66 The Proposal
Early 289 Summer
My words to Gregor Clegane proved true once more as I sawed off the top of Lord Farwynd's skull. The still living man failed to react to the operation, so overdosed on Shade of the Evening the veins throughout his entire body turned a dark blue. What visions his wide eyes saw as I worked mattered not. Gently, I removed the crown of his head and exposed his brain to the open air in this dark and wet cave deep beneath Lonely Light. The path of the Greenseer fears no darkness. 'Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong.'
With my hands I removed his hyperactive navy stained grey matter and placed it in a wide mortar. From a leather sack I sprinkled juicy weirwood seeds over the think meat and ground the pairing into a chunky purple paste with the pestle. Pouring the paste into my mouth I completed the augmented ritual by swallowing it all, leaving behind barely a coating of purple liquid.
I cast aside the mortar as my existence became pain, pain far beyond what the ritual induces, the deeper pain of essence not matching form. The power of this magical cannibalization of another Greenseer's powers, augmented with Shade of the Evening opening his mind to a higher plain, pushed my being, already teetering on the brink, into apotheosis. My spirit sought to break free of its mortal cocoon and fly the astral plain, but the potent focusing power of the Fell Axe leaping into my hand held the evolution at bay, anchoring my mortal existence.
I ached to my very core, but after a time regained my composure. Lord Farwynd provided me with more than just his hyper-charged greensight. The man held a connection to the sea, much like my own connection to the land. The majority of the world bared itself before my psychic gaze, and I could clearly see the land west of Westeros, the promised land that plagued Lord Farwynd's sight, where all men will be kings and all women queens. Certainly possible, given how our disgusting Westerosi diseases would kill up to ninety four percent of the natives and leave us their cities and treasure to pick over like vultures.
Something to get to after I finish forging a body capable of bearing my divine essence.
The Axe lit up a beautiful verdant green as its runes flamed with magic, and my mind sank beneath the waves, and found the krakens drawn from across the Sunset Sea to my offering in Lannisport Bay. One day of pure slaughter, the death of nearly all the able bodied Ironborn men, their carcasses hacked to pieces and chucked into the sea. Blood was needed to raise the krakens from the deep, and blood they had.
My mind grabbed onto one, and I wrestled with its massive mind until it submitted to my vast will. I enthralled five more before the strain became too much, the enormous and powerful intelligent beasts pushed the limits of my mortal forms capabilities to not collapse my brain. Still, I had my hunting dogs for both pirates and the creatures of the deep. I turned them loose on the pirates of the Stepstones and the Basilisk Isles, to sink their ships and carry their treasures ashore for my pick up, their strange mix of Octopus and Squid tentacles capable of stripping a man of his gold and silver before depositing him in its steely beak.
Leaving the cave, I emerged from the darkness to once more view the blue and white sky. The heart in my chest is heavy, for every time I gain more sight and see more of this world and its inhabitants, the more I wish to drown all its evil in a sea of blood. To send forth my sword and scourge to purge away all iniquity found by my all revealing gaze.
Putting away my god complex, I returned to The Great Sea Bear to begin preparations for my war against Slaver's Bay. With the Bronze and Iron Fleets under my command and Robert Baratheon chomping at the bit, I sailed onto King's Landing to play politico while a few of my ships went on to pick up my treasures in the Step Stones. With the pirate population so viciously culled at sea, they'll meet precious little resistance even when my sons sacked old criminal fortresses like Bloodstone.
Galmar took the Iron Fleet back to Bear Island for refitting, the ships needing bronze hulls and fasteners to keep up with the Bronze Fleet on long voyages. Still arriving in King's Landing with one hundred half crewed warships made waves. I stepped onto the docks of a city that loves and fears me, as I like it. Like always, my arrival generated a parade as the poor came in droves for the coins my crew threw them.
My ascent of Aegon's hill and the long winding gardens of the Red Keep ended with a hasty summons to the Small Council where I encountered the men sat around a far smaller table than that used by the Targaryens at the apex of their power, and lacking the pageantry of that period as well. Seated in a smaller, more dimly lit room, Robert's Small Council had the feel of a more intimate smokey barroom than the ruling oligarchy of a continent.
Around the table sat the dour Stannis Baratheon as Master of Ships, grinding his teeth after some jape Robert made at his expense. Lord Alesander Staedmon, a Stormlander who earned the title 'Pennylover' and the ire of the spendhappy king, soon to be replaced with a more flexible Petyr Baelish. The elderly Symond Staunton retained his position of Master of Laws from the old regime, much like Varis kept his spot as Master of Whispers. Lord Commander Barriston Selmy sat for the Kingsgard. King Robert Baratheon and Hand of the King Jon Arryn took up the center of the table. An eighth seat awaited me and Robert welcomed me to take it.
"Alright Jorah, lay it on'em." The King grinned like a page boy with a secret.
"Your grace," Jon Arryn interrupted, "May we first take account of Lord Mormont's unprecedented actions at Lannisport Bay, and the Iron Islands?"
"What's left to talk about, Jon." Robert frowned, "The Squids are finally gone, pain removed from arse."
"I'm not the first Lord to try to put the Ironborn down after they flared up." I spoke, "I'm just the first to do the job right."
"It was not your choice to make." Jon Arryn responded sharply.
"I abide the actions Lord Mormont took putting down the rebellion, Jon. Move on." Robert commanded.
"Then the wholesale slaughter of one of the Seven Kingdoms… is abided." Jon scoffed.
"Let's get to the real reason I'm here." Robert gruffed, "Lord Mormont has proposed war in Slaver's Bay."
"I am quite interested in the details of this audacious proposal." the bald eunuch, Varys, simpered.
"Financially ruinous. The crown has often ill afforded war with the Stepstones, let alone a target as far away as Slaver's Bay." Lord Staedmon groused, "Any fleet we sail there will be completely cut off."
"Lys will provide us more than enough supplies to make the voyage there, and once the Three Great Slaver Cities fall, the other cities will gladly supply us for the return voyage." I told the council.
"It takes over a month of sailing for even the fastest vessels in the Royal fleet to get around Old Valyria. Any force sizable enough to perform what you propose will have eaten their way through the supplies by the time they arrive. This is folly." Stannis rejected the proposal pragmatically, not letting his anger with his brother affect his loyalty as a subject.
"It takes my ships fifteen days from King's Landing to Slaver's Bay." I grinned, "Less if I had crews full of experienced sailors, but even if we arrived hungry, Astapor would feed us within hours of our arrival."
"Such confidence." Varis tittered, "Have you sussed out the weaknesses of walls half a world away as easily as you did those of the Riverlands and Crownlands."
"There is no need for sussing." I grinned at my favorite traitor, "The walls of Astapor and Yunkai crumble under the neglect of centuries. Decadent, lazy, silly people. And evil beyond measure."
"I noticed you did not mention Meereen in that evaluation." Jon Arryn snorted.
"Meereen's walls are tall, wide, and well maintained. Their army is the strongest in the region, serving as the shield of Slaver's Bay that has allowed such negligence to fester in their neighbors." I informed them, "It won't last a single night against us."
Seeing the doubt on the council's faces, Robert slapped the table, "I approve the proposal."
Jon Arryn held his face in his hands and sighed so hard it hurt to hear.
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