ARC IV: THE SECOND DANCE OF DRAGONS
Chapter 66: The Gears of the Empire
POV: Queen Shireen Stark (305 AC)
The muffled clamor of activity in the stone corridors of Moat Cailin could be heard clearly even from behind the heavy oak doors of my royal chambers. The excitement echoing through the fortress had a single purpose: my wedding.
I looked at myself in the large polished silver mirror, still finding it hard to believe. After contracting greyscale in my childhood and bearing the grey, petrified marks across half my face, I had never imagined that I would one day marry—even as a princess of royal blood. Yet, women who marry into House Stark receive their husband's surname, breaking from the traditions of the Southern Crown where women retain their maiden names. Today, I was officially becoming Shireen Stark.
Around me, handmaidens and my mother, Selyse, fluttered with needles, fine fabrics, and ribbons to ensure my wedding dress fit impeccably. Further back in the room, seated in comfortable velvet armchairs near the hearth, Lady Cersei Stark and Lady Ashara Stark enjoyed goblets of red wine, oblivious to the frantic dressing preparations.
The chamber door opened smoothly, and Wylla Stark—the Queen of the Neck and Robb's first wife—entered. She carried a bulky object carefully wrapped in a dark velvet cloth.
— Here it is, my dear... — Wylla said with a warm smile, stepping up to the vanity. — The Emperor himself had it forged for you to wear at the ceremony and in court.
Wylla uncovered the cloth, revealing a masterpiece of arcane goldsmithing: an elegant crown of runic gold shaped like stag antlers, seamlessly integrated into a delicate half-mask of worked gold, designed to gracefully cover the portion of my face affected by greyscale.
Lady Ashara Stark rose from her armchair, stepping over with graceful movements. She picked up the crown carefully, examined it, and looked at me:
— You don't need to hide your scars, girl... Robb genuinely likes you exactly as you are.
— Yes, Lady Ashara, I know... — I replied softly, touching the cool metal of the mask. — And that is precisely why I won't wear it when I'm alone with him. But even so... I will wear it in public celebrations. Not because I feel ashamed or need to hide from others, but so that the lords see beyond the scar. To them, I will be an imposing, unapproachable queen. But to those who truly matter in my life, I will show myself entirely.
Lady Cersei Stark let out a stifled laugh from her armchair, swirling the wine in her glass:
— Let the girl do as she pleases, Ashara! If she wants to look more imposing and intimidate those foolish lords, leave the girl be.
Ashara laughed alongside us, turning to Ned Stark's wife:
— Easy on that wine, my dear... Or you won't even be able to stand to watch the girl's vows.
Cersei gave a lazy smile and retorted in the same tone:
— Use your Dayne light magic to cleanse my hangover later, then... Aren't you my personal healer?
— I am definitely not your personal hangover purifier, Cersei, — Ashara teased, winking. — But keep drinking... I'll take care of you later.
Cersei raised her eyebrows, amused by the boldness:
— You think you're fooling me, Ashara? I know perfectly well what that tone of voice means... You want our wolf all to yourself tonight!
— Our wolf, Cersei, — Ashara corrected with a playful grin.
— Nonsense! — Cersei countered with mock indignation. — You both belong to me, so he is my wolf and you are my little star!
Wylla shook her head affectionately, stepping in to adjust my veil:
— Pay no mind to the constant flirting between those two, Shireen... Focus on looking absolutely beautiful for your special day.
When preparations finally concluded, the hour of the ceremony arrived. Escorted through the corridors of Moat Cailin, I reached the entrance of the Godswood. Waiting for me, conversing softly in solemn tones, were Lord Eddard Stark and my father, Stannis Baratheon.
Upon seeing me approach, both men paused their conversation. Lord Ned took a step forward with a paternal smile:
— You are radiant, my lady.
My father looked at me in silence for a few moments. For the first time in many years, I saw a genuine, emotional smile grace Stannis Baratheon's stern lips:
— Yes... My daughter, you are truly beautiful.
He cleared his throat and coughed softly, visibly embarrassed by showing affection in public, and composed his stern posture:
— Come... We mustn't keep the king waiting.
We entered the Godswood of ancient weirwoods. Before the Heart Tree, clad in noble leathers and furs, King Robb Stark awaited me alongside Emperor Arawyn Stark, who would officiate the union.
My father handed my hand to Robb. Before the old gods and witnessed by the Empire, Arawyn spoke the sacred words of the runic marriage. Robb stepped forward, removed my maiden's cloak, and covered my shoulders with the heavy bride's cloak of the Kingdom of the Neck: a dark fabric bearing the grey wolf upon a golden field, topped by a star.
We sealed our union with a kiss under the restrained applause of the court.
Following the rites in the wood, we were escorted to the great Throne Room of Moat Cailin. Arawyn walked ahead and settled onto the imperial throne of dark stone, while Robb, Wylla, and I advanced down the hall.
Arawyn raised his hand, declaring with sovereign authority:
— Robb Stark, King of the Neck... What do you bring before the Imperial Throne?
Robb knelt before the Emperor, and Wylla and I knelt at his side.
— I bring before you, my Sovereign, my second lawful wife to be officially crowned and consecrated before the Empire, — Robb declared firmly.
Arawyn stood up from the throne. Ros approached, carrying the crown of runic gold with stag antlers and the half-mask. The Emperor took the piece and placed it gently upon my head:
— With this crown, I consecrate you Queen of the Lands Above the Neck. May you rule alongside King Robb and Queen Wylla with wisdom, justice, and strength. Arise, Queen Shireen Stark!
I stood up to a round of applause and cheers from all the lords present. Robb and Wylla took my hands, smiling with genuine affection.
Arawyn looked out at the crowd with a side smile:
— Now... onto what you've actually been waiting for: time for the feast!
Shouts of joy echoed through the hall as the court directed itself toward the festivities. Walking alongside my husband and my fellow queen, I couldn't hold back a smile of pure happiness. After all, the bards and ancient songs weren't wrong about everything: sometimes, even a princess marked by shadows gets her happy ending.
POV: Ser Jaime Lannister (305 AC)
— Just quiet down for a second, brother... Calm your nerves, — Tyrion said, pacing beside me in the hallway of Casterly Rock.
— Yes... Listen to what your brother is saying, Jaime, — my Aunt Genna Lannister added, leaning against the stone wall.
I was pacing back and forth in front of the closed doors of the royal quarters, unable to keep my composure. My beloved Brienne of Tarth was inside, facing the battle of childbirth once more, and anxiety consumed my chest in a way no sword fight ever had.
I heard heavy footsteps approaching down the corridor. I turned and saw my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, accompanied by Tysha—Tyrion's wife.
When my father discovered years ago that Tyrion had secretly married a common girl, he had planned a terrible act of cruelty to undo that marriage. However, a direct letter sent by Emperor Arawyn made the old Lion change his mind instantly. The forced decision ended up proving to be a blessing in disguise: Tysha revealed herself to be an incredibly intelligent, sharp, and administrative woman, earning my stubborn father's genuine respect—even if the old man would never admit it out loud.
Tysha was holding little Arthur, the firstborn son of Brienne and me. She smiled at me tenderly:
— Little Arthur is doing great, Jaime... Don't worry, Brienne is stronger than all the men in this castle combined. She will be fine.
I was about to answer, but the wooden doors of the chamber finally opened. The maester stepped out, wiping his hands:
— Everything went smoothly and safely, my lords.
Hearing those words, I didn't even wait for the maester's permission. I burst into the room with long strides. Brienne lay upon the soft sheets, exhausted and sweaty, but wearing the most beautiful smile in the world.
— Come see our little girl, Jaime... — she asked softly.
I approached the bed with trembling hands and cradled the small bundle in my arms. The baby girl had a small tuft of golden hair and Brienne's striking blue eyes.
— You're a perfect little beauty, aren't you...? — I whispered, feeling my eyes mist over.
Tyrion walked into the room right behind me, looking at his niece with a broad smile:
— A Lannister little girl to spoil rotten! Finally! What good is being the richest man in the Rock if you don't have a niece to spoil with jewels and dresses?
— Stop saying foolish things, Tyrion, — my father retorted, approaching the bed with his usual rigid composure.
However, I knew old Tywin far too well. From the discreet gleam in his eyes, I knew perfectly well he would be the first to spoil that girl in secret.
I looked at my father, Tyrion, and Brienne, and declared:
— Family... welcome Joanna Lannister.
Tyrion smiled:
— A beautiful and honorable name, brother.
My father stepped closer, stared at his granddaughter for a few seconds with a slight nod of approval, and said:
— Yes... A very handsome name.
I handed little Joanna back into Brienne's arms and brought little Arthur over to the bed so he could see his new baby sister.
Later that afternoon, I met alone with my father in the solar of Casterly Rock.
— Now that Brienne's delivery has passed safely, Jaime... we must focus immediately on the total mobilization and training of our troops, — Tywin began, reviewing maps on the table.
— Yes, father... Shipments of enchanted armor and weapons sent by the Northern Empire are gradually arriving at our armories, — I replied, crossing my arms. — And I need to get used to using this runic steel myself so I can teach our men properly.
Tywin raised his face, staring at me sternly:
— Then it is good that you hurry. You dedicated your entire life to mastering the sword; this is the definitive moment to utilize your talent.
I raised both hands in a playful gesture of surrender:
— Peace, my old man... I was only joking. But I have to admit: the power contained in these runic pieces is truly fascinating. Now I am absolutely certain that no one in the known world could face the North in an open war, knowing that every single imperial warrior boasts equipment of this level. But that's exactly what leaves me puzzled... What in the hell is the North going to face to bother sending such precious armor and weapons to the other kingdoms?
My father remained silent for several long seconds, his gaze lost out the window facing the sea.
— I don't know clearly either, Jaime... — Tywin confessed in a low tone. — But I know it is nothing mundane. The Emperor's obsessive preparation with the lands Beyond the Wall tells me the true danger comes from the Far North.
I frowned, surprised:
— The Others...? The Long Night? I thought those creatures were just nursery tales from old nan.
— The world we live in stopped being normal a long time ago, my son... — Tywin answered, adjusting his gloves. — We have magical children ruling realms and colossal dragons flying through the skies at every turn.
I let out a short laugh:
— Yeah... You're entirely right, father. And, well... at least we were lucky enough to be deeply linked to them by blood alliances. I guess no lord in the known world had more profitable daughters than you!
Tywin glared at me with a lethal look. He tolerated no sly remarks or disrespect regarding Cersei, given everything she had brought to House Lannister through her marriage to Ned Stark.
— Two fools... You and your brother, — Tywin grumbled. — I should have kept young Rickon Stark as my heir here in the West!
I laughed even louder at his face:
— Ah, father... From the little bit I saw of that wild Northern boy, Rickon would be ten times wilder and more uncontrollable than Tyrion and me combined!
My father didn't answer me. He merely pointed to the door with feigned disdain:
— Go join your wife and take care of your children, Jaime.
I stood up from the chair, struck a theatrical knight's pose before the Lord of the Rock, and declared:
— Yes, my lord! At your command!
I saw old Tywin look around the desk for a heavy paperweight to throw at my head and decided to exit the solar laughing while I still could. It was time to return to my beloved wife and my precious children.
POV: Queen Arya Stark (306 AC)
The clapping sound of skin meeting skin and ragged breathing echoed through the grand royal suite of the Red Keep.
I was mounted forcefully atop my husband, King Gendry Baratheon, riding him with a fierce, untiring rhythm. Thanks to my physical strength enhanced by the ancestral runes of the First Men etched onto my skin by Arawyn, the weight of my early pregnancy didn't stop me from enjoying the pleasures of the bed.
Gendry let out a deep groan, releasing his seed into my womb. Yet, I didn't stop moving; I continued milking his shaft with intensity until I felt his body completely relax beneath me.
I halted my movements, sitting atop his groin, panting lightly as I wiped sweat from my forehead.
— You did terribly well... as always, my dear, — I said with a teasing smile.
And it was the plain truth. We had been at it all night long. Gendry possessed no magical enhancements in his body—only the natural vigor, libido, and physical strength of the Baratheon line—which made his ability to keep up with me in bed truly impressive.
I climbed off him, feeling his softened member slip out. I lay beside him on the large double bed, resting my head against his broad chest.
— Well, my dear King... this will be our last night of wild fun for a while, — I murmured.
Gendry opened his eyes slowly, smiling and caressing my hair:
— Yes, my Queen... From now on, we must focus on the health and safety of the child growing in your womb.
— Yes, my love... But now let's get up, because the sun has been up for a long time, — I teased, giving his chest a light pat.
Gendry let out a tired laugh and turned to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers over himself:
— They can wait outside... After all, I am the King of the South. I am going to sleep.
— Weak sack of meat! — I teased, laughing. — Just one intense night and you're in this miserable state?
Without even turning around, Gendry grumbled with his voice muffled by the pillow:
— Arya, my dear... this is the fifth night in a row that we've been doing this all night long! You are perfectly fine because of your Northern magic... but I am a mortal human being! See you later.
Gendry fell asleep the very next second. I laughed at his face, planted a loving kiss on his forehead, and got up to take a cold, revigorating bath.
After dressing in comfortable riding attire, I stepped out of the royal quarters. I stopped before the royal guard standing sentry at the door and said in a calm tone:
— The King is extremely tired today, my good knight. Do not allow anyone to wake him under any circumstances. If I am needed for urgent court matters, I will be in the Queen's Gardens.
The guard stiffened his posture and bowed:
— Yes, my Queen.
I caught a discreet glint of envy and a flattering look the soldier cast toward my figure as I walked away. Personally, I didn't blame him: spending all night long on guard listening to our activities was enough to drive any man crazy. And, as my mother Cersei Stark used to say, a beautiful woman should know how to be appreciated.
Reaching the Queen's Gardens, I settled at a stone table beneath the shade of the trees.
Shortly after, a small sparrow landed on the table. Fastened to its leg was a tiny rolled piece of paper. I opened the note and touched the paper's surface with my thumb: an almost invisible rune glowed beneath my skin. It was a coded message for my secret role as Lady of Whisperers for the Southern Small Council in King's Landing, keeping watch over corrupt lords and managing southern logistics.
I responded to the note using my own arcana matrix. As soon as the sparrow took flight carrying my answer, other birds began landing on the table, bringing new updates.
Suddenly, the massive shadow of my direwolf, Nymeria, emerged from the dark of the trees. The beast approached and rubbed her colossal head against my lap, letting out a soft huff of affection.
— How was your night of hunting, Nymeria dear...? — I murmured, scratching her ears. — Yeah... I know.
The mission entrusted to me by Arawyn was in full swing in the South. I had made a point of telling Gendry the whole truth about my role; I didn't think it was fair to hide it from my husband. Gendry had accepted the situation perfectly well, understanding that imperial influence would bring technology, industries, and progress to the Iron Throne. Which was a massive relief... otherwise, I would have had to ask Myrcella or Arawyn to alter his memory.
Nymeria raised her ears suddenly. From the shadows of the garden trees, a hooded figure emerged in absolute silence.
— The noble filth has been cleared, my Lady, — the assassin reported in a cold voice.
— Excellent... — I replied, handing him a new coded scroll. — These are the targets and the standard procedure. Make sure all deaths look like tragic accidents or natural causes... With the exception of the last name on the list. That fellow is a predator of noble children. Give him a terribly slow and painful death. You have formal authorization to use healing runes to prolong his suffering for days.
— As it shall be done, my Queen, — the man answered, vanishing into the shadows with the scroll.
That list contained the names of traitorous lords who intended to sabotage the war effort of the Long Night or who would oppose when the South swore definitive allegiance to the Imperial Throne.
I rubbed my belly gently, feeling the warmth of my child. I didn't think about the coming wars and deaths, but about the new life I was bearing. The Stark and Baratheon bloodlines were incredibly powerful... I could only imagine what an extraordinary warrior my son or daughter would become.
At the entrance of the gardens, I spotted the Grand Maester approaching with quick steps, carrying the court's stupid bureaucratic scrolls. The day's work was just beginning.
POV: Lord Willas Tyrell (305 AC)
From atop my riding horse, I supervised the vast expanses of agricultural fields in the Reach. A custom steel leg support crafted by the Northern Empire allowed me to walk and ride without any difficulty or pain.
Below us, thousands of smallfolk worked on planting new magical seeds sent directly from the North. These seeds had been created through Arawyn Stark's arcana sorcery.
Beside me, my father, Lord Mace Tyrell, conversed warmly with our vassal lords about the "glory and unmatched generosity of House Tyrell." My father didn't know the truth behind those seeds. He only knew they were new, miraculous grains that produced ten times faster and in industrial quantities. The seeds had been sent under strict orders from the Emperor himself through my grandmother, Olenna Tyrell.
Lord Mace approached me accompanied by the local lord and the head farmer:
— My son, Lord Willas! — Lord Mace bellowed with his usual enthusiasm. — I was just explaining to our good vassals the divine quality of the crops we are bringing to the Reach!
I brought my horse closer and bowed my head:
— Lords... Gentlemen.
The vassal lord took a step forward, adjusting his hat:
— Lord Willas... Your father has enlightened us about the unbelievable speed of these seeds we are planting... But there is a logistical question that deeply concerns me.
— Ask then, my good man, — I replied politely. — We should leave no doubts hovering over our work.
The lord looked out at the heavy fields and asked:
— If our agricultural production is so absurdly gigantic... won't the selling price of grain in the market plummet terribly? How will we maintain the Reach's profits?
— Do not worry about that, my lord, — I reassured him immediately. — We will maintain the exact same traditional volume of sales as always to the market of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos.
The farmer frowned, confused:
— But... what about the massive surplus of grain left over? The leftovers will be huge!
— All surplus will be properly stored and kept in silos and warehouses to be used in the future, — I declared secamente.
The vassal lord pondered the answer for a few moments, realization dawning in his eyes:
— So... this massive planting is primarily for military storage? And for what war are we storing provisions, if I may ask, my lord?
I looked at the lord with a cold, reserved gaze:
— Well... my lord, that is definitely not something you need to know at the moment.
The man shrugged and fell silent immediately. My father, sensing the tension, quickly brought up some trivial court banter.
This wasn't the first time I had witnessed this exact conversation. I had been supervising the planting of these crops across the entire Reach. And as far as I knew through my contacts, the same process of massive storage was happening in the northern part of the Riverlands—the territories of the extinct Freys and the Mallisters who had sworn direct allegiance to the North.
My grandmother Olenna hadn't revealed the exact details of how the war would work; she told me only that all that food would be vital for humanity's survival during the Long Night. Meanwhile, spies in other Westerosi ports outside the North—such as Lannisport and King's Landing—had noticed strange, mysterious shipments of enchanted armor and weapons arriving, though none of them knew what those crates truly contained.
I didn't know exactly what monstrous enemy the Northern Empire was going to fight... but I knew they were preparing like no civilization in history ever had.
I looked at my father and interrupted the conversation:
— Father... It is time for us to go.
Lord Mace laughed loudly, waving pompous goodbyes to the vassals:
— Ah, yes! Now we've finished the inspection, my son! Our destination is home! Off to Highgarden!
— Yes, father... Let's go home, — I replied, turning the reins of my horse and setting off on the road back.