𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 95: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖔𝖞 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌
[𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌'𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌]
The council chamber was, as always, crowded. After the debacle of the Mountain's trial by combat and Tywin's death, the Council had been almost entirely reshaped. Petyr Baelish, newly returned from the Vale, held the position of Master of Whisperers, while Qyburn had been appointed Master of Laws, in what was clearly a move by Cersei to secure an extra vote at the table.
Mace Tyrell, swollen with pride, oversaw the fleet as Master of Ships despite his limited experience, and his mother, the "ever gracious" Lady Olenna, temporarily assumed the role of Master of Coin, at least until a "more suitable" candidate could be found. Old Pycelle remained Grand Maester, but both his opinion and his presence were becoming increasingly inconvenient for Cersei.
Formally, King Tommen presided over the sessions, but for weeks it had been her who organized them, chaining proposals together under increasingly flimsy excuses to concentrate power or make concessions to the Faith of the Seven. To anyone with political experience, the pattern was obvious, though Cersei seemed convinced that her cleverness kept it hidden.
Lately, however, it was Tommen himself who occupied the central role. Despite the persistent recommendations of his advisors, the boy insisted on attending every meeting and, more importantly, on taking part.
He was trying to learn. He read chronicles of past kings, studied their laws and decisions, and asked questions freely of his councillors, absorbing everything he could. Part of that change was due to Margaery, who had turned politics into a game, presenting him with problems and solving them alongside him, which not only strengthened their relationship but also began to sharpen the boy's thinking.
Still shy and uncertain, he continued to seek validation from those around him, but from time to time he showed a judgment of his own that broke that pattern.
That morning was one of those moments.
He had proposed reducing the expenses of the royal wedding to a minimum, but the proposal met immediate opposition. For Mace Tyrell it was a matter of image; for Olenna and Margaery, of stability and of what that image projected to the realm; for Cersei, however, it was a matter of pride.
Tommen saw it differently. To him, it seemed unnecessary to waste months of food on a feast when winter was approaching and supplies might run short.
Even so, not all his arguments were enough.
—It is not necessary —said Cersei, her gaze fixed on her son—A royal wedding must be an event the realm remembers.
—The expenses will be reduced —Tommen replied, holding her gaze.
Cersei shook her head slightly, pressing her lips together.
—Tommen, this is not… —she began, but did not finish the sentence.
—Mother… —Tommen repeated, this time with more firmness, though a slight tremor still lingered in his voice.
Cersei narrowed her eyes, preparing to respond.
—Mother, I insist —he repeated, marking each word without looking away.
Cersei clenched her jaw, unable to fully hide her irritation. Olenna saw it and barely suppressed a smile before conceding; she did not entirely agree, but if it served to undermine Cersei, she would not waste the opportunity.
—Let us move to a more important matter —said the king after a brief silence, his gaze passing over those present— I understand that Oberyn Martell was poisoned during my brother's wedding. The Dornish delegation left the capital shortly after, and not on good terms.
Cersei rested an elbow on the table, showing no interest.
—And what do the Dornish matter? —she said with contempt.
Tommen held her gaze for a moment.
—It matters —he replied— My sister is still in Sunspear, and for the Prince of Dorne to have been poisoned under our roof is not a good image for the crown. It would be wise to resolve this incident.
Cersei did not answer immediately, but her expression tightened.
—Dorne had no intention of having that incident investigated —she said dismissively— Most likely Oberyn poisoned himself while playing with his precious venoms. It is beneath the crown to chase after its subjects solving their problems.
Tommen shook his head, a slight grimace forming at his mother's stubbornness.
—My grandfather did not see it that way —the boy added— He had planned an agreement with House Martell. I understand his intention was to marry Doran's son to Myrcella.
Cersei narrowed her eyes and shifted her gaze toward Maester Pycelle, a clear promise of pain in her look. The old maester lowered his head immediately, avoiding any reaction.
—I will not sell my daughter like a brood mare —she said without looking away— No Dornishman is worthy of her.
Tommen did not yield.
—It could be a way to secure Myrcella's position and stabilize our relationship with Dorne —he continued, almost exasperated at having to justify himself— It would resolve what happened without escalating the conflict.
Cersei let out a brief sigh.
—There is no need for you to concern yourself with this —she concluded, almost proud of her decision— I have sent Jaime to bring her back.
Tommen frowned.
—You did so without consulting me? —he asked, indignant.
Cersei held his gaze, unbothered.
—There was no need to trouble the king with such a trivial matter —she said this time in a softer tone, trying to calm the increasingly resistant boy.
Tommen leaned slightly forward.
—My sister's safety is not a trivial matter —he said, visibly angered— Do not make decisions like this again without consulting me.
Cersei opened her mouth, ready to respond, but at that moment the council doors opened.
Petyr Baelish entered with quick steps, offering a slight bow.
—I beg your pardon for the interruption, Your Majesty —he said seriously— A messenger has arrived from the western lands, and I fear he brings bad news.
Cersei looked at him coldly, not bothering to hide her disdain.
—Speak —she ordered, ignoring Tommen.
Littlefinger gave a slight nod before continuing.
—A fleet of more than a hundred warships has attacked Lannisport and taken the city —he said in a measured tone— They then advanced on Casterly Rock. I am afraid the fortress fell in less than a day.
Everyone was stunned by the news.
Tommen went still and pale, as if he could not fully process what he had just heard.
—Impossible —Cersei said, rising abruptly and fixing her gaze on Littlefinger.
Olenna did not move.
—Are you telling me that Casterly Rock did not hold for even a single day? —she asked, tilting her head— How is it that we are only hearing of an attack of this magnitude now?
Littlefinger held her gaze for a moment before answering.
—It appears that all the ravens from the coastal strongholds between the west and King's Landing have disappeared —he explained calmly— The messages arrived by land, and five days have passed since the attack.
Cersei struck the table with her palm.
—It must be a lie —she snapped in frustration— Who would have such an army?
Littlefinger took out a piece of parchment and placed it on the table: a black dragon on a red field, pierced by a sun and a sword.
—I merely repeat the claims of the messengers —he added cautiously— but it is reasonable to assume that the Impaler is invading Westeros.
Tommen swallowed before speaking.
—And my uncle? And my cousins? —he asked, staring at Littlefinger.
—There is no clear news about Kevan —he replied seriously— Those few who escaped knew almost nothing, and I suspect many were allowed to flee so the news would spread.
Olenna leaned slightly forward.
—Then we cannot wait —she said decisively— I will depart for the Reach and gather my bannermen, secure the border with the western lands. If they advance, we must be ready.
—You cannot possibly believe this story! —Cersei raised her voice, clearly irritated— How could the greatest fortress in Westeros fall?
Olenna looked at her without patience.
—Temper yourself, you are not a child —she replied coldly— It does not matter whether it is true or not, we will act as if it is.
Tommen took a deep breath and straightened his back.
—Lady Olenna, you are right —he said more firmly— Return to the Reach and prepare your forces. I will gather mine and march to the Reach as soon as possible.
He turned his gaze to Littlefinger.
—And you, bring me the men who managed to escape —he added, maintaining a serious tone— I want to hear their account directly.
Littlefinger inclined his head, barely concealing a faint smile as his mind began weighing how to profit from the situation.
—As you command, Your Grace —he replied evenly.
Tommen sat back down, his expression serious and his gaze fixed on the table.
—Ladies and gentlemen… prepare yourselves —he said after a brief silence— From this moment on, we are at war.
----
[𝔚𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔩, 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩]
Snow fell gently over the walls of Winterfell, covering towers and battlements with a white mantle, and in the distance the sky lit up intermittently with lightning from a storm spreading over the godswood, though inside the castle it was little more than a distant murmur.
The great hall was full.
Tables stretched from one end to the other, covered with meat, bread, and overflowing jugs, while the guests drank and spoke with cheer, and the minstrels played a light, lively tune as some knights kept the rhythm with their hands against the wood.
Robb watched the scene from his place, with a sense of calm he had not felt in a long time.
At the high table, his father presided over the feast.
Eddard Stark sat upright, with his usual bearing, exchanging jokes with his friend Robert, who laughed heartily. At his side, his mother spoke in low tones with Cersei Lannister, who laughed along with her, and at one point a comment from Cersei made Catelyn clutch her pendant marked with the symbol of the weirwood roots, looking at Cersei with feigned indignation before letting out a complicit laugh.
Robb looked away, avoiding staring for some reason.
To his father's right, Robert Baratheon raised his cup with a restrained and elegant smile, laughing with Ned as he drank in moderation, for the king was slender, upright, and carried himself with regal poise, clearly not much given to drink.
Further down the table, Joffrey Baratheon laughed naturally as he spoke with Sansa, his long black hair framing a face that smiled at her with warmth, yet the boy was polite and modest, keeping a respectful distance, and Sansa answered him with a sincere and equally enchanted smile.
Nearby, Cersei had begun speaking to her daughter Myrcella in a gentle tone, while the girl split her attention between her and Arya, who tugged at her arm trying to pull her somewhere, likely to explore or play some prank, maintaining her usual restless energy.
A little farther along, Jon Stark leaned toward Bran, sharing some comment that drew a brief laugh from both, and no one minded that he sat at the high table, because that was how it had always been.
Robb let out a faint breath, satisfied, because although organizing feasts was exhausting, this one was entirely worth it, especially seeing his family gathered.
He lowered his gaze to his own hands and then to the woman seated beside him. Talisa held the child carefully, cradling him with familiarity, and the boy slept, oblivious to the noise of the hall, wrapped in thick cloth, while Robb rested a hand on his head in a gentle gesture.
It was a true blessing that the war had ended, or so he thought as he looked at the child in his arms, though the idea made him frown slightly.
War? What war? He remembered a war, even that he had fought in it, but the details slipped away from him, vague and incomplete.
For a moment he remained still, trying to grasp them, but the smiling face of his wife was enough for him to set the thought aside as easily as it had appeared; it was not the time for unnecessary thoughts.
He then lifted his gaze toward the hall just as a flash of lightning illuminated the tall windows, and the light crossed the room for an instant, and in that brief flicker his father's chair stood empty, though when he blinked his father was still there, as if he had never moved.
No one reacted, as if nothing had happened, so Robb said nothing either and leaned back slightly to take his cup, letting the sound of the music fill the space and cover any trace of discomfort.
Another flash of lightning split the sky, and for an instant King Robert appeared as a bloated and disheveled man, with a horn lodged in an open wound in his belly.
But Robb did not look up, even when the next flash came and his father's head was no longer upon his shoulders, leaving only a bleeding stump. Meanwhile Joffrey's appearance changed completely, his skin bruised and his eyes bloodshot beneath golden hair, and yet no one said anything, and Robb simply kept looking at his wife and his son.
Eddard Stark leaned slightly to his right, resting his arm on the table as he looked at Robert with a faint smile.
—Are you enjoying the feast? —he asked with a hint of mockery, knowing he was not fond of celebrations.
Robert set his half-finished cup down on the table before replying, his tone calm and sincere, while he took Cersei's hand in an almost absent gesture.
—The food is exquisite, Ned, and the company even more so —said Robert calmly while holding Cersei's hand in his.
Cersei inclined her head slightly toward Catelyn, maintaining a kind smile that softened her features.
—I must say I greatly appreciate your hospitality —she said with a faint smile— You have arranged a wonderful feast.
Catelyn responded with a slight nod.
—It is an honor to receive Your Majesties in the North —she added, maintaining her composure.
Robert let out a small exhale before looking around the hall.
—Though the music —he added, raising his voice slightly so the minstrels could hear him— is the same as what one hears in King's Landing. I would appreciate something more fitting of the North.
Eddard let out a genuine laugh as he shook his head slightly.
—You may be right —he admitted while searching for his eldest son—. Robb.
The voice reached him clearly, and Robb looked up, surprised to be called like that, as until then his attention had been on Talisa and the child.
—Yes, father —he replied, straightening slightly in his seat.
Eddard made a small gesture toward the minstrels.
—You are the host —he said, nodding— Choose the next song.
Robb hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded, rising to his feet and pausing briefly before approaching the minstrels.
—I need you to play something new —he asked politely— Something that will impress the king, something he has never heard before.
The minstrel who had led most of the songs that evening stepped forward.
His name was Edward, and his dark hair fell over a pale face, while his black eyes lingered on Robb for a moment as he smiled, though for some reason the gesture felt unsettling.
—I spent years in Essos, my lord —he said calmly— There I heard a melody that captivated me.
He turned slightly toward the king, without losing his smile.
—I doubt anyone present has ever heard it —he added, with a barely perceptible undertone.
Edward waited until the hall fell completely silent. He adjusted the lute in his hands and let his fingers glide softly over the strings, setting a slow, almost delicate melody.
Some of those present followed the rhythm with slight movements of their heads, while others continued drinking, oblivious to any change.
But not Robb.
The first chord seemed to pin him to his seat, unable to move or speak, as his hands began to tremble.
When Edward's baritone voice rose, it was as if multiple voices harmonized with his, overlapping in an impossible murmur, though no one seemed to find it strange, not even when the bard's eyes gleamed for an instant and his pupil turned blood red.
Edward did not look away from him, and Robb felt his body tense, unable to avert his gaze.
[I am the prophet with the answers you seek...]
The storm roared in the distance as the voice carried over the melody.
Lightning briefly illuminated the tall windows of the hall, and the light swept across the room without anyone seeming to notice.
[Time, I've unlocked it, i see past and future running free...]
The melody continued, soft and steady, yet every note sent an involuntary shiver through Robb.
Someone laughed at another table and another raised his cup, oblivious to the fear tightening in his chest; he tried to move, to look away, but his body did not respond.
[There is a world where i help you get home.
But that's not a world I know... ]
Another bolt of lightning split the sky, closer this time, and for an instant the light filtered across the faces in the hall.
Robb did not blink, but around him the faces twisted into corpses that laughed, spilled ale over open throats, or toyed with spears embedded in their own bodies as if nothing mattered.
The cadence of the notes quickened as Edward seemed to fall into a trance, singing with a voice that was no longer singular.
Robb heard the dark melody as the hall began to fade with each verse, transforming into images that seemed to rise with the music.
[I see a song of past romance, I see the sacrifice of man.
i see portrayals of betrayal and a brother's final stand.
I see you on the brink of death, I see you draw your final breath.
I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you… ]
He saw himself meeting Talisa as she tended to the wounded on the battlefield, and then his father sacrificing his honor and his life in that square in King's Landing, surrounded by a crowd shouting for his head, all to protect his daughters. Then the image shifted, and he saw Theon taking Winterfell in his absence and killing Ser Rodrik Cassel, and Jon standing in the middle of a field, with a wolf-headed pommel sword in hand, facing a cavalry army alone.
Then he saw himself pierced by crossbow bolts during a wedding, dropping to his knees beside the lifeless body of his pregnant wife.
And finally, he saw himself rise many years later, with unnatural blue eyes, an empty expression, and a gaping wound that exposed flesh down to the bone.
Fear ran through Robb, yet he seemed to be the only one aware of the changes around him, while the music only intensified the horror: his mother turned into a walking corpse, his father lost his head, Sansa stopped smiling and simply faded, and Arya appeared covered in scars, dressed in tight leather filled with knives.
And still, Edward did not stop the melody, even when his entire audience was nothing but corpses.
[I see your palace covered in red.
Faces of men who had long believed you're dead.
I see your wife with a man who is haunting.
A man with a trail of bodies… ]
The images returned as Robb saw the halls of Winterfell overrun by men dressed in black who murdered and raped indiscriminately anyone they found, and among them, figures gathered around the throne laughed mockingly in the middle of the slaughter.
He saw a man with a sadistic smile, accompanied by three hunting dogs, moving through the castle while laughing, chasing something Robb could not quite see.
[i see a song of past romance, I see the sacrifice of man
I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother's final stand
I see you on the brink of death, I see you draw your final breath
I see a beast who gets to make it home alive
But it's no longer you…]
This time, the images Robb saw were completely unfamiliar. He saw a red-haired woman kissing a curly-haired man in a cave of hot springs; Hodor holding a door against creatures trying to break through it with fury, while several figures fled into a snowy landscape; and Ramsay Bolton, one of the most honorable men he had known, even legitimized in his father's will, smiling as he took Sansa's hand beneath a weirwood tree.
Then he saw Bran, his brother, upon the roots of a tree, screaming in pain.
And after that, he saw himself on his knees, wounded, holding a cup filled with a red liquid in trembling hands before bringing it to his lips.
And once more, he saw himself looking up at the full moon, screaming in pain as his eyes turned a bright yellow, before raising his voice in a ragged howl.
The voices that seemed to accompany Edward's song grew louder and louder, drowning everything out, until he could hear nothing but that melody.
Then, a jolt tore him out of the trance.
Robb's eyes snapped open as he jerked upright, air failing in his chest while the world took a moment to settle into place.
His breathing was uneven and far too fast, and sweat soaked his forehead and neck, while beside him Talisa held him by the arms, leaning toward him, trying to make him look at her.
—Robb… —her voice was low, tense— Robb, look at me.
He did not respond immediately, keeping his eyes open, fixed on some uncertain point in the room, taking several seconds to blink, to react, to recognize Talisa's face before him.
The sound of the storm was still there, muffled by the walls, but it no longer set the rhythm of any melody, and Robb brought a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat beneath his skin while Talisa embraced him, pulling him close with tears in her eyes.
—Robb… —she repeated, her voice breaking— It was only a nightmare, my love…
Robb was still trembling as the memory unraveled in his mind, blurring until it became nothing more than a shadow, though not the fear, which clung to him even when he remembered nothing.
Robb wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, trying to steady his breathing and calm the pounding of his heart that would not slow, while a persistent thought forced its way into his mind.
That it had not been just a nightmare.
----
First of all, thank you once again for being here this week. I really appreciate it.
I also want to apologize for the delay. We've had Holy Week here, which is a pretty big event in my country, with a lot of people and a lot of work, so I haven't had a break until today and couldn't sit down to write properly.
That said, I already had several chapters almost finished, just needing editing, including this one. This chapter has a few improvements compared to the original. I'm basically rewriting everything I publish here, since the older chapters follow my previous format, and this new method works much better for me.
There are still a few chapters left before I catch up to the Patreon ones, which are already written in this format, so for now I have to redo quite a bit of content. It's slower, but I think the quality is worth it.
For example, in the original version Tommen didn't react actively to the invasion and just received the news, which is a pretty big mistake on my part. That's been fixed here, although it doesn't affect future chapters since everything was already planned out.
As for the dream scene in Winterfell, it came completely out of nowhere while I was rewriting the chapter. I was listening to Epic The Musical (I'm still completely obsessed with it), and I just got into the flow. The lyrics fit surprisingly well with the story, so I decided to include it.
If you're curious about the song, it's called "No longer you"
I also hid a small prophecy within the song itself. It's not hard to find, and it fits well since prophecies have always been an important part of Game of Thrones and Westeros.
The chapter is longer because of that, but it's part of my creative process. When an idea comes up, I prefer to develop it right away instead of holding back.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. From now on, releases should stabilize and there shouldn't be any more delays.
Thanks again for being here this week, and see you in the next chapter.