Davos and his three Kingsguards all took seats facing him. Sam sat down next to Jon and started to place his writing material in front of him, covering the part that depicted the Fingers in doing so. Jon was amused by the symbolism of that little act. Even more when he noticed that he sat at the exact spot where King's Landing and Dragonstone were painted.
The seating arrangements seemed a bit off though. He would have preferred to have Davos on his side of the table. He shook his head trying to lose these silly notions. This was no negotiation between opponents. They were all friends working together towards a common goal.
"Ser Barristan has accompanied the Princess to the Driftmark of course." Ser Gerold remarked when he detected Jon eying them one by one.
Jon nodded. "Who will start?"
"Perhaps you should." Davos spoke up. "Tell us briefly what happened at your end and we will do the same after."
"Not too briefly" Ser Arthur objected. "I am rather curious."
"Well," Jon started to tell them in detail about Robb's rescue and the reactions of the Northern Lords. He was briefer when he mentioned the murder of Lord Roose Bolton, Ramsay Snow's execution and Domeric Bolton and Theon Greyjoy's predicament.
"That is all rather good news, my Prince." Ser Oswell ventured. "You even got the Lords of the North to pledge their support to fight an enemy they don't necessarily believe in."
Jon nodded at Ser Oswell. "Uncle Benjen played his part. My cousin Robb deserves credit as well."
"You visited Winterfell next and then Eastwatch?" Davos encouraged them to move along.
Jon looked over at Sam who was scribbling fervently. "Are you ready to tackle the next subject, Sam?"
"Don't worry on my account. I am only recording some key words. I will fill out the rest from memory later." Sam smiled encouragingly at Jon
Jon nodded appreciatively and proceeded to tell them of the welcome he had received at Eastwatch. He described Gendry's enormous efforts and the crates filled with dragonglass weapons. Then he moved on and told them about the plans he had made with Mance Rayder and the promises of reinforcement that surely were on their way to Hardhome by now led by Tormund and Sandor.
"I am glad the Night's Watch has come to its senses. The ravens you sent us from Castle Black were reassuring as well in that regard at least." Ser Gerold remarked.
"Did you really broker a truce with Prince Renly and later with Jaime Lannister?" Davos asked.
"I did." Jon affirmed and recounted parts of his conversation with both men. Then he looked at Ser Arthur and smiled. "I beat him in a sparring session, if only barely. It was fun though. He fights well. I recognised your teachings."
"I spent enough time polishing his style and would be disappointed if that was not the case. He was my most promising pupil before I started to teach you, my Prince." Ser Arthur's tone was serious.
"We were both lucky to have such an excellent teacher." Jon nodded appreciatively to the knight.
"If you are done complementing each other, I am curious to hear what happened at Pyke and what concessions you made to the Greyjoys." Davos interfered. "Your message was rather sparse, my Prince."
"That is because there was hardly anything to tell. I would inform you that everything went exactly according to plan for once, but not even our plans included the fact that they would surrender without putting up at least a semblance of a fight." Jon looked at his Lord Commander. "Didn't you caution me time and time again not to expect fair play and to be prepared for nothing but absolute ruthlessness and cruelty from the Ironborn, Ser Gerold?"
Seeing Ser Gerold nod he continued. "The men stationed on Pyke had all gathered on the shore close to the spot where the ships of Yara Greyjoy were planning to dock. It was a sight to be seen. The soldiers wearing the sigil of the Golden Company marched on the beach led by Yara Greyjoy. I flew over their heads as low as I dared with the two dragons. When Yara Greyjoy approached the ranks of the Ironborn loyal to Euron Greyjoy who had come out to defend Pyke, we all expected their leader to step forward to negotiate. Instead his men all threw down their weapons, kneeled right there on the beach and swore fealty to her."
"Just like that?" Sam had stopped scribbling and looked at Jon. "Because of your dragons?"
"Just like that." Jon affirmed. "To be honest, I think neither the dragons, nor the presence of the fake Golden Company recruits had much to do with it. Rumours about Euron Greyjoy's cruel treatment of his men had spread on Pyke and I think they all sought Yara Greyjoy's protection from his wrath. It was rather anticlimactic. All that show and effort just for nothing."
"Not for nothing. The rumours will help Strickland." Ser Oswell remarked.
"You did sit down with Yara Greyjoy and made arrangements, I trust?" Davos asked his Prince. "Euron Greyjoy is still out there and will retaliate."
"I want to know as well." Ser Gerold stated still a bit chafed about being somewhat off with his initial evaluation of the threat.
"She is keeping tabs on her uncle's whereabouts as she has been doing the entire time. He is still east of Westeros, far away from the Iron Islands. She is more worried about him doing something desperate and attacking us or King Robert than of him coming after her in the near future. There are rumours that her uncle is considering an alliance with the Stormlands."
"Did she make any demands on us? Did she ask for her brother to be returned to her?" Ser Oswell was tapping his fingers on the table. Jon was amused to see he was hitting the exact spot where the Iron Islands were situated on the painted table.
"She asked." Jon admitted. "Respectfully," he added. "She cursed Theon when I told her what he had done to one of her allies. I even had to calm her down and describe to her the punishment he already suffered at the hands of Ramsay Snow."
"What was decided, Jon?" Davos asked the only question that mattered. It served no purpose to keep dwelling on Theon Greyjoy's situation.
"She rescinded her demand. Theon would not be welcome on the Iron Island if the men heard what had transpired. It would only be safe for him to return if he proved himself once more. She all but asked me to put him on the frontlines of one of my wars so he could redeem himself."
"Ironborn." Ser Gerold's tone conveyed it all.
"Will Yara Greyjoy honour her part of the agreement and live of trade instead of raids?" Davos formulated his question more precisely since he still hadn't learned the information he had asked for.
"I have her written word, Davos." Jon looked at his hand. "I received it before I agreed to help her. I wrote you that already. There was no time and no need to discuss these things in detail again. I can send an ambassador over later once I have established my position in King's Landing."
"And then you lingered at Greywater Watch and had us all worried." Ser Arthur changed the subject but not necessarily to an easier one for Jon.
Once more all eyes were looking at him, everyone longing to hear what had caused the delay. Last night when Sam had mentioned the subject during supper, Jon's expression had gone blank and he told his friend that an explanation was best left for another time.
"It was not my initial intent to stay an extra day." Jon responded after a significant pause. He sighed. "I reckoned I would still arrive before a raven with a message could reach you when I made the decision to stay a bit longer."
"Why did you stay longer, Jon?" Sam repeated his question of the night before. He had dropped his quill and looked at his friend a worried expression on his face. "What did he see this time? Is it bad news?"
Jon looked at Sam and fought his reluctance to share the information. They all needed to know soon enough. There was no way around it. Better do it now and be done with it.
"It was not so much what Lord Reeds saw. I was summoned because of visions Bran, my little cousin received from the Gods and uh what I dreamed as well. We combined all our information and it was, uh how shall I put it." Jon ran his hand over his face, "uh revealing, and at the same time raising more questions than ever."
"Jon," Davos friendly warning to get on with it coincided with Ser Gerold's exasperated "My Prince!"
Jon frowned. "I'll tell you. Just bear with me. I am still dealing with the enormity of it all and am not don trying to make sense of some of it."
He looked around and saw the expectation on their faces was still there but even Ser Gerold's stern stare had softened.
"First of all, the fight against the army of the dead that will happen near Hardhome soon will not be the final fight against this enemy. There is a place in the far north where their leader resides. A place protected by magic. This Commander of the White Walkers has sent half of his forces to confront us on the eastern shores. If we survive this battle, the final fight will take place after I am King. My vision was identical to Bran Stark's. Only a King can defeat a King."
Jon paused and noticed everyone was looking glum. When Ser Gerold wanted to interfere, Jon shook his head. "There is more." He said simply and it was enough to make Ser Gerold keep silent.
"I had a vision myself. I am on the battle field wearing the same kingly armour made of Valyrian steel complete with red rubies that my father, Prince Rhaegar wore according to your descriptions. I can't see my army, only lots of ice and fire and I know I am about to face him. I do not know when it will happen, it might happen in six moons, ten years from now or even later, but it will happen in my lifetime at a time when I am recognised as the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the protector of the realm. I didn't see the outcome of the fight." Jon stopped and waited for their reactions.
"Are we to understand this vision was not confirmed by anything young Bran or Lord Reed saw?" Davos looked troubled by all he had heard.
"Not that particular one no. Bran saw their leader only when he held the baby. He could confirm I was the hero born to defeat him. He also confirmed I would only have a chance once I was a King in my own right. He felt the exact same words as I did: 'A King to defeat a King.' He did see something that gives us leave to me hope. He had a vision of me, wearing a crown atop of grey curls. If that is true ..."
"The Gods be praised." Ser Oswell exclaimed. "You should have led with that. If we know you will reign for many years then all of this, all this trouble with an undead enemy, is just a little delay on the road to our life's goal."
"Fifty thousand dead corpses all intent on murdering our future King so he will not take on their leader is not just a little delay. Not to mention he will need to return at some unknown time in the future and fight the same enemy all over again." Ser Gerold reprimanded Ser Oswell.
"The dead have a King." Sam mused thinking out loud apparently oblivious to the small altercation. "And he will fight you during the Long Night, in darkness. That would fit the northern tales. You fighting him with fire present, well Azor Ahai had a flaming sword. Both tales end with the hero defeating this mighty enemy, Jon." His voice rose higher when he pronounced his last words and he looked up at the others with hope in his eyes.
"But this is no tale, Sam. This is fucking reality." Jon heard himself swear but didn't pause to apologise. "If I fail, if I make one stupid mistake." He shuddered. "Then there is my cousin's vision of me attending King Robert's deathbed."
"Come again?" Davos leaned across the table covering Lannisport with his weather worn hands.
"That was the primary reason they summoned me. Bran had a greendream of King Robert lying in a bed in his royal chambers. The man was dying. My uncle, Ned Stark was in attendance but had his head bowed. Bran could not distinguish whether he was older than he is now. But more troublesome, Bran described a young man kneeling on the ground holding the King's hand in his. Since he was positioned on the opposite side of the bed, Bran Stark could only see his back."
"Then it is not certain it was you." Ser Arthur ventured.
"I asked my little cousin to describe what the man was wearing. He saw my black curls. He described my coat including the pattern on my fur collar. He even told me the colour of my belt and my boots. It was me. Somehow, I cannot explain how or why but somehow I feel deep down that this will come to pass, that I will be part of that scene. My cousin outdid himself with his description. I am certain it was me."
Jon voice was getting desperate. He looked at Davos with beseeching eyes. "I was holding the King's hand and knelt before him. It was me. I know it was me." He repeated.
"Calm down, son." Davos said his voice soothing. He had resumed his former position and leaned against the back of his chair. "Let us just try to look at this from all angles." A deep frown appeared on his forehead. He looked deep in thought.
Everyone waited for him to speak.
"Let us first concentrate on all the positives. If the vision proves true, your uncle Ned is still alive when the King is on his death bed. We have been worried about his safety lately. You should hear the rumours in King's Landing. We are cutting it close, Jon, if you are still going to give the fight at Hardhome precedence."
Sam looked up now. "Of what did he die? Do you now that, Jon? Was he sick, was he attacked, did he have an accident?"
"How would I know, Sam? I told you all I know. Except for the fact that the King had a night cap covering his hair."
"Just asking." Sam muttered. "What other positives do you derive from this situation, Ser Davos?"
"Well, our Prince arrived at the Red Keep alive and well and apparently was on was good terms with the Baratheon King." Noticing Jon's questioning look he added. "Kneeling beside a man's deathbed and holding his hand is most likely an act of compassion, not one of a subject swearing fealty to a monarch, my Prince."
"Of course he would never submit to the Baratheon usurper!" Ser Oswell burst out.
"He might to save the lives of his loved ones, of the smallfolk if they were threatened." Ser Arthur remarked looking at his brothers. "We all know our Prince's kind heart."
"But we do not know how far away in the future this might happen or whether this might come to pass precisely so." Sam cautioned. "Lord Reed often warns us not to take these things literally. This particular vision was one only young Bran Stark experienced right? Can it be that your cousin confused a common dream with a greendream?" Sam turned to Jon looking a bit apologetic for daring to suggest such a thing.
"Not in this instance. My cousin had several visions at once. That one occurred midway through uh during several flashes that leave no doubt it was no ordinary dream. Besides, you feel the difference between a normal dream and a greendream. Trust me on that. I know this all too well."
Sam nodded. "Just asking. I wanted to make sure. Then we better try to derive the most of it."
"Perhaps our Prince has already been crowned King and Robert Baratheon is a captive, dying of his injuries sustained when he was overthrown. Our compassionate Prince has agreed to let him spend his last hours in his own quarters." Ser Arthur suggested.
"That doesn't feel right somehow." Jon muttered. "Anyway, all these revelations and subsequent feelings and premonitions I had about this made me accept the offer of Lord Reed to learn some techniques to encourage and prolong these so-called messages that the Gods send me personally. That is the reason I stayed a whole day longer."
"You said Bran had several visions during a single session. Anything else we should know about?" Davos wanted to know.
Jon glad to focus on something else released a deep breath. "Perhaps. Bran was kind of an eye witness to a scene from the past where Littlefinger handed a small bottle with Tears of Lys, the poison that killed Lord Arryn over to Lady Lysa. The fact that he mentioned the poison by name makes me believe it might be a warning from the Gods. Perhaps Varys should make sure Maester Pycelle does not have other bottles of that stuff lying around for someone to use. He should be forbidden to make more."
"I'll write to Varys today." Sam promised. "That is indeed a wise precaution. Perhaps we should regulate the use of poison by royal decree once you are King, Jon."
"You can regulate all you want. Prince Oberyn will not be bothered by it in the least." Ser Arthur remarked.
Several surprised pair of eyes now stared at Ser Arthur.
"Don't tell me you don't know he sometimes dabbles with potions and poisons for all kinds of purposes." He added rolling his eyes.
"We have issues enough to handle for now. No use in wasting time debating royal decrees to be issued in the future. Besides Prince Oberyn is firmly on our side." Davos interfered. "Anything else you learned at Greywater Watch, Jon?"
"Aside from telling me how in love my parents were and how lovely my mother looked on her wedding day and the confirmation that the Mad King indeed threatened the capital's destruction by wildfire as Jaime Lannister told me, there was this vision of the leader of the White Walkers."
"The Night King," Sam offered.
"Night King?" Jon turned to his friend.
"Well, you said it yourself. A King to defeat a King and he is a creature that is strongest at night and wants to bring the Long Night. So I thought it an easier term than the Commander of the White Walkers or the General of the Dead." Sam smiled hesitantly.
"All right, let us call him the Night King." Jon granted Sam this small victory. "Now back to Bran's vision. This Night King had a healthy baby boy in his arms and touched the child's cheek with an icy finger upon which the child became an icy creature with blue eyes."
"A baby wight?" Ser Oswell asked perplexed.
"No not a wight. More like a baby White Walker." Jon explained.
"Craster's male offspring!" Davos thumped his fist on the table making Lannisport shake. "I bet most of these White Walkers are related to that vile daughter-rapist."
"So are you saying that if they do not kill humans, they can turn them into icy creatures like themselves?" Ser Arthur asked.
"I think so, but hopefully only this Night King has such strong magic." Jon hesitated to say more.
"Perhaps they can only do it with new-borns." Sam ventured. "They still have a clean slate, haven't learned any behaviour yet, do not have a memory or the awareness to recognise an enemy and protect their minds."
"That knowledge doesn't really help us though." Ser Gerold shook his head.
"Perhaps it does." Davos told him. "It reveals a weakness. They cannot procreate. Their numbers are limited."
"And the Free Folk should protect their new-borns." Sam chimed in.
"That reminds me, Tormund just became a father. He has a son and has the intention to call him Jon when the infant reaches his second nameday." Jon smiled.
"I am trying to picture it." Ser Arthur spoke up, his eyes having a faraway look. "A tiny redhaired baby in those giant hands."
"He had no qualms in grabbing it from its mother's arms and didn't lower his voice, both acts startling the small baby and Tormund's only reaction was to laugh proudly when his son started crying rather loudly. It was indeed an uncommon picture." Jon relaxed glad for the short reprieve.
"Have you finished your report, my Prince? You can tell us more about Tormund's child later, or during mealtime. Any other visions?" Ser Gerold prodded.
"Nothing that affects our cause." Jon answered. "I think that concludes my report. The important thing is that I need to get back to Eastwatch or rather Hardhome and help prepare the traps before the enemy arrives. Can you hold the fort here for another moon?"
"Eddard Stark will not be best pleased, Varys neither."
"You can include me on that list." Ser Gerold remarked. "My Prince, the rumours are growing. We have gathered plenty of support. Give us two more sennights and we will have support in abundance for you in King's Landing as well as organised a line of defense within the walls of the Red Keep itself. Are you sure you cannot not take the throne and return to the North as the newly crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms? Perhaps you can challenge this Night King right there and then, make him come out of hiding and defeat this enemy once and for all."
"What if complications arise? What if I am crowned, leave the next day and we cannot appease the smallfolk, the nobles who are still deciding? What if Stannis Baratheon uses my absence to his advantage?"
"I am inclined to agree with our Prince." Davos challenged Ser Gerold's suggestion. "According to me the best case scenario is that our Prince flies north and defeats the fifty thousand that are attacking. Then he returns within two sennights from leaving and takes the throne. We all help him secure the Seven Kingdoms. All the while, the Free Folk monitor the situation beyond the Wall and we fight against this Night King and his army with the combined support of the Seven Kingdoms."
"We need not decide this very minute." Jon tried to make them see reason and continue the meeting. "Fill me in on the political situation here first. I expect Varys to arrive within the next few days. Perhaps everything will work itself out. They are distracted in King's Landing since they are in the midst of preparing a large tournament, aren't they?" Jon asked Ser Gerold.
"They are. It was a good cover for us to invite more allies into the city without raising suspicion." Ser Gerold took out a scroll and began enumerating the extent of the support already in place and what they were still working on.
Jon did his best trying to follow the major names but some were entirely new to him. "Perhaps we can go over them the next few days in detail? I want to study the background and allies of each one of them so I know how to comport myself when I meet them."
"Commendable." Davos nodded his head in apparent approval. "We will all help you with the ones we know best. We hail from different parts of Westeros. Use it to your advantage."
"Yohn Royce can't leave the capital but will send a delegation of Vale knights to meet you." Ser Oswell remarked. "We will need to be careful. All these nobles we are expecting over the next few days might be spotted."
"That has been arranged. Some are supposedly visiting relatives, the others are coming to the Driftmark or Dragonstone under the pretext that they heard the blacksmiths here are competent and the ones in King's Landing can't keep up with the extra business of all the knights either shopping for the right armour for the tournament or needing some adjustments made to their current armour at the last moment."
"The tournament," Jon asked clearly interested. "When will it be held?"
"Don't even think about it, lad." Davos shook his head. "We already had to talk sense into Ser Arthur. He wanted to participate as mystery guest in a disguise. He talked of painting his hair blue and posing as an Essosi knight."
"I was only joking." Ser Arthur muttered.
"For the most part perhaps." Ser Gerold retorted. "Don't tell us you wouldn't go the moment you thought you could get away with it."
"Can't he though?" Jon looked thoughtful.
"No, Jon." Ser Arthur was the one to put an end to his own dreams. "I would be recognised the first time they saw me fight. I do not want to boast but, …"
"I get it." Jon said. "You are right. Eighteen years is not that long and you were, I mean are a legend. You only have to wait for the first tournament under the new Targaryen reign. I promise not to compete myself. Wouldn't want to compromise your chances. " Jon said that last sentence in a mocking tone.
Ser Gerold rolled his eyes. "I can still beat either of you in the joust easily. And don't forget Ser Oswell's achievements. Now, can we get back to the order of the day? Let us finish discussing the situation in King's Landing. We can talk about the Stormlands, the Reach and Dorne another day."
"And go over the lists of the support we expect from the Kingdoms that have already joined our cause." Davos chimed in.
"And hope there is still some daylight left by the time we finish so I can visit my dragons." Jon whispered to Sam.
"And before my fingers start cramping around this quill." Sam whispered back and both young men exchanged smiles.
"King's Landing then," Jon addressed Davos now. "Tell me about Uncle Ned. How are he and the King governing my Kingdoms?"
"Perhaps we should wait and discuss this when Varys is here. I expect him the day after tomorrow. Then we have a firsthand report." Davos suggested.
Jon nodded gratefully. "Excellent. Then we can adjourn this meeting after the announcement I still wanted to make."
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
"First of all, tomorrow I am not available for any meetings, be it a small council meeting or private audiences with recently arrived Lords and their families. I still intend to show up for my daily training session but afterwards I will accompany Princess Daenerys when she makes her rounds of the workshops here on Dragonstone. I will also visit the ships, meet with some of the crew. I intend to partake in the evening entertainment of the smallfolk. The bonfires on the beach." He added when Ser Gerold frowned. "I will remain alert and you can all come join me on the beach if you deem it necessary for my protection."
"Count me in." Davos looked interested.
"I will go as well." Sam had stopped scribbling a while ago.
"And secondly, you may all congratulate me. The Princess Daenerys and I are betrothed. I asked her to marry me yesterday before supper and she accepted." Jon smiled broadly but his eyes were observing the reaction to his words closely.
"Damn," Ser Oswell cursed.
"Who won the bet?" Ser Gerold frowned.
"Varys, I think," Davos answered and chuckled. "Come on you twats, stop teasing and congratulate the boy already. He only gets betrothed to a lovely Princess once."
Chairs scraped over the stone floor when they all got up and hurried to the side of the table where Jon now beamed from ear to ear. He had never thought his announcement would be that easily accepted. The moment he got pulled from his chair and was caught in his first embrace he realised Sam was nowhere to be seen. Davos mushed up his hair, Ser Gerold patted his back, Ser Oswell shook his hand enthusiastically and Ser Arthur hugged him within an inch of his life."
"If you need any advice, don't go to these knights, lad. Just come to me. I can tell you all you need to know and then some." Davos chuckled.
When they finally retreated to their side of the table Jon's eyes turned back to the door and was relieved to see Sam returning. His friend carried a platter containing a pitcher filled with ale and five large beakers.
"I thought this merited a toast and I brought Jon's drink of choice." He smiled happily.
"Put that thing down, Sam. You owe me a congratulatory hug." Jon ordered.
Sam didn't hesitate. He asked Ser Arthur to do the honours and the two friends embraced. "I wish you all the luck in the realm, Jon. I am very happy for you. Does anyone else know?"
"Aside from Dany who might have told Ser Barristan, no. Some might suspect but nobody has been told officially, present company excepted. We will not announce it yet. Dany and I want to marry after the Iron Throne has been restored to House Targaryen."
Jon looked at Davos when he said the next words. "We had been thinking to hold a joint wedding/coronation ceremony in the Grand Sept of Bailor. I will marry her before the Old Gods and a few witnesses in the Godswood the night before. We mean to keep that part private. You are all invited to the Godswood wedding of course but don't spread the word."
"My, my, how long have you been planning this?" Ser Gerold exclaimed. "Too bad though. If you had acted a bit sooner, I might have won the bet.
***
That afternoon Jon sat on the throne where many a Prince of Dragonstone had held court and gestured for the first visitors to be allowed to enter the Great Hall. This time, the Great Hall was empty except for Ser Arthur who stood before the throne slightly to Jon's right, Ser Oswell identically positioned to his left and the houseguards posted at every entrance. The large doors opened and an elderly man accompanied by a middle aged couple approached and bowed before the steps of his throne.
After leaving the room with the painted table, Jon had opted to lunch quietly in his quarters with only Sam for company. Sam had used the opportunity to brief him about the visitors that would be brought before him that afternoon. The first ones to have been granted an audience with the Prince of Dragonstone was Lord Celtigar, head of House Celtigar of Claw Isle. Sam had informed him how the elderly man was connected to Jon's foster-grandmother.
"The current Lord Celtigar is named after his ancestor, Alton Celtigar who served as Hand of the King to Aegon the Conqueror. Your foster-grandfather was his uncle but as you know your foster-grandfather was only a third son and left Claw Isle when he married the daughter of Lord Velaryon. The young Lord opted to live with his wife at the Driftmark. House Celtigar of Claw Isle is a very rich house. What might interest you is that they possess an axe of Valyrian steel. The Lord is accompanied by his son Adrian Celtigar and his good-daughter. Apparently the couple has five children four girls and one boy but the children stayed behind on Claw Isle."
Jon straightened his back and closely studied the approaching elderly Lord looking for some resemblance with the vague picture he had of his foster-grandfather who had died when Jon was still rather young.
"Lord Alton Celtigar at your service, my King." The frail looking Lord bowed and needed his son's help to regain his normal standing position.
"Allow me to present my son, Lord Adrian Celtigar and his wife Elinda formerly of House Massey."
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Celtigar. It is nice to meet relatives of my foster-grandparents. But please, address me as 'my Prince' for now. I am not a King yet." Jon was getting a bit tired of hearing himself repeat this sentence here at Dragonstone. He should ask Davos, or Sam to warn the visitors of the correct way that he wished to be addressed for now.
"If we had known you needed sanctuary so shortly after you were born, we would have been glad to take you in, my Prince. We would have given you surroundings fit for a King instead of"
"I was happy and could live in complete anonymity at the Driftmark." Jon cut him off before the man could disparage the loving home he had found at the Driftmark. "It was a very good solution. An ideal spot to raise my dragons and the people there were and still are extremely loyal to me. It is in the past anyway and everything turned out well." Jon's polite smile was a bit forced.
"What is done is done." Lord Celtigar agreed. "If there is anything we can do to contribute to your cause now, just say the word. All we have is at your disposal."
"That is a very generous offer. I'll be sure to keep that in mind. I thank you Lord Celtigar. Now tell me, is it true that House Celtigar is the owner of a magnificent axe made of Valyrian steel?" Jon leaned a bit forward.
"We are, your Grace. But we have much more beautiful treasures. I have brought a few rubies as a gift to decorate your armour. That way it can be just like your father's, Prince Rhaegar."
The head of House Celtigar handed Ser Arthur a small velvet bag and Ser Arthur in turn approached his Prince and handed him the precious objects. Jon put one ruby in the palm of his hand to admire it up close. It was a thing of beauty and there were at least eight similar stones inside the small pouch. He wondered just how rich House Celtigar actually was.
"I thank you, Lord Celtigar. I appreciate the thoughtfulness even more than the beauty of the gift. "I will make sure they will adorn my new still to be forged armour and will ask the blacksmith to incorporate them in at the exact same spots as red rubies that once adorned the armour of my excellent father."
Jon put the ruby back with the others in the velvet pouch and handed it to Ser Arthur again.
"Might I ask for a favour, Lord Celtigar? Would you be willing to send for the axe? I would like to admire it up close."
His son frowned when Jon made the request but the elderly Lord Celtigar once more made a painfully looking bow and promised to send a raven to Claw Isle immediately.
At that moment, footsteps echoed in the Great Hall and Jon looked up to see Davos approach his throne and mount the steps. The knight whispered in his Prince's ear that it was time to receive the next delegation.
Jon rose from his throne to signal the end of the interview. "I hope you have a pleasant stay at Dragonstone, my Lords and my Lady. I am sorry to cut the interview short but several others are awaiting an audience with me."
The elder Lord Celtigar, his son and the latter's wife bowed one last time to the Targaryen Prince and followed Davos who led the way to the large doors.
Lord Daeron Vaith, Lord of the Red Dunes and Lord Walter Wyl of the Boneway request an audience, my Prince," Davos announced when the next visitors entered.
***
Interlude 30: The Viper and the Queen of Thorns
Prince Oberyn looked forward to getting off the ship. This was the last time he travelled this far by boat if he could help it. He had already run out of most of his jokes and stunts to tease his fellow passengers with before they were even halfway. The captain had reprimanded him and warned the Prince more than once that nobody would be willing to keep him company anymore if he kept up his current behaviour. Oberyn had tried to act a bit more circumspect for the rest of the journey and with the exception of a limited number of rewarding pranks he had mostly kept his word even if as a result he had been bored as the Seven Hells.
He fondly remembered using one of his potions to remove the inhibitions of his fellow travellers on their first evenings on the boat and had learned many secrets. A bonus had been that he had also discovered a potential male lover that way and had at least been able to satisfy his carnal needs during his long forced confinement. Not having much in way of other distractions, the Prince had finished every book he had brought with him in no time and had swindled his co-travellers out of the ones they had brought along.
Finally things were looking up now. They had almost arrived. He looked forward to his reunion with Ellaria, his paramour. He was sure she would be eagerly awaiting his arrival as well. He had sent word to Varys by means of one of the special ravens he had brought along with him on the ship.
Almost instantly he had regretted his decision of travelling directly to King's Landing to win a few meagre days. The better choice would have been to travel alongside Davos Seaworth and Ser Arthur. They at least could have kept him entertained with stories of their years with the Targaryen Prince. Prince Oberyn for some reason had grown very fond of the young man. He had been counting the days until he could leave this floating trap behind and could start helping the Targaryen cause again. The opportunity came sooner than expected.
Finally safely moored at the docks of the capital, he had not taken more than a few steps ashore before he was accosted by a servant. The man offered to take his bags and promised to escort him and his belongings to an inn where a Lady waited for him. Prince Oberyn only too willing to accept his offer nodded with a broad smile on his face and asked the servant to hurry.
The smile left his face the very moment he entered the small establishment. Instead of falling into the long awaited loving arms of his paramour, he looked into the wrinkled face and cunning eyes of the Queen of Thorns.
"Please be seated, Prince Oberyn. I ordered the finest wine available in this establishment. Come now, join me. We need to talk."
Lady Olenna Tyrell sat on a modest looking chair, her back straight, her elaborate dress carefully arranged about her, one hand leaning stately on an exquisite carved walking stick. Prince Oberyn took in her stately posture making the mental note that she treated the simple wooden chair exactly as she would the Iron Throne. 'Not that the old shrew would ever get near it. Certainly not while he drew breath!'
"My Lady, although you may be right, forgive me for being blunt and state my disappointment. I was looking for someone else to greet me after such a long voyage. Can our encounter not be delayed for a day at least so I can greet my paramour who is bound to be even more eager to see me than you are." He needed all his self-control to mask the extent of his dismay and disillusionment.
"Sit down, Prince Oberyn. If you keep standing about like that you are causing an old lady a stiff neck." When she saw him stiffen at her commanding tone, she changed tactics.
"Come now, this won't take long. The sooner you sit down, the sooner you can leave here and find … her." She wrinkled her nose and sniffed disapprovingly.
Prince Oberyn ignored the slight, used to people condemning his long standing affair with a Dornish bastard. "I might as well grant you your request and will even admit to being curious. I didn't know we were on such good terms for you to go to such great length as to seek me out at the docks."
He sat down and accepted a glass of wine. "Just the one glass though," he warned her and took a sip. "This is indeed excellent wine. Much better than what I was forced to drink on the ship. May I enquire as to how you knew I was arriving today?" He sat back. Now that he had decided to oblige her, he was already looking for ways to play with her and to get some naughty pleasure out of this encounter.
"Varys was so kind as to answer my questions. On this subject at least." She pursed her lips. Clearly Varys had not done her the courtesy of obliging her very often.
"Now what can I do for you, Lady Tyrell? As stated, I have not much time for inanities." He studied her closely. She seemed tense somehow and he was sure it was not solely caused by the elusiveness of the Master of Whispers. Surely she must be long used to the eunuch's elusive ways.
"I gather you have met my grandsons in the North. I just want you to tell me what is going on over there and why my Loras is so intent on staying there. Has he found a new flame?"
"I had the pleasure to meet both your grandsons at Winterfell. I hardly recognised them. Our houses do not frequent each other all that regularly, wouldn't you agree?" He smiled charmingly.
Prince Oberyn could see small hints of her building irritation. The knuckles of her left hand holding her cane had turned white, her other hand was clenching the cup filled with wine to the brim a bit too tight. He hoped the innkeeper had used his sturdiest beaker. On the other hand, perhaps he should wish for the opposite? He needed to conceal his smile at the image of her crushing the beaker and spilling the red wine on her lavish, old fashioned but rather expensive looking gown.
"I thought you had no time for games, Prince Oberyn." She had narrowed her eyes slightly. "Do you have any idea what is so interesting in the North that Loras is so adamant to stay there? At least Willas has recently left Winterfell and is on his way home."
Prince Oberyn tapped his lower lip with his finger pretending to be deep in thought. "Well, as far as I know, Prince Renly is in the North. Isn't that incentive enough for your youngest grandson to stay put?"
"Why were you in the North, Prince Oberyn? I do not tell me some bullshit about travelling and sightseeing. Are you man enough to come out and declare that you are in league with House Stark?" She had put her cup down rather forcefully without having taken even the tiniest sip. A bit of red liquid stained the otherwise pristine white cloth the innkeeper must have brought out on her demand because the other tables wore no such cover.
"I consider myself a friend of House Stark. But mind you, I speak for myself. I speak neither for my brother nor for the Principality of Dorne." He enjoyed reminding her that her sons were mere Lords as opposed to the princely status of House Martell.
"Why did you befriend House Stark if your brother does not follow suit?" The reply was curt but Oberyn could sense her frustration, it was almost tangible.
"Haven't your grandsons written to you about some of what is happening in the North? Hasn't Varys or Lord Stark been able to persuade you of the merit of an alliance with House Stark yet? Are you really so headstrong, so unwilling to take a small risk? Are you so blind you cannot see a once in a lifetime opportunity when it presents itself?" He challenged her.
She merely waved away his barbs and proceeded with her interrogation. "Have you heard of a certain Lord Celtigar my grandsons have encountered in the North?"
"Of course I have. He is a most amiable young man. I have known him for several years now." Prince Oberyn smiled making a show of giving her the impression that he was reminiscing and it were all rather delightful memories that he conjured up.
"Did you see him during your recent visit in the North?" She asked tersely glaring at him without blinking.
"As a matter of fact, I did have that pleasure." He drew his words out. Prince Oberyn no longer regretted being held up by Lady Olenna. He was starting to enjoy himself immensely. He drank deeply from his cup, put the almost empty beaker slowly back on the table and smiled indulgingly at her.
"My Loras has sworn his life away to that man." Lady Olenna answered after a pause. He could hear the exasperation in her voice.
"I wouldn't call it that, my Lady. I never thought I would say this, but your youngest grandson is the smarter Tyrell apparently. Before hearing this news, I would have put my coin on Lord Willas."
"Why are you so sure that Loras did a smart thing?" She had toned down the bitch act somewhat. Prince Oberyn might even have witnessed the early stages of pleading.
"I can't tell you much. You should ask your grandsons. What I can tell you is that Lord Celtigar is an honourable man. Don't be misled by his name. What matters is that he is closely allied to House Stark. And for some reason, his word carries weight with the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark. He has many allies, many powerful friends and I am proud to call him a dear personal friend." He had talked to her as a teacher would to a student, his attitude bordering on being condescending.
"And apparently Loras and Willas both fell for his schemes." There was no mistaking the bitterness in her tone of voice now.
"Why do you think the man is scheming? Not everyone is like you and me." He responded. "Did you not hear me when I told you he is most honourable? Hells, if you saw him, you might mistake him for a scion of House Stark."
He cursed himself inwardly the moment these words left his lips. He saw her facial expression change. The cunning look appeared once more though she tried to mask it with her next words. "This Lord Celtigar has persuaded our Loras somehow to give him precedence above his own house." She once more accused the Lord she had never met.
"Knowing this Lord Celtigar, and make no mistake, I know him well, he will never ask Loras to turn against his kin. All this time playing the game, Lady Olenna and you are still on the fence." Prince Oberyn shook his head in mock disappointment. "Tut, tut, tut, I would have expected more of you. I reckon your granddaughter still isn't betrothed? No? Nor are any of your grandsons?" He shook his head and took delight in the deep frown that appeared on her already rather wrinkled forehead. "Be wary, indecision like that might make you miss some excellent opportunities. Soon it will be too late, Lady Olenna. And here I thought you were known as the Lady of Thorns. Old age has finally caught up with you it seems." He mocked her to his heart's content.
Lady Olenna narrowed her eyes until they were mere slits. "Have you talked to Lord Eddard Stark?"
"Not in some time, my Lady. I have been confined on a floating prison with boring company for sennights. If you do not mind, I will take my leave from you now so I can go find my dear Ellaria. I sincerely hope her welcome will be a bit warmer and consist of fewer words." He smiled suggestively at her and rose with feline grace.
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture no longer making the effort to disguise her dismay at the outcome of their discussion.
Prince Oberyn bowed and left the inn knowing he had revealed just enough to let her know he was in on a big secret. He hoped he had managed to convey the impression that if she felt left out, it was all her own doing. Perhaps that would finally wake her up and accept an alliance with House Stark. Lady Margaery needed to be taken off the marriage market before the Queen of Thorns got a whiff of the true identity of Lord Celtigar.
***
Ellaria's arms had been welcoming, very welcoming indeed and it had taken him two days before he made the effort to present himself at the court of the usurper. He had stayed just long enough to publicly accept the position on the small council in front of Robert Baratheon and a packed throne room before announcing he needed a sennight or perhaps two before he was able to attend his new duties. When the King ordered him to explain himself further, Prince Oberyn had smiled demurely and stated some personal matters needed to be seen to first since he had spent moons travelling the Northern Kingdom. Surely his Grace would understand?
The Dornish Prince and his paramour had left King's Landing, and had stepped on a small boat he had hired solely for this purpose, not disclosing to anyone where they went until they had left the harbour. Varys was the only one who knew of his destination. The Master of Whispers had given him many messages to read from the True King. Prince Oberyn had also been tasked to relay that Lord Varys would follow him to Dragonstone in two days' time.
Prince Aegon would be delighted to hear the steps he had undertaken to provide an adequate teacher for the Arya Stark. Instead of offering up one of his Sand Snakes, he had sent for the former First Sword of Braavos. He knew that the master fencer's water dancing style would suit the little cousin of the Targaryen Prince very well. Even more important, Syrio Forel would have no qualms in teaching a little girl as long as she was properly motivated and he was adequately recompensed for it. He had written Robb Stark to warn him of the swordfighter's arrival.
To Robb of House Stark, heir of Winterfell, temporary regent of the North
Lord Stark,
Soon Syrio Forel, an Essosi master fencer with extraordinary credits will be knocking on the gates of Winterfell. I have hired him to teach your lady sister, Arya Stark a swordfighting style best suited to her physique. This was done on the express demand of Lord Celtigar. If your Lady Mother objects, tell her our mutual royal friend will have no trouble persuading your Lord Father and Hand of the King that your youngest sister would thrive in Dorne and that he will most surely persuade Lord Eddard Stark to send her little Arya for a long fostering term to Dorne with immediate effect.
Prince Oberyn of House Martell, the Red Viper
This time Oberyn didn't mind being trapped on a boat once again. It was only for two days and Ellaria would see to it he hardly noticed his surroundings anyway. Besides, he would soon see Prince Aegon again and also his dear youth friend, Ser Arthur. In the meanwhile he mulled over all he had learned from Varys and the contents of the Targaryen Prince's messages. Ripples of the rumours caused by the revelations after Robb's rescue were reaching the capital. Soon the usurper would learn of a dragonrider that had a claim to the Iron Throne but more importantly that his former betrothed had been the one to give Prince Rhaegar this precious son. The conspiracy was living on borrowed time.
It was a challenge but Prince Oberyn would do everything he could to buy the Targaryen Prince the necessary time to be able to conclude his quest in the North. He had already come up with a few possible schemes and conferred with Varys. The eunuch had been on board straightaway with one of the more daring versions of his scheme, confessing he had been preparing a similar plan in secret.
They both were of the opinion it was better to do this on their own and inform neither Prince Aegon nor his entourage. They also would make certain they took any measure necessary to prevent the Hand of the King from catching the slightest hint of what they were preparing. If all went well, the honourable Targaryen Prince and the stiff morally correct Hand of the usurper would be happy with the outcome and never know the true extent of the involvement of the ones they trusted as their closest allies.
And Prince Oberyn counted himself as Prince Aegon's closest ally. Someone needed to protect the young idealistic, honourable Targaryen Prince from himself. Every ruler needed someone to take care of the dirtier business. And what Prince Aegon didn't know, wouldn't keep him up at night. It also provided the True King with the opportunity to deny any accusations levied at him with absolute honesty. He wouldn't have to feign his outrage at such accusations. Nobody would suspect that dear boy of foul play. It would all turn out for the best. The young Targaryen should bless the day Prince Oberyn of House Martell condescended to join his cause. That had been a very lucky day for all involved.
One small thing he had already put in motion without waiting for Varys' advice. A trusted messenger, one of the team of messengers that had been carrying out little errands for the conspiracy over the years, had been dispatched to intercept Willas Tyrell. Prince Oberyn hoped the man was able to reach the port of the Riverlands in time. It would be very opportune to catch up with the Tyrell heir at Seagard and have him make a little detour.
He stood at the railing with his arm around Ellaria's shoulder when the rough coastline of Dragonstone came into view. The Gods had been good lately to Prince Oberyn. And if he had any say in it, things would only get better from here on out. The days of the usurper's reign were finally up.