Chapter 31: 30-Shrouded Destinies
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin respectively. I make no claim to ownership.
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Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki and Ashestodust. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.
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If you're feeling generous and want to support me, you can find me on P*T*E*N under the same name for up to three early access chapters(a week before discord).
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Willas Tyrell
"It seems that your cousin, Baelor, doesn't intend to stop until he puts every last reaver to the sword," Olenna said with a glint in her eye. "The Arbour has been retaken, and the scant few Ironmen left were hanged. His next targets are the Shield Islands."
The news from Oldtown had been bittersweet. The cost of the Ironborn defeat had been heavy. At least now, Baelor Hightower would deal with the reavers and his brother could finally stop his wild and pointless chase. He had sent a quarter of the forces his brother managed to muster to aid the new Lord Hightower.
"Good. It means I can send Garlan to pay homage to Aegon Targaryen in my name. Too bad he cannot arrive in time for the wedding with Daenerys. The dragons will rule us again," Willas said with a sigh. It seemed that Lords Rowan and Crane would have a repeat of the Field of Fire as a reward for their defection to Tommen Waters.
"Did you know that the Baratheon girl managed to live?" his grandmother said with amusement.
"The few that supported Stannis are all dead or spent. The last remnants of the Florents are hiding in Brightwater Keep and it's only time until they fall. Nobody will rally behind a woman, let alone a young girl, for the throne. Storm's End and Dragonstone are in the hands of the Targaryens. Does she even matter anymore?" he asked with a snort.
"Oh, but she does. Shireen has managed to get the Snow boy to marry her. I would understand if the little doe was a great beauty to charm and seduce him, but she is scarred with greyscale. It seems that he is a fool, just like his brother." She carefully sipped on a cup of wine and closed her eyes for a moment.
"How did you manage to get news from the North anyway? We scarcely received any before."
"One of my baseborn nephews became the Maester of Barrowton after Barbrey Dustin died. I always thought Cleyton was smart, and my generous patronage has finally paid off," she said with a somewhat pleased voice. "Although it's really hard for him to send messages often, the new Lord Dustin has a man-at-arms hounding him all the time. I imagine Robb Stark's brother ordered his lords to keep an eye on their maesters."
"Any luck with finding what sparked the fighting in King's Landing?" he asked while carefully shuffling in his chair.
"No, but one of my spies has finally… uncovered something. They managed to find a man who escaped King's Landing and knows what caused the riots. He claims to have seen Dickon Tarly beaten to death by half a dozen sparrows on the Street of Steel," his grandmother said with a sigh.
"I can see how that would set Randyll Tarly into such a blind rage. But I've seen the boy more than once before and he was rather pious. Why would the Faith Militant attack him? His father was in the city, commanding tens of thousands of swords," Willas wondered out loud.
"You assume that it was actual zealots, not people dressed like ones," Olenna said sourly. "Even this High Sparrow would have hesitated to pull off something so foolish. No, this was orchestrated by someone else. They probably intended to turn Randyll Tarly irrevocably against the Faith Militant."
"But why?" He was puzzled. "Tarly had no ambition nor mind to play the Game. And he could have crushed the fledgling order with ease!"
"Why? Think with your head, boy! I've raised you better than this. Whoever ordered the death of Dickon Tarly wanted to cause chaos and dissent," she said through gritted teeth.
His grandmother was right. If one of the Tyrell bannermen commanding a large army started a war with the Faith, it would be a nearly unsalvageable disaster and would have severely weakened their position in the Reach which was considered the cradle of the Faith.
"Who would benefit from the chaos at that moment?" he mused out loud. "Only Aegon Targaryen did! Or maybe someone did it in his name. You did tell me that Varys had no qualms assassinating Kevan Lannister and Pycelle like a common catspaw. Who would have thought that the Lyseni Master of Whispers was a Targaryen loyalist?"
"No, the Spider is far cleverer than this. He knew many dangerous secrets and probably even suspected us of poisoning Joffrey. It would be a simple thing for him to incite conflict between House Lannister and House Tyrell," she waved off his words and sank into contemplation. "But Varys once told me something very interesting… that Littlefinger is one of the most dangerous men in Westeros. And he was not wrong – after all, the man had no qualms in poisoning the king and got away with it, just like we did."
"But the whoremonger is one of those who fell the hardest in the aftermath of the destruction of Kings Landing. Baelish went from Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and Lord Protector of the Vale to a mere Master of Whispers." He was about to dismiss this idea but paused. "Or maybe not. House Tyrell's strength would be greatly sapped, and with Aegon Targaryen at Storm's End, the following war would have been a long and bloody affair. The Ironmen would have kept a portion of our men busy here, and the conflict with the Faith would have torn the more pious lords away from our cause."
He took a sip of wine and stopped to think for a moment.
"Meanwhile, Baelish had the Vale, Sansa Stark was married to the Boltons in the North, and he was in a position to ride down from the Bloody Gate. He is still Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and could force them to bend the knee to him, and with the hardened remains of the North. With the three kingdoms that won the Battle of the Trident, he could make a play for the throne while everyone else was busy fighting each other. But it seems that his plan failed horribly..."
The more he spoke, the more thoughtful Olenna's face became. After he finished, an audible silence set in the room.
"Yes, I can see how that jumped up Braavosi flesh peddler would dare," she murmured. "Only his perverse mind could concoct such a vile scheme. Oh, if only I could get my hands on him!"
"We can't know for sure though. What if he's innocent?" Willas cautioned.
"Innocent?!" His grandmother was outraged. "The man sells flesh and pleasure for a living. There is not a single ounce of innocence or decency in him. He didn't blink when stabbing Eddard Stark in the back, he didn't hesitate to kidnap and send a pure highborn maiden into his brothels! I wouldn't be surprised if the whoremonger killed his wife to take complete control of the Vale. Baelish shall pay for what he's done. I might not be able to kill him myself, but I don't think Cersei would be any more merciful to him than we would be should she find out he had a hand in her son's demise. The lion bitch cannot do anything to us, here, in Highgarden, but Littlefinger is within her grasp!"
He watched as Olenna Tyrell's eyes were shining with malice and knew that the new Lord of Harrenhal's days were numbered.
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Patrek Mallister, the Riverlands
"The cunt is overconfident. He sent scouts only twice and has less than a handful of lookouts. And now he makes camp without any defence at all," Tytos Blackwood spoke quietly.
"He's not the first Frey to do this. They break sacred rites, butcher guests and kin at a wedding, and think themselves important for it," Patrek spat through gritted teeth. The Blackwood Lord nodded grimly in agreement.
They gave a sign and their cavalry silently charged into the enemy camp. The sentries tried to raise the alarm, but alas, it was too late. Patrek spurred his horse and after a short charge impaled a half-armoured man-at-arms with his lance before tossing it away. He unsheathed his sword and started swinging with abandon. The fight was short and bloody, and two minutes later, there were no more enemies alive.
This was the fourth party that he had ambushed, and the third one he'd worked with Lord Blackwood. They had met while trying to ambush the small host of Hosteen Frey and collaborated ever since. Most of the Frey claimants had murdered each other, wasting a good part of the strength of their House in the process and in the end, the Crossing still stood without a Lord, held by some Frey men-at-arms. But it didn't matter.
Even the finest arbour gold tasted like ash in his mouth. The loving embrace of women had become cold and dull, and hawking only brought bitter memories.
The Freys would pay for their treachery, they would pay for the senseless murder of his Lord Father in the very halls of Seaguard. They would pay for making him a prisoner in his keep. Patrek would make sure they did so, even if it was the last thing he did.
"Any more weasels left?" he asked the Blackwood lord after wiping the blood off his sword in the coat of arms of a nearby corpse.
"Wendel Frey is said to be rallying the Naylands of Hag's Mire and he plans to head to the Crossing and proclaim himself its Lord," Tytos replied with a snort. "The only others I can think of are Genna Lannister's boys left in Riverrun. But I might be missing some, Old Walder sired half an army out of his loins."
Patrek was close. Only a handful of Freys left before his father could rest easy in death.
"Do you think the Targaryen boy will spare them?" Patrek asked. Even if he gathered all the Blackwood and Mallister men, they could not siege, let alone storm the former seat of House Tully.
"I don't know. But you will have to deal with Wendel on your own. Jonos Bracken, that cunt, has sworn to Aegon and will doubtlessly try again to get Raventree Hall sacked and my family slaughtered. The Lannisters are now scattered to the winds, and Aegon has forty thousand men. He would have to pacify the Riverlands to secure his supply lines before moving west to deal with Tommen. I have to go and pay homage to the Targaryens now if I want House Blackwood to survive," Tytos said with a fierce scowl.
"If you hate the dragons, why don't you go north and join the Young Wolf's heir?" Patrek proposed. He still remembered how he cried as a young boy when the news of his uncle Jeffory's death arrived. "Even if he had a hundred thousand men, the Targaryen boy would break like a rotten egg on a rock if he tried to attack a manned Moat, and our wolf king said that his brother was every bit as capable as he was. Go North, like House Manderly, and forget this terrible feud you have with the Brackens. Aren't you tired of having to swear fealty every time to whoever passes through the Riverlands with a slightly bigger army? I myself am tired!"
Truthfully, he wanted to do this himself, but he had a vow to fulfil. He would not stop until Frey still drew breath.
"Aye, I'm tired too, Patrek. But I don't know the boy, and my House was already exiled from the North by the Starks thousands of years ago. And even if Jon Snow deems to accept me as a vassal and grants me lands, I cannot move my Household and Vassals North. Whichever cunt holds the Crossing won't let us through and we don't have even a tenth of the men required to storm it. And what of my son, Hoster, staying hostage in Casterly Rock?" the Blackwood lord asked sourly.
"You can use the Mallister fleet in Seaguard. It might be small, but it would be more than enough to help you and yours move North. With the ironborn busy near the Arbour, you should encounter no trouble on the way. And House Blackwood already fought and bled for the wolves faithfully. You were the last to dip Robb Stark's banners! The king's brother will surely reward you for your loyalty! And you got three other sons. The Lannisters would not kill your spare out of spite."
"Mayhaps. And there's no guarantee that the North will be any better than the Riverlands," Tytos replied with a sigh. "The last few years have not been kind to the North. Wildlings, ironmen, Boltons, even rumours of giants, grumpkins and snarks. And winter is nearly here. If I bring my House North, we might starve in the end."
"Jon Snow crushed everyone that supported the flayed man banner. If King Robb's will has truly reached the North, he would have no problem uniting the rest beneath him," Patrek reasoned. "And we might starve here in the Riverlands anyway – after Tywin started torching the fields and burning and pillaging the villages, we have scarcely reaped a single proper harvest. Between the brigands, raiders, floods, and war, few smallfolk dare to return to the fields. The braver ones were killed by the Mountain and his scum long ago. Seaguard's larders can barely last for more than a year, if not for fishing. Aegon would bleed whatever little is left from the Riverlands dry in his campaign west."
The Blackwood lord sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes, while the men-at-arms finally finished looting the corpses.
"Raventree Hall's larders do not fare any better. You may be right. I'd rather go North and risk it with the wolves than have to swear fealty to that cunt Jonos, the flesh peddler, or the floppy fish whose get will be half-Frey," Tytos said decisively. "It seems that I will take you up on that offer for the ships. And if my son is smart, he would thrive in the lion's court."
"Put in a good word for House Mallister when you get to Winterfell," Patrek said while rubbing his stubble. "If I manage to live long enough to see the last handful of weasels put into the ground, I might just follow you."
"Good fortune on your hunt, Patrek. May we meet again!"
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Melisandre of Asshai
Flies buzzed all around her as she walked calmly. Both her horses had died in that inhospitable swamp people called the Neck. Melisandre shuddered at the memory. Even she could not manage to make a fire in the crannoglands. Everything had been too damp to burn. At times it had even felt like the stale waters themselves wanted to devour her alive. It was only with R'hllor's blessing that she managed to cross it successfully.
She stepped over another corpse without batting an eye – after all, the ground was covered with hundreds of bodies. The pungent stench of rot and decay was another matter. A torn banner depicting two blue towers connected with a bridge lay on a nearby branch.
This was the fifth time Melisandre had seen a similar view ever since she entered the Riverlands. Some, like the ones here, were killed by men, while others were torn to pieces as if attacked by wild beasts. She was unsure if the Freys were killing each other for the Lordship or if they had simply made too many enemies.
She had not seen a single living soul for a fortnight. The inns and villages by the roads were all abandoned. The smallfolk had long fled to the hills and forests, and not even a single bandit had bothered her down the road. She could not even bring the light of the one true god to the poor tortured souls.
Travelling on foot was a slow and tedious affair, but she had no choice but to continue. Thanks to R'hllor's blessing, she did not need food, water, or rest. Before the sunset, she gathered some dry wood and lit a fire. Ever since she left Winterfell, the flames had shown nothing when she prayed for guidance. She had no idea to know if she was on the right path. Had she displeased the Lord of the Light somehow?
Mayhaps she would need to present a... substantial offering to R'hllor?
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Daenerys Targaryen
"Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever!" the Septon proclaimed loudly and she sighed quietly in relief. It was finally over! This was by far the most boring wedding ceremony she has had so far. All the advisors had insisted on conducting the wedding as fast as possible, since they were in the middle of a war, so she acquiesced.
They left the sept and headed towards the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. Her husband certainly had the blood of the dragon, but even now, she was not truly sure if he was her nephew. But it didn't matter, did it? Mummer's dragon or not, she did not trust Aegon, just like she did not trust Hizdahr, yet she married him anyway.
He tamed Viserion just fine and had the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms. As far as her choices of spouses went, he was on top of the very short list.
It was not as if she could rule directly as a Queen in her own name anyway. Nor did she want to anymore. A simple reading of the last three centuries of history had shown her that the Westerosi Lords had a deep dislike for female rulers. And it was quickly confirmed when all she received from the narrow sea houses that hadn't sworn to Aegon was lip service and a few dozen men at most. However, Daenerys was not surprised this time, despite hoping for a different result. This was another reason why she agreed to wed Aegon. As for the people… The unwashed masses were ungrateful no matter how gracious one was. What happened in Slaver's Bay was living proof. She gave them a hand in help, yet they tried to devour the whole arm instead. All people truly understood was violence.
And last but not the least, she was tired. Tired of having to constantly wrangle with enemies and unruly vassals. Why did she have to give and give more and more and receive nothing in return? No, her new husband could carry the weight of the crown, rule, lead the war, and deal with all those pesky and troublesome problems, and Daenerys would sit back and enjoy herself. She was the Queen after all and had suffered hard to get this far. Aegon seemed rather competent and had a good council. The Lannisters were already defeated, and with his army, her unsullied, and the dragons, nothing could stand in their way.
It was only a matter of time until all of the Seven Kingdoms were fully back under the rightful rule of House Targaryen.
The feast was a boring affair, and the food was… lacking. Considering the Riverlands were long stripped bare, all they had was the pitiful forage, all they could eat was the supplies of the army.
A loud voice bellowed for the bedding ceremony to commence. What a barbaric tradition…
Bawdy jokes echoed all around her as her dress was ripped by the lords that were carrying her towards the Lord's chamber. A few hands freely took some liberties, making her scowl. She just hoped that this husband was a better lover than the previous one.
Aegon was not a better lover than Hizdahr zo Loraq. Her so-called nephew was eager but inexperienced. Hopefully, he would get better with time or she would have to find another.
Now since the celebrations were done, her new husband was gathering the war council again. Daenerys was not called into this meeting, but she would attend it anyway. She was the queen! After all, the ten thousand unsullied and two dragons still answered her. Flanked by Grey Worm and Red Flea, she entered the large council chamber.
The marriage had merged their small councils. Jon Connington was still the Hand, while Ser Barristan had become the Master of Laws. Tyrion, Varys, and Archmaester Marwyn had retained their posts.
Her entrance interrupted the ongoing conversation and received a lot of raised eyebrows, but ignored them and sat on the chair next to a confused Aegon. To her great amusement, she could see Jon Connington's eye twitch, as a thick vein on his brow pulsed angrily.
"Your Grace, we did not know you wanted to attend the meeting," Varys broke the silence with a smile.
"Mayhaps I could be of help," she said graciously.
"The Kingslayer has retreated to the Golden Tooth and manages to rally some of the defeated Lannister forces. Houses Crane and Rowan have paid homage to Tommen Waters and bolstered his numbers," the Hand reported glumly. Did the man ever smile?
She signed to one of the servants to fill her cup with wine. She took a large sip and grimaced at the heavy and bitter taste.
"With dragons on our side, we should be able to obtain a quick surrender of all the other Riverlords before moving to the Westerlands," Aegon said thoughtfully.
"Highgarden has already sent a messenger, stating that Garlan Tyrell is coming to swear fealty in the name of Willas Tyrell," Connington said gruffly.
"Why doesn't this… Willas Tyrell come and pay homage in person?" Daenerys asked curiously, only to receive an angry look from the Lord Hand and the chamber fell into awkward silence.
"He is crippled, Your Grace," Tyrion spoke up with a cough. "His leg is bad and Lord Tyrell cannot travel long distances. Or, well, so he claims."
"Asha Greyjoy has already sailed for the Iron Isles and should have little trouble reclaiming Pyke after her uncle's folly in Oldtown. All that is left is the Vale and the North," Connington continued as if she had not even spoken. "We can send someone to try and negotiate with them. A raven is easily ignored, while an envoy is not."
"I can fly Drogon there, and take their oaths of fealty! With the Lannister all but defeated, they will have no choice but to bow to the dragon," Daenerys proposed and the room quieted again. If Visenya Targaryen could make a whole kingdom bend the knee, so could she!
Jon Connington's face had begun to redden. Was the man always so angry? Aegon put a hand on the Gryffin Lord's shoulder.
"That is a great idea, aunt. Though you should take someone to accompany you. Mayhaps Ser Barristan? After all, he's greatly respected and his presence would only aid you," her nephew proposed.
"I would be honoured, Your Grace," her former Hand bowed.
"It is decided then, we fly on the morrow!"
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Jon Stark
A few days' worth of explosions later, he concluded that creating a wand that did not burn out in a few seconds turned out to be far more difficult than he expected. The only combination that lasted more than a dozen seconds was ironwood and a mixture of powdered dragon scale and a sliver of dragonglass. But it also turned into ashes after less than four minutes of use. Ironwood was ridiculously hard to work with. He had broken half a dozen steel drills in the making of three of those wands. Jon then shelved the wand-making project. Twelve minutes of wanded casting was more than enough in case of an emergency.
He might try again once he got his hands on proper magical materials to use as a core. Both the dragon's scale and dragonglass were far too volatile and simply couldn't focus the fire magic fully. For now, he switched his focus to enchanting.
Only gold, silver, and weirwood, were magically conductive enough to power runic enchantments with ambient magic nearly forever. Permanently enchanting other materials was a pain in the arse without a living sacrifice. But everything else required sacrificial magic. Or as it was called in this world-blood magic. An animal could always be used as a sacrifice to power the enchantment, but they were quite inefficient. He had to sacrifice a score of bears to gain the same effect as sacrificing a single human, which was quite impractical. There was a reason why the Valyrian Freehold used blood magic so heavily with millions of slaves on hand. With enough lives, almost anything seemed to be possible. And lives were cheap in this world.
Though, he was not stupid to openly sacrifice people in a ritual in the North. Not that he would even consider doing it again here. The title 'Defender of the North' was something he took seriously. But other places were fair game. If he wanted to do ritual sacrifices, he could always fly to the Iron Isles, and take lives as he deemed fit. After all, he would be taking them by force and thus paying the iron price, so the reavers couldn't truly complain. And nobody would cry if there were fewer of the blasted pirates.
But Winter currently did not have enough stamina to fly for more than an hour and a half without a lot of rest and it would take Jon around a week to reach the Iron Isles. He was in no particular hurry, so he could always visit the Iron Isles when his dragon could make the distance in two days or so. For a short moment, he considered crafting a broom, but quickly discarded the idea-he had little idea how brooms were made, it would require a ton of experimentation and fumbling in the dark, and even if he was successful, a broom would never match the feeling of flying together in the skies with his dragon.
If one didn't want to use lives in sacrifice, or simply was not able to, the only alternative was blood. However, using blood had marginally weaker effects than using a ritual murder. The lone act of ending a complex, intelligent life form like a human was far more final and weightier than simply giving some blood which could be replenished with time.
And not all blood was made equal either - a drop of his blood had the same power as seven drops of Winter's blood or as much as three litres of pig's blood. Melisandre had been right about the power of 'King's Blood'. While most kings had a sliver of magic in their bloodline, the power of holding the lives of millions of people amplified it manyfold.
This was why he ran his bronze dagger through his palm, creating a rather deep cut. Jon watched as his blood slowly pooled in a large silver chalice. He could have bled his familiar, but he wouldn't ask something of Winter that he would not be willing to do himself. A true bond went both ways after all.
When the chalice was about to fill up, he healed his wound immediately. Any more and he would have felt lightheaded. He could use this method of enchantment only once a week without it losing potency, and he avoided using it unless it was completely necessary.
Aside from the runes, his wife's gifts and his new crown were enchanted using his blood as well, making them priceless artefacts. He was a family man through and through in both his lives and would not spare any expense for his spouse.
Jon then carefully poured part of the contents chalice on Lord Denys Dustin's gift-a luxurious belt made out of fine black leather. The golden buckle was in the form of a direwolf head, and the length of the leather was lined with crossed golden axes. A distastefully over-the-top belt, but it would have its use. As he wove the intended enchantments into it, the blood was slowly absorbed into the material.
He then put the weirwood longbow Rodrick Forrester gifted him on the work table along with the hemp bowstring. He had snapped five of these trying to test the maximum draw weight of the bow. The bowstring went into the silver chalice, and he used his remaining blood to cast an indestructibility enchantment.
Wood itself could only bend so much, before breaking. A few hundred pounds of draw weight was not satisfactory enough. Thankfully weirwood brimmed with magic and was perfect for runic inscriptions. How powerful would a shot from a bow with thousands of pounds draw weight be? Jon carefully started carving the reddish wood with his bronze dagger, intent on finding out.
A knock was heard on the weirwood door. He had carved it full of runes, blocking any sound, making it indestructible, and the only person who could open it was… him. The only thing that could be heard from outside was the iron knocker. He put down his bronze knife with a sigh, and opened the door, only to see a red faced Arya.
"Jon, can you control your squire?!" His sister spat out through gritted teeth.
"What did Torrhen do?"
"Ever since I danced with him at your wedding, he's been stupid! He keeps making doe eyes at me as if he is a smitten maiden!"
Jon blinked speechlessly. It must have happened after the bedding, because Jon had no memory whatsoever of any dancing. Oh, he knew that it had been planned, but Greatjon had drank ale and wine as if it were water and had bellowed for the bedding as soon as a certain song for it began playing. Truth be told, he never liked dancing in this or his previous life, so he was glad to have avoided it.
"Why would he want to dance with an ugly duckling like you?!" Jon jested with a smirk and dodged Arya's attempt to kick his shin. He was surprised she agreed to dance with someone at all. "Have you tried telling the boy that you're not interested?"
If looking at the princesses was a crime, the whole northern court would be full of criminals.
"I don't know, he's being stupid! And it was just a dance. Why would I want to talk to him again?" she grouched.
He resisted the urge to facepalm at his sister's antics.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Gladiusx
Gladiusx We see what happens in Highgarden again. Someone is going to be in trouble soon.
The Freys are having a bad time in the Riverlands, and some people are packing their things!
Melisandre is kinda lost right now.
Daenerys got married and decided to play envoy to the Vale and the North now.
Jon keeps dabbling in magic, and Arya has earned an admirer.
I update a chapter every sunday! You can find me on my discord(dgj93pNeAD) where a chapter is posted a week in advance.
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