Chapitre 1368: Shielding Their Realms Forever
- Chapter 1 -
Summary:
The consequences of success will always collect their due. Westeros shall learn that ignorance to prophecy will not be treated lightly. But what if the events that unfurled were part of it this whole time?
Chapter 1: Prologue
Notes:
This story has been a collaberation between myself and the great Longclaw_1_6. I started this just a few months after season 8 and two years later picked him up as my co-writer. The story practically doubled in quality and size with his help and I swore we'd have the just about the whole thing wwritten before publishing it and I'm glad we waited because so much has been tweaked throughout the story to make it the best we could. Updates will be weekly.
This story is dedicated to everyone.
Tyrion
The waves of the Narrow Sea crashed against the sides of the ship as it cut through like a mighty spear. The Howling Raven was making good time on its voyage to Volantis. The crew was hard at work, the winds were in favor of sailing, but the diplomats being transported were dreading this journey.
The King and his Kingsguard made sure that no wine was smuggled aboard by the Hand. He wanted him to be sober before and at their arrival. Tyrion hated it. But at least he wasn't stuck in a box and shitting through a hole. Ser Davos was good company as was their appointed protector, Ser Podrick Payne.
Tyrion wished he kept his mouth shut at the last small council meeting. He didn't think the King would assign him to the task given his high ranking position. But he asked for it when the news was brought to light.
Ten years have passed since the Last War was won. Ten years since hope for a truly great and powerful dynasty was destroyed by a fool who failed his Queen. And now, they finally knew where her last child was.
Drogon was nesting in the city of Volantis at the Great Temple of the R'hllor. Whether it was the Lord of Light's will or something else that kept him at bay, no one knew. But what they did know was that a great tomb was built by the people for their Mhysa. The Mother of Dragons was laid to rest in the lands that loved her but she did not love.
"And the man told the brothel owner, my wish was for the sweetest ass in the world," Tyrion said flatly, unable to bring out anything to lift his spirits. He was in his cabin with both of his companions.
"That's the third time yeh' told that joke this week." Ser Davos said.
"Well it's either that or the one about House Frey."
Pod chuckled a little at the mention of that joke. He always liked that one.
"Perhaps we could be practising what in fuck's sake were going to say. Sorry we killed yer' savior?"
"They made it quite clear that war is not what they want. The King said they only wish to exchange words. I'm confident that things won't be as bad as you expect them to be."
"I don't doubt King Brandon's abilities. But neither do I doubt the possibility that maybe people know how to elude things from his sight. I've seen more magic than you have, so the discoveries of more of it won't surprise me."
Ser Davos' concern stemmed from a recent change in the King's mood and overall health. Not that King Brandon had much of a mood before, but his tone had become quite cold, almost like Tywin Lannister himself when he scolded Tyrion and Cersei. And his health, he'd grown paler and confined to his bed most days.
"Perhaps his abilities are taking their toll on him," Tyrion suggested, "don't you remember the story of the Reed boy in their travels? The ability is a great strain on the body and the mind. Whatever price he has to pay, I think losing his legs was not the whole of it."
"It's not just that, my lord." Podrick said. "That mark on his arm, the one the Night King gave him, I think it might've gotten bigger."
Tyrion's brow arched. What was he supposed to make of this? It made him wish he stayed true to his childhood desires and pursued books about magic old and lost. He might have a decent theory about things at least.
"I doubt he will tell us," Tyrion responded, "He's been rather private as of late. I think I finally understand how Jon Arryn and Ned Stark felt running the Kingdoms while King Robert was off on hunts in the day and whores in the night." Instead of drinking and whoring, King Bran would spend his time using his powers for gods know what.
A headache began behind his temple at the constant thinking of the troubles in King's Landing and what awaited them when they returned. In truth, the trip to Volantis, for good or worse, would be a nice break from the rusting of the Six Kingdoms. "Any word from the Wall?" The Queen of the North sent a raven that some disturbances regarding the Night's Watch were growing frequently. Men wanted to be released from their vows since the Dead were vanquished and peace was made with the Wildlings.
Ser Davos shifted in his seat and wore his displeasure openly. "Nothing. No ravens returning and the men we send out bring back reports equally valuable. The Last Range is too far off for them to dare look."
Tyrion sighed and ran a hand through his hair when an itch developed. "We live in a fucking age of cluelessness and ignorance."
Davos shrugged. "But we live in it nonetheless. Makes you think if the people we cast out were really the unlucky ones."
The rest of the voyage was just as dreary and sour. In times of still waters, the crew would break and sing shanties across the water. They acted merry but anyone worth their salt could feel how empty their songs were as their hearts. Westeros was falling apart, bit by bit. Ever since the last day of the war, there hasn't been an easy day for King's Landing.
Perhaps Maegor the Cruel and Daemon Blackfyre were right about strength in ruling. Despite how much wisdom King Bran gave, the cracks in the realms grew ever larger day by day.
Dorne wanted to break away, the Vale wanted to break away, both citing Queen Sansa's precident. Edmure Tully launched invasions of the Westerlands, investing keeps and demanding tribute. Gendry was mobilizing, as were the Dornish. The Redwynes and Fossoways competed in skirmishes with their claims of Tyrell blood to wage battle over the Reach's lands against Bronn, who had brought in foreign sellswords to protect his own domain. Only liberal use of what gold reserves remained managed to keep the peace, and the gold was running out.
A home could be rebuilt but the scars of pain and death remained everywhere in the city. And it was hard to tell which was worse, the constant smell of shit that used to plague the streets or the faint lingering smell of scorched flesh and earth that still does.
When they got to Volantis, it was worse than they thought it would be.
When Tyrion, Ser Davos, and Podrick disembarked, they were greeted not just by a group of worshipers led by Kinvara the High Priestess, but also two-hundred Unsullied led by their longtime commander, Grey Worm. King Brandon had said soldiers were gathering, but he didn't say it was the Unsullied.
The strong commander who had fought side by side with them a lifetime ago was just as angry as he was when he left Westeros. All of the Unsullied were. Tyrion half expected them to all be hissing at him like sparrows to sinners.
Kinvara stepped forward and bowed her head in courtesy. She remained calm and composed. "Lord Tyrion, Ser Davos Seaworth, we welcome you to Volantis."
It certainly did not feel welcome. The air felt thick with hatred. "Thank you for having us. Grey Worm, good to see you again." Grey Worm remained silent. Had a Master cut off his tongue too?
"Please," Kinvara said, "we shall take you to our temple. There is much to be discussed." immediately after she finished that sentence, the Unsullied turned around all at once and walked in pace with the Royal entourage.
Grey Worm walked between them and Kinvara's little group. As they walked through the streets, many people stopped to watch. Some people began to hiss loudly when they looked at Tyrion. If memory served him right, this act was done in showing of great hatred.
"I thought you lot were in Naath," Davos commented towards Grey Worm who remained silent.
It was Kinvara who answered. "The Sons of Harpy amass. Soon the Bay of Dragons will see war against chains once again."
Tyrion almost stopped in his tracks. He shook his head at the thought of how short that era lasted. But then again, there have been shorter times for just as many other good things in the world.
When they got to the base of the Temple, the sun was nearly setting and enormous pyres and braziers were light. Flames of red and gold burst out and shined brightly all around. Many priests and priestesses were kneeling in prayer to their divine flames.
They were brought inside to a place where discussion could be held rather than worship and rituals. A room that reminded Tyrion much of the throne room of Dragonstone. The stone that made the floors, walls, and pillars around was a light grey and carved into every inch of it were depictions of flames and worshipers.
A large wooden table of ebony was in the very center of the room. It was large enough to seat twenty people all around. Grey Worm and two of his men stood behind Kinvara where she sat. Tyrion and Ser Davos took their seats at a good distance away while Podrick stood with a hand close to his sword.
"I must say," Tyrion started, "It's far more grand than I expected. It makes the Great Sept of Baelor look petty."
"Any house of false gods is nothing compared to the Lord's Temple." Kinvara said. "We did not invite you here for pleasantries."
"We didn't think so." Ser Davos said. "In fact we thought it unwise to come given the massing army you have. One would think they'd be preparing for a war."
"Not the one you're thinking of." Kinvara said.
The Unsullied vowed to fight against slavery after the war and all was quiet according to the King, at least until the little news about the Masters. But peaceful? No. Peace is the result of harmony, not oppression and intimidation.
"Where is Drogon?" Tyrion asked, cutting to the chase.
Kinvara answered calmly. "He is where he always has been. The tomb of his mother. It is where thousands congregate moon after moon to give their respect and love to her memory."
Grey Worm turned his head and looked coldly at him. "Westerosi have tried to deface her monument. They are killed before they can try. You do not deserve to be near her."
"Oh yes, we don't deserve it after she burned tens of thousands in a single afternoon. So long as it wasn't your dead, then she is a saint. But I suppose it was just godly retribution to you all, isn't it? Murder by fire is just burning away our sins."
Kinvara finally had an uneasy reaction. "If you wish to see the Queen's tomb, no one will stop you except her child. She is his to protect. He never leaves her side, hardly eats the offerings left for him, and ignores all except the certain few who dare to disgrace her memory."
"Well… at least he's at bay." Ser Davos said as he tapped his severed knuckles on the table.
"He and his brothers were a gift from our Lord to burn away the armies of darkness. And he wastes away as the dragons before him did. This cannot be allowed for the last chance we have to win the war."
"The wars have already been won." Tyrion protested. "The Night King and his army are defeated. The Unsullied and Dothraki control the lands of Essos with ruling fists. There are no more enemies to spark hysterical catastrophe anymore."
Kinvara let a heavy silence fall before she stood from her seat and walked over to a bronze and silver brazier. "Would you desire to see what we do? To see the truth?" She reached within her sleeve and revealed a small stone that glowed like an ember, similar to one around her neck. She tossed it into the brazier and it ignited into flames.
Tyrion remained seated, however. He didn't trust what she was offering. But Kinvara's gaze went from him to Podrick. She offered an arm out to him and he looked over to Tyrion. Tyrion shook his head, but Pod's eyes drifted down, clearly pondering what he should do. In the end, Pod ignored Tyrion's warning and went to the priestess. He stood by Kinvara and she guided his gaze into the flames.
"Do not look at the flickering flames, but beyond and tell me…. What do you see?"
Podrick didn't respond immediately. He squinted his gaze as if to focus when all of a sudden he relaxed in awe. "A blizzard…"
Tyrion and Ser Davos both froze and turned their heads to Podrick.
"There's a blizzard and… a candle in the middle. It's still aflame but barely. Above it all is a bird, a raven. A Three Eyed Raven." He sucked in a breath. "Its eyes are made of ice. Its beating wings are what make the storm." The flames cracked loudly before simmering down. Podrick sucked in a breath and stepped back. He looked more fearful than Tyrion had seen him in years.
Kinvara gazed at all three of them. "There is a darkness within your King. If you wish to vanquish it, you must find the Prince who was Promised. It was him that was meant to end the Long Night and bring the Dawn." Grey Worm's grip on his helmet tightened at the mention of Jon Snow.
Tyrion couldn't help but laugh loudly. Varys was right about them all. Whenever they make a mistake, it's all their Lord's will. "It was… twelve years ago when we first met in Meereen and you so confidently said that Daenerys Stormborn is the Prince who was Promised."
"And it was on Dragonstone that you learned from my sister it was another. It was on Dragonstone that you learned the Valyrian translation had no gender.…"
"Whatever your prophecy," Ser Davos said with a raised voice, "He wasn't in the position to do that. It was by a sheer ounce of a miracle that we won at all." These subjects prodded at his temper easily. He hated the final years of the wars with a scorn. All of it had been for almost nothing. The something that they got was not worth it, as he once said.
"A victory, yes. But victorious? No. Simply delayed. If you wish to win the war, you have to bring him out of his exile. He needs to finish this."
Tyrion scoffed. "How, by murdering his brother?"
Kinvara eyed him with a fiery stare. "He is already a kinslayer because of your foolishness. It stands to reason and necessity that he must do what needs to be done once more."
"Well then go find him 'yerself," Ser Davos hissed, "he was exiled by his demand," he pointed to Grey Worm with hate filled eyes, "and he has been with the Wildlings. He hasn't been seen or heard from him since. The last we ever knew of his whereabouts was a year ago. The King saw him further north than any living person ever ventured for thousands of years."
In truth they waited a full year for Grey Worm and the Unsullied to be out of Westeros before coming to a decision. Jon deserved his freedom, he deserved to do his own will and not what the game demanded of him. But he was nowhere to be reached. The Night's Watch, or what remained of it, said that the last they saw of him, he refused returning to the Wall. They said he would range with the Wildlings longer than any ranger ever had. They would get whispers here and there from small groups of the Wildings coming and going. Rumor had it that the Wildings named him their new King Beyond the Wall.
Tyrion shook his head. "I've heard enough of this. All this is mere fallacies because things didn't go your way. Westeros is at peace without the Lord of Light and will keep being so." He got out of his chair and made for the door which was guarded by a set of guards different from the Unsullied. If Tyrion recalled right, they were soldiers of the Red Faith, the Fiery Hand. They dressed in red armor and carried scimitars.
Before Tyrion reached the doors, the Fiery Hands crossed their weapons. Podrick drew his sword and the Unsullied stomped their spears.
Tyrion turned back to Kinvara. "Are we your prisoners?"
Kinvara silently shook her head subtly. "You pride yourself so much on your mind, but even after all you have seen, all you have felt, it is nothing more than Grumpkins and Snarks for you. And just like before, you will not believe until it is too late." She nodded to the guards and they sheathed their steel and opened the doors.
With a bit of extra speed in his step, Tyrion led Davos and Podrick out of the room and the Red Temple itself. Getting outside felt like taking a deep breath after being under water.
"If all they wanted was to show prophecy and rambling, then they should have come to us," Tyrion grumbled, taking a seat on the steps of the Temple.
"We should send a raven to the King about this," said Podrick.
"And say what?" Davos asked. "The Red Priestess told us you have to die by your cousin's hand?"
"Brother," Tyrion hissed his correction, "you took the oath just as I did to keep quiet about it. We don't need another pointless war." He brushed a hand through his hair, contemplating how to handle things.
"Do you ever wonder if you picked right?" Davos asked.
Tyrion didn't need him to clarify, as it was a question he asked himself every day. Was Bran truly the best choice? He was a gamble, really, the most neutral person among the possible, otherwise, he was the safest choice for all of them.
"You think we should have had Edmure Tully instead? All his mistakes and he's still a glory hunter. I'd imagine he would have tried to do something erratic like rebuild Harrenhal as his new seat using the wealth of the Westerlands." If his armies had been any stronger, he likely would've at this point.
Davos shrugged. "Gendry's proved he has it in him to be a great lord. Perhaps House Baratheon should have continued on as the Royal family. But we'll never know. If this warning's anythin' to go by, a new King might not be too far along."
There was a pregnant silence between them. The thought crossed Tyrion's mind at the possibility that King Bran was watching them right now and might be considering having their heads taken for treasonous talk. But then again, he had been particularly well selective about executions to those brought before him. Many who whispered words of hate who were caught were sent off, for he didn't care.
"Come on," Davos said, "I hate bein' near this place."
"I know of a good winery not far from here." Tyrion pointed out as he and Podrick chased down Davos.
They walked the streets of Volantis with a steady stride. Half the people turned their heads to them while the other half purposefully turned away.
"Is it that we're of the King's Court or are dwarves some sort of bad luck here?" Tyrion asked openly to his companions.
Davos chortled. "The world thinks Westeros is bad luck. The mightiest Queen in centuries traveled there and died at the hands of a bastard, didn't yeh hear? They say life's easier to traverse in Valyria with the stone men than it is in King's Landing."
"Somewhat true," Tyrion admitted, having encountered those creatures firsthand. In a few more years, the ruins of Valyria would be barren as the Red Waste. Grand Maester Samwell's treatment of Greyscale became perfected and many who were succumbing to a horrid fate were saved by his skill and knowledge. The practice caused an uproar at the Citadel but after a few years they were convinced otherwise.
"Remember my trip to Braavos last year?" Davos asked, "A saw a troop of murmurs reenacting the Battle of Winterfell."
"And?" Tyrion's interest piqued. "Anything accurate?"
Davos shrugged. "I'd say most accurate part was how dark it was. It was in a barely lit stage room at night. Couldn't see a damn thing."
Tyrion didn't like to dwell on the battle, especially after his blunder of having the women and children hide in the crypts full of dead bodies. He didn't think those Starks would get out of their tombs though. How can a wight break through a stone tomb but not a wooden box?
When they turned down a corner onto a larger street, they stopped. Less than half a mile away at the end of the road was a large statue of Daenerys Targaryen in white marble. She was kneeling down, naked, and crawling on her body were three baby dragons. Encircled around the statue like a guard dog protecting a bone was Drogon. He'd grown a little more in size since last they saw of him, but only a little. From this distance, he appeared to be sleeping.
"They treat her like a saint here." Podrick commented
"Her good deeds were greatest on this side of the world." Davos sighed. "The rumors grow into truth more every day, yeh know, about slavers massing in the Bay of Dragons and the like. The Breaker of Chains is just a memory with a broken legacy. Not much intimidatin' anymore."
So Grey Worm confirmed not an hour ago. Tyrion sniffed. "The King will have a plan to stop this. He's just waiting for the right time."
"With what?" Tyrion heard Davos mutter under his breath, but didn't comment on it. It was… too truthful. "Better not be too long, or he'll find the world back to what it used to be."
Tyrion pressed his lips together to keep himself from speaking what he wanted to say and looked away in hopes that the others wouldn't notice his avoidance. 'Is that so bad?' The world kept on going day by day even when things were bad for thousands.
Nowadays, things felt worse. Or maybe it was the gods deciding that now it was Westeros's turn to know suffering and helplessness. Tyrion was waiting for the official demand of independence from Dorne and the Vale. Rants from Robin Arryn didn't need little birds to come to Tyrion's attention, screaming that the North was only granted because of Sansa's direct relation to Bran, yet his relation mattered nothing. People were even accusing Tyrion of conspiring it from the very beginning before Bran was King.
Fools, all of them. Just more problems to deal with as best they could.
Pod let out a quick gasp and was wide eyed with his sword hand tightly gripping the hilt of his weapon. Tyrion looked back and almost lost his breath.
Drogon was awake, and looking down the road in their direction. Tyrion would have wagered every last bit of gold he had left that Drogon was looking directly at them.
Every fiber of muscle was stretched thin, every drop of blood ran cold, and if the black dragon had done so much as move a single muscle towards them, Tyrion would have pissed himself silently.
Damn Davos for wanting to take a fucking peek at Drogon and Tyrion damned himself even more for following like a damned pup! This was it then, he knew it. Every moment that led up to his life now seemed to reflect all in an instant. His victories, his failures, all his drinking and pleasures of women… at what point did it truly become his downfall leading to here?
This endlessness of feelings in a single moment only happened to him once before, except it was from a place of marvel and wonder at the sight of a dragon flying overhead, not an illusion or a conveniently shaped cloud when he and Ser Jorah Mormont sailed through Valyria. It was fitting that this would be happening at his last sight of a dragon as it would charge forth and burn him alive. Dragons were intelligent creatures, and Drogon knew enough to act as he desired for his mother.
But then, it could have been a mind trick that he just saw, a flicker of light from the sun, something that made him believe otherwise that the momentary flash in Drogon's eyes was not the effect of King Bran's magic.
Drogon cocked his head up, looking out to the sky as clouds began to block out the sun and unexpectedly let out a roar that the world had not heard for over a decade. The streets filled with dozens and then hundreds of people who took sight at the source of Drogon's roar, many of them falling to their hands and knees, bowing before the mighty beast.
Without any inclination as to why or what for, Drogon spread his wings and several birds scattered away from him as he did. A powerful gust of wind blew through the streets as Drogon began to take flight. It was apparent he had not flown for some time. His form looked weak and he crashed into several buildings as he tried until finally he soared up into the sky, climbing higher and higher until he disappeared behind the tops of the clouds.
All fell hauntingly silent.
Tyrion looked back from the sky to the people in the streets, having a bad feeling that this would be seen as a bad omen and who is to blame but the foreign delegation that arrived that same day?
"Back to the ship," Tyrion said quietly, "now." He tugged on the leather of Davos' breeches.
"I was just thinkin' that," Davos breathed, picking up the pace with Podrick following behind with diligent glances behind them.
Davos
Watching Volantis shrink in the distance was like watching the same to an old friend, the one from your childhood you loved to play with but as you got older they became the person you'd rather not be around, the one you didn't mind hearing about but didn't want to see or speak to again.
At least they would have a worthy report for the King. Drogon has left, the Unsullied prepare for war and death is upon them again so it seems.
The days didn't go by fast at all. There was hardly anything to do. All of the books Tyrion brought with him were read through as were the few the rest of the crew had around. It was easier for Davos now. He liked to read slower and aloud. He could read better than the average man now, but the habit stuck with him. Or maybe he did it for a reminiscence of his first teacher.
Finally the day came when the spotter in the nest cried the words: "Land ho!"
It looked like a storm was brewing that evening, clouds so dense they were dark gray and emanating low rumbles. But there wasn't any thunder.
Tyrion waited at the furthest of the bow of the ship.
"Yeh seem tense." Davos stated as he walked up from behind and stood with him at the bow.
"I find that my most unpleasant times in life are in Essos. I'd like to never return if I can. I'll find a mummer's dwarf and send him in my place." He snorted at his own jape. "We're all little jokes to the big people anyways."
Davos didn't wish to dwell on Tyrion's life story any longer… "I think it had more to do with what the woman said," he said, changing the subject. Anything involving the Kingdoms was safe. "What Podrick saw?"
"I don't trust their visions or their words. Yes, there was a time when a priestess predicted the dead and so on and so forth. But, that same priestess also predicted Stannis Baratheon would be King, that butchering his kin would grant victory, and so much more you can agree was blind faith… you especially."
Bristling, Davos' heart still ached great that he couldn't save her. Only Marya and his three remaining sons were left of those Davos Seaworth cared about, all else could fall off a cliff for all he cared. He was only here as a favor to Brienne and Podrick anyways.
Davos interlocked his fingers and his knuckles behind his back. "Faith is sometimes all a person can have. The faith that tomorrow will bring full bellies, healthy babes, a good roof, a warm hearth, and the love of their spouse."
Tyrion quirked a brow at Davos. "I would think those don't need blind faith to envision such. The Night King is dead, the tyrants are dead. We are at peace for the first time since King Robert took a boar's tusk to the gut."
"Sounds more like blissful ignorance to me," Davos argued.
"Is ignorance always that bad?" Tyrion asked. "Sometimes the truth is so terrible it can't be contained."
"Truths don't cause pain… only the actions of people do. When they are lied to for so long, they don't know how to handle honesty when it comes their way. Like children frightened by thunder." He stared at the water. "Or a dog beaten for so long that it no longer reacts… it just accept whatever comes. The North is getting its share, that's for certain."
Tyrion cocked his head, unsure of his role in it all most likely. "Sansa's certainly not making it easy. She has her crown but like the last monarch is finding dissent in the ranks against her leadership. What does she expect when refusing to marry and bear heirs?"
"Last I heard it was the Glovers pressing hardest for results. Bastards, all of them," Davos growled. "They hid from battle and found reward when the bodies cleared."
Tyrion almost laughed. "I would think Littlefinger was still alive, weaving his lies to take Sansa with one hand and a crown with the other."
"The North, the Unsullied, and now foretellings of the dead returning." He looked down to Tyrion. "Just tell me yes or no, Tyrion. No witty remarks or careful explainings, do you think Kinvara's warning is nothing to worry about?"
Tyrion breathed sharp and deep. "I don't know. I want to say yes, it's nothing but superstition. But dammit there's that one hair on me that doesn't stand right."
"So?"
Tyrion didn't say anything, the only noise was the sound of the waves crashing against the ship and the wind blowing against the sails. His words were cut short when a sudden cold engulfed his entire body. His bones shivered as did his breathing. He noticed that it was affecting everyone else and the sudden change was confusing them all.
"What the?" Davos said with his head looking up. Tyrion realized that his friend wasn't taking time to watch the clouds but instead the snow that was falling. Snow in the middle of summer? This wasn't the North, it was impossible.
"Lord Tyrion!" One of his sailors called. "Look!" He was at the port of the ship with terror stricken on his face and a finger pointing to King's Landing.
At first glance, Tyrion thought there were lanterns lighting all along the city walls, tens of thousands... but lanterns don't glow blue.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone