Chapter 58
CREGAN STARK
Though Cregan disliked Tywin's cold ambition, it was Tyrion's cunning that unsettled him—the Little Lion's mind was sharper than most blades Cregan had seen unsheathed.
He was not a tactician, but was a politician, and while Cregan would need tacticians to fight his wars, he would also need a politician to mend his realm. His own father's aversion to the South was apparent in his letters, and even if he insisted the Lord of the North wished to depart to his own lands sooner rather than later.
And in case the talks with the Free Folk soured, that time could come even sooner. So, Cregan had to plan for that time, for a divided realm could not face the impending danger.
"I know," Tyrion answered, scoffing, for as aloof and uncaring as he may present himself as, Cregan knew of the mind hidden underneath all that pomp and dismissive banter.
"But I doubt there is little the man can do," he said, yet while saying those words, his mind made the connection as his face whipped towards him.
"Unless," and Cregan's lips thinned, as he gasped.
"You must be joking!" his voice grew louder as the pain of betrayal struck like a cold arrow through his ribs.
"I was your friend..."
"I have not betrayed you, Tyrion!" he stopped the man, and was encouraged that he stopped, yet his eyes continued to glare at him with hate and rage.
"But you and I have known of this for years. So, I made a deal with him," and with that, he reached into the pocket and took out the official missive he had asked his father to send, and handed it to the man.
"Your father intended to marry Lord Marbrand's daughter, and would have produced new heirs," and the Old Lion had confirmed his plans to him, which were of no surprise to Tyrion.
"He never had any intention of you inheriting Casterly Rock. Ever," and Tyrion knew that as well, yet a sliver of hope had always lingered in his heart that if he was good enough, smart enough, he might be able to melt away the Old Lion's heart.
But it was a pipe dream.
"What is this?" the angered man questioned.
"Unlike your father, I am not blind to your talents and abilities," and no man would ever dislike being praised.
"Casterly Rock may have no place for you, but the King's Council will always have room for a mind like yours," and it took a few seconds for his words to register, before the man took the offered letter, realizing it for what it was.
Cregan saw him skim over its contents, as they drew near to the city Walls, and his eyes widened.
"You plan to name me Master of Laws," he gasped, and Cregan shook his head.
"That is the Hand's seal. You are the Master of Laws now, Lord Tyrion Lannister," and his internal conflict was visible, for all his life, he had chased after validation and approval, and yet he had been rebuffed and humiliated each time.
And now, in just a few moments, he was robbed of his most prized possession and was handed a consolation prize greater than any.
"What about Jamie?" he asked, and he had already thought up the plan for it.
"Your brother knew of the caches of wildfire hidden underneath the city. Many people believe that his keeping that a secret is a betrayal, one that led to the death of the former king and thousands upon thousands of Small Folk. They wish to see him punished," and Tyrion understood the plan.
"So, you will remove him from the Kingsguard," and Cregan nodded.
"And bar him from setting foot in the capital for Seven Years to appease the faith," but that was just his own addition, for he was not fond of how the man looked at him.
"He has no desire to be the heir to Casterly Rock," and this loyalty was dangerous, and while he could end it all quickly with but a few whispers, Cregan knew that he could not speak of that tale without proof in case it backfires.
He had to read carefully.
"Many would die to be in your position. Being the master of Law comes with a lot of power and influence," he added, and the little man sighed.
"I know, and I am thankful that you see me worthy, for the position," and so the man remained unconvinced, leaving him no other choice.
"You care a lot about your brother," Cregan asked, and Tyrion answered with a fond smile.
"He is the only reason I am still alive. I cannot betray him like this," he began, and offered him back the royal missive.
"What if he is not who you think he is?" and the way his body jolted, and those mismatched green and purple eyes narrowed, was dangerous, as a shiver ran down his spine.
"Be careful of what you whisper, Stark. We are friends, but he is my brother. You have no idea what he has done for me," and Cregan was silent, for it had been some time since he had asked Qyburn to search for the girl, and the man had worked his magic.
The information had cost him a lot, but if it was true.
"I know you care for your brother, and he has been good to you," Cregan agreed, but he did not like Jamie Lannister, he did not like the way the man gazed at him, gazed at Myrcella.
"Yet you wish to cause a rift between us?" With that, he offered him back the missive.
"I will not betray my brother for you, Stark," and Cregan pushed it back into his arms.
"Keep it," he said softly as the retinue came to a halt as they reached the city gates.
"Because in a few weeks, you might just have to change your mind..."
.
.
.
And he turned his horse around, and reached Myrcella's carriage, as he knocked on the door, and the girl pulled down her window.
"Yes," she asked, smiling at him.
"Perhaps you might agree to cover the rest of the path on a horse," and immediately he sensed those green Lannister eyes bore into the back of his head.
"Why?" she asked.
"Well, you are the Queen, and the people should see their Queen on her triumphant return. I think it would help assuage some of the nervousness and fear among the Common Folk," and Jamie Lannister was behind him.
"No!" he screamed, reaching for his arm as Cregan turned around.
"I will not let you put her life in danger!" he ordered, glaring at Cregan as he raised a brow.
"The Queen is capable of making her own decisions, and as the Kingsguard, it is your job to protect her while she does it," he replied as calmly as he could.
"I will go, Uncle," and the door to the carriage opened, and Aurora immediately rushed towards her legs, and the giant wolf was large enough that she could no longer fit in the carriage, and could even be ridden.
"Aurora! Stop," Myrcella ordered, as the direwolf licked her hands.
"My lady, I must protest," the Kingslayer continued.
"It is only a small distance. Plus, I trust you, uncle," and she gave him a warm smile, and he saw his face shift as Cregan's expression darkened.
"As you wish, Princess," and so the guards moved forward, clearing a path, and a horse was brought forward. She joined him at the head of the retinue, with Aurora right beside her.
"I am not that good at riding," she whispered into his ear, as Cregan smiled and held her hand.
"Don't worry. I won't let you fall..."
0000
OLENNA TYRELL
Tired eyes, a wearied posture, and a stack of unopened missives—Eddard Stark wore his burdens like a second cloak, while keeping the realm tightly knit. Being the King's Hand was a significant burden for any man, let alone one who had little appetite for the games of the Capital.
The bags around his eyes and his sagging shoulders showed his weariness, but that did not make him any less dangerous or essential. The stupid Greyjoys had chosen to step into the war after it was over, and their stupidity and tardiness had cost them.
Already, the Young Wolf of the North had begun to slaughter all the Iron Islanders who had taken refuge in the North. Even the familiarity of their former ward could not match those who were born and bred in those desolate lands, and there were reports that the war in the North may be over before the turn of the moon.
She had hoped to leverage the war to her advantage, but her options became increasingly limited with each passing day.
"You are a busy man, Lord Stark," and the most powerful man in the realm nodded.
"I am, that is why I am not in the mood for playing games," and he was as direct and dour as she had heard.
"Gods know I have had enough of them." Indeed, nobles high and low, merchants, and assassins all gathered in the capital to catch a glimpse of their new King and Queen. She had watched from the window as the two younglings were welcomed to the city as heroes. Though banners of Direwolf and the Lion lined the retinue, it was the Stark name that the Common Folk chanted, making it relatively clear about who held the real power in the realm.
"Well, you will have to forgive us if we Southerners lack the bluntness of the North," she added as they sat in the gardens, and this was one of the few places where one could somewhat escape the horrid stench of the city.
"And the loyalty," and he was sharp-tongued, though victory and Kinship did do wonders for one's confidence.
"Well, were you so loyal when you rebelled against the Mad King?" she asked, and his mood soured.
"We rose against tyranny, while your House chose to support a traitor," and she scoffed at how men liked to justify their games.
"No. Lord Stark, the only difference between what you did and what my stupid son did is that you won," and her House lost, not just once, but twice.
"That is the only difference," and the man was silent as his jaw tightened at her taunt, yet she simply continued.
"Still the wars over, it is time for us to make peace, so tell me the terms," and the man was well prepared as a piece of parchment was offered to her, and indeed it was too excessive.
Higher taxes, hostages, gold, loans, and much more.
"Pah!' Olenna scoffed, tossing the parchment back onto the marble table with a snap of her wrist.
"Do you wish to beggar us?" she asked, and the man was unfazed, and she wondered if it really was good that she was negotiating with him in place of Tywin Lannister.
"You admitted yourself that you have lost the war. We hold your daughter, your son, and a hundred other sons and daughters from houses all over the Reach. Given that, I would call these terms rather generous," and indeed, though it was a mercy that they were Stark captives, and had been treated with some dignity.
Olenna herself received nearly a hundred missives from the Reach, and nearly the same number of little fawns and doves all begging at her feet to save their sons and brothers.
"Generous!" she gasped.
"You would see us ruined for generations!" and it was a massive issue, but she was not angry at the demands.
"Still, one would think that with the Seven Kingdoms still at war, the Iron Throne would desire to make friends rather than enemies," she added suggestively.
"Especially, with the Crown facing such troubling times," and the man sighed.
"I am not going to play your games. Tell me what you have to offer?" and her mood soured, for she had hoped to fight a war of words and wit, yet the Northern lord seemed to have little patience.
Well, Olenna was old, so it was not as if she was made of time herself.
"I will give you half of what you have asked," and even then, the Reach would suffer for decades because of her son's stupidity, and the man scoffed.
"You are not in any position to dictate terms, my lady," but she was still going to.
"Have some patience, I was not done yet," she cut in as she leaned back.
"Because apart from that, I offer you something far more valuable than any hostage or mine. My granddaughter..."
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