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A Song of Blackjack and Hookers (chapter 14)
🕑 Added 2025-03-15 21:33:22 +0000 UTCAsha
The Volantene vintage was not unlike liquid silk as she drank deeply of it, its rich taste dancing across her tongue. It tasted even better knowing she had taken it from the personal collection of the beautiful man at her feet, his silver hair like a river down his back.
He might only be some third son of some overly long family name, but was still the only Old Blood of Volantis she had seen in the flesh.
Asha offered Qarl a taste, but he begged off. If this kept up, she might have to worry about him taking a priest’s vows, she thought with some mirth.
As Solomon returned to her cabin, she watched the beautiful man cringe away. It left her childishly envious that he could inspire such a reaction simply by walking into a room.
Not that he seemed to pay it any attention as he offered a hand, that handsome smile on his lips. “Stand, Maegon of House Laessaryon. A prisoner you may be, but one should not forget their pride.”
The man of Volantis looked at the hand like it might strangle him. “Have my blood and be done with it, sorcerer,” he bravely said, his speech strongly accented. “I shan’t play your games.”
“Are you so eager to part with it? All I ask this moment is that you tell me something of your life. Even if you believe I intend to bleed you dry, surely you do not want to go unremembered? Forgotten, as if you never were.”
His words had struck true, the beautiful man’s faintly violet eyes bearing a dizzying array of emotions. Finally, he slowly nodded, taking the hand offered to him.
Asha pouted when Solomon took the wine from her fingers and poured it into a cup for this Maegon. He was becoming far too comfortable, though what did it say about her that she did not mislike it too much.
As Maegon Laessaryon began his story, she listened. Few were the stories that left the Black Walls of Volantis and fewer still were those allowed within them.
“Your sister sounds a beauty,” Solomon commented after some time. “And kind.”
“She was… is…” His eyes had turned softer, something nostalgic in them. “As beautiful as a rainbow after a summer storm.”
Solomon nodded sympathetically. “And your eldest brother stole her away from you, even mocked you with his smiles as her stares turned dull and dead.”
Silver brows scrunched together in fury, and Asha decided this was better than any of her nuncle’s old books.
“I was only the third son, and him the heir…” His anger soon cooled to something more sour and deeply bitter. “We were twins, Maena and I, born on the same day. We had done everything together. What he did was cruel… unworthy of our name, and still they turned a blind eye as they always had.”
“You struck out on your own after. Admirable.” Solomon’s dark eyes watched him a moment longer. “Your story will not end here, Maegon. Mmm, I think I will even help you cast down your hated brother and save Maena Laessaryon from the cruel hand fate has dealt her.”
The beautiful man was wary at his words. “And the price for such a deed?”
“Is there a price you would not pay to see it done? I do not think you would refuse me even if I asked you to beggar your House.” The silence was profound. “But I do not think you will find my price near so onerous. There are two things I would ask that you provide. One is your noble blood, freely given when I have dire need of it.”
It didn’t surprise him, though what fool would be surprised by a tithe of blood when dealing with a sorcerer?
…Should she feel insulted that he had not asked for hers?
“And for the second I ask you to tell me of Volantis, the Free Cities… and of course all you know of doomed Valyria.”
Maegon ran a hand through his silver hair. “That is all?”
“That is all,” Solomon repeated.
The beautiful man put a hand to his heart, his faintly violet eyes turning feverish. “If your words are true then you will find no truer a leal ally than I.”
Asha could see the satisfaction in Solomon’s dark eyes, though it was soft and vanished quickly. Her lips parted slightly in surprise when he retrieved an entire sword from somewhere, the same sword that she had seen the silver-haired dandy waving around when her Black Wind had first tangled with his sleeker ship.
It was not the first time Asha had seen Valyrian steel, for she had met Ser Harras Harlaw, Nightfall having rested pretty on his hip, and seen Lord Dunstan Drumm with Red Rain. And if not that then even the smallfolk knew the smoky patterning the sorcerous steel was renowned for.
The man it was returned to seemed just as surprised as her, and Qarl next to her grumbled something under his breath.
“I had thought it lost in the fighting,” the beautiful man whispered, running his fingers along the blade, the hilt of it polished brass and silver.
“As did I,” Asha commented, pulling those equally beautiful eyes to her.
“Asha Greyjoy,” Solomon introduced, “and that would be Qarl, her finest sword.”
Qarl himself was surprised at the praise, pouting like a boy again.
“Ironmen, yes?” Maegon murmured. “I have heard something of your Sunset Kingdoms. Pray tell, what happened to my Summer Maiden? The last I saw she had caught fire…”
He plied the Common Tongue like he had only spoken to maesters, she thought with a smile.
Still, she gave a sigh as she unhappily remembered. “A wreck. A fool had thought to throw a torch where he shouldn’t. We recovered most of the goods, but you will forgive me if I won’t part with them as easily,” she finished with a dangerous smirk.
“You ironmen are all pirates. I would be a fool to think otherwise.” He still bowed his head respectfully. “And my men?”
“Some we took prisoner, but most the flames or the sea took,” she admitted.
Solomon put a hand on Maegon’s shoulder. “Perhaps you would wish to see a sweeter sight?” The mirror she well remembered was held between his nimble fingers now.
Asha wondered if she should ask where he was hiding all these things on his person.
Sheathing the Valyrian steel sword, the beautiful man took the mirror carefully. The glass had turned blacker also she thought, squinting. It seemed to almost be sucking in the light around it now like a glutton.
Perhaps Ser Flowers had fed it with his life.
“A few drops of your blood should do,” Solomon continued. “Then you need only think of your sister and you shall see her.”
The beautiful man gave the sword just enough of a pull to slice his smallest finger across its edge, skin parting like it was parchment before its sharpness. The mirror drank his blood as greedily as she expected it to, and soon he had a faraway smile as he looked into the mirror.
So drunk by its contents he was that he fell upon her bed as Solomon stared.
When neither of them seemed fit to stir themselves, she left the cabin to see to her new spoils. The wine had been the least of it.
It was then that Qarl found his tongue. “You cannot truly mean to see this mad plan of his through, Asha. What need have we for the Mad King’s get? Leave him and his new pet in Myr and let us sail home. Ask your lord father to name you his heir in front of the lords and make a gift of these riches to win their hearts.”
She would be a liar if she had said she hadn’t had some small thought that way.
“And squander all the good will I have won? You have seen him work his sorcery with your own eyes, Qarl. You know he is no mummer.”
“Yes, and how long will it be until he would see your blood spilled to feed it? You Greyjoys descend from the Grey King; your blood is more valuable than most.” He moved in front of her. “Asha, you heard the screams.”
A squawk interrupted them, Solomon’s uncanny gull swooping over their heads.
“Is this concern or jealousy I hear from you?” she asked him. “I am surprised you haven’t picked a fight. The last man that thought to whisper sweet words in my ear had your sword stuck in his heart.”
It was a dangerous game she was playing, but she couldn’t help herself.
Qarl gave her another petulant look. “You did not care for the fool. Will you tell me that you would not have been upset with me had I done the same here?”
She turned away slightly. “He has lined your pockets as well. Will you throw their contents into the sea to spite him? Will all my men?”
“They whisper just the same about him. They say he has the Storm God’s favor to know so much.”
Asha snorted. “They say the same of the Drowned God and even the Merling King.”
He took her hand. “Asha—”
“I shall hear no more,” she hissed, pulling her hand away. “I do not wish to see Myr in a poor mood.” She already saw it in the distance, the city of glass as some called it. It was as pleasing to the eye as she remembered.
They would stay some few days, and after that it wasn’t far to Pentos…
Sansa
She had just shown Septa Mordane her embroidering when a man in Manderly colors knocked and entered their cabin. “We have docked, my lady. Ser Wendel is here to see you to the Red Keep.”
Her lady mother gave a nod, and soon they were outside, the vastness of King’s Landing before her. Sansa had thought no sight could match White Harbor, and yet King’s Landing almost sprawled across the horizon. She saw the Red Keep, the Dragonpit, and the Great Sept of Baelor, each atop a hill and each of them a wonder.
Ser Wendel Manderly was a man almost as immense as his father and elder brother she quickly noticed, though he had a pensive look about him that put a frown on Mother’s lips.
“There has been dire news, Lady Stark. In King’s Landing and in the Vale.”
“More dire than Lord Arryn’s passing?” her lady mother asked.
“I am afraid so.” Sansa could not help but wonder, but the knight soon continued. “Your lord husband will want to see you. We shall move swiftly.”
There were horses waiting for them, and she found herself mounting a tawny mare as gentle as a summer breeze. While she did not love to ride as much as her siblings perhaps, it did not mean that she misliked it.
As they left the docks, the stink of salt and fish had turned into something even less flattering, bidding her to put a perfumed cloth to her nose. Thankfully it did not linger as they ascended the winding path to the Red Keep, its red bricks shining under the sun.
Sansa wondered how much more beautiful Highgarden would be. The singers named it the fairest castle in all the Seven Kingdoms, gardens and orchards with fat trees bearing the sweetest fruits scattered across its breadth and the sounds of birds in winter as well as summer.
Her smile soon turned brighter when she saw a familiar face waiting for them.
“Lady Stark, Lady Sansa.” King’s Landing had seen Jory’s fair features slightly tanned, she noticed. “My lord would have come himself, but duty keeps him busy.”
“It would surprise me if it didn’t,” Mother commented with a fond smile.
They had dismounted at the stables after passing into the yard, and there she saw the great doors leading to the throne room. Maester Luwin had spoken of the Iron Throne and the thousand swords it took to make it, though it seemed that it wasn’t their destination. Instead Jory led them to a tower that dominated the center, the Tower of the Hand as he named it.
They saw more Stark men outside and inside, their heads slightly bowed and well wishes on their lips, and soon they were ascending its steps.
There were two others there as they had stepped into the solar. The first was the tallest woman she had ever seen, with big blue eyes and short blonde hair that fell to her cheeks. She was almost as tall as the Umbers, Sansa thought, her armor a dark blue and polished to a shine.
There was a vividly yellow ribbon wrapping around her wrist as well.
The second was a strange man without a hair about him. His cheeks and belly were plump, and he was dressed in rich silks with thick perfumes lingering around him.
“Lady Catelyn,” he greeted in a high voice. “And Sansa Stark if I am not mistaken?” His eyes seemed kind to her, and he soon returned them to Father. “I will not keep you from your family, my lord Hand.”
“My thanks, Lord Varys.”
He soon departed, and Sansa eyes took her lord father in after all these moons. He seemed more tired than she remembered, dark circles under his eyes as if he had slept poorly.
It was something Mother commented on as he stood and kissed her.
“His Grace is not fond of the busywork as he calls it, and so he leaves it to me.”
Her lady mother softly sighed in his arms. “And that was the master of whisperers?”
“Yes. Lord Varys has been helpful in these troubled times…” There was a frown on his lips as he said it. Then his eyes found hers, a gentle smile on his lips now as he approached her. “Sansa.”
She hugged him tightly and he kissed her cheek. “Father,” she whispered.
“Now what are these dire news Ser Wendel had mentioned?” Mother asked. “He would not speak more on it.”
He gavea sigh. “It would have been better if he had at least forewarned you.”
As he spoke of poison and treachery, her lady mother turned paler and paler, until she almost seemed a ghost. Sansa felt sick to her stomach also, even if she had never met her aunt.
“Gods, I had known Lysa was infatuated with him when we were girls, but to go so far as to poison her own husband on his behalf. And Petyr,” she hissed, her eyes wet with tears. “He had always been a clever boy, but now…”
Sansa saw the tall woman look upon the scene sadly for all she hadn’t spoken or even moved.
“There is some good news, Cat. Your uncle acted quickly, and she and your nephew are safe. Several of the lords of the Vale rule as regent now until Robert Arryn comes of age.”
“He will be forever tainted by Lysa’s actions,” Mother whispered. “Worse, he is a sickly boy as I have heard it. If it should worsen…”
“He will always find a friend in House Stark.” He kissed her mother’s shaking hands. “Bran is also doing well. He has taken to the sword and the horse as if he was Cregan Stark come again.”
That news cheered her some, though her eyes were still wet. “And Petyr? Where has he fled?”
“That is less certain,” her lord father admitted, his grey eyes stormy. “Even Lord Varys is not certain, says Gulltown perhaps or Braavos or even as far as Lorath, and Robert grows more furious by the day.”
“You both loved Jon Arryn. Gods, I feel like such a fool for telling you to trust Petyr.”
“You were not the only one fooled, Cat. He had your sister and Jon Arryn himself fooled, who had given him the very position he used to rob the crown blind.”
Her lady mother nodded softly. “How did you discover the truth?”
“Ah.” Father scratched at his greying beard thoughtfully. “That is a longer story.”
“It was by Solomon’s hand that it was done,” the tall woman interrupted. “A good man who could not bear the festering pit this city had become.”
Her lord father gave an exasperated sigh. “It is as Lady Brienne says.”
“Of Tarth?” Mother asked. “But who is this Solomon?” she sounded out carefully.
Father’s eyes found her. “Jory, I am certain Sansa wishes to see more of the Red Keep.”
She might have protested if it weren’t true, but then Jory had already gently led her away. He waited as she wet her throat with some watered down wine, and soon they descended the many steps again that left her short of breath.
Jory seemed much used to it himself, and he led her into the throne room after her asking, where she saw the Iron Throne in all its brutal majesty.
It stood as tall as a house, a ruin of metal and rust that she quickly decided would be frightful to sit. There were no skulls of dragons around it as Maester Luwin had described it, which she imagined would have made it an even more intimidating sight.
Sansa had her fill of it and asked Jory if they could visit the Maidenvault next, which the maester had also spoken of.
It was on the way there that someone had approached them, a lady a few years her elder in a gown of green silks embroidered with thread in Baratheon colors. Her thick brown hair tumbled to her shoulders, and her eyes were a soft brown also, upturning with her smile.
There was a knight at her back, tall and quiet, and he bore a coat of arms she knew, the three black castles of House Peake.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sansa Stark.” She took her hands softly. “You are just as beautiful as they say.”
Sansa could not help a flush coming to her cheeks. “You are very kind to say so, Lady Margaery.”
“And so courteous. We shall be fast friends, I think, and in a few years perhaps we shall even be goodsisters. The singers might even sing songs of us.”
The thought tugged at her heartstrings, and she did not refuse her when Lady Margaery asked if she wanted to see the rose garden she had planted in the Red Keep, something to remind her of Highgarden. Rory shared a glance with the Peake knight she noticed as they fell in behind them.
Sansa soon clapped her hands as she beheld it. There were seven rose bushes that she saw, and many more had sprouted in the black dirt. It reminded her of the glass gardens back home, though the roses there were pink and white and blue, not yellow.
Indeed, all the roses she saw were yellow, and she mentioned it to the Lady Margaery.
“I find they smell the sweetest.” The lady invited her closer, and she held one carefully, breathing in deeply of its scent as the petals tickled her nose.
They did smell sweet she thought with a softer smile now. Almost like the lemon cakes she was so fond of.
She was so surprised when she soon saw Lady Margaery tending to them herself that she just stood there awkwardly. It was something she had only seen the gardeners do. “It is busy work, I admit, but it calms my mind. Would you like to try?”
Sansa did not want her to think her too prideful, so she slowly knelt in the dirt next to her, tending to the roses as she was shown. It was not unpleasant, she decided.
“What is your brother like, my lady?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Willas? He is kind and pious and good-hearted. He is not a gallant knight, I will admit, his injury having seen to that, but he could tell you stories so sweet you could fall asleep to them, stories of legendary knights and maidens as beautiful as the sun.”
Sansa drank her words in so much that she had become distracted, gasping as she felt a thorn prick her finger, drops of blood falling upon the dirt.
The Lady Margaery had quickly produced a cloth, and in a practiced manner wrapped it around her finger. Sansa saw the many marks on her own nimble fingers.
“It can be bloody work, though not near as bloody as a lady’s battlefield as they say.” Lady Margaery offered her a hand after with another gentle smile. “My cousins would love to meet you, I think. They are nearer of an age to you, and very sweet. Perhaps we might even play some games and taste some cakes if your protector will allow it.”
Jory sighed but didn’t refuse her pleading eyes, and soon they left the garden and its yellow roses behind, an aroma lingering that seemed sweeter than any perfume.
