The Wizard of Fury Chapter 15

A hundred eyes upon him, and none could be trusted. But what else could he expect from King’s Landing? This was a city of vipers, and it would do him well to know exactly who had their eyes upon him at all times.

Stannis hoped that Harry would be a bit more cautious here, but his son had grown to have a mind of his own as of late. He skirted Stannis’ rules, obeying them when it suited him and then subtly twisting his way out of them when it didn’t. He sought forgiveness rather than asking for permission. In some men, it would be an admirable trait. In his son, it was not. Those types of actions here in King’s Landing would get him killed one day.

Like they did Jon Arryn.

Stannis didn’t buy the story of a sudden illness one bit. Barely a fortnight prior he’d received a letter from the man who’d fostered both Robert and Eddard at his castle in the Vale. He’d seemed sound of mind and body then, speaking about a hunt he intended to partake in later that week. For Jon to suddenly die and for the small council to have no knowledge of what actually caused his death was suspicious to say the least.

Poison seemed a more likely culprit in Stannis’ mind. The only question was why.

He’d have to investigate the body himself, as well as the man’s chambers. He could only hope that whatever had been done to the man hadn’t been covered up yet.

As soon as he finished with this meeting of the small council, it would be something to look into.

His brother, Robert, struggled to climb the stairs to the small council chambers. His excessive weight gain from drinking and feasting had left him overweight, and it didn’t seem as though he’d done any training in the yard to keep his fitness up. His heavy breaths were grating on Stannis, but he kept his mouth shut.

Once again, the small council chamber had changed since his last visit. There seemed to be a never-ending circulation of foreign decorations and furnishings to keep the room lively. Tapestries and statues from Essos lined the walls, an ostentatious gargoyle-like basilisk from the Basilisk Isles, and a thick wool rug from Ib. The cost of such things was beyond comprehension, and Stannis despised it all.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Varys, the eunuch, bowed deeply upon the king’s entrance. “And you as well, my lord.”

Stannis never once trusted the man known as the Spider. He was nearly as plump as Robert, perfectly bald, and always smelt of flowers. He dealt in secrets, maintained a spy network throughout Westeros and possibly beyond, and represented everything wrong with King’s Landing. Had Stannis been king after the Rebellion, he’d have cut off Varys’ head rather than pardon him like Robert did.

“Brother!” Renly Baratheon exclaimed with an easy smile on his lips.

And there was the youngest of the Baratheon siblings. Stannis had no smile to offer him in return. Despite all of Renly’s appearance as a strong, powerful warrior, he seemed more focused on gaining fame and glory with the smallfolk and lords and ladies alike. He acted like he never felt the bitter sting of defeat and instead laughed it off with a charisma unmatched by anyone else that Stannis had ever known.

“Hello, Renly,” Stannis replied evenly.

“I’d heard your ship had come into port this morning,” Renly grinned. “Did you bring your wife and daughter along with your son?”

“No,” Stannis answered as he started walking over towards what he presumed to be his seat at the table, right in between Renly and Lord Petyr Baelish.

“Pity,” Renly said. “But no matter. How is my dear nephew?”

“Strong as a stag,” Robert laughed loudly as he marched around to the head of the table. His rotund belly squeezed up against the arms of the chair.

Stannis wondered how many years it had been since Robert had last attended one of these meetings. His usual reports about the goings on of the small council always mentioned that the king hadn’t attended. It might not have been since the year that Robert’s Rebellion was won and he was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

The last member of the small council, Grand Maester Pycelle, cleared his throat. It surprised Stannis that the old man still managed to attend these meetings with how weak he seemed.

“Yes, welcome, Lord Stannis,” he said sleepily. “I trust that the travel was pleasant?”

Pleasant? Aboard a ship? Nothing could be farther from the truth.

“I believe that we have matters of the crown to discuss?” Stannis said, redirecting the conversation to what Robert had mentioned in the throne room earlier.

“Indeed we do,” Lord Baelish, commonly known by most as Littlefinger, spoke up. He was a short and slender man who had always endeavoured to serve Stannis well whenever he had a request as the master of ships. As the master of coin, Baelish managed the Crown’s wealth and finances. While he’d always been helpful to Stannis, he’d have to be a fool to trust a man who’d operated so smoothly in King’s Landing for so many years. Everyone in the city was guilty of something, and Littlefinger’s innocent persona didn’t fool Stannis one bit. “The tourney you’ve proposed, Your Grace, will cost the Crown a tremendous sum. Inviting all of the Great Houses from around the realm as well as countless lesser houses will strain the city.”

“Can it be done?” Robert asked, already sounding bored of the conversation.

“Yes,” Baelish answered immediately. “But we will need to borrow money from the Lannisters again.”

Stannis frowned at that. By his recollection, the Crown owed the Lannisters nearly three million golden dragons. If this was to be a tourney the likes of which Westeros had never seen before…

“Lord Tywin’s always been a very accommodating man,” Varys chimed in diplomatically.

“Is such extravagance truly necessary, brother?” Renly asked Robert.

For Renly to point out the extravagance of something should have clued Robert into the fact that this event was far too much, but as always, Robert didn’t notice a thing. If Stannis had raised such objections, he knew that Robert would have shouted him down. Renly had always been Robert’s favourite brother though, if you weren’t counting Lord Stark. He wouldn’t shout at Renly.

“The blasted Targaryens had the biggest tourney of the history of the Seven Kingdoms under their rule,” Robert scowled. “I will not let that stand. We should have had one years ago. I’d say that this is long overdue.”

“Are you certain that Lord Stark would appreciate such efforts being made upon his behalf?” Stannis asked pointedly. Lord Stark was never one for fanciful feasts or grand tourneys. He was a much more practical man. “He still hasn’t even accepted the position to become your new Hand.”

“I’m not doing this just for Ned,” Robert snapped. “I’m doing this to help rid the taint of the Targaryens from our history. The tourney will happen whether or not Ned accepts the position, and I want it in place by the time I return from Winterfell.”

“We’ll see to all of the preparations at once, Your Grace,” Varys said dutifully.

“Indeed we will,” Pycelle nodded.

Stannis looked over at Baelish. “Do I dare ask how much this is going to cost the Crown?”

“If it is as grand as our king wants, then no expense will be too great,” Baelish replied with a thin smile.

Robert scowled. “Counting coppers is a fruitless endeavour. It’ll cost what it’ll cost. Tywin will loan us the money we need.”

“But what of the prizes for the victors?” Stannis asked. “Lord Whent’s tourney at Harrenhal offered one-hundred-thousand gold dragons to the winner of the joust and half as much to the runner-up. Another fifty thousand ended up in the hands of the winner of the melee and thirty thousand to the winner of the archery contest. That’s not to mention all of the smaller prizes, the land deeds, and countless other honours.”

“We’ll double it,” Robert replied, chuckling to himself at the brilliant idea.

Stannis’ eyes felt like they were about to burst out of his skull. “Double it?”

He looked around the room for any sign of support. Pycelle was just nodding along to the king’s suggestion, Baelish was writing down Robert’s request, Varys had a sly smile on his lips as he met Stannis’ look, and Renly was just rolling his eyes.

“This seems excessive,” Renly agreed.

“I don’t care what it seems like,” Robert said angrily. “It’s happening. Baelish, send a letter to Tywin and ask him for however much money we need—”

“I expect we’ll need a little over half a million dragons,” Baelish interjected.

Robert waved him off. “Get it done. And send him an invitation while you’re doing it. I want ravens going out all across the realm tonight informing everyone about my glorious tourney.”

With that, Robert stood up from his seat and started heading out the room.

Stannis watched him go in shocked silence. He’d known his brother was a poor ruler, but he’d never imagined anything like this. The moment the large doors closed behind Robert, he rounded on everyone else.

“How could you all just let this happen?” He asked them coldly. “He’s drowning the Crown in debt.”

“We all serve at the King’s pleasure,” Varys reminded him. “We see to it that his will is enforced, as you well know, my Lord.”

“But not for something like this,” Stannis insisted. “His fury towards the Targaryens will see the crown suffer. He’s only grown angrier as the years pass by since the Rebellion.”

“That’s Robert for you,” Renly snorted. “But we’re not likely to change his mind. The only one alive who could possibly do it is Lord Stark, but by the time the raven reaches Winterfell with the news of the tourney, it’ll be too late for him to stop it.”

“I’ll ensure that there will be as little detriment to the Crown as possible,” Baelish assured Stannis. “Many of the lords and ladies coming to our city will be sure to bring plenty of goods to trade, especially since so many smallfolk and other lords and ladies will be flocking to the city as well. If we instituted a small tax…”

“Then we’d offset some of the cost,” Stannis sighed. It would help, but it wouldn’t be enough. Over half a million dragons added to the mounting debt was simply unbelievable.

“You must be tired from your journey,” Renly said as he clasped Stannis’ shoulder. “You ought to retire for now.”

“Soon,” Stannis replied, stepping out of Renly’s grasp. “I have other matters to attend to first.”

“Like what?” Renly asked.

There was no point in hiding it. Everyone here was bound to have enough spies throughout the castle to keep track of Stannis’ every movement.

“I wish to see Lord Arryn’s body for myself,” Stannis told them.

“But… but… the possible contagion,” Pycelle protested.

“I’ll take my chances,” Stannis replied. He knew that whatever had brought down Jon Arryn wasn’t contagious. If it was, then his wife and young son, who’d already fled back to the Vale, would’ve taken ill as well.

“I—” Pycelle continued to protest, only to be cut off by Varys.

“If that is what you wish, my Lord,” Varys said kindly. “I could escort you to the Tower of the Hand myself if you’d—”

“No,” Stannis said as he turned away. “I’ll see him by myself.”

He started marching away before anyone could stop him. He felt their gazes upon his back, but he didn’t so much as twitch to give them any sense of satisfaction. He’d grow accustomed to the endless stares in time. At least, he hoped that he would. For now, he had to carry out his duty and figure out what had happened to Jon Arryn.

Past the outer yard and into the inner bailey, Stannis found the Tower of the Hand well guarded upon his approach. A small contingent of Lannister soldiers had been positioned nearby along the curtain wall that guarded the bailey, and even more of them stood around the tower itself, barring anyone from entry. Of course, Stannis was not about to be denied.

As he neared the doors into the tower, a man barely older than his own son stepped before him. His armour was poor besides the blue cloak trimmed with white crescent moons.

“No one can enter, my Lord,” the man said.

Stannis looked him up and down. “I am the master of ships. I may go where I please.”

“I am under strict orders from Grand Maester Pycelle himself to bar anyone entry without his authorisation,” the man protested weakly. Already, he was looking to the nearby soldiers for aid.

“His commands do not apply to me,” Stannis stated firmly. “I have informed him of my plans to enter into the tower, as I did the king. I will have a servant sent to fetch him if need be.”

“No, no,” the man quickly stepped aside, sweat forming on his brow. “My apologies, my Lord. Go right inside.”

Stannis didn’t spare him another glance before pushing open the doors and entering.

It took some time to climb up the winding staircase, and he found more Lannister soldiers guarding the entry to each and every room. Their presence only heightened Stannis’ suspicion. If there truly was some sickness lurking about in these halls, why were they risking so many of their men’s health? It appeared more as though they didn’t wish for anyone to see what was going on behind closed doors.

Upon reaching the Hand’s bedchambers, the two soldiers there shot each other questioning, worried looks at Stannis’ arrival. He merely needed to clear his throat before he was given entry.

The bedchamber was wide and expansive. A canopy bed sat against one wall with its curtains open. Lord Arryn’s cold body laid atop the sheets, wearing a fine set of robes that didn’t seem conducive to sleeping in. Otherwise, the room was as Stannis expected.

Only it wasn’t quite. Everything seemed in its place. Too in place.

Stannis paused and scanned the room with a critical eye. Lord Arryn had lived here with his wife, who’d swiftly left King’s Landing with her son after Lord Arryn’s death. She would have certainly made a mess of things if she left in a rush like she did, but it appeared as though servants had cleaned this room recently. It only led credence to the idea that a sudden sickness wasn’t what killed Lord Arryn.

Slowly, Stannis moved about the room, searching every nook and cranny for anything that could catch his eye. All he needed was a hint of something, a little clue to give him any idea as to how or why this man was killed. Yet, he found nothing. Not even a single stray button left forgotten underneath the cupboard.

“Strange,” Stannis muttered to himself.

Finally, he turned his eyes on the body of Jon Arryn. His body ought to have been turned over to the silent sisters to be prepared for his funeral, but the lie that a sickness had claimed him led to him being left here. Already, his body was beginning to emit an unpleasant odour.

Stannis unrepentantly opened the man’s mouth and peered inside. The remains of bile clung to his remaining yellowed teeth, but there was no sign of foul play here. Stannis did not claim to be an expert at identifying poisons, but he knew that most of them left signs behind.

Carefully, Stannis unbuttoned Jon’s robes to reveal his bare chest. He still looked strong, even now, but a purple discoloration on the man’s belly drew Stannis’ gaze. Upon pressing down on it, the organs beneath his skin seemed unusually weak to the touch. Stannis applied a little more force, feeling the man’s stomach and intestines flatten unnaturally.

Something ate away at him from the inside, Stannis surmised grimly.

He buttoned the man’s robes back up and positioned him exactly as he found him.

He needed to write a letter back to Dragonstone. He couldn’t trust his questions to any in King’s Landing. Maester Cressen would have the answers he needed, and if he didn’t, then Cressen would find them.

PAGE BREAK

Margaery was busy working on the embroidery of her new sky-blue silk dress in one of the upper pavilions in Highgarden. A fresh shipment of pearls had come in from the Arbor, and she’d gotten first pick at the lot. She’d hit a surprising growth spurt after her eighteenth nameday, making her stand a bit taller than before. One of her seamstresses was already hard at work modifying the length of the skirts of most of her dresses, but Margaery preferred to embrace the change with a new set of dresses. Everything was ephemeral, and that meant that it was best to be ahead on changes rather than clinging to the past.

“Did you hear the wonderful news?” Elinor, her cousin and handmaiden, announced gleefully as she ran into the small courtyard. She had the most wonderful smile on her lips as she leapt over the railing surrounding the pavilion in a very unladylike fashion. She nearly got tripped up over her skirts in all of the excitement and collapsed awkwardly onto a bench next to Margaery.

“No,” Margaery replied with a bemused expression on her face. “Did your father finally accept Alyn’s proposal?”

“Not yet,” Elinor shook her head, her mood unbothered in the slightest. “But forget about that! The raven just came in not an hour ago.”

“What raven?” Margaery asked, setting down her dress beside her as her curiosity was piqued.

“From the capital,” Elinor beamed. “There’s to be a tourney, the grandest one that the realm has ever seen, and King Robert is inviting all of the major houses and any others who’d like to attend. It’s bound to be an incredible affair from the sounds of it.”

That it did, if King Robert could follow through with his proclamation. Her grandmother had doubts about the man’s efficacy as a ruler, especially in the wake of the death of his Hand.

“That does sound lovely,” Margaery admitted. She could only imagine the hundreds of knights gathered to compete, and all of the lords and ladies watching on with rapt interest. There was bound to be a royal ball held, if not multiple, and that meant there would be plenty of potential suitors to keep her eyes on.

But besides that, a grand event like this offered the greatest treasure of all: information. Secretive affairs and private deals were commonplace at any meeting between the houses of Westeros. Margaery and her handmaidens would hopefully learn a great number of secrets that could then be leveraged to the benefit of House Tyrell and Margaery herself.

“It’s set to take place in two months,” Elinor explained. “After the king returns from Winterfell.”

Apparently her embroidery would have to be left for tomorrow.

“Take that back to my chambers and then go collect everyone else,” Margaery ordered Elinor. “We’ll need to discuss our plans for our time in the capital. In the meantime, I need to go find my grandmother.”

“She’s with your mother and brother in the Meadow,” Elinor told her.

With a nod of thanks, Margaery hurriedly walked towards her destination. She wanted nothing more than to run, but that wouldn’t be proper for her to do, even here in her home.

The Meadow was a small room in the upper reaches of Highgarden. It was named such for the stained glass windows that depicted a beautiful meadow, letting green and blue light fill the room. Vases with flowers were always kept on each and every table in the room. It was one of her mother’s favourite places to be.

As Margaery opened the door to the room, she found her mother, grandmother, and brother all seated close together, sipping on mint tea and nibbling on fresh fruits served on a platter.

“Margaery,” Alerie smiled at her daughter. “Come, sit.”

As she patted the seat next to her, Margaery couldn’t help but admire her mother’s long silvery hair. It was always so gorgeous, especially when she braided it with jewels as she’d taken to do in recent years.

“Have you heard the news?” Willas, her brother, asked.

“Elinor just told me,” Margaery confirmed. She looked at her mother eagerly. “Are we all going to go?”

“Of course we will,” Olenna chuckled, answering for Alerie.

Alerie nodded her head. “Your father has already agreed to it. All of us will be in attendance. There will be space provided for all of the Great Houses within the Red Keep, and we’ll be feasting with the King and the other Great Houses every night for the duration of the tourney.”

“I wish I could participate,” Willas said with a self-deprecating smile. He tapped his bad leg with his cane. “But I suppose that Garlan and Loras will do a fine job of upholding the Tyrell family name.”

“Or make a mockery of it,” Olenna joked. “They’d best remember to keep their minds in check.”

“I’m sure they will,” Alerie said.

Margaery wished that she could say that she’d been paying attention for the last few seconds, but her mind had instantly run afoul of her attention span the moment her mother mentioned that they’d be staying in the Red Keep with the other Great Houses. That meant that she’d see Harry Baratheon again.

Even though so many years had passed since she’d last seen him, the memory of that night she’d spoken with him lingered in her thoughts and dreams. The spark between them had been palpable.

She wondered if his father had betrothed him to anyone yet. She supposed that she’d have heard of such a thing, but her heart couldn’t help but worry her. Her own father had been trying to find a suitable suitor for her for the past year or two, but she’d turned them all down. None of them had ever felt right to her. But Harry… she could see herself being with him, strange as it was. She didn’t even know what he looked like anymore. She’d grown up and changed quite a bit too. Besides, there was no telling if he was interested in her that way either.

Butterflies filled her belly in a way that she hadn’t felt in years.

One way or another, she was going to find Harry in King’s Landing and speak to him again. She had to know if that spark was still there, and then she could plan her move.

As much as she hoped for a happy ending, she knew that her plans were likely going to fail before they even began. Regardless of hers or Harry’s feelings, his lord father’s were those that came first. And Stannis Baratheon hated the Tyrells for what they’d done to him and his family during Robert’s Rebellion. There was no possible way that he’d entertain such a match.

But she still had to try.