The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 28: A Message for the Realm
The following day, Joffrey ordered ravens dispatched from the Capital, and to be sent to every major House throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The message detailed Petyr Baelish's treachery and his subsequent execution along with all of his accomplices.
o-O-o
On the island of Dragonstone, an old maester was rushing to deliver the message to his lord and now king, Stannis Baratheon, the late king's younger brother.
"Your grace, a raven from King's Landing," the old man huffed, almost out of breath.
The balding man turned to face his longtime maester, his face wearing its usual stern and serious expression.
"Bring it here, Maester Cressen," he ordered, holding out his hand.
The old man complied and immediately handed the letter to his king, who quickly skimmed through its contents. After a brief moment of reading, Stannis let out a huff.
"It would seem the bastard has become more clever since I last saw him," he spoke aloud, drawing his small council members' attention.
"What is it, your grace?" one old man asked.
Stannis didn't respond, just handing the letter to him. The man looked at the small piece of paper, trying to make sense of the jumbled symbols. Seeing the man's confused expression, Stannis quickly remembered that the Onion Knight didn't know how to read, so he snatched the paper and handed it to the man's son, who began reading it aloud.
"Herein it is set forth," Matthos Seaworth announced. "By the decree of King Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, first of his name, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm: a treacherous plot has been discovered that has sown chaos and discord throughout the Realm."
The other council members looked at each other, a little confused.
"In the wake of my father King Robert Baratheon's death, a member of his Small Council, Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin, orchestrated a plot along with over twenty other Crownlands noblemen to see the Realm split in two and himself seated upon the Iron Throne."
Matthos Seaworth then went into detail, explaining Lord Baelish and his allies' scheme of spreading falsehoods against Joffrey's and his siblings' names, and of trying to kill Bran Stark in his bed before framing the deed on Tyrion Lannister and beginning the War of Five Kings. Getting to the end of the letter, the young lad read the final note.
"In the wake of this treacherous plot, I offer all lords currently raising their banners in rebellion and even those who have proclaimed themselves king the chance of leniency. Those who strike down their banners, bend the knee, and recognize me as the rightful heir of King Robert Baratheon shall be pardoned along with all of those who followed them in their folly. Those who refuse and continue on their current path shall be recognized as traitors of the realm and will be treated as such. Let all men decide where their loyalties lie."
Matthos then lowered the parchment and looked first to his father, then to his king.
"Your grace, you can't be considering taking his offer, can you?" Matthos asked after a brief moment.
Stannis turned his head and stared into the youth's eyes with an unsettling gaze.
"Of course not," he responded coldly. "The boy is false, as are his siblings and his whore mother, who no doubt had a hand in my brother's death."
His voice carried a cold fury many in the room weren't used to. He then slowly approached Aegon the Conqueror's war table.
"The throne is mine by right," he spoke slowly, placing his hands on the stone table and gazing upon the Seven Kingdoms that were soon to be his. "And I will not rest until that bastard's head, along with his siblings and mother, are on a spike."
Slowly, the other members approached the table, standing a few feet from their king.
"Your grace," Ser Davos Seaworth started. "The Lannisters are the true enemy. If for the time being, you could make a temporary truce with your brother, or perhaps Lord Robb—"
But Stannis quickly cut him off.
"Make peace with Renly or Robb Stark?" He practically scoffed. "I'll not make peace with any man who dares to call themselves king. Especially one whose father is still very much alive."
"Well, many have already declared for them, your grace," Ser Davos emphasized. "For Renly, he has Mace Tyrell and even Randyll Tarly backing him. As for Robb, he's already proven himself a resourceful battle commander and has the North, Riverlands, and even the Trident declared for him."
"Stannis does not need to beg this lord or that lord for support when the Lord of Light stands behind him," a light, melodious voice replied, making Davos frown.
Slowly, a woman with a bewitching beauty made her way over to the table. She had long hair the color of deep burnished copper and rather unsettling red eyes. She was draped in a long, elegant red gown which was customary for those of her faith. Ser Davos was always put off by the strange woman ever since she appeared on Dragonstone a few years prior, and thus always treated her with suspicion.
"Forgive me, my lady, but how many ships does the Lord of Light have in his fleet?" he asked sarcastically.
"He has no need for ships," she replied, unbothered by the old knight's tone.
"I'm sure he doesn't, but we do if we're going to war and we don't have enough men." The Onion Knight then looked toward Lord Cafferen, one of the few Stormlands bannermen to remain loyal to Stannis, who nodded his head in agreement.
"Which is why we will be remaining on Dragonstone for the time being," Stannis cut in. "We will allow our enemies to bleed each other while we consolidate our forces. For which I will be calling upon you, Ser Davos, and some of your old contacts."
"I may know a few unsavory men who'd be willing to take up arms for us." Davos was happy that Stannis wasn't rushing into the war, blinded by the Red Witch's words and charms.
"Good," he nodded his head. "Everyone has their assignments, now get out."
"Yes, your grace." They replied and slowly emptied out of the small council chamber, leaving the king and his red woman alone inside.
Standing and facing each other, Stannis slowly took in the foreign woman's beauty. Her gown was particularly form-fitting and was cut so low that it left very little to the imagination. As he managed to peel his eyes away from the woman's cleavage, he saw her staring at him with her own smirk, making him swallow slightly. He quickly turned his body and made his way in front of the chamber's burning fireplace. Retrieving the letter from the table, she quickly made her way over and joined him. Silence hung in the air between the two as they stood side-by-side in front of the burning timber.
"You're still certain of your visions?" Stannis finally asked after the moment of silence hung in the air too long for his liking.
"Yes, my king." She responded immediately as she slowly made her way behind him and draped her arms over his wide, strong back. "You're Azor Ahai reborn. You're The Prince That Was Promised; you will unite the Realms of Men, and with your sword Lightbringer, you will stand against the coming darkness in the War for the Dawn." She whispered into his ear, her breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.
"How can you be so certain?" he asked with a clear hint of doubt in his voice.
Slowly, Melisandre made Stannis turn around to face her.
"Faith, my king," she responded as she caressed his cheek with her palm. "Faith in my Lord, who is the Lord for all of Mankind."
Slowly, his eyes once again trailed down and stared into her deep valley. Looking up at Stannis with a bemused smirk, the Red Priestess turned her king's attention away from her breasts and toward the flames of the fireplace.
"Look into the fire, my king," she spoke soothingly into his ear. "Do you see? Do you see, my king?"
"...I see nothing," he said after a moment of staring into the flames.
"Look deeper," she responded, guiding his head deeper toward the flames.
"...I still don't see any… Wait…Yes, I can see it."
He said as the flames slowly transformed into a field. A windy grass field that Stannis recognized as the Stormlands. There, in the middle of the field, stood a proud, older stag wearing a crown of fire. It stood with its head held high over the body of a younger stag whose body glistened with emeralds. All around the large burning stag, thousands of men dressed in black and gold kneeled and bowed their heads in reverence.
"The war has finally come," she whispered into his ear as she ran her fingers through what remained of his brown hair, while taking the opportunity to push her bosom against his arm. "Thousands will die at your command. You'll betray the men serving you; you'll betray your family; you'll betray everything you once held dear, and it will all be worth it. Because you are the Son of Fire. You are the Warrior of Light."
Her words were as enticing as they were moving as she continued on.
"You will mow down this pretender like wheat in a field. You shall be king." She said as she kissed his cheek.
Nodding his head, Stannis stared down at the letter from King's Landing one last time.
"Well, at least the bastard lowered the number of traitors I'll have to execute," he said before tossing the paper into the fire and watching with satisfaction as it turned to ash before his eyes.
"Yes, my king," she agreed with a sly smirk on her face as she continued to watch the flames with him.
o-O-o
All the way in the Reach, within Highgarden's great hall, King Renly, along with the rest of the noble court, were busy feasting and celebrating the upcoming war when Joffrey's letter arrived. As the Steward finished reading the contents of the message aloud to the entire hall, both Renly and Mace broke out into hysterical laughter.
"I knew the blonde little shit would be desperate, but this is just sad," Renly laughed as he pushed a lock of his long hair out of his face and took a sip from his chalice.
"Indeed. I can't believe that runt is descended from Tywin Lannister," Mace Tyrell added, laughing while holding his round belly.
Though not everyone thought the matter was as funny as the pair, many of the lords unconsciously held their necks as the steward described the conspirators' public execution. Though King Renly and his Hand, Mace Tyrell, seemed oblivious to their bannermen's anxiety and just continued to eat, drink, and laugh about the matter.
It wasn't until Margaery Tyrell leaned over and whispered something into her husband Renly's ear that he seemed to finally notice his men's growing fear. Seeing the seed of doubt growing in his men's hearts, Renly stood to his feet and raised his cup to all of them.
"Worry not, my lords, for we are the ones who shall emerge victorious in this war," he said confidently, his charisma cutting through the darkness that his nephew's letter had instilled. "Have no fear, as the Seven continue to bless us to victory!" he announced before bringing the cup to his lips and took a gulp while the men cheered.
"Yeah!" They all shouted before downing their cups as well.
Margaery then stood up alongside her husband and again whispered something to him. After a brief moment, Renly's eyes widened and a smirk grew across his face.
"An excellent idea, my queen," he said happily before turning back toward the crowd. "Everyone, in celebration of our future victories and in memory of my older brother's passing, we shall be holding a great melee in his honor."
Once again, cheers erupted throughout the great hall as everyone got into a merry-making mood.
o-O-o
Back in the Riverlands, Robb held a War Council upon receiving Joffrey's letter. Many of the Northern lords scoffed at the offer and refused to even consider it.
"Bah! Of course, he would want peace now since we're slaughtering them like swine!" Great Jon boasted.
"Agreed, I can't see any merit in accepting his offer," stated the Blackfish.
"We can't stop now! Not after the sacrifices of my sons!" yelled Lord Karstark.
"Also we can't—"
This carried on for some time, each lord adding their own opinions and suggestions on the subject, all while Robb sat at the head of the table and silently listened to all of their opinions.
"Lord Bolton, you're silent. What do you think we should do?" one of the lords asked.
The northern lord was a rather unremarkable man by all regards. His frame was small and slim, yet not scrawny, though not muscular either. His most distinctive feature were his mesmerizing eyes that were paler than a stone and darker than milk. The eyes of a cunning predator.
"I think it's an option we should consider," he finally spoke after a long, hanging silence.
"What?! You can't be serious, Lord Bolton!" Great Jon screamed.
"I never joke, Lord Umber," he responded calmly.
"Why you craven piece of—"
But before he could start, Robb cut him off.
"Enough, Lord Umber!" he snapped with a sharp tone, making the seven-foot giant sit back down. "Now, Lord Bolton, tell us what you think."
"My only consideration is that if we surrender, we can most likely get your father and sisters back from the capital and begin preparing for the long winter that is sure to come, your grace."
"Yes, and it's just as likely our king will be put inside a cell right next to his father!" snapped Great Jon, with Lord Karstark nodding his head in agreement.
"You're probably right. All I'm suggesting is that we consider it, that's all. Our goal was to rescue Lord Stark, after all, in case any of you have forgotten."
"None of us have forgotten that, Lord Bolton!" yelled Lord Karstark. "But it's about more than just Lord Eddard and his daughters now, and you know it! It's about independence and Northern freedom to govern ourselves again!"
"A wonderful goal, but we must not become blinded to other possible resolutions for peace."
"The only solution is—" Lord Karstark started to say again, but once again, Robb shut them down.
"Enough!" he shouted before slamming his fist on the table, silencing all of the older men. "I have heard all of your advice and will consider each of them when I make my decision. Now leave me to my thoughts." he ordered.
"You heard your king, move your asses!" Great Jon yelled. "Come on out, all of you!"
One by one, each of them stood up from the council table and began making their way out of the war tent, until Robb stopped Theon.
"Lord Theon, a moment," he said, gesturing for his friend to remain behind.
Theon looked confused for a moment but did as his friend asked and waited inside the tent for the others to leave. Once it was only the two of them, Robb got up from his seat and made his way over to his brother.
"Well, he certainly looks like a king now," he thought as he took in his foster brother's appearance.
He wore his boiled leather over top of his ringmail and had a thick fur brocade cloak draped over his shoulders. Though the young man's most distinct feature was the crown of swords that rested upon his head. It was a hammered bronze circlet incised with runes of the First Men, and surmounted with nine black iron spikes shaped like longswords. Robb had allowed him to try it once in private but found the thing unbearably uncomfortable. Which, according to his foster brother, was the point of kingship.
"Do you think the blonde shit is telling the truth, your grace?" Theon asked as Robb stood beside him, the cool night air tickling their skin as their breaths became visible.
"You don't have to call me 'your grace' in private, Theon," Robb remarked with a smirk. "And as to your question, I have no idea," he said, shaking his head.
Theon just stared at Robb, waiting for him to continue.
"Part of me hopes he's telling the truth and that the prince I came to view as my friend still exists." He commented with a conflicted expression. "Yet the other part of me knows that I can't take that chance and we have to work under the worst-case scenario."
"Agreed." Theon nodded his head in agreement.
He was actually quite happy that his friend was making a decision with his head rather than his heart. Truthfully, he didn't care much for the royal prick ever since he came North with the rest of his family. During their stay in Winterfell, Theon had attempted to befriend the young prince as Jon and Robb had managed to do. Yet no matter what he did or said, Joffrey rejected any notion of friendship between the two of them. He assumed that it was because his uncle burned the Lannister fleet during his father's rebellion, though there was something in the prince's gaze that told him it was something far deeper than that.
"That's why I have a favor to ask, Lord Greyjoy," Robb said, dragging Theon out of his thoughts.
"How may I serve you, your grace?" Theon asked, while going for an over-the-top bow, making Robb roll his eyes.
"I've considered your proposal earlier in regards to forming an alliance with your father, Balon Greyjoy. Are you certain you can convince him to lend us his fleet?"
"Without a doubt he'll listen to me," he replied immediately. "He hates the Lannisters as much as anyone. Give him some of their lands and territories, and he'll happily raise his sails for you."
Robb studied Theon's expression and saw nothing but utter certainty in his eyes.
"Very well," he finally said after a brief moment of contemplation.
"Thank you, your grace," he said happily, as he was getting a chance to prove himself and see his homeland again. "I will not fail you."
The two then clasped forearms, and Theon marched off to prepare his luggage for his journey, leaving Robb alone in the opening of the war tent. Slowly, staring up at the starry night sky that was illuminated by the light of the full moon, thoughts of his family filled his mind. It had been weeks since his men proclaimed him their king, The King in the North. He had tried to dissuade them, but with every major lord of both the North and the Riverlands kneeling at his feet, it had forced his hand.
With each passing day, the weight of the crown bore down on him more and more. The only thing that seemed to make it bearable were thoughts of seeing his family whole once more. The memory of his loving father, his adoring mother, his bickering sisters, and his mischievous little brothers all sitting together once more. So with those thoughts in mind, Robb pushed aside any doubts as he had when he marched south and remained steadfast on the path he'd decided led to northern liberty.
o-O-o
In the Halls of the Eyrie, a weeping woman could be heard sobbing as she sat on her late husband's seat of power.
"They killed him!" She wailed, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "They killed my beloved Petyr!"
"Lady Arryn, please calm yourself," Yohn Royce spoke in a calm, grandfatherly tone.
"Do not presume to command me, Lord Royce!" she snapped immediately with clear fury. "I am Regent of the Vale, and you will remember your place!"
"Of course, my apologies, my lady," he said, going for a deep bow.
The plump, red-haired woman then resumed her weeping as the rest of the Lords of the Vale watched on uncomfortably. After several moments passed, one of the braver attendants decided to voice a question.
"My lady, now that both your husband and Lord Baelish have been murdered, what are we to do?"
Immediately, Lysa snapped her head up to see the source of the voice, but found Ser Lyn Corbray looking back at her. Remembering he was one of her beloved Petyr's closest allies, Lysa decided to put some of her trust in him.
"What are we going to do?" she asked rhetorically. "Well, that should be pretty simple. We will be seeking justice for both my husband and my Petyr. The knights of the Vale are going to war!"
Utter silence filled the hall, each lord looking at each other with uncertain and frankly nervous expressions. After the awkwardness became too much to bear, Lord Royce once again spoke up.
"War? My lady, are you saying we will be joining the War of Five Kings?"
To which Lady Lysa nodded her head.
"To which side will we be supporting, my lady?" Lord Coldwater asked. "Are we raising our banners in the name of your nephew, Robb Stark? Or are we to support one of the Baratheon brothers?"
"Neither," she shook her head. "My sister's son had the right idea; the time of the dragons has passed. We'll govern ourselves once again. You will fight for the son of Jon Arryn, King Robin, the new King of the Mountain and the Vale! Now call the banners!"
The other lords looked between each other, uncertain how to proceed, when one stepped up.
"My lady, this is a drastic action, perhaps it would be better to wait and see—"
But he was cut off by a furious Lysa.
"Guards, seize him and take him to one of the sky cells!" she yelled.
Immediately, two guards seized the shocked lord by his arms and dragged him from the hall.
"I have no patience for cravens," she said as she looked over the rest of the court, looking for any signs of defiance. "Now do as I command and call the bloody banners!"
"As you wish, my lady," Lord Royce bowed at the hip and was prepared to leave.
"Oh, and Lord Royce, fetch my precious boy for me," she said as she started to unfasten the strings of her gown. "It's time for his dinner."
"Yes, my lady." He responded without turning around so that Lady Arryn couldn't see the look of disgust on his face.
"Well I guess we can call it the War of Six Kings now," He thought to himself as he continued to walk.
o-O-o
In the ruins of Harrenhal, a world-famous dwarf was being led down one of the few stable hallways to a certain chamber. After arriving at the spot, the servant knocked on the door thrice.
"Come in," the stern voice on the other side commanded.
The pair immediately made their way inside and found the Warden of the West and new Hand of the King hard at work writing up a parchment. The servant immediately stepped forward, announcing Tyrion's presence.
"Lord Tywin, I've brought your son, Lord Tyrion," he said while standing at attention.
"Good, now get out," he commanded.
The servant bowed his head and immediately left the chamber, closing the door behind them, leaving the father and son alone. A quiet awkwardness filled the air as the only sound that resonated in the vast, damaged chamber was the dripping of water and the scribble of the old lion's quill.
Slowly, Tyrion made his way over to his father's large wooden desk, and sat in one of the two chairs facing the opposite side. Tywin continued to write and hadn't so much as greeted Tyrion, who was becoming more and more restless since his session with Shae had been interrupted.
Trying to calm his nerves, the dwarf reached out, trying to take the pitcher of wine that sat at the edge of his father's desk, only for Tywin to beat him to it and set it outside his reach, much to Tyrion's annoyance. More scratching of paper, until finally Tyrion couldn't take the silence another second.
"You wanted to speak to me, father?" Tyrion asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Yes," he responded unemotionally as he continued to write. "You've brought a whore into our camp."
"Yes, I thought you would've realized by now that I rather enjoy the company of whores," he responded sarcastically.
Upon hearing his reply, Tywin slowly looked up from his letter and stared into his youngest son's eyes. His eyes were hollow like a bottomless cavern you could never hope to see the bottom of. It always filled Tyrion and his siblings with fear and dread no matter how old they became.
"Will the day ever come when you stop bringing shame on House Lannister?" he asked rhetorically before he resumed writing.
Tyrion bit his lower lip in anger. He'd grown more and more concerned with Jaime's fate with each passing day, but Tywin refused to keep him informed on just about anything. He was forced to devise his own means to gather intel since it seemed the old lion had no interest in keeping his youngest son in the loop. Part of him had hoped they'd received word from Jaime when he'd been told his father demanded his presence. As he was about to make another inquiry about why he was summoned, Tywin slid a piece of paper over to him.
Picking it up, Tyrion quickly recognized the letter as from King's Landing and began reading over all of its contents. As he finished reading his dipshit nephew's ultimatum to the realm, he looked up towards his father.
"Well, it seems my nephew has grown more audacious since the last time I saw him."
"Indeed. Why is it always my family that causes me the most work?" Tywin asked, though mostly to himself.
"That's what family's for, or so they say," Tyrion offered with a laugh.
Tywin just snorted and blew dust off his parchment.
"What is my sister doing about all of this?"
"Nothing, and that's precisely the problem," he remarked as he slowly folded the paper. "She appears to have lost control over him, and allowed him to do as he likes."
"Indeed. Killing twenty noblemen in such a public display is sure to sow chaos in the Crownlands."
Tywin didn't acknowledge him as he slowly poured hot wax over the folded parchment and placed his own seal upon it.
"I've always considered you to be a stunted fool."
"Yes, I'm aware."
"Perhaps I was wrong."
"Well, half wrong," he shrugged. "I'm new to strategy, but it seems we can't wait in Harrenhal without resulting in us being at a disadvantage."
"True enough," He nodded as he poured himself and then his son a glass of wine. "As soon as the sun rises, we will march on Riverrun. You will go to King's Landing."
Tyrion nearly choked on his wine upon hearing his father's words.
"And do what?" he asked as he wiped his chin.
"Rule," he responded confidently. "You will take your cutthroat and savages and serve as Hand of the King in my stead. You will bring that boy king to heel and his mother too if need be. And if you so much as get a whiff of treason from the rest—Varys, Pycelle, or this Lark."
"Heads, spikes, walls," he finished for him, making him nod. "Why not my uncle, why not anyone, why me?"
"You're my son," he said with finality while handing him the scroll that bore his seal.
Tyrion slowly took the scroll into his hands, a confused expression on his face.
"I understand," he finally said as he tucked the parchment away.
"Good, now go." He ordered.
Tyrion immediately got up from his seat and began to make his way out of the chamber.
"And one more thing," Tywin added, stopping his son in his tracks. "You will not take that whore with you to court."
Tyrion didn't respond and resumed his stride, leaving his father alone in his chamber. Getting back to his chamber, he found his new favorite pastime draped in his bedsheets.
"Welcome back, my lion," she said in her usual exotic accent.
"Why hello, my lady." He remarked as he took in her body that he couldn't get enough of. "Have you prepared a gift for me?"
The foreign beauty rolled her eyes at the dwarf lord's words and tossed away the blanket, revealing the body the lecherous little lord couldn't get enough of.
After nearly an hour of the horizontal tango, the two laid side-by-side in the bed while Tyrion informed her of his meeting with Tywin.
"Hand of the King, really?" she asked as she laid on her elbows and propped herself up.
"So it would seem," he replied as he took a sip of wine.
"And your father specifically said you couldn't bring me with you?"
"Yes, he was pretty specific."
"He knew my name then?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"He specifically told you not to bring Shae with you to King's Landing?"
"I believe he used the word 'whore' to describe you, which of course is accurate."
"Are you ashamed of me then?" she asked with an irritated tone. "Are you afraid I'll go dancing around the court with my tits out!"
Tyrion just smirked and chuckled slightly at the woman's antics.
"Oh, I'm funny now, am I? I'm Shae, the funny whore."
"My father is probably the most powerful man in the country, definitely the richest, with all Seven Kingdoms in his pockets. Everyone everywhere always has to do exactly what my father says. He's always been a cunt."
Shae seemed to calm down upon hearing Tyrion's words.
"I believe the ladies of the court could learn a great deal from a girl like you." he said, staring her up and down. "How about you come with us and help me get my repulsive nephew under control."
Shae smiled and stood up, allowing her round, full breasts to hang out in the open, her brown nipples hardening under the chamber's cool air.
"Because the King needs a Hand and the Hand needs—"
He was cut off by Shae climbing into his lap, straddling him before locking her lips with his.
"I think I know what the Hand needs." She commented as she slowly kissed a smiling Tyrion down his chest and slowly made her way towards his crotch.
"Yes," he said as her head bobbed up and down. "I believe you do."
High and welcome to my first official story. Since I'm new I'd appreciate some praise and a little interaction, just trying to get to know my audience you know. Anyway with that in mind I'd appreciate you taking the time to leave a review and some critique, and I'll do my best to read them.
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Current available stories:
~The Young Lion: Act 2 Ch 7
~Highschool DxD: The Cursed King of Kuoh: S1 Ch 8