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The Icefyre Conquest 24
🕑 Added 2023-11-08 21:39:58 +0000 UTC“Your brother is getting wed today, one would think you would decide to look a little more lively.”
“Finally decided to remember I exist?” I asked instead, turning around to look at the woman, who, for all intents and purposes, had ignored me harder than Catelyn had ever since we came to Winterfell, “And here I thought it would take a few more weeks for you to talk to me again.”
“Forgive me, my Prince!” she growled back, though it was more in sarcasm than anger, so I was probably in no danger of getting punched like the last time. Dacey walked forward, and even though there was no chance of things ever returning to how they once were, I couldn’t help but think of the times when this had been a prelude to some rough sex. With her hair done in a Northern braid and her eyes smoldering with anger, I found myself realizing just how much I had missed the physical intimacy between us. Don’t get me wrong. We had an emotional connection as well—or at least, we did in the past—but I never really thought we both got to the love part.
However, my thought on the particulars of our…thing was put on hold Dacey came to a stop just a pace away from me, her eyes staring into my own as she uncrossed her arms, her right coming to rest upon her sword’s pommel while the other pushed at my shoulder. “I didn’t know that I was the one who fucking dropped a heapload of shit on fucking everybody!”
“And I had no choice, how hard is it to understand that simple fact?!” I snarled back, feeling the familiar stirrings of anger swell up in my mind as I shrugged off her hand. However, I stopped myself from giving in, knowing that it would only harm whatever frayed threads existed between us more. Taking a deep breath, I took a step back and leaned against the railing, closing my eyes for a moment before looking at Dacey again, “Sorry for that…now, how can I help you, Dacey?”
“I just wanted to talk…,” she trailed off into an incoherent mumble, her eyes flicking to the side as she fidgeted slightly. Sighing mentally, I stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder, making her eyes widen as her mouth opened for me to pull her and wrap my arms around her. Her muffled exclamation rang out for a second as I sighed, feeling her struggle for a moment before she growled softly, and her body stilled against mine.
“I still am gonna break your arse in the yard,” she mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and her fist lightly hit the side of my ribs as she growled. For a moment, I simply stood quietly before the words actually registered in my brain, and I started to chuckle. Evidently, that was the wrong thing to do as Dacey once again tried to break my ribs, half-heartedly hitting my sides as she mumbled softly. “Shut your mouth, Jon, this is not funny.”
“As you wish, but I really don’t have the time to get to that arse kicking,” I rolled my eyes and stepped back, nodding in the direction of the preparations going on below us. “Have to check up on the feast, and the Karstarks are taking the men out for a stroll in Wintertown.”
“I know, Lyan-Visenya told me about it,” she shrugged, halting midway as she corrected my sister’s name with an uncomfortable look in her eyes. Giving me a small wavering smile, she closed her eyes once and took a step back, “I wil-We will talk after the bedding has been done. Till then, keep your ass out of trouble.”
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Standing underneath the Weirwood, Ned looked at his sons out of the corner of his eyes. Jon and Robb were standing a few paces away, chuckling and rolling their eyes at one another. A few months ago, such a sight would have been impossible to see, or at least not with them two together. Instead, it had only been Robb and Theon, laughing and japing all around the Keep and Wintertown, with his son and ward—a glorified hostage, he remembered again, thinking back on the Greyjoy’s fate.
But now, Jon was back, and now that the series of shocks regarding everything had worn off, Ned had never been happier in his life. Robb and Jon were finally the brothers he had always wanted them to be, and even Arya was smiling a lot more than she used to. Bran was also coming out of his shell, and he knew he had already wrapped Lyanna around his finger—there was no way the girl would share her lemon tart with him otherwise, she didn’t even part with them for Jon.
And it seemed that things were not going to stop changing anytime soon, what with his eldest getting married in a few minutes. Of course, the swell of pride and happiness in his chest was extinguished the next moment by the realization of why Robb was being wed in such haste at such six-and-ten years of age.
The impending war against the Ironborn.
Though, a culling would be a more fitting word, he thought, rubbing the Lord’s ring on his forefinger, his thumb gliding over the small gemstone set in it. His eyes hardened as he remembered the way they had dared to touch his daughter, and it was only sheer dumb luck that something worse hadn’t happened in all the days she had been…away. Today, the Heir of the North would wed his betrothed, and within a week, they shall march onwards. Already, the bulk of the North’s fighting force was assembled north of Winterfell, and more were supposed to join them as they crossed through the mainland to the edges where the ships awaited them.
According to the ravens that had arrived a week ago from the South and Kings Landing, the army of the rest of the six kingdoms and the Crownlands had also begun their march. Surprisingly, the Dornish had sent their own force at once, and even Robert had been struck dumb for a moment by that. It was common knowledge that beyond paying their taxes, the Prince of Dorne had kept no contact with the Baratheon dynasty, going so far as to even not send a gift for the birth of any of Robert’s children or attend any of the tourneys that had been held since the sacking of the Red Keep.
Considering just how the Viper of Dorne had been before, with his preening attitude and a desire to show off, it had been a shock to see the letter from Pycelle detailing the numbers sent by Dorne for the war. However, before his mind devolved further into the thoughts of the politics and bloodshed that were coming close, the sight of the guards snapping to attention caught his eye, and immediately, the gathering of the Lords around him grew silent. The Kingsguard entered the clearing of the Weirwood, Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister standing up and front with their gleaming armors and white cape fluttering in the slight wind, their helms on their heads and a hand on their swords. Behind them entered the Baratheon soldiers sworn to Robert, spears made of polished black wood in each of their grips as the Baratheon banner flew above. The Lord of the North couldn’t help but grimace at the sight that followed as Robert waddled into the clearing, already piss-drunk and flushed redder than a piece of boar.
At least he could take solace in the fact that he wasn’t tripping over his feet in that garish, jeweled cloak he was wearing.
The other Great Lords entered the Godswood, and idly, Ned wondered if the High Septon was still trying to preach about the Seven in the Wintertown—or maybe the laxatives Arya had smuggled into his food had caught effect by now? Either way, he was glad the fat preacher was not here to ruin his firstborn’s wedding, and that too in front of a gathering that was already thirsty for blood. He looked at Greatjon, catching the large man’s eyes before he nodded slightly, signaling the man to tell the guards that the ceremony was to begin.
Robb came to stand by his side, and Jon stood a step behind them. Catelyn came to stand by his left, and his children stood behind her. Lyanna, too, walked over to stand by Jon, putting the youngest Mormont daughter—and the girl was named Lyanna too, much to his surprise, though it heartened him to see that his sister still had so many who loved her to this date. Lyanna whispered something to Robb as she passed by him, and Ned smiled as he caught the way Robb flushed up at her words, before his attention was grabbed by the King of Seven Kingdoms.
“NED!” Robert shouted as he stopped right in front of him, his eyes shining with happiness and pride as the Baratheon King looked at his son next, “And Robb! Gods, can’t believe Ned’s lad is getting married, and you look good in those furs. Like a warrior instead of a golden-haired ponce standing behind bags of meat! Ha!”
“Robert,” Ned began cautiously, his eyes flicking towards Tywin. While he hadn't had the misfortune of having an extended meeting with the Queen in all the time she and her children had been in Winterfell, he knew that the Lannisters were not someone he wanted to associate with. Dealing with snakes was never his forte, and Tywin and his bunch might think themselves lions all they want, but they were nothing but cowards hiding in search of an opportunity every time. Deciding to stop the drunk man before he said something regrettable, he took a step forward and laid a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I and Robb thank you for your words, but right now the ceremony is about to start.”
“Right, right,” the King of the Seven Kingdoms responded, the jowls of his chin shifting as his blue eyes shifted towards the guards behind him. “Kingslayer! Go and get the gift I got the blacksmith to make, and make it fast!”
As Jaime turned around lazily and walked out of the clearing, Ned could only groan mentally at the tightening of Tywin’s eyes and the big, wide smile on Robert’s face as the latter began to tell about what he had gotten Robb for his wedding.
Running my thumb on the pommel of Nightfall, I looked at the white cape fluttering behind Jaime Lannister as the Kingslayer moved out of the clearing. My eyes flicked towards my Uncle, and I saw the small grimace that came over his features for a moment before it was gone, and he led the King towards the seat that had been prepared for him. Honestly, it was quite pathetic, in my opinion, but then again, more than half the things done by, and for, Robert Baratheon were. But still, he was the king and currently a very drunk king. Even the most traditional lords of the North would rather have him sitting and sipping than standing and stumbling everywhere.
Though, we could have lived without him ordering about the Kingslayer like a servant.
Honestly, I was pretty sure that Tywin had already concocted some morally black, perfect plan to fool us at the end of the war and finish off Robert by the end of the year. In all the weeks that the king’s party and the Southerners had been in Winterfell, even the furthest reaches of Wintertown had heard the king shout about how much of a ‘frigid, big-headed, proud cunt’ his wife was. Usually, this was followed by Jon Arryn trying to run damage control, shutting the fat retard up, and then running after the Lannister patriarch to calm the man down before he decided to stop funding the Baratheon-Lannister regime.
Of course, whenever the King wasn’t busy mouthing off about his admittedly frigid, cunning, but still beautiful wife, he was making fun of either Jaime Lannister or Rhaegar Targaryen and reminiscing about the ‘good ol’ days’ with Uncle Eddard. And that was without counting the times he belittled the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Joffrey Baratheon, the first of his name—the little sadistic fuck totally deserved it, but still, I wanted the Southerners as far away from Winterfell as possible before shit was thrown around and swords were pointed.
Myrcella and Tommen were good, based on whatever I had seen of them—they were never let out of the Lannister contingent long enough for any of the other occupants of Winterfell to interact with them. From what I had heard, Cersei kept them strictly out of anyone’s sight, taking them with her wherever she went, and mostly, she was with Catelyn or her own band of Lannister bootlickers. However, the last time I had seen the queen, she had been busy glaring daggers at me and reminding me of my own place…which was followed by Joffrey bursting into the room with a demand of his own.
I sighed, once again running a finger over the reworked hilt of Nightfall, the previous gilded gold one replaced by simple iron and leather, with a gleaming wolf head at the end. As I did so, I caught Tywin’s eyes, the Lannister Lord’s eyes flashing with anger for a brief moment as he glared at my sword hand, and in the back of my mind, I smirked with satisfaction as I remembered the way the Lion of the West had summoned me to give Nightfall over to his house.
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“Snow,” a cocky voice called over from the end of the yard, and everyone around me stopped their spars as I looked over at the speaker, Jaime Lannister’s smirking face looking back at me with his golden hair shining and his hand over his sword, “the Lord Lannister has…called you for an audience.”
“Sure,” I nodded slowly, sheathing the longsword and stepping back from Robb as I moved to keep the weapon back, “Might as well get it over with now.”
“You are agreeing to this?!” Robb whispered furiously as he walked behind me, silently telling the others to get back to their work. “You don’t have to meet with the Lannisters! Father would never allow this without his permission, and I doubt the Kingslayer went to get it!”
“Don’t let father know about it until I am done with Tywin,” I said back, my tone as serious as it ever had been, and Robb seemed to sense it too as he opened his mouth once again. However, before he could say something, I shook my head and picked up Nightfall from the rack, strapping it to my waist as I moved away. I felt Robb lay a hand on my shoulder, and I sighed, turning around to give him a small smirk as I cocked my head in the direction the Kingsguard was waiting in. “I will handle whatever this is, you just don’t fuck this up by telling father before I am back.”
“You are literally walking into the Lion’s den, Jon,” Robb warned me, his eyes tightening as his grip upon my shoulder grew tight, “Tywin Lannister is no joke. You are smart, Jon, but don’t be so overconfident that you think of everyone around you as simpletons for you to talk around.”
“I said I can handle it,” I repeated again, this time more forcefully, and looked down at his hand that was clutching my shoulder. “This is something I knew was going to happen, and it isn’t something father or you can help me with anyway. It is better that this is happening right now in Winterfell than some war camp weeks later. Now, your hand?”
“...I hope you know what you are doing.”
“I always do,” I nodded and turned around, walking up to the Young Lion and looking up at the man—I still had some growing up to do evidently, because Jaime still stood a good couple of inches above me. The man always seemed to exude a sense of entitlement and pride whenever he so much as blinked at anything, the casual smirk and the swagger in his steps only compounded by the tag of the one who slew the Aerys Targaryen and sat on the throne with the king dead at his feet.
I hadn’t seen him wield that blade at his hip even once, but based on what my uncle, the Southerners had said, Jaime was every bit the swordsman the tales said him to be. While he had never drawn his blade even in tourneys in the last few years, it was speculated the man practiced regularly with Barristan Selmy, even though the older man hated his guts and called him KIngslayer each and every time.
“You fight differently,” he commented after a moment, looking past me at the yard before his eyes returned to me, and his smirk widened. “You just might have a smidgen of talent if you are willing to fight dirty like that.”
“I fight to win, doesn’t matter if I have to cut the throat or smash the balls to do it,” I shrugged, before nodding in the direction of where the Lannisters were staying at. “Your Lord Father awaits, shall we, Ser Lannister?”
“I didn’t know the North created such eloquent men,” he laughed, turning to walk ahead and motioning for me to follow, “or that a bastard would be learned enough to use such big words.”
“I guess I am just different than the ones you have seen till now,” I shrugged back, finding it somehow easier to talk to the man than half the ones in the North. “Last I heard, one of the King’s bastards went missing right in King’s Landing, who knows what the others face.”
“That true,” he chuckled quietly and looked over his shoulder, his eyes speculative and curious. “Tell me, did you really march onto Harlaw for your sister without asking your father? Alone and with just a ragtag group of fishermen and soldiers?”
“Which brother wouldn’t?” I shrugged back, looking down at the blade by my side as my mind flashed back to that moment—the sight of Visenya slung over that cunts back, the feeling of an arrow sliding into me, and the bone-chilling horror of realizing that I had lost her. “It was easier than breathing at that moment.”
“It is,” he agreed after a moment, all sarcasm and wit gone from his voice, I nodded back absently, remembering that Jaime too, was a brother to a woman. A few seconds later, his voice once again echoed in the corridor as we made a turn. “Did…you leave not even a single Ironborn alive? Rumors and your letter to the King said that you burned down the whole of Harlaw after killing every reaver there, man woman, or child.”
“Those who tried to stop me…they died. Lyanna was my only concern then,” I replied, stomping down on the rage that threatened to overcome my senses as I found myself back on Harlaw’s shores, my eyes set on the Ten Towers and roars of my dragons rending the quietness of the night apart. I was brought back to the present as Jaime suddenly stopped, and I looked up, my eyes snapping to the door covered by the red and gold lion of the Lannisters.
“I hope you know how to talk to a Great Lord, boy,” Jaime smirked down at me as he moved to the right and nodded at the door. “Let's see if you are as ‘eloquent’ then, as you are now?”
He had never liked fools, or people who thought themselves more smart than they were. Perhaps that is why, even decades after his death, he never could bring himself to smile at the memories of his father, even the ones that belonged to a time before Tytos Lannister had made a mockery of their name in front of the whole realm. After taking command of the Lannister men and bringing the Reynes and Tarbecks to their ends, he had done everything to make the Lannister legacy as mighty as it could be.
Military, economy, treasuries, alliances, spies, mercenaries…he had spared no expense or left no corner in making sure that the Lannister name roared high above all others. Even Aerys, the mad bastard who thought himself a dragon, was brought to an end by his own blood, and House Lannister had only grown since then. Cersei had become the Queen instead of the foolish wolf-maid, and his grip over the Kingdoms had only tightened thereafter.
However, there were only three places where he had never really been able to gain a foothold. Dorne, because as loathe as he was to admit it, the Martells and their servants were as good at sniffing out spies as they were at being a whore. The North, because there really wasn’t anything of worth in this wasteland, with Ned Stark helming the Kingdom and the North as a whole being too poor and too isolated to be of any interest.
The last had been the Iron Islands, because anybody who wasn’t born there, was either a slave or a body to spawn more Ironborn—and what good was a spy if he never heard back from it? Granted, there was nothing worth there other than the looted treasures of several centuries, and their admittedly good seafaring skills, but even then, he had never liked not knowing what went on in those blasted islands. After Balon’s mad attempt at sovereignty, he had almost forgotten about the Ironborn other than their yearly attempts at raiding his trading vessels…but then, they had attacked the North.
And Ned Stark’s bastard had razed a whole bloody island to the ground, and taken the Lord hostage along with Balon’s wife. And if that wasn’t enough, the other bastard—a girl no less—had survived amongst those reavers for four days, cut the throats of her captors, killed Harras, and saved all the captured women…even those who were from his kingdom, the ones he had left behind. His grip tightened upon the goblet in his hands as he remembered the sight of those women, a couple of them even finding their husbands and brothers in the men he had brought with him.
But that was all inconsequential for him.
The only thing that mattered in this whole incident was the sword held by the Harlaws, Nightfall.
He had seen Jon Snow carry that longsword around on his hip, and use it to behead the Ironborn the North had captured. And now, with the wedding of the Stark heir happening tomorrow, Tywin knew that they would all begin to march for the war within a sennight at the most. And he wanted Nightfall within his possession before that. There was nothing that the Lannister House didn’t have, except for a Valyrian steel blade, and he had seen the way that people laughed about it behind his back.
And now, as the door to his room opened to let Jon Snow walk inside, Tywin could almost see the next Brightroar in his grip. Bringing the goblet in his hands to his lips, he kept his eyes upon the boy, once again noting that the bastard looked more Stark than his trueborn brother.
“Greetings, Lord Lannister,” the black-haired teen greeted, bowing respectfully but not lowering his eyes more than an inch for a moment. He stayed silent in response, lowering the goblet slowly and deliberately, his face completely devoid of any emotion. Behind the boy, Jaime entered the room, dropping his helm upon a chair and resting his back against the wall. Snow straightened up a moment later, and Tywin saw the way the bastard looked at various gold and silver items he had got the servants to put in his room. A glint of satisfaction in his mind, Tywin nodded at the chair in front of him.
“Sit”, he ordered, his voice stern and unwavering. He watched Snow like a hawk as the boy pulled the chair back and sat down, removing Nightfall to rest it by his side and keeping his hands in front of him. Deciding to not waste any more time, and knowing Snow to be marginally more intelligent than the other Northern savages, he decided to lay down his demands, “I am buying Nightfall from you, Jon Snow. In return, you will be given fifty thousand gold dragons.”
“A few years ago, some of the Reachmen and travelers from the South had an interesting rumor to tell,” the bastard began, his tone light and conversational as if he was talking to some friends of his, instead of a Great Lord, “That the Great Lord Lannister had offered five hundred thousand gold dragons to House Crakehall, for their Valyrian broadsword Boarkiller…and over the years, offers of similar value have been made to a couple more impoverished or poor houses.”
Ahead of him, Tywin could see his son’s eyes grow wide as Jaime seemed to stifle a cough, and he himself could not believe the audacity of the bastard before him. Tywin very well knew what kind of man he was, and he had no illusions regarding the image that the Seven Kingdoms carried of him…and yet, this boy had the sheer unbelievable guts to bargain with him?! Even after being offered more gold than the whole Stark House had seen in the last decade?
Bold as it was, Tywin knew he had no choice but to agree to Snow’s demands right now. In hindsight, it might have been a tad bit presumptuous of him to think that Snow would see any sum of gold as a suitable recompensation for a Valyrian blade, especially when he had already established himself as well-versed in wordplay and the knowledge of every Southern house in Winterfell. “Five hundred thousand dragons,” he spoke, echoing the words of the bastard back at him, raising a finger to tap against the goblet’s base. A moment later, Tywin decided to lay it out fully, and pull out any stops in what he was willing to offer for the sword, “And a Knightship in the Westerlands. If it is women and wine you desire, then I shall have the best Lysene whores and wineskins brought for you, and you will still get the full payment.”
A small smile came upon the bastard’s face, and Tywin laughed on the inside as Snow leaned forward eagerly. Jaime on the other hand, openly smiled and walked forward, intent on taking Nightfall right now from its place by the bastard’s side and tak-
“Not enough.”
His smile froze on his face, and Tywin’s fingers stilled as he looked at the boy before him. “Not enough?” He repeated, his voice deathly soft as he looked at Jaime, silently ordering him to go back to the door. His eyes returned to Snow, and a part of him couldn’t help but admire the balls on Snow for once again pushing at the limits of the offer. “What do you think you are playing at, boy? I have offered you more than what any bastard in the history of Seven Kingdoms has ever gotten from a Great Lord. Money, women, wine…what else is there to desire in this world…unless you are truly stupid and want Winterfell?”
“Winterfell is my home to live in, not a place to conquer,” came the answer as Snow leaned back in his seat, sighing as he seemed to make himself comfortable. The boy met his eyes once again, the grey in them flickering in the firelight as the boy tapped a finger against the sword by his side. “Five Hundred Thousand dragons, Lysine Whores, and wines…that all is nothing in front of what this blade means. A Valyrian steel longsword, one taken from the corpse of a dead House…I think I might even get a Lordship down the line if I kill enough Ironborn in the coming war, and a Valyrian blade sounds good for then.”
“You don’t even realize what a mistake you are making,” he replied back, staring down at the boy before he looked at the hilt of the sword. “A bastard with no skill, no confirmed future, and no protection wielding such a weapon is laughable. Come any day, bandits will jump you and slaughter you to take that blade, or you shall die in a ditch in the war and the blade shall be lost anyway. Don’t be a bullhead and accept the offer before I change my mind. A landed Knightship is more than what any bastard sees, and I am giving you much more than that…but since you seem to love that sister of yours…I shall even allow her to marry my son and live in the Westerlands, without any dowry.”
“I thought the Kingsguard couldn’t marry?”
Tywin barely kept himself from twitching at that, knowing the bastard was mocking the fact that for all of his political and financial power, for all intents and purposes, his son was not his Heir. Instead, all he had left was a monster who had swallowed his love, a misshapen thing whose only saving grace was that it was marginally more intelligent than the fools that surrounded him.
“I meant Tyrion…my other son,” he forced the words out, hating every syllable that poured from his lips as the face of that monster flashed through his mind, as well as the sweat-soaked, tired face of his Joanna right before she passed away. “She will have the wealth and luxury of Casterly Rock, and you shall never have to worry about her ever again.”
“I have…another offer for you, Milord,” Snow responded after a few moments, picking up the sword by his side and laying it down on the table, “I give you a Valyrian steel blade after the war ends, and you pay four hundred thousand for it then after it has been presented to you and Ser Jaime. Four hundred thousand dragons, and I will require no other thing or payment from you or the Lannisters ever.”
“And what is the problem with you giving it to me now?”
“I simply don’t wish to part with this sword,” the boy shrugged, running a finger along the sheath. “It has grown on me, and when people realize that I sold a trophy for money, the reaction of the Northern soldiers won’t be good. I am going to be one of the central fighters from the Northern army, being the bastard of the Great Lord and having already been in a bloodied conflict. The North views such things differently than the South, and it won’t be good to be seen as a man governed by money by the Northern soldiers in the coming weeks and moons.”
“And what should make me believe that you will keep your end of the word,” he asked, meeting the bastard eyes over the Nightfall, and out of the corner of his eye, Tywin saw Jaime too raise an eyebrow at Snow’s words, “if I even agree?”
“You need to trust, laughable as it sounds,” Snow shrugged, and Tywin was so taken aback by the answer that for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the bastard in surprise. “I am Eddard Stark’s son, a bastard for sure, but I keep my word and honor. And I have no problems in giving you a Valyrian steel sword when I have no more need for it, since in return you will be giving me money. It is all a transaction, one which benefits both of us and our Houses, and why won’t I keep my end of it when it is no sweat off my back?”
“Because a Valyrian steel sword is more valuable than entire Houses put together?” Jaime spoke up for the first time, walking forwards to the stand at their side, leaning down to pick up NIghtfall by its sheath. “Similar numbers, and even higher, have been offered over the years to small Houses, and yet they refuse to part with their swords. What makes you so different, especially when other than this, you have nothing else in your hands that sets you apart?”
“I have no House pride to think of, merely my own and my sister’s welfare,” Snow answered, looking up at Jaime and nodding at the sword in his son’s hands. “That sword is currently a symbol for the men that will fight alongside me, that the North, and the Mainland by extension, is finally going to put the Ironborn in their right deserving place. That’s all it is to me, and to the North. After it has been done, you can have your Valyrian steel sword, and I will give it to you for only four hundred thousand dragons.”
“...and should you not stand up to your word?”
“Then it is a good thing we will never have to find out,” the bastard smiled, and lightly wrapped his fingers around the sword. “I thank you for your offers, Lord Lannister, but I don’t think Lyanna would make a good wife for Lord Tyrion, and as for the knightship you were bestowing upon me…I would have to decline for the moment…I am not really one of those live-in-the-castle types.”
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Now, two days later, as he flicked his eyes away from the bastard, Tywin knew that Snow was also thinking about the same thing as he was. He had poked a Lion several times that day, knowing that the only thing saving him was that it was Eddard Stark’s lands instead of someplace south of the Neck. But still, he could afford to wait for a few more moons. Especially with more Ironborn houses having Valyrian blades in their possession. He just had to make sure that the Lannister men were sent for the ones with them. Either way, Tywin knew he was going to get a Valyrian steel sword by the end of this year, and then the Lannisters would really be the greatest of them all.
But till then, he would have to wait and keep watching the bastard smirk as he laid a hand upon his Valyrian sword’s hilt, knowing that every Lord and soldier was watching it with greed and envy, and could do naught but whine in their heads. Taking a sip of the Northern ale as he watched Alys Karstark walk towards the Hearttree with her father leading her, Tywin hummed and looked at the redheads standing beside Eddard Stark.
The Northern Ale was good, but he much preferred the softer, smoother ones of the South.
Comments
TheWateringWizard
It would be hilarious if Jon managed to gather all the VS swords during the war ! Btw, I’m really hoping to see some development on the Jon/Visenya front soon… things have been left in this very frustrating limbo for a while now. Especially after the opportunity to get together that they had on the boat back to Bear Island…
