Reading Time: 72 Minutes
Title: Casterly Rock
Series: Little Lion Man
Series Order: 1
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
Genre: Time Travel
Relationship(s): pre-Jaime Lannister/Lyanna Stark
Content Rating: R
Warnings: Major Character Death (Tywin Lannister, Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys), Minor Character Death (Maester Creylen of Casterly Rock, Dorna Swyft, OMCs), Canon-level Violence, Dark Themes, Temporary Major Character Death (Jaime Lannister), the Citadel Conspiracy (See Series Page)
Beta: PNZ
Word Count: 39,158
Summary: Tywin dies. Yay!!! Or is it?
Artist: Izzy Hound
Chapter Four
“Lord Brandon, Lord Benjen.” Jaime greeted his future good brothers with a smile on his face and his little brother on his hip. The lad was old enough to wonder a large majority of the keep by himself, but it was faster for him to be carried and they both enjoyed the closeness. “Welcome to Casterly Rock!”
Lord Brandon was the first one down the gangplank. He was a large man with an even larger presence, wearing plate armor covering his chest and shoulders, leather and mail over his arms and legs and much more fur than one needed so far outside the North.
Lord Benjen, when he landed on the pier beside his brother, was tiny in comparison. Slim, quiet, built like an archer or a Lannisport free diver.
“House Stark thanks you for your warm welcome, Lord Lannister,” Lord Brandon said, stepping forward to offer his arm.
Jaime caught his arm with his own. “Jaime, please, certainly when we are in private. We are of an age and stand as Lords and Wardens together.”
“Brandon, then.”
“Come,” Jaime urged. “There are enough lifts on this level to see your retinue into the Rock proper in good time. We should be out of the way of the Cavern’s staff as soon as possible.”
“Lifts?” Benjen asked as the brothers fell into step with him with only a handful of men at arms at their back.
“You have heard of Castle Black’s winch cage? To ascend the Wall?” Jaime asked.
“I am surprised you have,” Brandon admitted.
Jaime smirked. “Casterly Rock was a functioning mine at one point. One cannot achieve much function if it takes all day to get anywhere.”
“True,” Brandon agreed. He frowned at the ground as he stepped over a groove in the ground. “You have an open sea cavern that leads directly to lifts that take you directly into the Rock? How many times has Casterly Rock been taken by force?”
Jaime laughed. “None.”
“How?” Brandon demanded as he stepped over another groove in the ground. “The Ironborn are your closest neighbors.”
“The last time the Ironborn attempted to take the Rock, they came in through the sea cavern and thought to come for our lifts. They failed. First because the construction of the Rock makes the hallways deceptive. When we get higher, you will see what I mean, most of the turns have to be carpeted so they can be seen.”
“Huh,” Brandon grunted, “and the other reason?”
“The grooves we keep stepping over are portcullises.” Jaime stopped to point out how the grooves continued up the walls and even the ceiling. “The grates are kept in the floor above which is completely empty except for necessary support columns for the rest of the Rock and multi-ton stones made from the native materiel.
“When we are being invaded, we drop the grates and roll the stones over them so they cannot be lifted.
“When the Ironborn last attacked we dropped the inner-most portcullises and allowed them to enter the hallways. The defenders waited and dropped the outermost portcullises so the Ironborn could not escape. Then we used the other portcullis to section them off. I am told several Ironborn were killed by the dropping of the grates—a messy business—but after that our archers picked them off section by section, safely from the other side of the bars.”
“You made shooting galleries,” Lord Benjen realized. Then he flushed furiously. “My lord.”
“Relax,” Jaime said teasingly. “I will not harm you. We are heading to the Gold Hall for Guest Right.”
“I did not think the South upheld Guest Right.”
Jaime inclined his head toward the younger Stark lord. “My father certainly did not. I seek a different kind of strength than my father embraced,” he finished diplomatically.
Aunt Genna would be proud.
Lady Olenna would laugh and roast him in her most gentle fashion. He was convinced such was the only way she knew to express affection.
“That is why you have sought out our sister, is it not?” Lord Benjen pushed.
Was that supposed to be subtle? Jaime could not be sure. He would introduce the lad to Lady Olenna anyway. He would learn from her whether he wanted to or not. Even if all he learned was to stop blushing every time the wind changed, the effort would be worth it to Jaime.
“I believe your father should hear my reasons before I share them with anyone else,” Jaime admitted. “Who he includes in our conversation is up to him, of course.”
“Acceptable,” Brandon nodded.
They stepped into the mine lift and Brandon closed the grate when Jaime motioned to it so he would not have to put Tyrion down.
“You alright?” Jaime asked his brother as they rose through the levels.
Tyrion’s little face screwed up. “I don’t like the lift. It hurts my ears.”
“The noise or the pressure change?” There was not too much noise in the lifts, but the pully systems were not silent.
Tyrion’s expression of distaste grew more ferocious. “Not the noise.”
Jaime nodded. “We should not have any more guests come by boat. You do not have to ride them again until we leave for Winterfell.”
“I get to go?” Tyrion gaped.
“Unless you want to stay here.” Jaime frowned in pretend concern. “Would you rather stay with Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna?”
“No, no, no, I wanna go!”
Jaime chuckled. “Then you go. But going will not get you out of arms practice.”
Tyrion pouted.
The lift stopped and Brandon opened the grate without having to be asked.
“Thank you.” Jaime nodded and led them from lift to the Gold Hall.
“I see what you mean by the turns,” Brandon muttered as they passed the first blind turn that was picked out by a line of carpet.
“It is a security feature,” Jaime admitted. “The carpets can come up. The lifts can be locked so they can only reach certain levels. I cannot tell you all of it, of course. House Lannister takes the security of the Rock seriously.”
“Hopefully, you will tell our sister all of it eventually,” Brandon teased.
“Should she become Lady Lannister, she will learn more about the Rock than even my Uncle Kevan knows,” Jaime admitted.
“Your Uncle Kevan was your father’s most trusted, correct?” Benjen asked.
Jaime shook his head at the younger male. Was he fishing? Was this the Northern version of subtly? Jaime had no idea.
“Other than my mother, certainly.” Jaime answered. “He and his wife, my Aunt Dorna, will stand as castellan of the Rock and the West when I have to be away—as they were for my father.
“Lord Brandon, Lord Benjen, if you would follow me,” Jaime ordered gently as he led them into the Gold Hall and up to the High Table.
He set Tyrion into the seat immediately to the right of his own chair, marking him as the Heir to Casterly Rock. Brandon took the seat of honor on his left and Benjen sat on the far side of his brother from Jaime.
“We will have a few moments before the rest of your party arrives,” Jaime told the Northern lords. “I have a few questions.”
“About?” Brandon asked with a pointed glance at the goblet in front of him
Jaime signaled the cupbearer to come forward. “Trial by the Tree. What can you tell me about it?”
“Trial by the Tree is Old,” Brandon cautioned. “Anyone found guilty of their crimes before the tree are fed to it. What would make you go there?”
Jaime hesitated. “This touches the topics I wish to discuss first with your father, so I will be vague.”
Lord Brandon nodded his acceptance.
“I know for a fact that the loyalty of several highly placed men across the Realm is not where they give the appearance of it being,” he said delicately. “I find I cannot tolerate such uncertainty within my own home, particularly about the loyalty of my own maester. Maesters oversee the health, education, and communication of their charges.”
“A dangerous position for a man that is not loyal to hold.” Brandon frowned. Jaime hoped he was questioning his House’s own maester
“I must know my family is safe with Maester Creylen. I must know my children will be safe with him. My wife.” Jaime shook his head. “He has said things that make me doubt him. I know if I just ask, he will tell me what he thinks I want to hear.”
“He would be a fool not to,” Brandon said. “Lies cannot be spoken to the face of a weirwood tree but that does not require a Trial by the Tree. Is there a weirwood tree in the Rock?”
“There is a cave we call the Stone Garden,” Jaime told him. “It is a godswood, though the weirwood has choked out most of the other growth. Will you teach me about the Old Gods while you are here?”
The Starks exchanged a startled look.
“They are the Gods of Stream, Forest, and Stone,” Benjen said. “Not the old gods.”
“Gods of Stream or Gods of Stone for short,” Brandon agreed. The older Stark stared at him; Jaime held his gaze without flinching. “Everything our Gods grant us has a price. Sometimes the price is simply living your life to honor them, sheltering the heart tree in your home. Sometimes the price is a man’s blood given to the tree to force his honesty.”
Jaime took a moment to consider that. There was a weight to Brandon’s gaze, to his expectations. He might be the Wild Wolf, but he believed in a way Ned Stark had never seemed to.
“Tomorrow, mid-morning, I will question my maester before the Gods of Stream and Stone,” Jaime finally offered. “Will you join me?”
“It would be our honor.”
-*-
“Ready?” Jaime asked as he personally retrieved the young Stark Lords from their quarters an hour after breakfast.
“Of course,” Brandon agreed.
“Will your brother be joining us?” Benjen asked.
Jaime shook his head. “He is too young to witness what could become a messy execution. And, besides, this is his time for physical training.”
“What could you possibly train him?” Brandon asked with a grown.
“He is capable of most arms practices,” Jaime said. “His strength will never match a larger man and he will certainly never joust, but he is quick and clever. His mind will be his greatest weapon; I see it as another reason to train his body to match. He works with long dagger and shield in the mornings. Command and tactics in the afternoons.”
Maester Creylen ignored Tyrion as often as he could to the point that Tyrion had taught himself to read. It was another reason to be rid of the old man, even if he was not a traitor.
“Lady Olenna will be joining us as witness, as well.”
Lord Brandon grinned. “I understand your relationship with Lady Olenna is mystifying your family. You only met when she came to the Rock for your father’s passing, correct?”
“She enjoys company that is not afraid of her,” Jaime explained. “I have nothing to fear from her because we are not at cross purposes. We both want our families to prosper. There is no reason to not work in that effort together; we are neighbors.”
“And Lady Janna?” Brandon teased.
“Is a lovely rose of the Reach, I am sure, but should your father decide against me, I fear she will hunt me like a hound that has scented a fox.” Brandon laughed and Jaime shook his head. “Lady Olenna would certainly support her daughter.” He eyed Brandon pointedly. “Mayhaps I should encourage their pursuit of you.”
“I am betrothed,” Brandon reminded him. The Stark lord’s tone was a mix of gratitude and resentment that Jaime understood entirely.
“It has been a few years since I met Lady Catelyn,” Jaime admitted. “My father had sought an agreement between our House and hers—for her younger sister, Lysa. I have never been so grateful for my uncle’s reluctance to complete a negotiation. My father would have been wroth with him if he had understood my uncle’s intent, but I would have gone to the Wall to avoid such a match.”
Benjen snickered.
“She did seem entirely focused on her father’s ward at her sister’s betrothal feast,” Brandon offered, which Jaime found interesting.
“Is it true he challenged you for Lady Catelyn’s hand?” Jaime asked.
“He did.” Brandon shook his head. “I should have killed him because he certainly would have killed me if he could but Catelyn begged for him. Lady Stark should never beg.”
Jaime had nothing productive to add to that line of discussion so just shook his head and he took them on the final turn into the Stone Garden. Lady Olenna was waiting for them sat upon a chair he had hauled into the Garden just for her.
“Your uncles left when I arrived,” she reported. “To retrieve Maester Creylen, I believe.”
“Very good. Lady Olenna Tyrell, may I introduce you to Lords Brandon and Benjen Stark?”
“A pleasure,” Lady Olenna said flatly.
“Now I see why they say you are a mean one,” Lord Brandon offered as he held out his hand for hers. She reluctantly gave Lord Brandon her hand and he placed a kiss upon the back of it.
Lady Olenna huffed. “Is it your endeavor to break hearts all across the South with your marriage?”
Brandon just grinned.
Uncle Kevan and Uncle Brynden arrived with Maester Creylen and a handful of guards.
“Maester Creylen!” Jaime greeted with as much cheer as he could muster. “I have a question for you?”
“Certainly, my lord, about the weirwood tree?”
Jaime inclined his head. “Maester Creylen, where does your true loyalty lie?”
“With the Society for the Advancement of Science,” the man answered easily. His eyes flew wide with shock. “That was not—what?”
“And what is the Society for the Advancement of Science?” Jaime pressed.
“You should not know about that,” Maester Creylen said instead of answering. “I am not allowed to tell you more.”
“Unfortunate,” Jaime said as he caught the maester’s frail wrist. He pulled a dagger, sliced his palm and placed it flat on the tree just above the face. “Now. What is the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
“It is an organization within the Citadel seeking to bring order to the world through science.”
“What does that mean when we live in a world of magic?” Jaime pushed. “How is your goal meant to be accomplished?”
Maester Creylen held out against the magic of the weirwood for nearly a minute. He tried to physically remove his hand from the tree—going so far as to tug it with the other hand and failing—before he began to speak. “As members of the Society, we are to teach fear of magical creatures and encourage the hunting of them across Westeros. We are to watch for signs of magic within the Houses we serve and eliminate them as quickly and painlessly as we can.”
“Eliminate them?” Jaime asked. “Have members of the Society for the Advancement of Science been killing members of the Houses you are sworn to?”
“Yes.” The maester kept nodding, as well. And then he stopped.
“How else has your Society been removing magical members of the Houses they serve?”
“We have been encouraging divides and rivalries so Houses kill each other and providing information to the enemies of stubborn Houses as to their movements when they are actively at war with each other to ensure their destruction.”
“Was the Citadel behind the Blackfyre Rebellions?” Uncle Brynden demanded.
“Not directly,” the maester hedged.
“How was the Society indirectly involved with initiating the Blackfyre Rebellions,” Jaime asked.
“I have been told that Grand Maester Marrik encouraged ladies from House Blackwood and House Bracken to seek the attention of Aegon the Unworthy. The inherent rivalry of those Houses did the work naturally.”
“You seem to be well informed,” Lady Olenna observed. “Are all members of your Society so well informed?”
Maester Creylen made a face. “Only those that were considered for Grand Maester.”
“So Grand Maester Pycelle will know more.”
“Yes.”
“Is there a written account of the Society’s crimes?” Uncle Kevan asked. “Any evidence?”
“We are not committing crimes!” Maester Creylen vehemently disagreed. “We are granting mercy to those that do not belong!”
“Well, clearly he is delusional,” Brandon muttered.
Maester Creylen puffed up in offense.
“What about the dragons?” Jaime asked because as much as he wanted to tear the maester apart, he had a goal. They needed dragons for the Long Night. They would not have dragons is the Citadel killed them before they could prosper again. “They are a magical creature, are they not?”
“They are,” Maester Creylen agreed.
“What measures have your Society taken to destroy the dragons?”
“We encouraged the Faith’s hatred of House Targaryen. They laid their Andal curses on the Dragonpit and the Iron Throne. We encouraged House Targaryen to leave Dragonstone for King’s Landing.”
“Why?” Jaime asked.
Maester Creylen did not answer, Jaime assumed his question was not specific enough.
“Why did the Society for the Advancement of Science encourage House Targaryen to leave Dragonstone for King’s Landing?”
“Dragons thrive on fire magic, Dragonstone is upon a volcano, a source of fire magic.”
“And King’s Landing is not, causing the dragon’s power to wane.” Jaime nodded. “Then Winterfell is a source of fire magic as well,” Jaime said, more to the Starks than anyone else. “Winterfell is on a hot spring. Hot springs are powered by fire magic.”
“Good to know,” Brandon nodded.
Jaime focused on Maester Creylen. “What tasks have you completed on behalf of the Society while in service the House Lannister?”
“I offered Lady Lannister the moontea the last time she returned from King’s Landing,” Maester Creylen confessed. “She refused on the grounds that the child she carried could be her husband’s.”
“And?” Jaime prompted. He knew what was coming. Probably. Mayhaps. He was already furious, even if he might be proven wrong. “What did you do after Lady Joanna Lannister refused the moontea?”
“I monitored her pregnancy for signs that the child was magical and he was. I used a tonic in wine to force her into early delivery. Lady Joanna died in the birthing. The child survived, unfortunately, and was misshapen by the tonic but his survival prevented Lord Tywin from asking too many questions about his wife’s demise.”
“Do you have plans to kill my brother Lord Tyrion of House Lannister now that my father is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Have you initiated these plans yet?”
“No.”
Jaime briefly considered pulling the man’s teeth out of his head so he would understand the pain he was causing Jaime and his company. He suppressed the urge as best he could.
“Why have you not initiated your plans to kill my brother, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister?”
“There are currently two Maesters in Casterly Rock that are not members of the Society. Either one could save the boy and endanger the Society depending on the depth of their training. I have not had the time to evaluate them.”
Meaning, he could probably trust two of the three maesters the Citadel had sent him. He wanted to assume the second member of the Society was the most trained and therefore the most appealing of the three of them to keep in his service, but he would have to question them all to be certain.
“Does anyone have any more questions for the maester?” Jaime asked his companions.
Lady Olenna raised one finger. Jaime nodded his acceptance of her request.
“Maester Creylen,” she began. “What has the Citadel done to House Targaryen? They are magical, are they not?”
“House Targaryen is magical,” the maester confirmed. Then he stopped talking.
Lady Olenna firmed up her lips and sat straighter. “Has the Citadel been sabotaging the Iron Throne?”
“Yes.”
“And the Grand Maester has been directly working to further the Society’s goals?”
“Yes.”
“Has there been a Grand Maester that was not part of the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That means they have control of the Conclave,” she said to Jaime.
“I took note of that,” Jaime admitted.
“Did your Society cause the Faith Uprising after the death of King Aegon I?”
“We encouraged it.”
“I am not going through every single conflict the Iron Throne has suffered,” Lady Olenna declared. “Did your society cause the Dance of the Dragons?”
“Indirectly.”
“How did the Society indirectly cause the Dance of the Dragons that killed thousands of Westerosi?” Lady Olenna continued doggedly.
“Ser Otto Hightower had taken Princess Saera from the Sept of the Silent Sisters. I do not know all of the details. I know Princess Saera gave Ser Otto a child, the Lady Alicent.”
“Lady Alicent was Otto Hightower’s third child of four,” Lady Olenna observed. “That means he was married to Lady Sella Tarly when he laid with Princess Saera.”
The maester said nothing.
“Are House Hightower and House Tarly involved in the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
“Not directly.”
Jaime rolled his eyes. This was aggravating. “If you stop stonewalling us, your death will be clean,” Jaime told the man. “If you continue to be an absolute cunt, I will cut your wrists and leave you to bleed to death on the tree.”
“If you die on the tree, your soul will be subject to the Gods of Stone and Stream,” Lord Brandon added.
Maester Creylen huffed. “Men of House Hightower that join the Citadel always join the Society. That enables us to influence the High Septon who is always a former member of House Hightower.
“House Tarly has sworn against allowing its members to join the Citadel—we believe this is the influence of Lady Sella Tarly, Ser Otto’s wife though we cannot confirm it.”
“Good,” Jaime nodded. “Did the Society have anything to do with Alicent Hightower becoming queen after Aemma Arryn?”
“Grand Maester Mellos poisoned Queen Aemma’s pregnancies to varying degrees so his influence would look natural. He also advocated for cutting Prince Baelon out of Queen Aemma, killing them both.”
“Is there a record of the Society’s efforts in King’s Landing?”
“History must be recorded,” Maester Creylen answered, with a disgusting version of piety.
“Who keeps the record of the Society’s history?”
“Archmaester Walgrave of Ravencraft is the only keeper I know of.”
“But there is more than one?” Jaime asked.
“Every member of the Society tracks their own actions, most in code or in a private journal. Their records are returned to the Citadel with their remains so they might be added to the official record.”
Jaime glanced at the Lords and Lady around him to see if anyone else had any more questions.
“Kill him and be done with it,” Brandon demanded when Jaime’s focus landed on him.
Maester Creylen glared. “You said—”
Jaime hit the maester’s temple when the butt of his dagger and watched as the elderly man crumpled into the roots of the weirwood.
“Bind and gag him,” Jaime ordered two of the nearby guards. “Take him to the shaded corner and one of you will remain with him to ensure he remains quiet.
“We will question the other three Maesters in the Rock before we execute any of them,” he explained to his company.
“I will fetch them,” Uncle Kevan offered.
“One at a time, if you will.”
“As you will, my lord,” Uncle Kevan agreed. Uncle Brynden left with him without a word.
“Maester Ben, my lord,” Uncle Kevan introduced the man he returned with.
“Good morrow, Maester Ben, I apologize for not greeting you sooner,” Jaime inclined his head.
Maester Ben gave him a brief bow. “It is no problem, my lord, your library is more than enough to keep me occupied for a few days.”
“Libraries,” Jaime corrected. “There is more than one library within the Rock.”
“Oh?” Maester Ben asked. “I was only able to locate the one.”
“If you swear to my House, I will have you directed to the others as they will be within your purview.”
“I look forward to it, my lord.”
“Tell me, Maester Ben, to whom or what is your first loyalty?”
“Learning,” the man answered easily. “Whether gaining new knowledge for myself, searching out particular knowledge for others, or imparting knowledge upon my charges.”
Jaime had learned to find value in book learning but he did not hold the same eagerness for it that the maester clearly did. “Have you heard of the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
Maester Ben blinked. “No, my lord.”
“What are your feelings on magic?” Jaime prodded. “The Higher Mysteries, as they are sometimes called.”
“Magic is fascinating.” Ben gushed. “Difficult to study as different disciplines have different rules but all magic requires a strong will and a clear mental image of the desired result.”
“You seem to have one of every link,” Lady Olenna observed.
“Learning, my lady. It is my favorite thing to do. I have one of every possible link plus a second in history and two additional in Healing after I decided I would need to serve a Noble House to expand the pool of the written word available to me.”
“House Lannister was a good choice with such a goal,” Uncle Kevan offered.
“I was ecstatic when we received word from the Seneschal that Lord Jaime had requested a pool of candidates to choose a new maester from,” Maester Ben admitted. “I was not a favorite for the position and I had to swear to stop requesting the development of new areas for study from the Seneschal but I hope that sacrifice will be worth it.”
Jaime had to hide a smile. This man was no threat to his House. “I will be marrying soon. So will my Uncles and possibly my Aunt. Are you prepared to deal with the health of ladies and pregnancies?”
“I have read the collected works of Maester Luwin,” Maester Ben answered. “He would be the Archmaester of Pregnancy and Women’s Health if there was such a thing. I apprenticed under him directly for two years until he was requested specifically by Lord Tully for his daughters.”
Damn Hoster Tully anyway.
“I wish I had known there was such a maester when I was giving my Lord Husband heirs,” Lady Olenna muttered. Jaime could not help but agree.
“Your first task as Maester of House Lannister is to order two copies of Maester Luwin’s collected works from the Citadel,” Jaime told Maester Ben.
The maester’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean I am your choice?”
“One of them,” Jaime agreed. “There is an extensive distance between the family quarters, the libraries, and the ravenry. I am planning to employ at least two maesters so that you might switch off on Raven Watch and the physical care of House Lannister.”
“Choose Maester Muln for my duty partner,” Maester Ben advised. “He has four black iron links and prefers the birds to people. He only came because you ordered more ravens trained to fly to either Winterfell and Riverrun and back.”
Jaime ignored the sharp looks Brandon and Benjen shot him. “I will speak with him next,” Jaime promised. “Now, your oath.” He offered Maester Ben his dagger.
Without complaint or hesitation, the maester slit his palm and laid it next to Creylen’s still bloody hand print upon the heart tree. He made his oath to serve House Lannister and when he stood the cut on his palm was healed, showing the Gods of Stream and Stone had accepted his oath and would hold him to it.
“The slight shine to the scar implies that he made the oath with a pure heart,” Brandon explained.
“I will seek you out later to interrogate you on the subject of the old gods,” Maester Ben threatened Brandon.
Brandon laughed. “Or you can sit in on the lessons Lord Jaime has requested. Mayhaps publish a Primer of the Faith of the Gods of Stream and Stone.”
“Mayhaps I will,” Maester Ben agreed.
“I need you to go through Maester Creylen’s belongings,” Jaime instructed his new maester, “so that we may return only the things that truly belonged to him to the Citadel.”
“Has Maester Creylen fallen?” Maester Ben asked, concern writ large in his blue-green eyes. “I have not heard anything about him being ill.”
Jaime grinned. “Would you know if he had not died upon the page in front of you?”
“Possibly not,” Maester Ben allowed. “I rarely indulge myself as I have these past few days.”
Jaime was not certain he believed that, but he found it charming none the less. “We will work it out once I have spoken with the other maesters. Be sure to check on my brother’s level of education when you have to opportunity. I know he has already taught himself to read.”
“Taught himself to read?” Maester Ben repeated. “How wonderful! I am certain we will get along fantastically.”
Jaime dismissed the man with a gesture and he left.
“At least we know not all of the Citadel is ruined,” Lady Olenna announced. “I will write my maester to ensure Highgarden has the collected works of this Maester Luwin when we are done here.”
“I will go fetch Maester Muln,” Uncle Kevan announced.
“Check the ravenry,” Jaime called with a grin and they all laughed.
There were no surprises in Jaime’s interrogation of Maester Muln. He was grumpy and almost rude but his loyalty was to the ravens in the ravenry. He did not care about magic as long as it did not harm his ravens. He did have a link that signified his knowledge of healing but he preferred to use it for his ravens.
Jaime took pity on the man, accepted his oath in blood on the heart tree and sent him back to his the ravenry.
“Who is our last conversation with?” Lady Olenna asked.
“Maester Mordayn,” the man himself said as he entered the Stone Gardens without being summoned. “I noticed you had collected my gray brothers and suspected you would be coming to speak with me next.” Mordayn frowned. “Though I am unsure any House would require three maesters.”
“Casterly Rock is large,” Jaime allowed. “The staff is correspondingly large and guests are common. There would certainly be enough work for you to justify the expense of hiring three of you.”
“Of course, my lord,” Mordayn agreed.
“Very good, Maester Mordayn, tell me, to whom or what is your first loyalty?”
“The Society for the Advancement of Science,” Maester Mordayn smiled.
Jaime had a sinking feeling. “Why are you pleased to admit that?”
“Because I have already sent notification to the Citadel, warning them of our discovery. You are defenseless against us.”
“Raven or messanger?” Jaime demanded.
Maester Mordayn just smiled.
“Seize him!” Uncle Kevan ordered.
Jaime beat his uncles out of the Stone Garden by only a hair. “BROOM!” Jaime shouted.
“My lord,” the Master-at-Arms appeared.
“Lock down Casterly Rock, full war measures. Notify Lannisport and get archers on the heights, they are to shoot down every single raven they see until further notice.”
“Yes, milord.”
“Marbrand!”
His uncle’s squire was lingering at the end of the hall. “My lord?”
“Run to the rookery, verify all the ravens are there. Have Maester Muln do a thorough accounting of his birds. I want to know how many were sent today, who sent them and when.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And hurry!”
Addam took off at a run.
“Clegane!” he called. Both Clegane boys responded. “The stables. Gregor the Commons’, Sandor the Lords’ Stables. I want a complete inventory of every horse, regardless of who they belong to, and I want to know if any riders have left the Rock. Any riders,” he stressed, “at all.”
“I will check the sea cavern,” Uncle Brynden volunteered. “In case the messenger left by ship.”
Jaime nodded. “Good. Uncle Gerion should be down there. Tell him you have come on my behalf; he will ensure everyone cooperates.”
“The kitchens?” Lady Olenna prompted.
Jaime nodded. It was an opening most nobles would overlook. He did not doubt the Queen of Thorns had mentioned it because she had taken advantage of such an oversight before. “Uncle Kevan, you and Aunt Dorna are most familiar with the delivery schedule. I want to know if anything strange has happened, if anyone unfamiliar was in the kitchens, or anyone in the kitchens encountered Maester Mordayn no matter how trivial the meeting.”
“Check the food supply for poison,” Lady Olenna added.
Jaime nodded his approval when Kevan checked with him.
“Write your father,” Jaime told Brandon. “The bird will go north, away from Lannisport, so he should get through. We cannot trust that Maester Walys is not part of the Society and Mordayn seems the type to seek petty revenge. They might poison your sister to punish me.”
“Fucking Hells.” Brandon took the nearby stairs three at a time toward his quarters. Hopefully seeking a message scroll his family would trust.
“Come, lad,” Lady Olenna urged him. “You have done all you can for now. It is time we get a full accounting from the traitor, Mordayn.”
“This might turn into a war.” Jaime frowned. “Which means we cannot kill either maester until Prince Rhaegar arrives and has had the chance to question them.”
Lady Olenna nodded in agreement. “More the pity.”
Chapter Five
“Father, Lya,” her father read out Brandon’s raven as they sat down for breakfast. “I know you were expecting an update. That will come later. Right now…” father trailed off, reading silently to himself. His smile turned into a ferocious frown.
He slapped the goblet of milk out of her hand before she could take a single sip and stood. “Eat nothing,” he ordered.
Lya and Ned looked at each other in confusion. Neither of them had an explanation for their father’s strange behavior. Then their father took up House Stark’s ancestral Valyrian steel sword, Ice, and charged out of his solar. They scrambled to follow.
Father gave orders with a soft voice that promised death. Men rushed around them. Lyanna was given guards. Guards! In Winterfell!
When the snow settled, they were in the godswood, sitting among the roots of the heart tree. Master Martyn Cassel was escorting Maester Walys before the heart tree.
“You can do this voluntarily or I can force you,” father said to the maester, holding up an ancient ritual knife with a curved dragonglass blade.
“My lord, I have no idea what is going on!”
“Cut yourself on the blade and touch the face or I will do it for you,” father repeated firmly.
Maester Walys stared at father for a solid minute before he pricked his finger on the pointed end of the knife and laid his hand on the tree.
“Where does your loyalty lie?” father asked.
Maester Walys hissed and tried to pull his hand from the tree. It did not come off, the maester’s life was in the hands of the gods now.
“Where does your loyalty lie?” father asked again, more firmly.
“With the Society for the Advancement of Science,” Maester Walys said, still physically fighting the tree’s impossible hold.
“What crimes have you committed in the name of this Society?”
Maester Walys turned to glare at father. “None!”
“Have you poisoned the food stores of Winterfell?”
“No.”
“Have you made plans to harm my daughter in any way?”
“No.”
“Have you received any communication from Maester Mordayn?”
“No!” Walys shouted, clearly frustrated. “I do not even know who that is!”
Lya was starting to feel bad for the man but father continued his questioning at a steady pace, as implacable as Winter itself.
“Did you kill my wife?”
Maester Walys froze in his struggle against the tree and Lya gasped. His reaction was as good as a confession. “I did not cause her accident with the horse,” Maester Walys finally answered.
“Did you cause the fever that took her after?”
The Gods themselves forced the answer from the maester’s lips, a small “Yes.”
“My wife lost two pregnancies over the course of our marriage. Did you cause those losses?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you steal children from my wife and I?”
“They showed signs of magic while in the womb.” The man kept talking, as if that might help his case. “This world does not need magic. Magic is unnatural. It causes nothing but pain and devastation. Everything I did was for the greater good!”
Father’s face was stone, Lyanna wished she had the same control. Walys had helped raise her! He had helped raise her mother! And he had killed her.
“I was my father’s only child, my mother died birthing my younger sister. Did you kill them?”
“Yes!”
Finally, father moved. He forced Maester Walys to his knees and forced his head down with a handful of hair. He drew the ritual knife across Maester Walys’s neck and his blood bathed the tree’s face in a hot spray.
Father let the body fall as he moved away. “Bring Maester Luwin.”
Maester Luwin entered the godswood without any of the fear Maester Walys had shown despite the guards surrounding him. With his hand tucked into his sleeves, he was the picture of maesterly reason and calm.
He did not even blink at the body of his gray brother cooling among the roots.
“I was born in Raventree Hall,” Maester Luwin said before father could start his questions. “I know what a Trial by the Tree looks like.”
Lya felt something in her relax. Raventree Hall was the home of the Blackwoods. House Blackwood was the only House she knew for certain followed to true Gods in the Riverlands. As House Royce were the only ones to follow the true Gods in the Vale.
“I am not a Blackwood, but I saw woman after woman die in childbirth, including my own mother and my much older sister. I begged Lord Blackwood to send me to the Citadel so I could find a better way for bloodlines to continue. So other mothers and sisters would not die so others could live. He agreed and I am now considered the foremost specialist in childbirth at the Citadel.”
Father nodded, accepting that information.
“Do I need to bleed on the tree or may I simply answer your questions?”
Father offered the ritual blade. Maester Luwin frowned and cleaned it but cut his palm all the same and laid it on the tree near the face.
“Where does your loyalty lie?” Father asked, just as he had with Maester Walys.
“With women and children.”
“Have you received any communication from Maester Mordayn?”
“No.”
“What do you know about the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
“Nothing.” Maester Luwin frowned. “Is that some sort of movement against magic? I know magic is unpopular at the Citadel, but I studied it hoping to find the answers I was looking for. I was mocked for it but the mocking did not appear to be an organized effort.”
“Have you killed anyone on the orders on the Citadel?”
“No.”
“Would you kill anyone on the orders of the Citadel?”
“No, never. I would hope they know better than to ask.”
“But you do not doubt they would ask,” father pointed out.
Maester Luwin shrugged. “Organizations become corrupted, no matter their intentions. Or they stagnate and refuse to change with the world around them. An institution for education should be willing and able to adapt but I have not seen it. Pride, I believe, is to blame.”
“Will you serve House Stark as our maester until we receive replacements from the Citadel?”
“My oath of service belongs to Lady Catelyn,” Maester Luwin said. “But she will be a member of House Stark soon. I see no reason to let the ill go untreated while we remain at Winterfell.”
“Thank you—”
“What is going on?” Lady Catelyn demanded, interrupting father. “Is that man dead? Who killed Maester Walys!” Lady Catelyn rushed to the body like she could heal a man that had already grown cold.
This was going to be fun.
-*-
“How is Uncle Kevan?” was Jaime’s first question to the lords and ladies gathered in his solar.
“Still sleeping,” Maester Ben answered. “It is not a natural sleep. Maester Muln is monitoring him.”
Jaime nodded. There had been four fatalities due to Maester Mordayn’s machinations. Three boys that had snuck some of the Lord’s Wine on a dare and his Aunt Dorna. Uncle Kevan had not taken the loss of his wife well and had to be sedated.
“All of the kitchen staff has been questioned,” Lady Olenna reported. His trusted company of lords had had to handle the questioning before he heart tree in shifts, so it was handled quickly. Lady Olenna had been the overseer of the lists of people and questions to ensure everyone had been interviewed thoroughly. “There is a great deal of petty theft in your kitchens but I would not see them punished.”
“No,” Jaime agreed. “I do not consider eating while continuing to work to be theft. If my staff has to steal to feed themselves, then I have failed as a Lord to provide for them. I will work with the Lady of the Kitchens to increase meal availability to all of the staff.”
Lady Olenna nodded her approval. “You are a good lad.”
“We cannot be certain we have stopped Maester Mordayn’s message.” Jaime sighed. “He did confirm in his second round of questioning that he sent it by raven directly to Oldtown. Lannisport has reported shooting down upwards of fifty ravens but not all of the birds were retrievable.”
He would like to think that if any of his men had found the raven, they would have reported it rather than use it against him, but the War of Five Kings had taught him better. Lord Bolton had certainly done whatever he wanted with his lord’s ravens and the Lords of the North had a reputation for loyalty that the Lords of the West could not compete with.
It was entirely possible someone he trusted would see Mordayn’s raven to the Citadel. There was absolutely no way to guarantee otherwise.
Not without becoming a tyrant which would only ensure that someone would betray him.
“I received a raven from my father,” Lord Brandon reported. “Maester Walys was part of the Society for the Advancement of Science but he had not received word from Maester Mordayn. He admitted to murdering my mother and two of my siblings in the womb. He has been executed and Lyanna is safe—she has guards and a food tester. No word on how long that will last or how long Lya will tolerate it.”
“She will grow used to the necessity in time—gods know I did,” Jaime huffed. “Such measures will become necessary should she marry me. My father left no shortage of enemies in his wake. I know that might work against my petition in your father and sister’s eyes but they should know and be prepared for it.”
“Aye,” Brandon agreed tiredly. “I will pass that information along.
“My father asks for a recommendation for a new maester. He had no idea he could request a specific maester before meeting Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin and would like to do as he must to protect House Stark.”
Jaime turned the question over to Maester Ben with raised eyebrows.
Maester Ben gave a small smile. “Maester Quynlan studied with me at the Citadel. I would consider him a friend. He is a bit…rougher in his manners than I am but I think such might be in his favor in the North?”
Brandon nodded.
“He is Dornish so the temperatures of the North might be a concern.”
“Winterfell is always warm,” Brandon assured the maester. “The water from our hot springs are piped through the walls to ensure it.”
“Keepcraft is one of Quynlan’s links, I am certain he will be fascinated,” Maester Ben offered. “And I can say with certainty that no one could order Maester Quynlan to murder. Anyone. For any reason.”
“Good.” Lord Brandon took a deep breath. “I will write to the Citadel and ask that they send him here. I will evaluate him here and he will come home with us should he pass.” Maester Ben nodded his understanding. “And I will write my father to explain my plans. Getting a maester to Winterfell is not a true emergency, Maester Luwin has agreed to fill the gap as long as he is there. Father will simply have to ensure Lady Catelyn remains until I come home.”
“Give it a day,” Jaime urged his future good-brother. “I will rescind the shoot-on-sight order for ravens heading south but such orders can take time to be received. Sending the same message twice because an ally made a mistake is frustrating.”
Brandon inclined his head in agreement.
“How long is the Lady Catelyn expected to remain in Winterfell?” Lady Olenna asked.
“She is to ride south with us to the Tourney of Harrenhal,” Brandon answered.
“Should we expect that tourney to happen?” Jaime wondered. “If we are at war with the Citadel, certainly that would be more important.”
“A tourney is an ideal place to collect whispers and assess allies,” Lady Olenna disagreed. “Communication is not easily done across the vast distances of Westeros but even if Maester Mordayn’s message has been intercepted, the Citadel will notice something amiss with so many of their number dying inexplicably. It is even possible they will notice all of those dying are members of their foolish Society. I will begin moving pieces in the Reach to prevent the Citadel from moving too far—even with the assistance of House Hightower. It will be slow going but the uncertainty of our circumstances cuts both ways. We are uncertain of what they know, they will be uncertain if we are truly their enemy.
“If we act too swiftly, we lose the advantage of their uncertainty.”
“Very well,” Jaime agreed.
“I have given the staff a day of rest tomorrow in apology for the rough handling we subjected them to over the last few days. I will announce this at dinner. All Lords and Ladies in the Rock will be spending a day outside the walls to facilitate this. We will be hunting, riding, and swimming all day. Cooking our own food.” Jaime waved a hand. “You understand.”
“Yes, milord,” the lords and ladies agreed.
“Lannisport is also open to those that do not enjoy the wilder things in life,” Jaime told Lady Olenna.
She frowned at him and he wondered exactly how she was going to prove him wrong. Swimming. He bet she was going to swim in the ocean. He wondered if she would wear her boxy hat while she was at it and had to hide his smile.
“Prince Rhaegar and his party will be here the day after tomorrow,” Jaime told them. “Those who go to Lannisport may be there when he arrives tomorrow after luncheon by Uncle Kevan’s notes.”
“We will need to manage what whispers they hear,” Lady Olenna noted.
“Thank you for volunteering.” He grinned at Lady Olenna’s frown. “You should take Lord Benjen with you, teach him how to properly manage whispers.”
Lady Olenna huffed as Lord Brandon laughed. “Then we will be leaving tonight.” She eyed Lord Brandon. “Notify your brother that we will be leaving in an hour.”
“Yes, milady,” Brandon bowed as much as he could without leaving his chair.
“The finest Inn in Lannisport?” Lady Olenna asked him.
“The Golden Lion,” Jaime answered without having to think about it. “Uncle Gerion will be heading to Lannisport tonight. He can direct you to it easily enough.”
Lady Olenna gave him a suspicious look. “Why is your uncle leaving his family home at such a time?”
Jaime just grinned at the Dowager Lady of the Reach. He was hardly going to admit that House Lannister owned all of the brothels in Lannisport or that Uncle Gerion was House Lannister’s Master of Whispers. He especially was not going to admit to stealing Little Finger’s idea of buying or establishing brothels in every city or town large enough to have them across Westeros.
If Lady Olenna did not already own all the brothels in the Reach, he certainly was not going to give her the idea—it would make it more difficult for him to complete his own plans.
“Every man has his habits,” was what he said instead. “And there are those that gain comfort from knowing and seeing a man keep those habits. It is a sign to the smallfolk that all is well if Uncle Gerion visits his favorite pleasure house and Uncle Tygette harasses the commander of the Lannisport City Watch. I would not deny them the things they enjoy when they benefit my House.”
“Right,” Lady Olenna agreed flatly—ironically making it clear she did not believe him.
“Now, I have to seek out the Lady of the Kitchens, if no one else has anything to add?” Jaime prodded.
There was a general murmur of negation and they all stood to leave his solar.
“Maester Ben, a moment, if you would.”
The young maester tipped his head to one side curiously but sat back down.
“I promised you access to rare materials,” Jaime said leadingly.
Maester Ben sat up as tall as he could, expressing nothing but eagerness. “I would not expect to be trusted with anything truly valuable so soon in our association, my lord. Particularly not after how maliciously my gray brothers have betrayed you.”
“Wise,” Jaime agreed. “But I need a copy of a certain text made as soon as possible.”
Jaime reached into one of the lower drawers of his desk to pull out one of the most complete copies of Septon Barth’s life work that House Lannister had. It was not the only complete copy they had—Jaime did not trust the maester that far—but it was the oldest complete copy they had. Jaime hoped the tome’s age meant it was the version that had been edited the least by the so-called authorities of the Citadel.
Maester Ben gasped as he turned the book over, studying it reverently, “Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History,” the maester read the faded gold title in awe.
“News of that book’s continued existence is not to reach the Citadel,” Jaime warned.
Maester Ben snorted. “I am almost certain they have copies of their own. There are shelves upon shelves of books that no one outside of the Conclave—and only a select few within the Conclave, at that—are allowed access to. What else could they be but books determined to be illegal by a power at some point in our history?”
“Books on magic, probably.”
Maester Ben inclined his head in silent agreement.
“I wish to gift a copy of that book to Prince Rhaegar upon his coronation,” Jaime explained. “From what I remember of my time in the Red Keep, I fear it might happen more quickly than any of us expect.”
“Do you believe the prince to be the Shadow Benefactor of the Tourney for Harrenhal?” Maester Ben asked. “I may not be highborn but I know numbers and the Citadel has wealth-projections for every House within Westeros. They believe the prizes offered by House Whent are well beyond the availability within the Lord’s coffers.”
“We would have to be greater friends than we currently are for me to share my suspicions with you,” Jaime admitted instead of answering the question. Which was, of course, an answer in itself. “Do I want more details about these wealth-projections?”
“Likely, not. It is how they decide the fee a Lord will pay for the services of a maester.” Maester Ben grimaced. “They also affect the quality of the maester offered to different Houses. The higher their fee, the better quality maester they receive. It is vastly unfair.”
“I agree.” Jaime grimaced. “Is there a minimum standard that maesters have to meet before they leave the Citadel to serve a House?”
“Of course, but it is merely a standard of training. Not all men have the same moral fiber and work ethic.”
“How would you feel if women started joining the ranks of the Knights of the Mind?” Jaime wondered.
“I think it is past time they did,” Maester Ben admitted. “Women have always been more comfortable seeking health advice from other women. It has been noted that daughters will seek the advice of their mothers over advice of their maesters when they can. Unfortunately, this is not always wise.”
Jaime frowned, letting his confusion show.
“Root vegetables inserted and held in certain orifices will not ease the pain of a lady’s moonblood,” Maester Ben said scathingly.
Jaime winced. That a woman would think such a thing was ghastly. Worse, that she had advised her daughter to do the same. There had to have been health complications for a maester to learn of this practice but Jaime tried very hard to not ask questions about a root vegetable’s cleanliness. He did not want to know.
“I plan to advocate for women to be allowed to study at the Citadel. I could use some help collecting arguments in favor of this change.”
Maester Ben nodded. “The most stringent argument against women in the Citadel is that they would distract men from their duties but if a man cannot complete his duties because of women in a situation dedicated to those duties like the Citadel, how can he be expected to carry out his duties when he is living in a lord’s keep? Every lord has a wife or a daughter or an aunt in his keep. If a man cannot be depended on to do his duties and keep his oath around women, it would be wise to find that out before he has earned his chain. Not after he has broken his vows before his Lord and disgraced our entire order.
“In that way, allowing women to study in the Citadel and forge their own chains would only be a benefit.”
Jaime found Maester Ben’s argument to be clever, he would have to remember it. “I agree.”
-*-
A gentle voice floated over Lyanna’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
She finished her current line and turned to see her visitor. “Ah, Lady Catelyn. Apologies, I meant to show you the lady’s solar so you could join our crafts days ago but was distracted.”
“It is no matter,” Lady Catelyn dismissed. “There is a great deal to see in a castle so large as Winterfell.” Her cheeks pinked delicately. “Your brother, Lord Eddard, has been touring myself and Maester Luwin about the keep.”
“He is uniquely suited to aiding you in adapting to the North,” Lyanna allowed, “with his southron fostering and all.” She just hoped it would not bite her brother in the arse—either of her brothers. Ned was no longer betrothed and Brandon did not favor Lady Catelyn but familiarity growing where it should not could become a sincere problem.
“What are you working on?” Lady Cately gestured to her loom. “Those appear to be Tully colors.”
“They are,” Lya confirmed. “I am weaving your maiden cloak.”
“I have a maiden cloak,” Lady Catelyn said stiffly.
“I imagine you do,” Lya agreed. “A large, uncomfortable ceremonial piece as is common in the south.” Lady Catelyn frowned at her. “Am I right?”
“It is the traditional ceremonial cloak of House Tully,” was Lady Catelyn’s answer, which Lya took for agreement.
“Then it is unsuitable for a Northern wedding.” Lya held up a hand to stop Lady Catelyn’s no-doubt heated response. “It is the tradition of the North that the first-born child be swaddled first and most often in their mother’s maiden cloak. This is done to honor the mother and her House. To acknowledge the mother and her House’s influence on the children she gives her husband.”
Lady Catelyn thawed as she ruminated on that. She even went so far as to smile. “That is lovely.”
“I agree.” Lya nodded. “I have had my own maiden cloak made for years but Ned pointed out that the southron tradition was different. I will marry south, there is nothing I can do to stop it at this point, but I plan to insist on a number of the traditions I grew up with be instilled in the House my father chooses for me.”
Lyanna checked that her work would not suffer in her absence and stood. “I thought it would be a fitting gift to welcome you into our House, to enable you to meet this tradition. Honoring our traditions will also ease your way as the Lady of Winterfell with the other lords of the North.”
“You would rather marry North than marry south?” Lady Catelyn asked, clearly surprised.
“I will be the first Stark to marry south outside of House Royce,” Lya pointed out. “Unless you and Brandon meet beneath the tree before my father makes his choice. I fully expect to attend the Tourney of Harrenhal as a married woman should my father choose Lord Lannister over Lord Baratheon.”
Lady Catelyn gasped, surprised. “Are you certain?”
They had not told Lady Catelyn of the conspiracy Lord Jaime had discovered and urged her brother to warn them about. Her father had specifically ordered all of their silence and immediately summoned his banners to him so that he could prepare the North for what they fully expected would become a war with the South. Brandon had not mentioned any such thing, but the Citadel’s crimes were too great to go unpunished.
And the Citadel was too deeply connected to the Faith and House Hightower to be punished easily.
Regardless of the possibility of war, once it got out that Lord Jaime had uncovered the Citadel’s crimes, his match would be coveted. The only way to prevent herself from falling into Lord Baratheon’s hands was to marry Lord Jaime as soon as possible—before his value skyrocketed.
It was a boon that Lord Jaime was reported to be both beautiful and entirely intelligent—Brandon had reported that Lord Jaime’s time in the training yard, while limited due to his duties, was dedicated to fighting men that preferred the use of war hammers. Even if her father did not yet grasp the depth of the foolishness and breadth of the entitlement that ran through Lord Baratheon, Lord Jaime clearly did.
“Come, I have something to show you,” Lyanna urged rather than answering.
“I envy your talent with a loom,” Lady Catelyn admitted as Lya linked their arms together for the walk.
Lya laughed softly. “I have no patience for needle crafts but the various forms of weaving appeal to me,” she admitted. “I love choosing a design and figuring out the best way to bring it forth. I think that is why I enjoy painting as well. It involves the layering of colors to capture the true intent of my vision.”
“The Riverlands specialize in various pottery arts,” Lady Catelyn said. “I have glazed my share of unfired pots but my father finds it to be a waste of a noblewoman’s time. Needle crafts are where my comfort lies. Although, I would love to learn the harp.”
“I will mention it to father,” Lya promised. “We do not often hire singers in Winterfell, we prefer homely music when we celebrate something, but the ability to contribute to Winter entertainment would reflect well upon you.”
Together, they exited the keep and entered the courtyard that would lead to the main entrance of the godswood.
They were closing in on the entrance when Lady Catelyn tried to tug her arm from Lya’s grip. “I do not want to go in there. Awful things happen in there.”
Lya stopped them outside of the entrance. “Awful things but also beautiful things. There is a wedding happening today. I thought you might wish to see what a Northern wedding looks like. I expect Brandon will accept your Septly wedding but he would be honored if you agreed to meet him under the tree as well.”
Lady Catelyn hesitated for several moments, but in the end, she nodded her acceptance. Lya took back the older girl’s arm and entered the godswood.
Three men and a woman were standing beneath the tree. There were a handful of Winterfell’s staff standing witness but Lya did not take them to join them. Lady Catelyn’s rank and her insistence upon its use would make the attendees uncomfortable and deprive the pledging partners of the focus they deserved.
“Who comes?” asked Damin Poole, the Steward of Winterfell. “Who comes before the gods?”
“Mikken Snow,” answered Gara Snow, the man’s sister. “A blacksmith by trade, honored in the service of House Stark. He comes here to beg the blessings of the gods and to wed. Who comes to claim him?”
Connin stepped forward. “Connin of House Poole, stonesmith by trade, honored in the service of House Stark. How gives him?”
“Gara Snow, granddaughter of Brandon, son of Artos of House Stark. His sister.”
“Master Mikken, do you take this man?” Damin Poole asked.
Lady Catelyn gasped in objection and Lya silenced her with a glare.
Mikken stepped forward, beyond his sister. “I take this man,” Mikken confirmed.
Lya turned them abruptly and led Lady Catelyn away before she could object to the Cloaking. They had barely returned indoors before Lady Catelyn snatched her hand from Lya’s arm in fury.
“What was that?” Lady Catelyn demanded.
“A wedding,” Lyanna answered calmly. “Between two honored men in the service of House Stark.”
“Men cannot wed each other!” her future good-sister objected.
“There is no law against it.”
“There should be!” Lady Catelyn said hotly. “It is unnatural! Men do not love men! Men do not lie with men! It— It— It is against all the laws of the gods!”
“So, your father does not love your brother?” Lya asked, grasping to her calm with tooth and nail. “Do you assume my father does not love his sons?”
“That is different!”
“How?” Lya demanded. “I have read your book. It says your gods taught humanity how to love.”
“They did!”
“Then they taught Conin and Mikken to love each other. It is the will of the gods that they be together.”
“No! It is not!”
“Do you doubt your gods or doubt your book?” Lady Catelyn raised her hand like she was going to strike Lya. “Do you not honor guest right either?”
Lady Catelyn put her hand down. “The purpose of marriage, the purpose of lying with another is children. Two men cannot create children.”
“That depends on the man,” Lya denied.
Lady Catelyn looked at her in horror.
“Mayhaps you should return to your rooms,” Lya offered before Lady Catelyn said something that would get her killed. “I believe you should rest and regain your calm.”
“Yes.” Lady Catelyn pressed her lips together until they turned white. “Mayhaps I should.”
“I will arrange for dinner to be delivered to your chambers. I do not believe you would be comfortable with the celebration in the Great Hall.”
Lady Catelyn offered a stiff, shallow curtsey. “You have my thanks.” She left at a swift pace.
Lyanna Stark took in and blew out a deep breath. She needed to have a very long talk with her father.
Chapter Six
“My prince.” Jaime bowed. He could not take his eyes off of Prince Rhaegar. He should, for the sake of tradition, but he could not. His hopes and dreams had once rested firmly in Prince Rhaegar’s hands. The prince had ultimately failed him but he still represented so much good in Jaime’s mind. “Welcome to Casterly Rock.”
“I am pleased to be here.” Prince Rhaegar smiled gently. “I wish the circumstances were better, but I believe Lord Tywin would be proud of you for stepping into your true place as you did when he left us.”
“It is my truest hope to do my father proud,” Jaime confirmed. “We will light my father’s pyre at moon rise.”
He turned to his sister. “Cersei, if you would follow Uncle Gerion he will show you to your new quarters.” Cersei beamed and left eagerly, no doubt thinking he was about to plant her in his own bed. She was going to be furious when she realized where he was going to put her.
“Grand Maester Pycelle, I know you were a true friend of my father. Maester Ben will take you to see him.”
Pycelle did not meet anyone’s gaze as he nodded. “Thank you, my Lord Lannister.”
“Lord Varys, would you accompany the grand maester? I fear he may need support and you are the most familiar to him of those here, thanks to your mutual efforts on behalf of Westeros as members of the King’s Small Council.”
“Of course, Lord Lannister,” Varys simpered. “We could all use support in such a trying time.”
Jaime focused on Prince Rhaegar as they left. “The Lord’s Suite has been prepared for yourself, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys. I would invite you all to a private lunch with me within the family quarters. I fear we will all be on display in the days to come, a private lunch is the most respite I can offer.”
“Wife?” Prince Rhaegar checked in with his wife, showing unexpected wisdom.
“We would be honored,” Princess Elia decided. “We would request an hour to wash the road off of us before we dine.”
“Of course,” Jaime bowed more than nodded. “Baths should be ready for you all by the time we reach the family levels.”
“Will there be room for me as well?” Prince Oberyn asked with what was probably supposed to be a charming smile.
Jaime did not fight the urge to scowl at the—entirely shameless—Dornishman. “I have had a cot prepared for you in the Lord’s Nursery. So that you may sleep with the other children.”
Prince Oberyn, the complete ass, laughed.
-*-
Jaime was waiting with what he had mentally labeled the Guest Right Tray before him when the princes and princesses within his domain joined him at his family’s table.
Wordlessly, he dipped his bread in the oil and salt and waited. Amusingly, Prince Oberyn was the first person to serve himself and eat the traditional Guest Right offering. Once they had all partaken, staff members whisked the tray of necessities away and began to lay the table with lunchtime fare.
“Will Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys be joining us?” Princess Elia asked gently.
“Neither of those men are welcome on the family levels of the Rock,” Jaime admitted, glad yet again that he did not have to cede control of his own keep to anyone other than the King. “Once they are done viewing my father, they will be given the option of long private baths in their quarters elsewhere.”
“And Guest Right?” Prince Oberyn asked.
“Staff are not guests, my prince,” Jaime answered stiffly. He was not actually mad at Oberyn but he knew the part he was expected to play. Not playing it would cause too many questions he did not wish to answer, so Jaime had decided to play his part.
“You do not like me,” Prince Oberyn observed.
“You slept with my sister and ensured one of my bannermen would catch you in the act,” Jaime reminded the man.
“It could have been an accident.”
Jaime gave the prince the look that deserved. “You are supposed to be cunning and frightfully intelligent. The feared Red Viper of Dorne. If you were caught doing something, it was because you wanted to be.”
Prince Oberyn grinned. It was roguish and almost charming. “Why would I do something like that?”
“That is what I want to know!” Jaime exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “It cannot be because you want to marry her. Do not try to convince me of that, I will not believe it.”
“Why not?” Prince Oberyn challenged. “Your sister is beautiful.”
“She is ambitious with neither the training nor the intelligence to support her goals. You must realize this.” Jaime raised an eyebrow. “You are familiar with a variety of women from all possible ranks in life.”
Prince Oberyn shrugged. “I do not like the way she looks at my sister. Ruining her was the easiest way I could keep my sister safe.”
“You are…” an idiot, Jaime did not say. “A man that ruins a woman is forced to marry her unless one of them dies!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have sent your brother a letter explaining what you have done and that you must marry my sister. He agrees, by the way.”
Prince Oberyn made a disgusted face. “Over her dead body,” he muttered.
That would be Jaime’s preference, not that he could say as much. Nor could he act on such—he could not afford to be condemned as a kinslayer. He had much too much to accomplish to tolerate such a blight on his name.
“She will spend the next several days locked in isolated chambers, so she understands the depth of her failure,” Jaime told the man. “Once your brother’s messenger arrives with the betrothal contract for the two of you, I will sign it unless it is entirely out of line. I doubt it will be; Lady Olenna tells me that Prince Doran is eager to see you married off. Once the contract is signed, she will be your problem.”
Prince Oberyn sat back with his wine, grumbling.
“Why, exactly, are Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle being denied Guest Right?” Princess Elia asked.
“As I said, they are staff, not guests.”
“The staff of guests are typically extended Guest Right regardless of their personal rank,” she pointed out.
Jaime inclined his head. “Over the last several days, we have uncovered a plot by the Citadel to destabilize the Iron Throne and end bloodlines that have magic—House Targaryen’s bloodline in particular. It is my intention to question Grand Maester Pycelle and, should he be involved, strap him to my father’s pyre. I cannot do that if he has eaten while beneath my roof.”
Jaime glanced at Prince Rhaegar because he technically did not have the authority to act against a member of the King’s Small Council. Not without the support of the Crown Prince, at least.
Prince Rhaegar nodded. “There is nothing wrong with questioning a man. Should he be innocent, he can eat after.
“And Lord Varys?”
“Lord Varys has to know about the Citadel Conspiracy,” Jaime said. “If he does not, then he is incompetent. If he does, he is complicit in the murder of every single child your mother has lost, my prince.”
Prince Rhaegar’s nose flared as he tried to breathe through his temper. “Tell me about your father’s pyre.”
“We will ignite it as day gives birth to night,” Jaime said. “I learned of a ritual to hatch dragon eggs. It is rooted in the Dothraki funeral rite though I could not say if such is necessary or if it was merely a matter of convenience. Blood is significant to the magic of the ritual. A Dothraki khal does, technically, have king’s blood. They are a self-made sort of king and their kingdoms are not static but they do rule over thousands of subjects at a time. I do believe my father’s funeral pyre will work as he is a son of the Kings of the West and he does still rule over thousands of subjects.”
“I cannot find fault in your reasoning,” Rhaegar admitted, turning the concern over to his good-brother with a glance.
“I have studied the Higher Mysteries at the Citadel,” Oberyn reminded Jaime. “The blood of the sacrifice may influence the boon that is granted.”
“We may need a daughter of my line to marry a son of Prince Rhaegar’s line to consolidate House Targaryen’s control of the dragons we hatch,” Jaime guessed and nodded back when Prince Oberyn inclined his head. “That is a concern for later and not much of a concern at that, there are layers of sacrifices to this ritual—some living, some dead.”
Prince Oberyn sat forward with a frown, “What do you know of the Dothraki funeral rites?”
“I have given Uncle Tygette all the details I have,” Jaime told the man. “He is building the pyre itself—roughhewn logs, dried brush, and oil. Laid from ice to fire, sunrise to sunset. My father’s mount, Pride of Lannister, will be slain and laid in the lowest level. My father’s favored belongings will be laid on the middle level—his bedding, his armor and weapons, his favored clothing, half the contents of his desk. Father himself will rest on the top level with the dragon egg you brought.”
“I brought three,” Prince Rhaegar admitted.
Jaime pretended to consider that. “That may be a good thing. Three is a powerful number for House Targaryen.”
Prince Rhaegar nodded. “Why are we strapping people into Lord Tywin’s pyre? I assume they will be alive when we light it.”
“The ritual to hatch dragons that I have learned of had a maegi burned alive on a Dothraki khal’s pyre. I am not entirely sure what a maegi is, but she had been involved in the khal’s death.”
“A maegi is a healer and a wisewoman,” Prince Oberyn said, freely offering the knowledge he had gained during his exile in Essos. “Generally, they are spiritual leader and practitioners of magic but not always. Dothraki typically kill them on sight. They fear them and their magics.”
“Seems like a maester would be the closest thing in Westeros,” Jaime pointed out. It was needless, though. His decision to burn Pycelle had already been made. “We can question Pycelle and Varys on the heart tree to be sure of their guilt or not.”
“On a heart tree?” Princess Elia asked.
Jaime nodded. “A weirwood heart tree with a carved face is a conduit for the magic of the Gods of Stream and Stone. Lord Brandon has been teaching me the old ways so I could better understand his sister whom I intend to marry. Lady Lyanna is a firm believer in what followers of the Faith of the Seven refer to as the old gods.”
“I have seen god magic before,” Prince Oberyn said. “The Priests of R’hllor are terrifying in their use of fire magic.”
Jaime nodded. He knew that. He, too, had seen it firsthand with the Red Woman lighting the blades of Queen Daenerys’s khalasar in that other future. It had not been an effective tactic but it had been strangely beautiful. “I sleep with a piece of weirwood bark under my pillow. I fell asleep on a root once while travelling and the dreams it gave me were extensive. The Seven Who are One have never spoken in a way I or anyone I know has recognized. I would rather give my time to gods that act than a bunch of statues.”
“The laws of the Realm certainly protect your right to do so, though I doubt it will be a popular choice this far south of the Neck,” Prince Rhaegar offered. “Will you tell me about your dreams? They are where you learned of this ritual, are they not?”
“They are,” Jaime agreed. “I ask your indulgence and your patience, Your Grace. I feel strongly that I should explain myself to Lord Rickard of House Stark first. If you care to join us on our trip North, I see no reason you could not be included in that conversation.”
Rhaegar looked to his wife.
Princess Elia frowned. “Are these dreams difficult to discuss?”
“The most difficult,” he assured her.
“His request is reasonable,” Princess Elia told her husband. “Particularly if he manages to hatch even one dragon egg.”
“The debt House Targaryen would owe for such a deed would be immeasurable,” Prince Rhaegar agreed. “You intend for Grand Maester Pycelle to stand in for this maegi?”
“If he is guilty of crimes against the Realm, absolutely,” Jaime agreed. “Lord Varys as well, under the same conditions. I do not know his exact origins, but I do know enough about his story to know he had been involved with sorcerers and other magical beings. Between the two of them, I hope to match whatever the maegi brought to the original ritual.
“The original ritual was performed under a full moon with the red comet overhead. I have seen the comet over Casterly Rock for the last several nights. I believe it is a sign from the true gods telling me I am doing the right thing.”
“If this works, I am converting,” Prince Rhaegar said.
“Let us finish our meal and have this dreadful business decided,” Princess Elia urged. “The sooner we know, the better.”
Jaime inclined his head. “As you will, my queen.”
Prince Oberyn gave Jaime the first truly friendly look he had seen from the man as his sister, Princess Elia, blushed.
-*-
Once again before the weirwood tree, Jaime stood with those he trusted and those he wanted to trust. Lady Olenna was at his side along with the royal family currently in Casterly Rock minus the children. His future good-brothers were lingering near the entrance to the Stone Garden as Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle were escorted before them.
“We are taking our meal here?” Grand Maester Pycelle asked.
“Not exactly.” Jaime took the old man’s hand and sliced it before laying it on the tree.
“What is the meaning of this!” Grand Maester Pycelle demanded. He tried to pull his hand from the tree. As with all the others that tried such before him, he failed. Pycelle even gave up his aged and fragile affection in an attempt to free himself.
Jaime looked to Rhaegar to make sure he noticed the change in the man’s demeanor. Rhaegar nodded when Jaime caught his eye.
“Grand Maester Pycelle,” Jaime called the man’s attention and gained a glare for his trouble. “Where does your loyalty lie?”
The grand maester was bleeding from his nose by the time the gods forced him to admit, “With the Society for the Advancement of Science.” His glare grew even more ferocious.
“What acts have you carried out in the service of the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
“I have invited Queen Rhaella to take tea with me,” Pycelle was forced to admit.
“And what tea was Queen Rhaella served.”
Pycelle pressed his lips firmly together.
“You can answer or the tree can kill you for your refusal. I care not. The gods of Stream and Stone will kill you if you continue to flout their will.”
Grand Maester Pycelle gaped at him in shock. In his shock he lost his grasp on his will to resist and answered. “I serve the Queen moontea anytime she joins me for a respite. She has grown to enjoy the flavor.”
How many times did a woman have to drink moontea to come to like it? Jaime honestly did not want to know. “When did this tea ritual begin?”
“After the Tragedy of Summerhall. King Aegon had ordered most of the Small Council to remain in King’s Landing, including myself. I had not thought then-Prince Aerys would attempt to breed his twelve-year-old wife. I was wrong.”
Boy, was he.
“Queen Rhaella had several pregnancies before the survival of Prince Viserys. If you were regularly plying her with moontea, you must have decided to allow these pregnancies to pass. Why did you allow those pregnancies?”
“I could not block all of the Queen’s pregnancies or I might become suspected. Or, worse, Aerys might assume she was infertile and set her aside. We decided we would take the opportunity to verify the admissions Tyanna of the Tower made under torture—that she had poisoned her fellow wives’ pregnancies causing all of Maegor’s children to be born deformed and weak.”
“My brothers, Daeron, Aegon, and Jaehaerys all lived,” Rhaegar objected. “For less than a year, but they lived.”
“Did you kill Prince Daeron, Prince Aegon, and Prince Jaehaerys, Sons of King Aerys II?” Jaime asked directly when Pycelle did not respond.
Pycell shook his head. “Prince Daeron died of his own accord. I…was weak. The king and queen’s happiness moved me. I nearly sought retirement from my post but the gods themselves corrected my mistake.”
Jaime shook his head. There was a lot to unpack there but the most important thing—the thing Jaime had to focus on—was the treason the grand maester was admitting to. “But you did kill Prince Aegon and Prince Jaehaerys?”
“I did,” Pycelle admitted. “The poison that worked on Princess Shena did not work on the princes, no matter the doses I attempted. Both pregnancies were frustrating failures.”
“Why did you allow the birth of Prince Viserys?” Jaime thought that was honestly the worst choice Pycelle could have made when it came to allowing Targaryen children to survive. The horrors the Beggar King had put his sister through, while Jaime did not know them all, were said to have been beyond reason.
“I did not allow the birth of Prince Viserys. He was born during a period where the Queen was secured to the Maidenvault and no men were allowed near her, not even myself or the Kingsguard.”
“Would you have killed Prince Viserys if you were allowed?”
“Certainly, but he did not fall into my care until he was more than a year old and established to be a healthy child. We were concerned that I might be suspected if I induced a fever.”
“Were you ever going allow my mother a second child?” Prince Rhaegar asked.
Grand Maester Pycelle nodded. “A daughter, well after you were married and had a child, to drive you towards Targaryen madness. I would then urge your mother to try no more. You father would either kill her for refusing him or I would poison her before the child was born. The child would live but be deformed, further driving House Targaryen to madness. We tested the method for it on Lady Joanna Lannister and were confident it would work.”
Prince Rhaegar was set back by the grand maester’s excessive honesty—Jaime assumed the gray rat was doing it on purpose to distract them both and end the questioning early but Jaime already knew about the Citadel’s crimes against his mother. He would not be redirected.
“You have referred to we several times in regard to making decisions,” Jaime pointed out. “With whom are you consulting in choosing your actions against the king and queen?”
“Archmaesters Gawayne and Gareth.”
Those were Reacher names. Rather common ones, unfortunately. “Who is Archmaester Gawayen and what is his subject matter?”
Pycelle huffed but did not bother glaring again. He was smart enough to notice his previous efforts had had no effect. “Archmaester Gawayne holds the mask, rod, and staff for Warcraft.”
“And who is Archmaester Gawayne within the Society for the Advancement of Science?”
“He is the current leader of the Society. He will serve until he chooses to retire from the position or is selected for Grand Maester.”
“And who is Archmaester Gareth and what is his subject?”
“Archmaester Gareth is one of the three Archmaesters of History. As such, he is the historian of the Society.”
“What is the relationship between Archmaesters Gawayne and Gareth?” Lady Olenna demanded.
Pycelle answered only because he had to. “Brothers.”
“From what House?”
“House Hightower,” Pycelle said.
“And what is their relationship with Lord Leyton of House Hightower?” she pressed.
“Cousins. Third cousins, twice removed.”
“So not close family,” Lady Olenna observed. “Is Lord Leyton Hightower involved with the Society?”
“N— Not that I am aware of.”
“Who is Maester Mordayn?” she pressed. It was a good question. There was no way every member of the Society was as well-informed as Maester Mordayn. At least Jaime, hoped so. Otherwise, they were all complete fools for not having noticed the Citadel’s conspiracy earlier.
“He is the current favorite for the position of Grand Maester when I retire.”
Jaime was confused. “Then why was he sent as a candidate to serve House Lannister?” No grand maester had ever been in the direct service of a House before they joined the service of the Iron Throne. Such would leave the impression of favoritism on a position that had to stand neutral for the sake of the Realm.
“Keep assignments are decided by lot unless a specific request is made by maester or lord. No maester can be removed from the pool until he is confirmed as grand maester or gains the rank of archmaester.”
So, it was pure chance that a man so well informed and, honestly, arrogant had been sent to Casterly Rock to be discovered. It seemed the gods were, in fact, favoring him.
“You mentioned the Kingsguard when you were discussing Queen Rhaella’s confinement to the Maiden Vault before and Ser Gerold did study at the Citadel,” Ser Arthur Dayne pointed out. “Is Ser Gerold Hightower a member of your Society?”
“No.”
Jaime frowned. “Why is Ser Gerold not a member of your society?”
“Only men who have completed their chains and taken their oaths as a maester are considered members of the Society.”
“Do you cultivate resources among Acolytes and Novices at the Citadel?” Jaime figured they had to. He hoped men required extensive grooming to embrace the belief that killing children—for any reason—was neither a crime nor murder.
“We do,” Pycelle admitted.
“Was Ser Gerold Hightower one of those cultivated resources?”
“I believe he was.”
“Why do you believe that?” Jaime prayed they were nearly done. The violent impulses the questioning process fostered in him were growing tiresome. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that Grand Maester Pycelle was going to burn.
“When he arrived in King’s Landing, he informed me that while he had been urged to do my bidding without question, he would refuse to do anything he knew to be overtly treasonous as he did not wish to break his vows.”
“Then, he is a willfully-ignorant accomplice,” Jaime concluded.
The Grand Maester did not reply but it had been a statement rather than a question.
“Lady Olenna, Princes, Princess, do any of you have any further questions for the traitor?”
Predictably, the grand maester puffed up in offense. “I am not a traitor! I have done what I must for the greater good! Any man of logic would do the same!”
“Then I pray I spend my days surrounded by men of honor and not men of logic,” Princess Elia said. “I tire of his presence.”
Jaime inclined his head. “You heard her. Bind and gag the prisoner,” he ordered his guards.
“Well, that was very interesting,” Lord Varys offered once Pycelle had been removed. He was backing up very slowly as if Jaime would not notice his constantly changing position if the man only moved when he blinked. “Now I understand the king’s faith in you, Lord Lannister, and why my presence here was necessary. I will root out this conspiracy, fear not.”
“I do not fear,” Jaime assured the man. “I have come to understand that every Grand Maester keeps a personal journal of the crimes they have committed in the name of the Society.”
“I will have one of my little birds find it immediately,” Lord Varys promised.
“Very well, Lord Varys,” Jaime nodded. “But first, you must answer our questions.”
“I cannot see—”
Lord Brandon accosted Lord Varys from behind. “Truly, we insist.”
Lord Benjen held Varys’s wrist steady as Jaime cut his palm. Once he was secured by the Will of the Gods to the tree, they all released him.
“Now, I do admit I have wondered this for quite some time. What is your true name, Lord Varys?”
“Vaegon Blackfyre.” Lord Varys ground the words out.
“House Blackfyre has fallen,” Prince Rhaegar objected. “They were ended in the Ninepenny Kings War.”
“The male line died out,” Lord Varys confirmed with a smirk.
“Who of the female line survived?” Jaime asked.
Lord Varys glared but Jaime just shrugged. He had honestly asked for it with his answer to Rhaegar’s non-question. “My grandmother Nerys and her two daughters, Shaenerys and Jaenerys.”
“Is House Blackfyre still seeking the Iron Throne?” Jaime asked.
“Of course,” Varys said airily, “House Targaryen is on the brink of extinction. Who else would rule the Seven Kingdoms?”
“House Baratheon,” Jaime informed him. Because he had seen it. It had already happened in his lifetime. “Lord Robert’s grandmother was a princess of House Targaryen. He has a great deal more true Targaryen blood than any living member House Blackfyre.”
If looks could kill, Jaime would be dead by Varys’s glare.
“Who are the living members of House Blackfyre?” Prince Oberyn asked.
“My grandmother Nerys, my aunt Jaenerys, my cousins Rhaegon and Daenerys, and myself,” Varys answered.
“Is Rhaegon Blackfyre’s public name Illyrio Mopatis?” Prince Oberyn asked.
Jaime did not understand the question but Lord Varys clearly did as he struggled not to answer. Lord Brandon popped him, open handed, on top of his bald head just hard enough to make the man gasp. Concentration lost; Varys answered. “Yes.”
“I think we are done here?” Jaime asked.
Rhaegar held up a hand. “Vaegon Blackfyre, what is the thing you want to keep from House Targaryen the most?”
“Daenerys Blackfyre is of an age with you and the best candidate to seal the breech between House Targaryen and House Blackfyre. Not even Grandmother Nerys would act against her own blood if they married into House Targaryen.” Varys glared at them.
“Bind and gag him,” Jaime ordered. “Force the fabric between his teeth, he is the type to bite off his own tongue.”
“I know Illyrio Mopatis,” Prince Oberyn interjected. “We should kill him and everyone he considers his family, regardless of Varys’s opinion.”
“The breech must be sealed,” Elia disagreed. “War has not worked to keep the Blackfyre Usurpers at bay. Mayhaps a marriage will.”
“To who? Viserys?” Rhaegar asked.
“To you,” Elia disagreed. “You need more children to bind the Seven Kingdoms to you once you ascend the Throne and I cannot guarantee I will give them to you. A second wife would be a better option. She and I can be friends, mayhaps lovers. You know I prefer women to men and I will love her children as if they were my own—it will prevent a second Dance of the Dragons.”
Rhaegar jerked back as if she had struck him. “I will consider it,” he promised.
“Are you afraid your second wife will love your first wife more than she loves you?” Prince Oberyn teased.
“It is a concern.” Rhaegar huffed. “But I could also marry her to Ser Arthur once he is released from his Kingsguard vows. We could share grandchildren.”
“That would put the blood of Blackfyre back into the line of succession without risking any danger to Princess Elia’s children,” Jaime offered.
“If she loves me, there will be no danger to my children,” Princess Elia argued.
“Love between the two of you does not mean her mother will not harm your children,” Brandon disagreed. “I assume this is the same as House Stark’s relationship with House Bolton. You need them close but not so close that they get ideas. A three-way cross later, is the safer option.”
“I will consider it,” Prince Rhaegar repeated with a tone of finality. “First, we need someone to drive the male line of House Blackfyre back into extinction. And for someone to bring Lady Daenerys to Westeros. Gently, mind.”
“I will deal with Master Mopatis,” Oberyn volunteered. “I believe I have connections that will lead me to his younger sister.”
“You have to deal with my sister first,” Jaime reminded the prince. “And I was not being inflammatory when I mentioned the grand maester keeping a journal. I was being honest. It could be in code so there is no telling which book among Pycelle’s personal possessions it is, but we should certainly claim them all before the Citadel learns of Pycelle’s death.”
“My former squires remained in King’s Landing to dissuade any unfortunate whispers from reaching my father’s ears,” Prince Rhaegar said. “I will have them handle it.”
“Like the ones we are all hearing about you being the true sponsor of Harrenhal?” Lady Olenna asked pointedly.
“Just so,” the crown prince confirmed, his face giving nothing away.
Lady Olenna harumphed like the old lady she was. “How long until we burn the traitors, my Lord Lannister?”
“I would have to check the position of the sun,” Jaime admitted. “But we need to light the pyre as the first star appears.”
“Very good,” Lady Olenna stood from her chair. “With your leave, I would like to rest. It is my hope that we have a long night before us.”
“Hear, hear,” Prince Rhaegar agreed.
“I should check on the building of the pyre,” Jaime decided.
“I will send a raven and then join you,” Prince Rhaegar decided. “Wife?”
“I wish to check on the children,” Princess Elia admitted. “Obara will certainly be out of sorts with her lack of weapons training.”
“I have several men that would be willing to train her,” Jaime offered. “Including my Uncle Tygette once he is finished overseeing the building of my father’s pyre.”
“You offer girls weapons training in Casterly Rock?” Prince Oberyn asked in surprise.
“My father would have never,” Jaime admitted. “But I have seen too many crimes committed against women simply because they are women. I would give them the means to protect themselves as long as they want them. This is especially important as the Ironborn has raided our coast repeatedly in our mutual histories.
“I have already sent a man to Braavos to hire a waterdancer for the training of my future wife and daughters.”
Lord Brandon snorted. “I cannot wait to tell Lya that.”
“You could leave it as a surprise,” Jaime offered.
“I could,” Lord Brandon almost-believably agreed.
“If he does, I will not,” Benjen asserted. “I have to earn my place as her favorite brother in some way.”
“Ingrates,” Jaime muttered. Both Starks laughed.
Their parties separated as they left the Stone Gardens. Ser Barristan escorted Princess Elia back to the family levels and Ser Arthur led the guards in carrying Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle down to the cells.
“How did you discover the Society conspiracy?” Prince Rhaegar asked before he did more than set foot on the stairs toward the ravenry.
“Several things I am not ready to discuss.” Jaime raised a pointed eyebrow and Prince Rhaegar nodded his acceptance. “Specifically, I found my own Maester Creylen to be suspicious. He was vehement that I should not be named Lord Lannister due to my age despite my knighting and the support of every other adult member of House Lannister. It made me concerned about where his loyalties actually laid if he was so openly opposing the will of House Lannister.”
Prince Rhaegar considered that for a moment before he nodded. “I can understand your concern.”
“I knew about Trial by the Tree but I did not want to actually execute the man unless I had to. The Wall needs all the men it can get and he is a talented maester. When Lords Brandon and Benjen arrived, we discussed my options for gaining the truth as I knew I needed to do more than simply ask the man and trust him to be honest. Together with Lady Olenna, we questioned Maester Creylen and discovered the Society.
“I had already requested and received a pool of new maesters from the Citadel, so we questioned them as well. Maester Ben and Maester Muln proved to be good men, worthy of the trust of House Lannister. The third, Maester Mordayn,” Jaime shook his head. “I was not subtle enough in my investigation. He poisoned the Lord’s Wine and sent a raven to the Citadel to inform them of the Society’s discovery by opposing forces. I would like to believe we shot down the Maester’s raven but I cannot be sure.”
“And the poison?” Prince Rhaegar asked.
“Killed four people—including my aunt by marriage, Lady Dorna Swyft. She was the last member of House Swyft so her death was a true tragedy.”
“You have my condolences,” Prince Rhaegar said. “When were you going to mention the possibility of the Citadel starting a war?”
Jaime was not sure what his face was doing but it made Prince Rhaegar frown ferociously. “I would have thought it obvious that war with the Citadel was inevitable. The Society must be ended and the Citadel’s intellectual dominance of Westeros must be shattered before it can be used to cultivate another conspiracy of a type with the Society.
“If we are fortunate, Lady Olenna will manage to prevent overt war within the Reach. We will able to seize their libraries and move forward. If we are not…” Jaime said with a shrug. “The type of war may depend on several factors but, with the knowledge we now have, war is inevitable.”
Prince Rhaegar sighed. “You are correct. Now the issue is alerting every House in Westeros to the conspiracy without alerting the Society that we are on to them.”
“Lady Olenna pointed out to me that regardless of any ravens that may or may not yet be received by the Citadel, the death of all of their Society members across Westeros will gain the society’s attention.” Jaime mentioned.
“And she would be correct.”
Jaime nodded. “I do believe it would be better for us to alert the other lords on the issue before the Society begins sending out kill orders that will see entire Houses extinguished. Conveniently, there is a rather well-supported Tournament soon that is sure to draw members of every House across the entirety of Westeros.”
“It is convenient,” Prince Rhaegar agreed, not giving his part in the tournament away at all.
Ironically, it just made Jaime more certain of his involvement.
“Lord Brandon, will you lead the princes up toward the rookery?” Jaime asked the man he hoped would one day be his good-brother.
“Of course, my lord,” Brandon agreed. “My Princes?” Brandon bowed and led Prince Oberyn and Prince Rhaegar upward.
Jaime went down one level and directly west to the terrace they were building his father’s pyre upon. It was normally dedicated to large groups of boys being trained in arms to serve in the Red Cloaks of House Lannister. Today, those boys were running back and forth, building a pyre under the stern direction of Uncle Tygette.
“Anything I need to know?” Jaime asked his uncle.
“Slightly more than two hours to sunset,” Uncle Tygette observed. “We need to slaughter Pride before we build the upper levels. Do you need to do it?”
Jaime tried to remember what he had heard about Queen Daenerys’s hatching of dragons. He knew the dragon queen had not slayed her husband’s mount herself. One of her husband’s captains had done it—a man that had held her husband’s trust.
As he had none of Queen Daenerys’s dragonblood, he expected Prince Rhaegar would have to light the pyre for the ritual to work but he did have his father’s trust so he could certainly kill Pride.
“Yes, I should,” Jaime agreed.
“Bring Pride,” Tygette ordered his squire.
Pride of Lannister was a large horse—a stallion beyond compare—with a deep red coat and golden mane and tail. Jaime preferred his own Honor with the white star upon her red face or his sister’s Beauty with dark stockings anchoring her golden coat, but Pride had neither. He had no markings to slander his perfect Lannister coloring.
They had to entice the stallion into position with sweet words and sweeter treats, but he was war-trained and overcame his reluctance quickly. Before the horse could object, Jaime slit his throat. It took nearly a dozen boys—including both Cleganes—to ensure the horse folded down into the correct position within the pyre. Jaime worked with them to cover the horse in dried brush and splashes of oil.
He stepped back as the gathered men and boys built the middle level of the pyre. The logs were pre-shaped and the rope was pre-cut so it all came together in a dance.
Jaime directed the placement of his father’s favorite things and then stepped back again as the highest level was built.
“Bring my father,” he ordered the Red Cloaks that were standing guard. “Have pages alert our guests that the pyre will be lit soon.”
It did not take long for Prince Rhaegar to join him, carrying one side of a scaled chest while Ser Arthur carried the other. Lady Olenna arrived soon after that and Jaime put the lords and ladies out of his mind. This was not for them. This was for the future of the Living.
He prayed Prince Rhaegar was worthy of what the gods were about to grant him then he put that out of his mind, too.
Once his father was in place, Jaime opened Prince Rhaegar’s chest. He stared at the contents. One egg was two shades of red like a cluster of rubies and garnets grown together. The next was gold with swirls of white. The last was shades of purple—both the deep purple of Valyrian eyes and the soft purple of House Dayne’s sigil.
He was not sure why, but he was suddenly aware that he could not place the eggs on the pyre. His part of the ritual was done. Now, the magic of the blood of the dragon was needed.
“Place the eggs on my father’s level as you see fit,” Jaime urged the crown prince.
Rhaegar frowned at him in confusion but did not take long to nod his agreement. He could nearly taste the older man’s eagerness for this to work. Prince Oberyn and Ser Arthur carried the chest closer to the pyre to hand the eggs upwards as Prince Rhaegar crawled all over the pyre.
“Bring Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys,” he ordered the same two Red Cloaks again.
The two men were carried out of Casterly Rock trussed up like game animals and twice as squirmy.
Prince Rhaegar’s voice was distant as he ordered the placement of the two on completely opposite corners of the pyre. Then he began to splash the entire construction—including the two living men—with oil.
The heir to the Iron Throne took up a torch and turned to stare at the sky in silence.
The Bleeding Star was the first star to appear after the felling of the sun and Jaime knew then that they would be successful.
Rhaegar held his torch up to the star in salute, then he plunged it into the heart of the pyre. The construction of wood, brush, flesh, and oil went up in a whoosh and Jaime was not the only one to flinch back.
Two did not flinch. Two moved forward, drawn in by the flames—Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia.
That was when Jaime remembered—Princess Elia was chosen as Prince Rhaegar’s bride because House Nymeros Martell was the blood of the dragon. The previous joining of House Targaryen and House Martell was nearly a hundred years back, but Princess Elia’s great-great-grandmother was Daenerys Targaryen, sister of King Daeron the Good. And she had spent the past two years submerged in the fire magic of Dragonstone and in the bed of the heir to the House of the Dragon. If anything could bring forward her dragon blood, those were certainly it.
Their clothing did not catch fire. Nor was their hair claimed by the flames. The wedded couple just danced—nothing civilized, they danced to the call of ancient blood that no one else could understand.
Jaime had no care for the gossip scurrying among the gathered nobles like mice—Lady Olenna would fill him in on anything important later. Or he would catch it as she reviewed the situation with Lord Benjen for training purposes. Jaime was too entranced by his king and queen to care about such mundane things. Entranced by their energy, by their rhythm, by the dance ancient Valyrians must have followed so long ago.
King and queen froze, their attention on the pyre, and Jaime knew what was to come.
A crack so powerful several ladies screamed—and Jaime knew an egg had hatched. Two more cracks followed like the sound of a thousand whips striking as one and Jaime waited.
Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia began dancing again. This dance was different. It was a welcome. A gentle greeting, not an urgent command. A song pierced the air, stopping all movement. One voice sang, then two, then three, four, finally five voices. Inhuman voices. Far more lovely than Jaime had ever heard before.
A dance of coaxing began, and five small bodies eventually emerged from the flames. Gold and white was the first, the boldest and largest. Garnet emerged next with pale purple in its shadow. Finally, Valyrian purple and ruby left the shelter of the flames.
Jaime had had no idea that dragons could be twins but how else could five dragons emerge from three eggs? He found it fitting that his father who had sired twins of his own in life had ushered two sets of twin dragons forth in death.
The gold-and-white sought shelter in the arms of Prince Rhaegar while Princess Elia scooped up the Valyrian purple with a joyful laugh.
Jaime was amused to note that the darker red—the garnet—regarded Princess Elia with confusion. The little beast searched the folds of her dress for his rider. Jaime tried his best not to laugh at the little thing. If he had doubts that she was carrying Prince Aegon, those doubts were put to rest.
He turned to see that the pale Dayne purple was crooning up to Princess Rhaenys who was reaching downward out of her nursemaid’s arms. The nurse cautiously set the year-old princess on the stone of the courtyard and the dragon had wrapped itself around the princess in a flash.
A familiar laugh told Jaime that he did not want to know what the final dragon—the little ruby—was doing. Jaime closed his eyes to brace himself before he sought the ruby in the crowd. Tyrion—of course it was Tyrion—was crouching to pat the little dragon’s head as any other youngling would a kitten or a puppy. The beast stared up at Tyrion with adoration clear in its amber eyes. It had chosen Tyrion.
Jaime knew the law. It broke his heart, but he knew it.
Thanks to the Dance of the Dragons, all dragon riders were legally members of House Targaryen. Tyrion would never inherit the throne because he would never be considered part of the direct line but he would never inherit Casterly Rock, either. He could not stand as Jaime’s heir. Jaime would be lucky to keep their relationship as brothers.
“Jaime! Look!” Tyrion cried with joy. “A dragon! Just my size!”
Jaime resolved then that Tyrion would not see him cry. He plastered the best smile on his face that he could. The dragon clung to Tyrion as Jaime took him in his arms.
“And what is this mighty warrior’s name?” Jaime asked his brother.
“Caraxes!” Tyrion grinned. His little face grew even uglier in his joy with his mismatched eyes and missing nose, but Jaime loved it. It broke his heart, but he had loved Tyrion for years and he would continue to love the boy even now that they were no longer legally considered brothers. “The Bloodwyrm Returned!”
Thank you so much for sharing this lovely story with us! I love Jaime’s POV on the events, as well how you approach the other characters. I’m also really enjoying the depth of the cultural background you give Westeros — from the Dragon laws to the traditions of the North. I can’t wait for the next stories in the series!
You are a true words’ master – the ending is just as wonderful and unexpected as was Robert naming Jon as his heir in Breaking the Faith.
I waited for this stories with baited breath and the first one is just as good as I could dream of.
Jaime is beautifully written and I loved his interactions with everybody. Most of all with Blackfish and Olenna, and with the Starks. I also liked very much Lyanna’s dealings with Catelyn.
I’m absolutely looking forward to the next two stories. Thank you so much for sharing!
Oh wow I love this so much!! well worth the wait, thank you!
Jaime is on the move. He will reshape Westeros and (mostly) for the better. He will be remembered forever. Also, I hope Catelyn will run from the North and never stop.
Amazing! Astounding! I loved the intricate wens that were woven in the background and the Hightower intrigue being sussed out and Jaime doing everything in his power to both save his family, and set things up to win the War for the Dawn!!
This is spectacular! I love how you are handling all the moving parts.
The ending is so bittersweet and beautiful!
Thank you so much for writing and sharing this!
I loved this so much! I am so impressed by how much you packed into this story and I can’t wait for the other stories you’ve written for this Bang!
Jaime is being so brave and so honest and presumably getting away with it because he is so darn pretty!! The family and the relationships he is building are fascinating.
The world-building is so interesting and I look forward to seeing where you take this! Thanks for sharing it with us!
I love this story so much.
This was a masterpiece of wonderfulness! My hat’s off to you, and I’m bowing at your feet. I literally can not wait for the rest!!!
That was such a good reas, thank you! I love that even as Jaime makes his plans, the others make their own moves. Such a bittersweet ending, too.
This was WONDERFUL!
Jaime is doing so much good work and Lyanna is going to have a whole life and Tyrion got a dragon and Rhaegar might end up being actually a good monarch and omg just think if the King and Lord Lannister both follow the Gods of Forest and Stream and Stone! What a change for Westeros!
Oh and the secret library!!! I love getting an inside look at the secrets of Casterly Rock.
It’s just so lovely and wonderful I ADORE your approach and headcanons and the depth of your worldbuilding.
Kudos!!
I absolutely love your GoT stuff. Seriously lov it.
I have never watched GoT and put the first book down when GRRM bumped off the person I had assumed was going to be the main character in roughly chapter one, two?
However, I love your writing and I loved Breaking the Faith, so I decided to read this one too. Despite being pretty unfamiliar with who is who – some info has been unavoidable over the last few years & Cersei is one of those names I do know! – I am thoroughly enjoying this story too. Very much looking forward to seeing what happens next.
Thanks!
This is so wonderful!! Love getting to see Jaime write his own destiny, and how you utilize the other characters to give so much richness to this time we didnt get to see much of in canon and to this now alternate path!
Looking forward to Winterfell! Thanks so much for writing and sharing!
I spent all morning reading this and had a wonderful time, thank you for posting it was lovely
Great Story. Thank you for sharing
I love this story so much! Thank you!!
I really loved this. It was perfect.