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A Song of Blackjack and Hookers (chapter 9)
🕑 Added 2025-02-08 20:15:44 +0000 UTCAsha
Her Black Wind had not received the warmest of welcomes in Oldtown, but it was not Lannisport where they would have been lucky to walk away only a few heads shorter. The promise of goods from the Free Cities did much to help as well, and she spent the morning speaking with merchants.
It was dull work, but coin was coin, and her men would be happy to have good ale again to fill their bellies.
Asha left them to load the goods after her business was done, Qarl at her back as they made for the Merry Maiden through the nest of streets and alleyways all paved in stone.
Inside it smelled of smoke and spirits, and her eyes searched for her quarry, easy enough to find by the sight of his unpleasantly yellow cloak, and if not that then for the queer company he kept. One was perhaps both the biggest and ugliest woman she had ever laid eyes upon, armored in well worn but polished plate the color of cobalt and armed with a sword at her hip. Her big blue eyes were alert, and they quickly found hers as she neared.
The other was somehow even stranger, dressed in the manner of a maester, but with hands like a bear’s paws and a thick neck made him look more like he belonged aboard a ship than locked away in a tower. He still had many more links than any maester she had known.
Her eyes returned to mummer, the sight of him more pleasant.
If she had still been a maiden, she might have even been lost in how handsome he was with his dark eyes and white teeth. Instead she planted her arse in an empty chair and kicked her boots up, the irreverence drawing a frown from the big woman’s duckish lips, which Asha smirked at.
“I see you received my letter,” Solomon said, his voice just as handsome as the rest of him.
“How could I not want to meet the man who went to such lengths to get my attention?” she husked, her words drawing a quiet snort from Qarl at her side. “Though you will forgive me for also bringing my finest warrior.”
Qarl stood straighter at those words, his eyes on the big woman’s sword.
“These are Lady Brienne Tarth and Archmaester Marwyn,” Solomon introduced, prompting a hum from her.
Not even a maester but an archmaester, and a greenlander lady that looked less like a lady than Asha did. Though Tarth at least she knew, having sailed there a time or two.
Today was a day of surprises, it seemed.
“A Greyjoy as well?” The maester gave her a red smile, teeth stained by sourleaf as she had seen a few times. “I cannot help but wonder what schemes you have in mind, Solomon.” He turned back to the handsome mummer with a shrug of his great shoulders. “In any event, you would have more luck in the Free Cities, I think. Old Leyton has not stirred from his tower for near ten years now, and is not like to anytime soon.”
Solomon’s dark eyes found hers, and she raised a brow in response. Then he retrieved what looked like a book from his person and handed it to the maester, who ran a heavy hand across its cover.
“I have heard of Gaelaerys,” he whispered, “though I have only had the luck to read a short treatise by him.” He handed Solomon a book in return, which quickly vanished somewhere in his clothes. Asha was beginning to wonder if her nuncle shouldn’t have come instead.
Yet the maester soon left after a short bow, and Asha quickly flashed a smile. “If you need a guide to the Free Cities, I think I can find room for so handsome a man on my Black Wind.”
The so-called lady to his right did not much like her words, but then she had expected she wouldn’t. A blind man could see how she looked at him.
Solomon meanwhile was nothing but courteous. “I think I should still say a few words first.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she retrieved her dirk to clean her nails, another irreverent action that only had Lady Giant’s frown deepen. Asha was beginning to enjoy teasing her, and she wondered how the ugly duckling would react if she were to catch her riding him until her legs gave out.
Had he even fucked her, or was she chasing a dream? If so, then it would be a mercy.
“I’m sorry to say your father is not long for this world, my lady.” His sudden words wiped the smirk from her lips. “It will seem a tragic accident to all, a fall from a bridge or down the stairs, and the very next day Euron Greyjoy’s Silence will sail into Lordsport. As the eldest after Balon, he will—”
“Theon still lives, and so do I. Such a usurpation will be challenged.” Doubt smothered her words in spite of her wishes, for Theon was more Stark than Greyjoy, and she was she.
“Some will, certainly, if not for love of you than for mistrust of him, though even so your other uncles will not back your claim. Aeron will call for a kingsmoot, and Victarion will argue for himself. In the end they both will play into his hands, for he will promise the ironborn something sweeter than even a kingdom.”
Asha thought his smile more haunting than handsome now. “What?”
“This,” he answered, pointing everywhere and nowhere. “Oldtown. The Seven Kingdoms. Westeros. And he will say it is all possible with a treasure he stole from doomed Valyria.”
“Madness,” she whispered.
“Kinslaying is the least of his crimes.” The mummer gave a sigh. “He will drown all of you in blood and horror, and he will do it with a zeal that would surprise you.”
“What proof have you for any of this?” Qarl asked to her side, having found his tongue.
Asha touched a hand to his forearm. “I know the Crow’s Eye,” she whispered again. “The way he looks at you, you may as well be nothing but a fish for him to pluck from the sea to a slow death.” Her eyes found Solomon’s again. “Though I am curious what he has done to make an enemy of a mummer.”
She tried to recapture some humor, but it was a hollow thing. These were worries she had nursed for years, for the Iron Islands had never known a queen.
“Enough,” he answered simply. Then he gave a hapless smile. “I expected you would need more convincing.” Asha watched as he retrieved what appeared to be a small, ornate mirror from somewhere, the kind greenlander ladies adored. “You should still see for yourself, for words are wind.”
She reached out and plucked it from his hands despite Qarl’s protest at her side. It was not a mirror at all, she quickly saw, not showing her reflection. Instead it showed a sea red as blood, and so much more.
She saw Oldtown, not as it was now, but as a charnel pit, corpses stacked as tall as houses. She saw King’s Landing next, the sprawling city consumed in wildfire, and around the Iron Throne were more corpses, some charred and others with their throats slit and worse. At the center of it all was the Crow’s Eye, and from the eye he always hid spilled appendages that lapped at the blood and gore like a hungry, slavering thing.
His head turned, and her breath caught in her throat. He saw her. She felt the urge to flee when she felt her hands suddenly empty, and the nightmare disappear.
Qarl held a hand to his sword, furious. “What have you done?”
Asha felt as if she hadn’t tasted water in days. “That will happen?” she bit out. Her eyes found Lady Giant giving her a kind look, annoying her.
“It might.” He held it out to Qarl, who looked at it like he might a serpent. Solomon shrugged at the refusal and hid it again. “What will be is not what has been. All you can be sure of is that he will do his best to ensure that all you saw comes to pass.”
She licked her lips, her thoughts a whirlwind. “Even if I went to my father, he will just say that he has already banished the Crow’s Eye.”
“Your father is scarcely better,” he told her, and that stirred some anger from her, anger that was quickly doused when she remembered her mother’s words. “What has he brought you but misery?
“He wanted us to be free to make our own way.”
“Free to what? Rape and reave until the end of time? I would hope you have a grander imagination, my lady… otherwise I will have come here for naught.”
Asha looked away, though there was nowhere she could look where she could not see the horror she had just born witness to. The only plan that came to mind was to make common cause with Victarion, but she did not think it likely. He was as strong as an ox, yes, but also had the wits of one.
“Asha,” she heard, drawing her eyes back to him. “You need only dream of something better. The rest will come in time.”
She made an exasperated sound. “And what are you supposed to be anyway? An Essosi sorcerer?”
For the first time she heard him laugh, and she decided she liked it. “I never said you were mistaken. I am a mummer, though not an Essosi one.”
Asha looked at him doubtfully, a small smile tugging at her lips. “The offer still stands. You will find no faster ship to take you to the Free Cities.” And in the meantime she would learn all she could of him, and maybe bed him, if only to say she fucked a sorcerer.
He clapped his hands, a smile on his lips again. “Then I will meet you at the docks in an hour’s time. There is something I have to see to still.”
She watched him a moment longer before she sheathed her dirk and stood, throwing him and Lady Giant one final smirk before she left the Merry Maiden. Qarl interrupted her thoughts on the way back.
“This is a mistake, Asha. Something about him feels wrong.”
Asha snorted. “I know. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“That wasn’t meant as a jest,” he complained.
“And you are not my husband. Or has fucking me made you think otherwise?” she asked, her smile turning dangerous.
“No! That… I did not mean it that way.”
“Good. I have already made my decision, but you are not my thrall either. If you have lost faith in me—”
“I haven’t. I only think he could have made you see anything.”
Asha gave a soft sigh. “And my decision would have been the same. None of my uncles would see me rule Pyke in my own name, and so it falls to me to even the odds in any way I can.”
He had naught to say to that, and they soon arrived back at the docks. She saw Hagen and his daughter speaking with a fishmonger and Rolfe the Dwarf towering over a few Summer Islanders he was playing a game with, so she knew the work had already been finished. Now all they had to do was wait on a sorcerer.
He was at least punctual as it turned out, as he had arrived at the time he said he would, the sunset catching on his cloak. Though there was no Lady Giant trailing after him as a puppy might, which she mentioned.
“The Lady Brienne isn’t the fondest of ships,” he answered, “nor of ironborn.”
She didn’t know if she believed it, but she also didn’t much care either way. She was more curious as to why he didn’t follow.
“He should be here soon,” he explained.
Asha expected that brutish maester again, but instead she saw a man in shoddy armor and bearing a nasty smile.
“Ser Ashter Flowers,” Solomon introduced with a certain cast to his eyes. “He had run afoul of Lord Florent’s laws, and I suggested an alternative to the headsman.”
The knight’s smile turned slimy. “Just tell me who to kill, my lady.”
Asha gave a nod after a moment. Her crew were all killers, so what was one more?
“Have your men bind and gag him after we set sail,” Solomon added after the knight had awkwardly climbed the ropes.
She raised a curious brow. “To what end?”
“The grandest sorceries require sacrifice, and he had raped two girls before he cut their throats.”
Asha chuckled lowly. “Then I will much like to see his face when he discovers the truth.”
Solomon’s eyes had turned elsewhere. “Also, if I might suggest a stop at Sunspear before we cross the Narrow Sea. You will need friends, my lady, and the Dornishmen do not hate you as much as your closer neighbors.”
Not seeing any reason to deny him, she agreed. Her last barrel of Dornish red had emptied three moons back, and the Arbor red she had procured this morning simply didn’t have the same bite to it.
Her Black Wind sailed out of Oldtown soon after, her and the sorcerer watching the Hightower together until its fires winked out over the horizon.
Cersei
Fiddling with the band around her finger as had become a nervous habit, she looked at the impish creature as he drank her wine.
“I have chosen an interesting time to return to King’s Landing, it seems. Though you look as radiant as ever, sweet sister.”
She gave him a withering glare. “Keep your compliments for your whores. I have no need of them, nor you.”
“How I have missed your sharp tongue also.” He poured himself more of her wine as she watched. “I should tell you that it was Father’s wish that I come. He has heard some queer things of late and has tasked me with acting as his eyes and ears.”
Cersei hid a frown. “You can tell him that I already have matters well in hand.”
“Is that why the city has been swarmed with Tyrell men-at-arms? You would think it was the Dance come again with how much green I have seen this past hour alone.”
“You can keep your jests for the whores as well,” she spat.
It was Stannis Baratheon and his red priestess that gave her sleepless nights staring at shadows, not Renly. Truly it was a mercy that all three of the brothers harbored little love for one another.
He gave her an ugly smile. “I suppose they might appreciate them more.”
“Then return to them, Tyrion; they must already miss your coin if not the rest of you.”
She had hoped that would be the end of it, but instead he seemed determined to vex her further.
“The whores also talk, Cersei. Would you care to know of what?”
Cersei filled her own cup with wine after an annoyed sound. “I am certain you will tell me anyway.”
Drinking deeply of the red, she had to remind herself that without Maggy’s curse, her imp of a brother was less than a gnat.
“They whisper the Red Keep has become a den of sorcery, even the queen falling prey to it. And the whores are the least of it, I fear. You might have septons and begging brothers at your door before long, praying for your beleaguered soul.”
She sneered at him. “You think you are the first to tell me? A night in the black cells should remind them of their place if it comes to that.”
Whoever had started those rumors should pray she never found them. They would wish for the Stranger after she was through with them.
Solomon had told her that uncertainty was not her friend, and the Hand’s sudden demise had brought it about in spades. The best she could say was that it had saved her from having to listen to Stannis Baratheon grinding his teeth.
Tyrion looked at her doubtfully. “For what crime? Praying for you? There would be no easier way to fan the flames.”
She put on a sweet smile, swallowing her anger. “Then make yourself useful, Tyrion. Discover the source of these rumors.”
He toasted her with another ugly smile. “As you say, Your Grace. I shall leave not a stone unturned.”
Cersei turned herself and left her chambers when he stayed and poured more wine, Ser Meryn at her back. At least her lord father had not just sent the imp to her alone, but a hundred men-at-arms as well.
As she passed Robert’s door, she heard another heated argument between himself and Stark. The boor gave a grunt as she stepped inside, as if he hadn’t just been shouting.
Stark’s cool eyes found her as well, glancing at her belly that had begun to show. “I couldn’t help but overhear,” she told them softly. A thought had taken her. “Are we still short a Hand, husband?”
“What’s it to you?” he grunted out again.
“I cannot help but suggest my lord father,” she answered sweetly. “The realm had never known more plentiful times than when he was Hand, and I know I can convince him to take his old position if the realm has need of him again.”
He would be pleased, she knew. With him as Hand, Stannis Baratheon could rot on Dragonstone for the rest of his miserable life.
“There you have it, Ned. If you don’t take the position, gods be damned, I’ll give it to Tywin Lannister!”
Stark’s eyes seemed as cold as winter now, but she watched with a vicious smile as he soon fled with his tail between his legs. Success tasted sweeter than even the finest wine.
“Get out.”
Cersei’s smile remained as she watched him fill his fat goblet with wine, praying he would choke on it. Even her gentle Tommen would make for a better king than the wine-sodden beast before her.
Leaving him to his misery, she turned at the sounds of giggling after leaving Maegor’s Holdfast, spying Margaery Tyrell surrounded by some of her cousins.
The poor girl might die a maiden with Renly Baratheon for a husband, she thought.
“Your Grace,” she heard at her back after a few steps.
She was greeted by the girl’s big doe eyes, her hands clasped nervously.
“I had wanted to approach Your Grace earlier, but I couldn’t work up the nerve. It is my first time in King's Landing, and I cannot help but feel a stranger within these walls.”
Cersei stared at her a moment, finding her the kind of simpering beauty that fools often fawned over. The thought had Maggy speaking into her ear again. Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.
She knew they were but empty threats now that Solomon had defeated her, but would it not be even sweeter if she had made this would-be usurper her creature? With but a little effort she could wield her as an instrument against her enemies, be they her own prickly family or Stannis Baratheon.
Soon she was gracing the girl with a radiant smile. “I remember feeling much the same. Shall we take supper together? At the Maidenvault, perhaps?”
The girl tried to return a smile of her own, a nervous thing like the rest of her. “That would be perfect, Your Grace.”
Summoning the servants, she bid them to the Maidenvault, Margaery trailing after her much like her skirts.
There they sat and shared a bounty of cakes and other desserts as she considered the girl.
“You must feel blessed to have taken with child again, Your Grace,” the girl breathed out. “I pray each day for the same.”
The words brought her thoughts to Solomon again, to his dark eyes that smoldered whenever he looked at her, as well as other parts of him that had lit a fire in her belly and kissed her womb. She had not let Jaime touch her for fear of the pact she made, but it had been hard.
A woman such as her had certain appetites, not that the maid in front of her could understand that.
“I thank you for the kind words, Lady Margaery. I am certain your lord husband is not remiss in his duties with a beauty like yours.”
The girl smiled at her guilelessly, so much so that it almost sickened her. Gods, she and Renly were perfect for one another.
Still, she mustered her courtesies and soldiered on. It only meant the girl would be easier to set to rights.
