Game of Thrones: The Stag's Storm

"Are you sending me to Crackclaw Point to recruit men, Commander-in-Chief?" Rosso asked Gendry. The old king's son-in-law and the new king's bastard could always find an outlet for the volcano that was Crackclaw Point. After all, Crackclaw Point had suffered heavy losses in the War of the Usurper.

"No, not to Crackclaw Point. Not yet. There's a more important task."

"What do you think of King's Landing?" Gendry asked Rosso Brune directly.

"A bloated, filthy city. Still, there are enough rich people in King's Landing to support plenty of free knights and free swordsmen," Rosso said. In fact, had Rosso Brune not crossed the Narrow Sea to try his luck, he might already have found work in King's Landing.

"I want to send you to King's Landing," Gendry told Rosso. "There's no shortage of trouble there, and I need men of my own."

"I will follow your orders, my lord," Rosso said after a moment's thought, without the slightest objection.

"When men deal with one another, a shared spirit matters. I hope you won't take offense." Gendry smiled. "The work I'm sending you back to King's Landing for isn't especially honorable. Please don't take offense. If it's not to your liking, I can give you a chest of gold and let you leave."

"I don't need gold. As a warrior, I ought to be as unyielding as one," Rosso said. "That is my promise to you."

"Good, Rosso. There will always be a place for you in my Household Guard." Gendry looked into Rosso's eyes. Money could certainly forge bonds, but a shared spirit could bind men together too.

Though Gendry did not know whether the story would unfold as before, he had already placed his piece in King's Landing.

The Spider's intelligence came from his Little Birds, his deep roots in King's Landing, his secret monopoly over the passages beneath the Red Keep, and his alliance with the fat man.

Littlefinger's intelligence came from money and his deep roots in the financial system. The Master of the Four Stores, the Royal Accountant, the Royal Measurer, the heads of the Three Mints, the harbormasters, tax farmers, customs officers, wool factors, road toll collectors, shipmasters, wine factors, and so on were all his men.

As for Gendry, he intended to build an intelligence network of his own. His information would come from warriors who admired him, slaves who longed for freedom, second sons, adventurers, merchants, and landless nobles.

Just wait, you two. I'll show you how to settle disputes through military force! A game is only a game. Warriors and smiths run a country, not Littlefinger and the Spider lurking in corners. Gendry thought that in a cesspit like King's Landing, Cregan's methods were precisely what a soldier-politician needed.

"Who are you now?" Gendry asked Rosso.

"A down-on-his-luck free warrior, a nobody from Westeros. A distant relation of House Brune of Brown Hollow Mountain on Crackclaw Point," Rosso answered.

Gendry was very satisfied with Rosso's answer. A loyal, reliable, inconspicuous man was just right for King's Landing. The others around him-Jorah, Long Spear, and Brown Ben-stood out too much and were not as meticulous.

"But what should I do?" Rosso asked.

"Just do what you normally would. A free rider makes his living by his fighting skills. You're good enough that some powerful man will naturally want to employ you," Gendry said plainly.

If the story had not veered off course, Littlefinger would happily accept this gift of his. Chaos was coming to King's Landing. Though Gendry could not reach that far himself, he could still send a spy.

"Beware of the Spider, and beware of Littlefinger. The Spider's birds are everywhere. The godswood in King's Landing is one place where you can hide yourself. As for Littlefinger, the Master of Coin has plenty of agents too."

"I understand, my lord." Rosso understood what Gendry meant. He needed to lie low in King's Landing and wait for instructions.

"But what if either of those two recruits me?"

"That would be better still."

Gendry expected Littlefinger to discover Rosso. A loyal, impoverished free knight of humble origins was exactly the sort Littlefinger liked. Besides, Gendry had frightened Littlefinger once across the Narrow Sea, and now he had greater demands when it came to guards.

Because Littlefinger was lowborn, apart from these free knights and the truly destitute, the established old nobility disdained serving him. Yet Littlefinger lacked military strength, so he badly needed to recruit men from among the sellswords.

"Maester Qyburn will come to see you shortly and tell you what you need to watch out for."

"As you command."

Chapter 88: Invitation

In Winterfell, in the North, banners bearing the black-and-gold stag and the gray-and-white direwolf flew side by side.

Eddard Stark saw at once how the king had changed. He could not help sighing. "Time changes everything."

Fifteen years earlier, when Deer and wolf had fought side by side for the throne, the Lord of Storm's End had been a powerfully built man with a clean-shaven face and clear eyes, the stuff of lovesick maidens' dreams. Six feet five inches tall, he had towered over everyone around him.

Now, even compared with nine years earlier, when they had crushed King Balon, Robert had gained at least eight stone. His girth was as impressive as his height. The king had always loved his pleasures and never denied himself anything.

A coarse black beard, wiry as iron, now concealed Robert's fat double chin, but nothing could hide his protruding belly or his sunken, dark-ringed eyes.

Lord Ned knelt in the snow and kissed the ring on the queen's hand, while Robert embraced Catelyn as though she were a long-lost sister.

Then the children of wolf and Deer were brought forward. After formal introductions, they received both sets of parents' approval.

Lady Catelyn was delighted. She had been born in the warmer lands of Riverrun. She also hoped the girls would find suitable marriages in the south, and those lovely dreams filled her heart. In appearance, the king's "children" were handsome and well-mannered enough.

Eddard was far cooler toward dreams of a marriage alliance. People said the Old Gods protected the Starks, but the warm south was not their home, and the Old Gods held little sway there. To Eddard, the south meant bitterness and pain.

Sansa felt almost breathless. The tall, handsome prince was just as she had imagined him. Yet she failed to notice the way Joffrey's lips curled, as though he held everything in the North in contempt.

As soon as the formal greetings were over, Robert said, "Eddard, take me down to your crypts. I want to pay my respects." Eddard loved that about him. After all these years, he still could not forget Lyanna.

"We've been traveling since dawn. Everyone is cold and tired. We ought to rest a little first. Surely there's no need to hurry to see the dead," Cersei suggested, but Robert merely looked at his wife with cold eyes.

Cersei's twin brother Jaime quietly took her hand, and she said no more.

The spiral stairway leading down to the crypts was very narrow. Eddard held a lamp for the fat king he could barely recognize anymore.

As the king descended, he complained, "I thought we'd never reach Winterfell. When you've lived in the south too long, listening to people talk about my Seven Kingdoms, it's easy to forget your lands are almost as large as the other six put together."

"Your Grace, I trust you enjoyed the journey?"

Robert snorted. "Nothing but bogs, woods, and fields the whole way. Once we crossed the Neck, we couldn't even find a decent inn. I've never seen such endless cold wilderness in my life. Where are all your people hiding?"

"Too shy to come out, most likely," Eddard joked. He could feel a chill sweeping up from the crypts, like the cold breath of the deep earth. "We don't see kings every day in the North."

They talked as they walked, and Eddard had already noticed the toll the king's life of indulgence had taken. By the time they reached the foot of the stairs and entered the long darkness, the king was panting, struggling for breath, his face flushed in the lamplight.

Eddard led the way through the aisles between the stone pillars. Shivering in the cold beneath the earth, the king followed in silence.

The tombs of House Stark followed the same pattern. The dead sat upon stone thrones between the pillars, their backs to the walls and the stone coffins that held their remains behind them. By tradition, an iron longsword lay across the knees of each statue of a Lord of Winterfell, keeping vengeful spirits sealed within their tombs.

"Here," Eddard told the king. They walked among the cold, chilling tombs beneath the gaze of generations of Winterfell's lords. The statues on their sealed sarcophagi bore the faces they had worn in life, and great stone direwolves curled at their feet.

Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head. He looked at the three stone coffins before him. Lord Rickard lay in the middle, with his stern, long face. His children flanked him: Brandon, his heir, and Lyanna, his daughter.

All of this should have belonged to Brandon, Eddard thought. His brother had been the heir, the eldest son, and the leader. Sadly, he had died shortly before his wedding to Catelyn.

The thought of his sister made Eddard's heart ache still more. She had been only sixteen when she died. The king's love for her had endured beyond death; they had been meant to marry.

"She was far more beautiful than this," the king said after a silence. His gaze lingered on the dead woman's face, reluctant to leave it. But no such gaze could bring the beauty of those days back to life. The king rose, his weight making his steps unsteady.

"Damn it, Eddard, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Old pain made the king's voice hoarse. "She shouldn't be left in the dark."

"She was a Stark of Winterfell," Eddard said calmly. "She belongs here."

The king still could not let go. She ought to have been buried on a lovely hillside, with fruit trees planted over her grave.

You never understood her, Eddard thought. Lyanna had seemed far less interested in Robert than he had been in her. She had once told Eddard that however much Robert loved her, it would not stop him from being unfaithful after they married.

"I swore to kill Rhaegar to avenge her." The king's fingers brushed the rough stone. Lyanna's face was cold, but his touch was tender.

"You did kill him!"

"Only once." Bitterness and anger filled the king's words. "Every night in my dreams, I kill him again."

That was the king: headstrong and self-centered. Even with Eddard urging him, he would not yield for Cersei's sake and leave sooner.

"Tell me about that child," Eddard asked the king. "Even in the North, we've heard of that war, the fighting across the Narrow Sea."

"A child. A child a little older than Joffrey..." Robert muttered. "You know, I have no idea how many women I've slept with. As for the children, I remember even less. But perhaps-perhaps there was a child like that. His mother was a whore, or a serving girl. Either is possible."

... Eddard said nothing. Perhaps that, too, was the king's way.

"Don't look at me like that. A bastard is a mistake any man can make. You have one at home too, my friend. I just never expected my own reckoning to come."

"You know Cersei never wanted those children brought to court." Robert shook his head. "Perhaps I should have given them some money back then." After Joffrey's cat-killing incident, the king had considered bringing Mya to court, but Cersei had stopped him.

"And now?" Eddard asked the king.

"I think we'll have to fight again, take up arms as we did nine years ago." Robert sighed. "What a cursed mess. Kinslayer is an ugly name."

"Is there no other way?" Eddard asked.

"What other way? You want me to turn a blind eye? That's how you and Jon led me astray back then, saying I shouldn't harm the children." Robert's mouth twisted bitterly. "Once that Baratheon traitor and the dragon's whelp have a brood of children, plenty of ambitious men will rally beneath their banners to challenge me."

"I can't leave this trouble for Joffrey. Rebelling against a brother is much easier than rebelling against your own father," Robert said thoughtfully.

"Is the situation so urgent?" Eddard asked.

"The men of Myr and Tyrosh have no shortage of money, and they have fleets. All they used to lack was an army that could fight. Now it seems even that weakness is gone..." Robert laid out the situation for Eddard.

"It seems we must kindle the flames of war again," Eddard sighed.

"The Lord of the Eyrie is forever sickly, and only six years old. You know your nephew well enough. I need you, my old friend..." Robert said earnestly.

Chapter 89: A Feast

The feast in Wolf's Den was lively and carefree. The banquet hall smelled of roast meat and freshly baked bread. Fine drinks of every kind were on display: Myrish firewine and green wine, Tyroshi pear brandy, and Summer Red from Dorne.

"Lord Gendry, Archon of Myr, Tyrosh, the Narrow Sea, and the Stepstones, guardian of Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys."

"The Archon's betrothed, Princess of Dragonstone, Daenerys Stormborn."

The two entered the banquet hall hand in hand, as though the radiance of countless stars had gathered upon them-the powers of the Narrow Sea.

Gendry wore a light black velvet tunic adorned with a Wolf Pack badge, tall leather boots, and a broad leather belt with a silver-plated buckle. He needed little ornament to stand apart.

Daenerys had dressed as a princess, in a black velvet gown with a red gemstone pendant at her throat. A crown studded with red gems set off her long hair. With her silver-gold hair and violet eyes, she looked more incomparably beautiful than ever.

Gendry led Daenerys onto the dais, and they took their seats.

Next came the Archon's trusted subordinates: Handsome Man, Long Spear, Ser Jorah, White-Haired Dick the Bowmaker, Moloz, Fleet Commander of Myr, and the others.

There was also a guest who reeked of wine: the hollow-cheeked "Beggar King," Viserys, with alcohol on his breath and clothes.

With unspoken understanding, they escorted Viserys to his seat. His expression grew angrier by the moment. He was the "rightful" king, yet that damned master of ceremonies had not even announced his place. Even by order of precedence, he should have been introduced separately, not lumped in with these crude soldiers.

Once all the honored guests were seated, everyone raised their cups, exchanged blessings and congratulations, and began the feast.

"The bankers of Myr and Tyrosh would like to meet you," Grey Wolf said quietly beside Gendry.

"Bankers?" Gendry glanced toward a section farther down the tables, where the bankers were watching him hopefully: the olive-skinned men of Myr and the Tyroshi with their brightly colored hair and beards.

Banking carried considerable weight in the Free Cities. Braavos was a prime example, with banking, commerce, and fishing as its three main industries.

The bankers of Myr and Tyrosh were influential too. As members of a relatively high-end industry, they had suffered fewer losses during the upheaval over freeing the slaves, and their manner was humble. The economies of Myr and Tyrosh consisted largely of fishing, banking, handicrafts, and similar trades.

Though all manner of delicacies lay piled high on the tables, not everyone's thoughts were on the food. The feast was merely an occasion to bring them all together.

Cups met with bright, clear clinks.

"I'll be back shortly," Gendry told Daenerys. She nodded uneasily. She had rarely seen a scene like this. She had once been a princess, but exile had consumed almost her entire life.

There was also a small, private room in the banquet hall. Gendry murmured a few more instructions to Grey Wolf, then left his seat.

The bankers of Myr and Tyrosh swarmed around Gendry like flies, smiling and seemingly harmless. But Gendry knew they were ravenous wolves who would devour a man, bones and all. Every one of them quibbled over the smallest coin.