to meet his future Lannister bride, and now this on the eve of his wedding. Not that he did not like hunting, far from it, but the presence of so many other Lords and retainers made it seem a little false to him. The bawdy singing and lewd suggestions that were common left him just feeling annoyed more than anything else, though he noticed none dared to make any improper comments about Sansa in earshot of the Old Lion.
His soon to be good father was a monumental bore, who only seemed interested in assuring him of his daughter's beauty, fertility and obedience. He had to laugh at that last bit, 'obedience'? The man obviously did not know his daughter at all if he thought she was obedient, she was not some spoiled brat from what little he knew of her so far, but she was strong willed and knew her own mind well enough. She would not be a meek wife, forever only doing her husband's bidding, no, she would challenge him for power in their marriage, and he wondered why this gave him decidedly mixed feelings. On the one hand he hated the fact that he was being forced to marry a Lannister and thus he resented the girl, who was a few years older than himself in actuality, but the fact that Cerenna Lannister did not even pretend to be meek or all compliant like he would have expected of a southron wife was interesting to say the least.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that, any man would be delighted to have her as a wife for that alone, and he was not immune to her physical charms, the bedding would be at least made easier with a fair maid to lay with. But, every time he lay with her he would see those emerald eyes and that golden hair and know he had been beaten, that he had not avenged his father, that he had given up a crown for the gold of Casterly rock.
Just then a servant announced that the food was ready and for the Lords and Knights to take their places at the tables and be served. He was to be seated at Lord Tywin's right hand side and the mug before him was filled from a pitcher by Lord Tywin, the dark, strong ale of the Westerlands filling the mug. Taking a long draught, he watched as trenchers laden with the wild boar were served to them, there was a noticeable lack of serving wenches, none in fact, a state of affairs lamented by some and even loudly commented upon by others, Lord Edmure among them.
Above the din of men eating Lord Tywin had just turned his icy gaze on Edmure who had instantly stopped japing about the lack of cunny to dip into and returned to his food, his face slightly reddened.
"I apologise for my uncle Lord Tywin, he, he can talk without thinking sometimes...."
"The opposite is true with you Lord Stark" replied Lord Tywin, his voice deadpan "you brood too much, it will spoil your enjoyment of life..." He took a long drink from the ale, it was much to his taste, at least he and the Old Lion shared that in common, as he marshalled his thoughts for a suitable reply.
"You think yourself a failure, and that you are being bound with chains of gold to the Lannisters, and it is eating away at you Lord Stark. You and I, we are Great Lords; though we cannot be friends, we share the same burdens of our status, the same concerns for our realms and people. I am to be married to your sister and you to my niece and thus end a ruinous war that has cost us both much. You have secured the future of House Stark, you return to Winterfell with everything you had before the war in terms of your House's power and position, and gained a beautiful bride from the most powerful House in the Seven Kingdoms. Kill the boy Lord Stark, become the man you have to be."
Arrogant old fucker, thinking he could tell him what to do, like he was one of that cowed bunch who called themselves his banner men! "'Kill the boy 'eh? Is that what you did, when you became the Lord of the Westerlands?"
"Aye, and I was younger than you when I went to war against my own vassals" the Old Lion replied, something of fierce pride leaking into his voice, as he methodically ate his way through the meat on his trencher.
"You talk of what the North has gained, but we have lost much, my father's life for one, one of my sisters still missing, tens of thousands of dead, and, and having to bend the knee to the Lannisters..."
"You bent the knee to Tommen Baratheon, or if you prefer, to the Iron Throne, your father was an honourable man, but that, combined with the stupidity of Robert Baratheon got him killed. Kings Landing is no place for a Stark."
"Is it a place for my sister?" he could not help but blurt out.
"The Lady Sansa will be a Lannister, with all the power and protection that being a member of my House entails. And your sister is no fool, she learned to survive in kings Landing when she had not a single friend in the place, worry not, Lady Sansa will thrive, and of that I am sure. "
Yes, he thought, if by thrive you mean birth Lannisters, but he said nothing out loud.
The Old Lion's gaze had softened slightly at the mention of Sansa, and with a somewhat wistful tone of voice he said "it is a pity your father did not refuse King Robert's request, then mayhaps none of this would have happened."
"My father obeyed his King Lannister...." Robb hissed back.
"Just as I'm sure you will Lord Stark" came the cold reply, any trace of softness gone from the stern visage of the Old Lion.
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Melisandre I
"And you are sure about this my lady?" asked the man she had once believed to be Azor Ahai, his face stern and set.
"The flames have shown it, there is no mistaking their message."
Lord Stannis pondered this, the muscles in his jaw bunching and moving under his skin, his eyes never leaving the painted table.
His onion knight, Ser Davos looked at her keenly, but said nothing; she kept her face blank, letting only determination show. The onion knight mistrusted her, hated her even, especially after the battle of the Blackwater, but he, like all of them, had their part to play in R'hllor's great plan.
"Your flames misled me before my lady, you prophesised a great victory on the Blackwater, and yet all I knew was defeat in the end, explain to me if you will that?" Stannis growled, his face dark with rage and anger.
She knew he would react this way, it did not take seeing things in the flames to know of this, and she had pondered and plotted on how to best handle this inevitable situation when it arose.
"Indeed, you were prophesised a great victory and your rightful place upon the Iron Throne, but other forces are at play, forces hidden by dark magics from my sight and the sight of R'hllor. It was only when they acted, when they were present at the Battle of the Blackwater Bay did I become aware of them, and by then it was too late. Be grateful R'hllor was able to save you from the trap of the janus, for it was his plan to kill you my Lord."
"Who, or what is this janus you speak of?" asked Lord Stannis, anger boiling inside him, she could feel the fires of R'hllor burning within the man she had once believed to be Azor Ahai, he was still a chosen of the Lord of Light, just not the chosen.
"A creature of myth and legend, a terrible, unnatural merging of two souls in one body, able to see the twisting paths of past, present and future, a creature of ravening lusts for power and position. Lord Tywin Lannister is the Janus, he
is no longer just a man, he is a creature of the pit now, filled with dark magics that fuel and sustain him, and he grows stronger every day."
"Hah! Tywin Lannister! Are you sure you are just seeing him as he is, as he always was?" barked Stannis, a bitter undercurrent in his voice.
"I am sure my Lord, the Janus consumed Lord Tywin just before the Battle of the Blackwater, it was as yet weak and thus I could not sense its foul presence, it has grown exponentially in power since, I can scarce see it in the flames. All I see is darkness and shadow where Lord Tywin should be....."
"And so you want me to abandon everything, and go on this wild goose chase to The Wall and beyond?" replied Stannis, getting some measure on control on his raging emotions.
"Yes, this is what must happen, the Great Other is rising, the Wildlings who live beyond The Wall are massing to try and break through The Wall to avoid being consumed by the Great Other. The Nights Watch cannot hold The Wall against them, you must go north."
"To aid the Nights Watch?" asked Ser Davos, his voice as neutral as he could keep it, but she could sense the undercurrents of hatred in his rough, flea bottom accented voice.
"No Ser Davos, the Wildlings must be let south of the Wall, and in return they will acclaim Stannis as their King and Lord, they will be his army to replace the one the Janus and his demon Imp of a son destroyed on the Blackwater."
"An Army of wildlings, and in the North? What use are they to his Grace, the North will never stand for it, Lord Robb Stark is on his way back to Winterfell with his Army, bolstered by a Lannister wife and thousands of Red Cloaks!"
"My Hand has the truth of it my Lady" growled Stannis in response, "what you see in the flames scarce makes sense...."
"And yet that is what the Lord of Light shows me, I have seen a great battle in the snows, between the forces of light and those of darkness, I have seen the wildlings fight alongside the Nights Watch, seen the hordes of the dead pass The Wall. This is the Great War your Grace, the only war that matters!"
Stannis pondered the great painted table for a few minutes of silence, well partial silence; the sound of him grinding his teeth could be faintly heard.
"Leave us Ser Davos, the Lady Melisandre and I have much to discuss."
"Your Grace" the old smuggler bowed to his King but gave her a look of pure, unadulterated hatred as he left.
"My Hand does not like you, nor does he trust you" announced Stannis when they were alone.
"He does not, but it is of no matter, the Lord of Light guides his actions also, though he would reject such an explanation if put to him."
"Do we all dance to your Lord of Light's fancy then my Lady?" asked Stannis, once more his anger blazing within him like a holy flame.
"We do, some of us know it and accept it, most do not and even if they did would reject the truth, fewer still are granted visions in the flames of what is required of us" as she spoke Melisandre edged closer and closer to Stannis, until she stood directly before him.
"I grow tired of your God's supposed benefits, my fleet is burned, my army scattered and defeated, all I hold is this island, plus a handful of the houses that have traditionally leaned more towards Dragonstone than Kings Landing, and a scattering of Stormlander Houses. Most of my vassals have deserted me, being granted pardons left right and centre by Lord Tywin, which the majority have been only too eager to agree to. And now you want me to abandon Dragonstone for some vision you saw in the flames and head to the North?"
"No your Grace, I want you to follow your destiny as has been revealed to me by R'hllor" Melisandre replied, not in the slight bit conflicted that she was lying to Stannis Baratheon, and not troubled by the fact that she could see nothing of his future in the flames, only that of a youth called Jon Snow.
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Sansa XVI
The four girls who were to be wed stood waiting just outside the great doors of the Sept of Baelor, herself, the two Lannister sisters and Roslin Frey, the sounds of the crowds cheering washed over them, but Sansa barely heard it, only noticing it at the very edges of her consciousness.
The two Lannister girls were dressed alike in matching white, high collared gowns, which were threaded with gold and embroidered with rampant lions, crimson cloaks over their slim shoulders. The blonde sisters had their hair done up in similar, if simple styles, braided around their heads but with some free to fall around their faces, both also wore flowers in their hair.
Myrielle was the more classically beautiful of the two sisters if she was forced to consider it, Cerenna was the more striking of them though, in a rather severe way. But her mother had commented that Cerenna had better 'child bearing hips' than her younger sister so there was that she supposed.
Roslin Frey was wearing a heavily embroidered gown of browns and greens, with her hair tied up into a bun at the back of her head, but which let her hair fall down her back and over her shoulders. Her dress was cut low enough to show a considerable amount of her chest, the tiny Frey was certainly not lacking in the size of her teats Sansa noticed, the slightest twinge of jealously flashing through her mind.
She was dressed in a sheath gown of pale grey, embroidered with snowflakes in silver thread, over her shoulders was a stark cloak, trimmed with wolf fur, her hair was gathered into two braids that were wound around the back of her head. She was taller than the Lannister pair by a good few inches and she felt strangely good about that fact, glad for what she had once cursed as excessive height and awkwardness had instead changed into a confidence in her own flesh.
She noticed almost absentmindedly that the three other girls were nervous; the Frey chit in particular looked like she had been struck insensate by a blow to the head and wore a look of complete shock on her face. She on the other hand felt no nerves, no trepidation, oh she knew what was happening, what all this represented, but it failed to touch her. This was not how she imagined she would feel on her wedding day, but then again, what she had believed were the idiotic fantasies of a girl. These other three girls might be dreading their weddings, they might even be girlishly excited for them, but for Sansa it was much more complex than that.
What was about to happen to her was part penance, part punishment, part revenge and part something else entirely, something that she had been completely surprised by. She had offered herself to the Old Lion to save her family, to save herself from Joffrey, and to punish herself for her stupidity and betrayal of her father. And while all these still held true, she had come to realise that marriage to Tywin Lannister also held advantages that she had not considered, advantages that had become more and more evident over the weeks and moons since she had first proposed their union.
For it was a union that she proposed, not one foisted upon her by her brother or mother, a small, but not insignificant victory she thrilled in. Secondly Lord Tywin was the most powerful man in Westeros, and marriage to him would bring her power also, and she would have some manner of agency in her own right as his wife. Her husband to be had already been married and would thus know well the manner of things between husband and wife, and if Lady Genna was to be believed Tywin was not unacquainted with the contents of the Lyseni pillow book. This brought a slight flush to her cheeks at this; she cast it from her mind as swiftly as she could, but a lazy heat spread through her belly as she reminded herself that finally, despite his age, Lord Tywin was not an unhandsome man, tall, broad of shoulder and taut of stomach. He was not unpleasant to look upon, and he was a man, a proven Lord and warrior, not a boy like, for instance Loras Tyrell. She marvelled at how she had once swooned at the knight of flowers, how young and immature he now seemed to her, a boy she realised, not a man.
A gaggle of Septons and Septas surrounded them, intoning prayers and anointing them with holy oils, when they were finished their escorts stepped up to bring them into the Great Sept and to their respective husbands. The Lannister's girls father, Lord Stafford Lannister took his daughters arms, a Frey banner man took hold of Roslin Frey's arm and Greatjon Umber strode up to her and offered her his arm.
The Greatjon was his usual gruff, untactful self, remarking to the Frey girl that her husband's height was no concern because "all girls are the same height lying down'. He thought this a great jape, guffawing loudly despite the poisonous looks being given to him by the Septa's, Septon's and the Lannister girls.
She glared at the Greatjon and the smile was quickly wiped from his face, and a somewhat chastened Greatjon Umber took her arm and they strode through the opening doors of the Sept of Baelor. The Greatjon could however not hold his tongue and he mumbled "bloody southron idolatry, statues and fookin' perfume, blasphemy, that's what it is, blasphemy..."
She ignored the Greatjon's mutterings, apparently he had been loud in decrying the ban Lord Tywin had put on a 'bedding ceremony' for any of the couples, stating that it was bad luck not to perform the bedding ceremony. The Greatjon had muttered this within earshot of her betrothed the previous morning as they had broken their fast and partaken of the gifting ceremony between the couples and their families. This had elicited Lord Tywin to turn his gaze to the Greatjon and as he held the northern Lord's gaze a hushed silence had fallen, whereupon Tywin had simply stated that any man or woman that laid a hand unbidden on a Lannister, be they a Lannister by blood or marriage, would soon experience rains weeping over their halls.
Into this suddenly tense atmosphere Lord Tyrion exclaimed "at least there are no musicians present or my father would be calling for them to play that ghastly song!"
When Lord Tywin gave his son a brief smile everyone took that as permission to burst into laughter and the tension dissolved, but none forgot the point that the Old Lion had made, there would be no bedding ceremony.
The Sept was crowded with the great and good, though the Lords of the Vale and Dorne were noticeably absent, her mother was there among a gaggle of northern Lords, a rather strained looking smile on her face. Her mother would probably never reconcile herself to what was happening today, her two eldest children marrying into a family that they had been at war with a few short weeks ago, and one which her mother blamed for the death of her husband and the crippling of her son.
She moved her eyes to gaze back ahead of her, up on the steps her brother Robb stood, wearing dark grey Stark garb, his cloak closed across his chest with two sliver headed Direwolf clasps, despite protest from the Septons Grey Wind was curled up to one side at the base of the steps, seeming to be blithely unconcerned by the whole affair and apparently dozing.
Lord Edmure was dressed in Tully blue and had a rather stupid grin on his face, her brother Robb looked stern as he always seemed to.
Beside these two stood the Lannister men, the dwarf Lord Tyrion, wearing crimson and gold and towering above him, the Old Lion himself, resplendent in a doublet of scarlet broadcloth, closed with five golden lion clasps, trousers of black wool and polished black boots. He was not wearing his chain of office, neither was Lord Tyrion wearing his badge of the Master of Coin, but then Sansa supposed neither needed to wear their badges of office for none could mistake who they were.
And none could mistake who was the power here either, the Old Lion radiated power, raw, blazing power and an aura of complete and utter satisfaction with all he surveyed and controlled. Around his shoulders was a cloak made of cloth of gold, which would soon be draped around her shoulders.
As she had descended the stairs she had noticed Lord Tywin's eyes settle on her, ignoring all others, and now she returned his gaze, never leaving his as she drew nearer, keeping her blue eyes locked on his green/golden ones as she crossed the Sept and ascended the steps to him.
As she stopped on the wide landing before him she was sure she saw the smallest of smiles flicker on his face, and she was sure she caught a sparkle in the depths of the Old Lion eyes. Each girl went to their respective husband and their escorts retreated back down the steps, and the High Septon started droning on, mainly about the sanctity of marriage and that the four marriages being performed here were of great importance for the peace and prosperity of the Seven Kingdoms.
Eventually they got to the exchanging of vows, four other Septon's did the actual work while the High Septon intoned the words, and they all said their words, Sansa feeling a strange calm as she said her words and kept her eyes locked with Tywin's.
Then came the cloaking ceremony, Lady Roslin having to kneel to allow Lord Tyrion to place his cloak around her slender shoulders, she shed her Stark cloak and Tywin draped a golden cloak around her, and it was done, she was a Stark no longer.
Tywin had bent to kiss her and her lips had tingled at the contact of his lips on hers, a not unpleasant kiss she mused as the expected round of applause thundered through the great Sept of Baelor. She remembered little of what happened next, the greeting and mingling with Lords and Ladies, firmly ensconced on her husband's arm, and then it was time to retire to the Red Keep for the marriage feast.
The feast was being held in the great dining hall of Maegor's Holdfast, it being just the right size for the number of guests, several hundred in all. Twenty eight courses were to be served in all, not including the desert courses, and soon the hall was abuzz with conversation and the sounds of people feasting. Her husband was very attentive towards her, much more than he had ever displayed before, and she liked the novelty of it, he was not playful nor did he jape, like Lord Edmure seemed to be doing with his wife. But he was pleasant company and he often held her hand and smiled at her when their eyes met. Lord Tyrion was concentrating on getting as drunk as he possibly could while ignoring his tearful Frey wife and her brother seemed to be struggling to engage his new wife in conversation.
Tywin, noticing the looks she was giving the others, leaned closer to her and spoke into her ear, his breath hot on the skin of her neck "well my lady wife, what do you make of your fellow newlywed couples?"
She wondered briefly if her husband would always be testing her, evaluating her on how she evaluated others, then she dismissed this concern, of course Lord Tywin would test her constantly, for he was the Old Lion, and this was his way.
"Lord Edmure seems content with his jolly wife, and she with him. Lord Tyrion seems to be intent of drinking so much that he will be insensate when the bedding comes, something I thought only nervous brides were wont to do. My brother seems ill at ease with the entire concept of being married, though his lady wife is doing her best to humour him and both are at least trying to be pleasant and polite to each other."
"Hrmmm, and you my lady, what would others make of you, sat beside your Lord husband?"
"Many would see only what they wanted to see, a dynastic marriage, obviously foisted upon a reluctant young girl by the victorious party in a war. They would see her annoyed mother and hope to exploit that to undermine the pact between the two houses, assuming that the girl herself is either clueless or likely powerless. What a few might see is the fact that neither party to this marriage seems to be overly concerned about what others think, nor that the girl does not act with trepidation, fear or horror, unlike Lord Tyrion's wife, who makes little effort to hide her tears. Lady Roslin, when asked by Lord Tyrion why she was crying replied that they were 'tears of joy' but I doubt that is the case."
She could feel the slightest of grins on her husband's face at this, though she could not see it as she was still gazing ahead at the panoply of guests eating and drinking and generally being merry. "The Frey chit is done an incredible honour in marrying into the Lannisters, certainly one old Walder could never have expected from me. She will soon cease her tears if she knows what's good for her, and had better at least make some pretence of opening her legs willingly to my son; I won't have the Frey's insulting my blood" the Old Lion growled, while keeping his voice pitched just above the roar of the feast.
"I cannot speak for my good sisters sense on this matter my Lord, nor would I care to comment on Lord Tyrion's expectations of his lady wife doing her duty by him" she replied coolly, before she would have felt sorry for Roslin Frey, would even have pitied and understood her fears and her tears. Now? Well now she had little sympathy for Lady Roslin, Lord Tyrion was a Lannister, had a powerful position in the government of the realm, her and her children by him would lack for nothing. The Old Lion's younger son was witty, honourable and had a kind heart, would the Frey chit prefer some idiotic Lordling who looked good on a horse instead?
Were the roles reversed would she be happy with Lord Tyrion? No, probably not she was honest enough to admit to herself, but then again, she had selected the man she had married, and for her own reasons. She was not a pawn, not a chattel to be sold, she had escaped that fate, and the only price had been her father's head. The 'only price' she mused sourly, that was price enough, that and the beatings and humiliations that followed, but she had to pay that price, and pay it in full, with the required interest.
"And you Lady Sansa, what of your duty to your Lord husband?" asked the Old Lion, his voice low and level.
She turned her head towards Tywin and held his eyes "My duty is the price I pay willingly to save my family, my duty is the act of honouring my husband and bearing his heirs."
The faintest of smiles ghosted across Tywin's face at this, he leaned forwards and for a second Sansa thought he was going to kiss her, instead he placed his mouth beside her ear and whispered "clever girl."
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Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!
What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...
Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter
Sbiper, Aug 23, 2019Report
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Threadmarks: Bryer III
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Bryer III
"Twelve tuns of Braavosi brandy for consignment to Seaguard and onwards to Lannistport, likewise fifty one hogsheads of Tyroshi sweet wine. All to be consigned to bonded storage awaiting cartage to Seaguard, came ashore from the knarr Grace of the Seven, out of Maidenpool, sign or make your mark here" announced the bored clerk, Bryer singing the name of the fictitious factor he was portraying.
Bryer handed over the payment for storage of the cargo in the high security bonded warehouse that resided beneath the western tower of The Twins, along with the faked bill of lading and other documentation associated with the various sized barrels.
"Here" the clerk said as he handed back his documents after they had been stamped and had a wax seal attached, along with a pass that gave him access to the bonded storage.
Bryer nodded in reply and headed out of the offices that were in a building set against the inside of the outer walls of the western keep of the Twins, and strode over to where his merchandise was loaded onto carts. He watched as it was taken into the secure warehouse under the looming tower of one of The Twins, trying to show only as little nervousness as was warranted, given the supposed value of the goods he was responsible for.
The Frey's made coin not just from their bridge over the Green Fork, the road of Seaguard was among the best in all of Westeros and significant traffic went up and down it to the port town that surrounded the western of The Twins, which was called Seaport. There was another town around the eastern of The Twins, called Riverport, and between them and the bridge they were the biggest trading nexus in this part of the Riverlands.
And the Frey's made coin hand over fist from the towns, both in terms of taxes and in the provision of all the services associated with ports, much traffic for the western coast of Westeros preferred to use the Green Fork and the road to Seaguard as opposed to the route around Dorne. For one it avoided the perennial problem of piracy in the narrow sea, especially around the notorious Stepstones, and despite the Frey's tolls and taxes it was still highly competitive, especially for trade with the Westerlands.
Maidenpool was the other major port in the trade that went up and down the Green Fork; oceangoing ships would load and unload there to and from smaller ships able to navigate the Green Fork. Some ocean going ships went further upstream to Saltpans or even to Darry to load or unload, but the majority did this in Maidenpool due to its cheaper port dues and its better port facilities.
There had long been a proposal for a canal between Seaguard and the Green Fork, which would of course join the Green Fork at Seaport, but nothing had ever come of it for various reasons.
Bryer followed his cargo into the warren of storage rooms under the Keep, and once he was satisfied that all the barrels were stored correctly he watched as the Frey Guards locked up the doors and handed him a key to the lock.
He was now supposed to depart to Seaport and begin negotiations with the mule and oxen train teams who would carry his goods down to Seaguard for onwards shipping to Lannisport. The merchant he was supposedly representing regularly consigned cargo's to Lannisport via this route, and the value of his cargos meant that he often stored them temporarily in the most secure, and thus the most expensive bonded warehouse available, the one below the western Keep of The Twins.
Sauntering out of the large entrance in the Keep that serviced the warehouse Bryer made for the gates and showing his pass to the guards he exited the castle and made for the centre of Seaport and he searched for a tavern or boarding house to spend the night. After rejecting several candidates he selected a tavern that met his needs and he paid over the coin for room and board, and settled down in the tap room, ordering food and a flagon of ale.
As was common many of the serving wenches would not be averse to taking a tumble with customers for enough coin but Bryer was uninterested, despite the obvious charms of the buxom blonde who served him. He was dressed in clothes appropriate to his disguise, fine bit not lordly garb, and he did not look out of place in the tavern, which served Merchants and their Factors mostly.
As he ate his meal he never relaxed for one second, his eyes always roving over the assembled crowd, looking for patterns, for covert glances his way, but thankfully finding none. Not that he felt secure, to him there was always the concern that he was being watched, that other players knew of his activities. So all he could do was to take every opportunity to reduce the chances of discovery and compromise, like for example the fact that he was clean shaven now and he had died his hair a muddy brown.
Finishing his meal he retreated to his room and waited, reviewing in his head what was to come next, his sources were confident that there would be a feast tonight, with the majority, if not all the male Frey's present at the Twins invited. The Twins were not identical internally, despite being almost identical externally, the castle on the Western side of the Green Fork was where Walder Frey spent most of his time, his quarters and the main hall were located there. This was convenient for his purposes and meant that the method to be used tonight was both logical and likely to be a great success.
Equally important for his Lords plan was the fact that the Maester lived in the western Tower and the Frey's had their Library and main offices also in the western tower, all in all a perfect combination for what was about to take place.
Bryer held no reservations about what he was going to happen, he had been given a job by his Lord and it was his duty to carry it out to the best of his abilities. There was no place in his heart for regrets, or sentimentality, this was what he did, if his master wanted the Frey's dead then so be it.
Exiting the Tavern after dusk had fallen he made his way to back to the western keep, showed his pass to gain admission at the gate, did the same at the entrance to the warehouse under the keep and finally reached the storeroom assigned to him.
There were two Frey guards patrolling this section, who looked quite bored with the whole affair, he pulled out a small bottle of Brandy from the sack he had slung over his shoulder, telling the guards that it was the same vintage that he was shipping. The guards gleefully took the bottle from him, thanking him for his generosity and he entered the storage room, locking the door behind him.
He removed a lantern from his sack and lit the candle inside, closing its glass panels and setting it on top of a stack of cloth, well away from his barrel's.
He wiped his hands on his trousers, they were suddenly damp, he was nervous as what he was about to do required a delicate and deliberate touch, and probably not a little bit of good luck also.
Though his cargo was just that, Brandy and sweet wine, each barrel contained a smaller barrel inside it, each one filled with sand to cushion its true contents, a jar of wildfire. This complex arrangement was the only safe way to transport wildfire, or at least that was what the Wisdom had assured him, and so far, the substance had not exploded.
But now it was time to make sure that it did explode, and all at once to ensure the destruction of the western keep of The Twins. So he set to work, each tun sized cask had a tierce sized barrel inside of it, while each hogshead sized barrel had a rundlet sized barrel inside it.
As per his instructions each hogshead was stored upright, he took out a crow bar and began lifting off the lids of each barrel, the smaller barrels inside were mounted almost flush with the top of the larger barrels they were contained in. Carefully lifting off the top of the smaller barrels he methodically removed each jar of wildfire and carefully set them against the larger barrels containing the Brandy.
With the final jar of wildfire he spilled its contents all around the stack of twenty wildfire jars, laying a stream of the vividly green liquid across the floor, noticing where it pooled and formed puddles. Taking out a short candle he lit it from the lantern and with shaking hands placed it into the middle of a shallow pool of wildfire, his breathing coming in short gasps as he fought to keep his hands steady.
Stepping back from his work he was satisfied, the candle would take an hour to burn down and ignite the wildfire, plenty of time to make his escape. Easing the door open carefully he spied the two guards, swiftly strode past them and out of the gates and into the outer courtyard, he picked up faint sounds of revelry and music from high above, the feast was in full swing.
Making his way out of the castle he moved off in the direction of the docks, ducking down an alley he quickly changed clothes into much poorer clothing, and pulled a cloak around him, before setting off again.
Reaching the docks he made his way along them until he found what he was looking for, a small rowboat with two men waiting in it, he exchanged the correct greetings with them and he boarded the boat, which rowed him out of the harbour and alongside a ship anchored out in the roadstead.
The ship was the same knarr that he had travelled in to The Twins; she was loaded with grain and timber for Maidenpool. Climbing aboard he nodded to the master who cast off and his crew hoisted sail to move away downstream. A combination of the current and a freshening breeze saw them make good progress until behind them the darkness was split by a sudden blaze of green hued light.
Bryer looked on impassively as a huge column of green flame roared up into the night sky, he could see the walls of Keep at the base of this towering jet of flame, before they disintegrated and blew apart, just then the sounds of the explosion of the wildfire reaching his ears. The sound was tremendous, and was accompanied with a blast of hot air that staggered the boat and near knocked him from his feet.