Jon
So little time had gone by since Jon sat himself on the Iron Throne as the new King, Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of his name, and yet it felt like he had been in the position for weeks now. Being Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was such a simple job compared to this. Sansa told him that this is what a King's time is really like when he's cleaning the mess of the last three and actually gives a damn about it.
One thing he pushed aside without much second thought or care was the raven scroll from the Citadel regarding who the newly appointed Grand Maester would be. Jon responded in kind that given how well the last one served, he didn't care for one now and would choose for himself when the time was willing to let him. If only he had the greensight so he could see the fury on the faces of those old fools.
And then there was the message from the bloody Iron Bank about a representative being sent on his way to discuss the Crown's debts falling into his responsibility now. He wasn't as annoyed by it given that Olenna would be with him when the man came and the solutions to their money problems were soon to be achieved, but from what the Raven told him about this Tycho Nestoris was that he is certainly a character.
Right now, he was receiving the first report of his current sanitation project.
"Just like that?" Jon asked in disbelief as he read the report Davos had given him with Sansa looking at it next to him. "All because of several blockages?"
"Only took a couple hours to clear them. We got some water being redirected from the river nearby to produce a better flow for now and the smell is already starting to recede. But because of the river's current direction it's not that much."
Jon felt like slamming his head on the table for how ridiculous this was. The stench of King's Landing subsided because a few men finally took a couple hours of their time to try and fix it. "But it's not a permanent solution?" Jon asked as he read the bottom.
"We'll need to reconstruct a few places, and by few I mean…" Davos' eyes looked up as he was silently mouthing numbers to himself. "Twenty-three I think it was."
Jon sighed. "At least we're getting things on the move." The new solution to better the sewers and potentially rid the stench for good was to construct an aqueduct to receive the best possible flow of water from the Kingswood into the city instead of the partial flow from streams that barely did what it was supposed to. "Do we have any responses to our inquiries?"
Sansa had the answer. "Only a few so far. Though they all have the same answer. They want a percentage of their estimates paid upon acceptance and unfortunately we have no gold to spare for even the lowest estimate. The crown will need to take out another loan from the Iron Bank."
"No we won't," Jon told them both, "I have a project in the works that will be the solution to the crown's finances."
Davos showed interest and optimism. "Care to share what your imagination has conjured for the coffers?"
Jon smirked at him. "Am I not allowed to surprise you anymore?"
"Considering how you've been doing so lately, I'd rather you didn't."
"Fair enough. But this one you'll like, I promise."
Davos shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "I hope it doesn't involve the former advisor to Cersei."
"No, only Lord Baratheon and a handful of others. Qyburn is a different matter. Has he been brought up from his cell yet?"
"I believe so."
"Good. Send for the crate. Sansa, bring Sam to meet me." His Hand and Stewardess left to obey and Jon set out to meet the former Hand to Queen Cersei.
Arriving in the throne room which was empty except for the guards and a small man clasped in irons. Qyburn bowed his upper body but did not kneel and Jon stood over the former maester with lingering doubts about gaining this man's allegiance.
"You've been told who I am?" Jon asked in a calm tone.
"They have. A former bastard, a former Lord Commander, and a current King. Your tale will most assuredly rival the Conqueror's when history is written."
"Then you should also know that it was my late cousin and his wife who saved your life at Harrenhal."
Qyburn shifted a little with a slight tilt to his head to hide the smirk he had. "If you believe that I owe some life debt to your family for that, then I wouldn't be surprised to find some golden hair under all that black."
Jon took a single step forward that made him tower over the little man even moreso. "I just wished to remind you that your allegiance tends to be with who serves your interest. Am I wrong?"
"Queen Cersei gave me much to pursue my practises and I have benefited greatly from her sponsorship."
"Experimenting on people will not be tolerated in my service. I have it within my power to arrange that bodies of the deceased can be provided for study, but I will not allow the living to bear pain for your discovery."
"It is because of those pains that I have such skills you desire."
"And now I am here with an offer." He stopped when Sam had appeared and walked over to them. "Sam, how are you?"
"Perfectly well," Sam said with a smile, "I wouldn't mind staying a day late before the inevitable return to the Wall." Both of them chuckled softly. "Oh, take a look at this," Sam pulled a book from his bag as Jon was about to introduce him to Qyburn. Sam flipped through the pages to one with many wonderful artworks of rings and medallions. "It's a Valyrian custom for the head of the House to wear a marker of his or her identity. The lower Houses wore medallions, but the higher nobles wore signet rings. Look here," he turned the page and pointed at a ring decorated with a goat and a broken shepherd's stave, "The sigil of the mightiest Valyrian house. Maybe you should have a ring made for yourself too. You could do with a little more…" he words halted as he looked up and down Jon, "a little more for a king."
Jon laughed softly to himself. Oh how he missed these little ramblings of Sam. "Get with Davos when you can and talk it over with him. It's not a bad idea at all. In fact," a new idea crept into his mind, "tell him to have one made for each of the Kingsguard as well. Something symbolizing the order."
"That's a great idea, Jon! Oh, I mean, your grace."
"Sam," Jon placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "you are one of the few people I will allow you to call me by my name, alright?"
"Right," Sam smiled.
Jon turned his attention back to Qyburn. "This is Samwell Tarly of the Night's Watch and soon to be the successor to Maester Aemon Targaryen at Castle Black. I would like you to take him as your apprentice in the arts of healing and act as my Master of Whispers and unofficial healer. You'll be watched by one of my men and forbidden from necromancy."
Qyburn smiled as though he were amused. "I would indeed like to be out of my cell, to practice my arts, and eat a meal that does not have a worm or two already enjoying it. But under threat and command, I will find my time in my cell just as educating and tolerable as your offered freedom."
Jon stared at him, resisting the urge to smirk. "I would also task you with studying something that the order of Maesters would be too frightened for their knowledge to do themselves."
Leading the way for Sam and Qyburn and accompanied by two men belonging to House Tyrell, Jon brought his companions to the sparring courtyard where the wight was waiting in the crate for them. Four men had held the chain tight as two others unlatched the crate and opened the lid. With the chain taught, the wight could not break free but only struggle and scream through the muffler which had been put in its rotting mouth the day prior.
Qyburn lit up with fascination and went closer than most men dared, flinching at the sudden struggles. He looked back at Jon. "I fully accept your gracious offer, your grace." He said, falling to one knee.
Jon nodded to one of the Tyrell knights who carried the keys to the irons and freed Qyburn from his restraints. "I'll have this one brought to your laboratory and chained up. You'll have an assistant for yourself and Samwell to aid you, as well as a guard armed with dragonglass."
Qyburn looked at Sam as he got up to his feet. "Have you any experience in the healing arts?"
"Maester Aemon taught me what he could, and he told me that were I in the Order already, I would have earned a silver link. And I also cured a man of Greyscale."
Qyburn's brow perked. "Did you? How advanced was it and what methods?"
"It was at the tertiary stage and completely covering the arm and half the chest. And I used Archmaester Pylos's notes regarding rare diseases."
Qyburn tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, but a smirk was forming at the corner of his lips. "The Order would never have sanctioned such a procedure."
"They didn't. I took matters into my own hands to save a life."
Qyburn grinned. "He'll be perfect. Now about this creature-"
"It's a wight," Jon corrected. "A soldier to the Night King and the White Walkers. I've seen thousands of men, women, and children die to those creatures and moments later rise as meat for their army."
"Fascinating," Qybrun sighed in awe as he watched the crate be closed and taken away. "What can you tell me about them?"
"They are without pain, fear, and mercy. Nothing but puppets that cannot be free except with death. And the only way to fully kill them is by fire, dragonglass, and Valyrian Steel. The White Walkers are immune to fire but not the other two."
"Have you just the one?" Qyburn asked.
"We have three others in Winterfell-"
"I'll require a second one here. This one I shall poke and prod for every detail of weakness I can find until destruction. The next one shall be for other uses."
Jon shared a disgusted look with Sam. "Let me be clear," Jon grabbed Qyburn's shoulder firmly, "though I am making Sam your apprentice, he will be the one you answer to when it comes to your experiments on this creature. If you wish to test something, you go through him first. If you think drastic measures are needed, you tell him and he shall tell me. Do you understand?" Jon squeezed his grip which made Qyburn's face scrunch up.
"Absolutely, your grace."
"Good," Jon released the poor man finally, "then I wish you luck and will have your robes returned before the day's end. Sam, good luck."
Jon left the many of them to their own devices and made his way to the next article of business on today's agenda. Seven hells, it was like being Lord Commander all over again but with ten times the duties. Or perhaps it was simply the first few weeks that were so.
He returned inside the Red Keep, climbing the steps to the room of his prisoner under house arrest.
Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, sat begrudgingly at the window of his room, only turning his head when Jon stopped only a few steps away from him.
"Have you made your decision? Come up with something of your own? Or would you like to remain wallowing in your sorrow?"
Jaime looked back out the window. "All this time, you know what has been going through my head?" He didn't wait for an answer. "How my father would look at the sight of what has become of his mighty legacy. His golden son is a one-armed prisoner, his queen daughter a prisoner in the Black cells, and his dwarf son serving the daughter of the man he betrayed. The mighty House Lannister, fallen into impunity." He got up to his feet and faced Jon. "Has Tommen left yet?"
"He did. He's on his way to Casterly Rock and an escort of three thousand Tyrell knights."
Jaime snuffed a laugh. "People did say House Baratheon kept more soldiers with Lions these past few years. Now House Lannister will have an abundance of golden roses. But it does change things."
"How so?"
"With so many men to keep an eye on Tommen for you, gathering forces in Cersei's name will be impossible. They'll have her son's neck meet a blade's edge before even a battalion can be made. Same goes for myself if I'm there with him."
Jon didn't say anything, letting Jaime continue.
"He needs someone to help him. I'm not my father where it's best, but I know enough to pass on what he needs. Tyrion would be better but he's not here."
"You think you deserve to be a father to him after all you've done?"
Jaime took a soft, deep breath. "Categorically."
Jon had such a desire to fidget with his hands as he considered this or to pace around but he had to keep himself planted where he was and not show any sign of faltering. "And what will you give me in exchange for this request?"
"I've already lost my golden hand, again," Jaime mused.
Jon remembered The Raven showing him the things that Jaime did defending Ser Brienne's virtue unknowingly at the cost of his greatest asset. "It was Locke, who took it, Roose Bolton's man?"
Jaime's face twisted in anger and surprise. "You know him?"
"He infiltrated the Night's Watch a few years ago trying to get to Bran. First range he went on ended with his neck shattered."
Satisfaction grew wonderfully on Jaime's face. "Wish I could have done it myself." Jaime shuffled in his place. "I have no gold, no hand, no sword, what can I offer?"
"Your oath. Take up the white cloak and serve. Should the chance happen that we win and you live through it all, I will relieve you of your oath and allow you to return to Casterly Rock to watch over your son. Because when the dead come, and if we don't win, they'll march south and kill us all. Would you rather be here in your room or in battle wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard?"
Jaime stared at him intensely and a vein was beginning to bulge on his temple. This anger was not directed at Jon, it was all internal for the Kinglsayer. All of this was so recognizable for a change. Not the outward expression of the man, but the familiar air these feelings and struggles within created.
"I will serve." Ser Jaime said distinctively.
Jon nodded. "I'll lift your house arrest, but you will be watched and forbidden to enter the Black Cells. If I get word you tried to, it won't be me or your Lord Commander you'll have to deal with. I'll let the Hound know he'll have free reign to discipline you as he pleases."
Jon pulled Ser Jaime's golden hand from within his pocket and tossed it over to him, the knight catching it with surprise. "I'll have Beric get you outfitted. The old armor was a bit too vain and gilded for my taste."
He relayed the news to the guards outside and they would allow Ser Jaime to have certain privileges returned to him such as a better meal then simple rations, and some of his confiscated property. But his Lannister armor wouldn't be needed and Widow's Wail had just been transformed into something new.
Jon, followed by Beric who was now dressed in the newly made Kingsguard armor for House Targaryen which was closer in appearance to that of the kingsguard before House Baratheon took the Iron Throne but with more plate coverings, went down to see off the envoy leaving for Dragonstone. Ser Davos was already there overseeing everything since he was the best seaman among them all. Unofficially, Ser Davos also served as the Master of Ships until they could get someone with good sea legs to sit at the table with them.
Ser Bronn, or rather Lord Bronn of Whitesgrove now, was standing ready with his new wife Myranda Blackwood and Ser Jorah was waiting with them for Jon to see them off.
"Have you all said your farewells?" Jon asked as he met with them.
Bronn did something of an uncaring pout. "Too many enemies who'd rather me stay than leave, your grace. We're ready to leave." Before Jon could speak with Jorah, Ser Bronn raised a finger. "After this, I'm free to go to my castle, yes?"
"Of course. I'll need you gathering and training your bannermen to answer the call to arms soon. Oh, by the way," Jon remembered, "have you chosen a surname for yourself or will you be taking your wife's?"
Bronn shrugged. "Not an imaginative thinker for that sort of stuff."
Jon decided to have some fun with the cocky man. "What about… Embarguese? People might one day think you're of Valyrian descent." Ser Jorah had chuckled but for a different reason only one who knew High Valyrian would understand.
Myranda thought it a fun idea as did Bronn. "I like it. Sounds elegant. I'll love a good ruse for a name."
"Very well. I'll have a raven sent to the Citadel informing the birth of House Embarguese."
Ser Bronn looked pleased but it was Myranda who asked what he should have at the start. "What does it mean, your grace?"
Jon cracked a smile. "It means 'chamberpot.'"
Rather than sulk, Bronn laughed heartily. "Well played, your grace. Think we might come back for a little longer when we're done. By then, I think we'll have something for ourselves."
Jon nodded and walked over to Ser Jorah. "Thank you again for all that you've done, even though it wasn't for me. I'm glad my father never caught you."
"Me too," Ser Jorah smiled but became a bit confused when Jon began undoing his sword belt.
"Your father gave me this sword. He changed the pommel from a bear to a wolf, but it's still Longclaw." Jon held it out to Jorah once he realized his family's blade was in front of him for the first time in over a decade. "He never thought you'd come back. But you are back, and it's rightfully yours." Truthfully, Jon didn't want to part with the sword, but the act of this was something that established a great deal of trust between him and Jorah the first time. It felt sour though that he had to repeat this for the same reason. It didn't feel genuine. However, since circumstances were different, he wasn't sure if the outcome would stay the same.
Jorah delicately held the blade after taking it from Jon. "He gave it to you?" Jorah asked, voice almost shivering for the reuniting of a long lost friend.
"I'm not his son. And it's been in your family for generations. And Daenerys deserves a man like you protecting her as best he can." Especially if the day came he had to make the choice he didn't want to again.
Ser Jorah studied him again. "You speak of her as if you know her so well yet you've never met. I've heard the rumors about visions you had, but I don't think those alone establish a trust like yours."
It was thanks to Tyrion that Jon had a decent reason for such if it was ever addressed why he was being so easy going with Daenerys. "Perhaps I don't know her." Jon sighed, the statement truer than he could ever fathom. "But from what I know… she and I, we're the last of the Targaryens, and that has led us to similar fates. We've both been forged by hardships. Belittlement, ridicule, threats." He looked Jorah in the eye. "Your loyalty to her is not one a tyrant would ever earn, not if I were your liege then certainly not if she was."
Jorah lowered Longclaw to his side, accepting it this time. "You are a rare man, your grace. If only there were more like you, then maybe the world would be a peaceful place. I won't forget this." He offered his hand this time and Jon shook it firmly.
"Farewell, Ser Jorah Mormont." And farewell to Longclaw as well.
"And good luck to you, King Aegon Targaryen." Jorah followed Ser Bronn and Myranda Blackwood onto the ship before it set sail.
Ser Davos walked up next to him. "You know, I think Lady Brienne's sword is the other one made from Ned Stark's. If you asked, she could-"
"No," Jon said, "that one is hers to protect House Stark with. I have... had another sword on the way but it seems that one won't be available any more. I have a few other prospects though." Since Daenerys intercepted Blackfyre, Jon would have to use regular steel for now. It wouldn't be the same, but with The Raven's help they'll be able to find one of the other lost Valyrian Steel swords. There were definitely one or two that belonged to extinct Houses. Or he could have an entirely brand new one made once the smith's arrived to learn the lost technique. But the subject of lost Valyrian Steel also reminded him. "How's the excavating in the Dragonpit?"
Ser Davos shrugged right as Gendry joined alongside them. "We've spared fifteen men to dig. Nothing of great value's turned up except some dragon bones buried under rubble and a few human ones too and broken armor. What is it we hope to find?"
"Lamentation." Jon told them but Ser Davos misunderstood much to Jon's amusement.
"I'm not one for riddles, unfortunately."
"No, I mean a sword named Lamentation. The Valyrian blade of House Royce. It's buried in ruins on the south side underground." Once the blade was recovered and delivered to Bronze Yohn, the Royces would have complete loyalty for doing such a favor for them.
Davos tensed uncomfortably. Ever since Jon returned the little half burned stag to him, the Onion Knight did not talk about his visions or make any address to them. He simply nodded and accepted.
Gendry took the chance to speak up. "The other smiths have arrived," he informed.
"Your grace," Davos added in for Gendry, a still learner of formal courtesy and manners.
"Right. Your grace. Sorry."
"It's alright, Gendry. Are they waiting in the forge?"
"All three of them."
"Good. Unless there's anything else on my agenda," Jon looked to Davos who shook his head, "we'll go right now then." Davos had his own duties to attend to and split off from Gendry and Jon once they got back to the castle. Since they were alone, Jon took the chance to help break some news to Gendry. "I heard you were good friends with Arya when you left Kings Landing years ago."
"Not at first but eventually. We had to look out for one another. Though to be fair she seemed to do most of it. I just looked tough and kept her out of trouble when I could."
"And when is she not in it?" They both laughed but Jon turned a bit stern. "You're a lord now, Gendry. And there are going to be many duties and expectancies coming your way soon. For both of us since we're both quite newly appointed in our positions."
Gendry looked at Jon with understanding. "Now that you say that, I don't feel as worried. But you've grown up in a castle, I'm from Flea Bottom. Davos told me I'm gonna get about twenty years of learning pushed into my head all at once. Well, it was something like that, but the same meaning."
"One day at a time, is all I can say. You'll have Davos and Beric to get help from. And I'll always spare my help when time allows."
"I'll appreciate that… your grace?" He looked to Jon for correction if his term of address was wrong.
"You got it right." Jon nodded. "But as I was saying, the duties will be many, and the expectations. The latter are not necessarily immediate things you need to do, but they'll always be there. One of such includes taking a wife." Gendry looked at him nervously. "You were rather close with Arya during your travels."
"Not that close," Gendry cut in.
"I know. But you're both older now and she's become quite a beautiful woman. Don't think I didn't notice you getting a bit starstruck back at the Crossroads Inn."
Gendry gulped.
"But if you know Arya well enough, she wouldn't feel the same about that kind of thing. She's too much a wolf." Jon paused. "Perhaps she gave up that part of herself. Her eyes don't wander to look at men, they look to explore the West."
Gendry's eyes narrowed in confusion. "She's into women then?"
"Uh..." Jon felt like he had just tripped and fumbled now that his attempt at being a poetic speaker failed, delivering what could have been words worth remembering. "No, I meant she's… hm…" He was completely thrown off now. "She wouldn't shy from taking pleasures of the flesh, but getting close to her for more than that is a fruitless endeavor."
"What does fruit have to do with this?"
Jon wanted to slap a hand on his face. Was an idiom as simple as that so elusive? "The furthest you'd get is under the sheets but not under a weirwood."
"Oh," Gendry said in understanding. "I get it now."
Jon halted as did Gendry. "Arya can make her own choices with what she does and so can you. But you'll need to ask yourself that now you are who you are, what do you want from it all? A Wife? Children?"
Gendry didn't respond as he fell into deep thought. Jon felt bad for thrusting this onto him but better now rather than later when his hopes were up high.
Jon placed an arm over Gendry's shoulders and led him onward. "You can think about it later. I got another offer for the blacksmith's side before you need to think about the lord's side."
"Whatever it is, I'll do it. Striking the steel always calms me down."
Arriving at the forges, Jon was greeted by three older men who all fell to one knee at his arrival. Tobho Mott of King's Landing, Aradhar Enaessar of Volantis, and Stephan Moon of Tyrosh. The three men all varied in appearance. Tobho was the eldest, bald with a long gray beard growing down to the base of his neck. Aradhar was also bald but younger and much bigger with the only hair he had being a big mustache on his face that was so thick and long on the ends that he braided them with bronze rings at the ends. Stephan was the shortest and youngest, but still older than Jon, who had a short tussle of brown hair covered by a simple hat and beard that stretched down to his chest. He also sported a short pipe that burned different smoking herbs and weeds in it.
"Rise," Jon said with welcome, shaking them one by one by the hand. "It's an absolute pleasure to have such masterful smiths here to make history."
"You don't look like one yourself, your grace," Stephan said with a puff of his pipe, "how did you come by the knowledge you have?"
Jon dodged the question. He didn't have time to tell his story, he needed these men to get to work. "I have my sources. I understand you are well known for making a steel that's close to Valyrian?"
"Tiger steel. It's a close resemblance but nowhere near as good. Just use it for decorations like jewelry and all, never blades."
Jon motioned them to follow him to the other end of the forge. "Before I do divulge what I know, my Master of Coin has set up contracts for the three of you." He presented four pieces of paper, each with the same writing safe for the names of each smith in question. "The secrets shared with you will remain in King's Landing until the time comes that we allow them to become free to all. Currently, it is quite vital and incredibly valuable, you can understand why. Given our resources and knowledge, we'll know that if the information leaks, it will be from one of you and no one else. Any breaking of this contract will result in imprisonment." And depending on the severity will determine if further punishment is needed if a black cell is not enough to pay for what the leak costs them in the long run. The worst punishment Jon will go to is breaking both hands of the wrongdoer so they may never forge so much as a table knife.
"Who's the fourth one for?" Aradhar asked politely as he picked his contract up and began to inspect it.
Jon held a hand out presenting Gendry to them. "This is Lord Gendry Baratheon, former apprentice to Tobho Mott. I'm granting him permission and by my own desire want him to be present and learn this."
Jon sat all of the men down and delved into the knowledge The Raven spent days retrieving through time and the further he spoke the more the smiths grew to listen with great intent. Finally, Jon reached the key component to creating the steel. "And once the material is ready, it is dropped into liquid dragonglass until both materials cool."
"Dragonglass?" Stephan inquired.
"Obsidian, by another name," Jon corrected. "There are magical properties to it and it is during this time the steel takes in those properties. Once both have cooled, the glass is broken away and the steel has become that which is impossible to break. From that point, it is a simple matter of reworking the steel which you all know how to do already."
The smiths, all looking like they had a thousand pounds of weight pressing on them, couldn't believe what they heard. They were now the only men alive who knew the secrets behind making the strongest steel in the world.
"Dragonglass," Aradhar muttered, "of course. I should have realized it years ago! I never would have thought it melted as a quenching agent of sorts though. Incredible."
Jon sat from his seat. "You have the finest forge in King's Landing, the tools you'll need, and the materials. Tell anything else you'll need to the castle staff attending you and it shall be given. Best of luck to your efforts."
Arya
Perhaps it was being further south on a warmer day that made the proximity of the Red Keep's forge be too warm for welcome. Arya remembered that the Harrenhal forge was the best place to keep from shivering and out of sight of the Lannisters.
She watched out of sight from the smiths as they did their work. Those black stones with the glossy surface were dragonglass if she heard right and it fascinated her as she watched them get melted down into an almost luminescent hot liquid in a large stone bowl resting in the burning forge. How any of the men could withstand so much heat was beyond her.
She was surprised that Gendry was with them. He was a Lord now, he didn't need to smith anymore. But then again she didn't need to be a Water Dancer anymore now that she returned to her family.
Gendry and one of the older smiths both heaved a huge chunk of steel, each with a pair of big tongs, and dropped it into the melted dragonglass and then all four smiths used their tools to lift the stone bowl out of the flames and onto the ground. The dragonglass immediately began to cool on the surface and all four of the smiths dashed off to the opposite side of the forge where they each picked up a bucket full of water and drenched themselves.
Gendry breathed deep as he tore his shirt off and wrung it out over himself and that tanned skin and fine chest of muscle…
Arya didn't realize she was biting down on her lower lip when Gendry looked her way. "You too good for us to come in?" He asked.
"It's hot enough out here, thank you." She peeked back into the forge and her face twisted when one of the older smiths had repeated what Gendry did but was not as finely toned as he was, especially with the disheveled body hair. "Life's been good to you, I see."
Gendry seemed to notice and walked out to meet her. "Aye, though it wasn't most of the time. Still can't believe I ended up so good." He turned back to the forge. "Hoping to get in line for a Valyrian Blade, milady?"
Her eyes widened, forgetting her annoyance at being called a lady. "That's what you're working on?"
"From raw material to finish," he said with a smirk, "if this works then it'll be legendary."
"Indeed. The strapping Lord Baratheon, formerly of Flea Bottom, creating Valyrian Steel." He almost preened at the praise, making her grin slightly. "But will this be what you do? It's not the work a Lord like yourself would usually be found doing."
"I thought you didn't care about all the nobility stuff. Or else why're you still wearing that blade at your hip? It's a bit unladylike, isn't it?"
"Having a blade at my side doesn't take up half my day. There will be great demands on your time, maybe too much to be in a forge making these things anymore."
"Alright, so what's your point?"
"Maybe you should've waited before accepting Jon's offer. Take the time to decide whether to be a Lord or stay a smith."
"Well it wasn't an on the spot decision, I'll have you know." Gendry informed. "He told me about it before we left Hot Pie and the Crossroads."
"He did?"
"I've had a lot of time to think about it and the more I did the more I wanted to say yes."
"But you won't be able to make things like this as much as you do. I know the attachment I have for the blade is the same you have for the anvil. It's not an easy thing to part with."
"Of course it isn't!" Gendry almost shouted. "But what do I get in exchange for it… I want that just as much." His eyes narrowed. "I guess the King was right," he said with a turn to go back inside the hot forge.
Arya became confused. "What are you talking about?"
"He mentioned you might be like this."
"Like what?"
Gendry stopped and turned back to her with irritation clear across his face. "I know what it is I've accepted and what it is I'm giving up, but I'm finally feeling like other things I want are finally in my reach. Hardly anyone wants to marry a bastard, even the common people. They want their children to have a name of their own or none at all. But now I have a name to share and you're trying to tell me I shouldn't."
Arya heard what he said, but rather than respond to it, she pondered how it was that Jon had talked with Gendry about this and told him she'd try to steer him in a different path which was not what she was trying to do. "Jon said that?"
"He said enough." He breathed aggressively through his nose once before shoving off back into the forge where it was too hot for Arya to enter given how much her anger began to heat her up.
Why in death's name would Jon go behind her back and turn her friend against her? Whatever he told Gendry, it had to be wrong! If Gendry wanted to have a wife and children then that was perfectly fine but there's no reason to get angry at her for it!
She set off to find the King. It wasn't a hard chore to do, he was with Sansa and Ser Davos on the battlements overlooking the harbor, pointing out to the docks and lack of ships.
"Your grace!" Arya said angrily. "I want a word with you."
The King and his advisors turned and looked surprised at her.
"Arya," Sansa began, "what's the matter?"
"That's between me and the gracious King." She pointed a finger.
The King sighed and sent his advisors off to see Arya. "Let me guess," he started, "you spoke with Gendry?"
"What the fuck did you tell him? You lied about me to him!"
"I didn't lie," Jon defended, "I told Gendry what he needed to hear and whatever conclusion he drew from it is his."
"Then what did you tell him?" Arya fumed.
"That pursuing your hand is not going to end how he wants."
Arya's anger froze as did she. She would have tripped had she been walking. "Me?" But she made it clear that she had no intention of being a Lady. Did he just not listen to her then?
"Can you think of any other rich girls he knows? Are you worried he'll turn into his father and become a bloody whoremonger?"
"Shut up!" Arya took a deep breath to calm herself. She usually was able to keep herself collected now but this was all just so infuriating! "You're being even stupider than he was."
"What is it you want from him, then?" Jon demanded.
"You've just about told my friend to ignore me. He was the one who looked after me when father lost his head!"
"Why is he your friend? I'm still at a loss to understand what brought the two of you together."
"He stuck up for me when I needed help."
"And that's it?"
"Do you want me to admit how handsome and dashing he is? A king's bastard with more honor and kindness than his stupid father? Any girl would find that desirable in a man." The way Jon looked at her was like she was a fish who just snagged herself on a hook he dangled in front of her. "He's a handsome man. Why should you tell him to keep away just because you assumed correctly what I think?"
"You never wanted to become a lady, Arya. you didn't want it when you were a little girl and I can see it in your eyes that you still don't. So where's the line for you and him?"
"I trust him, Jon. If I want to do things with him then that's my damn business."
"Aye, it is. And it's his as well. You may not have grasped it, but in your relationship it isn't just you that has feelings, Arya." Jon stopped to take a breath and calm down. His voice had raised quite a bit since they first started. "I told him that you have no desire to marry or tie yourself to anything alike. Was I wrong?"
"No, but-"
"You're a free spirit, Arya, just like Nymeria, I'd wager. You best decide what that means in relation to those around you, because now your actions don't merely impact you or people not worthy of your concern like Sandor Clegane or those that trained you to be… this." He gestured to all of her. "Think it over."
Jon took his leave and Arya couldn't form the words to tell him not to leave. She didn't want him to leave her standing like this, wondering. Her hand rested firmly on the pommel of her sword, the sword that Jon gave her. For half a second she had the urge to do what she couldn't in Bravos, throw the sword into the bay to spite her high and mighty cousin. But she wouldn't do that to the one companion that had been truly faithful to her.
Jon was wrong about her. She would never harm her friends, especially Gendry. Gendry was probably the one she trusted the most now, enough before that she wanted to pursue the chance to give her maidenhead to him. He was handsome, she wouldn't deny it.
But Jon's words continued to bother her thoughts. The way he spoke, it wasn't just Gendry he was talking about but what felt like everyone around her. But what would it matter to everyone? Why should it? Before she knew an army of the dead were on their way, she was planning to travel and be on her own path. No one would have to worry about her and she would be doing what she wanted. Why was Jon suggesting that her desire for that was bad?
Arya wracked her brain. Was this stemming from some stupid concern that just because she was younger she couldn't handle herself yet? Perhaps Jon discovering his true identity made him doubt all desires and duties since he was a false bastard who wished to be a ranger at the Watch, when in reality he was the heir to the Targaryen throne. That had to be it.
This wasn't about her, this was about him. Sansa might've been blinded by Jon's royal blood as she was with Joffrey but Arya wasn't as sentimental.
She was strong.
She was all she had ever wished to be.
Olenna
There was a common phrase among people that went, 'desperate times call for desperate measures,' and in the nearest financial ruin in the entire history of the Iron Throne, Olenna would fall to become the accountant for the sake of the debt she owed. This was all beneath her skills and by the gods she needed to get home to help Loras and her people. But the King was right and there was no one better for this job, no one alive, that is.
On the second day of the job, she had privately retreated to her quarters to go over all the accounts that were done by the past three Hands. Baelish of course did everything he could to bleed the crown's coffers and create such a great interest of debt with the Iron Bank and House Lannister. Tyrion had done a slightly better job with reducing expenditures and saving enough pennies here and there to build up into something worth note. But Mace, her dear departed son, had outdone himself as Master of Coin. An oaf he was, but the finest educated to handle gold responsibly. He was a hard worker at this, and it was all outdown with his efforts here.
Olenna never showed her weakness to the outside world, but alone in her room with the papers of her son's work, she wept quietly. She should have known better than to trust fate to bring Cersei what she deserved. She should not have stopped planning ahead until Cersei was hung from a noose or her head freed from her shoulders.
Her family, nearly destroyed and her future with it. If she had her way, Tommen, the Kingslayer, and Cersei would be dismembered after watching Casterly Rock burn to the ground.
But no, she owed her promise to the King and she would keep it for all he had done for her. Cersei would live on in the Black Cells as hostage of the Westerlands, Ser Jaime kept under watch as a Kingsguard, and Tommen would be nothing more than a figurehead as Margaery took command over the Westerlands. How Cersei must be seething through all of this. It wouldn't compare to what she would feel soon.
Olenna decided that even though House Lannister had a strong boot to its neck for the time being, Cersei deserved more than darkness and decay. Cersei deserved despair for stealing Mace from the world.
Being a member of the Small Council, Olenna was granted access down into the darkness of the Red Keep's prison, except her escort had to be one of the King's men instead of her own. But she did not mind it, in fact she expected by the end of this, word would spread to all of the Northmen here and she would be well respected by them.
The lone torch lit the way to the cell in which Cersei sat back in. She had been treated better than she deserved, as was a condition of Tommen's surrender. Fool of a child. He had no right to demand anything. They should have stormed the city and the Red Keep, to hell with what the sheep think.
Olenna spoke calmly on the other side of the cell bars. "Look at you, the powerful Cersei Lannister now a shriveling bitch with no claws."
Cersei's face reddened with anger but she said nothing as she stood up to her feet and walked up to the bars, stretching her arms through and leaning on them. "And look at you, the powerful Olenna Tyrell with no friends but myself to talk to anymore. Has your bastard King sent you to gloat on his behalf? A man so honorable as Ned Stark's spawn couldn't possibly bear to be seen doing it himself, of course."
Ned Stark's spawn. Now Olenna knew where to aim the dagger for a deep wound. "It must upset you more than ever to know that man's true birth. His father was the man you dreamed of more than your brother, his mother the woman who's name you heard night after night when your husband fucked you drunk. He is everything you wanted, stolen. And now he has everything you once had, stolen. The throne, your son, your brother, and your home."
Cersei shot her arms out to Olenna with a yell, but Olenna was purposefully an inch out of the bitch's reach. She didn't even flinch when she was swiped at. This was proceeding much lovelier than she thought it would. The cool collected queen finally no more upstanding than a wench from Flea Bottom, just like she tried to make of her Margaery.
After a few seconds, Cersei seethed and retreated back into her cell, sitting down and refusing to look at Olenna. But not for long. It was time to bury the dagger into the heart.
"Do enjoy your time down here in these ravishing accommodations. I would have given far more for you than Aegon has. A group of diseased beggars to enjoy you night after night, scattering broken glass on the floor, giving you vinegar instead of water, and so much more that would make you beg for death and only then would I show mercy and give it to you. I wouldn't bother with a painful death, for you would have had the worst of it that nothing would compare. I would throw you naked before the ruins of Baelor and watch you choke on the same poison Joffrey did."
That managed to cause Cersei to look up at her as soon as her son was mentioned.
Olenna did truly enjoy it. "I must admit, it was a horrible sight when it happened, nothing at all what I thought it would be but I never saw how the poison worked before then. Baelish… he chose well."
Cersei's expression suddenly went blank. All the hate she held onto her imp brother, suddenly turned into a misplacement. How delightful.
"But the memory of it still amuses me to my bones. The purple face, pus filled eyes, the gags that monster made." Olenna smirked at the look on the bitch of Casterly Rock's face. "Yes," she whispered, "it was me." She turned her heel and went back up the stairs out of the darkness. She didn't need to see Cersei's anger, she could hear every wrathful scream shouted at her from the poor woman, and how she loved them.