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Betad by
The Unbound
Chapter 22: Freedom
– Kraznys mo Nakloz –
He had underestimated the so-called blessed king, in truth. He could see that now, as King Orys announced the next exhibit. The best of Astapor, and all of Essos (in his opinion), against the best that Westeros had to offer.
Or, to be more precise, he'd underestimated how much the other Free Cities would be interested in him and his so-called blessings. The Sealord's son being present made things more complicated, as Braavos had no love for Astapor, and the arrogant princeling was eager to sideline him seemingly for no reason other than for his own amusement. Nor did he know what Norvos wanted, as even he had heard of Lady Mellario, and he did not believe she had come back to Westeros just to reunite with family.
Orys wasn't meant to be fluent in High Valyrian, which would have given his creature her reason to get close and let the Qohor magic do its work. Instead, the boy spoke it like a native and had all but dismissed Missandei. For all their bold claims, the blood magic of the Qohor Warlocks had done nothing to the prince. He all but ignored the slave he should have been enthralled by.
Were it left to him, he would not have wasted his time crossing the sea if it weren't for the fact that Qohor was one of his largest clients. Their city was defended by his Unsullied, more than it was by their precious Black Goat. It meant they were important enough clients that he did not wish to lose them by refusing their request to investigate the rumours of Orys forging Valyrian Steel. If they held as much power as they claimed, he wondered why they needed him to do this, but it wasn't worth losing them as a customer and losing access to their legendary craftsmen by insulting them.
And yet, while their charm had failed entirely on the young King, it seemed all was not lost. Perhaps Orys was blessed or held some magic of his own that protected him, but the future queen seemed not quite so unaffected.
It was a shame, to be honest. Even if Missandei was freed, she was his creature. Placing his pet in the position of the Queen's handmaiden was the perfect result and yet… his men would not lose. Not when they outnumbered the sunset knights five to one. Nor would he shame his city, his name and his men's reputation by making them throw the fight for the sake of Qohor's goals.
As the fight started, he leaned back with amusement.
At least this way, he could watch Orys work his 'blessings' when the humiliated king made his new daggers, which was the main goal that Qohor wanted. He did enjoy situations where he won no matter the outcome, but it was beyond belief that an old man and some boy could beat ten of his best-
His relaxed posture vanished as he sat up, faster than he had moved in decades, his eyes widening at the sight of four of his men already on the ground. What- no, his creatures were the best warriors in the world. They couldn't-
Three moved to surround the knight whose name he could barely remember. Lorus? They moved in perfect unison, coming at him from three angles. Lor- Loras, that was it! Loras simply stood there with a smile on his annoyingly handsome face, flourishing his Valyrian Steel blade lazily.
A spear thrust from behind was easily sidestepped, the blade cutting through the shaft like butter, before he ducked under a swung sword, his hair dancing in the wind. The screams of the women in the crowd only added to his rage as he watched Loras trip one of his men, shoulder-checking the other and knocking him to the ground.
The spear wielder did not flinch, even facing down Loras alone with nothing but a broken spear, but being resolute meant nothing when it was in such utter defeat as Loras sheathed his blade and picked up the broken spear head. Kraznys could barely see what happened, from his position. His Unsullied charged, dropping his spear for a dagger, but in an instant, the broken spear head was against the throat of the fool as Loras disarmed him.
It was humiliating. His best were being toyed with by some… poncy showboater, more interested in playing to the crowd than actually fighting. It was still better than what was happening at the other side of the arena, as Barristan walked away from the broken, beaten forms of the rest. The old man seemed… bored as Orys declared his champions the victor to the cheers of the Westeros Highborns.
This… batch had to be defective. They were properly trained, but they had no actual combat experience as they'd been his bodyguards and he hadn't come under attack since they completed their training. That was all this was. All his creatures had survived, all the pity for them. It would have been more merciful if the soft knights had cut them down instead of leaving them alive to face the plaza of punishment for humiliating Astapor like this.
"Ah, so much for the best of Astapor," Marenzo added, his voice causing Kraznys to jolt forward in shock, having not realised the Seaprince had been lurking behind him. His face held a cruel amusement, his eyes gleaming with delight at the humiliation. "Quite the show, Kraznys."
Kraznys didn't manage to get a single word out before a glow distracted them both, Marenzo raising an eyebrow as a golden light shone upon the two victorious knights.
"As was declared by my predecessors long ago, Westeros is a land of free men. Our Gods, both Old and New, have all agreed on this principle from the scorching sands of Dorne to the snowy North," King Orys began, head held high and a smile on his face as his soon-to-be Queen stood beside him, their hands connected. "So, from this day forth, I declare that any man or woman who stands upon the lands of the Seven Kingdoms to be free, regardless of their origin. To our Essosi guests, as I know many of you brought your… property with you, I will extend only this grace. This edict will come into effect for all upon the completion of my wedding, at the hour of the wolf on the final day. Once this time has passed, any and all former slaves will be free and Westeros will defend their fellow free men and women, as I believe freedom to be Gods-given right that each and every man, woman and child deserves."
Marenzo's laughing was only barely audible over the cheers of the Westeros fools, Orys adding insult to the injury he had already dealt to the pride of Astapor.
"I told father this would be interesting, if nothing else," Marenzo muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "I must thank you, Kraznys. You made an already amusing day all the more interesting."
As Marenzo slipped away, Kraznys wasn't so enraged as to not notice how… smoothly the boy walked. He could hear no footsteps, and the child held a grace to him that seemed out of place for a merchant prince.
"You know your role, pet," Kraznys growled beneath his breath, glancing at Missandei with a promise of pain in his gaze. She might be freed from slavery, but not from him nor from the magic of the Qohor warlocks.
– King Orys Baratheon –
I'll admit that I am… escalating matters earlier than intended. From the moment I gained these blessings, my gaze was already turning eastward in curiosity, but I never intended to actually interact with Essos until after Westeros was well and truly secured. I always knew that Braavos would be unavoidable; we owe the Iron Bank too much to avoid them, but the rest only do some business with Westeros, and I intended to keep them at arm's length until I was prepared to potentially expand to the east.
And yet, power attracts. It is a simple reality of the world. The more blessings I display, the more attention I will garner from both my own realm and beyond. Kraznys showed me that not only do the Free Cities have their eyes upon my realm, but their arrogance means they believe they can enter my land and act as they please.
My declaration has no effect on any of my subjects. Slavery is, and has always been, outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms, even if the Ironborn have danced along that line unpunished for far too long. There should not be a single slave in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. That said, I am not so deluded as to think that such a thing is true, because Littlefinger proved just how corrupt people can be. He may have been the mastermind, but his corruption survived because of the hedonism and greed of others.
The point is that none of my subjects should be inconvenienced by my decree, and any that are definitely won't dare to complain to my face about it. This is aimed exclusively at our Essosi guests. They may practice their… trade all they want in their land, for now, but I will not sit here and watch arrogant, fat merchants bring slaves into my realm. They are welcome here, but if they bring slaves onto my shores, then they will lose them.
The now all-so-familiar golden light does not fade as I look down at Barristan and Loras, the pair standing proud and triumphant after their victory over the Unsullied. I chose these too for a reason, as I seem to lose focus for a moment, my eyes closing. At this point, with all the legends around me, the arena goes silent with anticipation as I commune with the Gods once again.
Talos has chosen his champion, the Knight of the Warrior, and I declare as much as Barristan straightens up. Despite his age, he remains the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms and likely beyond. Talos would accept nothing less, and as Arthur Dayne is long gone, Barristan the Bold is the natural choice for the Knight of the Warrior. He's proud, but composed, as he is chosen. At the end of the day, who is going to argue?
It only makes sense that the Blessed King is protected by the Knights of the Seven. There is no rule saying you can't be a Kingsguard and one of the Knights of the Seven. They're under the command of both the Faith and the Crown, but the High Septon is tactful enough to understand that he cannot hope to command Barristan. While Barristan adds a level of renown to the Knights of the Seven with his legend, his annointment serves to weaken the High Septon by placing one of the Seven Knights thoroughly out of his control.
Which is why, when Talos makes a suggestion, I listen and agree. I can't help but notice that he was laughing at the time, but his suggestion holds merit. Mara and Stendarr almost sigh as I reach out, while Mephala and Talos seem to find this all too amusing as I find my 'Maiden'.
Dibella, the Goddess of Beauty, Love, Affection, Art, and Music, accepts my olive branch with an innocent smile, but even in my mind, she's utterly nude, unlike the chaste Maiden. Mephala just finds the idea of such a deity becoming the Maiden highly amusing, but in the end, she can fill the role well enough. In the end, can I say that any of her domains are not beautiful and welcome within my realm?
She enjoys beautiful things, so it is only fitting that her Knight be equally so. Loras, the Knight of Flowers, and another that the High Septon could not command, stares in disbelief as the light embraces him. Alerie gasps and Margaery smiles in delight as Loras accepts his annointment with surprising grace. The High Septon, eager to ingratiate himself with the crown and the Queen's family, is quick to praise Loras as the second coming of Galladon of Morne, the 'Perfect Knight' whose valour was so great that the Maiden herself adored him.
Dibella calls him ugly, both in looks and soul. The man has faith, true, but no real love for anything but himself and his position. Or maybe she just finds his chastity distasteful. As it stands, Loras does love more than himself and his reputation. He loves his family, his realm and Renly. Three things that will keep him loyal to me, as my aura sight grows stronger.
Where I once saw the webs connecting people, I now see the bonds of affection as well. It is almost worrying how little love I see in the many married couples I can see amongst the Highborns.
"I imagine many of my fellow Essosi nobles are currently rushing to get their pleasure slaves back onto their ships," Lady Mellario muses as I retake my seat. Despite her words, she's got an amused smile on her face as I simply smile. "Of course, many of those slaves are likely wondering if they can escape for a week."
"Slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms. If they were foolish enough to bring slaves here, they deserve to lose them. I see you don't seem worried, Lady Mellario," I point out, and she just chuckles.
"As you said, slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms. I spent enough time here to know that bringing any slaves from Norvos would have been looked down upon, so I came with only freeborn as my retinue," Mellario admits easily. "Norvos will care little for this declaration. While my home does practice slavery, it is not to the extent of places like Astapor and Tyrosh, and what little trade we do with the Seven Kingdoms is done by freeborn merchants."
"You worry that the Unsullied might one day find themselves warring in Westeros," Arianne says after a moment, getting my attention. She's annoyingly smart sometimes, with a thoughtful smile on her lips. "If you spread word of this decree, every slave seeking freedom will look to the West for sanctuary. If war ever comes between the Free Cities and Westeros, and they send the Unsullied, they have to hope that their armies won't desert to become free men the moment they land upon your realm."
"I value freedom. Both the Old Gods and the Seven have decried slavery since the formation of their religion, and the Seven Kingdoms were built by free men and women. I refuse to stand by and let oily merchants bring slaves into my realm, unafraid of consequences," I reply simply.
"Then I take it you already have worked out why Kraznys came to your land?" Mellario asks, head tilting in curiosity.
"On the behalf of Qohor, who are likely his biggest customers as their city has always been defended by Unsullied. I'll admit that my knowledge of the histories of the Free Cities is lacking, but Kraznys gave himself away with his desire for a dagger. Qohor could reforge him a dagger, and it would be far easier for him to get one from his neighbour and customer rather than a foreign King," I agree.
"Qohor fears you may threaten their trade of Valyrian Steel. More so, they fear your 'blessings' will threaten their religion," Mellario confirms. "And even still, you decided to take Missandei and place her in a position where she could become a knife at your back. It is easy to declare that she is no longer a slave, but the chains in her mind are far harder to remove."
"I am aware, yes," I admit, stroking the back of Margaery's hand as she frowns. "But changing who holds that chain is easier. She might not understand freedom, but I will ensure that she understands that her master has changed. She is to serve Margaery as a handmaiden, and that means I cannot permit any of her former masters to hold sway over her."
Those who serve my house will serve no one else. I won't permit dual loyalties. Mephala's gift allows me to see the webs connecting people, and with her power, I will snip at any threads that dare to connect to those who serve me.
Kraznys is not gracious in defeat, despite his attempt to hide his snide glee at placing 'his' tool by Margaery's side. It isn't what he was aiming for, but it's still a good outcome for him, as far as he is concerned. Talos' advice is to simply take my father's hammer and beat Kraznys to death, but even he said it in jest. Mostly.
I suspect none of his Unsullied are going to survive the punishment for their defeat, and I do feel for them, but it isn't worth further antagonising Astapor to save them openly. Instead, I can simply offer them a lifeline and see if they take it as Mephala and Stendarr work side by side. From their mutual distrust, I get the feeling this isn't a pairing they would see in their world, but things change. Instead, we just plant a single idea into the Unsullied's minds.
If they don't leave, by my decree, they'll be free this time next week. Kraznys is relying on their training to keep them loyal, even as he berates them and promises pain for humiliating him. Maybe the Black Goat can protect him from our influence, but can it protect him from the blades of his own men? It's like the very idea of his men turning on him is impossible to him, but Arianne is right. Wouldn't it be fun if they couldn't send the Unsullied across the ocean without facing rebellion and desertion?
And how better to send that message than to have these men slay their slaver and seek freedom in the Seven Kingdoms? The first Unsullied to step foot in the Seven Kingdoms in years rebelling despite their training wouldn't be a slap to Astapor, it'd be a sucker punch from behind and then a kick to the balls while they try to recover.
In time, I am going to conquer Essos. I won't permit the blight of slaver cities to exist just beyond the horizon. Qohor don't realise it, but all they've done is convince me that I need to turn my attention eastward sooner than expected. Still, I haven't forgotten Ithelia's warning that the North is the true threat, and I wouldn't be able to sell just randomly invading Essos anyway. So, the best I can do for now is work to weaken them in preparation for the inevitable.
Besides, I've had to frequently acknowledge that I don't know nearly enough about Essos and going to war with a lack of information is just asking to get beaten. I can't rely on my blessings too much. I can't forget that all this power belongs to the gods; I'm just lending it. So, when I'm lacking in knowledge or power, it is natural to find someone else to be strong where I am weak.
"Tell me, Lady Mellario, how are you enjoying being back in the Seven Kingdoms?" I ask, a small grin forming on my lips.
"I had missed it, in truth. While I have no particular desire to return to Dorne, the Seven Kingdoms were always exotic to me," Mellario admits with a smile. It's funny to imagine how something that seems so normal to me would be exotic to her, but I suppose it works both ways. "Why do you ask?"
"Because recent events have shown me just how little I know of the world, and I find myself in need of an expert in the world beyond my Seven Kingdoms," I admit, catching Arianne's brief shock. Who was it who said I should add someone from Dorne to the Small Council? Surely the Prince's wife counts, right? Only, she expected to get the position herself. Sorry, Arianne. I win this round. "As such, I am going to be creating a position on my council for the Master of Foreign Affairs. But, as you no doubt know, we Westerosi are insular folks which leaves you uniquely suited for the seat as both an Essosi native and the wife, estranged or not, of the Prince of Dorne."
Mellario is clearly caught off guard by my almost casual offer, while Arianne gives me a look that somehow manages to be both amused and annoyed at the same time, rolling her eyes. Despite her surprise, Mellario gathers her thoughts quickly, composure never breaking.
"It would be my honour to assist you with such matters, Your Grace," Mellario says with a respectful bow. Despite her graceful movements, I don't miss that her movement puts her considerable cleavage on display in the same move that I've seen Arianne do a dozen times, and Mellario is just as blessed as her daughter in such matters. It is… harder than I care to admit to keep my eyes steady, especially with Margaery sitting beside me. "I will diligently serve under you to the best of my abilities, in whatever position you deem most fitting for me."
Oh Gods, she really is just a second Arianne.
Dorne can't complain when their Prince's wife is on my council, right? But the fact that they're estranged means this limits how much benefit Doran actually gets from this. With Dibella's aid, I can see the withered affection they share. Mellario's bond with her daughter is far stronger, but her affection for her husband has long since died out.
Mephala doesn't help my composure by pointing out how, with just the right words and implications, I could have the mother and daughter sharing my bed tonight, the image of two incredibly curvy bodies pressed together in my sheets flashing through my mind. Dibella only adds to my struggle as she admits that Mephala isn't wrong. It's only as Dibella and Mephala seemingly bond over the potential mother-daughter threesome that I second-guess my decision.
This is who I made the Maiden? By the Gods, I really hope I'm right and the Seven aren't real because if they are, I've done some extreme blasphemy. Talos' laughter doesn't help, and Mara quietly informs me that he's the youngest of the Nine Divines and the most 'human' as a result.
Effectively, I just got pranked by a God that would probably get along with my father.
Well, I suppose the prank is on the entirety of Westeros but I stand by my decision. Dibella's domains, beauty, love, affection, art, and music, are all things that I'd like to see more of in my realm. Adding the Innocence of the Maiden on top just adds a cherry onto an already wonderful cake.
The Maiden's chastity might be a lost cause…
Faced with my refusal to bed the mother and daughter at my wedding, Mephala moves on to another mother-daughter pair, the image of Margaery and Alerie side by side as they pleasure me. Alerie does love Mace, but her faith is so strong it verges on zealotry, and as the champion of the Gods, I cannot be wrong in her eyes. Especially now that her own son has become one of the Knights of the Seven. Dibella counters with Sansa, Arya and Catelyn, seemingly amused by her new position, visions flooding me as the other gods abandon me to the pair with a metaphysical shrug.
Shaking my head, I spot the looks several people are giving me. Fortunately, it's just awe at the sight of their King once more communing with the Divine. I can only imagine their reactions if they found out that, yes, that's exactly what's happening, but it's less grand visions or oracles and more a bored pair of Goddesses amusing themselves by harassing me.
I can't tell if Mephala and Dibella are getting along or have become instant rivals.
Fortunately for my reputation, the amusement fades as a messenger arrives from Lord Stark. I don't need to read it to know how dire it is. Eddard wouldn't request that I leave the biggest event, my own wedding, for anything less.
"Go," Margaery encourages in a quiet whisper, kissing my cheek. Fuck it, it's literally our wedding. Pulling her in close, I give her a deep kiss, feeling her melt against me before I pull back. "Five days," she murmurs into my top as I grin. With the way the box is designed, nobody outside of it can see me cop a feel of her ass through her dress, giving her a playful grin as I take the message and begin the trip.
– Later –
"I- I've never-" Pycelle admits, staring into the cage. The naked, feral woman inside shrieks as the sunlight hits her skin, burning her as baleful red eyes glare at us.
"This is most worrying," Varys agrees softly, his usual serene tone disturbed as they pull the blanket back over her. The bars are damaged, bent from the inside from her thrashing. "And you say the Boltons themself were stronger?"
"Far stronger," Robb Stark admits, a scowl on his face. Hircine's power flows through him and the woman beside him. There's a reason he's not been pushing me to hunt more, despite that ever-present urge in the back of my mind. He's been occupied in the North, where a worthy prey has appeared.
Vampires. The 'blessed' of Molag Bal.
"I've only heard Robb's words, but it cost us several men to take down this… feral girl. She's got no skill, just rage and strength, and even still she survived arrows and blades, her wounds healing overnight," Brynden Tully reports, the Blackfish scowling deeply. "Robb claims the Bolton Bastard and Lord healed much faster, and could have broken this cage with ease."
"We should put it down, Your Grace. This is most unnatural," Pycelle encourages, clearly fearful and out of his depths.
"What the bloody hell is going on in the North?" Father asks, clutching his hammer as he glares at the cage. "Orys, what are we doing with this… thing? It'd be a shame to see such a fine ass go, but unfortunately, it's attached to a bloodsucking traitor. I'd say burn it all."
"We don't have that liberty," I admit, thinking for a moment. "Whatever she is, we have one of their kind to… find out what works on them before we send good men to their deaths against the Boltons. We have to assume there are far more waiting in Winterfell. Varys, the Maidenvault is clear, yes?"
"After Prince Joffrey was permitted to leave after his… tantrum, yes, Your Grace," Varys agrees.
"I want the entire area sectioned off; nobody is to enter without my permission," I order with a sigh. "You. You're intelligent, evidently. Do you have a name?"
The woman, around Margaery's age, I would guess, glares at me as she cowers in the back of her cage away from the sunlight.
"Myranda, and my love will come for me. You can't defeat Ramsay, worm," Myranda spits.
"We shall see," I reply simply. "I want her guarded at all hours of the day. If she tries to break the cage, she is to be impaled through the bars. Move her to the Black Cells for now, while I… improve the Maidenvault to hold our guest. Pycelle, contact the Citadel."
"Are you sure that's wise, Your Grace?" Pycelle asks, getting an annoyed look from me.
"I would have thought that you, of all people, knew the value of information, Grand Maester. If she was one of a kind, I might be more eager to kill her and be done with it. As we are planning to march North to put the Boltons down, we need to know the weaknesses of these… things. Winter is coming, and the nights are getting longer and longer. If these things hunt at night, soon they'll have free rein, especially so far North. We can't rely on the sun alone."
"His Grace is correct, Pycelle," Grandfather cuts in, looking at the vampire with a distasteful scowl. "And yet, she is not the only… oddity that you have brought south. Is she, Lady Dacey, Ser Robb?"
The pair stiffen at his blunt words, but Dacey meets his gaze.
"I carry the blessing of Hrokkibeg within me, which I shared with Robb to save him," Dacey admits, head held high.
"Your Grace-" Eddard starts.
"Lady Dacey and Lord Robb are not my concern. Quite the opposite, as the blessing they carry will be useful against these creatures of the night. The North follows the Old Gods, their practices are their own," I reply, giving both Pycelle and Grandfather a warning look. Pycelle sputters slightly but Tywin just nods slightly in acknowledgement.
The Northern company seem surprised, except for Dacey. I suppose they didn't expect such a claim from the Chosen of the Seven.
"I'll send a raven, the Citadel must see this creature," Pycelle finally agrees, hobbling away.
"I will ensure that the creature is properly secured. There are too many important figures around to risk an escape," Grandfather replies, calling for the knights to move the cage. She can't do anything right now, but the sun is due to set within the next couple of hours.
I need her in a Valyrian Steel cage as soon as possible. In fact, no. I need better than Valyrian Steel for this.
"I can't help but notice that we have quite a few Vale knights here. Lord Blackfish?" I prompt, a scowl on my face.
"Aye. We have much to discuss, Your Grace, but I suspect you already know a little of it. Lysa has lost her mind, and the Vale is on the brink of civil war," Brynden admits. "I had to imprison her to stop her from doing more damage, but many of those loyal to Lord Jon see it as me imprisoning the rightful regent, as Lysa is acting on her son's behalf."
"We'll talk tomorrow. There's too much at risk for one woman's madness to be permitted to destabilise the realm. For tonight, rest. You've all had a long trip, and are honoured guests in the Red Keep," I say with a nod. "My apologies for the abruptness, but I have work to do and little time to do it. The sooner Myranda is secured, the better we will all feel."
"You'll hear no complaints from me, Your Grace. We've had a couple of close calls as it is. Still, I swear she's getting weaker. She doesn't eat or drink anything we try to give her," Brynden explains.
"If she's hoping to starve, she'll be disappointed. I don't intend to let our best lead slip away," I laugh darkly, giving them a nod as I take my leave.
— Bonus Scene — Catelyn Stark
Sitting in the chambers Eddard enjoyed thanks to his position as Hand, she combed her hair with a heavy sigh. She'd caught up on all that she had missed since they parted, and it left her very divided.
She was proud of Sansa and Arya. Admittedly, Arya was not being 'ladylike' but her friendship with King Orys was to be encouraged, and even Catelyn could admit to being proud of just how well Arya performed in the archery tournament. Sansa was everything she'd hoped her daughter would become, even gaining the mentorship of the Queen herself.
Now that Lysa's madness had been revealed, and the depths of Littlefinger's actions were revealed, her suspicion toward the Lannisters had faded, and instead, she was just grateful that someone was here to teach Sansa how to play the game. That Joffrey had turned out to be such a… brat was disappointing, but breaking a betrothal was not easily done, and Sansa was certain that she could handle him. In fact, Sansa was more confident than Cat could ever remember seeing her daughter before. She walked differently, head held high. Her flower had truly blossomed in the South.
And yet, then there were the issues. Jon had been legitimised as a Stark. She knew it was stupid to be angry at Eddard and even the King, when Jon gave his life so that she and his brother's could escape. Jon was in no position to threaten anyone, he'd left no bastards of his own, and yet she still felt bitterness at the idea of him sharing the same last name as her children.
And now, Lysa had gone off the deep end. Littlefinger had filled her head with lies and delusions, preying on her instability, and now her life was in danger. She loved her sister, as she did all her family, but Lysa had executed loyal Vale knights and highborns out of her paranoia before their uncle had locked her away. That wasn't even mentioning the idea that her nephew may be a bastard himself, which would be a terrible crime to try and pass off a bastard of Littlefingers as the rightful heir to Vale.
But… she didn't want her sister to face a headman's axe, and King Orys had shown his willingness to execute those who committed crimes worthy of such a fate. Lysa, as much as Catelyn loved her sister, fit into that category. She was truly grateful for all Orys had done for her family, but she wasn't naive enough to think his mercy would extend to Lysa when Lysa was heard screaming for open rebellion.
Sitting on her bed, she closed her eyes and pictured the scene. Lysa dragged before the throne, her head removed and their family name forever stained by Lysa's madness. It was not a future she was willing to live in, and so she had to do what she could to avoid it. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that two of her children were followers of Hircine, even if Arya tried to hide it. Orys had dismissed his Grandfather's pointed comments, but how long would that last if it came out that Arya, someone so close to Orys, was a follower of Hircine?
She needed to convince King Orys to show mercy to a woman who was trying to cause one of his Kingdoms to rise up in rebellion. Impatience made her rise, going to get dressed out of the nightwear she was dressed in before she paused.
A little voice whispered in the back of her mind that she had nothing to convince him but her word, and reminded her that he was Robert's son. The same Robert who ogled her breasts and backside despite her marriage to his best friend. It shamed her to even consider it, but she told herself that this… look would make her seem all the more vulnerable and convincing as she began her trek.
The Forge of the Smith was not far from her room, fortunately, and even now King Orys worked into the night. Which, hopefully, meant that he would be alone.
Author's Note: Jetlag is a bitch. I've been in a coma since getting back. I think I probably caught something in America.
Written: 27/10/2025