Chapter 82
In Pentosh, the city was in mayhem as guards and servants and men and women all rushed towards the burning fire with buckets of water and dirt and tried to control the raging fires, but the green flames refused to budge as they continued to tear through the manse as screams and wails filled the air.
It took the entire city a few hours to control the flame as looters and guards began to rife through the piles of dirt, and ash to steal and find what they could. And just as the people were searching they heard a laugh, amidst the wreckages.
A weak, broken laugh and as they pushed away a broken wall, they saw a man lying underneath it, and pulled him out yet to their surprise it was as if the fires had refused to touch him and the wall above him, had failed to crush him because of the a broken stone propping it up.
"Hahahah. Hahaha," he laughed, as he looked at the skies, and amidst his laughs people backed away as they saw his eyes, and saw how one of them was blue yet it was the other one that pushed them away, because of its pitch-black color.
"It seems like even the Gods refuse to touch me," he mocked, as he stumbled through the debris as another man survived the fire, yet unlike the Crow's Eye, he had burns on his body and wailed and screamed as he cradled a burnt body in his arms.
"NOOO!" he screeched as tears dripped down his face, while he held a body much smaller than his own in his arms. A lifeless and burnt body, of a boy grasping for breath.
"HELP! HELP!"
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CREGAN STARK
The capital was rife with whispers and rumors ever since the death of Tywin Lannister. The Crown had offered an official account of the event, and had offered the court the truth about the circumstances surrounding the man's death.
Still, rumors had also sprung up mentioning how the Crown had gotten rid of the Old Lion, and how the Lannisters were about to rebel. Others spoke of how the he had colluded with the Blackfyres to get rid of the Old Lion, and some even went beyond that.
Cregan paid them little heed, as he sat quietly in his solar with his twin sister as they both sat opposite to one another with a cyvasse board sitting in between them as they played a game.
He had tried much to teach the game to his lady wife as well, but Myrcella for all her political acumen and genius, had little interest in the game unlike Sansa and Tyrion who were both quite good at the game.
Still, it had been sometime since the two of them had sat down like this, but with his father now gone Cregan had no family to rely on except for her, and the same could be said for her.
He made his move, locking the centre, as they got out of the opening as his twin frowned and shook her head.
"You always play the same way," she complained, and in a way she was right.
"So cagey and cautious," she whispered as she began to develop the sides, as he slowly began to lock them up as well, refusing to give her any space and room for maneuverability.
"It is just the way I am," he answered as the game continued, as Sansa's eyes narrowed at his words.
"They should call you Cregan the Cautious," she suggested with a chuckle as Cregan sipped a sweet wine, that he had specifically ordered to be made for himself.
"We are not just talking about cyvasse, now are we?" he asked, and she nodded.
"There is a reason you are so fond of this game," and he was for the game of cyvasse, was more or less just like a game of chess, which meant that every outcome or position that you reached in the game was a result of your actions.
It was a representation of your thinking and behavior, and it showed for Sansa had a penchant for trying hidden tricks and tactics, often intent on catching her opponent off guard.
Tyrion tried to be inventive and unique, and tried to unsettle his opponents by using unorthodox moves.
Their styles showed their personalities and quirks just as his game showed his style and quirks.
"It is one reason I have yet to lose a game to you," he reminded her much to her frustration, as his twin huffed.
"Don't gloat! You may not have lost against me, but we have drawn more than half our games," and for a year now his victories had become less and less frequent as Sansa came into her own, but still she had yet to defeat him in a game.
And as they entered the middle game, she paused for the first time and gave the board a pensive look before looking into his eyes.
"You are planning something," and she spoke not just of the game, for with Myrcella nearing the time of the birth, he had tasked Sansa with keeping an eye on things at court, and she had brought him all the rumors and whispers from it.
"Lord Tywin's death, you are not one to let such a slight go unanswered," and it was a great slight and a great test, for Varys and his accomplices had hatched a rather good plan, yet in the end they had been met with failure for they had underestimated him.
Years ago, when had first sat the Iron Throne he had known that unlike the Targaryens he had no dragons or history at his side to cement his rule, neither did he have Robert Baratheon's natural charisma and so the best way for him to control the realm would be through a series od lies, deception and alliances.
So, he had spun a web of lies, deception, deceit and marriages to secure his rule. He had made personal ties with lords and ladies and while doing that he had also made a 'stick' of his own as well, with twenty-five thousand well trained men ready to march at his command.
"It will be answered," he assured her as she made her first big blunder, as she overreached as he began to surround her pieces, in a quick set of moves and began to harass her King.
"Yet your armies stand still, and there is no talk of movement anywhere across the land," she whispered trying to guess his course of action.
And just as the game was about to reach its final moves, a servant came into the room and gave him a small rolled up missive, and as he read the three words written on it he smiled as Sansa asked away.
"Why are you smiling?" and he passed her missive.
"It is done," she read as she frowned.
"What is done?" she asked, and that was his revenge.
"Revenge," he answered, and she was taken aback before a familiar smile came onto her lips.
"How?" she asked.
"Thoros," he answered, and the priest had been his mole for five years yet his role went beyong being a simple mole.
The man had been importing special wines from the capital for years, and amidst each box would be one single bottle marked by a simple red dot,which would contain no wine but wildfyre.
For five years he would take that bottle and bury it close to Illyrio's manse, or put it into his stores, all of it for just this day.
"Five years," Sansa gasped and he nodded.
"Yes," and now the manse was burnt, and Illyrio's greatest pawn was in his hands.
"The pretender boy is dead, along with both the Spider and Illyrio," and both him and Thoros had done this without ever writing a single word about it, making it impossible for Varys to realise their intentions and the long-term nature of the plan meant that, it raised little to no suspicion.
"The war..."
"...is over," he finished or at least he hoped so.
"But what of Daenerys, the Princess?" and he had not told her about his plot for her.
"She rides for Dragonstone as we speak," and he would need to sail towards the island as well, along with Robb.
"She has given up her claim..."
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EDDARD STARK
Home he may be, but the burdens of the impending war still rested on his shoulders and as the Warden of the North, it fell to him to prepare them for the times ahead and in their fight against the Death, all living were their allies.
Including those who lived beyond the Wall.
He had been rather wroth with Cregan when he had told him about his negotiations and contact with the men beyond the Wall, but in the end after witnessing a weight for himself, Eddard had understood the reason behind his actions.
The Free Folk had little in common with people living on this side of the wall. They were brash and rude and barbaric, yet despite their thousand differences they were flesh and blood and in this war against cold and death, they were their allies.
"So, you are the one whom they call the King Beyond the Wall?" Eddard began, as he sat across Mance Rayder, and found his face familiar as Rodrik Casel stood behind him, hand on sword.
"And you are the one they call the Quiet Wolf," he began, and the man was shorter than he had thought and far more civilised than one would expect out of the barbarians that the Free Folk were made out to be.
But Benjen had told him already how much of the rumors about them were untrue, and that the people beyond the wall were more than simple mindless barbarians.
"I do hope that you have read the terms?" Eddard ignored the comment on his name, as the Mance Rayder nodded.
"I have," and the terms were fairly simple.
"When the times comes the North shall open the gates and let your men through. The Free Fold shall man six of the twenty fortress along the wall, and the rest shall be allowed to settle onto the New Gift for sometime," and the lands had been untouched despite Cregan giving them back into the North's hands, and yet over the years he had built homes and sheds there just for such a time.
"You will abide by the King's Laws while you are on this side of the wall, and once the war with the Dead is over you shall return to your side of the Wall, without any fight while those who wish to stay shall swear fealty to the King and the lords who would offer them their heareth," and the terms were both generous and strict, for the punishment for breaking any of the King's laws was straight up death.
Cregan was willing to offer them shelter and food, but at his terms.
"Your son is generous," the man began as he skimmed over the capital.
"I have seen you before," Rodrik Casel spoke the very words that had been swimming in his mind for sometime now, as the man smiled.
"Of course you have," and the man did not deny them as Eddard frowned.
"But how?" he asked.
"For years ago, I came to see you and your King," the man began.
"But then a different King sat the throne. He was fat and old," the man began as he rubbed his chin.
"Robert Baratheon, your old friend. I saw you feast him in these Halls, saw you eat as much meat as in one night as my people do so in a moon," and there was some anguish in that tone, as Ser Rodrik's eyes widened.
"The bard?" Eddard realised as the man nodded.
"Aye, I came to petetion him yet when I saw him laughing and japing I saw no King but a man wishing for death. I had heard about the Demon of the Trident, yet on that day he was but an old man who longed for death," and he leaned back.
"I was dejected but then I was abducted by your guards, and I met him. Your son, and since that day the fate of my people changed...."
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And in the capital, as the Queen's labors began the King found himself traversing the Black Cells, as he walked up to one cell and stood in front of the very man who had just betrayed tried to betray the realm.
"Now what am I do with you, Jaime Lannister...."
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