Tyrion had considered what could be done to aid his family in the coming war, and sadly he had not come up with much. He'd briefly reviewed the designs of the two ballistae Storm's End kept, but outside of a bit of tinkering to improve draw strength, didn't find much. Frankly, storming Storm's End was nearly impossible, so there wasn't much of a point.
He wished that he had more information about how the war was going. They received the odd raven or two to Storm's End, but it wasn't a priority, and it was also dangerous to be too detailed because ravens could be shot down.
Then it dawned on him. Much of the realm depended on a eunuch to use his 'little birds' to determine what dangerous secrets existed. Varys was in King's Landing, not in Storm's End, and not in many other places. Why should he alone know the goings and comings of the realm? Tyrion knew vaguely that others played the game of intrigue and paid for rumors, but to create a true network of eyes and ears, that, that would be useful.
Tyrion was no fool; it would not directly help the current war. Such things took time to establish, but it would be something he could begin to work on. It would allow him to be useful, and the intellectual exercise would keep him from growing too bored. Ser Penrose was acceptable enough company, but the lot in Storm's End were dreadfully martial and cared little for topics that interested him.
The first step would be to establish trustworthy individuals who would report accurately and not run off to another higher bidder. Tyrion didn't know many people on a personal level, but he did know that outcasts were often hungry for acceptance and wanted to be viewed as useful. He bitterly knew that. And who really was to say that all eyes and ears had to have all their eyes and ears? Or that a man with a clubfoot couldn't pay attention and listen?
That was who he would look to recruit in his initial set of eyes and ears. Those with physical deformities and cripples. He would give them purpose, and coin since he was a Lannister, and they would provide loyalty. They would spread across Westeros in time, or at least the Stormlands for now. Tyrion did not have a trusting nature, not after Tysha, so he was already imaging protocols and ways of weighing information for authenticity. Tests where one of his eyes would attempt to bribe another into betrayal.
Tyrion was excited at the possibilities and how he could insert these individuals in places of actual power. Every keep needed servants – even the lame could perform certain unfavorable tasks. His mind span across dozens of different stratagems and schemes. Eager to get started, he explained what he hoped to accomplish to Penrose.
"You have Lady Myrcella's support; I distaste the idea of skulking about, but I will find you the cripples you seek. What good they will do, or how far you can trust them, I know not. You will have coin too in moderation, as well as a squad of men-at-arms at your call."
Tyrion was again impressed by how far his niece's good word took him. Yes, she was the Paramount Lady of the Stormlands, but she was also a child. He took his good fortune in stride and began his work.
Tyrion thought himself a decent judge of character and personally assessed everyone they found for usefulness. Sadly, some were too broken by the world or were simply not bright enough to do the work he imagined. But he found some, and he began to train those some in a new cipher he'd created. The children he found were most adept at learning it, and while he had some pangs of guilt over eventually sending children out as spies, the role he would have for them would be as safe as he could make it.
Tywin's youngest child was feeling productive, useful, and he enjoyed creating this network. This would be a toil of years, not months, but it was a welcome one. But then he was interrupted when a guard knocked and summoned him to Penrose's solar.
Tyrion saw the grim features of his host and instantly knew that something was wrong.
"What is it? With that face, I know it can't be good."
Ser Cortnay nodded. "You have the right of it, Tyrion. I am telling you first, but based on the raven I have just received, your niece, and Lady of the Stormlands, is dead."
Tyrion felt his world rock. After Jaime's death, he'd realized that he wasn't fully alone. There were others in the Lannister family that had not been cruel. His aunt Genna had always been fond of him, though they were not close. Tyrek Lannister was the son of his favorite uncle and was a good lad. Yet the one person in his family who had acknowledged him, who had recognized that he had worth, was Myrcella. His brilliant niece, the one he never knew what to truly make of.
And she was dead.
"How?"
Penrose practically snarled. "Murdered in the Eyrie by Lysa Arryn. She was falsely accused of conspiring to overthrow House Arryn with the help of Nestor Royce. They executed both by throwing them out the Moon Door."
Tyrion felt a surge of hate fill his veins. If his brilliant niece had done a scheme like that, she wouldn't have gotten caught. She had been lured there and killed. He again cursed his lack of information; the last he knew, she had been going to the Crossroads to meet the Freys.
A curious cocktail of emotions filled Tyrion. Fury and rage bubbled through him, but it also felt like he was an observer of his own state of mind. Unlike with Jaime, where all he could feel was deep sorrow and profound sadness, here those were rather a dim undercurrent. Instead, he felt an incandescent fire burning in his soul that yearned to be released. He wanted to make Lysa pay.
"Tyrion, I will need to consult with Ser Barristan on what happens next. Myrcella never named an heir, but we will avenge her. We will."
He looked up at Ser Cortnay. "In whatever small part I can play, I will help."
Tyrion did not let tears fall – that could happen later. For now, he would think of a proper vengeance for the one named Lysa Arryn, who used to be Lysa Tully.
***
Eddard Stark had advised against taking the keep that was called Parchments. They had the numbers, but it would be a bloody affair. Instead, they had bypassed it. Getting messages while in the field, not in their home territory, was not easy, so news they did receive was often late. The timing of things meant that the offer by Willas Tyrell to wed Sansa Stark was received by him after Sansa and Arya were already well on their way to White Harbor. No raven could seek out that ship on the sea; the birds weren't that smart, so he would have to accept by sending word the slower way by vessel and then raven. Hopefully the message would arrive by the time Sansa docked.
Normally, Ned would have preferred to consult with his wife about the marriages of their children, but this was the best possible match he could see. Willas Tyrell was the Paramount Lord of the Reach, and Sansa would do well in a place like Highgarden. He had a good reputation as kindly and intelligent. The crippling injury he'd suffered prevented him from being in battle, but it was not something Ned held against him. Arya would continue to Winterfell, but Sansa would be back on a ship to take the obscenely long voyage around Dorne and into the Reach. Willas had wanted the two houses tied sooner rather than later and had specified that he was prepared to consummate the marriage later when she was older, but they were to be wed in Highgarden as soon as it could be arranged.
His son had command of the outriders and was scouting ahead. It would soon be time to move west; they were attempting to get word to the Tyrell host to see what their next move was. Last Eddard knew, Dorne's main muster was still gathering at the Prince's Pass. He hoped that it would be of use soon; the sooner the war could be brought to a close, the sooner they could prepare for winter.
A squire shouted out, "A message for the Hand."
The message turned out to be a summons to see the King immediately. Eddard stopped his inspection of the camp and went to the King's pavilion. They had opted to set up camp outside one of the villages they had taken, maybe a day's ride from Parchments.
"Your Grace," Ned said as he bowed before King Stannis. Davos was there with him, as were Glover and Bolton.
"Word from the Eyrie – your good-sister has finally chosen a side," Stannis explained and then handed him one parchment and then another.
The first contained momentous news. Lord Royce and Lady Myrcella executed? Eddard would sooner have thought to see giants south of the wall than that sort of news. Lord Royce had been a proud man, but honorable. The idea that he would attempt to betray Lysa Arryn… it did not mesh well with Ned's image of the man. The news of Myrcella Baratheon's execution eclipsed his shock over Royce.
His guts twisted in emotional confusion. She had done much for his family. Had she not been in the Tower of the Hand, it would have been a near certainty that he and Arya would have been slain. Sansa would be trapped in King's Landing with those who loved her not. Myrcella had quite literally saved his life by killing the Gold Cloak who had been about to slay him. Then she later returned his son Bran to him, without cost.
She had been a brilliant and dangerous foe; her tongue had flummoxed the King and driven splinters of mistrust and frustration within the camp. Many would disagree, but Eddard knew that had it not been for Myrcella, Stannis would likely already have been seated on the Iron Throne.
He was disheartened, relieved, and most of all suspicious. What had happened in the Eyrie? He could well see her planning something and trying to create a wedge between Royce and Arryn; for that matter, why had she even been in the Eyrie? The details were scant, so he would be left with his curiosity for some time.
Having the Vale join Stannis and proclaim him the true King should seal the Lannister's fate. The knights of the Vale could liberate the Riverlands from the Stormlands host and then perhaps even descend toward King's Landing.
The second letter was also from the Eyrie, a marriage pact. Robert Arryn, whose health had improved recently, to Shireen Baratheon. He would be the princess's, and eventual Queen's, consort, and not ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, should Stannis not have any male heirs. The letter stated that the Riverlands were in support of the marriage and made some brief arguments on why the match was appropriate.
Who better than the son of Jon Arryn to help lead the Seven Kingdoms? King Robert had slighted the Vale after Jon's death, and this was a way to soothe the bitterness of Lysa's vassals. It also ensured the loyalty of the Vale and its only lightly-scathed full muster. The two were of similar age, and both had struggled with childhood afflictions.
The letter did not sound much like what he remembered of Lysa; no doubt she had several advisors. The letter's points were good. Outside of Ned's own family, there were not many notable Paramount Lord's families with suitable children. Bran or one of the Martells were really it, unless Stannis consented to a large gap in ages.
Eddard realized that he had been pondering in silence for some time and shook himself out of it. "Your Grace, I know that she was our enemy, but she was your niece; please accept my sympathies."
Stannis exhaled sharply. "She was a traitor, but also still a child. I mislike how both Doran and Lysa have freely accused her of being baseborn when I have not made that claim. That will be rectified, and her name will be recorded in the histories as Myrcella Baratheon, trueborn child of Robert Baratheon."
"What of the match?" Bolton's quiet voice interjected.
Stannis frowned. "What does my Hand advise? The Vale is the last to come to our cause."
"My initial thoughts are that it is a good match, Your Grace. Politically, it binds the realm tightly, and the part about the shared experiences of their childhoods is touching."
Stannis waved that aside. "That is unimportant compared to the stewardship of the realm. I am not my brother, Eddard; I reward leal service, not dismiss it. I am asking, would you prefer one of your sons marry my daughter."
Eddard's eyebrows rose a bit. For all that Stannis had leaned on him for advice, he had always gotten the impression to be disliked him in some way. Now he was being honored with potentially having one of his sons rise to the rank of a prince of the realm, whose children would one day sit on the Iron Throne. His wife would have him leap at such an opportunity, but that was not him. It was never his aspiration to have his family sit on the Iron Throne; the North was enough. He also did not think either Robb or Bran would wish for such a role.
Robb had proven a consummate warrior. He relished the opportunity to ride out, join scouting parties, and sally forth to face an enemy. Robb had been groomed to be the next Lord of Winterfell, and he would be more than content with it. In some ways, depending on Shireen's nature, he would have less power as a prince.
Bran was another option, but with his worrying dreams and wish of being a knight, being a prince was not high on his list of desires either. Rickon was too young to know what he desired, and too young for Shireen realistically.
"No, Your Grace. I did my duty and what Robert would have wanted. I want what will be best for the realm. If you wish to honor me, think of the North when winter arrives. Make sure that we have food when it gets harshest. In the last several decades, the Wall has fallen in disrepair, and few take the Black willingly. Make it a priority again."
Stannis gave him a firm nod.
"I will tentatively respond that I am open to the betrothal then, with a wedding after the war has reached its conclusion. I will want to see if Robert Arryn is more than what he was when I last saw him in King's Landing," Stannis promised. He paused, before continuing, "And I will have the truth of what happened with Myrcella," Stannis promised. He stared sternly ahead, considering the implications of his words.
And there was still more work to do, more to discuss, more to decide. They were just starting to debate how to bring about the end to the war when a breathless messenger announced that Tywin Lannister had stolen a march and had already crossed the Wendwater, almost certainly heading for them.
Eddard was surprised at the speed, even more surprised by the estimates on their numbers. Had he left King's Landing virtually undefended?
"Lord Lannister must also know that his odds are dwindling. The lion is cornered; we should let Dorne blood themselves," Bolton advised.
Glover growled at that. "Not all of us are craven, Lord Bolton. He may have more numbers, but we will have more horse."
Eddard wanted to be done with the war, but he leaned toward Bolton's view. Dorne had yet to prove themselves in the war, and there would be no need to fight a battle while outnumbered when they had the maneuverability of the ships.
"This is the same scenario we had in the Riverlands when we demanded Edmure to avoid fighting Tywin until we could unite our hosts. I agree with Bolton; we can sail around Shipbreaker's Bay and link with Dorne in the Rainwood," Eddard said. "Order Doran to push up the Prince's Pass."
Glover threw up his hands. "Lord Stark, I will follow you wherever you go, but all this going this way and then that way – we'll see all the Kingdoms 'fore we are done. This isn't how wars are should be fought – you get your men and find the enemy, and you fight. Let us just crush them here and now. That ends the war, and we can all leave these southern games and prepare for winter."
The King was contemplative for a long time. Finally, he looked to Eddard and spoke, "Your son is with the outriders and that wolf of his. I want details of what Tywin is bringing. Accurate account of men and horses. How many are levies, how many are knights, how many are men-at-arms. I too want this war to be over, and I am keenly aware of my declining reputation among our men as to my abilities as a war leader."
Eddard bowed his head and went to find someone to ride out with instructions to find Robb. He also needed to speak with Bran. Could Bran have any insight with his dreams into what the correct course of action would be? His son had also thought highly of Myrcella; he did not relish sharing the news of her death with him.