章 5: Chapter 5 Robb, Davos, Tyrion
After the taking of Riverrun and dispersing Jaime Lannister's army, and knowing his father's fate, his lords gathered to brainstorm ideas about what to do next.
Robb, who had received news from Roose Bolton, was in good spirits, considering that they had killed his father in the past few days. When the news arrived, Robb could only think about his next moves. He calculated everything, refusing to cry. His new heartless part had already forced him to accept his father's death when he received Sansa's letter. He couldn't hold out any hope of saving him.
His father didn't die by accident; his father was murdered because Littlefinger needed a war. Varys could buy time, as his plans across the sea were in their infancy, but not Littlefinger. If he somehow halted the execution, Littlefinger would still find another way to achieve his purpose. That's why he had no hope, just calculations in his mind to avoid thinking about it. It was something he had learned from his other life.
Work and forget everything. Set a goal and don't get distracted by things he considered inevitable. Still, not everything was lost, and even though his life and the lives of the rest of his family might be lost, he could still fight for it. He could still hold out hope, set his goal, and work for it without looking around. Thanks to that, he now had some results, which could be a small step forward in his current goals. That small step forward was the letter from the Leech Lord, which he now held in his hands, the second one he had received from him.
The Leech Lord had sent his first letter five days after their parting. He didn't dare, or didn't plan, to disappoint him this time. He marched with pomp and fanfare against Tywin Lannister, making a big show so that Tywin would focus his attention on him. But unlike what Robb knew, Roose didn't rush into battle. He marched at a normal pace, so before he could face Tywin Lannister, news reached him that the Northern army had split, and Roose was a decoy. Tywin Lannister turned back, knowing they were after his son, and spared no effort in hurrying back.
Roose didn't sit idly by as he departed. With his small army of three thousand men, he harassed Lord Tywin day and night, attacking his supply lines and rear, capturing artisans traveling with him, including blacksmiths and even prostitutes.
The Leech Lord looted as much as he could from the lion, causing him significant material losses, artisans and blacksmiths that he would later miss during the war, and would be a godsend to his army of needy people. In addition to plundering the defenseless lion's supplies, Roose also launched three raids on their hasty and unprepared ranks, causing losses of no less than a thousand men, with minimal losses on his side, due to his hit-and-run tactics.
The old lion, under Roose Bolton's relentless pressure, had to halt his march and confront him, but Roose pulled back and abandoned any attempt to assault the enemy camp. Tywin could only curse, and until now, he could only resume his slow march to avoid further disasters, still suffering losses in lightning attacks that took horses and supplies. Roose's first letter informed him that they were well-stocked and could continue tripping up the lion for another couple of years, as it retreated like a wounded and furious beast bleeding out.
Robb responded to his first letter, telling him that if the lions fell in this war, perhaps he would be the next Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.
Now Robb was reading Bolton's response, his second letter, assuring him that Tywin Lannister would lose five thousand men before he took refuge in any stronghold, which made Robb chuckle inwardly. Perhaps he had escaped Bolton's ambition, and now it was breathing down the lion's neck. And Robb wasn't lying – if Bolton fulfilled what he said, he would be a candidate to replace the Lannisters.
If he pushed himself to the limit, Robb would ensure he used all the influence he possessed to have Bolton named Lord of the West. He wasn't concerned about the Westerlords, because if his side emerged victorious in this war, all of them would fall alongside Tywin Lannister, and their lands would be treated as war spoils for his lords and the lords of the Riverlands, who stood out in battle.
The Northmen were stubborn, and mentioning the South made them spit on the ground, so Robb didn't believe they'd be willing to take land there. In contrast, Roose Bolton was almost a Southern lord, and Robb suspected that, to rise to a major house, he wouldn't mind changing his lands.
Robb observed it all, rereading Bolton's letter to boost his own spirits and increase hope in his own plans, seeing that he was achieving small results that could ultimately bring his plans to fruition. His lords and the few Riverlords they had managed to free were passionately debating which king to serve, between Renly and Stannis.
Each of his lords had their opinion, and Robb listened to them all. The only one without supporters was Joffrey, as word had already spread that he was a bastard. However, they weren't sure about Stannis due to his gruff character and fondness for laws and rules. Renly stood out for his diplomacy, but he had no rightful claim, which made him a traitor to his own brother. He also lacked military merits in his favor, leading most Northern lords to give him a resounding thumbs down.
That sparked further discussions until the Greatjon's voice thundered, imposing itself above the rest. As Robb expected, after a brief speech, the somewhat thin-built giant declared him King in the North, and the other lords, pressured by cheers, supported the decision. However, Robb didn't rise to thank them or accept his figurative crown, causing silence to fall.
"My lords," Robb said without standing, looking several of them in the eyes, including the Greatjon, "Your loyalty and pride in our land honor me, but I don't see myself capable of wearing a crown." Robb spoke sincerely. "I fear such a thing would only lead us to disaster, and our original purpose here was peace. Peace that no longer exists, as now there will only be war, until all our enemies are dead or surrender.
"In wars, allies are needed, and putting a crown on my head won't gain us any.
"In wars, trust is needed, and my experience barely qualifies me to be a proper lord. In wars, resources are needed, and winter is approaching. Our land stands alone, and many will die if we don't end this quickly.
"Lastly, in a war, numbers are needed, and our army, despite having the bravest men, is small. Our enemies are numerous and multiply like worms infesting an open, suppurating wound.
"No, my lords, we don't need a crown on my head. We need to end this war, and end it by winning, for our sake and that of our families. And we can only do that by following King Stannis. But not solely due to a matter of rights, which is not insignificant; however, in these circumstances, our rights matter little, as they have been trampled upon time and again, in just a few short days."
"No, we will follow Stannis because he can lead us in this war with honor, duty, strength, and an unyielding will that will ensure he never seeks any agreement with our enemies. And that means, by his side, we can face them all to the death!" declared Robb, rising from his seat and displaying his anger by pounding the armrests of his chair as he did so.
His anger was more than real, for despite having already accepted his father's death, the new part of his personality also brought him great rage, and he would ensure Joffrey died in the same way as his father. Littlefinger wouldn't even live to see the end of this war; he was going to die, writhing in pain from his poison…
Robb smiled in his mind because he already knew how he would kill Littlefinger.
While he devised another cunning plan, the Greatjon was the first to shout, "Stannis is vengeance!" and everyone echoed behind him with approval. Robb was surprised by the giant's outburst, but he shrugged and shouted along with the rest.
"Stannis is vengeance!" Robb shouted.
…
Three days later, Robb summoned everyone to the hall because he had guests, though these guests furrowed the brows of his lords. His guests were also looking at everyone in the great hall with doubts, especially the grumpy old Rickard Karstark and the She-Bear, Lady Maege Mormont, who epitomized savagery with their "stare too much and you're dead" expressions. Not that the others were exemplars of elegance and good manners, as they eyed them suspiciously, openly scrutinizing them from head to toe.
"Lord Torden Fregar, representative of the Sea Lord of Braavos, and Lord Tycho Nestoris, representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos," introduced what could be considered his chancellor.
Robb smiled as both guests in front turned to look at the chancellor. With his knowledge of this world, Robb knew that Braavosi did not present themselves as lords, and the men of the Iron Bank were employees and proud of it. Torden and Tycho were not alone; behind them stood ten other similarly attired individuals, making it clear they had come together. However, in such cases, only the representatives were named, and the rest were overlooked.
"Robb Stark?" Tycho inquired as he approached within three meters of his throne. Robb nodded in response.
Tycho was a tall man, appearing even taller due to his slender frame and pointed purple hat, accompanied by a distinct thin beard. His clothing was loose-fitting, and he wore a purple cloak. His companion, the man named Fregar, wore a similar style of clothing, which in his former world would have been considered oriental, though not as vibrant in colors as Tycho's. Tycho didn't seem convinced by his answer and called over one of his aides, who handed him a hardcover book with some engraved letters on it, spelling out "Robb Stark."
"The same Robb Stark who authored this book?" Tycho asked.
"Actually, I didn't write the book; my maester did. I merely dictated and provided some sketches," explained Robb. "But yes, the book is of my authorship, and it was I who sent it to Braavos and summoned you to this place," Robb added, while petting Grey Wind's head. The direwolf was engrossed in devouring a sheep's leg beside his throne, and the bone-cracking noises were making Tycho's companions uncomfortable. Robb stroked Grey Wind to encourage him to behave.
Grey Wind reluctantly lifted his head from the sheep's leg and glared at the group of guests with enmity, causing them to tense up, which had the opposite effect of what Robb intended.
"Forget it, keep eating," Robb muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with frustration.
Grey Wind gave a contented lick and continued eating, indifferent to the situation. Tycho was somewhat apprehensive, which was a natural response when facing a wolf nearly as tall as a person.
"Lord Robb, I don't mean to be rude, but at the time this letter was sent, you were in Winterfell, yet the meeting's location is Riverrun, two months later," Tycho stated with skepticism.
"Can't a man plan a vacation well in advance?" Robb asked, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, you'll hardly find another Robb Stark around these parts," Robb added.
Robb was aware that if the representatives of the Iron Bank believed a teenager had sent the book, it would raise many doubts that could delay negotiations. Therefore, he played a little trick by using his real name but providing a different address, to make them think it wasn't a teenager but a different person.
"We've been informed that you're here due to a war, and your original destination was King's Landing, so your presence here is a coincidence you knew nothing about two months ago," accused Tycho, not mincing words.
His mother, who was unaware of this matter, grew increasingly nervous, standing at his left side. Robb smiled.
"Hah, coincidences tend to happen when the Winter Wolf is present. If not, just ask the Kingslayer's arm," the Greatjon chimed in, and all the lords nodded, some spitting on the ground and making grimaces at the memory of the sacrilege committed against the Sword Arm, the finest swordsman in Westeros.
They were aware of the problems this was causing to the North's honor, as rumors were now circulating that he had captured the Kingslayer and then crushed his arm. This turned it into more than a matter of personal defense; it became gossip that jeopardized his honor. This had his lords on edge, demanding that the Kingslayer come forth to testify in his favor and tell everyone that his arm had been properly crushed in battle.
"My lords, he charged, and I merely defended myself. It was a regrettable accident," declared Robb. "Furthermore, the maester says the bone broke without causing significant damage, and Ser Jaime will be able to use his arm again within a year, at the latest," Robb added with annoyance, having explained the matter countless times.
His lords glared at him even though it was just a suspicion. These fellows were far too rigid. Robb made a wry face and glanced at Greatjon, who was about to spit. It seemed the giant wouldn't forget that Robb had attempted to behead him once. Robb narrowed his eyes to warn him that he'd be displeased if that spit left his mouth, and the giant swallowed his saliva and looked away.
"My lords are a bit scandal-prone. In truth, this is my grandfather's castle, and he was gravely ill, so I was about to pay a visit before heading to King's Landing," Robb shamelessly lied.
Tycho turned his attention to his mother, who looked at him with wide eyes of surprise as he dared to use his dying grandfather as an excuse.
"Bring in the box!" Robb ordered irritably. With these barbarians present, subtle games were impossible.
The She-Bear, who had been instructed accordingly, had her daughter enter, carrying a rectangular box about a meter and a half in length and half a meter in height. She placed it between Robb and the representatives from Braavos.
"Lord Tycho, Lord Torden, I believe you're here to see this, not to question my identity or whether I should be here or not," Robb declared, while Dacey Mormont opened the box, and the lords jostled each other to see what was inside, looking somewhat disappointed as they glimpsed what appeared to be some toys.
The apparent toys resembled a teapot-shaped carriage, a small pile of wood for a campfire, lamp oil, and tinder. However, the craftsmen behind Tycho and Torden hurried forward, lifting the small teapot-shaped carriage and carefully inspecting its wheels and the mechanisms that made them move.
"I've never seen anything like it. I understand the mechanism, and it's ingenious, but I don't understand its purpose," said a robust, bearded old man with faint traces of having been burned more than once. He ignored everyone else and looked at Robb. Robb nodded.
"That's because it's missing the fire," Robb said, looking at Dacey Mormont, who shrugged and proceeded to light the fire using the lamp oil.
"I placed the model over the flame, and don't worry, all the mechanisms are made of steel; they won't melt or warp easily," Robb explained to the old man, who seemed reluctant to place the model over the fire once it was lit. Tycho furrowed his brow a minute later when nothing happened.
"It will take a little longer, please be patient," Robb said.
Everyone waited for another four minutes until the lid of the teapot carriage suddenly lifted, and the model shot out on its own, eliciting screams and curses from their more superstitious lords.
Tycho and the envoy from the Lord of the Sea stared at the scene with wide-eyed surprise. The craftsmen they had brought with them chased after the teapot carriage, and Greatjon shouted and laughed.
Dacey Mormont, who was standing beside the steam vehicle prototype, jumped and drew her sword, ready to cleave the contraption in two, but the model headed in the opposite direction from where she was.
After about ten seconds, and without the heat from the fire, the model came to a stop on its own, and the craftsmen seemed desperate to grab it and study it again, but it was a steel contraption that had been over the fire, so it was extremely hot.
"The full-scale model will have the fire as an internal part of the machine, causing it to move continuously, and the boiler will be separate from the wheels. But in principle, it's the same: a machine that will move on its own, whether on land or sea, without the need for horses, rowers, or sails," explained Robb, capturing everyone's attention, who had calmed down upon seeing the miniature model stop.
"Do you think I was exaggerating when I told you I could show you the future if you were sincere in your dealings with the information detailed in that book?" Robb asked with a smile. Tycho and Torden looked at each other and then at the old man.
"It's possible, but it would take a decade for us to transition from this to what he describes," the old man said.
Robb nodded and pulled a book from his side to hand it to one of his guards, who would then give it to the burned-beard old man, but before he opened it, Robb raised his hand.
"I warn you that if you open that book and see its contents, if I don't reach an agreement with my guests, only your head will return with them. And if you want to keep it, you'll have to serve me for the rest of your life," Robb explained.
The old man hesitated for a second but then opened the book with determination, his eyes widening as he read.
…
"It would be an honor for me to learn from the person who wrote and created these plans," the old man declared five minutes later, setting the book aside so that the other craftsmen couldn't even see its cover.
Robb made a wry face; it seemed the old man also didn't believe that all these things were of Robb's authorship. But that didn't matter. Robb looked at Tycho.
"You don't need a decade to achieve anything, as everything needed to build what I've described is in that book," Robb said, and Tycho looked at the old man, who nodded with determination. "Of course, this time I won't make a trust bet with you, and if you want that book, you'll have to offer the corresponding payment for it and for the first one I sent you, which seems to have impressed you as well," Robb said. Tycho looked at him calmly.
"My lord, the Iron Bank would never rob its valued clients, our conduct is impeccable, and our reputation precedes us," declared Tycho. Robb mimicked him, giving him a serene look. He would be a complete fool to believe that absurd propaganda, knowing the reputation of these guys. Tycho said no more to try to prove his point.
"The Iron Bank offers six million gold coins for everything described in the first book, and as requested, we are willing to share fifty percent of the market for the second book, provide you with eighty percent of the initial production over a period of three years, and also allow the Manderlys and their craftsmen to participate in the construction of this project," Tycho offered.
They had accepted his terms for the second project, but they were ripping him off with the first one, because the things detailed in that book were industrial production of paper, printing presses, soaps, colognes, and the manufacturing of high-quality steel using blast furnaces. That was a lifelong business that would yield profits in the billions of gold coins at its peak and tens of millions in the short term.
"Lord Tycho, Lord Torden, do I look like a beggar to you? Why do you mention a measly six million gold coins as if it were a great offer? It's just pocket change compared to what I'm offering you!" scolded Robb with righteous indignation, but Tycho looked at him and said nothing, merely turning his head to indicate that he should look at his lords, who were gaping in sheer astonishment.
"Yes, they are the graphic description of a beggar seeing some good coins," thought Robb, feeling a growing headache. His lords were there to make the Iron Bank understand that he had an army behind him and they couldn't try any tricks, as he would have them at their doorstep to hold them accountable for any improper deal. But these lords were causing him a lot of trouble.
"Ten million gold coins and the cancellation of the Throne's debt. No need to acknowledge anyone as king," Robb said with frustration and regret.
In the end, his lords had ruined most of his plans. He couldn't rely on them for subtle matters like these.
"We can discuss those terms, but I believe there won't be any issues. Now let's talk about the payment method. According to your letter, my lord is interested in ships and supplies as part of the payment?" Tycho asked.
…
Davos
Davos Seaworth gazed at the growing darkness as he approached the harbor. Still, upon docking his ship, he didn't hesitate and made his way to Dragonstone, a fortress as ancient as the stories that were told of it.
When Davos announced his arrival, it was nearly midnight, but as he had expected, he was immediately admitted. A few minutes later, in a room illuminated by the light of a bonfire, he found his lord, Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and heir to Robert Baratheon. The late king, who had recently died in a hunting accident, but according to the surrounding rumors, had been murdered by the queen, because his Hand was about to accuse her of treason, incest, and the murder of the previous Hand.
According to rumor, both the king and his new Hand paid with their lives for these crimes. But all of this was hearsay. Rumors that came from the North, but for which there was no official statement from any lord.
"Ser Davos, welcome, take a seat and tell me the words of my lords," the king ordered brusquely.
Davos sat in a chair beside him, while his Lord remained standing, his great height and muscular body casting shadows as the flames danced in the bonfire. He was already balding, but not yet forty and closer to thirty, as he was the younger brother of King Robert Baratheon. Beside him was the Red Woman, a priestess who came from across the sea and had become the confidante of Lady Selyse, and now also one of the Lord's advisers.
Davos felt a slight shiver as he looked at her. Not because she was ugly or any particular detail about her. The Red Woman was one of the most beautiful women Davos had ever seen, but what sent shivers down his spine was her whispered magic and what had happened a month ago…
Davos shifted his attention away from the Red Woman and returned to his lord.
"My king, the Stormlords spoke many words, but none of them were support or a pledge of allegiance," Davos summarized, as his lord did not like long speeches. He also produced a letter and stood up to hand it to his king, who showed no surprise at his earlier words and accepted the letter.
"A raven dropped it on my face as I was leaving the Stormlands," Davos explained. That inopportune bird had plopped it right on his face, and given its flying speed, it hadn't been a pleasant experience.
King Stannis frowned and scrutinized the letter critically as Davos sat back down.
"The Winter Wolf," he commented, looking at the seal on the letter, which was unlike any Davos had seen before.
The seal was the head of a direwolf, engraved on white wax as pure as snow, and its eyes were sapphire blue. Davos had thought the same thing as his lord upon seeing the letter, as there were all sorts of strange rumors about Eddard Stark's son, including that he could send ravens to specific people… Well, that was no longer a rumor as Davos had confirmed it himself.
"So, the misfortune of Tywin Lannister is true," his king said, a wry smile forming as he looked at him.
"Your Majesty, considering that I've seen it in person, it's highly likely," Davos confirmed.
It was said that the Winter Wolf played the powerful Lannister like a helpless pup using this very trick to mark his movements, deceive him with a decoy, and then capture his son, whom some rumors said he injured in the arm while wielding it against his father. Of course, such an act would be an atrocity in the eyes of men and gods, so the Winter Wolf swore that Lannister had charged at him, and he merely defended himself. Jaime Lannister himself was a witness to it.
His lords had also sworn that the events happened as described, and Jaime Lannister had also sent a letter, but he was a prisoner in the hands of the Winter Wolf, and they had to wait for his release to hear his version of events.
With all that Davos had heard about the Winter Wolf, he wouldn't believe that it was an accident. There were even rumors that the Winter Wolf had arranged for the crossbows that injured Lannister to be prepared as he left his castle over a month prior, and at that moment, he didn't have any bolts other than the ones he used against Jaime Lannister. It was evident that he was waiting for Lannister to charge at him and get injured. Figuring this out wasn't very difficult since the Kingslayer was known for his volatile temper. Of course, if that were the case, the Winter Wolf would be guilty, but they couldn't accuse him of anything because the Kingslayer had charged at him as he had described initially…
"Five thousand men," King Stannis murmured.
Davos knew what he was referring to. These were the actions of one of the Winter Wolf's lords, Roose Bolton, who was sent to serve as a decoy for Tywin Lannister while the Winter Wolf captured the Kingslayer.
The ruse didn't last long, and Tywin Lannister found out three days later, before he had encountered Bolton's distraction army. He turned around, prepared to rescue his cub, believing that Bolton wouldn't dare attack an army ten times larger than his own. He was completely mistaken, as Lord Bolton attacked his supplies, stealing half of them, and then launched a determined assault on his rear ranks, claiming the lives of three thousand lions. Outraged, Tywin had to halt his rescue march and face Bolton for three days, during which Bolton disappeared from his sight.
The lion, aware that his son was in danger, resumed the march, this time guarding his rear ranks for three days. Seeing that no attack came, he hastened his pace without consequences. Then, near his destination, he learned that his son was already a hostage and decided to march to Harrenhal. However, three days after beginning the march, Roose appeared out of nowhere and attacked head-on, giving the old lion the scare of his life. The lion had concentrated his forces to protect his rear and supplies, staying at the front with his battle guard, his lords, and the most exhausted soldiers.
He had expected an attack on his rear to decimate Roose's forces, but Roose appeared in his face, killing left and right. Rumor had it that even the lion had to fight for his life to get out of there and was now lying on his deathbed in Harrenhal. The battle had been dubbed "the lion's tragedy."
Davos could only gape in awe at the cunning of the northerners, who had always been known for their brutality but were decimating the Lannister forces with ambushes one after another.
"Your Majesty, I don't think that number is accurate. Lord Tywin was marching with a large retinue, and most of the dead might be his followers. Such an army wouldn't lose over two thousand men in an ambush by just three thousand men. They would only have a few minutes to strike and retreat before being pursued and cut down by the superior numbers of their enemy," Davos offered his opinion. King Stannis nodded in agreement as he broke the seal and retrieved a letter to read.
As he read, his lord clenched his teeth repeatedly, leading Davos to believe that the news wasn't what he had hoped for. Davos didn't understand it. While he was at Storm's End, he had heard the phrase "Stannis is revenge," and it had spread throughout the realm as a declaration that both the North and the Riverlands would unite under his lord's banner. However, his lord's current demeanor indicated the opposite. Davos remained silent and waited eagerly for his lord to finish reading the letter, which he did three times before tossing it into the fire with a grinding of teeth.
"Insolent and arrogant brat!" the king reprimanded angrily. He looked at Davos. "He says a lot of nonsense, but in essence, he will stay to play Tywin Lannister in the Riverlands, keep me informed about the enemy's plans, and pledge his loyalty to me as it should be, before the Iron Throne, once he has conquered King's Landing," his lord growled and ground his teeth.
"In summary, he's not going to give us a single man," Davos thought, annoyed, but he was distracted by a soft chuckle, one that came from the Red Woman. He and his lord looked at her.
"My lords, the young one is not arrogant; he merely expresses his unwavering faith in the chosen R'hllor, the Lord of Light. I share the same opinion – our promised prince doesn't need armies to claim the Iron Throne, only his faith in R'hllor," Melisandre declared.
Davos had many thoughts about this statement, but he wouldn't dare voice them.
…
Tyrion
Tyrion Lannister reread the letter handed to him when he presented his papers as the acting Hand of the King, following a corresponding sigh of annoyance directed at his sister Cersei, who, according to all the rumors he had heard in recent months, was one of the maddest, most psychopathic, and despicable individuals he would ever encounter in his life.
Among the many rumors about her were the murder of a king – her husband – two Hands of the King, the king's bastard children (including a nursing baby), having three bastards by her own brother, being the lover of her cousin Lancel Lannister, being an alcoholic, and of course, being a whore. There were so many rumors that no one would think they were mere coincidences, although there were no official accusations against her yet.
Tyrion looked at the broken seal affixed to the edges of the letter, which, according to Maester Pycelle, the Grand Maester of the realm and a member of the Small Council, a raven had flung at him the moment he entered his rookery, pecking at his eye and flying away. The elderly maester's bandaged eye served as evidence of his story and also lent credence to the rumors of how his lord father had been outmaneuvered by a child.
Tyrion collected the broken seal. It was a white seal, engraved with a blue-sapphire-eyed direwolf. Strange and intriguing at the same time, Tyrion wanted to know how that seal had been made, but it wasn't a moment to admire the artistry of a seal on a letter; it was time to evaluate the words.
In summary, after the greetings and proper protocol, the boy wanted his sister Sansa Stark back, and he was exchanging her for nothing more and nothing less than his brother, Jaime Lannister, the only son and heir of Casterly Rock, in the eyes of Tywin Lannister. The boy asked for nothing more than his sister, not even an extra gold coin, although from what he had heard, he didn't need the money anymore either.
"Stop reading, you've been with that letter for half an hour. Now let's focus on discussing the delivery process to ensure my brother's safety," Cersei said.
To anyone else, her words might be vague, as she had two brothers, but to her, she was being precise, as she didn't see Tyrion, the dwarf who killed their mother, as a brother, and she reminded him of that every time she looked at him, imprinting all the disgust and revulsion she could muster onto her facial expression.
Tyrion looked her up and down. She wore a dress fit for a queen and had the body of a goddess, with long golden hair and green eyes. There was no sign that she lacked intelligence.
"Don't you find something strange about this letter?" Tyrion asked seriously. He didn't believe his sister could be that foolish.
Varys, the bald and fat Master of Coin, dressed in silk, powder, and perfume, known as the Spider, let out a nervous chuckle. Beside him, Petyr Baelish, whom the northerners demanded the head of because they somehow found out he had betrayed their Lord, the former Hand, Eddard Stark, stroked his neatly trimmed little beard.
Baelish was only two heads taller than Tyrion and even thinner, and there was no doubt why he was nicknamed Littlefinger. Then there was Ser Janos Slynt, a brute whom Tyrion intended to deal with soon. Janos was a fat, sunburned, sweaty man, like a pig in the height of summer, who offered him a greasy smile whenever he looked at him.
"Yes, it seems the northerners will now suffer the consequences of putting a boy at the head of their army," Cersei pronounced.
Tyrion realized it was futile to try to reason with her on her own, so for the sake of peace, he proceeded to explain the situation.
"Cersei, dear sister, in the last attack, our lord father captured over six hundred northerners, including the heir of one of their lords, Wilys Manderly, and many of their sons.
However, with the ability to demand hostages from most of them, including their sister if he was willing to make an exchange – an incomprehensible action, as no one in their right mind would exchange my brother Jaime Lannister for anyone less than one of the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms, and I still have doubts about some of them – this boy demands only his sister, ignoring all other prisoners, even his other sister, whom until now, I believed was in our grasp. But now I realice that the northerners know more about what we possess and don't possess than I do," Tyrion concluded, because the letter also implied that Arya Stark wasn't in their custody or that his brother wasn't interested, which was a foolish notion.
Varys shifted uncomfortably, and Littlefinger stroked his beard again. Tyrion didn't even want to look at Janos and Pycelle.
"Who cares about that boy's plans? If he wants to exchange that girl for my brother, we only need to ask where he wants us to send the brat and what clothes he wants her dressed in," Cersei declared.
Tyrion grimaced. He had already met Sansa Stark upon his arrival. She had endured the mistreatment and humiliations of her nephew, but it was nothing extraordinary. Tyrion saw nothing in her that made her as valuable as his brother.
It could be said that Sansa Stark surpassed her brother in intelligence, but that could be said of almost all the nobles in the realm. He was the first to admit that his brother would never be a genius or someone who excelled in cleverness or intelligence. But this was not a competition of attributes; it was a matter of value, and Jaime's value as a hostage outweighed Sansa Stark's a thousand times. Partly, Cersei was right, and they shouldn't hesitate to accept the deal.
However, Tyrion, who had studied the Winter Wolf since he saw how he toyed with his father like a cat with a dying mouse, had that annoying little voice in his head telling him that under no circumstances should he return Sansa Stark or exchange her for Jaime. And this wasn't a premonition; it was his own experience, or rather, the experience of his unfortunate lord father, who underestimated the boy from the start and was now licking his wounds in Harrenhal after a disastrous campaign.
In their last battle, where Roose Bolton emerged out of nowhere and attacked head-on, when his father had fortified his rear and set up at least ten ambushes along the way to ensure inflicting a disastrous loss on the persistent lord, his lord father was played by the strategies of the northerners. And even though that battle could be deemed a victory, as Roose withdrew with just over half of his three thousand men, it had to be noted that his father lost five thousand men, and his enemy had only three thousand men while his army numbered twenty thousand.
The men Bolton lost didn't exceed four hundred because the rest, after killing to their heart's content, surrendered with their hands up when they found themselves surrounded. They offered gold for their ransom while brazenly reminding his father's men that the Winter Wolf held over five thousand Lannister prisoners, including the lion's cub.
Faced with this clear threat, his lord father could only swallow his anger and lock them all up, even though in battle and before retreating, Bolton himself had tried to take his father's head, leaving an ugly scar on his right cheek. Fortunately, they were few, and his father's battle guard was able to drive them off, leaving fifteen sons of great families dead, who were now seeking revenge, causing his father terrible headaches.
No, Tyrion didn't trust the northerners one bit, and he felt that at any moment, he too would receive a cut on his cheek if he didn't reject this seemingly good deal. Tyrion didn't have his lord father's luck, who had survived as Hand of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, through Robert Baratheon's Rebellion, the Ironborn's war, even the treacherous and cunning schemes of the Winter Wolf and his henchmen when they lunged at him. No, Tyrion had been unfortunate all his life, and even the gods had cursed him to be born a dwarf.
His mother died because of him, which made his father hate him; his sister had tried to kill him on several occasions… He was certain that this cut to his throat wouldn't fail.
"Lord Petyr, what do you think of this?" Tyrion asked, trying to buy some time. Petyr nodded as if he had been expecting the question, and his serene expression betrayed no emotion whatsoever. This man was ice-cold to the bone; even his smiles were fake.
"We could assume that Ser Jaime's sword arm was irreparably damaged, and that, in fact, the story of how the events unfolded would also be false. So, once Ser Jaime returns, he will tell us everything, and the northerners are already preparing their excuses in advance, offering us this exchange as a form of compensation to avoid tarnishing their honor," Petyr said. Tyrion pondered; at least that was an interesting theory.
It was rumored that the Winter Wolf was a psychopath who tried to take the head of one of his lords so the rest wouldn't hesitate to follow him, and he did it in a way that they couldn't reproach him for his honor because he used it as a shield for his actions. Similarly, it was rumored that the crossbows that wounded his brother's arm had been prepared since they left Winterfell, and all his lords had witnessed it. It was also known that he had only two crossbows and that they were not used until they were fired at his brother and then discarded.
This made it clear that the Winter Wolf had actually planned to ruin his brother's arm for a long time and intended to do so using a crossbow, a weapon that all swordsmen scorned as cowardly. But the official account was different, as everyone confirmed that his brother, when surrounded, did not surrender but charged at Robb Stark, and Robb shot him in self-defense; some would say he was lucky not to have been killed. Tyrion had also read a supposed statement from his brother, saying that he had charged and that Robb Stark's defense was lawful.
Because of all this, and despite the overwhelming evidence against him, the only doubt hanging over Robb Stark's honor was whether his brother's testimony was false. As he always did, the Winter Wolf shielded himself behind his honor and duty to commit dishonorable acts, and had no honor other than a thirst for blood and revenge.
"It's possible," Tyrion reluctantly admitted. "Still, my brother is not one to keep his mouth shut. If the Winter Wolf acted dishonorably, he'll say so without fear, even if they call him an 'oathbreaker.' I don't see why they released him," Tyrion asserted. That's how his brother was. Varys let out another nervous chuckle, and Tyrion shot him a threatening glance.
"Do you disagree with my opinion, Lord Varys?" Tyrion asked with a threatening tone.
"My lord, your brother is, in fact, an exceedingly discreet person. If they have managed to get him to agree to say that his arm was justifiably broken in several places, he won't say otherwise even if they chop off his head," Varys said. Tyrion could only stare at him in disbelief, even his sister looked surprised. "My lords, I'm afraid that's all I can say. If you want to know more, you must speak with Ser Jaime directly," Varys added, nervously gesturing with his plump hands. Tyrion made several grimaces. Didn't he know his own brother? Tyrion wondered in a bewildered thought.
"So, we have a probable cause: Ser Jaime himself secured his release by agreeing to uphold the honor of the enemy commander, and this exchange is just an excuse," Petyr said. Tyrion grumbled, but he was forced to agree, at least until he could speak with Jaime and ask him what the hell he was hiding and how the Spider knew about it… aside from that matter of incest between him and Cersei, which Tyrion already suspected to be true and didn't need to ask about.
"Well, we'll accept the exchange, but it must happen here," Tyrion said.
If the northerners were so confident in this deal and didn't plan anything, they would accept the deal; if they didn't accept, they could continue negotiating, and he would have more time to think things through.
Author's Note: Clarifications: If you didn't notice, it's Bran who delivers the letters. Robb wouldn't have time for that; he only writes them.
There's no way Robb would let Littlefinger, who killed his father, live.
In the next chapter, we'll see more things during the pause before the next war. We'll have viewpoints from Arya and Tyrion.
Disclaimer:
A Song of Fire and Ice does not belong to me, nor do any of the images shown. This fic was created by me for entertainment purposes.
NA: I have translated this chapter using Chat GPT.
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