At the beginning of the war, Roose Bolton thought Lord Tywin would return to his lands after a few outrider skirmishes.
It was only reasonable after all.
But then again, he had long learned not all people were reasonable.
Roose hummed and drummed his fingers on his new desk. If his servants back home saw him like this, panic would lock them into place. They would bow lower, answer with 'milord' at every sentence and tremble when his eyes moved past them.
But not here.
The Bolton name hadn't been this prevalent in living memory. The banner of the flaying man was supposed to inspire terror in his enemies. And it did. Only, now it inspired relief on allies too.
It was on his march through the Red Fork his banner was that of a savior. With every holdfast he took and with every lion he hanged, the Riverlanders cheered for 'the righteous Boltons'.
His infantry was a terrifying force to beckon. In fact, he doubted a better armored infantry had ever marched through the Seven Kingdoms. He was sceptical at first, but all his doubts were washed clean victory after victory. Common rabble became brave warriors when wearing polished armor, doubly so when the enemy in front was in leathers.
He stretched his back in the privacy of his solar in the tall Kingspyre tower.
Two of the most ancient houses in the realm had already made deals with him. The finest horses from House Bracken and supple leather from House Blackwood, all due to his role retaking their ancestral castles.
Thanks to that and his reputation as a calm but ruthless commander, the new Lord Tully trusted him to hold Harrenhal in place of the lonesome Lady Whent.
There was one little issue with the arrangement. Lady Whent was old and she couldn't bore him children. It would've been so easy. Marry the widow, get her pregnant and a Bolton would rule Harrenhal in time. Sadly, Lady Whent was too old to bear a child.
Even if he couldn't get everything he wanted, it was times like these when Roose thought that Eddard Stark leaving for King's Landing was perhaps one of the best things to ever happen to advance his name and legacy.
Which is exactly why, he was currently writing a letter for his boy king. Tywin had written him, under all the southron language, his letter implied support for a new Warden of the North, someone capable, someone loyal.
If things were different, he would've considered keeping the letter until it was clear who was going to win the war, but at present, he couldn't see his king losing.
Perhaps, if Renly wrote, he would've kept that letter close.
He gave a second read to his letter. He was being a good little vassal, warning his king of a hidden plot to turn his lords against him, telling him how House Bolton had his back and would execute any traitor for him. Just the usual tail wagging.
His lord father would've ground his teeth to dust if he were to read Roose's letter. The image amused him. The old man was brash, even when times called for restraint and compromise.
He called the Maester to send his letter and soon after Aenys Frey entered his solar for a talk.
After both men greeted each other and with a cup of firewater in hand, the bald man made his case.
"My lord father wishes to strengthen our bonds with the North, my lord."
Contrary to his fellow Northerners, Roose found a measure of amusement in this southron talks. "Your lord father is wise. Just as wise as the Brackens and Blackwoods."
Seeing the bald knight creasing his brows and instantly returning to his more neutral veneer would've made a younger Roose laugh. He swirled his cup, instead.
"I don't mean to be rude, my lord. I'm only speaking the truth." Ser Aenys drawled. "Those two houses lost their castles, their strength can't compare with House Frey."
They couldn't compare in desperation either. "We marched together, ser, I know first hand of the bravery of you and your family."
"Our bravery would be nothing if not for your steady command, my lord," Ser Aenys said with a smile. "Which is why my lord father wishes to join our houses in marriage."
Roose stood from his chair and walked to the door gesturing to the bald knight to follow. "Your lord father honors me with his offer, ser."
Aenys smiled. "No my lord, your actions brought you honor and glory."
"It is with great regret that I have to decline," Roose said trough when the Frey knight was in the doorway.
"My lord?"
He gently pushed Aenys out. "I have but a bastard son. I'm afraid this marriage would be a great insult to your noble house."
He closed the door at the incredulous knight.
He returned to his desk with a lighter step. The talk with the Frey convinced him to accept Lord Jonos offer, the man had only fathered daughters, and while it annoyed the riverlord, it opened a possibility to advance Roose's house.
It also reminded him of one little problem he had been ignoring so far.
His bastard would kill any trueborn child of his, and with the opportunity so close at hand, Roose couldn't let him.
The Night's Watch would've been suitable, if not for Ramsay's… personality.
There were many ways to deal with his bastard. He could summon him to lead men into whatever new battle his boy king needed. Or perhaps he could send him on a ship to Braavos looking for a trade deal, experienced sailors were lost at sea all the time. A bastard drowning shouldn't raise any eyebrows. Or, he could arrange for an accident. King Robert was gored by a boar, Ramsay should feel honored to die in a similar manner.
He drank his cup with a smile that would've made his household whimper in fright.
"Decisions, decisions," he muttered for himself.
Having many options was a good problem to have.
###
We arrived at Rosby and immediately ditched Ser Cleos the Surly.
The Frey knight left for King's Landing with a tongue better used to spicy food.
Meanwhile, our own fake duties got us into Lord Rosby's hall.
"My lord," Perwyn said. "It is as I wrote, a ship of breast plates of fine steel and the best furs in the Seven Kingdoms are coming your way. You just have to fulfill what we agreed."
Lord Rosby looked ancient the way rusted iron does. The man coughed into a pink handkerchief before gesturing Perwyn to follow him.
It was the scariest part of this whole endeavour. The only thing that was protecting me from being skewered by a spear was bread and salt.
I looked at Dacey from the corner of my eye, she was at ease, no tension whatsoever. It was a sharp reminder of how much Westerosi trusted ancient customs to keep their safety.
The silence was getting to me so I started chatting.
"You know where we are staying… are you sure it won't be a problem?"
She gave me a look, probably mistaking what I was nervous about. "Jaren, I wasn't born yesterday. Besides, I very much prefer our accommodations than posing as beggars in the streets."
If one were to put it that way, I guess it was way better.
Once again, silence encompassed us and the guards in the hall. And once again, I wouldn't have it.
"Do you see the resemblance? Ser Perwyn is tall, sharp and broad shouldered, while Lord Rosby… is not."
Dacey snorted. "My uncle does not resemble me or my sisters, you know?"
I very much doubted that, Ser Jorah Mormont was described as tall and burly, with coarse black hair. Dacey was tall and strong, with straight black hair. Perhaps if I saw the exiled knight in person I would conclude the same as Dacey.
We waited for some fifteen or so minutes before Perwyn came back.
"Come, we have rooms in the outer keep," Perwyn said with a gesture.
We followed him through the castle, far from the hall where Lord Rosby received us.
"Sooo, not a happy reunion then," Dacey said while we were moving closer and closer to the barracks.
"Oh. What gave it away?" Perwyn said.
Dacey and I exchanged looks, Perwyn was more flippant than ever, and seeing him more carefully, I noticed his shoulders were tense.
"It's alright, Perwyn," I said. "It's not like we are staying long anyways."
He sighed. "Five days for the caravan to leave." Perwyn turned to face us. "We'll see some odd things happen 'til then."
That wasn't ominous, not at all.
"By odd, you mean…" Dacey questioned.
"Ah. Nothing serious, I assure you, just… let's just say I'm not my uncle's favorite nephew."
Five days for a caravan of food supplies to leave Rosby, all of them with 'oddities' due to Perwyn not being well liked by his uncle… I sighed. What a pain in the ass.
"I still have a little of the spicy pepper, we could," I made a gesture with my hand, "you know?"
"Heh, Cleos crying was fun," Dacey said. "Seriously Jaren, no idea why you like that stuff."
"True," Perwyn said. "That pepper is vile."
"Nah, you're weak, that's the issue." Spicy food is great after all.
Dacey grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me to her side. "Who are you calling weak, Wol-Jarenboy?" she said in fake outrage.
"Stop it, you idiots." Perwyn said with a sigh. "Listen, I'm fine. It'll be fine. We'll be out of here in five days anyway."
We stopped our tomfoolery and kept walking. However, we saw how Perwyn returned to his usual carefree self.
And it only cost me a horrible new moniker.
Dacey smirked all the way to our rooms.
###
In the end we were in two rooms. Perwyn and I shared one, and Dacey was in the other.
After five nights, I didn't notice any of the 'oddities' Perwyn mentioned.
Even if we were not in the main keep, maidservants came daily to give us food and clean our rooms. The only 'oddity', was Perwyn mentioning how Lord Rosby didn't like him.
We may not have been in the main keep, but the servants treated Perwyn like a proper noble. I thought to ask Perwyn what he meant by 'odd', but given how he was when he mentioned it first, I stopped myself.
We dressed ourselves in Rosby colors for the journey.
Carts full of food joined us throughout our journey across Rosby lands. The capital was getting squeezed hard by Renly on the roseroad and Stannis on the sea. Which goes to show how absolutely terrifying the Baratheon brothers would have been working together.
We heard whispers from the Stormlands. "Lord Stannis is pacifying the Stormlands," or "Lord Stannis is dyeing the land red with the blood of the traitors opposing him," or maybe the most alarming: "Lord Stannis is burning weirwoods and septs through his march".
If there was something I've learned from my limited knowledge of medieval times back in Earth, is that you don't fuck with the church. Very few conquerors or kings dared to fuck with the church, and as far as I remember, very few of them had a good ending.
Hell, even here in Westeros. The Targaryens dared to go against the Faith in the infancy of their dynasty and it almost destroyed them.
So, Stannis going against the Faith struck me as something hard to believe. Given his reputation, the only explanation I had for the whole thing, was that someone was running propaganda against him.
'Wild' falls short to describe what I was feeling.
But, with King's Landing walls in the horizon, I buried every other thought in my mind.
"Say Perwyn, how much is your uncle getting for this caravan?" I asked.
Dacey snorted from the side.
Perwyn gave me a look. "I don't know, but now I owe Hatten five silver stags."
I didn't know why, but that felt like an insult. Well whatever, it's not like I would get enough time to understand what Perwyn was talking about. The caravan was getting closer to the gates.
To pass through, I was supposed to be Perwyn's squire. I had a horrible uneven buzz cut, trend setter I was not. But to be honest, having it was a relief with the hot weather this far south.
Dacey was supposed to pose as a septa, but a towering septa would attract way too much attention, so she ended up posing as a guard. She had trimmed her hair and sharpened her face, whatever that meant. Under her plain stocky leather and cloak, she looked like a tall and grumpy sellsword. Her severe eyes completed the disguise.
"Cleos the Surly's party is over there," Dacey said pointing to the right.
Outside the gates there were the people who accompanied the Frey knight to the capital. As expected they weren't allowed inside the city. And having seen how fast our food caravan was getting through the gates, I had a big suspicion as to why that was.
When the guards of the Iron Gate were few yards in front, the nervousness got to me. The first big hurdle to overcome was here.
I bit my tongue and focused on my breathing. I didn't dare to look the guards faces, time and time again, my face betrayed my emotions. It couldn't let me down here, so I stuck my eyes on Perwyn's back.
Up to the last moment I expected something to go wrong. My hand was close to the pommel of my sword, close but not touching it.
And then, we were in the city.
Perwyn guided us to give the caravan's captain a bag of silver for his loyal and continuous work for House Rosby, and we left.
We left our horses in the caravan. Having mounts would only attract unwanted eyes toward us. And we got rid of House Rosby colors on our way.
Perwyn guided us through the streets. He set a light pace, slow enough to not look troubled, fast enough to look busy.
The people in King's Landing moved as if looking for meaning. Men walking from one place to the other, a few were in mail and carrying a sword, sellswords most like. Women looking everywhere, as if expecting trouble. Children cautious, peeking at strangers and going away in a hurry.
According to Perwyn we were going through the borders of the most destitute slum in the city.
One of the indicators of how well a population is doing, is looking at how well their children are. Were they hungry? Were they badly clothed? Were they sickly? Of those I saw, most would answer 'yes' to at least two of the questions. It was a vicious reminder of how poverty was the ultimate enemy of mankind.
If this was how the borders of Flea Bottom looked, I couldn't begin to imagine how the streets looked two blocks in. No food, no hope.
A pang of guilt struck me like a kick to the chest. Was this the result of Robb raising his banners? Did my actions made it so hundreds upon hundreds of men, women and children would starve to death?
"Flea Bottom was always like this, you know?" Dacey said from the side. She must've saw me fixating my gaze on the slums. "Well, not exactly like this. The Baratheons are making things more difficult."
"That just makes it worse," I said and Dacey shrugged.
Her answer was expected.
I saw the Mormont sisters care for each other, and for other people. Dacey was really sweet with her squire, Jorelle told me how she comforted Melissa to sleep multiple times. She was extremely patient and encouraging while training the girl. All in all, an ideal teacher. But just as every highborn I've ever met, she didn't care much for the smallfolk at large.
Even still, she was one of the better ones. She cared for the shieldmaidens in her household, and for the servants she interacted with. But for the strange people in King's Landing…
Perwyn was similar in that aspect. It was not entirely their fault, the world they'd been born in enforced their worldview. I knew that, of course. It's just that… I had a really hard time accepting it, I guess.
One more item for the to-do list.
In the end, after having a look at the ruins of the Dragonpit, I went to look through Cerati and Ghost's eyes to distract myself.
We bordered Rhaenys' Hill, the city walls never far from us. If I hadn't talked to Lord Edmure before this, we would've went straight for the River Gate. Over there, close to Fishmonger's Square, Perwyn was confident on finding a place to stay or squat. The only issue was the safety of the place, robbers and the presence of gold cloaks would do wonders for my paranoia.
However, Lord Edmure had a very good friend in King's Landing. In order to ensure this person's help he gave me a sealed letter, a pouch full of gold and jewelry, and his signet ring. As such, we found our way to the Street of Silk, to a place Perwyn knew almost as well as the Twins, or so he claimed.
Once in the Street of Silk, the view changed once again. Many scantily dressed women were calling for clients all around. Every… establishment had names such as "Lys' daughters", "The Northern Wench" or "IronRod".
From the corner of my eye, I saw Dacey's shoulders straighten. I doubted she had ever saw something like this back in the North. Hell, even back in my previous life I haven't seen something like this, not even once. Perwyn, on the other side, looked undaunted.
About halfway through, we turned to an alley and knocked on the door. A gruff man with logs for arms answered.
"Greetings my good friend," Perwyn said and shook hands with the man. "I was hoping for some privacy."
The man grunted. "It's one golden dragon for each," he said while looking at the coin Perwyn gave him with the handshake.
"Oh? Things are getting pricier huh? Last time it was two silver stags per person," Perwyn said. Before the man could answer, he pulled three more golden dragons from his pouch. "Here, get yourself something nice with the silver, my friend."
The man nodded. "Wait here."
Perwyn turned to us. "Other places charge depending on the client. Luceon, my brother, used to tell me how two silver stags was the price for him and his people. Given how absolutely pleasant he is, I expected two silver stags to be the standard."
"Wasn't Luceon a septon?" I asked.
"Ah. Good to know someone listens to my stories," Perwyn said, pointedly looking at Dacey. She rolled her eyes. "What can I say, oh squire-o-mine? It's as you say, septons gonna septon"
Right, stupid question.
After a while, the same gruff man got out the door with the most stunning woman I've ever seen following behind. Silvery long blonde hair, her skin was devoid of blemishes and her green eyes reminded me of summer. Her emerald dress was made of Myrish lace and had silver accents.
"My lord, Janick here tells me you want privacy, as per my mistress orders, the girls don't leave the establishment anymore…"
"Not a lord, merely a knight, my lady" Perwyn said. "It is alright, I wanted to talk to your mistress anyways."
She nodded. "Very well, ser. But you and your companions will have to leave your weapons behind."
Right, this wasn't doing anything good for my paranoia.
"Would it be acceptable if my companions wait by the door while I talk with your mistress?" Perwyn asked while passing his scabbard to me. He leaned in the girl's direction to whisper something, then they both looked at me. Perwyn with a smirk and the girl with a soft smile.
"Aye," she said with a nod. "Follow me, ser. I'll find someone to guide you to my mistress."
"Jaren, my ring, if you please." Perwyn extended his hand.
"Of course, ser," I said giving him the knapsack with the letter and the ring inside.
Perwyn and the girl went through the door. Dacey and I stayed, we didn't wait long for the blonde woman to return.
"Ser Perwyn tells me your name is Jaren?" she said.
I had a strange hunch that delayed my answer. "Aye, my lady. I'm Jaren of Maidenpool. How should I call you?" My belated answer earned me a snicker from Dacey.
"I'm Marei, ser," she said with an upturn of her lips.
"Not a ser, merely a squire, my lady," I said mirroring Perwyn. She huffed softly with a smirk while Dacey's snickering became harder to ignore.
"Hhm, Ser Perwyn assures me that won't be for long. He tells me your bravery has no equal in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Aye," Dacey said patting my shoulders. "Jaren here is the bravest fool I know, my lady."
I had the feeling part of the conversation was going over my head, so I just kept my answers formal and polite, while Dacey and Marei kept giving me smirks and soft smiles respectively.
After a few more minutes, Perwyn got out along a gorgeous young Summer Islander girl in golden silks.
"Janick, let them through. They are my mother's guests," she said with undeniable authority.
"More?" I heard Marei mutter under her breath.
We went in. The girl who I later learned was named Alayaya guided us. The rooms we passed were not accessible from the front of the establishment. Chataya, the owner, offered a high-end experience for her clientele who, in turn, would pay a premium for confidentiality.
We got up stairs. The place was decorated in a tasteful way. Not flaunting wealth or hiding the walls behind dozens of tapestries. Given the maximalism prevalent in Westeros, it was a breath of fresh air.
Alayaya knocked on a door decorated with exotic feathers, a smooth voice answered in a different language, Summer Tongue, most likely, and we were allowed to enter.
The room was ample and had a decor similar to the corridor outside, only a bit more garish due to the amount of colors assaulting my view. In the two corners of the door, towering armored men kept guard. Behind an oak desk, sat the elegant owner of the brothel, Lord Edmure's good friend, Chataya.
"Lord Edmure's friends I gather?" the madam asked with a bit of an accent.
"Aye, my lady." Perwyn vowed in her direction. "Lord Edmure advised us to seek refuge with you."
The brothel owner sighed. "Ed seriously is asking a lot of me…"
Perwyn gestured to me, and I gave him the pouch Lord Edmure procured. "Lord Edmure considers you a friend, my lady." He opened the pouch and presented it to Chataya. "And he also knows friends ought to help each other."
She calmly perused the items in the pouch. "Ed was right on something, he and I are very good friends," she looked past Perwyn straight to me, "but he's not here, is he? What makes you think I'll help some stranger?"
The air changed in an instant. The talk I had with Lord Edmure slammed the front of my mind.
Perwyn reacted first. "It seems we were wro—"
"It seems I'll have to offer my apologies, my lady," I cut. "I wasn't forthcoming when I should, and for that I apologize." Her face didn't give anything away, but she leaned back in her chair. I slightly turned my head left and right, asking the obvious of her.
"No word will escape this room," she said, her voice oozing authority.
I took a breath to calm myself. I had to trust Lord Edmure's read on people, it would've been impossible had I not met the man myself. "I am Jon Stark, son of the late Hand of the King Eddard Stark and I came here for my sister."
Chataya gave me a half smile. "As always, Ed never ceases to amaze me."
###
After an offering of bread and salt, we ended up talking for a while to better know each other. Lord Edmure's words on his friend were "she likes the truth above all." Admitting why we were here in King's Landing was enough for her, for my untrained eyes, she looked in a great mood. From time to time she would chuckle to herself, as if knowing the punchline of a joke only she was privy to.
The only reason I could gleam as to why she so easily accepted our stay (she returned the bag, minus a few pieces of jewelry), was what she revealed in our conversation. One of her girls had died in the hands of a gold cloak. "Allar Deem may have swung the sword," she said. "But it was the Lannister queen who gave the order."
The only condition she set for our stay, was to break our fast with her and her girls, and run a few errands in the city. She also promised us to fill us in with the happenings in the capital during that time. It was an easy deal to take.
We left Chataya's solar with her daughter guiding us to the common room in the back of the brothel.
Alayaya offered us refreshments and well, we were tired, so we took her up on the offer. We were all on edge still, but to be fair, we just infiltrated an enemy city walked through its streets to our promised contact who then proceeded to destroy our nerves with but a few words and now we were promised a safe haven. It would've been far crazier if we weren't on edge.
"Alayaya, my love," someone called from the corridor.
It was probably the other guest Chataya mentioned, a very rich man from how she spoke of him.
A man sauntered into the room. "Oh? New guests?" he said and collapsed on the couch in front. "Neither of you is Alayaya, but I guess I could settle…" The man rested his hungry eyes on Dacey.
Before either could do or say anything, Alayaya appeared with a tray and with long strides got herself in the middle of everyone.
"Prince Oberyn, be nice. They are my mother's guests."
###
A/N: Ngl, Roose would make a good Bond villain.
Habemus Oberyn!
You can read one chapter ahead: p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / yorud.
So anyways, give me your comments ＼(｀ω´ )／