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The Wizard of Fury Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2025-04-23 15:59:01 +0000 UTCThe Great Hall within the Red Keep, the room in which the monstrous Iron Throne was placed, was colder than Arianne had imagined it to be. This was once the home of dragonriders, a place where fire and blood ruled, and yet it lacked the warmth of even the northernmost points of Dorne. Perhaps it was the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen’s love of wildfire that drove King Robert Baratheon to remove most of the heat from this place.
Thin, loose silks weren’t quite the most practical of clothes here, but Arianne wouldn’t make herself suffer by wearing the questionable styles these northern ladies liked to wear. Besides, her blood ran hot. And if she needed even more warmth still, she’d find someone to gain some with.
Speaking of which, the capital was certainly not lacking in terms of potential suitors for her to choose from. Already, lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had flocked here, and now they crowded inside of the throne room, desperate for the slightest bit of attention from the man currently seating the Iron Throne.
Lord Stannis Baratheon. The King’s brother. He was a hard man. Not the most attractive, but there was a certain intrigue in a stern, serious man. The thought of toying with him until he decided to give her a just punishment, preferably in her bedchambers, would’ve been an enticing one indeed had he not been too old for her liking. She wanted someone much closer to her own age of twenty to become hers.
The many knights and heirs to noble houses in the room would make excellent candidates for her plans. She simply had to narrow them down, which she had been doing for days now.
Her family stood together near the front of the throne room, but Arianne much preferred to wander the outskirts of the room. She caught the attention of countless men, and more than one or two lecherous glances. Arianne welcomed them all. Let word about her beauty spread. Let men come to her for her favour.
The great doors to the throne room opened, piquing Arianne’s interest. Walking beneath the gallery, she eyed a man in gleaming steel striding down the central aisle between all of the lords and ladies. He was tall, but his face was obscured by the helm he had on.
Slowly, Arianne moved back towards the front of the hall as the newcomer dropped to one knee before the Iron Throne.
“My lord,” the man said, his voice carrying over the quiet din that’d filled the hall. “Another band of outlaws have been defeated.”
Stannis looked down upon the man from his towering throne with a pensiveness that was difficult for Arianne to read. “How many in this one?”
“One hundred and twelve,” the man announced.
Whispers filled the room. This was the third report that Arianne had been here for since her family’s arrival. The first was the one that Oberyn gave to Stannis when they first arrived, and the second had come from Ser Tallad, quite a handsome man. The attack against her family had left just shy of thirty outlaws dead; Ser Tallad’s group had killed a dozen. To think that so many still remained…
“It was an attack upon House Tyrell,” the man continued. “They remain safe and healthy and should find their way to the capital shortly.”
Stannis nodded in understanding while the man remained knelt. He stroked his short beard, his eyes never leaving the man before him. His stare must’ve been unnerving, but the man below held himself confidently.
Suddenly, Stannis stood up and began descending the Iron Throne.
It was an unusual sight. Court had yet to be adjourned, nor was there any sign of a break happening, but Stannis left the throne all the same. The members of the Small Council that were present didn’t seem as surprised by the movement as all of the visiting highborn were.
Arianne slipped back into the front of the crowd where her family was standing, close enough to now better make out the man’s physique under all of his armour. He seemed well built. Not an especially large, strong man like Ser Justin had been, but neither was he slim or weak looking.
Stannis stepped off of the final twisted, melted sword that made up the stairs that led to the throne and stood just before the man knelt before him. With a simple twitch of a pair of his fingers, he gestured for the man to stand.
The moment he did, Stannis wrapped his arms comfortingly around the man.
Arianne blinked in surprise. Seeing this hard man exhibit such a display of emotions in public like this was quite unusual. She’d yet to see him so much as smile in the days that she’d attended court, but here he was hugging this man.
“My son,” Stannis murmured, but his words carried over to Arianne.
Harry Baratheon removed his helm as his father stepped back and balanced it against his hip. His dark, tousled hair was handsome from behind, but it irked Arianne that she’d still yet to get a proper look at his face.
“We still don’t understand who’s behind this, but we will,” Harry replied in a quiet tone.
“I have faith that you will see to the end of them,” Stannis replied, sounding as serious and confident as ever. “I heard from a raven that you were knighted by Ser Barristan no less.”
A knight too? He must’ve done quite a bit to distinguish himself in his battle against the outlaws. It bore well for the fact that he’d won it in actual combat instead of being given it due to his family name or because he squired for some fancy lord without ever seeing a lick of real combat. He did it the proper way. The Dornish way.
Perhaps Harry Baratheon could make for a proper match for her. He was highborn enough that even her father couldn’t dispute it. Though, Arianne was sure that he’d still find some way to try to put a stop to it.
Which was why she needed to make her move here in King’s Landing, outside of his reach. If it came down to it, she was certain that she could bribe a Septon to marry her to whoever she chose.
However, all of her dreams and plans that were dancing in her mind were suddenly shattered when Harry turned around to face the room. Somehow, his eyes magnetically met hers, and she found herself staring into the eyes of death. Those damned green eyes that had haunted her every waking moment since she’d held that dying boy in her arms.
She couldn’t look away. Like a morbid curiosity, she kept staring into his unblinking eyes.
He whispered something to his father, but all sound had faded from Arianne’s ears. Someone was gently shaking her shoulder, but she could neither turn nor look away from Harry.
There was a buildup of something. Something that she couldn’t describe. It felt like the energy in the air when a thunderstorm was brewing, only it was swirling throughout her entire body, ready to unleash its awesome power without warning. It was wild and uncontrollable, yet it was contained within her.
No, that wasn’t quite right.
It wasn’t just contained within her. Harry had that same storm within himself.
Arianne didn’t know how she knew this. She simply knew it. She could feel their storms raging in perfect parallel, like two predators circling each other.
There was a stinging pain in her wrist. Someone was pinching her, hard, but she couldn’t look away.
She couldn’t look away.
His eyes grew larger.
The air left her lungs.
Something new touched her arm, and an explosive shock tore through her body.
“Are you alright, my lady?”
It took Arianne a moment to realise that she could hear again and that Harry was speaking to her. His voice was deep and entrancing, and now that she wasn’t stuck staring into his eyes, she was able to look down and see his bare hand touching the exposed skin on her arm. Oberyn was looking at her with extreme concern, as was every other set of eyes within the throne room.
“I’m fine,” Arianne replied quickly before she could allow her cheeks to flush. Her composure wasn’t something easily lost. She didn’t know what had come over her. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to cause any concern.”
“Perhaps you should return to your chambers and rest,” Oberyn suggested.
Before Arianne had a chance to answer, two of her cousins came up on either side of her to help guide her away. She thought about brushing them aside, but something about what had just happened still felt too surreal to her. She needed time to think, and the quiet of her bedchambers sounded too lovely at the moment.
Harry was still looking upon her with an unreadable expression on his face. It was the same as his father’s.
As Arianne turned around and began walking back down towards the exit, she closed her eyes briefly. Nothing except for darkness looked back at her. The green eyes were gone.
But then she glanced back over her shoulder and found those green eyes staring at her. There was no death within them, only understanding.
What did Harry know about this that she didn’t?
PAGE BREAK
The capital hadn’t been anything like what Margaery had expected. Its crowds, noises, and smells overwhelmed all of her senses. In the Reach, Oldtown came the closest to reaching King’s Landing in terms of sheer population, but it didn’t feel quite so cramped as King’s Landing did. Oldtown sprawled naturally over vast tracts of land thanks to its thousands of years of existence. King’s Landing was less than three hundred years old, and a great deal of focus seemed to have been placed upon packing its populace as densely as possible.
At least the wide roads here helped to make it less suffocating, but Margaery could imagine herself easily getting lost within the labyrinthine districts of the city. She peered out of the wheelhouse and found hundreds of curious faces staring back at her.
Smiling, Margaery stuck her hand out and waved pleasantly at those they passed by. A few innocent children waved back at her, but the majority of the citizens of King’s Landing simply ignored her.
“They must be used to all of the distant travellers coming into the city by now,” Willas commented as Margaery settled back in her seat. “I’ve heard it said that most of the Dornish houses have arrived, as have many from the Stormlands, Westerlands, and Riverlands.”
“They’ll be more welcoming once they see the bounty we’ve brought them,” Olenna noted sharply. “Without it, they’d surely starve before this tourney ends.”
“Let’s not put such negative thoughts into words,” Alerie replied with a trying smile. “I’m certain that everyone will be grateful for our grain.”
“The King is the one they’ll be thanking unless we make it clear that this was our contribution to the city,” Olenna pointed out. “Willas, ensure that our many cooks and merchants make it clear to those that receive our splendour of exactly who brought it here to them.”
“Of course, grandmother,” Willas nodded dutifully. “We have our crest carved on the tops of crates for any who would forget.”
Margaery was grateful that Willas was in charge of these logistics and not her. She was clever, but she understood that her intelligence showed in how she interacted with the people around her. Willas, despite once dreaming of becoming a knight, had sharpened his mind to a razor’s edge. He’d make a fine lord of Highgarden once their father passed on.
Pulling together so many workers to create this train of goods that they were bringing into the city had been Willas’ task, and he’d done a marvellous job of it. It wasn’t easy to make such a long journey to King’s Landing, but Willas made it seem so. In fact, other than a few times when they needed to replace a wheel on a cart, the only real issue that came up had been the attack by those outlaws.
In an instant, Margaery’s mind returned her to that terrifying incident days ago. Seeing so much bloodshed had been horrific, but then he showed up.
Noble knights were a thing of all women’s fancies. The thought of some heroic man charging in to save you from whatever ill came your way left a feeling of care and comfort in her chest. Anyone willing to put their life at risk to protect yours was something to be cherished.
Growing up in Highgarden, there were countless knights that came and went. She’d known many of them growing up and had fancied her fair share of them, but none of them had made her heart sing in the way it did when Harry Baratheon came charging in.
He was as glorious as she’d imagined he’d be when they reunited. Tall, strong, and even more handsome than he’d been before. Suddenly, the terror in her heart had been replaced by an assured feeling that everything was going to be perfectly fine.
And so it happened that Harry cut down several outlaws without getting so much as a scratch on himself. Even Loras hadn’t been free of getting nicked by an errant dagger in the battle.
When Margaery touched Harry’s hand as he helped her out of the cart, that same spark of… something between them had left her breathless and reeling. Touching him felt right, like the sensation of the sun’s light on her bare skin.
Margaery knew at that moment that she wanted to marry him.
“Thinking of that man again?” Alerie smiled knowingly.
Margaery blushed lightly. “Was I so obvious?”
“Wistfully staring out of windows or at nothing in particular is a sure sign of a maiden in love,” Alerie laughed lightly.
“The Baratheons are a questionable lot,” Olenna remarked. “One prefers the company of men if the rumours are true, another is cold and cantankerous, and the less said about the oafish king the better.”
“Harry isn’t like them!” Margaery snapped before she could stop herself. It was only when she noticed the quiet the settled into the wheelhouse and the surprised looks Alerie and Willas were giving her that she realised how sharp her tone had been. She tried to calm herself before continuing. “He’s brave and sweet and gentle.”
“There was nothing sweet or gentle about how he dispatched those outlaws,” Olenna retorted. “But I will give you that he certainly is brave. That or stupid for running in as he did.”
Why was she being like this?
Margaery turned in her seat to face her grandmother head on. “I will not hear you shame him like this to me.”
“Then close your ears,” Olenna said with a sweet smile. “I am simply stating the truth of things.”
“No you’re not,” Margaery replied angrily. “You’re judging him without having met him based on who his family is. Harry is a wonderful man. You’re the one who’s acting stupid, you shrivelled-up shrew.”
“Margaery!” Alerie gasped.
Olenna’s laughter broke through whatever Alerie was about to say. She leaned back in her chair and let out a laugh unlike any that Margaery had ever heard her deliver before, not that it did anything to slow the fury building inside of her.
“You do truly love the man, don’t you?” Olenna finally managed to get out.
Suddenly, Margaery realised what her grandmother had been doing. It frustrated her that even though she’d fallen victim to her grandmother’s same antics so many times, she always failed to recognise it. It was just another bit of proof that showed Margaery just how much work she had to do in order to ensure that she never lost her head when dealing with others.
“You were trying to provoke me, weren’t you,” Margaery said rhetorically. She let out a quiet sigh of defeat.
“Indeed I was,” Olenna announced proudly. “And I can certainly say that you are serious about this Harry Baratheon. I do not know if you are correct or not in your feelings towards him, but there’s no denying that they exist.”
“My feelings may be for nought if I cannot convince his father and mine to betroth us,” Margaery said.
“You can leave Mace to me,” Olenna replied cheerfully. “He’ll do as I say. However, before he gives his approval, I would like to meet the man first and get the measure of him.”
“And what about Lord Stannis?” Margaery asked.
“That task is upon you, my dear girl,” Olenna smiled at her. “Consider it a test. If you can convince that man that he should allow his son to marry the daughter of the man who nearly starved him, his wife, and his baby boy, then I’d say that you’ve proven yourself to be capable of leaving Highgarden to be with this Harry Baratheon.”
The wheelhouse carried them up through the city until the grand walls of the Red Keep came into view. It was difficult to say if the Red Keep was larger than Highgarden or not, but the pale red stone of the castle was incredibly attractive to Margaery’s eyes. She could see soldiers patrolling along the large curtain walls overhead as the massive gate into the castle opened up for them.
The outer yard had been cleared for their arrival. Attendants stood to the side, who would undoubtedly work with the Tyrell attendants to see to it that the family’s every need was met. It was all unfamiliar faces here though, which disheartened Margaery somewhat. She’d been hoping to see Harry again.
When the wheelhouse came to a stop, a set of wooden steps was quickly brought out before the doors even opened. Once it was perfectly placed, her family’s servants opened the door to the wheelhouse and allowed them out.
As Willas offered his hand to help Margaery out, a heavily-perfumed, round, bald man stepped out from a nearby building with a sly smile tugging only at the right corner of his lips.
“Welcome to the capital, my lords and ladies of House Tyrell,” the man said with a generous bow.
“Lord Varys, I presume?” Olenna asked.
“The one and the same,” Varys tittered. His silk robes danced as he covered his mouth as he laughed quietly. “Our dear Lord Stannis Baratheon has asked me to welcome you into the Throne Room at your convenience. The royal court is in session, and he wishes to apologise personally for the ails you faced on your travels.”
“Is that what he said?” Olenna raised a critical eyebrow.
“In fewer words, perhaps,” Varys smiled.
“Is Ser Harry in there?” Margaery asked hopefully.
“Indeed he is,” Varys answered her instantly. “He returned only a short while ago. I expect he’ll be making his report to Lord Stannis soon.”
Margaery turned to her family eagerly. “Can we please go inside? I know that father and Loras are still on their way, but I was hoping—”
“Fine, fine,” Olenna interrupted her. “Will you show us the way, Lord Varys?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
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Pierrick Giannetti
Génial ! trop content d'avoir déjà un nouveau chapitre, excellent travail
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