Chapter Forty Four: Adaptation

"Well… what do you think?" Trisfier Botley asked expectantly.

Rodrik Greyjoy took a good, long look at the vessel before him. It is quite grand; no disputing that. He glimpsed down at the large blueprint he was holding. He could not manage a firm grip with his right hand, but his thumb and forefinger where sufficient to keep it steady. He looked back and forth between the vessel and the blueprint, and he found he was not pleased. But not grand enough.

"This will not do," Rodrik announced, lowering the blueprint.

"And why not?" Ser Harras Harlaw inquired. He did not sound genuinely interested in receiving an answer, or even in knowing what it was. Instead, he sounded irate, as though he had expected Rodrik to be dissatisfied. He is likely fed up by this point.

In any case, Rodrik supplied a reply: "The head sail is inadequately tethered to the mast. Its rigging will need to be reworked. The hull has not been properly reinforced, either. I said to use ironwood, not ash."

"We were short on ironwood," Tristifer revealed, "We had to make do with what was available."

"I would have been content to wait until the next ironwood shipment came in," Rodrik claimed, trying to stay patient, "That would have taken far less time than rebuilding the entire ship. Unfortunately, that is precisely what will have to be done now."

"Alright, we'll start over from scratch," Ser Harras mumbled, swiping the blueprint out of Rodrik's hands. As he rolled the parchment up, he added in "For the fifth time."

"Calm down, Harr," Tristifer beckoned him, "Rod said we were in no great hurry to complete this project."

"So I did, Tris," Rodrik affirmed, "For the present, we aren't. But that does not imply that I wished to waste our time with needless miscommunications."

"Then we'll have to ensure that nothing is miscommunicated this time," Harras declared, tucking the roll of parchment under his arm. Let us hope nothing will be.

"What about that?" Tristifer queried, gesturing to the vessel before them, "Should we scrap it?"

Rodrik stood thinking for about a minute. Finally, he remarked "No. While it is not good enough to be the new flagship, it is still a fine vessel. It will make a superb addition to the Royal Fleet."

"Very well," Tristifer avowed, clapping his hands together once, "Who should we give it to?"

"How about Gormond?" Harras proposed, "It's about time he had a ship of his own."

Perhaps so. Rodrik thought aloud "I'll consider him, but I make no promises. For now, just keep the ship docked. We'll pick a captain later."

"Fair enough," Tristifer commented. Ser Harras nodded in agreement.

"Now, let's find those shipwrights," Rodrik decisively pronounced, "I want construction to begin as soon as possible. This time, we have to make certain they follow the blueprints to the last detail."

"Too bad we're not on the Islands," Tristifer slyly muttered, "We could have threatened them with drowning if they fail to deliver."

"We could still do that," Ser Harras suggested. He does not sound as though he is japing.

"No point in making a threat we could not make good on," Rodrik Greyjoy debated.

"Who says we couldn't make good on that one?" Harras countered.

"The City Watch, for one," Rodrik bluntly responded, "As well as the dockhands, the nobles, the smallfolk, and, of course, the King. Basically, the entire fucking city."

"He's right," Tristifer concurred, "The laws of the Seven Kingdoms strictly prohibit drowning, unless it is done by a priest."

"So we should just allow the greenlander laws to dictate our actions?" Ser Harras presumed.

"If doing otherwise throws us out of the crown's good graces, then yes," Rodrik contended, "As you said, Harr, this will be our fifth attempt to build a new flagship. I do not plan for there to be a sixth. But there are ways to achieve our goal that do not involve intimidation."

"I'm aware of that," Harras asserted, "Still, these 'ways' are not as simple or efficient. And nowhere near as fun."

"All true," Rodrik admitted, scoffing a bit, "Even so, there is little that can be done about it. We have to build a new flagship, and we have to do it while killing as few people as possible."

"It can be done, Rod," Tristifer proclaimed. Count on him to take my side.

"It will be done," Rodrik declared, "Now let's go."

Tristifer Botley, Harras Harlaw, and Rodrik Greyjoy made their way along the docks towards the section where the shipwrights' offices were located. Tris walked at the head of the group. He was always eager to get someplace, even if he did not know where it was.

Harras and Rodrik were by each other's sides. Just as when we were boys. As they headed down the marina, Harras turned to his best friend and stated quietly "Tell me something, Rod. About the shipwrights."

"What?" Rodrik said, disinterest evident in his tone.

Nevertheless, Harr proceeded to ask him "Between the two of us, would it honestly bother you if anything happened to the shipwrights?"

"No, it wouldn't," Rodrik flatly answered him. Frankly, I could not care less about those imbeciles. They're supposedly the best maritime architects in Westeros, yet they've failed to produce satisfying results four times.

"You know, the shipwrights might take the work more seriously if they realize how dangerous failure can be," Harras proclaimed, a wicked grin on his face, "Now I am not saying we should kill them ourselves. But suppose an 'accident' was to befall one of them…"

"If we could afford to lose them, I'd be all for it," Rodrik uttered candidly, "But with everything that's going on in the world right now, we cannot spare even one of those builders. We need their services now more than ever."

"As you say," Harras conceded. He maintained his sinister smirk and remarked "All the same, inform me when you change your mind. I already have half a dozen ideas on how to bring about a tragic yet motivational incident to the docks."

Were it not for the law, I'd be ordering you to carry out all six of them. If only we were back on the Islands.

Despite being a recognized region of Westeros, the Iron Islands had traditionally stood quite apart from the Seven Kingdoms. Most notably, they were a fair deal poorer than any part of the mainland. As such, the Ironborn had to resort to extreme means to provide for themselves. The most extreme of these means was the Old Way, where the Ironborn way of life principally involved reaving, raiding, reaping, raping, and taking whatever they pleased.

The Old Way had been forsaken long ago, shortly after Aegon the Conqueror burned Harren Hoare and his sons alive and liberated the Riverlands from the control of the Iron Islands. Only a few bolder individuals, namely the late Euron Greyjoy, stuck to the Old Way after. In the three hundred years that followed the Targaryens' arrival, the Ironborn had kept the tradition of raiding alive.

Lord Quellon Greyjoy had attempted to put a firm end to Ironmen raids once and for all. His efforts had nearly succeeded during his lifetime, but ultimately failed upon his untimely death at the end of Robert's Rebellion. His eldest surviving son Balon had intended to revive the raids by invading the western coast of Westeros.

And we all know how that ended. The outcome was so abysmal that one might think we were always predestined to fail.

Indeed, one could be led to think just that. The Ironborn defeat in Greyjoy's Rebellion was due largely to how Lord Victarion Greyjoy had chosen the realm over his family and sided with King Robert Baratheon and his lot. Some on the Iron Islands called Victarion a traitor for swearing fealty to the crown. Be that as it may, Victarion had given the lordship of the Iron Islands in exchange for his loyalty. Yet he never even asked for it.

Ever since Victarion was named Lord of Pyke, the Iron Islands had prospered like never before. Some innovative farming techniques had been brought to the Islands, allowing crops to be cultivated on a grand scale. These methods made possible what was once deemed impossible. Although most Ironborn continued worshipping the Drowned God, septs had been built and weirwoods replanted at various locations on the Islands. Furthermore, trade and diplomacy between the Islands and the mainland had reached its pinnacle.

Most of all, there was no raiding. None. Not a single holdfast on this side of the world had been struck by Iron ships in over a decade. The majority of the Westerosi viewed this as a good thing. Most greenlanders found the whole concept of raiding to be the equivalent of living off the misery and suffering of others. Who are they to judge us?

Nonetheless, the ending of the raids had changed the overall image of the Ironborn, as well. The tension and fright that used to be associated with the Ironborn no longer existed in Westeros. Whenever people spotted an Ironborn ship in the distance, whether they were on land or sea, they either waited patiently for the vessel to come to them, or they did nothing and waited for it to leave. Simply put, there was no longer any reason for anyone to feel intimidated by the Ironborn. While that may have been good for relations between the Seven Kingdoms, there were some Ironborn who despised that prospect. Fear was what made the Ironborn so strong and great to begin with. They once held the fear of all those who resided on the shores of Westeros. Now they held no one's.

How the mighty have fallen. More to the point, how they have fallen astray.

When Balon Greyjoy rebelled against the crown, his eldest son and heir, Rodrik Greyjoy, had joined him willingly and without hesitation. Back then, Rodrik had sincerely believed that his father's campaign would be successful, and that through constant and considerable show of force, the Iron Islands would gain the respect of all Westeros. Rodrik Greyjoy also believed that one day, after his sire was laid to rest in the waters surrounding Pyke, he too would sit the Seastone Chair.

Had I known that I'd actually end up here…

Many Ironborn had suffered losses in Greyjoy's Rebellion. Rodrik's losses had been especially great. His uncle. His freedom. His birthright. Most of his right hand.

He would never forget that day at Seagard, when Jorah Mormont maimed him in one-on-one combat. Even after ten years, he could still vividly recall the sensation of that bastard sword cutting through his hand. It is true what they say; nothing holds an edge like Valyrian steel.

That was only the first of the many tribulations Rodrik had faced during Greyjoy's Rebellion. Not long after he was captured, his uncle Euron's forces were defeated at Fair Isle. The Crow's Eye himself was slain at the hand of Gregor Clegane's brother, Sandor. Soon enough, the Ironborn defeat at Pyke came about, as well. Subsequently, Rodrik's father was removed from the Seastone Chair and sent to the Wall.

After Victarion was named the new Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands, Lord Balon's sons were made hostages of the crown. They were forced to relocate to certain other places in Westeros; places that were strange to them. Theon was sent to Winterfell, Maron to Moat Cailin, and Rodrik to King's Landing.

Rodrik and his brothers had not been made prisoners of the crown to ensure their Uncle's fealty. Victarion Greyjoy had already proven his loyalty to the realm many times over during the rebellion. However, there were still some Ironborn who shared Lord Balon's ideals. These same Ironborn had believed Balon and his sons deserved to remain in the line of succession before Victarion.

Rodrik later learned that he and his brothers were actually taken prisoner to guarantee that those Ironborn behaved themselves. The concept and reasoning behind it had both been devised by Lord Gregor Clegane. The Mountain had debated that as long as Balon and his sons were away from the Iron Islands, none of the Ironborn loyal to them would be incited to do anything to compromise Victarion's power or worsen the Islands' relations with the mainland anytime soon.

Indeed, nothing of the sort happened.

Although Lord Balon was now a sworn brother of the Night's Watch and would remain one for life, his sons were no longer hostages of the realm. By the time Uncle Victarion returned to Pyke to lay claim to his lordship, nearly all the Ironborn who sympathized with Balon had died, disappeared, or – in most cases – switched sides. There were some who still supported Balon's cause as strongly as ever, but their numbers were far too few to pose any real threat to the stability of Westeros.

Therefore, it was decided by both Lord Gregor Clegane and King Robert Baratheon that there was no longer any need to hold Balon's sons hostage. As a result, Theon, Maron, and Rodrik were freed from their captivity soon after.

Interestingly, even after they regained their freedom, none of the three Greyjoy sons immediately returned home to Pyke. They had each chosen to remain right where they were for a while.

Theon had done alright for himself. He had become close to the children of Lord Eddard Stark, and he had many friends among the noble families of the North. That was a sign that he could improve overall relations between the Islands and the North.

Maron had fared even better. He had been inducted into the Legion without Banners, and after Victarion returned to Pyke, he had replaced his uncle as the Iron Islands' representative on Lord Gregor's secret council. He was one of the Mountain's closest allies and friends.

Some might have said Rodrik had done the best of all. In the ten years he had resided in the capital city, he had gone from an Ironborn prisoner to the Iron Islands' official liaison to the throne. He provided all direct correspondence between his people and the crown. A couple years back, the King had even appointed him to the position of Master of Ships on the small council. He had performed that role quite well, thus far. Despite certain… limitations.

Shortly before he and his companions made it to the shipwrights' offices, Rodrik felt an itch on his nose. He involuntarily raised his right hand to scratch it. When his fingers reached his face, he scowled and mumbled "Ow."

Harras turned to him and asked "Something wrong?"

"No," Rodrik told him frankly, scratching the tip of his nose with his index finger, "Just poked myself. Again."

"Alright then," Harras remarked, scoffing a bit. Rodrik resisted the desire to grimace at him. You find this amusing, huh?

During his first year at King's Landing, Rodrik Greyjoy had quickly discovered that life was much harder with only half of his right hand. Then Grand Maester Marwyn had provided a partial solution to his problem. The Grand Maester had crafted a prosthetic which could be attached at the wrist and fastened in place where part of Rodrik's palm was missing. With the prosthetic, he had five fingers once again. But only two of them were real. The other three were made of metal, and they could never be moved.

After he scratched his nose, Rodrik gazed down at his right hand. He flexed his thumb and his index finger. His middle finger, his ring finger, and his little finger were stuck in a partly-bent position. The Grand Maester had fashioned them that way so that Rodrik could lift things, hold things, and pick things up almost as easily as he had when his hand was whole.

Rodrik could still eat and drink as effortlessly as before with his half-flesh, half-iron hand. However, he had to retrain himself to swordfight and learn how to write with his left hand. He had spent years in those endeavors, and his form and posture still left much to be desired.

In spite of all else, Rodrik could not overlook the irony of his injury. The vessel he had captained during his father's rebellion was called the Iron Fist. Now, one could argue the name applied to him just as well. It would have been a much choicer moniker than the one he had actually been given. Rodrik Never-Right. If ever I find the scum who first coined that term…

His aggressive reflection was cut short. Right then, he and his companions reached the shipwrights' offices. There they found Dale Seaworth, eldest son and heir of Ser Davos Seaworth. Based on how he was casually leaning against the wall, he had nothing on his schedule at this time. That indicated that he was available.

Finally, someone who actually knows what he's doing is on-hand.

In Rodrik's mind, Dale was the one shipwright in King's Landing who never disappointed anyone with his creations. Rodrik regarded him as one of his closest non-Ironborn friends. It happened that Dale also captained his own vessel. From what Rodrik seen and heard, he was as good a commander of ships as he was a builder of them.

When he saw Rodrik Greyjoy, Harras Harlaw, and Tristifer Botly approach him, Dale flashed a friendly smile and greeted them with a gruff "Good morning."

Rodrik gave a stiff nod in return. He remarked "I hope you are not indisposed."

"Not at the moment," Dale Seaworth claimed. He folded his arms and queried "What can I do for you?"

"They just completed the latest attempt on the flagship," Rodrik apprised him, "I am not satisfied with the results."

"So you're doing the whole thing over?" Dale presumed. It's as though he read my mind.

"Precisely," Rodrik confirmed, "This time, I'm looking for a shipwright who is actually qualified for the job."

Dale smirked and cockily muttered "You should have come to me in the first place."

"I would have," Rodrik claimed, "But I know you're a busy man."

"Fortunately for you, my immediate timetable is empty," Dale revealed. He stood up straight, extended his right arm, and asked "May I see the designs?"

At Rodrik's signal, Harras stepped forward and held out the blueprints. Dale took them in his hands, unrolled them, and spent a couple minutes studying them. After that, he gazed up from them and declared "I'll have these plans recommissioned straightaway. Once the required capital and space have been set aside, I will assemble a team of builders."

"How long would you estimate this will all take?" Rodrik inquired in interest.

Dale stood thinking for a few seconds, and then he replied with "If we allocate our resources efficiently and properly… a turn of the moon or two."

Anyone else would have needed three or more. He's fast and reliable.

"Good," Rodrik murmured in approval, "Send us daily reports of your progress."

"Absolutely," Dale acknowledged. He then moved towards the entrance to the shipwrights' offices. Just before he went inside, he peered over his shoulder and muttered "Oh, by the way, Rodrik, you'll be interested to know that the Black Wind was sighted further up Blackwater Rush not a half-hour ago. It should be docked here within the next few minutes."

Initially, Rodrik was somewhat astonished. Then he grinned lightly and stated "I appreciate you telling me this, Dale."

"Anytime," was all the Stormlander captain said in response. Then he opened the main door to the building and swiftly entered it.

After Dale Seaworth deprived the three Ironborn of his company, Tristifer observed "She's here ahead of schedule."

"That's Asha for you," Ser Harras drily uttered. Yes, it is.

"We're not too far from the highborn docks," Tristifer professed, "If we head that way now, we may get there in time to receive her."

Count on Tris to be the first to make that suggestion. Oh, well. No point in avoiding it.

"Since I am not needed back at the Red Keep until this afternoon, I suppose we can afford to be there when the Black Wind pulls in," Rodrik thought aloud, "But remember, Tris; things have changed since you last saw Asha."

"I am not as dense as I appear, Rod," Tris sarcastically commented, "I am very much aware that things are not as they once were."

"See that you do not forget," Rodrik cautioned him.

"Relax," Tristifer bade him, "I can stay out of trouble."

"If that was true, you wouldn't have gotten yourself banished from the Islands," Harras uttered cheekily.

"I was not banished," Tristifer disputed angrily, "I was asked to temporarily live on the mainland. For my own safety, mind you. The situation has improved now, and I can go back home whenever I please."

"Yet you're still here," Rodrik pointed out.

"So are you," Tristifer contended. That was a fair point. So I am.

"Well, I'm Master of Ships," Rodrik countered, "What's your excuse?"

"I'm the assistant to the Master of Ships," Tristifer slyly proclaimed.

"I thought that was my title," Harras Harlaw stated jokily.

"There is no such title," Rodrik Greyjoy told them candidly, "You two are my aides, plain and simple."

"Your chief aides," Tris debated. He thinks overmuch of himself, doesn't he?

"Again, no such thing," Rodrik murmured plainly. He then exhaled sharply and mumbled "Just behave yourself, Tris. The woman we're about to encounter is not the girl you once loved."

"Well, she no longer has an axe for her lover," said Harras, "That's for certain."

"I do not need you pointing out the obvious either, Harr," Rodrik told his best friend, "Treat her as you would any other person of great import."

Better yet, treat her with due respect.

"Aye, Rod," Harras avowed. Tristifer nodded his agreement. That was enough to assure Rodrik that they would stir up no mischief. Thereafter, they hastily left the vicinity.

Five minutes later, they came to the highborn docks. Like the rest of the harbor, the place was bustling with activity all around. Fishermen and merchants were selling their wares. Porters were loading and unloading cargo from various ships. The on-duty gold cloaks were making their rounds on patrol. Six years previously, a shrine to the Drowned God had been built in the area's southernmost section. Standing by the altar was Beron Blacktyde, the drowned priest who led the congregation of drowned men in King's Landing.

Some of the people on the docks dipped their heads to Rodrik as he passed them. They undoubtedly knew who he was. Everyone else only gave him enough regard to stay out of his way. To their credit, they know their place. Or their courtesies, at least.

At present, most of the vessels stationed in the highborn docks were Stormlander, Westerlander, or Riverlander in make. Additionally, there were a few foreign ships that had sailed here from all the way across the Narrow Sea. Only two ships there were of Ironborn design, and neither was particularly outstanding.

Then the Black Wind made its appearance. Even alone, that one ship made for a very fine display of Ironborn strength. It certainly compensated for the conspicuous lack of Ironborn presence at the highborn docks. Rodrik could not help but grin when the longship entered his field of vision. She's a real beauty. More so than her captain.

Soon enough, the Black Wind pulled into the nearest empty port and dropped anchor. As Rodrik and his companions headed over to that spot, the gangplank was extended from the bridge of the ship to the platform below. Once the crossway was deemed stable and secure, the crew began to disembark. As usual, the captain was the first off. Normally, the captain came down alone. Not this one. This captain emerged alongside her husband.

Although Rodrik had not seen his brothers since Father's rebellion, he had occasionally seen his sister at some points in that interval. The last such occasion was only a couple years ago, when he had attended her wedding at Riverrun. While Ironborn were infamous for crashing festivities, Rodrik had not shown up at that event with the intention of ruining it. In fact, he had been invited.

The wedding between Lord Gregor Clegane and Lady Dacey Mormont had been done in such a way that it paid homage to both the Old Gods and the New Gods. Similarly, the nuptials between Ser Edmure Tully and Lady Asha Greyjoy had involved a combination of two faiths. It had taken place in the sept of Riverrun, and it had been conducted by the Old Grey Gull, a renowned drowned priest from the Islands. The oaths had been sworn by the Seven, and the saltwater blessing had been poured on the heads of both the bride and the groom.

Rodrik had been the one to give Asha away. Beforehand, he had been concerned that his lack of a whole right hand might have impeded his ability. He did not share those qualms with anyone, lest they think him insecure. Luckily, even with only seven fingers, he managed to remove the black and gold cloak of House Greyjoy from around his sister's shoulders without botching the job. He recalled how he had breathed a huge sigh of relief when Ser Edmure replaced it with the blue, red, and silver cloak of House Tully. He had never thought he would be so consoled by such a sight. Not often will a kraken willingly mate with a trout.

Many of the dishes at the feast had involved fish. That was unsurprising, seeing as most of the attendees were Riverlords and Ironborn. There were more types of fish served that night than Rodrik knew existed. Salmon, sea bass, tuna, sardines, clams, oysters, and plenty of trout. There were even some crabs that had been plucked from the Bay of Ice. Rodrik and all the other guests ate heartily that night. Wine and beer had flown freely, but Rodrik drank sparingly. Although he had been a bit of a drunk in his youth, he had become more responsible with his cups in his later years. Too much drink makes a man reckless. For all I know, that could be the real reason I lost the battle at Seagard.

Naturally, Rodrik did not participate in the bedding ceremony. That was not solely because he was related to the bride. Even if someone other than his sister had gotten married that day, Rodrik doubted many women would have enjoyed having her tits groped by cold metal.

Rodrik and his party had left Riverrun the morning after. He saw his sister and his new brother-by-law once more before he left. They were visibly exhausted from the previous night's… activities. Nonetheless, they seemed to be very happy with one another.

Two years later, they still looked every bit as happy together. As a matter of fact, Asha was glowing. In more than one way.

Rodrik was aware that he was going to be an uncle soon. A few months ago, he had received a raven from Riverrun, informing him that the castle's future lord's wife was with child. He had sent a follow-up raven, expressing his congratulations to Ser Edmure and Asha. While he mostly did that as a courtesy, he was genuinely delighted for his sister and her husband.

At this point, Asha was in the fourth month of her pregnancy. She was really starting to show by now. Her abdomen had a palpable bulge, she was slightly pale, and walking straight was a little difficult for her. When she descended the gangplank, Edmure lent her his arm for support. When they saw Rodrik, they both gave a warm smile, which he returned.

The moment Asha set foot on the docks, she practically leapt forward and threw her arms around Rodrik. He was taken aback by both that action and the suddenness of it. His sister had never been so affectionate to him before. Must be one of her mood swings. Regardless, he hugged her back.

Once they came apart from each other, Rodrik turned his attention to Ser Edmure. Continuing to grin, his brother-by-law stepped closer and cordially extended his left arm to him. Least he remembered to offer his left hand this time. The Master of Ships took the hand of the future Lord Paramount of the Trident and gave it a steadfast shake.

"How was the voyage?" Rodrik asked when Edmure released his one good hand.

"Smooth as they come," Edmure apprised him.

"Indeed," Asha conceded, "Rather scenic, as well. If you sail along the Red Fork, you'll find some lovely sights throughout the Riverlands this year."

"Fascinating," Rodrik uttered bluntly. Based on their countenances, his tone must have been enough to indicate that he did not especially care for sightseeing. When I get on a ship, beautiful scenery is far from the top of my list of priorities.

After a brief pause, Rodrik declared "Go ahead and check in with the harbor master. Once the rest of your crew has disembarked, come with me. I'll escort all of you to the Red Keep."

"Sounds like a plan," Asha commented favorably.

"Only one drawback," Edmure thought aloud, "King Robert does not yet know we got in earlier than we anticipated."

"I'll send a rider to inform him of your early arrival," Rodrik proposed. That suggestion seemed to please Ser Edmure.

As Asha and Edmure waited for the crew of the Black Wind to assemble on the docks, Rodrik turned to the two Ironborn who had been there all along. "Tris, ride on to the Keep. Notify the King that the Tullys have arrived."

"You got it, Rod," Tristifer proclaimed.

As the youngest of the three Ironmen departed from the vicinity, Harras turned to Rodrik and drily muttered "So Tris can be trusted with such a critical task, but I cannot?"

"Of course not," Rodrik retorted wryly, "I did not send Tris ahead because he is more reliable or anything like that. You are still here because unlike Tris, you and Asha do not have a history."

"Ah," Harras remarked, realization setting in. He then smirked and patted Rodrik on the shoulder, saying "You know I was only jesting with you, right?"

Naturally. He definitely needs something to do. "Go help Asha and Ser Edmure get signed in with the harbor master. I'll have the stableboys ready the horses."

"Whatever you say," Ser Harras drily murmured. He promptly went to carry out that task.

About forty-five minutes elapsed. At the end of that interval, Rodrik Greyjoy, Ser Harras Harlaw, Ser Edmure Tully, Lady Asha Tully, and the whole crew of the Black Wind were out of the marina and heading for Aegon's High Hill on horseback. Most of the crew were fellow Ironmen who had moved to the Riverlands with their captain. The rest were lifelong vassals of the Tullys.

Rodrik rode at the front of the large group. He gripped his reins tightly in his left hand. Although he could direct the horse well enough with both his hands, he had long ago learned how to do so by using only one of them. This will be useful if I'm ever without my prosthetic. Or if my injury ever gets any worse.

Near the start of their ride to the Red Keep, Ser Harras, Ser Edmure, and Asha fell in beside. Right then, Asha called out to her brother "Hey, Rod!"

He promptly turned to face his younger sister. She grinned and began to softly sing: "Let the river run…"

Rodrik smiled. He sang the next lyric with his sister: "Let all the dreamers wake the nation…"

Edmure and Harras joined in and finished the verse with "Come the new Valyria…"

They all knew that song well. It was one of the many that had been composed by Lord Gregor Clegane. It was one of his earlier pieces, having been around since shortly after Greyjoy's Rebellion.

That song had been played at Edmure and Asha's wedding feast. That was the first time Lord Hoster Tully ever heard it. Rodrik could remember how perplexed Lord Hoster had been by the song's beginning. He had asked aloud "Let the Riverrun what?"

Rodrik, Edmure, and Asha had all been amused by how badly he had misheard the opening verse. They had quickly enlightened him that the actual wording was "river run," not "Riverrun." Afterward, Lord Hoster said he felt a bit of a fool for having misinterpreted the lyric. Not that anyone could really blame him for it. The first time I heard that song, I thought much the same.

In any case, it was a very pleasant song. It was especially popular in the Riverlands and the Iron Islands, given how its title and subject matter pertained to both water and success.

Soon they got to the lyric that went "It's asking for the taking. Trembling, shaking. Oh, my heart is aching…"

At that exact moment, Asha stopped singing. She placed a hand over her chest and swayed in her saddle slightly.

Edmure promptly trotted closer to his wife, placed a gentle hand on her back, and asked in concern "Is something wrong?"

After a few seconds, Asha shook her head to clear it up, and then she turned to her husband, smiled kindly, and assured him with "Yes. Just a slight dizzy spell. It's gone now, though."

Edmure let out a sigh of relief and stated "Good. If you need anything, I'm right here, my love."

"Thank you," Asha told him gratefully. She leaned over and pecked him once on the cheek.

Rodrik observed this interaction between the two spouses. Who would have thought my sister would marry such a protective man? On that note, who would have thought she would marry in general?

Given Asha's current condition, Edmure's worries were justified. Rodrik happened to share them. He looked back at her and enquired "Are you certain you should even be riding a horse right now?"

Asha flashed her elder brother an annoyed glare and spat "I'm pregnant, not helpless."

"I never said you were," Rodrik calmly rejoined.

"You implied it," Asha contended, a little ire in her voice.

"I did not," he refuted, "I merely questioned whether it was most sensible for you to be on horseback at this stage. Being temporarily unfit to ride a horse does not mean you are helpless."

"Oh, what do you even know of being helpless, anyway?" Asha snapped.

It had occurred to Rodrik that Asha was not actually trying to start a fight. Most likely, she may have simply been experiencing another mood swing, and she was just more prone to anger and other negative emotions this time. Nevertheless, that last remark of hers struck a nerve. Without uttering a single word, Rodrik slowly turned to face his sister. Then he raised his right hand so that Asha could see it.

Asha quickly realized how tactless and thoughtless her last statement had been. She looked away from her brother in shame and uttered softly "Never mind. I'm sorry, Rod. I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, Ash," Rodrik told her in reassurance. She's changed moods yet again. Three emotions in as many minutes. That is rather peculiar. "You needn't worry yourself. It'll be a dry day on the Islands before I allow harsh words to trouble me."

"I was not that harsh, was I?" Asha asked him anxiously.

"No, you were not harsh at all," Rodrik firmly proclaimed. He turned his horse so that he was facing her. Then he stated "You'll be here for at least a fortnight. Let's not start your visit off by getting all excited over nothing."

At that, Asha nodded her head and declared "Alright then."

The heated discussion ended there, much to everyone's relief.

The party trotted on in silence for a couple minutes. Then Rodrik restarted the conversation with "So, Edmure… how is your lord father?"

The heir to Riverrun did not supply an immediate answer. Instead, he gazed down at his hands in quiet contemplation, and then he drearily disclosed "He is ailing, I am afraid to say."

Normally, Rodrik did not bother to learn about the physical health of others. However, Edmure was his brother-by-law, and Edmure's father was Asha's father-by-law. Family meant very much to Rodrik Greyjoy. As such, he looked to his sister's husband and inquired "How so?"

"He has been bed-ridden for the last few months," Edmure apprised him, "His condition has only gotten progressively worse since then. Maester Vyman believes he only has a year or two left."

"I am sorry to hear that," Rodrik uttered sincerely, "Hopefully, he'll live long enough to see his ninth grandchild."

Edmure then perked up a bit and pronounced "Ninth and tenth, actually."

Rodrik was confused. "Come again?"

Asha brought her horse next to her eldest brother's and placed a hand on her abdomen. She told him "Maester Vyman believes I am carrying twins."

"Oh?" Rodrik murmured in pleasant surprise. When Asha nodded her head, he smiled again and declared "That's wonderful!"

"Yes, it is," Edmure concurred, beaming with pride.

"Have you decided on names yet?" Rodrik asked quite suddenly.

"As it happens, we have," Asha disclosed, "For the girl, Minisa, in honor of Edmure's late mother."

"And for the boy, Urrigon, in honor of your late uncle," Edmure supplemented.

"Excellent choices," Rodrik proclaimed. Ah, yes. Good old Uncle Urrigon. I have so many fond memories of him from my youth. Too bad he had to die just because that useless maester could not treat his infection properly. "Well, give my regards to Lord Hoster when next you see him. Tell him I am honored that my nephew will one day be the Lord of Riverrun, and that he will be named for my beloved uncle."

That came off as more sentimental than I would have liked. Be that as it may, Edmure and Asha had no objections to it. They seemed perfectly willing to grant that simple request.

By this point, the company was more than halfway to Aegon's High Hill. The Red Keep was starting to loom up on them quickly.

Edmure and Asha had never been to King's Landing before. Logically, they had never seen the massive edifice that was the Red Keep before, either. One look at their faces was enough to tell Rodrik that they were both deeply amazed by its size, structure, and magnificence. Rodrik had a similar reaction to the first time he saw the Red Keep. OF course, back then, it had been his prison. Even though it no longer was, it was not as impressive as it used to be. It isn't so splendid after you've lived in it for ten years.

Once they got over their awe, Edmure and Asha resumed focusing on the path in front of them. Edmure turned back to Rodrik and remarked "Well, enough about my father for now. Tell me; how is yours?"

Still on the Wall, last I checked. Rodrik replied with "I would not know. I have not seen him lately. Not since he went north."

Last he heard of Father, he was at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, which was under the control of Cotter Pyke. The thought alone sickened Rodrik. My father, the great Balon of House Greyjoy, taking orders from a bastard of the Iron Islands… this is truly a cruel world we live in if such a thing can come to pass.

"You may be interested to know that Father has been promoted," Asha apprised him.

That succeeded in catching Rodrik's interest. "Promoted how?"

"The Wall recently reopened another of their castles, Woodswatch-by-the-Pool," Ser Edmure expounded, "Lord Balon was tasked with leading its garrison."

"Oh, jolly good," Rodrik mumbled mockingly. He went from serving under a bastard to being the lord of a fucking pool. That's progress if ever I saw it.

"Look on the bright side, Rod," Asha advised her brother, "Father finally has a command of his own."

"He already had a command of his own eleven years ago, Ash," Rodrik muttered bitterly, "Or have you forgotten that Uncle Victarion was not always meant to be Grandfather Quellon's successor?"

Asha appeared indignant. "Of course I haven't forgotten. What kind of question is that?"

One that warranted asking, given what I just heard, sister dear. "That was his last true command. Even if he has control of a whole garrison of black brothers, he still answers to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. Isn't that remarkable? It was Lord Jorah Mormont who crippled me at the battle of Seagard. Now his father is giving orders to ours. It is as though we are destined to be subjugated by the Mormonts. There was once a time when our names were feared by those who resided on Bear Island."

"Those days are long gone, brother," Asha muttered solemnly, a bit of tension detectable in her voice, "There is no point in brooding on them anymore. Anyway, we are hardly servants of the Mormonts. The Greyjoys still wield far greater power and influence than they."

Seeing as the Mountain married a Mormont, I would question the validity of that observation. Ser Edmure must have sensed some hostility, as he hastily muttered "I should not have addressed this matter. Let us not say anything more on it."

"That may be for the best," Rodrik agreed. Unless you want tempers to flare.

"Well, here's a new topic," Asha announced, "Aunt Gysella is having another babe."

"Is that right?" Harras asked rhetorically. I nearly forgot he was here.

"Yes, it is," Asha affirmed, "Nuncle Victarion sent a raven a few weeks before we departed Riverrun. According to what the maesters have told him, little Gregor will be an elder brother in about six or seven months."

"That's marvelous, Asha," Rodrik said in a tone so dry that it was obvious he really thought the news was anything but, "This is still not something I'd like to converse on. If I was interested in what goes on back home, I would have asked for word of it. I propose we just continue on to the Red Keep in silence."

Edmure, Asha, and Harras said nothing to protest that suggestion. They do not wish to aggravate me. Whether that's for my benefit or theirs, I could not say. In either case, it is fortunate. All this talk about Uncle Victarion and Father can produce no good whatsoever.

Rodrik was aware that Asha was one of the many Ironborn who now frowned upon the rebellion their father had launched, as well as everything Lord Balon and his uprising stood for. By all accounts, Maron and Theon shared those views. Rodrik had yet to develop such a mindset. If Balon Greyjoy still had one stalwart supporter in the whole of the world, it was his eldest son.

Another major difference between Rodrik and his younger siblings was how pleased they each were with how their lives were going. There was no denying that Asha was quite happy with her life. After all, she was married to the future Lord of Riverrun, and she was carrying their children, one of whom would also be Lord of Riverrun one day. From what Rodrik heard, Theon and Maron were also very happy with their current accommodations in the North. What I'd give for a taste of their happiness.

At first glance, one would have assumed that Rodrik found his life in the capital city to be quite fulfilling. Alas, he was not content with it. In public, he may have seemed so. In actuality, it was a different story.

Secretly, Rodrik Greyjoy HATED King's Landing. He hated virtually everything about it.

He hated the pretentious atmosphere. He hated the absurdly small ratio of Ironborn residents. He hated the never-ending political disputes. He hated having to constantly look over his shoulder for fear of being overheard by spies. He hated that godawful smell.

Then again, the smell had improved since Rodrik first came to King's Landing. A few years back, Lord Gregor Clegane had proposed that proper waste management be implemented in the capital city. After the King approved the suggestion, the Mountain had commissioned a team of Essosi architects – the very same team which had renovated Moat Cailin – to build a sewer system for King's Landing. It had been an expensive and time-consuming endeavor, but the outcome was well worth everything. Now the city no longer smelt of piss, shit, and other unpleasant, unidentifiable odors. One could say it finally smelt how a city was supposed to smell. Rodrik was not entirely certain what that was. What is a city supposed to smell like?

The closest thing the Iron Islands had to a city was Lordsport, the seat of House Botley, and it smelt of salt and fish. Of course, everything on the Islands smells of salt and fish. A proper Ironborn city would smell that way. But this is not an Ironborn city, and it never will be.

As much as Rodrik despised living in King's Landing, it was preferable to the alternative. He had been allowed a one-week visit back to Pyke during each year of his incarceration at King's Landing. When his confinement ended, he was free to go back home as often as he pleased. If he wanted to, he could even leave for the Islands and never return to the mainland.

However, the end of Rodrik's confinement had coincided with when Victarion Greyjoy withdrew from the Legion without Banners and sailed back to Pyke to sit the Seastone Chair. Rodrik had not gone back to the Iron Islands since then. He had no desire to go back there whilst Victarion was in charge. He could hardly even think of his uncle without being consumed by the overwhelming feelings of malice and betrayal.

So he opted to stay in King's Landing indefinitely. Much as he detested the capital, he detested a Pyke ruled by Victarion Greyjoy far more. At least here, I can make a name for myself, and no one will deprive me of what is mine.

Master of Ships was not as powerful and prestigious a position as Lord of Pyke, but Rodrik had earned it on his own merits. He took some comfort in the knowledge that his services were appreciated, that his work was benefiting the whole of Westeros (particularly the Iron Islands), and that he was establishing himself by doing something he enjoyed doing.

Designing and building ships for the Royal Army was the one highlight of Rodrik Greyjoy's otherwise glum and uneventful life. Oftentimes, it was essentially the very thing that inspired him to keep going. It may not be much, but it is all I have.

Needless to say, there were still times when he yearned for more. Mainly, if he had the opportunity to seize the Seastone Chair from his Uncle, he would undoubtedly do so. But the way things stood now, that would never happen. After all, he was about as significant and prevailing in the world as the Targaryens.

However, unlike the Targaryens, Rodrik still had his connection to his ancestral home. He had never been officially removed from his family's line of succession; he had merely been displaced. If anything happened to his uncle and cousin, lordship of Pyke would fall to him. That thought was tempting. Be that as it may, Victarion and Gregor Greyjoy were on the other side of the Seven Kingdoms, surrounded by hundreds of loyal retainers. No way to get past them without anyone noticing. Oh, well. That aside, I am no kinslayer.

Soon enough, Rodrik and his company came to the Red Keep. They found the portcullis raised and the drawbridge lowered. Tristifer Botley was waiting for them there, astride his chestnut palfrey.

"Hey there, Tris," Asha greeted her one-time love interest.

"Pleasure to see you again, my lady," Tristifer said formally.

"None of that 'my lady' crap," Asha murmured cheekily, "My name is Asha."

"Oh, and here I thought it was 'Yara,'" Tristifer joked.

Yara? What kind of stupid name is that?

Tristifer was not alone. There were two other men with him. One was a Dornishman with long black hair, a pointed beard, and large golden earrings. He was Ser Aron Santagar, the master-at-arms of the Red Keep. The other was a middle-aged landed knight of the Stormlands. He was Ser Davos Seaworth, Dale's father and Lord Stannis Baratheon's most trusted advisor. Each man was sitting atop a brown garron.

"Welcome back, Lord Rodrik," Ser Aron bade the Master of Ships. Ser Davos gave a polite nod.

Rodrik was no real lord. Even so, as a member of the small council, he was normally addressed as such. Not that I have any complaints.

"Good day, Ser Aron, Ser Davos," Rodrik returned the greeting, "Fancy seeing you here."

"The King was holding court when I got here," Tristifer notified him, "As such, I was unable to speak to him, but I managed to find Lord Stannis instead. I told him of Ser Edmure and Asha's arrival, and he sent Ser Davos and Ser Aron to receive them."

"We are grateful for the acknowledgment," Edmure Tully proclaimed, "I hope our early coming did not inconvenience anyone."

"Not at all, my lord," Ser Davos asserted, "The King is still holding court as we speak, but you will be able to seek an audience with him this afternoon. Would you care to get some rest before then?"

"Certainly," Asha replied.

Ser Aron nodded and announced "Chambers have already been prepared for you in the Maidenvault. Most of you will room with two or more others. Ser Edmure and Lady Asha will have their own private chamber near the Tower of the Hand."

There were no objections from the company, apart from the occasional grumble. But that was to be expected. Ironborn will find anything to grumble about, even if they are pleased.

A couple minutes later, they were at the stables of the Red Keep. The horses were turned over to the stableboys, and a small group of porters assisted them with their baggage. Once all that was handled, the entire party went inside the Red Keep.

They parted ways there. Ser Aron led the Ironborn and Rivermen to the Maidenvault. Ser Harras and Tristifer accompanied them. Rodrik and Ser Davos escorted Asha and Ser Edmure to the Tower of the Hand.

Though Davos Seaworth was over a decade his senior, Rodrik Greyjoy got on with the Onion Knight quite well. Almost as well as Rodrik got along with Ser Davos' eldest son. It turned out they had very much in common.

Both had a mutual love of ships and maritime adventures. Both had gotten into a fair amount of trouble in their youth. Both now served under the King and his brother. Additionally, neither of them had two complete hands. However,Ser Davos was only missing the first knuckle of each of the fingers on his left hand. He kept the bones in a pouch around his neck. He liked to call the pouch his luck. If four knuckles were all I lost at Seagard, I would have called it luck, too. Furthermore, when their hands had gotten maimed, the action had been called "justice" by the man who did so. It would seem wartime justice and peacetime justice are two entirely different things. Ser Davos is fortunate it was not his right hand.

When they got to the Tower of the Hand, they came across a tall woman with auburn hair. The moment she saw them, she broke into a wide grin and came to them with her arms outstretched. She called out merrily "Edmure!"

Edmure Tully braced himself as his sister approached him. She pulled the heir to Riverrun into a tight hug, which he tentatively returned. He whispered not unkindly "It is good to see you, too, Lysa."

After a few moments, Lysa Arryn pulled away from her younger brother and turned her attention to the woman at his side. She smiled and thought aloud "This must be your blushing bride."

That's not a word I'd used to describe her. Nonetheless, Asha did blush slightly at being referred to as such.

Lysa stepped forward to embrace Asha, as well, but the Ironwoman hastily held up her hand and beckoned her "No hugs, please!"

Lady Lysa seemed alarmed, bewildered, and a little hurt. Luckily, Asha thought fast and placed a hand on her midsection. She added in "At least not until this passes."

Lysa appeared to understand that. I thought she would, having been through that process three times herself.

The Hand's wife smiled again and leant forward until that her face was nearly level with Asha's abdomen. She cooed softly "Hello, you. I'm your Aunt Lysa. You're going to be part of a wonderful family, little darling."

Rodrik did not know whether to chuckle or cringe. His sister did the latter. Her husband did the former. He must have seen this coming. Too bad he could not have warned Asha in advance.

Lady Lysa Arryn had to be the most eccentric person Rodrik knew. She had been that way for as long as he had known her. But it could have been far worse. He had heard that shortly before he came to King's Landing, she had been very unstable. Apparently, the death of a childhood friend had shocked her into a near-unresponsive state. Thankfully, her husband and the Grand Maester had helped her through that ordeal. I doubt she ever made a full recovery, but at least she is not violent or delusional. Just strange.

Soon enough, Lysa returned to her full height and declared "Alyssa, Robin, and Donella are at their lessons with Prince Tommen and the princesses, but I hope you'll see them later."

"Of course we will," Edmure assured her. Asha nodded compliantly.

Lysa grinned again and pronounced "In the meantime, come with me. I'll show you to your quarters."

Edmure and Asha allowed the Hand's wife to lead them to the highborn bedchamber that had been set aside for them. Once they were gone, Rodrik was left alone with Ser Davos. But not for very long.

"I should get back to the Great Hall," the Onion Knight thought aloud, "Lord Stannis is expecting me to return soon."

"Then do not let me keep you, good ser," Rodrik told the older man, "Will I see you again when the small council convenes today?"

"If I am summoned, yes," Davos Seaworth replied, "But I have yet to be."

"In any case, take care," Rodrik Greyjoy bade him.

As Ser Davos headed back to the throne room, Rodrik went to his own bedchamber in Maegor's Holdfast. As soon as he was behind locked door, he allowed himself a few moments of respite.

Without even glimpsing at the looking glass against the wall, Rodrik knew he looked filthy. He certainly felt filthy. Spending half the day by the harbor will do that. It would not do if he showed up at the small council meeting looking so disorderly. Better wash up.

Rodrik swiftly called for hot water. As ever, the maids were quick to obey. Once the tub was full, he dismissed them and stripped out of his soiled clothing. He removed his prosthetic half-hand last, and then he climbed into the tub and soaked for a good twenty minutes. While some people may have been content to be washed by their maids, Rodrik preferred to do his own bathing. He wanted to be as independent as possible to make up for all the situations where he could not be, due to his injured hand.

Once his body was rid of sweat and grime, Rodrik emerged from the tub, toweled off, and proceeded to get into some new attire. That morning, he had only worn a tunic and breeches. He always dressed casually whenever he went down to the docks. The afternoon would require some more formal apparel.

Rodrik Greyjoy clad himself in a black doublet with the golden kraken of his house emblazoned on the front, along with a pair of woolen trousers and a cloak of black and gold. In the last ten years, he had mastered putting on a belt using only his left hand. After fastening the belt's buckle, he picked up his prosthetic, attached it to the clamp on his right hand, and locked it in place.

He took a few more moments to study his appearance in the looking glass. He smoothed down his hair so that it was not so unkempt. He also trimmed his beard with a small pair of shears. He had had this beard since before Father's rebellion. He liked to keep it thin and even. He had once considered losing the beard altogether, but he decided shaving it with only one good hand was not worth the effort.

Shortly after Rodrik finished tidying up, there was a knock on the door. He called out "Yes?"

One of the many guards of the Red Keep opened the door. By his colors, he was a Lannister man. He dipped his head and revealed "The King has called a gathering of the small council, m'lord. Your presence is required in the Throne Room."

Rodrik nodded in acknowledgment and clapped his hands together. Ouch.

As he shook out the slight twine of pain in his left hand, Rodrik muttered "Very well. I shall leave immediately."

Rodrik hurriedly made his way to the small council chamber beside the Throne Room. When he got there, he discovered he was the last to arrive. Everyone else was already assembled.

King Robert Baratheon was seated at the head of the table. To his right sat his wife, Cersei of House Lannister. Customarily, the Queen was not part of the small council. Then again, customarily, the King was a Targaryen. Apart from that, the King was known to value his wife's opinion.

To the King's left was his Hand, Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East. Lord Jon was an elderly man, more than twice the age of his wife, but he was still as strong, patient, and reliable as he had ever been.

The eunuch Varys served as Master of Whisperers. Ser Barristan Selmy served as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The King's brother Lord Stannis Baratheon served as Master of Laws. Marwyn the Mage served as Grand Maester. Ser Kevan Lannister served as Master of Coin. Lastly, Rodrik Greyjoy served as Master of Ships.

Lord Gregor Clegane was the Master of Order. The position had been made specifically for him. However, the Mountain was seldom able to attend the small council meetings, given how he had business all over the Seven Kingdoms.

There were normally eight chairs at the small council table. A ninth would be brought out on the rare occurrences when Lord Gregor appeared. This time, two more chairs had been brought out. They were currently occupied by Ser Edmure Tully and Lady Asha Greyjoy.

"I sincerely apologize if I've kept you waiting," Rodrik quickly murmured as he took his usual spot at the far end of the table.

"You haven't, Rodrik," King Robert claimed, "But now that you are here, we can begin."

How reassuring, Rodrik thought wryly. The meeting started right then.

The King folded his hands together and declared "First of all, I would like to extend a royal welcome to Ser Edmure Tully and his wife, Lady Asha Tully née Greyjoy. May your first visit to King's Landing be a pleasant one."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Edmure Tully said appreciatively, "Alas, it will likely be a brief one."

"Why is that?" Robert Baratheon enquired.

"It has to do with the reason for our coming," Asha disclosed. She sat up in her chair, placed her hands on the surface of the table, and stated "Earlier this month, we received two missives from Moat Cailin. The first was addressed to me, and it was sent by my brother Maron."

"The other was addressed to me, and my Uncle Brynden was the one who sent it," Edmure Tully continued for her, "However, the two letters may as well have been one, as they both pertained to the same subject. In fact, apart from the signatures, they used the exact same wording."

"What were these letters about?" Queen Cersei questioned, somewhat demandingly. That is just like the Queen; always trying to cut straight to the heart of the matter.

"Simply put, Lord Gregor Clegane is arranging a conference," Ser Edmure disclosed, "He means for it to take place at Harrenhal."

"When?" Stannis Baratheon inquired.

"That remains to be determined," Asha pronounced. She looked to the King and professed "They claim Lord Gregor will only select a day that you agree to, Your Grace."

"Why would he need my approval on the date of this conference?" Robert Baratheon asked, baffled.

"Because Lord Gregor wishes for you to attend it," Edmure disclosed.

Rodrik was astounded. Well, that was abrupt. But definitely to the point. The King and the other members of the small council were intrigued.

"Why does he wish that?" Jon Arryn inquired.

Edmure continued with "According to what our relations in the North have told us, Lord Gregor has acquired new intelligence on the Targaryens. Intelligence he wishes to share with the crown."

King Robert gave a dismissive wave of his hand and muttered "If you refer to the matter of how Viserys Targaryen plans to auction his sister Daenerys for a Dothraki horde, the Mountain needn't bother with a conference. We are already well-aware of that issue."

"Actually, what he has to share is not about the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea, Your Grace," Asha professed, "It is about their brother."

Again, Rodrik and the others on the small council were perplexed.

"What possible reason would he have for discussing Rhaegar Targaryen?" Robert mumbled sardonically, "The man has been dead for sixteen years. I would know; I was there when he died."

Hells, you were the one who did the deed.

"The precise term Maron and Ser Brynden used was 'Rhaegar's legacy,'" Asha recounted, "Apparently, Lord Gregor has made a vast breakthrough regarding the late prince."

"As to what this breakthrough is, we haven't an inkling," Edmure admitted, "Maron and the Blackfish were very vague in their description of it. Be that as it may, the Mountain believes this information could be used to greatly benefit the realm and establish peace with the Targaryens once and for all."

"Such information would be invaluable," Kevan Lannister thought aloud.

"And dangerous," Varys commented.

"It must be, if Lord Gregor thinks it so imperative that I meet him face-to-face when he makes this revelation," King Robert observed.

"He believes a raven or a rider would be too risky," Asha illuminated, "As well as ineffectual and insufficient. Sending an emissary or a middleman would pose the same complications."

Then it appears a direct meeting is the only way to go.

"Why can't the conference take place here?" Rodrik queried.

"Lord Gregor has his reasons," Asha apprised her brother, "Mainly, he believes this information should not yet be distributed in King's Landing. It could be… gravely misinterpreted. In the wrong hands, it could yield devastating results."

"But why Harrenhal?" Ser Barristan Selmy said inquisitively.

"Lord Gregor claims Harrenhal is the one of the few places in the whole of Westeros where this conference can occur and all involved parties will feel safe," Edmure professed. You certainly could not say the same if it took place at Pyke. "I am inclined to agree with him. Furthermore, Harrenhal is part of my house's domain. My lord father has already given the Mountain permission to host this conference at Harrenhal. So has Lady Shella Whent."

"Suppose Robert simply refused to come to Harrenhal," Cersei Lannister conjectured.

"Lord Gregor would understand, of course," Varys contended, "But there are holes in these walls, and my little birds are not the only ones who make use of them."

"That aside, the Mountain would not waste our time with trivial matters," Robert Baratheon asserted, "If he believes we must convene at Harrenhal, then so be it."

"So you will consent to attend the confence, Your Grace?" Edmure said hopefully.

The King said in meditative silence for no less than five minutes. Clearly, he was weighing every possible option and considering their individual advantages and disadvantages all on his own.

Ultimately, he let out a slow breath and declared "Yes. The Master of Order has never let me down before. It is highly improbable that he intends to start now. So I will hear him out on his terms."

Edmure and Asha seemed pleased by that decision. Clearly, the King's answer means as much to them as it will to Lord Gregor. They must be somehow invested in this affair, too.

"There is one thing I'd like to know, Asha," Rodrik told his sister, "Did you come all the way here just to tell us this?"

"Well, we did have some lesser motives for coming," Asha informed him, "But, yes; this message was the primary purpose for our visit."

"So why did you not send us a raven?" Rodrik enquired.

"For the same reason Lord Gregor has not sent you one yet," Edmure Tully disclosed, "We wished to convey the magnitude of the importance of this conference. Again, what better way than face-to-face?"

"Spoken words are more meaningful than written words," Varys conceded.

"Indeed," Edmure agreed, "The idea to deliver the message directly was given to us by our relations on the Legion's secret council. We took the advice, as I trust my uncle implicitly."

"Just as I trust my brother," Asha commented, "Neither of them would mislead or misguide us. They told us Lord Gregor wanted the small council to hear of this matter in person before he sent a raven."

"So he will send one?" Stannis Baratheon noted.

"Yes," Edmure affirmed, "It should arrive any day now. Could be as soon as today."

At that, the King turned to Marwyn and asked him "Grand Maester, have any ravens come in from Moat Cailin since this morning?"

"As it happens, one has, Your Grace," Marwyn the Mage professed. He reached into his robe, pulled out a small rolled up parchment, and passed it to King Robert. He revealed "It arrived just an hour ago. Originally, I planned to make it the first point of discussion at today's meeting. Had Ser Edmure and Lady Asha not gotten in when they did, it would have been."

Then some good came out of their early arrival after all. King Robert unrolled the parchment and started to examine its contents.

"I have already read the message, Your Grace," Grand Maester Marwyn disclosed, "It will confirm everything Ser Edmure and Lady Asha just said."

King Robert spent ten minutes reviewing the message. After that, he looked up and announced "Lord Gregor would prefer to meet before year's end, but sooner would be better. Even so, we will need some time to prepare for the occasion."

"So, when will you have the conference, Your Grace?" Kevan Lannister inquired.

"Sometime between three and five weeks from now," Robert Baratheon thought aloud, "What's more, I will not go alone. Cersei, Jon, you will accompany me. I will need your counsel more than ever at this conference. The rest of the small council will manage the city in our absence."

Queen Cersei and Lord Jon both nodded their agreement. They seemed pleased with the King's decision.

They were not the only ones who were pleased. The King, Queen, and Hand would all be going away soon, and a small group of people would be left in charge. Rodrik was among them.

The King, Queen, and Hand… all absent from King's Landing, even if only for a short while…

This has possibilities…