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KoW - Chapter 9
🕑 Added 2024-10-14 01:13:40 +0000 UTCCersei Lannister
“I can’t believe we’re actually at war.” The voice of her nephew is young, weak, and nasally, yet she indulges him due to his closeness to Jaime.
Yet she has no more patience for the whelp while she reads the letter, ‘Twas from her father, news, and bad ones.
{Daughter,
Robb Stark has Jaime.
Along with this letter is another sent to me by the Young Stark, you shall heed its words until Tyrion arrives and relays further orders.
Do not disappoint me.}
There was no mention of a name, as Lannister’s seal was evident in its back. She then let out an anguished scream and proceeded to trash the room.
Theon Greyjoy
The Battle of the Whispering Woods was a legendary affair, in one ambush, for every Stark man dead more than twelve perished, he spoke with many a man who fought in that battle, and yet they all spoke of a strange phenomenon, whereas they found themselves lost in the battle, fighting with ferocity they didn’t have.
Many men cited the haunted nature of the woods as a reason, yet next night, when Robb led them in a valiant charge to liberate Riverrun, the same phenomena happened, they fought even better, and with the help of Lord Tytos Blackwood’s men from Riverrun’s walls, managed to liberate the caste and defeat the second army of the Lannister’s.
They also captured hostages, near two hundred knights and a five and ten lords bannermen including Lord Gawen Westerling, Lord Quenten Banefort, Ser Garth Greenfield, Lord Regenard Estren, Ser Tytos Brax, Mallor the Dornishman, Willem Lannister, and the Lannister cousins Cleos Frey and Tion Frey.
Word of their victory spread through the riverlands like wildfire, not only that, but the Lannisters had suffered yet another defeat at the hands of the Starks, where Robb’s plan was once again instrumental in secure a minor victory.
Robb Stark has garnered a reputation, one as a military mastermind and unmatched warrior. They called him the Young Wolf, or more commonly the Winter Lord or the Ice Lord, mostly for his new disposition.
Theon’s pangs of jealousy were trampled by his proud heart, one day he shall have fearsome names fashioned after him, striking fear in the hearts of his enemies. Yet that day is not today.
Today was also not a day for celebration, as one might think. Missive were received that “King” Joffrey has ordered the execution of Lord Ned Stark for the charge of treason.
Theon… didn’t know what to think, Ned Stark wasn’t a father to him, in fact he’d often times think he’s a cold man, yet the man didn’t spurn him and treated him well despite his status, so there definitely was some guilt.
It was different for Robb. He was there when he received the news.
His expression brought him to tears, the sight of a frozen face, layers and layers of indifferent masks, not being able to stop the tears that flowed out of his eyes, brought a different kind of pity to Theon’s heart.
He had lost brothers and uncles, yet while he may have lost a father figure, Theon still has another, and he couldn’t imagine what he would feel if HE had lost his father too.
Yet the whims of the realm wait for no man, even the inconsolable Lady Catelyn had to show for this occasion, a council of northern and riverland lords, coming together to discuss their next steps.
In the grand hall of Riverrun, while Lord Edmure stood to Robbs right, and his mother to his left, Robb’s seat was turned sideways, leaving a hand to stroke the nape of his oversized direwolf.
While the lords sat looking toward him, both Theon and Brynden Tully stood at the sides of the head table.
[A.N: In this case, Karstark’s children are still alive because Robb captured Jaime alone]
“The proper course is clear, pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his.”
People waited for Robb to answer, yet he didn’t. So Bolton made to answer for him.
“Renly is not King; a second son does not come over the first.” His voice was measured yet piercing, Bolton always brought bad feelings to Theon’s heart, yet he wondered why the man is so outspoken.
“You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my Lord.” Jonos Bracken asks Robb. “He put your father to death.”
Robb simply looks at the man, his face expressionless yet his anger radiated no less for it, causing the bulky man to flinch.
Lady Catelyn takes the stage. “That doesn’t make Renly king.” She says. “He is but Robert’s youngest brother, Stannis comes before him.”
“Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?” Jonos asks.
“Renly is not right!” Tytos Blackwood speaks from his seat.
The declaration creates chaos, as men start loudly voicing their opinion, all at the same time, no one is heard, and no one stops speaking.
“My Lords!!” Their voices may be loud, but they do not match Greatjon’s bellow. “My Lords! Here is what I say to these two Kings!” He spits to the ground, much to everyone’s jubilation. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Sta-“
“No.” Robb interrupts.
The Greatjon turns to him incredulously, yet Robb simply continues to pet his direwolf as he speaks.
“If the Lannisters killed my father, it is because they were afraid.” He said. “Yet, afraid of what, exactly? No man here could doubt Eddard Stark’s honor and sense of duty.” The men gathered all nod at his proclamation.
Robb shakes his head as he stands. “No.” He said. “My father is loyal to Robert, and his progeny, he would never betray nor work against him, that is only, and only if, Joffrey is truly his progeny.”
Before anyone could speak, he continues. “Stannis has sent proclamations around the realm, claiming that Joffrey Waters is not Robert Baratheon’s son, but a bastard, born of incest from the union between Cersei Lannister and her own brother. That the Lannisters plotted to murder him and Jon Arryn, and later on, killed my father, Ned Stark, because he came to the same conclusion. This sounds correct, to me.”
He looks every lord in the eye. “Most of you old enough would have met Prince Stannis, my father tells me he was a tough man, bitter and cold, yet with an ironclad sense of duty that will disallow him to rebel against his brother’s sons.”
More people nod, showing their agreements.
“That tells me that Stannis is the one to bend the knee too, yet there are issues.” He speaks. “Alongside these revelations, Stannis declares himself king in the name of R’hllor, the Essosi red god of fire, and news have reached as much as Riverrun, that he has a red witch by his side, that bewitched him into burning septs and Godswood in favor of her religion.”
“It is why I will bend the knee to Stannis, if he fulfils my conditions.” Yet again, before the lords could speak, he silences them. “IF he fulfils those conditions, then I will do so gladly, and if he does not.” He meaningfully glances at the Greatjon. “Then we will consider what you may be thinking.”
The Lords couldn’t help but be swept in his reasoning and agree.
“Good, Maester!” The relatively old Maester of Riverrun approaches with a confused expression. “Bring in paper and ink! Write my message to Stannis Baratheon.”
Stannis Baratheon
“King Stannis Baratheon
I send you this letter, in heavy heart yet divided mind.
I find myself stuck between two sides of a single scale as of late, a scale called duty.
On the one hand, there is my duty to my king and to the realm at large, which compels me to bow to you as my liege, as you are the rightful successor to Robert Baratheon.
On the other hand, lays my duty to my people, to my vassals, and most importantly to my religion. Because bending my knees to you means succumbing myself to a heathen god that burns non-believers simply due to the fact that they supplant themselves to another, to let myself and my people to be put into the hands of a red witch that would burn others, claiming it to be the greatest gift of her people, yet not dare to do the same to herself in fear of death.
It would be against thousands of years of tradition and fealty, that the north would any day, relinquish its right to believe in our Old Gods in favor for any else, rightful king or not, were I to do so, my people would strike me down before my knees would touch the ground.
And so here are my conditions, renounce your new barbaric faith, get rid of your red woman, in which case I’d be obliged to bend my knee to you, as my duty beckons me.
Else, you grant me the freedom of choosing which duty to follow, as neither is greater than the other, and I would choose without a doubt to refuse ever bending my knees to a man who would watch me burn for a god whose believers act like devil worshippers and employ dark magics.
Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North” Stannis finishes reading the letter out loud, mostly for the sake of Davos over anyone else, gnashing his teeth all the way.
The expected reaction was well, expected. More than half of his supporters had been bewitched by Melisandre, into believe R’hllor, they were fanatics who’d decry any who declared their god “barbaric”.
Melisandre watched with slight uncharacteristic trepidation, the words of the letter somehow going against her visions, yet she quickly schools her expression.
The other half, chief of them being Davos, hold grave yet neutral expressions, some of them are believers, and the rest simply pretend out of fear of fire.
“The north holds a significant force, your grace.” Davos is the first to speak. “Not only that, they have strong alliances with the Riverlands and the Vale, the same ones that backed your own brother into seizing the throne.” He states the obvious. “In addition, Robb Stark proved himself extremely competent in a military setting, their allegiance may make securing the throne much easier than expected.” Much of the people were of a like mind, as they nod their head in agreement.
Stannis doesn’t even bother listening to the other side, his own wife chief amongst them, words of chastisement, hate, and demands of punishment for the young Stark are surging like rain, imminent on insulting his name to hell and back.
“The man beat Tywin Lannister twice, and holds the Kingslayer hostage.” Monford Velaryon speaks. “We accept his offer, and not only do we increase our forces, but also gain a bargaining ship against Joffrey Waters and his ilk.”
A reasonable view, yet even more shouting matches and arguments unsue, Melisandre simply staring at the scene blankly.
They take a recess, upon which they empty the room, leaving only him and Melisandre inside.
Stannis turns toward him. “You did not see this coming, did you?”
The red woman simply approaches the fireplace, staring at the flames ablaze within them. “The Lord of Light only shows me what should be seen.” She said. “Had he deemed it necessary not to do so, then it must be part of his divine plan.”
She sticks a hand on the fire, and pulls it out, still aflame.
“This boy says we burn people yet we don’t grant ourselves fire’s gift.” She says, her arm not only spotless, but with small flames dancing atop it. “R’hllor shields us from the flames.” She puts it close to his eyes. “To only succumb when it is our time.”
Stannis suddenly is transfixed on the fire. “Tell me, Azor Ahai, what do you see?” Her voice sounds distant, ethereal, yet they reverberate through his head like a bells toll.
Stannis's eyes flutter open. “I see... a figure,” he whispers. “His skin, crimson against shadows, and in his hand, a blade of darkness!” His brow furrows. “Another figure, cloaked in white, wielding a blade of ethereal blue! They engage in battle, and then... a blinding light…”
Melisandra abruptly closes her hand and puts it behind her.
Stannis angrily turns toward her. “Why did you stop!” He shouts.
“The Red God has his own ways, your grace.” She explains. “What was granted to you was your only clue.”
“Yet there is no need to fret, I… have my own visions.” She approaches Stannis, her lips a touch away from touching his. “With royal blood’s sacrifice, the turncoat prince shall know pain!”
And then their lips touch, Stannis unknowing to the scorch mark on her arm.
