Chapter 63: Lysa Tully
"The seed is strong!" In the Tower of the Hand, the aged Lord of the Eyrie, Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, muttered to himself as he paced his study.
On the wall hung a sword that Jon's wife, Lysa, had had made for him. Whenever he sat on the Iron Throne in King Robert's stead in King's Landing, he wore it. Silver inlay traced the mountain skies along its blade, its pommel resembled a falcon's head, and its crossguard formed a pair of wings.
"As High as Honor!" Duke Jon gazed at the falcon sword and thought bitterly, As High as Honor. I should be like an eagle soaring through the mountain ravines, free and unfettered, not trapped in the tangled webs of King's Landing.
A weighty tome also lay on Duke Jon's desk, borrowed from Grand Maester Pycelle, an old man much like himself: The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children. The massive volume was indeed dull reading.
I may have uncovered the truth! Duke Jon thought. Every one of the king's bastards had hair as black as night.
That was a fact, whether it was Edric, Mya, the newborn child of a King's Landing whore, or the one across the Narrow Sea. And then there was the queen's behavior. Queen Cersei grew prouder with every passing year, and her nature held the same cruelty as her father's. She was a woman reckless enough to commit adultery. Duke Jon had once attributed her killing of those bastards to her disposition. Now it seemed she might have been destroying evidence.
History offered proof as well. However far Duke Jon traced back through the brittle, yellowed pages, gold always yielded to coal-black. In his book, Grand Maester Malleon had recorded the last union between stag and lion, more than ninety years earlier. Tia Lannister had married Gawen Baratheon, the third son of his house. Their only child was an unnamed boy who died in infancy, described in Malleon's book as "large, hearty of appetite, and black of hair." Thirty years before that, a Lannister man had married a Baratheon girl. She had borne him three daughters and one son, all black-haired.
Poor Robert! Jon had come to accept Stannis's suspicions. None of Queen Cersei Lannister's children carried the blood of House Baratheon. They were the products of adultery between the Kingslayer and the queen. Lann the Clever stole sunlight from the sun to turn his hair gold. House Lannister truly is descended from liars and thieves.
I must set the realm back on course and resolve this! But I cannot strike openly. Murdering children would stain my honor and offend House Lannister! I must find a sound way to send the Kingslayer to the Wall, deal properly with those children, and spare this new dynasty a crippling blow!
Duke Jon had always been responsible for shaping the fledgling House Baratheon's rule. That damned Lannister woman, and the Kingslayer! House Baratheon had no dragons. Its foundations were weaker to begin with, and it could not do without a man like Duke Jon to hold it together. Winning over House Lannister, forging a marriage alliance with the Westerlands, reconciling with House Martell to achieve at least the appearance of unity-all had been his designs.
Yet Duke Jon had never imagined that his brilliant marriage alliance with House Lannister would now prove the source of this turmoil! At the time, he had sought to use the Westerlands' formidable strength to secure the new dynasty.
While Duke Jon was still wrestling with his thoughts, his wife, Lysa Tully, entered the study. Lysa had the blue eyes of House Tully, a small, stern mouth, and soft, thick auburn hair that spilled down to her waist.
Time had taken its toll. In her youth, Lysa had been a pretty, slender girl with a full bosom, delicate and shy. After marrying Jon Arryn, suffering repeated miscarriages, and finally giving birth to Robert, she had begun to grow stout. Though two years younger than her sister Catelyn, Lysa looked fully ten years older. Her body was bloated and flabby, her pale cheeks powdered.
"What did you wish to see me about, my lord?" Lysa asked after entering.
"Nothing much. Our sweet Robin is reaching the proper age. When boys of noble houses are a little older than he is now, they become pages, wards, or cupbearers! I intend to send him to Dragonstone as Lord Stannis's ward!" Duke Jon looked at his wife, trying to soften his expression.
Duke Jon was older even than his wife's father, Lord Hoster. Though there was no love between them, an old husband with a young wife could hardly avoid indulging her. Lady Lysa's whispers in his ear had been quite effective when it came to promoting Littlefinger and finding a position for the Blackfish.
"You would take sweet Robin away from me? You cannot! There are enemies everywhere!" Lysa cried hysterically. She had suffered five miscarriages, two in the Eyrie and three in King's Landing, as well as two stillbirths, before finally bearing a son, Robert Arryn. After the last stillbirth, she had sunk into paranoia, convinced that enemies lurked everywhere.
"My dear lady, you must calm yourself! Robin is already six. He is the heir to the Eyrie, not a babe still nursing in his mother's arms! Everything I do is for him and the Vale!" Duke Jon told his wife.
"I always knew it! You never loved me. You only married me for my father's army! I still remember every word my father said. He told me I should thank the gods that a great lord of such renown was willing to marry a woman who had lost her maidenhood! I hate him, and I hate you too!"
"Those things! Those things! Why must you bring them up again?" Helplessness filled Duke Jon's aged face. With Lysa's loss of chastity before their marriage and the enormous difference in their ages, there was no love to speak of in their union.
"Enough, my lady! I was only asking your opinion!" Duke Jon soothed her gently, then ushered Lady Lysa from the room, though she was still seething and cursing.
Silence settled over the empty room, leaving only the aged but vigorous Duke Jon.
At that moment, Duke Jon missed his two dead wives. If only they were still alive, along with those lively, healthy heirs he had once cherished. Some had died in battle, others at the Mad King's hands.
For that cold, barbed Iron Throne! I must stand firm. For now, I can only join forces with Stannis! Duke Jon had never been on friendly terms with Stannis, but sending Robert Arryn to him was a carefully considered plan. Across the realm, few of the great nobles could be relied upon.
Once the scandal came to light, Lord Tywin would turn against King's Landing. As for Winterfell, it was too cold, and Robin's health was poor. Besides, Lysa had always hated her sister. As for Renly, Duke Jon did not trust the boy either!
The realm must return to its rightful order! Since the marriage between the king and queen is invalid, and the king has no legitimate son, the next in line is Stannis! Duke Jon thought. Stannis may be harsh, unbending, and little loved, but once his brother's marriage is annulled, he will be the first lawful heir. Only when Robert has a new heir will he move down the succession!
In a sense, Jon and Stannis were alike: each held firmly to what he believed was right.
Robert's succession-if there is no heir, how will those ambitious men act? Duke Jon grew anxious again. The bastard and the dragon princess across the Narrow Sea, that glib young Renly, and Lord Tywin lurking in Casterly Rock. But they were all secondary concerns. The crucial thing was to deal with the succession scandal and the queen's removal first.
I must hold on! Duke Jon thought. Only by staying alive and healthy can I resolve this crisis! Not just for Robert, but for my own son!
Lysa will understand my intentions once I explain everything! Duke Jon comforted himself with that thought.
Chapter 64: Fossilized dragon eggs
In the Disputed Lands, banners flew above a newly erected gray-white castle: the gray-white Wolf Pack banner, the Free Army Banner with its shattered shackles, and now a red Dragon Banner on a black field.
Though the Wolf Pack and the Free Army had occupied the vast majority of the Disputed Lands and Myr, Gendry still preferred living near the original Firepowder Herb Estate.
After rebuilding and relocating, a brand-new Wolf's Den had risen. Outside lay a moat studded with sharp stakes; within stood sturdy walls and white towers.
"Illyrio said these dragon eggs came from the Shadow Lands east of Asshai. They turned to stone over countless ages, but they're still beautiful!" Daenerys told Gendry in the garden of Wolf's Den.
"They certainly are a priceless gift, but the fat man didn't give them away for nothing!" In relinquishing Daenerys and her brother, the fat man had also received gifts from Gendry: gold and goods from Myr.
Gendry studied the dragon eggs-or, more precisely, the fossils. A bronze-trimmed cedar chest stood open, filled with the finest velvet and brocade produced in the Free Cities... and three enormous eggs rested upon it.
Daenerys gazed curiously at the dragon eggs. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen. Each looked different, and their rich patterns made her think their surfaces were encrusted with jewels. She needed both hands to hold even one.
Daenerys carefully picked one up. She had expected fine porcelain, glazed pottery, or glass, but it was far heavier, as though made of solid stone. Tiny scales covered the shell. As her fingers moved over them, they caught the lingering sunset and shone with a metallic luster.
One was deep green, revealing bronze flecks as Daenerys turned it; another was pale cream with golden streaks. The last was black as a midnight ocean, with waves and swirls of dark red that seemed alive.
Drogon, Viserion, Rhaegal! Gendry thought. The wheels of Daenerys's fate had begun to turn.
"I'll treasure them forever!" Dany had heard all sorts of tales about dragon eggs, but had never seen one, much less imagined she would have the chance.
"May I take a closer look?" Maester Qyburn was the first to ask. As a runaway maester and adviser, Qyburn was also something of a mentor to Gendry. He was entitled to examine the dragon eggs.
"These are creations of magic, part of the true dragon family's heritage. House Targaryen always guarded them closely. Even fossilized dragon eggs are worth a fortune!" Qyburn circled the three eggs, examining them several times.
"Deep green and bronze, cream and gold, black and red. If Magic Dragons hatched from them, their colors would resemble those of the eggs!" Qyburn said. "Those ancient legends are true. A dragon often has several colors, and its colors match its egg!"
Gendry knew a little about such things himself. In fact, he also had some dragon blood.
"But in this age, there are probably no living dragon eggs left!" Qyburn said regretfully.
"Living dragon eggs?" Daenerys asked in surprise.
"Yes, Princess! If these were living eggs, I doubt the magister would give them to us even in exchange for all of Myr!" Qyburn said slowly. "House Targaryen always kept its dragon eggs under strict guard, storing them in crypts and cellars. Over time, some even turned to stone."
"Even if they're fossils, the fat man was still quite generous!" Gendry studied the fossilized eggs. With these three eggs, sooner or later he would make both the fat man and Varys weep.
The fat man had used these eggs to curry favor with him because he knew that their petrification was irreversible.
But the fat man had failed to anticipate two things. First, magic was slowly returning, and the White Walkers had appeared. Magic would continue to grow stronger. Second, even fossilized dragon eggs could hatch Magic Dragons again under the stimulus of certain blood magic.
"Then can my eggs hatch dragons?" Daenerys asked.
"I'm afraid not, Princess!" Qyburn answered confidently. "In ages past, even fresh, living dragon eggs sometimes failed to hatch. All the more so for fossilized eggs. Once a dragon egg turns to stone, the change is irreversible!"
"Oh." Daenerys was a little disappointed.
"All right, Dany, keep them safe! It's time for your lessons!" Gendry told Daenerys.
"Gen! You have to come and see me!" Daenerys said expectantly. They seemed unable to bear being apart. People were always drawn to strength, especially when it belonged to a handsome man who was both gentle and powerful.
"Mm!" Gendry nodded.
The guards escorted Daenerys and the eggs away, leaving Qyburn and Gendry in the garden.
Gendry no longer needed to conceal his identity or appearance. The fat man had exposed everything! Everyone now knew the scandal of his birth.
"The fat man was generous enough to give me three fossilized dragon eggs. Perhaps he has more!"
"He most likely does!" Master Qyburn said slowly. "Many people say he once dealt in smuggled dragon bones. He probably has no shortage of sources."
"What about the eggs House Targaryen left behind? They seem to have all disappeared!"
"That truly is an unsolved mystery!" Master Qyburn said. "The dragon kings left quite a few eggs. Even after the dragons died out, they conducted many experiments with the remaining eggs. Summerhall, for instance, used seven eggs at once!"
"But after the victory in the War of the Usurper, there was indeed no word of the new dynasty finding those eggs!"
It would be best to find better eggs-living dragon eggs! Gendry thought. With eggs like those, he would not have to resort to arcane blood magic. It would spare him some trouble.
"Dragonstone, the Red Keep, Summerhall-wherever they are, I will find those eggs! They should belong to me and Daenerys, to my children!"
"Your Highness, the princess is easy to deal with. She is very attached to you and quite obedient. With professional instruction in etiquette and knowledge, she will surely shine throughout Westeros one day," Master Qyburn said. "Viserys, however, remains a threat! He is too old, comes before her in the succession, and has certain troubles of the mind."
"Is Viserys still spending all his time in brothels?" Gendry asked.
"Yes! The two Unsullied sent by the fat man are protecting him!" Qyburn nodded. "He thinks you have broken your promises, and he resents our soldiers looking at him as though he were a fool! More importantly, your parentage has deepened his fear and unease."
"Let him be! As long as he doesn't bother me or Daenerys." Gendry spoke dismissively. If Viserys kept drinking and whoring out there, sooner or later he would meet a violent end. Gendry would not need to do it himself.
"Illyrio spread the news that I'm a bastard!" Gendry told Maester Qyburn.
"It must have been him. Besides, the fat man has an informant in King's Landing!" Qyburn reasoned.
"He does have one, and a remarkably capable one at that!"
"The fat man isn't our friend. He may well be our enemy!" The fat man and the Spider were using Daenerys and her brother to draw fire. The person they truly meant to support was someone else!
"Merchants are all like that!" Qyburn nodded.
"The fat man is of little importance. Our immediate concern is dealing with the Tyroshi, the Lyseni, the Volantenes, and our enemies across the Narrow Sea!"
"Tyrosh has the Black City, and it lies among a chain of islands. Once we blockade it, taking it shouldn't be too difficult!" Qyburn considered for a moment. "The real challenge will be securing our rule and preventing uprisings by the exiled magisters. That will require a great many men!"
Chapter 65: Littlefinger the envoy
Littlefinger had originally intended to enter beautiful, white Myr, but the customs envoy who received him informed him that the ruler would meet him at the newly built Wolf's Den in the Disputed Lands.
Wolf's Den, Wolf Pack! Those words stirred an uneasiness in Littlefinger. Was House Stark's shadow still haunting him? The wound left decades earlier seemed to emerge from his memories and stab him anew.
Travel-worn, Littlefinger passed through numerous checkpoints and inspections before finally reaching Wolf's Den, the heart of the new kingdom. It looked more like a vast military camp.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Petyr!" A middle-aged man with unmistakably northern features greeted Petyr first. Jorah had changed into gray-white leather armor, though a great bear still adorned his chest.
Jorah welcomed Littlefinger into the military camp outside Wolf's Den. "The ruler is waiting for you, good envoy of the Iron Throne!"
"If I'm not mistaken, you are Lord Jorah? I still remember your heroic deeds from those days!" Littlefinger said.
"That is all in the past. Now there is only Jorah, the ruler's loyal servant!" The great bear glanced at Littlefinger. He had heard of the man's various exploits, which filled northerners with contempt, including his presumptuous challenge to Brandon the wild wolf and his rise through Lady Lysa's influence.
Littlefinger remained all smiles. These damned northerners were always so stubborn, yet lacked tact. If the king's bastard had grown up surrounded by such men, he would surely have a disposition much like Brandon the wild wolf's. That would make him easy enough to persuade.
In the camp, Littlefinger saw banners spread like a painting, steel striking steel, spears thrusting, and soldiers drilling together. They seemed to be preparing for a new war.
The sturdy, taut-muscled men wearing gray-white Wolf Pack badges were the elite Wolf Pack troops. Those with lighter mail or leather armor, less imposing physiques, and faces from every corner of the world were presumably the Free Army, formed from former slaves.
Whatever the case, this army of tens of thousands, combined with Myr's wealth and the fleet on the Narrow Sea, was certainly enough to frighten the Iron Throne for a time. The Free Cities were generally wealthy, and armies raised by them and commanded by a powerful leader would indeed be formidable enemies of the Iron Throne.
This game was already chaotic enough! Wolf, falcon, trout, lion, Deer! I only meant to draw the direwolf into the game. Who could have imagined that a wild Deer across the Narrow Sea would suddenly rise and enter the game of thrones as well? I must win and gain more for myself! Littlefinger thought.
The ruler's tent was enormous, but not lavish. Littlefinger saw a cold warhammer and an immense steel shield, with a crude iron mask painted upon it.
In that respect, this bastard really is the king's own son! Littlefinger thought as an Unsullied attendant drew back the flap and let him enter.
Petyr was short and of ordinary build, but handsome. He had gray-green eyes, a small pointed beard on his chin, and dark hair threaded with gray.
"I am Petyr Baelish, honored to serve as envoy of the Iron Throne and master of coin on the Small Council. It is a privilege to meet Lord Gendry, ruler of the Disputed Lands, Myr, the Stepstones, and the Narrow Sea!" Littlefinger spoke in a honeyed voice, then bowed obsequiously. He wore a heavy cloak fastened with a Silver Mockingbird.
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