My Audio Books Chapter 864 Ggh

FanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Drama & Romance, [OC, Sansa S.] Daenerys T., Jon S., Words: 859k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Apr 16, 2018 Updated: Feb 11, 2020 2,418Chapter 94: Rise of the Dragon Queen

At Meereen…

Meereen remained in a state of mourning. Within the Great Pyramid, Daenerys and her lover Daario Naharis stand in a dark room with only a few candles lighting the room. Both of them stand over the body of Meereen's queen, heroine and greatest slave liberator—Queen Saqnizza Dhardu—who died of injuries sustained fighting Sons of the Harpy. Bells outside tolled and its denizens mourned her loss, former slaves and moderate ex-slave masters alike; the slaves cried "mhysa" meaning "mother" in the Old Ghiscari language.

Hizdahr zo Loraq, one of the former aristocratic slave traders in the city from an ancient and proud wealthy bloodline, walked into the room behind Daenerys and Daario to pay his respects and offered his condolences—not just for her, but for Saqnizza as well.

He lowered his head submissively.

"Word has already spread throughout the city, Your Grace. The people mourn the loss of their beloved monarch," he curtsied. "Saqnizza was… an admirable woman. Most heads of the noble houses might not have agreed with her, but we respected her for her spirit."

Daenerys didn't turn to face him. "The slave masters called her the 'Rebel Queen,' but the people we helped free knew her as 'Mhysa'. We didn't always see eye-to-eye on how best to free the former slaves and give them a future of their own," she said simply, "but I learned a lot from her. She was a good mentor." She frowned angrily. "And she died in an alley to protect those she freed from the chains of slavery, butchered by cowards who hide behind masks."

"We could pull back to the pyramid district, secure it and use it as a base from which to operate," Daario suggested, walking over to Daenerys. "Then we clean the city out, neighborhood by neighborhood, street by street, until the rats have nowhere left to hide. It's the best we could do to avenge Queen Saqnizza and deliver the people of Meereen justice they're entitled to."

The Dragon Queen looks over her shoulder and nods. "I prefer your earlier suggestion," she agreed. "Round up the leaders of each of Meereen's great families and bring them to me. One of them has to be clandestinely backing these insurgents."

"But… I'm the leader of my family," Hizdahr realized.

In that instant, two Unsullied march up behind Hizdahr and grab him roughly, restraining him as he is being led away whilst the former slave master protested loudly.

"No, Your Grace! I had nothing to do with this! Your Grace!"

One-by-one, each of the city's noble household heads were gathered and escorted beneath one of the Great Pyramids' Dragon Chambers—some came voluntarily whilst others were dragged into the chamber forcefully. Each of the men were uttering things to each other, asking why they were brought in for questioning when Meereenese still mourned. No doubt most will likely demand answers to their questions; with Saqnizza out of the way, there are no doubt some would easily accuse Daenerys of attempting to seize power.

The chamber was dark, with only Daario holding a lit torch. After a few moments, the Second Sons leader follows closely behind Daenerys, some Unsullied and a number of men. Daenerys turns around and looks directly at the gathered nobles, with only a distinct sound of chains rattling breaking the silence.

*RATTLE!*

"Geron naejot (Walk forward)," she ordered in High Valyrian.

Each of the Unsullied lowered their spears at the other men threateningly.

"Ao daor gaomagon bisa (You cannot do this)," one of them exclaimed.

The Unsullied begin walking forward, forcing the men to move. After a few moments, they stop. Chains rattle again.

*RATTLE!*

"Mēre tolī dekūra (Another step)."

The Meereenese were pushed further again by the Unsullied; Daenerys walked through them to the front of the group as they heard more chains rattle and dragons snarling. This terrified the nobility as they finally realized where they were being led to.

"Kessi ipradagon ao, lo nyke ivestragon zirȳ naejot. Kostis ipradagon ao sesīr lo nyke don't. Riñar. Mirri ivestragon eman tepagon bē va zirȳ (They will eat you, if I tell them to. They may eat you even if I don't. Children. Some say I should give up on them)," Daenerys explained. "Yn iā sȳz muña dōrī tepagon bē va zirȳla riñar. Ziry qilōnarion zirȳ lo ziry ēdruta (But a good mother never gives up on her children. She disciplines them if she must.)"

She glances over at Daario, who walks over and pushes one of the mumbling terrified men forward onto his knees.

"Yn ziry gaomas daor tepagon bē va zirȳ (But she does not give up on them.)"

The man's eyes widen as the dragon coming out of the shadows is none other than Rhaegal; jade-green and bronze scales with yellow-orange colored wings, he grew considerably larger during his captivity along with his brother Viserion—easily towering over the group of humans standing in front of him. Rhaegal's sharp teeth shined a bright orange hue in the darkness before the dragon opened its mouth and breathed fire on the Meereenese man. He erupted in flames, screaming loudly as he did.

"AAAHH! AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Both Rhaegal and Viserion stalked closer before tucking in, sinking their teeth into the man before fighting over their meal and ripping him in half. The Meereenese nobles were utterly horrified at the scene, either covering their eyes and mouths with shock or simply turning their heads to look away while taking occasional glances at the savage scene. Even Daario and Missandei looked equally disgusted, but Daenerys glanced over her shoulder towards the nobles.

"Qilōni iksis mijegon? Kostilus mirre hen iksā, kostilus nyke ivestragī se zaldrīzoti udligo. (Who is innocent? Maybe all of you are, maybe none of you are. Maybe, I should let the dragons decide)."

Hizdahr, still trembling, spoke out half-heartedly. "Valar morghūlis (All men must die)."

The other men besides Hizdahr grovel before Daenerys. The dragons continue eating. After a moment, Daenerys eyes Hizdahr up and down as Rhaegal and Viserion chomped down and tore the carcass apart. She then switched to using the Common Tongue.

"Don't want to overfeed them. Tomorrow perhaps," she said sarcastically.

Daario and the Unsullied take the men out. Daenerys watches her dragons eat for a moment, and then walks out herself.

The next day, however, word of what happened spread throughout the streets of Meereen. Dozens of free citizens gathered outside the Great Pyramid, demanding answers.

"Ziry drī hae se uēpa āeksia (She acts like the old masters)!" one of them protested.

"Se Muña Zaldrīzoti pendagon ēza īlva skoros's sȳrje syt īlva, yn zirȳla actions ivestragon lodaor! (The Mother of Dragon thinks she has our interests at heart, but her actions say otherwise)!" another shouted.

"Īlon iepagon qilōnarion (We demand justice)!"

"Daenērys Jelmāzmo narejozlivis Dāria Saqnizza iōragon syt lēda zirȳla gaomagon zaldrīzoti hae qilōnarion (Daenerys Stormborn dishonors Queen Saqnizza's memory with her use of dragons as punishment)!"

Daenerys did not expect word to spread so fast. She believed that she had Meereen's interest and the interest of its people at heart when she sentenced a former slave master to death, but was met with strong opposition from the local populace. The Dragon Queen watched as the Unsullied and Second Sons guarded the entrances to prevent an all-out riot from breaking out in the streets. Daenerys recognized that she might have made a mistake and had to make things right. All part of the lessons of ruling; taking a moment to compose herself, Daenerys donned a white dress with a silver dragon pin on her shoulder and walked over to meet the protestors.

"Uh, I don't think it's safe for you to be out here. They're really pissed at you," Daario implied.

'Normally I'd have agreed, but this is a problem I have to solve if I'm to rule the Seven Kingdoms,' she thought. "Quptenkī hen Mīrīn, rȳbagon nyke (People of Meereen, hear me)," she addressed them in High Valyrian, "Īlon mirre ilimagho se rēbagon hen īlva jorrāelagon dāria saqnizza. Sir, tolī than mirre, istiti iōragon hēnkirī— (We all mourn the loss of our beloved Queen Saqnizza. Now, more than ever, we must stand together—)"

One of the leading protestors rudely interrupted her. "Kesi daor sagon—! (We will not be—!)"

"Lyka! Ivestragī zirȳla ȳdragon! (Quiet! Let her speak!)" a moderate chastised.

"Ziry's iā quptenka! Ziry's daor mēre hen īlva! Dāria saqnizza dōrī ivestragī iā quptenka— (She's an outsider! She's not one of us! Queen Saqnizza would never let a mere outsider—)"

"Lyka! (Quiet!)"

Daenerys understood she had to pick her words carefully. "Iksan gīmigon bona iksan iā quptenka (I'm aware that I'm an outsider)," she spoke. "Nyke gīmigon bona nyke ȳdra daor sytilībagon kesīr. Ēdan daoriot else naejot jikagon, yn īles dāria saqnizza qilōni gūrotan nyke se ñuha azantys isse skoriot ziry emagon ilzitan īlva hen onto se geralbri (I know that I don't belong here. I had nowhere else to go, but it was Queen Saqnizza herself who took me and my people in where she could have thrown us out onto the streets)."

Murmurs were slowly dying down and silence flooded the streets as the Meereenese looked on.

"Nyke iēdrosa pendagon skorkydoso se buzdari āeksia treated vali, ābrar, riñar se hen quba mijegon; nyke iēdrosa pendagon se riñar nailed naejot guēse va se sikagon hen oktion (I still remember how badly the slave masters treated men, women, children and elders. I still remember the children nailed to wooden crosses on the outskirts of the city)."

Whispers spread among the free citizens who still carried with them the memories of their treatment when the Great Masters still ruled Meereen, along with at Astapor and Yunkai.

"Nyke could daor iōragon naejot urnēbagon pōja cruelty jikagon mirre dombo hae toil mijegon botagon. Mirri hen ao qilōni vīlībāzma lēda Dāria Saqnizza iēdrosa umbagon lēda īlva. Sesīr lo ziry's daor lēda īlva dombo, kosti rigle zirȳla lēda īlva. Nyke kivigon naejot ao kesi mazverdagon ziry paktot zirȳla (I couldn't stand by and watch their cruelty go any further while more innocent suffer. Some of you who fought with Queen Saqnizza still remain with us. Even though she's not with us anymore, I swear to you we will avenge her)."

Slowly but surely, few Meereenese started applauding which slowly grew in even greater numbers. Cheers and reassurances that the people will get the justice they so desperately wanted for as promised, Daenerys raised a hand up.

"Se dovaogēdy, Tȳni Trēsi se se oktion urnēbagon kessa arghugon ilagon se Trēsi hen Jazdanī kessa sagon arghugon ilagon se kessa addemmagon syt pōja quba. Se pār … (The Unsullied, Second Sons and the city watch will hunt down the Sons of the Harpy will be hunted down and will pay for their crimes. And then…)" she paused for a moment, "se pār Mīrīn kessa iderēbagon iā arlie dāria (and then Meereen will choose a new Queen)."

Heckles and jeers were replaced by applause and cheer.

"Ñuha ondor ōregon kessa mērī mērī sagon mība. Skori se Trēsi hen Jazdanī issi maghatan naejot sepār se se buzdari āeksia issi daor qringaomio, Mīrīn kessa umbagon dāez. Syt sȳz. (My reign will only be brief. When the Sons of the Harpy are brought to justice and the slave masters are no longer a threat, Meereen will remain free. Permanently.)"

*CHEER!*

*APPLAUSE!*

"Dohaeragon īlva gaomagon īlva dāez (Help us keep our freedom)!"

"Maghagon ilagon se Trēsi hen Jazdanī (Bring down the Sons of the Harpy)!"

"Syt se Mysha (For the Mother!)"

"Syt Dāria Saqnizza (For Queen Saqnizza)!"

Daenerys Targaryen smiled and waved as the Unsullied and Second Sons began assisting the Meereenese City Guard spreading word. The search for Queen Saqnizza's killers was already underway and once the threat was dealt with, Meereen will be free to select a new sovereign from one of their own ranks. For now, at least, the city-state was under the control of Daenerys Targaryen. She looked at Daario.

"Take me to him," she requested.

Her lover looked visibly annoyed, but did as he was told. Being escorted by Grey Worm and Missandei, Daenerys opened the Great Pyramid's door to the dungeons and stepped inside, revealing a frightened Hizdahr zo Loraq who immediately threw himself at her feet.

"My, my Queen, please don't kill me!" he begged.

"How pathetic…" Daario rolled his eyes.

Daenerys looked down at him with the calm composure of a ruler. "What about 'Valar morghulis' (All men must die)?"

"I did not want to die," Hizdahr sobbed. "Apparently I do not want to die at all."

"It takes courage to admit fear. And to admit a mistake," she told him. "I'm here to tell you I was wrong about what I said. I was wrong and Saqnizza was right, about tradition, about bringing the people of the city together. As the interim Queen of Meereen, my first act, of course, will bringing her killers to justice. During that time, I will reopen the fighting pits… to free men only. Slavery will never return to Meeren, not while I live."

"Yes, my Queen. As you wish, my Queen."

"And in order to forge a lasting bond with the Meereenese people, I will marry the leader of an ancient family."

Hizdahr nodded.

"Thankfully a suitor is already on his knees."

Daario felt his eyes widen. "Wha…?" he looked confused.

Hizdahr looked surprise at the announcement. Daenerys faintly smiles and then leaves, leaving both men with the door wide open. Once by herself, Daenerys massaged her temples—feeling a headache coming.

"One thing leads to another…"

At Dragonstone…

Darkness fell upon the island of Dragonstone; with only lights shining out from King's Landing in the distance.

Still remained confined to his cell, Gendry was rather upset. Used and tossed aside, wanting to join a worthy cause only for the Brotherhood Without Banners to turn on him and hand him over to a woman he never met, and now tossed into a cold, hard, unforgiving cell for seemingly no reason at all. Gendry yanked at the chains at his ankles and threw loose pebbles at the wall. The guard paid no mind and was fast asleep, his wine jug slipping through his fingers.

Gendry snorted. 'Every time some noble looks for me, they want to kill me.'

He heard silent footsteps approaching his cell before a loud bonk and a groan. Turning his head, the prison guard was knocked out and slumped to the floor. Gendry glanced up and saw a tall, well-built hooded figure looking down at him as they picked the lock.

"This place not to your liking? Let me guess: Stannis Baratheon was mean to you?" the voice was feminine. "Locked you in here and threw away the key?"

Gendry didn't answer, watching only as his apparent savior bent down to pick up the guard's keys. He shook his head.

"I should've known that every time a highborn asks me my name, it's trouble," he complained.

She felt sympathetic. "What makes you say that?"

"Why do I have to answer to you? I bet you're just another highborn lady. We're not really people to you. Just ways to get what you wa—"

*BONK!*

She hit Gendry on the top of his head, making the young apprentice blacksmith wince slightly. The young woman did not appreciate such unfair accusations.

"I am not a highborn, nor am I a lady," she said. "I'm a bastard. Just like you."

'Great… Mouth open, foot first,' he realized. Gendry might've had his own faults and he knew when he overstepped his bounds. The memory of Bodrin getting stabbed while he was being taken away still bothered him.

"How did you know I'm a bastard?"

"I just do."

"Then… who are you?"

The young woman removed her hood. She had short black hair and blue eyes, looked about six years older than Gendry, and her attire was more masculine and consistent of leather instead of the traditional porcelain or silk dresses.

"The name's Mya. Mya Stone," she introduced herself.

"Mya… Stone?"

"All bastards born in the Vale of Arryn carry the surname 'Stone' provided that their father acknowledges them first."

"You're quiet a long way from home," Gendry pointed out.

Mya shrugged, trying to fit one of the keys into the lock. Her frustration grew. "Tell me something I don't know," she groaned. "Got a letter from the Riverlands sent to us from some old man. Bodum, Berim… I can't remember."

Gendry's eyes shot up. "Bodrin?"

"That's the name."

"He's… he's still alive?"

"Believe me, if he wasn't then Lord Royce wouldn't have sent me down here to break you out of this hellhole."

Feeling a wave of relief and guilt flooding over him, Gendry felt as if his heart sore to greater heights when Mya Stone informed him that Bodrin was in fact still alive and sent a raven to Runestone. The fact that it was a fellow bastard helping him, it sent him a signal that he was not alone.

"Well look at you. Black hair, blue eyes… you almost look just like me," Mya pointed at him.

Gendry shook his head. "Why're you telling me this? I mean… what's your point? What did Bodrin tell you about me?"

Silence befalls the dungeons before Mya grunts, listening to some birds cawing outside.

"Just plain and simple really: find a bastard on Dragonstone, sneak in the castle, get him out. But when your friend's letter explained why, I was kinda tickled pink."

Gendry said nothing as Mya finally unlocked the cell and helped him out. Sneaking quietly past the guards, he felt now that it would perhaps be the only time to ask questions.

"So why did you?" he whispered.

"Why did I what?" she asked quietly.

"Why did you really come all the way down here just 'cause some lord told you when it was really my friend who asked 'em? This Royce fellow you're father or something?"

Mya shook her head. "Lord Yohn Royce is not my father," she answered. "Only vague memories I had of him was when I was a little girl. Tossing me in the air, catching me…"

"You're lucky. I never had a father growing up. Never wanted one. Was born when he grabbed my mother instead of the girl next to her in the tavern, telling her he'd…"

"…promise her the world."

Gendry blinked. How did she know that? Treading down a flight of stairs leading to the outside, Mya got a sense of why he brought that up as she brought ashore a small row boat.

"Haven't you ever wondered where your strength came from?" she pressed suddenly. "How I can tell you have a talent for fighting like me?"

'My strength came from learning how to be a blacksmith,' he wanted to tell her. "I'm a lowborn."

"So am I, yet do you hear me complain?"

"My mother was a tavern wench."

"Mine was a commoner."

"I ended up becoming a blacksmith's apprentice. For a time. You?"

"A guide leading trains of mules through the dangerous, treacherous rock climbs from the Vale to the Eyrie. Made the dark climb a hundred times without an accident."

Gendry felt comfortable with the conversation with Mya Stone going the way it is before blurting out. "You said we looked almost alike. Why?" he asked. "Are you saying my father was some lord or…"

Mya looked at him before pointing in the direction of King's Landing. "His house was the Red Keep. Didn't you know that by now?"

"I'm just a bastard," he insisted. "Just like you."

"Yet you have the same blood as me," she pointed a finger at his chest

Gendry shook his head. "Wait, are you telling me…?"

Mya nodded. "Yes. We are the bastards of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men; which in a sense makes me your half-sister. Why else do you think your friend Bodrin went out of his way to get you as far away from the massacre so badly?"

At that moment, Gendry felt himself at a loss for words and felt an inkling of hope grow within him. Whatever reason for, he did not know.

"Which means…?"

"It means that our current King, Daveth Baratheon the Oathkeeper, is our trueborn brother."

'This-this is… I-I have a sister? A brother?' he thought to himself, noticing his hands shaking slightly. 'I have a family… A real family!'

"Get in the boat," Mya broke his concentration. "I'll take you to Rook's Rest. That's as far as I'll go. Where you decide to go from there, it's up to you."

Gendry shook his head. "Where will you go?" he asked.

"I have to go back to Runestone. Let your friend know your safe. Just… don't drink seawater, okay?"

"I know not to drink seawater!"

"Good."

"What about the red woman? The lord of this castle… I mean, our uncle?"

"They're not even here, and besides they can't touch you if you learn to keep a low profile."

"Fine, fine."

"You ever been in a boat before?"

"No."

"Do you know how to swim?"

"No."

Mya groaned. "Just sit in the center and don't shake the boat or we'll both fall out and drown."

Gripping the oars, Mya found her tempo and rowed backwards bit by bit. Gendry did his best to keep his weight centered to keep the boat steady and felt thankful for this chance to live and meet relatives he didn't know he had. The Street of Steel, the Riverlands… the places Gendry traveled to with Bodrin seemed like a distant memory. But perhaps for the first time in his life, Gendry felt that he was no longer alone. He had friends and a family; perhaps he'd like to meet his brother someday once things have settled down.

'I'm Robert Baratheon's son. Bastard son,' he told himself. 'King Robert's my father…'

Chapter EndFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

Aboard the King Robert's Warhammer…

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Daveth stood in his private chambers with his family—holding his daughter Cassana. Sansa held their son Lyonel in her lap with Myrcella playing peek-a-boo with her nephew. The twins were nearly a year old and had grown from infancy to entering the first stage of toddlerhood; their teeth were growing in, their black hair were growing (though Cassana's had been even longer and straighter with a tiny strand depicting the Tully color). Lately, one in particular was being a bit playful.

"Where's the baby?" Myrcella said, covering her face with her hands before moving them away. "There he is!"

Lyonel giggled at his aunt's antics. Sansa smiled as she bounced her son on her lap. Jaime Lannister, meanwhile, looked on at this family gathering whilst the ship was one week away from returning to the capital.

"Where's the baby? There he is!"

Daveth looked on as his son let out another wave of giggles. The Young Stag was looking more tired and slightly pale; his left arm didn't ache, but he still often felt a slight pinch on his shoulder from where the assassin's hounds bit him. A Tyroshi healer on deck, Serella Vhassaar, checked on him earlier believed it to be the case of emotional exhaustion and had recommended he take at least two or three days to rest and inform her if there were any complications.

"Dada," Cassana piped up, patting her hands against Daveth.

He looked down at her. "Yes, firefly, I see you."

Sansa smiled as she watched Daveth poke Cassana's tiny nose, listening to their daughter squeak with surprise before giggling whilst stretching her hands out—snuggling against her father. The warm sight was soon interrupted when a tiny pair of hands reached up and grabbed her red hair, tugging downward quite roughly.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Sansa winced, gently unfolding Lyonel's hands from her hair. "Sweetheart, don't pull on mama's hair like that, all right?"

The male twin looked amused. "Mama," he simply said to her.

"No, Lyonel, no; that wasn't very nice."

Jaime found this somewhat entertaining. "Well, well; seems as if he's got a natural talent for roughhousing."

Sansa rolled her eyes, visibly not amused. "My, how funny you are as of late, Ser Jaime. Need I remind you that raising children is harder than it looks the older they get?"

"Figuring that you grew up with three brothers, you'd be more accustomed to handling boys."

Myrcella chimed in. "Well, I think you two have been doing a very good job at raising them."

"Well, you're not the first to tell us that," remarked Daveth wearily. "Bringing children into the world and raising them is not as easy as one might think."

They all noticed his tone of voice. He sounded so… drained; burned out.

"Dearest…" Sansa spoke up.

"Come now, Sansa. Don't give me that look—"

"Dearest," she repeated more firmly.

Daveth sighed, knowing he wasn't going to win this argument this time. "Fine… I'm just worn out. The journey these last four years has been… very long."

"Perhaps a bit too long for some of us," Myrcella suggested. "Maybe once we've all returned to King's Landing, the two of you could afford to use some personal relaxation time?"

The Wolf Queen appeared to nod her head in agreement. "I concur. Our duty has been keeping us from spending quality time with our loved ones for quite some time now. With peace restored to the Seven Kingdoms for good, sometimes the most productive thing we can do is relax; especially with the children."

'Oh, how I wish that were possible…' the Young Stag thought to himself. "Then, I suppose being selfish for a while couldn't hurt…"

Jaime glanced at his nephew; somewhat surprised with his compliance, he knew Daveth was never the kind of person to just sit down on his laurels doing nothing. Yet the Kingslayer suspected this was mostly for his health, to get his mind off the tasks at hand just to get him to relax for a moment.

"Which reminds me," he begun, "isn't your first anniversary just around the corner?"

"Already? Feels like as if it were just yesterday," exclaimed Sansa.

"Well, I should get you something nice," Daveth offered.

"Please, dearest, you don't have to go out of your way for me. Already have what I want: you, and our children."

Cassana gave a quiet yawn and rubbed her eyes. Daveth looked down at his daughter climbed up to bury her face in his neck.

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Should we take that as a cue to leave you two alone for a while?" he asked.

Myrcella stifled a teasing chuckle. "If you wanted privacy, all you needed to do was ask."

"Very funny, 'Cella." the Young Stag shot back.

Teasing aside, Myrcella stood from her seat and hugged her brother and poked her niece's cheek.

"Be good to mommy and daddy now, all right?"

Cassana looked confused as she watched her aunt leave the room with Jaime following close behind her. Now alone with his wife, Daveth shook his head. He was slowly becoming more tired as the day went on; glancing out the window, he watched the bright, sparkling light of the sun reflecting from the water waves of the Narrow Sea and listened to the sound of the waves brushing against King Robert's Warhammer. Sansa carried Lyonel on her hip, stood up and approached Daveth.

"Daveth," she brushed his shoulder.

"Yes?"

Sansa brushed her hand across Daveth's forehead, brushing his black hair upward before pressing her brow against his. The Young Stag felt the tip of his nose touching his wife's, knowing full-well that she was taking his temperature. If he tried to push her away or attempt at lying, she'd immediately know about it and call him out for it.

"Hmm. You do feel a bit warm," she said. "Tell me. Are you actually feeling alright? Don't tell me otherwise just to make me feel better. I know you."

"Dada?" both the twins whined.

Daveth shook his head, transferring Cassana to Sansa. "No," he admitted. "No, I don't feel well at all. I'm tired, my shoulder hurts, my throat's dry… and now I've got a headache."

The Wolf Queen carried both twins on each hip, hoisting her posture straight upwards. Leaning her head downwards a bit, Sansa narrowed her eyes slightly and noticed a stitch was coming undone. "I'll send for Serella and have her check on you."

Before Sansa could leave to fetch the vessel's onboard healer, she heard her husband call out from behind her.

"I'm sorry."

She raised a curious eyebrow. "For what?" she asked.

Daveth turned to look up at his wife. "For putting you through so much—whether it's by my words or actions. Kept problems private and locked away; tried not to make an issue out of it. I thought I was keeping you safe at the time, in spite of everything, but I realize now that all I did was made you worry. Can you forgive me?"

Sansa felt a pang; taking in what Daveth admitted to her. How long was he keeping this to himself? Had it been years ago, she would've pressed on the matter even further. But now that she's grown, matured… a full-fledged mother and a Queen, Sansa had learned more than many appeared to have let on.

"Dada?" the twins piped up again.

"I don't think less of you, if that's what your concern is," Sansa said. "But what I do know is that you care about me—about us, our children—in your own way."

"Sansa—"

"I forgive you. Just… don't keep anything hidden from me again. If something's bothering you, then tell me."

Daveth nodded. "I promise."

Sansa understandingly nodded, pleased with her husband's self-reflection throughout their long journey. "Now unless if there's anything else you'd like to share with me, then I suggest you get to bed and try to get some rest. I'll get Serella."

Daveth gripped the arms of his seat and stood up, making his way to the bed in compliance with Sansa's request. As soon as he kicked his feet up and lied down on his back, Daveth watched as his wife and children took off.

"Dada," he heard Cassana call out once more from the hallway.

The Young Stag inhaled through his nostrils and exhaled through his mouth. Bringing his right hand up, Daveth placed his knuckles on his forehead—clearing his throat which soon turned into a dry, rough cough; Daveth's chest started hurting as he coughed up more phlegm. He shut his eyes tight, momentarily, before reopening them and turned his head sideways to avoid direct contact with sunlight.

"Ah, Seven hells…" he groaned.

Brushing his hand against his brow, Daveth started sweating and his eyes were looking as if they had started becoming bloodshot. He felt miserable; shoulder still ached, his bones felt like they were made of napalm, he couldn't keep his thoughts as he felt a strange taste in his mouth. Daveth's face twisted and contorted, feeling as if a foreign liquid iron-like substance assaulted the back of his throat and taste buds.

After another round of hard coughing, Daveth stuck two fingers into his mouth. Pulling the digits out, the Young Stag was surprised at the thick red coloring on the tip of his fingers. Blood!

'Fuck… No, no, no,' he privately complained to himself.

Roughly throwing his head back on the pillow, ignoring the pinch in his shoulder, Daveth wiped his mouth with a napkin, cleaning his hand and tried to get some sleep… to no avail. Indeed, he felt miserable.

But one thing was a certainty: King Daveth of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name… was ill; the worst he's ever felt since the Greywater Fever epidemic seventeen years ago.

At the Dreadfort…

Further in the North, in the forest surrounding the Dreadfort, the seat of House Bolton, three dogs were barking in the distance. A peasant girl was running through the forest in a state of panic, panting heavily and tears streaming down her cheeks. She wore a white dress, but was so dirtied from the grass stains, mud and puddle backsplashes; her blonde hair hung past her face as she leaned against a tree.

"Tansy!" a female distant voice called out to her from far away. "Tansy!"

"Tansy!" a male voice called out.

*ARF-ARF!*

*RUFF-RUFF!*

Desperation and fear gripped the young woman tightly and she immediately started running as fast as her legs could carry her again. Behind her, three dogs barked and growled loudly as they chased after her. Behind them, however, ran Ramsay Snow with his sadistic lover Myranda, armed with a bow and arrow and holding hands with one another.

Ramsay and Myranda appeared visibly happy, excited and enjoying themselves. One of the Dreadfort's servants crept up behind them, feebly trying to keep up. The hunting dogs continued barking.

*ARF-ARF!*

*RUFF-RUFF!*

"Tansy! Tansy!" shouted Ramsay.

Tansy runs through the woods, the hunting dogs barking in pursuit. In her desperate attempt to escape, she nearly trips over a tree root and exclaims.

"Aaah!" she shrieks.

"Ah! There you are!"

"Nooo!"

Myranda sadistically laughs. "I can't see her, Ramsay!"

Thoughts flooded through Tansy's head; she was a servant of House Bolton in servitude to Lord Roose and was one of his bastard son's Ramsay Snow's bedwarmers. She did everything Ramsay told her, whatever he wanted. But when she was told that he grew 'bored' of her and took her onto a hunt, Tansy realized that she was next on the list: along with Violet and Kyra. She was about to be killed for sport! Tansy quickly hid behind a tree, trying to catch her breath.

Ramsay and Myranda, with bows in hand, each fire arrows at Tansy as they go.

*T'CHI!*

*SCHHWAFF!*

"AAaH!" she shrieked and ran off again. Ramsay's arrow strikes the tree, just inches from her face.

"If you make it out of the woods, you win!" Ramsay exclaimed gleefully. "Run, Tansy, run!"

Myranda expertly notches an arrow and lets it fly.

*T'CHI!*

*TWANG!*

The arrow flies past Tansy, who stumbles down into a muddy stream, gasping and screaming. She scrambles on all fours in panic, hands and knees, pausing only for a few moments to hide in one of the nearby shadowed stream beds, sobbing.

"Tansy!"

"Where is she?"

Looking left and right for any possible escape routes, Tansy quickly turns to notice the hunting dogs barreling down the stream towards her.

*ARF-ARF!*

*RUFF-RUFF!*

Shrieking and whimpering, Tansy runs again. The dogs chase her through a small tunnel and back into the woods proper.

"Tansy, Tansy, Tansy!"

Stretching her bowstring back, Myranda takes aim and fires off another arrow with concentration and precision.

*T'CHI!*

*TWANG!*

*WOOSH!*

*THUNK!*

"GAAAHH!" shrieked Tansy.

Myranda's arrow landed a direct hit in Tansy's right leg, sending her fall down into the ground hard. She sobs in agony, clutching her leg with the arrow penetrating her skin and stained her dress with blood. Unable to move and left completely helpless, Tansy cried as the three hunting dogs surrounded her on all sides and closed the gap—still barking and bearing their teeth at her, terrorizing her.

This sudden end to the hunt allowed Ramsay, Myranda and their servant to finally catch up.

"Good girls," Ramsay beckoned to his hounds. "Down, girls. Down. Well done." He turned to Myranda. "You, too."

"I only wounded her," she stated plainly.

"You brought her down. That's what matters. A fine shot. Wasn't it, Dontar?"

He nodded. "A fine shot, Lord Ramsay. My lady."

"Please, my lord! It hurts!" sobbed Tansy, referring to the arrow in her leg.

Ramsay noticed. "Oh, sweet. Don't cry. It will be over soon."

Myranda notches another arrow and takes aim, pulling it back in her drawstring. "She thinks she's pretty. Let me put one through her face."

The Bolton bastard, however, stopped her. "We have to reward the hounds, love. They did all the hard work?"

"Why?" Tansy beseeched through her sobs, pleading for mercy with fear in her eyes. "I did whatever you asked!"

"But you made Myranda feel jealous."

"Me?" she said, a bit taken aback. "Jealous of her?"

"My lord, please!"

Ramsay turned to Tansy, turning from jaunty to mocking the terrified girl with a sadistic grin on his face. "You can see that your presence has become a bit of a problem." He quickly turned ferocious. "Rip her!" he ordered. "Rip her! Rip her!"

One by one, the hunting dogs lunged at Tansy and started tearing her to shreds. Her screams filled the air as one bit into her leg, the other clamped down onto her arm whilst the third sank its teeth into her throat and tore it out; Tansy's shrieks were silenced as she gurgled on her own blood—splattering everywhere as her lifeless body shook and trembled as the hunting dogs resumed their feasting.

"Not so pretty now," Myranda commented.

Ramsay Snow grinned wickedly at the sight. Today was a good hunt. Sounds of ripping flesh filled the woods. As the Bolton bastard watched his hounds, a meek messenger from the Dreadfort limped his way through the forests.

"P-p-pardon me, L-Lord Ramsay," he said.

Quickly feeling irritated at his hunt being interrupted, Ramsay quickly glared at him. "What?" he said indignantly.

Fumbling his hands through his sleeves, he pulled out a rolled parchment.

"Lord Bolton has… has requested your pr-presence. S-says it's i-important."

"Fine…"

Agitated that his hunt was brought to an end by his father's orders, Ramsay and Myranda and their hounds were eventually led back to the castle of Dreadfort. In the courtyard, the Bolton bastard had already dismissed his lover Myranda back to the kennels where her father was waiting him.

Standing by the gates, Ramsay watched as his father Lord Roose Bolton and his new stepmother Lady Walda of House Frey, who is clearly intimidated by her new surroundings. She had a kind face, though she was quite large and round—clearly as seen as she needed help dismounting from her horse. He couldn't believe how fat the woman in front of him was, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut as they dismounted and approached.

"Father," he greeted. "You wanted to see me?"

Roose Bolton, now a bearded man, coldly stared at him. "Walda, this is Ramsay Snow, my bastard."

Ramsay smiled, stepping forward to kiss her cheek. "A pleasure to meet you, mother."

"Oh, uh, hello," Walda said feebly, smiling awkwardly.

"See that the horses are fed, watered and rubbed down. And take Lady Walda to her chambers," the Lord of the Dreadfort instructed a nearby servant.

"This way my lady."

As soon as Walda and the servants were finally out of earshot, Roose guided Ramsay inside the Dreadfort. He sat down by the fire, aching and exhausted.

"Well?" he demanded.

Ramsay look dumbfounded. "'Well' what?"

"I know about Locke. His escape."

Ramsay frowned; clearly knowing that Roose had figured out of Locke's release from confinement. The Bolton bastard suspected that deep down he knew the plan to assassinate Princess Myrcella Baratheon, to start another war… had somehow must've ended in failure. Otherwise his father wouldn't have approached him like this.

"I leave the Dreadfort in your hands during my absence," Roose continued, "and when I returned I find myself facing more criticism and accusations."

"You can't let these lesser lords get to you, father," he deflected.

"If it comes down to another war, and should it be primarily focused up here, then we don't have enough men to hold the Dreadfort if the entire North decides to attack us. Do you understand that?"

"Our last agreement with the Starks and the Oathkeeper ensured that—"

Roose cut him off abruptly. "I had to make a multitude of concessions to our fellow Northmen to ensure that House Bolton's social standing wouldn't be jeopardized, and parleying alliances into greater power," he scolded Ramsay. "I had to make a pact with Daveth Baratheon after liberating Moat Cailin during the war and yet word had already traveled fast about a 'renegade Northmen's assassination plot' in Dorne. Locke was one of my best hunters, and you played your games with him. You played your games with my own men. Do you think lifting a siege is the same a facing a prepared, provisioned and united Westeros?"

"No."

"Word of this cannot be allowed to spread any further. If it does, a reckoning will come. House Bolton remains in servitude to House Stark, and the Starks have a Queen. The North won't bother reasoning with us if they believed one of their own is threatened."

Ramsay thought of an idea, and fast. "I'll have a team of men to ensure that what happened was just a rogue madman. Nothing more. And House Bolton had absolutely nothing to do with it, even swearing by both the Old Gods and the New that we remain in good faith in compliance with the pact we made."

Roose looked unconvinced. "I placed far too much trust in you," he said simply. "Do what you have to to quiet the rumors and be swift. I'll not have my banners dragged through the mud with another one of your games again."

Leaving the room in a huff, Ramsay went into his chambers and slammed the doors loudly. Gritting his teeth, his father's scolding only served to confirm his suspicions that Locke had indeed failed his mission and a reprisal was bound to arise at some point.

"Ah, no matter," he uttered once he calmed himself down. "This changes nothing in the end. Father wants the rumors to be silenced, then they'll be no more."

Kneeling down, he threw back a curtain to revealed a tied up and gagged, Jeyne Poole. Ramsay had captured them during one of his hunts and discreetly brought them to his private chambers in the Dreadfort, avoiding Stark sentries in the progress. Her father, Vayon Poole, was also taken captive and tied up on an x-shaped wooden cross, also gagged into silence.

"Word has already spread about a third Stark just up and vanishing without a trace. Heard the Young Wolf himself is rather unnerved by it all. Can't say I blame him, but what does it matter?" he grinned, pressing a knife at Vayon's cheek. "You know, my mother taught me not to throw stones… but my father taught me, 'aim for their head'!"

Vayon tried moving his head away, but Ramsay forced it back down. Jeyne, meanwhile, muffled protests and pleas but was simply ignored.

Ramsay continued his menacing torture. "Then again he also told me, 'A naked man has few secrets; a flayed man, none.' Such as when my ancestor Royce Bolton the Fourth dealt with his enemies when he pulled out their entrails. I admire that."

Removing the knife from Vayon's face, Ramsay surprised both by shoving his knife deep into the elder Poole's gut and disembowels him in front of his daughter Jeyne, tearing his insides apart and killing him. Jeyne shouted behind her gag, visibly distraught at the brutal murder of her father before Ramsay turned his gaze towards her.

"Oh? If you think this has a happy ending, you obviously haven't been paying attention." He pressed the blood-covered knife at her dress, tearing it slightly. "I have a role I'd like for you to play. To pretend to be someone you're not."

Jeyne remained motionless, stricken with fear and grief.

"You will be Arya Stark from now on. And you… are mine."FanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

At King's Landing…

Word had already arrived to the court, preparations were being made for the inevitable return of the royal family from their voyage to Dorne. Prince Tommen Baratheon, in particular, was among the first of many to stand at the shores of King's Landing… eagerly awaiting to greet his older brother and sister. Tommen hadn't seen Myrcella since her departure from the capital. In accordance with Daveth's decision, Tommen's wedding to Margaery Tyrell would begin once he came back and Myrcella's to Trystane would begin a fortnight after his.

Whilst overlooking several documents, Hand of the King Tyrion Lannister shuffled about and readied himself for his eldest nephew's return. Accompanying him were the Master of Whisperers, Varys, and his uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister—now having assumed full command of the Lannister armies.

"Still, the reports we've been getting have been… very odd," Tyrion remarked.

Varys had his hands folded in his sleeves. "Stranger things have happened, my friend. My little birds tell me things are proceeding as discreetly as possible, and word has already been sent to the North ahead of schedule."

"Meaning the Stark boy will likely determine what has happened. I'd expect quite a vicious retaliation from his part, considering current events."

"Oh, no one disputes that, not even the multitudes that often worry they might be next."

Tyrion, Varys and Kevan walked down the steps towards the bay. "It's almost funny," he mused. "My brother was the youngest Kingsguard in history at the age of 16. My sister became Queen at 19. When I reached manhood, my father put me in charge of all the drains and cisterns in Casterly Rock."

"A most highborn plumber," the eunuch remarked.

"The water never flowed better. And all the shit found its way into the sea. I never expected to have any real power. So when Daveth named me Hand of the King—"

"You're quite good at being Hand, you know? Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were good men. Honorable men. But they disdained the game and those who played. Lord Tywin was a brilliant administrator and a master strategist, but even he had his flaws. You enjoy the game."

"I do. Last thing I expected."

"And you play it well."

As they saw the King Robert's Warhammer coming into view, the party arrived with the rest of the Small Council—waiting for the King, Queen and their entourage disembark. Even moments before the ship even reached the dock, Tyrion and Tommen both felt something was wrong; eventually, they see Sansa wrapping Daveth's right arm over her shoulder to help keep him steady with Myrcella and Jaime assisting them.

The Young Stag's face was so pale some color appeared to have been drained; he had developed dark circles under his eyes and was bloodshot as if they were inflamed. Daveth could hardly stand with his knees slightly buckling and had experienced shortness of breath.

Tyrion, looking concerned, approached them. "What's going—?"

"Grand Maester, take the King to his chambers. See what you can do for him," Sansa hurriedly ordered. "Serella, try to convince the Septas to lend us get any medicinal herbs you think can help us."

"What's wrong with my brother?" fidgeted Tommen.

"Daveth is sick, Tommen," Myrcella answered. "We're trying everything we can to make him feel better, but he's steadily getting worse."

Delirious and somewhat disoriented as he may be, Daveth shook his head—still retaining his awareness as his body continued fighting off whatever illness he had. "That's… putting it nicely," he coughed.

Tyrion looked at Jaime, the Kingslayer nodding his head in agreement with the current situation. They both had seen this illness before and moved into action. Ser Barristan Selmy, meanwhile, approached the royal party and extended his arms out.

"I'll take him," he suggested.

Sansa hesitated, but nodded understandingly as she gently transferred Daveth over to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The Young Stag groaned slightly and felt queasy, shutting his eyes and placing one hand over his gut—trying not to get the sudden urge to vomit. Pycelle, stretched out his arms, the maester's chains chinking against each other with each step.

"Eh, uh… C-come now, Your Grace," he stuttered. "Let's get you taken care of."

Before they left to tend to Daveth's illness, the Young Stag glanced over his shoulder. He looked physically weak, but still gathered enough strength to get several words out.

"Tyrion," he called out. "As I'm to be… *cough, cough!* indisposed, you'll… you'll need to chair the Small Council meetings in my stead."

Varys, Pycelle, Barristan and Randyll Tarly looked to Tyrion, but they each steadily nodded at the situation. Daveth had more to say.

"And one more thing," he continued. "Begin making preparations… *cough, cough!* for the wedding at once. *cough, cough!* Two, in fact."

"For whom?"

"One for Tommen and Lady Margery, and the other… for Myrcella and Prince Trystane."

Myrcella and Tommen looked to their brother. "Daveth, are you… sure?" they asked, somewhat concerned.

He nodded weakly. "I promised to ensure you two were wed upon my return… *cough, cough!* I intend to keep that promise."

Both didn't say anything nor did they protest, instead watching as Daveth was eventually led away by Serella and Pycelle. The twins Lyonel and Cassana each made a small sound of discomfort, with Cassana stretching out her hands in her father's direction—her upset squeaks led to her becoming fussy which in turned to her being visibly upset.

"Dada," she whined.

Sansa's heart ached. Daveth loved her and their children and was no longer in a position to spend time with them; understandably so, considering his current condition. Once he was better, they'd make up for lost time. Shae and Tyrion noticed this and approached her.

"Don't worry, Your Grace," Shae reassured her mistress. "We'll take good care of him."

"Do what you can for him," Sansa told her. "Lyonel, Cassana… they both need their father."

"I know. We'll keep you aware of his state."

Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard, having accompanied the royal party back from Dorne, ventured off to the side with Jaime, Barristan and Lucius to discuss security details. Olyvar Frey, a newly anointed knight, opted to stand guard over the King to ensure any suspicious characters would not be permitted entry unless told otherwise. Brella accompanied Sansa throughout the gardens of the Red Keep.

"Dada, dada, dada," Cassana continued pouting.

Sansa bounced each of her twins. "I know, sweetie, but your father's not feeling well."

"Dada! Dada! Dada!"

"Shhh, shhh."

No matter how much Sansa hushed, the twins continued to whine and fuss. It was then that the Wolf Queen was paid an unexpected visit.

"Children being fussy again?"

Sansa blinked and rose her head up. Standing before her was none other than Lady Margaery Tyrell, Prince Tommen's betrothed. She was clearly caught off guard for a moment; indeed, Margaery is regarded as extremely beautiful with thick and curling brown hair, large brown eyes and a slender but womanly figure. Fair and lively, Margaery had a sweet smile.

"You are Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, are you not?" asked Sansa.

She nodded. "I am, Your Grace. I've been arranged to marry the King's brother, Prince Tommen for some time. You look radiant this morning."

"Thank you for your kind words, Lady Margaery."

"If it pleases you, Your Grace, won't you call me Margaery? We're going to be sisters soon. Are those two the perfect little angels?"

Sansa looked at her. 'True, but why tell me this at this hour?' "Yes. This is my son, Prince Lyonel," she said before trading glances to the other twin, "and my daughter, Princess Cassana."

"My, aren't they just adorable?" she said and took Sansa by the hand.

She rose from her seat in the gardens and accompanied Margaery. "Where are we going?"

Before she got an answer, Sansa recognized they were being escorted to a private meeting in the gardens. With the castle so crowded, on the edge of a yard held two banners depicting the sigil of House Tyrell, a golden rose on a green field. Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breastplates. The Reach personal guardsmen were of wide of shoulder and narrow of waist, magnificently muscled.

Taking a few more steps in the private gardens, Margaery brought Sansa before a wizened white-haired doll of a woman at the head of a table.

"Your Grace," she spoke, "it is my honor to present my grandmother: the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell."

Sansa recognized Olenna as the Queen of Thorns from one of her earlier conversations with Daveth months ago. "Olenna Tyrell might be an old woman, but her mastery of court politics, plotting and intrigue are almost on par with my grandfather Tywin Lannister. DO NOT underestimate her!" he warned her. Had Daveth told her a few years ago, her naiveté would have brushed such warnings aside, but Sansa had grown and matured over the years and had taken her duties as Queen seriously enough. This would be her first encounter with the Queen of Thorns.

Olenna smelled of rosewater. "Kiss me, child," she gave a warm, grandmotherly smile. Dutifully, Sansa kissed the old woman on the cheek. "It's so good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens."

"Thank you for having me, Lady Olenna," Sansa greeted courteously.

"I knew both your Stark and Tully grandfathers, Lords Rickard and Hoster, though not well."

"Lord Rickard died before I was born, but… Lord Hoster had been struggling from a prolonged illness for quite some time."

"I am well aware of that, Your Grace. Still, night falls for us all in the end, and too soon for some. You and the King have each had your share of grief, I'm sure. We are sorry for your troubles once we heard of Daveth's ailment. The Reach is praying for his swift recovery."

Sansa glanced at Margaery. 'How did…? Word travels fast,' she thought. "You're very kind to say so," she answered. "And I would like to extend my apologies for Lord Renly, Lady Margery. He was very gallant when I first met him."

"You're very kind to say so," replied Margaery.

Olenna snorted. "Gallant, yes, and charming and very clean. He knew how to dress, bathe and smile and somehow this gave him the notion he was fit to be King," she sniffed. "The Baratheons must have a queer notion, to be sure; must stem from either their hot-headed temperament or their distant relations to the Targaryens."

"Renly was brave and gentle, grandmother," Margaery pointed out. "Father liked him and so did Loras."

"Loras is young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick," Olenna said crisply, "That does not make him wise, especially considering how lucky he is to still have his head attached to his shoulders after foolishly challenging the Oathkeeper in single-combat at Blackwater Bay. As to your fathead father…"

"Grandmother! What will Queen Sansa think of us?"

Sansa felt the atmosphere shifting, with each mention of the Stag Sedition as well as the Battle of Blackwater Bay brought forth long, old bitter memories. Some people just don't know when to let go of the past and move forward, lest they face the risk of reopening old wounds; especially if it hits close to home.

"She might think we have some wits about us. One of us, at any rate," the old woman continued before turning back to Sansa. "Look, I already told Daveth that I warned my family that what they were doing was treason. Robert has three sons and Renly has an older brother. How can he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair? 'Tut-tut', says my son, 'don't you want your sweetling to be Queen?' You Starks were Kings once, the Arryns and the Lannisters as well, and even the Baratheons through the female line to the Durrandons, but the Tyrells were no more than stewards until Aegon the Conqueror himself came along and cooked the rightful King of the Reach on the Field of Fire. If truth be told, even our claim to Highgarden is a bit dodgy, just as those dreadful Florents are always whining. 'What does it matter?' you ask, and of course it doesn't, except to oafs like my son. The thought that one day he may see his grandsons on the Iron Throne makes Mace puff up like… now, what do you call it? Margaery, you're clever, be a dear and tell your poor old half-daft grandmother the name of that queer fish from the Summer Isles that puffs up to ten times its own size when you poke it."

"They call them puff fish, grandmother."

"Of course they do. Summer Islanders have no imagination. My son ought to take the puff fish for his sigil, if truth be told. He could put a crown on it, the way the Baratheons do their stag, mayhap that would make him happy. We should have stayed well out of all this bloody foolishness if you ask me, but once the cow's been milked there's no squirting the cream back up her udder. So here we are to see things through. And what do you say to that, Sansa?"

Sansa replied, "But if I'm not mistaken, the Tyrells can trace their descent through the female line back to Garth Greenhand of the First Men 10,000 years ago during the Age of Heroes, who not only founded House Gardener but also became the first King of the Reach."

The Queen of Thorns snorted. "So can the Florents, the Rowans, the Oakhearts, and half the other noble houses of the Reach. Garth liked to plant his seed in fertile ground, they say. I shouldn't wonder that more than his hands were green."

"Your Grace," Margaery broke in, "you and your children must be very hungry after such a long journey back to the capital. Shall we have some lemon cakes?"

Sansa felt her stomach growl a bit. Lyonel and Cassana reached out their hands, fussing about. Her maternal instincts suggested they must be hungry too. "Lemon cake's my favorite," she admitted.

"So we've been told," declared Lady Olenna, who obviously had no intention of being hushed. "We'll be sure the royal children have some food in their bellies as well. Coren, are you going to bring the food or do you mean to starve us to death? Here, Sansa, come sit with me. I'm much less boring than these others."

Sansa felt herself being almost unable to respond to each request, blinking slightly at the Queen of Thorn's barbs being hurled all around. Normally her initial thoughts were to address Olenna on her mannerisms, but Lyonel and Cassana fussed some more—obviously demanding they be given something to eat so Sansa's primary focus was on them for a while and knowingly accompanied Margaery and Olenna to a more remote section as the Reach servants brought out a broth of leeks and mushrooms with a side dish of sweets for Lyonel and Cassana to eat and Lady Olenna pushed herself forward to rest her elbows on the table.

"Here you go, sweeties, eat up now," Sansa cooed to her children, taking occasional each spoonful to feed Cassana and Lyonel some sweetened (prepared with little sugar to ensure the children eat healthy) porridge; the twins shared the same visible reaction to tasting strange products.

Margaery and Sansa tried to hold back a chuckle when Lyonel and Cassana's face twisted before Sansa wiped their messy face with a napkin.

"Do you know my son, Your Grace?" Olenna asked. "The Lord of Highgarden?"

"Lord Mace? We've met on several occasions at court when my husband named him Master of Coin," she answered politely.

"A ponderous oaf," said the Queen of Thorns. "His father was an oaf as well. My husband, the late Lord Luthor Tyrell. Oh, I loved him well enough, don't mistake me. A kind man, and not unskilled in the bedchamber, but an appalling oaf all the same."

Sansa was both appalled and felt her cheeks flushed when she heard Olenna using such vulgar words in the presence of her children, and instinctively covered their ears. Lyonel and Cassana looked equally confused, but paid no mind as their sights were focused solely on the porridge in front of them as Olenna kept on talking.

"He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him. And now my son is doing the same, only this time he's riding a half-lion, half-stag instead of a horse. A lion is not a lap cat, I told him. A stag is not a harmless gentle creature of the forest, I told him. But he only chuckles and gives me too much tut-tutting. All these Kings would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers."

Sansa realized that her mouth was open again. The other women of Highgarden and the Reach were giggling at the spectacle, only ceasing for a moment when Lyonel playfully flung a spoon of porridge at a nearby bird.

"No, no, Lyonel. We don't play with our food," Sansa scolded.

Olenna noticed this. "Does the boy plan on taking after his father?" she asked abruptly.

"Difficult to say, my lady. He's still learning, but all children make mistakes at some point and learn from them. Sons learn from their mothers, so I've been told. And I plan on teaching mine a great deal."

"Mmm. That sounds reassuring. Now," she leaned in, "I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy, this Tommen lad."

Sansa froze, feeling a wave of suspicion. "Tommen? What about him? He's Daveth's youngest brother."

"Yes, yes, we all know that part. Ever since that disgusting slaughter instigated by the disgraced Joffrey, we've been hearing some troubling tales. I hope they are not all true."

'Don't even think of putting Tommen into the same category as that horrible monster!' the Wolf Queen wanted to say. Instead, she shook her head. "Prince Tommen is not at all like Joffrey in the slightest," she answered.

"How so? Is he kind? Clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand? Will he cherish Margaery and treat her tenderly, protect her honor as he would his own?"

Margaery spoke up. "I'm to be his wife, Your Grace. I only want to know what that means."

Sansa felt her shoulders stiffen; now feeling suspicious out of respect for Daveth's brother, her eyes traded back and forth glances between Olenna and Margaery. Having learned about political players seeking any sort of elevation might often try to take advantage of someone's nature, something she herself had to learn during her tutelage in King's Landing. Something told Sansa that behind the Tyrell's charitable and poised outer temperament lies a cunning if not ruthless ambition, seeking to take advantage of every opportunity like a flower bending with the wind and sun. Yet the Tyrells also have a familial bond that Sansa herself acknowledges, though that didn't stop her from feeling somewhat apprehensive.

"My father always told the truth," Sansa spoke.

"Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation."

"Tommen," Sansa said, "is a good-hearted lad. A kind one. Sure he stumbles at times, but he really does try his best. He…" She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth—knowing she said too much.

"'He what'?" Olenna said impatiently.

"Go on," Margaery urged. Tommen's own Princess Consort-to-be.

Lyonel and Cassana stopped eating and looked up at their mother, both curiously staring at her with their big, blue eyes. Sansa knew that others would likely listen in to the conversation and Varys would know about what transpired either way.

"Joffrey abused him when he was younger, both physically and emotionally," she whispered, quiet enough to avoid any unwanted attention but loud enough for her two guests to hear. "My husband put a stop to that, and protects him. So you can understand why Tommen goes out of his way to impress others. Not for the sake of wanting attention, but out of his desire to learn."

Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter exchanged a look. "Ah," said the old woman, "so then the rumors were unfounded then."

'Rumors? What rumors?' "Now that we've come home, we can begin proceeding with the wedding as promised."

Even Margaery was caught off guard. "Already?" she asked.

Sansa nodded. "Those we're sworn to protect don't necessarily call my husband 'Oathkeeper' for a reason. Your wedding to Prince Tommen will take place before Princess Myrcella to Prince Trystane of House Martell within a fortnight."

Olenna bit down onto a piece of cheese. "Then the Lord Oaf of Highgarden will most likely beside himself with Margaery marrying into the royal family. And the word of a Tyrell is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock. At least it was in my day. Even so, we thank you for your honesty, Your Grace."

Sansa said nothing further, only watching as more servants came by with a plate of lemon cakes. The day appeared to be a long one, with the sun shining bright in the sky. Her son and daughter apparently had their fill and yawned, rubbing their eyes. Sansa rocked the twins in each arm, occasionally trading verses with the Queen of Thorns and Margaery. Even if they did mean well… what was the purpose of all this questioning?

'Even if it's a small amount of information, it should prove to be useful,' Margaery thought.

Sansa glanced at Margaery. 'You say you want us to be sisters, as friends… But do not risk falling out of our favor again. Don't do to Tommen what Ser Loras did to Renly. Daveth will not be happy about it if he does find out.'

At Winterfell…

Lord Robb Stark was seen accompanied by his men, with Ser Rodrik Cassel, Theon Greyjoy and Lord Harald Karstark entering the courtyards of Winterfell with Rickon Stark and the wildling Osha in tow behind them. The Young Wolf had recently returned from the Last Hearth with his youngest brother and Osha, but was somewhat disappointed when Lord Greatjon Umber told him that no one had seen or heard from Bran Stark. The Night's Watch was too preoccupied with its own problems and even though the wildling threat appeared to have dissipated, Greatjon's son Smalljon remained adamant that they still posed a threat one day. After all, the Last Hearth is the furthest stronghold in the North that had to occasionally tangle with the Free Folk now and then.

"He wouldn't let us go with him," Rickon complained.

"Go where?" Robb asked.

"Beyond the Wall. I'm supposed to protect Bran; he can't even walk anymore!"

'By the Gods, no…' he felt stunned. The lands Beyond the Wall are considered the most dangerous, most perilous, vast and mostly uncharted with uninhabitable polar wastelands and below zero freezing temperatures; all of whom are considerably too dangerous. A storm was recently coming in hard so not even the Night's Watch could dispatch several rangers and was busy recuperating from fending off King-Beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder's massive army.

Whatever the odds, Robb knew that his family was not complete even if one Stark was successfully returned. As they rode into the courtyard, Robb was his mother Catelyn standing in the middle with his wife Talisa and their son Eddard. His mother was visibly upset and Talisa tried everything she could to calm her mother-in-law down.

"Robb!" Catelyn panicked.

Robb dismounted and approached. "Mother? What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked.

"Arya's gone!"

"Wh… What do you mean 'gone'?!"

Talisa intervened. "Your sister just disappeared in the dead of night. We sent several scouts to find and retrieve her, but they've had no luck."

"How could she just leave like that? Did she at least leave a note explaining why?"

Catelyn shook her head. "No, Robb, no. All her belongings are still here! She didn't… she didn't leave any note! She's gone!"

Little Ned was visibly upset at his grandmother's distress, whining and complaining. Robb felt like he was being unable to keep his family together.

"Why not seek out help?" suggested Theon.

"And who would be in a position to help us?" Harald pressed doubtfully.

Ser Rodrik spoke up. "If Lady Arya's missing… we could appeal to the Crown for help! Houses Stark and Baratheon are bound by blood with King Daveth's marriage to your sister. Queen Sansa should be able to help us with the search."

"Last I remembered, Lady Stark and Daveth didn't exactly part on good terms," Theon pointed out.

Catelyn noticed, seemingly calmed down a bit. "That was a long time ago. But Ser Rodrik's right about this… If anyone can seek out anyone missing, it would be the Master of Whisperers Varys."

"I'll go to King's Landing," Robb offered.

"No," his mother refused, "there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go."

"Mother—"

"Robb, don't… Just don't."

Robb didn't say anything as Catelyn gathered whatever belongings she could. Rather than just let her go by herself, Ser Rodrik and a few dozen guardsmen offered to accompany the Stark matriarch on the long journey to King's Landing with the intention of petitioning the Iron Throne for assistance in locating one of their own.

"I'll send a raven to the capital and let them know of our plight," Maester Luwin recommended.

"Do it," Robb commanded.

Theon felt a headache; one problem resolved somehow ended up with another sprouting in its place. Especially with the season beginning to change in the North; the Greyjoy felt snowflakes beginning to fall. Starks were all right eventually in the end, winter is coming. And the North was always the first to feel the seasonal changes. As Robb and Talisa went into the chambers they shared together whilst Catelyn and Ser Rodrik departed Winterfell again, Theon was pulled aside by Maester Luwin.

"There's also something else," the old man said, "something that couldn't be shared in front of Lord Stark."

Theon looked confused. "What's that?"

Luwin unveiled a scroll. "A raven came in from Deepwood Motte. Your sister—"

"What happened?"

What came next was an utter bombshell.

"Your sister, Yara Greyjoy… has escaped."

Chapter End

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay guys. Construction of the house had apparently taken away most of my free time during Spring Break so I was unable to post more chapters as quickly as I used to. But even so, Sansa Stark has her first encounter with the Queen of Thorns Olenna Tyrell and Margaery. How did you think she handled herself? And word has arrived that Yara Greyjoy has suddenly escaped captivity from the Glovers. How will the entire North react to the news in addition with the growing suspicions of Ramsay Snow? Thoughts? Let me know.

Silent Wolf Singer: I pray Daveth gets better soon.

DaddyChad: Tommen would never rebel against Daveth or try to take away the throne from him or his son and/or daughter.

So i'm not afraid of that at all.

Hear My Fury: Again I'd watch out for the Tyrells they're planning some kind of revolt I'm guessing. Margaery's just as ambitious as Cersei, and given Daveth's condition she could plan for something so that she could be queen.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

―Thanks.

« First « Prev Ch 96 of 180 Next »

Review

Jump:Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44Chapter 45Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49Chapter 50Chapter 51Chapter 52Chapter 53Chapter 54Chapter 55Chapter 56Chapter 57Chapter 58Chapter 59Chapter 60Chapter 61Chapter 62Chapter 63Chapter 64Chapter 65Chapter 66Chapter 67Chapter 68Chapter 69Chapter 70Chapter 71Chapter 72Chapter 73Chapter 74Chapter 75Chapter 76Chapter 77Chapter 78Chapter 79Chapter 80Chapter 81Chapter 82Chapter 83Chapter 84Chapter 85Chapter 86Chapter 87Chapter 88Chapter 89Chapter 90Chapter 91Chapter 92Chapter 93Chapter 94Chapter 95Chapter 96Chapter 97Chapter 98Chapter 99Chapter 100Chapter 101Chapter 102Chapter 103Chapter 104Chapter 105Chapter 106Chapter 107Chapter 108Chapter 109Chapter 110Chapter 111Chapter 112Chapter 113Chapter 114Chapter 115Chapter 116Chapter 117Chapter 118Chapter 119Chapter 120Chapter 121Chapter 122Chapter 123Chapter 124Chapter 125Chapter 126Chapter 127Chapter 128Chapter 129Chapter 130Chapter 131Chapter 132Chapter 133Chapter 134Chapter 135Chapter 136Chapter 137Chapter 138Chapter 139Chapter 140Chapter 141Chapter 142Chapter 143Chapter 144Chapter 145Chapter 146Chapter 147Chapter 148Chapter 149Chapter 150Chapter 151Chapter 152Chapter 153Chapter 154Chapter 155Chapter 156Chapter 157Chapter 158Chapter 159Chapter 160Chapter 161Chapter 162Chapter 163Chapter 164Chapter 165Chapter 166Chapter 167Chapter 168Chapter 169Chapter 170Chapter 171Chapter 172Chapter 173Chapter 174Chapter 175Chapter 176Chapter 177Chapter 178Chapter 179Chapter 180

Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter

Story: Follow FavoriteAuthor: Follow FavoriteContrast: Dark . Light

Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL

Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service

Chapter End

Author's Note: Get rid of one problem and another takes its place. In this case, there are two. One, the dreaded illness that almost killed Daveth when he was a child is believed to be coming back though the Tyroshi healer apparently had no idea about this; the second, Ramsay is on the move again with his sick, twisted plotting. How will this reach Winterfell or even Sansa Stark's ears—being stuck in a difficult position. How will the Starks themselves react to the news? Thoughts? Let me know.

Moshi: There is no way the Jeyne Poole plan will work, take one look at her eyes or even word gets to Winterfell about this supposed Arya and he will bring on the wrath of Winterfell and the North.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

―Thanks.

Silent Wolf Singer: Wait, the babies were like five months in Dorne...how are they one year old?

―I mentioned a few chapters ago that Daveth and Sansa were not intimate for almost an entire year, plus an extra month.

Hear My Fury: Oh for the love of the Seven. Daveth just cannot catch a break can he? Well hopefully Vaeraleah will be there to heal him when he supposedly dies again. As for Ramsay, Yeah, Robb's gonna unleash all the Seven hells on the Boltons if Ramsay leaks this out. Nice to also see that you are somewhat adapting the books where Jeyne Poole was supposed to impersonate Arya to make the North believe she was her so that the Boltons could have some legitimacy in the North. And I really hope Ramsay gets burned by Stannis. He has almost 30,000 men as well as the entire North if the Karstarks and Umbers behave, which i doubt considering the show. And Roose's days might be numbered too. Anyway that's it, I look forward to the next chapter.

The Last Kenpachi: Stark's are gonna fuck him up if he pisses them off.

« First « Prev Ch 95 of 180 Next »

Review

Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter

Story: Follow FavoriteAuthor: Follow FavoriteContrast: Dark . Light

Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL

Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service

Author's Note: Daenerys Targaryen and Gendry make a return in this cameo chapter; the Dragon Queen temporarily assumes power in Meereen on the promise of hunting down the Sons of the Harpy and quelling the Great Masters and slave masters' incursion into the city-state. Her plans are put on hold until the situation quiets down.

Also introducing into the storyline is none other than Mya Stone, Robert Baratheon's bastard daughter when he was fostered in the Eyrie. She was the one who broke Gendry out, got him to safety and told him the truth of their heritage. Think this'll affect any future interactions they might have if they meet Daveth face to face? Next chapter will include Daveth, Sansa and the royal party's return to King's Landing. So stay tuned for more. What do you guys think? Thoughts? Let me know.

joharasbel: good job

―Thanks.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

―Thanks.

DaddyChad: Hopefully you will include Gendry more than the show did(making the poor boy row for 2 seasons and all that)

Zurver: Oooh I can't wait when Gendry and Mya meets Daveth. Perhaps with some other bastard siblings too, please make them together with him somehow, helping him, fight alongside him. That would be great

GREAT CELESTIAL-DRAGON: Done a great job on the Valyrians language where did you find the source for the text?

―It's actually a English to Valyrian translator from lingojam. What irritates me is that I sometimes have to rearrange certain letters just to make it match.

Hear My Fury: Freakin Mya?! Oh man! This is getting better and better! Now Gendry's off to row for well, now two seasons of the show. Hopefully we'll see more of him again in the future.

Chapter 864 - ggh

Popular novel hashtag