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The Last King by Greed720
 Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Percy J., Words: 184k+, Favs: 4k+, Follows: 5k+, Published: Jan 22, 2018 Updated: Oct 27 1,644Chapter 10
AN: Hey everyone it's me again, here with the next chapter of The Last King. Have to say I appreciate all the support I've been given so far.
This chapter took me a while actually, as I found parts of it quite difficult to do. Either way here it is and I hope you all like it as it took me a while.
As always if you have any comments or suggestions feel free to PM me and I'll get back to you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Game of Thrones.
(Last Time)
As Eddard said that the two competitors turned to do their last tilt, with the Prince noticeably leaning down and apparently muttering something to his horse. Not that it would do him any good, or at least that was what Ned thought. After all unless the Prince could somehow miraculously change the gender of his horse he was going to lose, and despite him possessing unnatural abilities gifted to him by the Gods, that was not one of them. Or at least Ned didn't think it was.
A few moments later though, as the two armoured men rode for their last and final tilt, the Prince's horse was noticeably calmer. Allowing the Prince to get off another strike, this one hitting Loras straight in the chest and almost unhorsing him. Almost being the operative word as Loras managed to both stay on his horse and break his own lance on Tytan's chest, narrowly winning himself the match, and making him the champion of the tourney.
"Well it looks like that's it, for today at least." Ned said as he looked down at his daughter. "Though we still have the melee and the archery tomorrow."
"Will we be going to the feast?" Sansa asked as she too made to stand up, her eyes still on Ser Loras as he rode around the field, celebrating his victory. The shine for Sansa having somewhat disappeared after hearing of the noble knights deceit.
( - )
Chapter 10
( - )
(With Tytan, in King's Landing)
Gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, Tytan let out a loud shout as he swung it round. The dulled blade clattering against another fighters armour, winding the man and folding him over, but not causing any real damage. After all the idea of the melee wasn't to slaughter people. Or at least that wasn't the people's intention, however accidents could happen.
Swinging his other arm around Tytan then rammed the boss of his round shield into another man, knocking this one clear off his feet. Turning Tytan lashed out again, smashing the hilt of his blade into another opponent's helmeted head. The force of the below denting the side of the man's helmet and knocking him down to one knee, where Tytan finished him of with another punch to the head. The cross guard of his blade this time piercing through the poorly forged helmet and into the sellswords cheek.
Pulling away from the now downed man, Tytan looked around grimly. The entire field was still filled with more than a dozen fighters. This included Lords, knights, sellswords and common thugs, all of whom were able to take part, because unlike the jousting the melee and archery was open to all comers, as long as they could pay some coin to enter.
That being said, commoners tended to not last long in the melee due to the quality of their armour and weapons and their lack of training. Which meant that by this point in the fight it was only really knights left fighting.
"Still up and fighting little man!?" Ubba growled out loudly from behind Tytan, the hulking man easily cleaving through anyone who dared to come near him. Wielding the double bladed axe in his hand like some mad berserker, a sight that was made more realistic by his matted, bloodstained beard which was just visible poking out from underneath the man's helmet.
"Come on Ubba, you know me! It takes more than a couple of pussys to take me down!" Tytan replied cheerfully, lunging out as he did so. His blade aimed at a nearby opponent, a wealthy one by the looks of it, one who was wearing expensive plate armour and had a pot like helmet on his head.
Raising his sword in response to the Prince's attack the man tried to strike at Tytan at first. Wildly swinging as he attempted to slam his blade into the Prince's antlered helmet, a blow which if it landed would daze the Prince but not kill him. Of course that was if the blow ever landed.
Unfortunately for the other knight though his plate armour, despite giving him a great amount of protection was also heavy and inhibited his movements. Which meant that Tytan was easily able to lunge forward and drive his sword up and into the man's less armoured armpit. His blunted blade causing the man to cry out and drop his sword, only for him to be finished off by another fighter slamming a blunted war axe into the back of his head.
"And there I was thinking that you'd been taken down by just a single pussy?" Came the mocking voice of Ivar as he slammed his amoured foot into the knights back causing him to fall forwards with a groan. The blonde cheerfully swinging his axe about, as he then approached the other two.
"Funny." Tytan responded dryly, before he turned and swung his left arm out. Using his unnatural strength to slam his shield into another fight, knocking him clear off his feet and leaving him open for Ubba to slam his battleaxe into the man's breast plate. The blunt axe leaving a large rent in the sheet of metal, and no doubt breaking a couple of ribs as it did so.
"You're the one that's obsessing over some random bird you've never met." Ivar replied with a grin, the quick witted blonde dashing forwards as he said this. Taking advantage of his lighter armour to out maneuverer his more heavily armoured opponents.
With Ivar like Tytan having gone for a helmet, and a chainmail hauberk with a steel cuirass over the top. With this being complimented by steel gauntlets and greaves to protect both the forearms and shins.
Unlike Tytan who'd gone for the classic sword and shield combo though, Ivar had gone for a large one handed war axe and a short sword. The sly man having found such weapons useful as it allowed his to hook an opponent's shield down with his axe, which left an opening for him to sliding his short sword into the gap.
With that being something which he displayed right then and there as he, Tytan and Ubba, the only ones of their group involved in the melee, engaged another group of four men. These ones all working together and wearing tabards which displayed the Golden Rose of House Tyrell. With a single man in the middle of the group wearing gilded, golden coloured armour and a helmet which had a pretentious blue and white plume coming out of the top.
This man, no doubt being that prick Loras Tyrell, was someone who the Prince and his men had a grudge with at the moment. Not just because he had defeated the Prince in the jousting though, no if he'd done that fair and square than they would have bought him a drink, no it was because he had cheated, and had thus cheated Tytan's men out of the gold they'd bet on their Prince.
Darting forwards Ivar hooked the shield of the first man down, leaving an opening for Tytan to ram his sword through. His blade striking the other knight in the throat. Causing a lot of damage, but nothing fatal as the other man's gorget, a strip of metal that protected the throat, saved him from the worst of it.
Not pausing for an instant, Tytan then bulled passed the other man and rammed his shield into the second, making him stagger back and into the gaudily armoured Loras. Which Tytan then used to his advantage as he swung his sword around and cleaved the last of Loras's guards down.
Ubba then rushed in after that, slamming the blade of his axe into the barely recovered knight that Tytan had shield checked as he did so. Ubba's blow nearly lifting the other man clear off his feet as he let out a cry of pain and went flying backwards. Ubba following through with his assault, as the then slammed his armoured boot down onto the man's damaged breastplate and rammed the pommel of his axe into the man's helmeted head.
Not batting an eye at this Tytan by this point had instead engaged Loras in battle. Both of their blades moving swiftly as Loras took the fight to Tytan, his skill far above average as he whipped his sword around to bear on the Prince.
Unfortunately though his skill paled in comparison to Tytan's, and his strength and stamina could not compete with the Blessed Prince. Which meant that after about thirty seconds of clashing swords, and artful footwork, Tytan managed to slam the hilt of his sword into Loras's head. Before following it up by grapping the stupid plume of feathers coming-out of his helmet, which he then used to drag Loras's head down, where Tytan's armoured knee met it with a nasty crunching sound. The visor of Loras's helmet breaking away from the force of the blow.
"And I've not fallen for some random bird!" Tytan replied as he unleashed another armour punch to Lora's head, before he allowed him to slump to the ground. With that done Tytan then raised his gauntleted fist into the air, acknowledging the cheers of the watching crowd as he did so. "I've fallen for a woman of such beauty that it would shrivel your little mind just to set eyes on her."
"Bollocks!" Ivar replied enthusiastically as he too turned and waved to the crowd. "That's absolute horseshit and you know it."
"Ok she is some random girl I've never met, but she was beautiful and mysterious." Tytan responded easily, looking around the field as he did so and noticing that the three of them were the last ones standing. Which meant that since they were all wearing the Prince's colours that they could either fight it out for the prize money or share it.
"Aren't all women beautiful and mysterious in their own way?" Ubba suddenly spoke up, pulling off his helmet as he did so, and pushing his sweated drenched mane of hair back from his face as he did so.
Both Tytan and Ivar looked at the big man in surprise as they heard that.
"Well shit that sounded almost intelligent!" Ivar called out, as he too took his helmet off. Sheathing his short sword as he did so and leaning his axe against his shoulder.
"Hey I'm smart." Ubba grunted back, a slightly offended look on his face.
"You can't even read!" Ivar replied, a sudden look of glee on his face as he saw he was getting under Ubba's skin.
"You do know the big guy here could crush your skull like a grape if he wanted to, don't you?" Tytan asked, an amused expression on his face as he too sheathed his sword. After all it looked like they would be sharing the prize money, which was something the watching crowd seemed to realise as they continued cheering and shouting out the Prince's name and his victory.
"Yeah, but what does that matter when he can't even swim." Ivar replied cheerfully.
"That doesn't even make sense!" Ubba shouted.
Hearing this Tytan merely rolled his eyes at their bickering, before he looked around at the crowd. Noting as he did that his mother and Uncle were both applauding him from the royal box, with Myrcella and Tommen jumping up and down in excitement as they too cheered him on. He could also see his father drunkenly shouting out his name and his victory, looking barely conscious as he sloshed his wine over himself.
Seeing this Tytan rolled his eyes, before he raised his hand again, causing another roar from the crowd, both commonfolk and nobles alike, as they all stood and cheered for him. Many of them beginning loudly chant his name, much to his pleasure as he took his black antlered helmet off, showing his cheerfully smiling face to crowd, before he thrust his helmet into the air. The action garnering him even more cheers and adulation from the crowd as he did so.
Life was good.
( - )
(Around the same time, in Essos)
Daenerys Targaryen, a pale skinned girl, with silver hair and violet eyes let out a slight groan of discomfort as she shifted slightly on her mount. Her thighs aching from the unfamiliar feeling of riding a horse for hours on end.
Grimacing slightly at the ache, Daenerys took the opportunity to glance behind her and look at those following her, the Dothraki. A group of borderline savage warriors, who usually had long greasy hair, dark eyes and tanned skin. Often wearing leather tanned from the skins of their dead horses, and carrying bows and curved swords. They were brutes and killers, men who lived for battle and raiding.
Unfortunately though they were also now her people, whether she liked it or not. It was a cruel fate, especially for one of the last two Targaryens, the last members of a Royal House that had once ruled over Westeros for centuries. Before they were brutally usurped by the violent and volatile Robert Baratheon for imagined sleights.
Currently Daenerys was riding her pale white horse through the great grass sea, a vast plain of long grass that the roving bands of Dothraki regularly travelled. Riding just ahead of her, with his Bloodriders was her husband, Khal Drogo, the leader of a vast Khalasar of forty thousand strong, and someone she had barely spoken half a dozen words too.
Drogo was someone she had only met recently, but who she had been given to as a wife by her brother in return for the Khal's help in retaking the Iron Throne of Westeros for her family. Not that she had much choice in this, as she was instead expected to just grit her teeth and bear it.
Riding just behind Daenerys was her older brother, Viserys Targaryen, a tall, skinny man, with a slightly gaunt face, long silver coloured hair and violet eyes, which burned with hidden rage and madness. Though considering he had been forced from his home and had become known as the Beggar King, due to his constants attempts to sell off family treasures and recruit people to his cause of retaking the Iron Throne for his family, this was not too surprising.
At the moment the would-be king did not look pleased, though that might be because Khal Drogo, had not yet paid Viserys back for the Daenerys hand in marriage. Not that the Iron Throne of Westeros would be an easy prize to get, even for a Khalasar as large as Drogo's.
Riding beside Viserys, was one of his newest associates, Ser Jorah Mormont of House Mormont. From what Daenerys had learned, Ser Jorah had led once a profitable and happy life in Westeros. One which had been ruined due to his wife's desire for expensive things and extravagant living, and his own willingness to indulge her, to the point where it was only possible to provide her these expensive things by get into the business of slavery. A practice which was illegal in Westeros and which had led to the shaming of his House, and his permanent exile from Westeros under pain of death.
Daenerys grimaced at that thought, disliking the idea of slavery and what it entailed. With it being something that hit a bit too close to home when it came to her current situation of having been bartered to a Dothraki Horse Lord like cattle. Pushing that bitter thought away, Daenerys instead looked ahead, her eyes widening as she saw a large bronze statue of two prancing horses in the distance.
"Vaes Dorthrak, the home of the Horse Lords," Jorah Mormont suddenly spoke up from where he was riding slightly behind her, moving forwards so, so he was now beside her as oppose to her brother. A noticeable move as it put him ahead of her brother, a slight to him, whether he realised it or not.
Not that Daenerys cared too much, things having been quite tense of late, between her and her brother. Instead Daenerys just stared in awe at the two statues in the distance, acting like a gateway of sorts, to the sprawling settlement that she could just about see behind them.
Unlike Daenerys though, her brother was less than impressed at the site of the Dothraki's sacred land.
"It's a pile of mud. Mud and shit with some twigs. This is the best these savages can do?" Viserys remarked bluntly, uncaring of any offence he might cause. After all he was sure none of the Dorthraki could speak the common tongue of Westeros, and even if they could what would they do to him? He was a King after all, and they were little more than savages.
"These are my people now. You shouldn't call them savages brother," Daenerys replied to her brother, ignoring the fact that she actually shared his sentiments about the Dothraki. After all she was still angry at having been forced into his situation to begin with, one that was made only bearable due to her gaining some measure of freedom from her domineering brother.
"I'll call them whatever I like, because they are my people little sister. Just as this is my army, an army that Khal Drogo is marching the wrong bloody way!" Viserys replied sharply, before he rode ahead of Daenerys, spurring his horse onwards and away from her. "We should be taking them to Westeros not to this dung heap!"
Seeing this Daenerys frowned, a look of displeasure on her face at that. Her relationship with her brother having become even more tense and unpleasant than before. Partly because now she was no longer under his thumbs, she was able to see what a toxic, cruel and incompetent person he truly was.
"If my brother were given an army of Dorthraki like this one, do you think he could actually conqueror the Seven Kingdoms?" Daenerys asked Jorah, an impassive look on her face as she looked at the back of her brother as he rode ahead to the front of the column.
Jorah paused as he heard that, looking between the stoic Daenerys and her overly emotional brother, a conflicted expression on his face. Before with a sigh he decided to be honest with the girl.
"The Dothraki are a fierce fighting force, one of the most deadly in the known world. But never before have they tried to cross the Narrow Sea, not in all of the history of their people. In fact they fear any form of water their horses cannot drink, the poison water is what they call the sea." Jorah replied a contemplative expression on his face as he glanced at the girl beside him.
"But if they did?" Daenerys asked turning her gaze back to him. "If they did manage to cross the sea, could they take the Iron Throne?"
"If King Robert was foolish enough to venture out from his keep and meet them in open battle, where the Dothraki thrive with their horses, then yes. However the King for all of his incapability's as a ruler, is a great commander and warrior. On top of which he is advised by men who are equally as skilled if not more so." Jorah replied carefully, judging how much he should tell the girl as he didn't want to get her hopes up, nor did he want to dash them. "So I think it is unlikely that there will be straight up battles that the Dothraki thrive in, which means that any conflict would come down to a battle of attrition. One which would be a lot harder to win, and which could go either way."
"And you know these kind of men?" Daenerys asked, a slight frown on her face as she heard the opinion of the seasoned warrior. Trusting it more than she did her brother's dream filled diatribe about glory and battle, or Illyrio's questionable support.
"Aye. Some of them. I even fought beside a few of them during the Greyjoy Rebellion, and one of them, the Warden of the North, Ned Stark, wants my head." Jorah said straight forwardly, before he paused a slight frown on his face at the thought of Ned Stark. "He drove me from my lands for my...past actions, which resulted in me leaving my home and being exiled here. Despite my thoughts on him though, he is a competent strategist and is fiercely loyal to Robert."
"So he cannot be turned against the Usurper?" Daenerys asked curiously. "Surely others could though? The reign of my family was one of prosperity and for the most part peace. Robert Baratheon however is by your own admission a terrible king, a tyrant. Surely there are those that when they see our banners, will join us in retaking our throne?"
Jorah sighed as he heard that, the young girl having the same distorted view of her family that her brother did.
"The latter days of the Targaryen's reign was one of violence and bloodshed. There are many I believe who would not forget this." Jorah said carefully, before continuing as he saw Daenerys was about to protest. "However Robert is also an unpopular King, and likely does not have the support of all the Great Lords of the land, despite what he thinks. His son however, his son is highly respected, and is someone who I believe nearly every House in Westeros would be willing to follow?"
"His son?" Daenerys frowned, trying to think of who he meant. Before her violet eyes widened slightly. "You mean Tytan Baratheon?"
"Yes, Tytan the Blessed. A man blessed by the gods with unnatural strength and abilities. One who is quickly becoming known as the finest blade in Westeros, and who though not battle tested, would likely have the support of most of Westeros." Jorah replied, thinking back on the Prince as he did so. After all he had only met the boy once, but that was all he had needed to realise that he was unique.
It was the Prince's eyes that did it, they were not natural. They had seemed too old, too experienced, too wearied to belong to a child, like he had been at the time. The Prince was unnatural, Jorah knew that much, just as he had witnessed a display of his abilities at court. More than that though the Prince, for all his cavorting in his younger years, was widely respected. His mother having done a good job of enhancing his reputation and the Prince's skill and charisma having done the rest.
Daenerys frowned as she heard that. She did not know much of the Crown Prince, but she had heard he was a floundering whoremonger like his father, or at least that was what Illyrio had told her.
"Is there any truth to those words?" Daenerys asked, before frowning again as she saw Jorah nod.
"Once when I was in the capital, I witnessed him manipulating water. It was like nothing I had ever seen before," Jorah replied simply, his mind going back to the Prince, who had been a young boy back then, and the things he was capable of.
"And he is completely loyal to his father?" Daenerys asked.
"I'm not sure, I never was involved in the goings on of the inner court. Though from what I've heard he and his father have a strained relationship." Jorah answered honestly.
"So he could potential turn on his father and ally himself with us?" Daenerys questioned, pondering whether Tytan would be as traitorous as his father or whether he would stand by his families old oaths if he was called upon. After all a man blessed by the gods would surely have a sense of honour, honour enough to recognise the fealty his family had sworn to hers centuries ago.
"I doubt it, he is the Crown Prince after all." Jorah replied abruptly, not at all sure what Daenerys was thinking. In what world would a powerful man, a royal, surrender his position because of some oath his family were forced to swear under duress centuries ago?
Daenerys frowned as she heard that, but didn't say anymore as she instead looked ahead, her eyes locked on distant form of Vaes Dorthrak.
Life it seems had just gotten a lot more complicated.
( - )
(With Ned Stark in King's Landing)
A frown passed across Ned's face as he wandered through the streets of King's Landing, a number of his guardsmen following closely behind him, their hands on the hilts of their swords. As he walked through the hot and crowded streets, he couldn't help but think of his investigation over the death of Jon Arryn and his recent conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle a while ago.
(Flash Back)
"I have to say, I can't stand this heat. On days like this, I envy you Northerners with your Summer snow." Grand Maester Pycelle grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet, before he started to slowly trudge his way to the door. Where the old man could see most of the other Councilors had already left, leaving only himself and Ned Stark in the room. "Until tomorrow my Lord Hand."
"Actually Grand Maester, I was hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn?" Ned Stark suddenly spoke, causing Pycelle to stop moving as he instead frowned and turned to fully face the Hand of the King.
"Lord Arryn? Well, his death was a great sadness to us all. I took personal charge of his care early on, but alas I could not save him. The sickness that struck him, well he was an old man, and it hit him very hard. Very hard indeed. And very fast. I actually saw him in my chambers just the night just before he passed away." Pycelle said solemnly as he looked over at Ned. "Lord Arryn often came to me for council on what he considered to be delicate matters, something you yourself are more than welcome to do as well."
"You have my thanks Grand Maester." Ned replied, not that he would ever come to the old man for advice of course, even he could see the man was untrustworthy and self-serving. "Though may I ask what council he sort from you that day?"
"Well, from what I recall of the night in question, Lord Jon Arryn was inquiring strangely enough about a book that was in my possession," Pycelle explained, the slightest hint of discomfort entering his tone as he shifted about, his gaze on Ned.
"A book? What book did he ask about?" Ned inquired, curious about what this book was and whether it had anything to do with his death. After all, recent events had caused him to question the facts surrounding it.
"Ah, I fear it would be of little interest to you my Lord. A ponderous tomb few have ever taken up to read since it was written, in fact it's more of a record book then anything," Pycelle replied dismissively, already turning to make his leave.
"No. I would like to read it. If Jon thought it was an interesting read, then I would like to see it too," Ned spoke up, his eyes narrowing as he saw Pycelle reluctantly turn around his discomfort more obvious now.
With a sigh the Grand Maester then nodded his head, gesturing for Ned to follow him as he led him to his office. Which was very close to the Tower of the Hand, before he handed over the book in question. A very thick tome, one which Pycelle clearly struggled to lift.
"Why would Jon Arryn be interested in this book? It's a record of all the noble families of Westeros, both past and present?" Ned asked, a confused expression on his face as he tried to work out just what Jon had been up to before he died.
"As I said my Lord, it is a ponderous read for such a needless tome. It was collecting dust for some time prior to Jon Arryn wanting to read it." Pycelle said, once again trying to dismiss the importance of the book, as he walked over to his chair and sat down.
"Did Jon Arryn even mention why he wanted the book in the first place?" Ned asked, only to pause as he saw Pycelle shaking his head no.
"He did not my Lord. I did not presume to ask. I felt it wasn't my place to inquire about his sudden curiosity." Pycelle answered.
"Maybe he was looking for a bit of light reading…" Pycelle continued, before he let out a dry chuckle.
"Just before Jon died, did he say anything in his final hour of life?" Ned asked hoping to find some clue of what he had been up to, and whether it had anything to do with his death. Ignoring Pycelle's tasteless joke as he did so.
"Nothing of real importance my Lord. But, there was one phrase he kept on repeating to me, and to Robert and the Prince when they came to visit. Something he kept saying over and over again. I believe it was 'the seed is strong.' and he was looking off into the distance. As if he saw something in that final hour that I could not," Pycelle answered, sitting up straighter as he said that, his eyes narrowing.
Ned meanwhile frowned as he heard that, not at all sure what to make of Jon's last words.
"The seed is strong?" Ned questioned while looking at page he was reading in the book. "Do you have any idea what it could mean Grand Maester?"
"Oh, the dying mind is usually a deluded and demented one. For all the importance they are given, last words are usually as significant as their very first sentences as an infant in terms of trying to understand them. Sadly, Lord Arryn's last few words in that final hour make no more sense to me then a baby saying his or her first sentence," Pycelle continued simply, once again dismissing the importance of Jon Arryn's last words, just like he had his interest over the book. "I wouldn't pay any mind to them Lord Hand, I know King Robert did not."
"And you are quite certain he died of a natural illness?" Ned suddenly asked, with Pycelle looking up at him quite sharply as he heard that.
"Of course. What else could it have been?" Pycelle asked a frown on his face, as he gave Ned a suspicious narrow eyed look.
"Poison perhaps?" Ned asked, the weapon of an honourless coward, one who struck from the shadows.
"A disturbing thought to be sure. But...no. No. No. I don't think poison is likely the case here. The former Hand was loved by all. What sort of man would want to do that to Lord Jon Arryn?" Pycelle asked shaking his head as he did so, his tone quite certain this time.
"I have heard that poison is often described as a woman's weapon, a subtle thing, one which most often goes unexpected," Ned replied, a gauging look on his face.
With Pycelle easily conceding that fact.
"Yes. Women, cravens, and eunuchs are the ones who use such means to kill. Did you know Lord Varys is a eunuch?" Pycelle questioned offhandedly at the end, his eyes once again narrowed as he looked up at the Hand.
"Everybody knows that," Ned said before he turned to leave, the book under one of his arms as he gave Pycelle a nod and thanked him for his assistance.
(End of Flashback)
After that conversation, Ned had taken to reading the book in his spare time. He had also intensified his investigation. Which had led to him discovering that Stannis and Jon had apparently been talking more than usual of late, in small clandestine meetings. Ones he only found out about due to Lord Varys. Whose sources also told him that Jon Arryn had also visited many places in Kings Landing, including a certain armourer and one of the more upper-class brothels?
Why the King's Master of Whispers was being so forthcoming, Ned wasn't sure, but so far he had proven himself to be the most helpful person in King's Landing. Which was surprising as Ned had thought Petyr Baelish would be more helpful, after all Catelyn had told him that Baelish was an old friend of hers. Strangely though, outside of Small Council meetings the man seemed to avoid him like the plague.
In fact he seemed to spend most of his time in his brothels, only ever making a public appearance when a meeting was called, and even then he was usually surrounded by guards. Then again the man made Ned uncomfortable, so it was likely for the best. Plus Varys was quite the helpful ally, though he likely only gave Ned a small amount of what he knew.
Using the information he had found out though, Ned and his steward, Jory Cassel, along with several guards, were going to investigate the armourer Jon frequently visited. Ned having decided to go there today, as he was in a better mood than usual, having just received a letter from his wife that Bran was alive and had awoken from his coma.
Unfortunately though his son was crippled, his legs having been mangled by the fall. But he was alive, and his mind was sound, even if he wasn't aware of the events leading to his fall. So in the end it was good news that he had awoken and that no trouble had befallen him or Winterfell in Ned's absence.
Pushing those thoughts away for now, Ned instead focused on the blacksmiths shop. Which as he looked at it, he noticed was one of the largest buildings on the Street of Steel.
Soon after he met the owner of the shop, one Tobho Mott. A greasy, skinny looking man, with a greed glint in his eyes. Still though despite his mistrustful appearance, he at least acted very courteously when he met Ned, though he was quite boastful with him frequently commenting about him being the best armourer in Westeros.
Though judging from the quality of the armour and weaponry he could see, and the size of the shop he was able to afford, there was likely some truth to his boasting.
After a brief interrogation of the man, Ned learned that Jon had come to the armoury, because he had taken an interest in Tobho's apprentice Gendry. Not an untoward interest, more a curiosity, one which Ned deemed important. Which was why he waited for the boy in question to come and speak to him. Distracting the boy from his work in the forge as he did so.
Gendry looked up as he heard his Master calling him. A slight frown on his face as he carefully put down the helm and turned around, his gaze fixed curiously on the figure of Ned Stark, the man he recognised as Hand of the King, as his Master brought both him and one of his guardsmen into the shop.
The instant he saw the bastard blacksmith, Ned knew exactly what he was, but more importantly he knew what Jon's interest in the boy might have been.
After all Gendry with his broad face, piercing blue eyes, heavily built physique and thick black hair was the spitting image of a young Robert Baratheon. Which was not surprising consider the boy was almost certainly Robert Baratheon's bastard son.
Ned knew this the moment he saw him. Seven Hells Gendry looked more like Robert than any of his trueborn sons did, even Tytan, who physically only really took after his father with his dark hair.
Taking a few seconds to gather himself, Ned then noticed the helmet the boy was currently working on. A beautiful piece that was shaped like the head of a bull, gleaming and forged of blackened metal.
"This is fine work," Ned said, as he picked up the helmet and had a look, noticing that it was still in need of finishing and filing down. "How much for it?"
Instantly Ned could see a scowl on Gendry's face as he heard the question, one so reminiscent of Robert that it made Ned's stomach lurch.
"It's not for sale," Gendry replied defiantly, uncaring of Ned's status as Hand as he instead took the helmet off of him.
Another Lord might take offence to a response like that, but Ned merely waved Tobho off when he attempted to apologise, his grey eyes instead fixed on the boy. The slightest of smiles breaking through his stoic expression as he noticed that the boy had seemed to have inherited a number of Robert Baratheon characteristics as well as his looks. Such as the man's defiance, temper and stubbornness.
Ned left soon after that, only staying long enough to ask the boy a few questions before he did so, mostly about his mother, and what he knew of his origins. Which appeared to be nothing, as the boy didn't know who his father was and in fact just seemed quite uncomfortable when asked about him.
Fortunately though before he left Ned did manage to find out that Jon Arryn had also spoken to the boy and had asked him very similar questions, which just made Ned even more curious about what Jon was up to before his death and why that might have led to his death. His mind going back to the note Catelyn had received from her sister in the dead of night many months ago, when the King and his retinue had been travelling to Winterfell, a note which accused the Lannisters of Jon Arryn's death.
Scowling at that though, Ned couldn't help but think he was missing something here. Some great piece of the puzzle that tied all the mystery's surrounding Jon Arryn's death together. Pausing at that though, Ned came to the conclusion that he needed some space to think about it. Somewhere quiet and peaceful where he could mull over just what had happened to his old friend, and who the culprits were.
( - )
(With Tytan, at the Godswood)
Standing in the middle of the Godswood, Tytan looked sadly down at the felled trunk of a pale white tree. A Weirwood tree had once stood here in ages past, a symbol of the Old Gods, and one that the fanatics of the Seven had had cut down.
Despite that though Tytan still liked to come to the Godswood in King's Landing. Sure it wasn't as large as those in the north of the continent, but it was quiet and it was peaceful. On top of that Tytan could almost feel the energy of the place. Though whether that was due to the Old Gods being real, or due to the power of nature being stronger in this spot, Tytan wasn't sure.
Ironically theology had never been his strong point. He believed in what he could see, especially since he knew gods were real, or at least they had been when he had lived the life of Percy Jackson. Whether that was true here he wasn't sure, and nor would he be until he had seen proof of their divinity.
In recent weeks Tytan had found himself vising the Godswood more often, leaving his guards behind and just standing here in peace. It allowed him time to properly ruminate on things, such as the state of the world, and what his plans were to bring about the changes that he wanted to see.
Of course for the most part he thought of the dreams he had. Of what they could mean. After all dragons had been extinct for years now, and the walking dead were supposedly just a tale told to scare children. But staring at the remnants of the Weirwood tree, Tytan couldn't help but wonder about that.
He'd already identified the arid area the dragon's had flown over and the mighty city they had cast in shadow as Meeren, A large city in Essos, and one of the few that still openly practiced slavery. It was a place that Tytan would very much like to burn to the ground, were it not in another continent and thousands of leagues away.
He'd also come to the conclusion that his other dreams were of the land beyond the Wall. It was a guess but one he was quite confident in. Which of course begged the question about whether his visions of legions of the dead and the giant Weirwood tree were a premonition of things to come or whether they were events that had long since happened. The same could be said for his other visions. The dragons could have been from the time of old Valyria.
So far the only thing Tytan was sure about was that the girl had been real, the one with golden eyes, bronze hair and nut-brown skin. She'd been real, and more than that she was alive, he could feel that much.
A slight smile strayed across Tytan's mouth at the thought of the girl. He knew he must come across as obsessed, but he couldn't help it, the image of her had been burned into his mind. Realistically though Tytan knew he would not be able to marry her, after all his father had already entered into negotiations with Mace Tyrell. Arranging for Tytan to marry young Margery Tyrell, which was something that didn't concern him too much, from what he had heard she was beautiful, intelligent and generous.
The match was good, and Tytan knew that as a Prince it was expected that he would have to marry for the peace and prosperity of the realm, as oppose to some foolish notion like love. Selfish desires didn't matter, there was only his duty to people. Deep down he knew that, but still he couldn't stop thinking of the girl from his dreams. He wanted to meet her, to know her and gods willing to spend the rest of his life with her. It was bizarre and made no sense, then again that was always the case when it came to the hearts of mortals.
"Prince Tytan?" The voice of Ned Stark suddenly called out, knocking Tytan out of his thoughts as he turned to see the northern Lord approaching.
"Lord Hand, is there something you need?" Tytan replied, his tone mild as he pushed aside his irritation at being interrupted.
"No my Prince, I just came here to clear my thoughts. I find spending time in the Godswood helps me think." Ned replied, as he came to a stop next to Tytan, his stoic grey eyes gazing at what remained of the Weirwood tree.
Tytan's lips quirked upwards as he heard that. "It looks like that's something we have in common."
Ned hummed in response to that, before after a few moments he turned to look at the Prince. "May I ask you something?"
"Go for it." Tytan replied with a shrug.
"I heard you looked in on Jon Arryn before he died, did he tell you anything before he passed?" Ned suddenly asked, turning to fully face the Prince as he did so.
"Jon Arryn?" Tytan replied mildly, thinking back on the friendly if naive old man he had known and somewhat liked. He'd been one of the first ones to notice that there was something different about Tytan, that he was far too intelligent for his age. "He wasn't really saying much, and what little he did so was barely understandably. By the time I saw him, the fever had set in and he was delirious."
"What did he tell you exactly?" Ned asked a frown on his face at the lack of information he was receiving.
Tytan frowned as he heard that, weighing up the pros and cons of telling Ned Stark anything. After all he personally wasn't too keen on the man, that being said though he was honourable and seemed to take his job seriously, which Tytan could respect at least. After all there were far too few men like that in King's Landing, which is why Tytan had to often use brutal methods when it came to dealing with them.
A few moments later, Tytan finally decided to be helpful, after all the man was likely just seeking closure. "He said the seed is strong, though what he meant by that I'm not sure. I could only think it was wishful thinking that his son would be able to continue the line of House Arryn."
"Wishful thinking?" Ned asked, a frown on his face.
Tytan rolled his eyes as he heard that. "Surely you've heard that his son, your nephew is weak and sickly. I have doubts he'll make it to adulthood, and even if he does his weakness might be passed on to his children."
Ned grunted as he heard that, he had after all heard similar comments made about his nephew. With many people believing that the boy was so weak because Jon had been an old man when he fathered him.
A part of him had to admit he hadn't thought of that, but now the Prince had said it, Jon's words could have been about his son and the continuation of his line, which once again put Ned in a quandary. After all he still believed Jon had been assassinated, he just lacked a motive for the murder and the person behind it.
"Thank you my Prince, and forgive me for wasting your time with my questions." Ned finally said after a few minutes.
"It's no problem," Tytan replied, before he turned to leave. "If you want to ask anymore, I'd be willing to answer them."
( - )
AN: So what do you all think I hope you enjoyed it, it took me a while to write it as I found it quite difficult to balance the chapter. Still I think it is alright, would love to hear some feedback. So please leave a comment or a review.
By the way for those curious, someone has already guessed who the mystery girl is. Which genuinely impressed me. Not that I'll reveal it, that takes the suspense out of it.
In other news I have recently published a new story called 'The Renegade', which is a Harry Potter story. So if you're interested I'd love it if you have a read.
Plus I have a plan laid out for a potential Percy Jackson/ Avatar the Last Airbender story. Which I thought would be a pretty neat idea. Even so I wouldn't mind hearing people's thoughts on that kind of crossover.
So other then that I hope you all enjoy the story so far, and that you continue to read and review.
Thanks for reading and I will be back in a bit.
Greed720.
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