Chapter 16 Kings Landing

274 Kings Landing, 2 months after the annihilation of the bandits.

Tywin Lannister's Perspective:

I was heading to the small council meeting rather reluctantly. If I may add, these years have not been kind to Aerys. He grows more distrustful, angry, and volatile by the day. Although I'm hardly one to say, time hasn't been kind to me either. Joanna's death and the birth of that cursed creature, and now these damned Starks wanting more than they deserve, I thought as I entered the council chamber. It seems I am the last to arrive; even the king was already seated.

"Your grace."

"Tywin, you seem to enjoy keeping your king waiting," Aerys remarked.

"My apologies, I was delayed by some matters."

"Sit down, let's begin."

"I've called you here because it seems the Starks are rebuilding their fleet; they purchased 300 ships from the Iron Bank. They are also reconstructing Moat Cailin and another fortress on the western coast."

"Sea Dragon Point, that's what the territory is called," added Grand Maester Pycelle.

"Yes, well, whatever it is, I don't know what they're preparing for, but it sounds like war to me," said Aerys.

"It's impressive that they have enough money for such an undertaking," commented Qarlton Chelsted, the Master of Coin.

"I don't know where they're getting all this money. Maybe they're siphoning from taxes or exploiting a mine. What's most irksome is that they haven't notified me, the King, of anything," Aerys continued.

"Tywin, send a raven to Winterfell, demand that they come and explain themselves."

"I don't think that will be necessary," said the Master of Laws, Symond Staunton of House Staunton of Rook's Rest.

"What do you mean, Symond?" asked the king.

"It appears a northern envoy is here in King's Landing."

"Damn northern savages, think they can do as they please and then just send someone after."

"That's the point, Your Majesty. It seems the envoy has been in the capital for three months seeking an audience with you," said Alan of Rosby, the Master of Whisperers.

"Are you telling me an envoy has been here for three months and hasn't been given an audience? What's worse, you, the Master of Whisperers of the Court, didn't inform me of this. Who do you think you are to hide information from me?" Aerys said.

Alan could only look down, though not without shooting me a fleeting glance that, unfortunately, Aerys noticed.

"Tywin, did you know the envoy was here?" he said venomously.

"Your Majesty, I didn't think it was anything important; perhaps just Lord Stark complaining about grain prices or some such triviality."

"Symond, find the envoy. Tell him I will receive him at noon in the Throne Room. This session is adjourned, everyone out."

Of course, I knew there was an envoy. Wyman Manderly is the heir to White Harbor and House Manderly. But what I also knew, from my spies, is why he was here. They were here seeking a royal marriage. Undoubtedly, their growing fleet and eagerness to display the wealth of the North are merely to catch the Targaryens' attention. Savages, indeed. Such obvious tactics would impress no one around here.

Close to noon, I made my way to the Throne Room. The cavernous hall has tall, narrow windows and a gallery. High oak and bronze doors and the Iron Throne are located at opposite ends of the long hall. A red carpet stretches from the entrance. Behind the throne, there is an exit for the king, with the practice yard nearby. At the foot of the Iron Throne stood the Kingsguard with their white cloaks along the walls, the gold cloaks lined beside the dragon skulls on the Throne Room walls.

The Iron Throne is an asymmetric monstrosity of spikes, jagged edges, and twisted metal. It was built by Aegon I Targaryen from melted, twisted, hammered, and broken swords surrendered by his enemies or wrenched from the hands of the dying.

There stood the King awaiting the envoy from the North. But no matter what, I won't let them usurp Cersei's place as princess.

"Your grace," greeted the envoy as he knelt.

"Rise, ser, and tell me who you are and what you seek with me."

"I am Wyman Manderly, heir to White Harbor and House Manderly. I am sent by my lord, Lord Rickard Stark, to pay respects and request that the North's concerns be heard."

"And what would those concerns be, Lord Manderly?"

"Nothing that directly affects the South, your grace. I was sent only to report that there are issues in the territory and that the Northern army will need to be mustered. Though the details are in this letter," said the envoy as he handed a scroll to Ser Barristan.

After a while, during which Aerys read the letter, crumpled it, and tossed it away.

"Skagos, a mere island, requires me to gather and buy so many ships? I think not, Lord Manderly."

"My lord, I'm not sure what the letter said, but appeasing the islands is quite an undertaking."

"I highly doubt it. Tell Stark I will overlook the fleet, but he cannot muster his men."

"I understand, my lord. If I may add, Lord Stark also sent me with a gift as a token of gratitude for hearing the North's concerns," he said as he handed a pouch to the Kingsguard.

"Though I don't know what it is, your grace, I know Lord Stark paid a hefty sum to acquire it," the northerner added.

I couldn't see what the gift was, but Aerys' expression changed from disbelief to surprise and finally joy.

"An excellent gift, Lord Wyman Manderly. Could you tell me where it comes from?"

"I'm not sure, my lord. Stark only told me it cost nearly as much as a castle."

"Inform your lord that he has earned the favor of House Targaryen and that all expended will be reimbursed, but he should be on the lookout in case he comes across another similar gift. For now, stay in the Red Keep; in a few days, I will give you a letter for Lord Stark."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I will await your response."

"Very well, court is dismissed."

"Lord Rosby, Lord Staunton, follow me to my chambers."

"Tywin, prepare 200,000 gold dragons for Lord Manderly."

Damnation, I thought as I slammed the table once I reached my solar in the Tower of the Hand. Those damned northerners... I don't know what gift they gave Aerys, but he seemed pleased. It appears the Starks are trying to play the long game. And here I thought causing trouble in their lands would dissuade them from meddling in the south, but instead, it seems I've only bestowed a title upon their children. The Twin Wolves they call them; quite a title for one so young. Though I must admit, annihilating 250 bandits with only 50 guards at the age of 10 is admirable. Not impressive or unique.

The northerners have always been the finest warriors within the Seven Kingdoms. I still recall Lord Rickard Stark's army in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, but they'll only ever be that: good warriors, lacking in political cunning. They'll forever be the south's attack dog.

For now, it seems the Starks have managed to please the king with their gift and been forgiven for calling their banners. Blocking the audience with the king for two months didn't aid my plans. It also appears the king no longer trusts the current Master of Whisperers. Perhaps it's time to dispose of him.

Damned northerners, they seem to want to be a problem. But no matter what, I won't let them steal Cersei's place as princess.

End of perspective.

Ned Stark, 3 months after the annihilation of the bandits:

A boy could be seen sparring with a man in the Godswood, both engaged in a deadly dance. The older man wielded a great two-handed sword, while the youth wielded two swords. The sun shone upon their gleaming armor as they moved with grace and ferocity, each seeking an opening.

Sweat ran down the boy's face, but his eyes reflected seriousness and determination, with no intention of giving up.

The metallic sound echoed in the air each time their swords clashed, creating a war symphony as both fighters strained to find an opening in each other's defense. To an outsider, it would seem they were only attacking, unconcerned with defense.

"Well done, Ned, that's enough," said the man stepping back and sheathing his sword.

"Phew, finally. Thank you, Father."

"I'm amazed at how quickly you've progressed in your training, son. The Winter Stark style is not easy to master. I must say, not even I have mastered it. But what little you know is impressive for just three months."

During these three months, I've trained several hours a day with my father. It seems the wolf blood that drives us to battle frenzy is a recurring issue in our family. Hence, several ancestors devised a martial art to control it and harness it.

"The Winter Sword" is the name of the fighting style, consisting of fast and precise yet aggressive movements. The complexity lies not just in the weapon or the style; it's more like a discipline where, despite the many movements, you conserve energy in battle.

Currently, my father masters the sword, but I can sense that there's more to this style. I feel as if there's an opening between the movements, as if I still have time to wield another weapon or throw something amidst the combat (author's note: short answer ice magic).

It's not just the combat that has improved; my body grows stronger and more flexible. I could fight for hours without tiring, as long as my opponents aren't better swordsmen than I am.

"Very well, Father, again, thank you for everything. If you'll allow me, I'll prepare for my scheduled departure."

"You're dismissed, son. Remember to bid farewell to your mother and brother. Lord Dustin will send his heir to meet you midway to Barrowton."

We set out near dawn. The caravan consists of 70 guards and several hundred builders. My personal guard expanded to 50 after the Battle of the Hill. Ten guards died, and ten more still need months to recover, but the fame we gained made many people want to join us, and with my new finances, I could double both groups.

I've been thinking of implementing something like a retirement plan for the guards and their families. Some might say that losing so few people in the conditions we faced is a blessing, but I still can't get used to seeing people die like that, so I want to help their families, although the pension plan needs to be defined.

The march was longer than I thought. Having many people makes journeys slow, but finally, after 15 days, we arrived near the rendezvous point. William Dustin was already waiting for us there with a retinue of 10 guards.

After being in Winterfell's crypts, in the mountains, and seeing the giants, I thought I had seen everything the North has to offer. But the Barrowlands' tumuli had their own magic. They might appear as simple mounds, but something resonated within them, something ancient, almost sacred.

"Dustin, do you think we could explore the surroundings a bit?"

"Of course, Lord Stark, although I wouldn't recommend taking too many guards; people tend to get lost."

"Very well, if you don't mind, it'll just be you and me exploring."

"Understood, Lord Stark. I'll tell the men to wait around here."

Ned ventured among the stone ruins dotting the landscape. It was ancient, forgotten land, where the wind whispered secrets of times past. The earth and stone mounds, covered in lichens and moss, were remnants of a lost tradition. The tumuli rose scattered across the field.

I had heard stories about these runes since I was a child; Old Nan told me how the ancient kings of Barrows rested amidst magic and stone. As I moved about exploring, a feeling akin to that of the Stark Crypts came over me. Following the sensation, I ventured into the forest surrounding the ruins, hoping to find answers.

As I moved among the tall, shadowy trees, runes began to appear scattered on the ground. They were like footprints of a forgotten era, marking a mysterious path I cautiously followed. Then I saw it, ruins resembling a temple or fortress in the distance, though I could only see a bell tower.

"Dustin, I didn't know there was something like this amidst the Barrowlands Vale."

"Nor did I know of its existence, Lord Eddard. I spent my entire childhood exploring these trails, but I never noticed it," he said as we proceeded down the path.

Suddenly, at the end of a snow-covered path, a clearing emerged where a structure of stone ruins stood. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and more runes etched into the stone. My surprise was immense when I couldn't recognize all the runes. Some were anti-warg protections, along with some similar to those surrounding the giant fortress in the Wolfswood. But others I couldn't even decipher their purpose.

As we entered, we were greeted by a seemingly empty room, part of the roof had collapsed. In the center lay a sarcophagus, with an unknown symbol engraved upon it. The atmosphere was laden with ancient, mystical air. The sarcophagus lay open but in excellent condition, as if still awaiting its owner. Behind it, on the wall, was a window with a stained glass panel.

There were only 3 panels telling a story.

In the first panel, a couple—a man and a woman—were depicted embracing under a heart tree.

The second panel showed the woman bidding farewell to the man departing on a ship accompanied by several figures.

In the last panel, the woman was depicted playing with various children around her while smiling.

—"The Unwidowed Queen," I heard Dustin murmur.

—"Did you say something, William?"

—"Nothing, just an old tale from the Dustin family, akin to a legendary figure like Brandon the Builder of the Starks. The Unwidowed Queen, the Eternal Queen, the Old Mother—she has many names, but the legend remains largely unchanged.

Legend has it that the last of the Barrows married a Stark but could never bear children. It's said that her husband sailed to distant lands in search of a cure but never returned. She supposedly took care of all the first-generation Dustins; some say they were her own children, or perhaps her nephews. The fact is, after her, the kings of the barrows came to be called Dustins instead of Barrows. No one ever knew where she was buried, or even if she existed at all, but it seems that this is her tomb, although it doesn't resemble the other barrows. It's more like a ballroom," he said as he looked around the hall.

—"Wow, I didn't know there were still unknown legends in the North," I said, surprised.

—"Haha, every house has its own legends, Lord Eddard. There's no one who knows all the legends that exist."

—"What do you say we explore a bit more before heading back? Your escorts will worry if we don't return by nightfall."

We walked through the hall without expecting to find anything, but I moved slowly towards the sarcophagus, from which a golden light emanated.

At the bottom of the sarcophagus lay a black tiara encrusted with sapphires. The moment I touched it, I felt a memory entering me.

I saw a woman about 50 years old, with blue eyes and curly black hair, sitting in a small garden while weaving. A young man approached, clearly a Stark from his gray eyes and elongated face.

—"Lady Barrow," said the man with black hair.

—"Lord Stark, to what do I owe your visit?"

—"Aunt, Lord Lannister sent a letter from Qarth; it seems they will return in a few moons."

—"Edrick..."

—"Hmm, it seems he won't return with them; the construction of the Five Forts is still incomplete, so he'll stay a few more years."

—"Are you sure you want to stay here? I could send some ships to guide you to him."

—"No, young Rickard. Your brother is not ready yet; he stubbornly refuses to take my name. But perhaps when his children are born, I can join my husband in the east. I promised to take care of the family. Your father Jon left us too soon, and with you heading to the Neck for battle, someone must look after the Starks."

—"Very well, Aunt. Please tell my mother to wait."

Wow, so it's true that the Unwidowed Queen is Edrick Stark's wife. Apparently, he didn't return to take her on the journey as he said in his diary— I thought as I carefully stowed away the crown without William noticing.

—"Let's get out of here, William. It seems we won't find anything else."

With that, we returned to the group.

_______

Diary of Brandon of the Bloody Blade

Returning south always unsettles me; this is not my land, and the magic of the place is fading. Even the remaining old gods are angry.

I am heading to the lands of a king who has requested my help with his castle and to mediate with the gods, as has always been the duty of the Starks since the pact.

It turns out the king has fallen in love with a storm priestess, but the promise to her god forbids their marriage. The young king desires a castle that can withstand the god of tides from claiming his blue-eyed priestess.

He has tried six times, and six times the sea has claimed his seat. So here I am again in the south, far from my homeland, trying to prevent the sea from swallowing more than it already has.

The king Durran, dubbed Durran Godscourge, that's what the boy calls himself. No one in the south understands him, but to me, they are all children. I have lived nearly 200 years, yet I understand his desire to defy the gods. What matters more than the true love of a woman? What duty compares to holding your newborn children in your arms?

For that reason alone, I will aid him, not for gold, not for honor, but for love.

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Hey guys! Here's today's chapter. I'm still out for a few matters, but I'll be back to update, I think by the weekend sunday From then on, there will be two updates a week, and maybe an extra chapter if I receive a lot of support. Thanks for your patience and support. We're back!

Lastly, I've also set up a Ko-fi if anyone wants to buy me a coffee. 5 coffees equal an extra chapter xD

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