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Staring up at the massive walls of black stone, Melisandre couldn't help but feel slight awe at the sight before her. The great castle of Dragonstone was…impressive. Built by the Dragon Lords of old, she could feel the arcane arts emanating from each stone that made up the massive fortress. 'It is known that the Dragon Lords of old, and the Targaryens, were said to scoff at the notion of R'hllor…but how could they possibly deny his greatness when it was without a doubt by His hand that this fortress was built?' She pondered as she slowed behind the guards escorting her to take a moment to examine the black stone walls. Raising her hand, she pressed her open palm against the black stone, smiling when she felt the slight warmth emanating from within. A warmth that only R'hllor's blessing could bring. 'These barbarians do not know of the true god R'hllor…and because they worship trees and the false Seven-Who-Are-One, His power in this land is weakened. But even still, his blessings remain in this place. Indeed, R'hllor's reach is far and mighty. A castle built upon fire and smoke amidst the salted waters…born amongst salt and fire…with R'hllor's blessing all around…Perhaps this truly is where Azor Ahai shall be reborn.'
"Priestess, do not linger. Lord Stannis has little patience for those who waste his time."
"Of course," she responded, letting her hand drop as she turned around and let those escorting her lead her into the depths of the great castle.
It'd taken her nearly a fortnight since her arrival on this island, but finally she'd been granted an audience with the Lord of Dragonstone, Lord Stannis, brother of King Robert Baratheon. Though from what she saw in the flames, there was far more to the man than just him being the brother to the King. In one of her visions granted to her by R'hllor, she saw an imposing man wearing a golden crown with the banner of a stag and burning heart behind him. And while she had never seen him, she knew that the man she saw was this Stannis Baratheon. He would one day be a champion for R'hllor…but was he Azor Ahai? That she did not know. Perhaps the prophecy of him being 'reborn' did not mean the great champion's actual rebirthing into this world from their mother. But perhaps it meant their rebirth in the true faith of R'hllor? Prophecies, as her fellow Sisters reminded her constantly, were fickle things.
Her escort slowed as they reached a set of double doors with two guards standing outside. Moving aside, her escort motioned for her to continue, "Lord Stannis is waiting for you within, Priestess."
Straightening her robes, Melisandre held her head high as she walked past the guards and into the room beyond. What awaited her was a room that had become legendary, even in Essos and as far as Asshai. The Chamber of the Painted Table, named so after the massive wooden map of Westeros that dominated the chamber and gave rise to its name. it was in this very room that the Targaryens planned their conquest of Westeros. And it was within this very room that she met the Lord of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon, brother to the King and descendant of the Dragon Lords of Valyria even if he did not carry their name.
As soon as she laid eyes on the Lord, she had to catch herself from staring. As she had thought, it was Lord Stannis that was the man in her vision, the man with a crown carrying the sigil of a stag surrounded by a fiery heart. She could also tell, from the words of those she'd talk to and from her own first impression, but this was not a man who would be swayed by honeyed words or empty promises. She doubted even offering her own body to him would suffice. No. This was a man of action and deeds. She would need to prove herself to him. And through her actions would he come to see the glory of R'hllor. It was why she'd spent her entire time since arriving performing simple miracles of her god to the smallfolk to help better their lives. Cure a cold. Return a woman's fertility. Such things were easy for her god but would go far in proving her worth to this man.
"Lord Stannis Baratheon," she greeted the man, curtsying to him in a show of respect. "I am Melissandre of Asshai, Priestess to the true God R'hllor and his humble servant. I come offering my services to you and those of Westeros. And a warning of the darkness approaching. A darkness that threatens to consume all."
Lord Stannis said nothing as she felt his eyes examining every part of her body. "I know who you are," he said, his voice as hard as his visage. "I have known of you since you're arriving on my lands. While I have no need for those who preach empty promises, I have decided to sate my curiosity after hearing of your acts of magic that you performed for those under my command."
Hiding the smirk that threatened to show itself at realizing she'd taken the right approach, Melisandre righted herself and met Stannis's cold eyes with her fiery eyes. "Such feats were not necessarily my own, my Lord. It was through my god R'hllor that I was able to provide such aid to those you command. An aid that was quite simple in truth. And it is an aid that I wish to offer you as well."
The Lord of Dragonstone idly tapped his fingers on the painted table as he regarded her. "I have seen such miracles before, feats of magic and the like. Performed by the Sorcerer Nox, both on the field of battle and during times of peace. Magic that my own daughter possesses, which led me to send her to the Sorcerer so that she might hone her gift. Yet I have not heard him speak that such feats were only capable because of a 'god'. But rather through the Force which he shapes and molds to suit his purpose."
This was not pleasant news to Melisandre. She did not trust this 'Sorcerer' from the North. If he was not the Great Other himself, then he was at the very least an agent for the beast. And what was concerning to her was the respect in Stannis's voice as he spoke of this Sorcerer. Enough so that he'd even sent his own daughter to learn at the man's feet. Not that Melisandre completely blamed Stannis. These people were ignorant with their lack of understanding of R'hllor and His will. To them, the Sorcerer must truly seem to be next to godhood. But still, she would have to work slowly, carefully, to push Stannis from the Sorcerer's sight and onto the path R'hllor had shown her. "The powers the Sorcerer commands is known, even in Essos and my own land of Asshai. However, even his power pales in comparison to the power R'hllor gifts upon those devoted to him. Power that you will need my Lord, to face the darkness that is coming."
"The darkness that is coming?" Stannis repeated, eyeing her carefully. "You speak of the Others from beyond the Wall and their army of the dead then?"
Melisandre was momentarily surprised. She'd been under the belief that the people of this land were either unaware of the Great Other or dismissed it as mere legend. But knowing the threat they faced was far different than understanding it. For it was only through R'hllor that this land had hopes of triumph over the shadows gathering. "You know of the Great Other and his return," she said calmly. "Then you understand the need for aid from R'hllor. For it is only with the champion of R'hllor, the Prince-Who-Was-Promised, Azor Ahai Reborn, can the Great Other be vanquished."
Stannis did not offer a counter to her words, which gave her heart that perhaps she was getting through the man. "Your god is unknown in these lands. And the gods of this land, both the New Gods and the Old, seem to care little for the realm of men. And as such I am unwilling to rely on the aid of the gods to counter these monsters. However, your actions have proven your worth, if not necessarily your words. I will offer you a room in the castle to use as you see fit. You may preach and continue to aid those under my watch. However, you may not do anything to antagonize those who hold to the New or the Old gods. Continue to prove yourself useful, and I will allow you to stay. Prove yourself a hindrance, and I will have you removed from my lands and sent back to Essos on the first ship I can find."
Melisandre wanted to grind her teeth at the ignorance of the man, but she held herself back. These false old and new gods could not care for these people because they were false gods. R'hllor was the only true god. But instead of saying so, she needed to swallow her pride. One day these people would come to understand the glory of the R'hllor and the need for offerings given to him. And they would cast aside their false gods and follow the path R'hllor had set for them. But until they were ready to accept R'hllor and all He could offer, she would have to bide her time. "I understand, Lord Stannis," she intoned, bowing her head lowly. "I shall do what I can to earn your trust. And I pray that one day, I can show you the truth of R'hllor's strength and the gifts he bestows upon those who believe in him."
The Lord's response was but a curt nod and a call out to his guards to escort her to chambers that'd apparently been already prepared for her, which included her few personal belongings which must've been brought here while she was in talks with Lord Stannis. The room was not necessarily anything special, barely a step above a servant's quarters and certainly not the type of room a High Priestess of R'hllor would expect to be offered to her. But she would endure. This was but another trial set upon her by R'hllor to test her faith, her conviction to see his will be done. And she would not fail her Lord. Not now, not ever.
Walking to the hearth, she could feel the faintest touches of heat emanating from the coals within. It wasn't much, but it would be enough. Picking up a few pieces of wood that were near the hearth, Melisandre carefully placed them on top of the coals before moving to her belongings that'd been placed on her bed and drew the small dagger she had. Moving back to the fire, she slid the edge of the dagger along her left palm, creating a small cut. Flicking the blood off the blade and onto the wood, she closed her eyes and began a low chant. Almost immediately, the fire sprung to life within the hearth, eagerly eating away at the wood and her blood that lay within. "I beseech you, R'hllor, the One True God. Show me the path forward. Show me the way that I might convince these unbelievers of your true might so that they might stand tall against the Great Other who threatens all."
The flames flickered and moved as she waited for her Lord to respond to her plea. The flames shifted, and from within their deep recesses she saw a face. A woman's face. A woman who was standing next to the Lord Stannis. A wife? A mistress? Either way, she knew that this woman was the key to bringing this Lord Stannis into the faith of R'hllor.
The road to Harrenhal had been a long, and boring road to travel. After leaving Winterfell, Ned had directed their already large column to follow the King's Road south, a path that would take them almost directly to the massive keep on the edge of the God's Eye. They'd been quickly joined by the various houses of the North; Manderly, Flint, Karstark, Mormont, Glover, Umber, Forester and perhaps most surprisingly of all a contingent from the newly formed House Norfolk led by the newly appointed Lady Val Norfolk herself. When Ned had voiced his surprise at her accompaniment of them, she just shrugged and said that it would be good for her and her people to learn more about these 'Southerners' that think they rule them. Her response did not necessarily put him at ease. Especially not after word reached him of a rather blunt and rude messenger that'd arrived from the Riverlands with an offer of marriage between Lady Val and some second or third son of a minor Lord sworn to the Freys. Apparently, the messenger had not taken her outright refusal well. And when he'd insisted…she sent him back to his lord…with his message firmly and quite literally shoved up his own arse. Ned just hoped that there would be no further such instances while they were in the south were such actions where not tolerated as well as they were in the North.
Glancing over his shoulder, Ned eyed the massive column behind him. Lords, Ladies, guards, families, smallfolk and any who were seeking their fortune that could afford the voyage. All were behind him amassed in a number that could rival a small army. There had only been two other instances of this many Northerners making the trek south. The first was for the Tourney of Harrenhal…nearly two decades past. And the second was to dethrone the Mad King after the fallout of Rhaegar's actions regarding Ned's own sister. 'Let us pray that this time the North will not return south so quickly after a Tourney of Harrenhal.' Ned thought, or rather prayed as he eyed the multiple carriages close to him. Carriages that carried his daughters, youngest son and now his gooddaughter. 'Old gods of the North…I beg of you to not let my children suffer the pain and heartache of war…as I was forced to. Let them know peace.'
Turning back around, Ned squinted his eyes into the distance as he saw the outriders he'd dispatched making their way back towards them. At their head was none other than his own son, with Theon Greyjoy riding at his right. Just as they drew within earshot of himself, he was aware of Nox, GreatJon and Maege coming up from behind him.
"Father," Robb called out to him, slowing his horse down and bringing it around so they could continue to ride forward together. "Banners on the horizon. Black and gold and bearing the sigil of the Crowned Stag."
Ned immediately recognized the design his son had described. Turning in his saddle, he motioned a message boy forward. "Travel down the column, inform everyone that either the King, or a King's representative is approaching. I want every Lord and Lady and their families to the front of the column to greet them."
"Do you really think the King himself has come to meet us, father?" Robb asked as the runner wasted no time in galloping down the length of the column, shouting out Ned's orders for all to hear.
"Knowing Robert as I do…. yes," Ned replied. The King purposefully coming out and greeting a visiting Lord was, unorthodox to say the least. But Robert had never been an orthodox King in the first place.
His thoughts proved true, as not long after his family and the Lords and Ladies of the North came up to his side the riders carrying the banner of the crowned stag crested the horizon and came into view. And at the head of the riders was none other than Ned's friend, Robert Baratheon, prompting no small mutterings of surprise from the Northern retinue as everyone dismounted their horses and stood in line waiting for the King.
As the King and his men drew close, Ned realized that there was a young boy riding in front of the King, but Ned didn't really pay the boy much mind as he focused his eyes on his friend. "Ned!" Robert called out joyfully when the two groups were in earshot of one another. "By the Seven Hells! I thought you'd never get here! And all of you stay on your feet, none of that kneeling shit out here."
Ned, who'd been in the process of going to one knee, righted himself as he allowed a small smile to cross his face as Robert slowed his horse. "Your grace," Ned greeted his old friend and King as Robert surprisingly managed to slip down from his saddle on his own before helping the young boy that'd been seated in front of him down. "Apologies if we are the last to arrive. The North is a fair distance, even to Harrenhal."
"Bah, you're not the last to arrive. Those snakes from Dorne still haven't sent anyone… Not that I'm expecting them to." Robert commented lightly before stepping towards Ned. When they were but an arm's length from one another, Robert looked him up and down. "Hells, Ned, you look good. Not as good as I do of course, but then again you haven't lost nearly half your weight since the last time we saw one another, have you?"
Robert wasn't lying, by the looks of things the King had shed a good portion of his girth. And while he was still nowhere near the physicality back during the rebellion, he was far closer to it now than the last time Ned had seen him. "Ruling the North has left little time for rest I fear, your grace."
Robert laughed. "Has anyone told you that you work too much, Ned? But you're here now and that's all that matters…especially now. But we can talk more later. Tommen, come here boy." The young lad that'd been riding at the front of Robert's saddle slowly walked forward, looking up to Robert for assurance as Robert placed his much larger hands on the boy's shoulders and moved him forward. "This is my youngest, Tommen. Tommen, this here is the most honorable man you will ever meet. The Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark."
Smiling, Ned lowered himself so that he was eyelevel with the boy. "Well met, my Prince. It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance. I apologize for not being able to do so when last I was in King's Landing."
"Blame the boy's mother for that Ned, not yourself. She hounds after the children worse than a mother hen," Robert laughed at his own joke before nudging Tommen to speak.
"It, ummm, it's an honor to mee you, Lord Stark."
Giving the boy a light smile, Ned motioned for Robb and Talisa to step forward. "Your grace, you remember my eldest son and heir Robb. And this is his wife, the Lady Talisa Stark of Volantis."
"Aye, I remember your lad, Ned. Though last I met him, he wasn't a man just yet," Robert said, turning towards Robb and Talisa, taking a moment to eye Talisa up and down. "Now you're a true man…and you've chosen well lad, very well. Wish I could've been there to see you two wedded and bedded…but even getting out of the Red Keep is difficult these days."
Ned couldn't help but notice as Robb beamed with pride as Talisa subtly rolled her eyes in exasperation. She clearly did not appreciate the King speaking of her as if she were a fine mare. "Thank you, your grace. But your thoughts and well wishes are more than enough." Robb replied as Robert moved on from Robb to Theon.
"The Greyjoy lad, eh?" Robert said, eyeing Theon up and down. "Ned's done a fine job raising you to be a true man."
Robert didn't wait for Theon's reply as he walked down the line, greeting each of Ned's children in turn. He congratulated Sansa on her betrothal to Willas Tyrell, before moving to Arya and barely making a comment at her before asking Bran to show him his muscles and commenting that Bran would indeed be a knight one day. Albeit a knight with the powers of a sorcerer at his beck and call. Realizing that there was one missing, Robert turned back to Ned. "Where's your bastard, Ned?"
Ned swallowed uncomfortably. The idea of Jon and Robert in the same room still caused him more than a slight bit of unease, even after all these years. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, your grace. Jon volunteered to hold the North until we return so that the rest of us could attend the tourney."
Robert nodded his acceptance, and Ned let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as Robert approached Nox and Nyra. Robert greeted Nox as if the man was an old friend, but when he turned his attention to Nyra, Robert's face went ashen as if he'd come face to face with a ghost. And Ned couldn't help but notice that Robert's hand itched towards the dagger on his waist, nor the fact that Robert's eyes hardened with an intensity Ned had not seen since the Rebellion. "This is my wife, Lady Nyra of House Nox," Nox said, introducing his wife and Ned's Stewardess to the King as Robert continued to stare at the woman with a slacked jawed expression.
Whatever had taken hold of Robert seemed to pass quickly as the King shook his head and greeted the Sorcerer's wife before quickly moving away from her as if she were made of fire. Ned wasn't truly sure what to make of the exchange and judging by the look on Nox's face and the look of worry on Nyra's, neither did they. Nor did they appear to appreciate the King's actions either. But to Ned's relief, Nox didn't press the issue of Robert's slight as the King made his way down the line of people, introducing himself and greeting the various Lords and Ladies that'd accompanied Ned south. Though his inaction was more than likely due to the death hold Nyra had on his arm rather than Nox's restraint at the apparent slight.
Sending a grateful look towards Nyra, Ned hurried to catch up with his King just as Robert reached the one Lady of the North Ned was truly nervous about him interacting with alone. Unlike the other Ladies, with the exception of Lady Maege and her brew, Val Norfolk was not dressed in dresses, but rather in full leather with bits of steel and chainmail covering vital parts on her body. Across her chest, etched onto the leather chest piece she wore, was a weirwood tree, the sigil the Norfolk had taken as their own. Mercifully, she had left her spear, bow, and quiver back with her people. He didn't want to think of what would happen if Robert, or worse one of his guards, ordered her to disarm. Stopping in front of her, Robert looked her up and down appreciatively. "And you must be the wildling Lady Ned tamed enough to turn into a Lady of the Realm, Lady Val Norfolk."
Val's eyes flashed at the 'tamed' comment, and again Ned was thankful that she had left her weapons behind. King or not, he knew that Val was not one to take such a comment easily. "The Wolf Lord has not 'tamed' me, southern King. No man who has tried has managed to survive the attempt. I follow the Wolf Lord for the sake of my people and because I respect him. Nothing more."
"You will address the King as 'King Robert' or 'his grace'! Or you will find yourself short a head, heathen!" one of the Kingsguard that'd accompanied the King, one Ned did not recognize, shouted as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword while taking a threatening step forward.
Val merely gave the Kingsguard a dismissive glance. "Better than you have tried. Your stance is shite. Your grip is too tight. And I doubt you can see anything through dat fancy bucket yer wearing on your head. I'd have ya on the ground and run through with yer own sword before ye could even blink if you tried to take my head."
Her threat was not idle. During her time with him learning how to rule as a Lady, Ned had faced off against her in the yard on more than one occasion. And while he had bested her more often than not, she had gotten the better of him several times. If he was pressed, he would say that there were only four, perhaps five in the entire realm that could best her. And this Kingsguard, whoever he was, was certainly not amongst that number.
"Blount, shut your mouth before I let this woman do it permanently," Robert growled, glaring at his Kingsguard, who immediately took his hand off his sword and took a step back. Turning back to Val, Robert smirked approvingly at her. "There have been several tales floating around the court about you, Lady Val. Is it true that you shoved a scroll up a messenger's arse before sending him back to his Lord?"
Val simply shrugged. "The man was an annoyance and seem to think that just because I was once a chieftain of the Free Folk, that he and his master were somehow my betters."
Robert grinned widely and nodded approvingly at her. "I think I'm going to take a liking to you. Gods only know how many times I've wanted to do exactly as you did with annoying little shits that won't take 'no' for an answer."
Val appeared to be fighting a losing battle against keeping her face straight. Not that Ned necessarily blamed her. Robert had always had a gift of being able to turn his enemies to friends with barely a few words spoken. "And I think, southern King, I might be able to tolerate you as well…provided you don't let victory defeat you again and become as soft and round as I'd heard you once were."
Robert's face slipped slightly, but within a single blink he was smiling cheerfully at Val once more. "No need to worry about that, Lady Val. I won't let myself get that way again for as long as my heart still beats."
Giving her one last nod of approval, Robert made his way over to the last few standing in line to speak with him. Almost in tandem, Joy Lannister and Shireen Baratheon curtseyed lowly to Robert, while Gendry bowed lowly, and even after righting himself he kept his eyes trained firmly downwards. "Now here is a face I remember!" Robert cried out joyfully, embracing a clearly embarrassed Shireen, "Shireen, by the gods has the North been good to you, girl! I remember when you left you were a scrawny little timid thing. Now look at you. Pure strength. Stannis will be pleased when he sees you again, girl."
"Thank you, your grace," Shireen replied calmly, her face still red from the hug Robert had given her. "I look forward to reuniting with my father and showing him all that I've learned soon."
Robert's face fell. "You're going to have to wait a bit longer on that part, girl. After Jon Arryn passed, your father went back to Dragonstone to deal with a few matters, but he has yet to return or even respond to any raven sent to him. I'm hoping that after this tournament that you will go to Dragonstone yourself and remind your father of his duties to the realm."
Ned was confused by this, as was Shireen. Stannis was perhaps one of the most duty driven people Ned had ever met in his life. And from what Robert was saying, he had all but officially abandoned his duties and fled back to Dragonstone for some reason. By the time the shock of what Robert had said finally wore off, his friend and King had finished greeting Joy Lannister, saying that she was a true source of pride amongst the lions, and moved on to the last of the Acolytes. But even with Robert standing before him, Gendry kept his eyes firmly focused on the ground.
It was all but an open secret by this time that Gendry was in fact the bastard son of Robert Baratheon. Even Gendry was aware of this fact and had accepted it. But now that he was face to face with the King, his father, Gendry looked like he wanted to do nothing more than to disappear into the aether of the Force. "You're the last of Nox's Acolytes, aren't you boy?" Robert asked, reaching out and placing two fingers under the young man's chin and forcing him to look up. "Gendry. The one who helped to rediscover and even improve the process of making Valyrian steel. But more importantly…my son."
Gendry swallowed, unable to look away now that the two were meeting each other's eyes. "Aye…your grace."
Robert scoffed. "None of that shite, boy. At least not from you. It's either Robert…or father…even if I've been a shit father for years, I'm still your father, Gendry." Turning, Robert motioned towards the young Tommen. "Tommen, come here boy. It's far past time you meet your half-brother."
Tommen approached the two slowly, staring up at Gendry with what almost looked like…fear to Ned. 'Does the boy fear Gendry? Sure the lad is big and can be intimidating at times. But he doesn't even know him yet. Or is it because he is a bastard and he fears what all southerners fear when it comes to those who are baseborn?'
"My Prince," Gendry said, immediately dropping to a knee before the young Prince and lowering his head. "It is an honor to meet you. I am at your service, my prince."
The young Prince blinked, apparently whatever the young lad was expecting to happen when meeting his brother, the older boy showing reverence and proper manners to him was apparently not it. "Are…Are you really my brother?"
Gendry looked up, first at Tommen, then glancing towards Robert, clearly not sure just how to answer the boy's question. "Gendry is your brother, Tommen. But he wasn't birthed by your mother," Robert answered for the boys. "He's my bastard son, but that doesn't make him any less your brother no matter what those shit Septons might say. Now, boy, I want you to ride back to Harrenhal with the Starks. Ned, ride with me. We have words that need to be shared in private before we reach Harrenhal."
And with that, Robert was turning on his heel, leaving them all behind and scrambling to follow his orders. After giving his son some quick instructions, Ned quickly climbed up into his own saddle and set off after his King, who was already almost completely out of earshot of the caravan. Riding with the King, Ned noticed that the Kingsguard and other guards fell back from them as they rode. They would still be able to intervene quickly should the need arise, but they were far enough behind that any words shared between Ned and Robert would stay between them.
"Gods, Ned…I've missed this," Robert breathed deep, leaning his head back. "You, me, and the open road ahead of us. Now all we need is a couple of good wenches for the night and it'd will be perfect. Just like when we were boys."
"Aye…though you were always the one to find the wenches more frequently than I." Ned countered good naturedly.
"Aye, that is true. Still didn't stop ya from fathering your bastard boy though, did it?" Robert laughed, and Ned chuckled uneasily to try and keep up appearances. Jon was, still, not a topic he wanted to speak with Robert about at any length.
Instead, Ned decided to divert the conversation back to what had just transpired with Nox and his lady wife. "If I may, your grace—"
"Stop with that 'your grace' shit, Ned. We're well alone from anyone who gives a damn."
"—Robert." Ned responded to his King's demand. "Why did you react that way when you met Lady Nox? And from the look on Nox's face, he was about ready to kill you had Nyra not had a hold of his arm."
Robert's face fell as he cast a quick glance back at the caravan, which was only now just starting to get underway and still well behind them. "Ned…when I saw the Sorcerer's woman, I – I swear I saw Lyanna. Even after all these years, the pain of her loss has not lessened at all. And when I saw her standing there, holding onto the Sorcerer's arm…I wanted to kill the man and take her for my own."
Ned blinked at his friend. Sure, there was a slight resemblance between Nyra and his sister Lyanna, but they were slight at best and no one who truly knew the two of them would have trouble distinguishing between the two. A thought which brought a small swell of despair to Ned as he realized, or perhaps re-realized, just how little Robert knew his sister Lyanna. "Then let us be thankful that cooler heads prevailed."
"Aye, I have no intention of dying by the Sorcerer's blade. And speaking of dying…I'm sure Nox has told you what the Grand Maester wrote to him about?"
"He did," Ned nodded solemnly. "His conclusion is the same as the Grand Maester's. It can be delayed, but not stopped."
Robert nodded, seemingly accepting of the answer. "I thought that would be the case. I had hope but, but hope is for fools and greenboys who don't know the difference between their cock and a stick. Guess that makes me a fool then, eh Ned?"
"There is nothing wrong with holding out for hope, Robert," Ned countered.
Robert swallowed, then started coughing. Ned made to offer what aid he could, but Robert held up a hand as he was clearly fighting to keep his composure through the fit. Pulling out a small cloth, Robert held it up to his mouth, coating it with small droplets of blood that escaped him with each cough.
"I can't show any weakness, Ned," Robert replied once the fit had passed. "Those vultures in King's Landing, hell even those amongst the fucking Kingsguard and my own bannerman, would use my health as a weapon against me should my sickness become well known. Hells, I know that gold-haired cunt I married wouldn't hesitate to pounce on me like this like a fly to shit and try and turn it to her advantage somehow. And, well that is why I need you, Ned. I had Jon and Stannis to help curtail the worst of the vultures, but now Jon is gone from this world and Stannis…gods only know what in the hells has gotten into his head, running back to fucking Dragonstone and hiding. I need you to take up the position you should've taken up years ago, Ned. I hereby name Hand of the King."
Even knowing that it was coming, Ned couldn't help but be taken aback by the offer. "Robert, your grace…I'm unworthy of such an—"
"Don't even finish that sentence, Ned," Robert growled. "You're worthier than you think. Hell, you're probably the last man or woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms that I can truly trust with the position of the Hand, Ned. I need you. The realm needs you. Besides, your heir is old enough, wedded and bedded. He's more than ready to take over ruling Winterfell and the North, is he not?"
Sighing, Ned nodded. "Aye he is."
"Then there is no issue," Robert said, waving the concern off. "We were meant to rule together. Hells, had your sister lived we would've been joined by blood. And speaking off, I've heard that your eldest girl has been betrothed to the heir of House Tyrell."
"Willas," Ned nodded. "Aye she has. It is a fine match, and one that she is most agreeable to."
"And I'm sure those rose fuckers made it worth your while to make such a match, leaving their own daughter Margaery as perhaps the most logical choice for the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Robert grunted, which drew a surprised look from Ned. "Come on now, Ned. I might not have always listened or cared about Jon's lessons when we were boys, but King's Landing, fucking shit pool that it is, has a way of forcing one to learn this 'game' shit. Not to mention the Tyrells arrived in Harrenhal shortly after I did, and they've been sparing no expense in parading their little prize rose before Joffrey whenever they can. Hell, if I was sure that it wouldn't cause a fucking war, I'd be tempted to betroth Joffrey to your youngest girl just to piss off the Tyrells and my wife."
Ned involuntarily shuttered at the thought. Robert passing over a first-born girl of age for a second-born girl who'd yet to flower… He couldn't say that it would cause a war outright. But the fact that Arya would more than likely kill whoever he betrothed her too unless he got her approval certainly would.
"—and your bastard boy is now arranged to marry that Dornish Princess Arianne. A good match for the boy. I just hope he won't be swayed into playing into the Dornish hands just because he found a nice tight cunt to fuck."
"Jon won't," Ned replied, biting his lip at rebuking his friend and King. Having met and spent a significant amount of time with the Princess of Dorne, Ned knew that she did not deserve to be spoken of in such an ill manner. "His loyalty is to his family and the North first and foremost."
"That's what I'm counting on, and that's what Jon Arryn was counting on as well when he was trying to push for the match between the two," Robert conceded. "With your bastard boy in Dorne, we'll hopefully bring the Dornish fully back into the fold. Or at worst have a word of warning before they try to kill us."
"And why would they raise their banners?" Ned questioned. "The Targaryens are all gone."
Robert slowed his pace as a dark look passed over him. "Not all of them. Though there are fewer…and more now. The girl, Daenerys, has been married to a Dothraki Khal and her belly is swelling with his child. And Viserys went and did us a favor by pissing off the same Khal he'd married his sister to, which resulted in his death."
Ned was surprised by the news. He'd known of Daenerys's marriage to Khal Drogo thanks to the spies Nox had organized in Essos, but he had not had word that Viserys had recently met his end. "Have the Dothraki made any moves towards the west?"
Robert shook his head. "No. And despite what the others on the Small Council say, the Grand Maester doesn't believe they will. Viserys's deal was between him and Khal Drogo alone. With Viserys dead, the Khal apparently has little reason to fulfill his end of the deal, especially as he's already gotten what he wanted, a Valyrian bride. But I'm still having Varys and Stannis, whenever he fucking responds to a raven, keep watch on the horde and the sea. Should the Dothraki set sail, our best bet will be to sink the fuckers while they're still on the water. Once they're on land… Well, you know as well as I the stories of the Dothraki horde and what they can do, Ned."
"Aye, I do," Ned nodded, feeling relieved for some reason that Robert wasn't resorting to more…drastic measures to end the Targaryen line forever. Tilting his head back, Ned took a moment to enjoy the feel of the sun on his face. "I will accept the position as Hand of the King, your grace."
"Ha! Good," Robert laughed, slapping him on the back. "Finally, ruling together as we always should've been! Maybe now with you on my side, we can strong arm Nox into taking up his position on the Small Council. And between the three of us, we might just be able to keep the Baratheon name on the throne for more than one generation!"
Holding tight to the rigging as the boat he was on made port, Griff looked out over the state of Myr as the sailors began throwing the lines over the edge of the boat and to the dock hands waiting below. Despite the recent blow their economy had taken with the creation of Northern Glass, something which set Griff's teeth on edge, Myr was still thriving. Or at least they appeared to be thriving.
Dozens of trade vessels were docking and casting off in a flurry of activity. But despite the activity, Griff knew that Myr was still just a single strong breeze away from losing its edge against Tyrosh and Lys in their ongoing struggle against their sisters over the Disputed Lands, a struggle that'd been ongoing since the Daughters War and the time of the Dance of Dragons. And it was that strong breeze that Griff was hoping to create. A breeze that would slowly turn into a windstorm of unstoppable proportions. A storm that would allow him and his charge to cast aside their current names, and retake those of their birth. And a storm that would see that his love would be avenged. Yes. This was where it would all start. All he needed to do was follow the plan and create the breeze.