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The young lad's head snapped back and forth between Nox and Tobho several times as he tried to come to grips with what was being presented to him. "I – Milord, I –"
"I have much patience, Gendry, but it is not infinite," Nox stated, to which he could've sworn he heard Jon scoff silently at. "It's a simple offer requiring a simple response. Will you come North? Yes, or no?"
Closing his eyes, Gendry breathed deep, his large chest moving and straining the thick leather covering him. When he opened his eyes again, Nox could see the determination in them and knew that he had his answer. "Yes, milord. I will come with you. But I cannot leave my work half done."
"Of course, you can't," Nox nodded. "You have until we leave the city. When we leave, you will either be with us, or this offer will be closed to you permanently."
"I will be there, milord," Gendry said with conviction.
"Good," Nox smirked as he turned to the master armorer, "Master Tobho, Jon and I will be back to collect his armor pieces in a few days' time."
"Of course, my lord," Tobho said, bowing his head slightly. "I thank you for your patronage, my lord."
With nothing more to be said, Nox turned and made his way quickly out of the shop, leaving Jon hurrying to catch up with him. "Master," Jon said lowly once the two were out of the shop. "That…That wasn't like you."
"How so?" Nox asked, curious for Jon's supposed insight.
"You're not one to leave a potential resource behind, Master. You've told Robb and I that enough and shown it frequently as well," Jon said factually. "Back there, though…Gendry, he has the Force and you – you were going to let him not join us? That is—was—unlike you, Master."
Shaking his head, Nox begun homing in on the next significant Force presence he could sense in the city. It was faint, but dense. A young one. And a powerful one at that. "If that is the way it seemed to you, my Apprentice, then you were clearly not paying close enough attention. There was no way that Gendry was not going to be joining us. The offer was too good to pass up. And even if he wavered, the armorer Mott would've pushed him out the door after us."
"Why?" Jon questioned as the two resumed walking through the crowded streets.
"Because as Gendry gains prestige, so too shall he. Especially if Gendry's skill as a forger grows to the level's I predict they can."
Jon stared off into the crowd, pondering what he'd said. "Tobho Mott, as the first to take Gendry under his tutelage will be able to claim him as his student, even when he is in the North. And if Gendry becomes as skilled as you believe…then the nobles of the land will be seeking out Mott even more then they already do because he can be credited for training Gendry in the art of forging. Which means that the moment you made the offer, you already knew it was going to be accepted."
Smirking, Nox nodded. "As whole, people are simple. Study them carefully, learn what motivates them, and you will be able to correctly guess which actions they will take. Both on the field of battle and in the ring of politics. Now, there is another that I am very, very interested in. Their presence is small, yet dense. Search the city and find the disturbance, then lead the way."
Nodding, Jon gained a far-off look in his eye as he stared straight ahead. Slowly, his Apprentice began turning slightly until he was facing towards the presence Nox had indicated. "This way," Jon said confidently, leading the two of them through the crowded busy streets.
It took the two of them nearly half the day to track the presence down, but as the sun began to set, they finally managed to locate the one they were searching for. Within a brothel of all places. The brothel stood two stories tall with leaded windows to prevent any from peaking inside and getting a free show. The girls that stood just outside the entrance were scantily dressed in flowing silk robes that were cinched at the waist and left very little to the imagination. To his credit, Jon didn't hesitate or blush or even look at the girls twice as the two of them stepped into the brothel, the smell of flowers and perfume so powerful in nearly caused Nox to sneeze.
"Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise," a sultry voice floated towards them almost as soon as the door shut behind the two of them.
The speaker was a dark-skinned woman with a thick and sultry ooze whose every move screamed seduction. "We here at Chataya's have serviced many a fine Lord and Lady. Even the King himself has named my home as his favorite in the city. Yet we have never had the…pleasure of having a sorcerer, the sorcerer, in our midst. I can assure you, my lord sorcerer, you have chosen very wisely. My girls will ensure that you and your…young companion here will leave more satisfied then you have ever been in your entire life. And if none meet your expectations, then I shall personally see to your satisfaction."
"A tempting offer, madam. But I fear that should I partake in the pleasures of the flesh without my wife present to do the same, she would serve me my balls on a silver platter."
The madam, he presumed to be Chataya, smiled sensually at him. "I see, that is a pity then. But when you return with your wife, come again and we will see that the both of you are thoroughly satisfied. But if not for you, then perhaps you wish to have one of our girls spend some time with your young companion then? There is, after all, no better gift one can gift another other than an evening with one of my girls."
That caused Jon to stiffen, in more ways than one. "Alas, I fear young Jon Stark here has his heart set on another for his first time."
The name 'Stark' caused Chataya's brows to raise, but when she realized just what he'd said, her friendly demeanor faded slightly. "Then if you are not here to find your relief, then I must ask for you to make way for those who are, my lord sorcerer. Time, even time spent talking, is coin."
Reaching to one of his coin purses he had on his person and tossed the leather pouch to the madam, who caught it with an expert's skill and quickly gave it a shake to verify its contents. "There is a child in this establishment. I would meet with the child and its mother to discuss a few things."
Chataya's eyes narrowed as suspicion flared within her. "Mhaegen!"
A young girl wearing a mostly transparent yellow silk dress quickly rose from one of the couches nearby and sauntered over towards them. "Yes madam?
Tucking the purse into her own dress, Chataya nodded towards Nox and Jon. "This is the Northern Sorcerer, Lord Nox. And this is Jon Stark…I presume the newly legitimized bastard son of Lord Stark. They wish to have words with you…and your daughter."
Fear spiked within the girl as her eyes widened. "Um, of – of course milord. Please – um…this way."
Keeping a slight distance from the girl as to try and calm her, Nox and Jon followed the young whore into the back portion of the brothel where it looked like a few of the whores lived when they were not applying their trade. Leading them back to one of the rooms, the young woman opened the door and stepped in. The small apartment within was sparsely decorated with only a bed, a dresser, a small cradle near the bed and a rocking chair that was currently being occupied by a second young woman who was holding a bundle in her arms and singing softly.
"Thank you for watching her, Yaya," Mhaegen greeted the other young woman before taking the small bundle from the dark-skinned young woman. "Milord, sorcerer…This is Alayaya, daughter of Chataya. Alayaya this…this is Lord Nox and Lord Jon Stark. They – They wish to see my daughter."
"Ma'am," Nox greeted the young woman by inclining his head.
The young woman rose from the chair, suspicion screaming with each move she took. "My lords," Alayaya returned their greeting with a crisp accent.
Paying the daughter of the madam no further mind, Nox approached the only slightly shaking Mhaegen as she held the young child in her arms. "This – This is my daughter, Barra," she said, turning just enough so that the child would be in his view.
The action wasn't needed though as Nox already knew everything that he needed to know. The dense Force presence he'd felt ever since arriving in this city was coming from this child, who could only be a month old at best. For her to hold such a presence at such a young age…she was something special. It would still take some time for her powers to truly mature. But once they did, he could easily see her as becoming on par with Arya. Perhaps even Jon in terms of raw power.
"Interesting," Nox said quietly as he continued to carefully observe the young child.
"In – Interesting…milord?"
"Yes," Nox nodded to the young whore as he took a step towards her and her child, causing her to flinch in an involuntarily protective manner. "There is no reason for you nor your daughter to fear me, girl. I would risk no harm befalling your daughter. She is special, very special. It is still too early to tell the full extent…but there is no doubt in my mind that your daughter is powerful in the Force. Given time and training she could become a powerful Force Adept, a Sorceress. Perhaps even on par with myself."
Mhaegen's fear fled and Alayaya's suspicion vanished as each young woman turned and stared down at the child in wonder. "Are – Are you certain, milord sorcerer?" Mhaegen asked, a desperate sense of hope filling her. A hope that her child would have a better life.
"I am," Nox nodded. "Despite being only a babe, her presence in the Force is incredible. With time and training, she will have few equals."
The young whore's face nearly split as she smiled lovingly down at the young babe in her arms. "I knew she was special, milord. A gift from the gods. After my time with – with her father, I took moon tea but—but the will of the gods would not be denied, and she began growing in my womb and I – I couldn't deny her life. I don't know why but – but I had to bring her into the world. Now I know why."
'It was not the gods who kept the child alive, but the Living Force,' Nox thought, his interest in the girl rising. 'There have been a few in the past who have survived the womb when they were not supposed to. And those few have left lasting marks on history. This girl will no doubt be one to do so as well.'
"I have an offer for you then, young Mhaegen," Nox said, drawing the girl's attention back to himself. "Young Barra here will need to be trained when she comes of age. To that, I extend the invitation to both yourself and your daughter to return North to Winterfell with myself and the Stark contingent when we leave in a few days' time."
"You – me…to the North?" Mhaegen asked incoherently while the young Alayaya watched on from near the back of the room, her eyes narrowing as she took in everything. 'A sharp mind there.'
"Yes," Nox answered simply. "Your daughter's power, or at least the power she will command when she comes of age, is nothing to scoff at. She has it within her to become one of the more powerful beings I have met since coming to this land. But she must be trained. There are none outside the North who can truly help your daughter reach her full potential. And unlike some Force sensitives that I share a distinct disagreement of philosophy on, I do not believe in separating a child from its mother. Especially a child so young. So, I'm offering you the chance to travel with us and find a new home in the North. It won't be an easy life. Despite your daughter's status, you will still have to work to make your way. But there is a brothel near Winterfell that sees a relatively brisk business. Or if you wish to find another path, I will personally see to your placement wherever you wish."
Mhaegen was struck silent, her mind unable to process just was being presented before her.
"Mhaegen," Alayaya said softly, walking towards her fellow whore. "Take the offer. You may act the part well, but I know you, I know what is in your heart. And this life, this life is not the life for you. Nor do you wish this life for your daughter. So, go. Go North and make a life for yourself and your daughter."
Tears started forming at the corners of the young whore's eyes as she nodded. "I – I accept, milord Sorcerer."
"Very well," Nox smirked, knowing that he had secured a very powerful future acolyte. "We will leave in a few days' time. Conclude whatever business you have before then. For it is doubtful that you will ever again return to this city."
Ignoring the cries of agony and pleas for mercy, Tywin Lannister watched dispassionately as the old Maester of Casterly Rock and his replacement were both slowly and methodically sliced by a team of butchers he'd brought up to the main keep. Tywin had given implicit instructions to the butchers that the men were to be carved up one piece at a time starting with their limbs and that they were to be kept alive as long as possible. And so far, the butchers had done exactly that. As he watched, one of the butchers finished severing what was left of the younger Maester's right leg from the rest of his body. The butcher then placed the portion of the severed limb onto a platter and handed it off to one of the guards, who then brought it over to a nearby cage where House Lannister had kept a pride of lions. The sigil of House Lannister eagerly licked the muzzles and fought against the bars of their cage as the guards threw the bloody pieces of the Maesters to them.
He did feel a slight pang in his chest as he heard the elder Maester cry out to him by name, but he crushed that pain immediately. The man had been a constant in his life ever since he had been but a boy. He had helped teach him and his siblings their letters and numbers. Had provided decent consul over the years. He had even seen to the birth and education of Tywin's own children. But he would not allow his sentiment for the man to overcome the fact that he was a traitor and the murderer of his wife Joanna by making sure that she did not survive the birthing of Tyrion.
Confident that the butchers were doing their work per his instructions, Tywin turned his back on the execution of the Maesters and traversed his way back through the halls of his home towards the small meeting chamber he'd had converted to a meeting hall when the small gatherings he'd had with Tyrion, Gerion, and Kevan became more frequent. Entering the small room, he found his son and brothers already seated along with his sister Genna.
"Sit," he said as the four started to rise to their feet while he made his way towards the chair reserved for him at the head of the table. "Tyrion, I assume we have received another raven from King's Landing."
"We have," Tyrion nodded, who'd taken up the task of dealing with the ravens after the Maesters' treachery had been revealed. Something which almost brought a smile to Tywin's face as he thought of Tyrion's struggle in trying to reach the ravens. "The wolves and the sorcerer have finally left King's Landing after delivering a rather rough paddling to those within the confines of the city. And Cersei is once more demanding that you head for King's Landing immediately to demand retribution for what happened to Jamie."
The thought of his first-born son and what he'd been hiding caused no small amount of rage within Tywin. Had his idiot son opened his mouth at the end of the Rebellion, then he would've been heralded as a hero and House Lannister's name would've been elevated to heights unseen since the founding of the Seven Kingdoms. But instead, Jamie had kept his mouth shut about the Mad King's last plan. And in doing so had put the entirety of King's Landing in harm's way. Including the royal family, the very foundation upon which House Lannister would create a legacy to last a thousand years. And now his son was stuck with that ridiculous moniker that followed him like a bad rash no matter what deed he did.
"The only reason I would go to King's Landing in regard to Jamie's punishment would be to see it revisited upon him several times over." Tywin stated coldly, eyeing Tyrion who he knew greatly looked up to his older brother. "And you will send a letter to Cersei stating exactly that. Gerion, is Joy ready to depart?"
Upon learning that the Stark bastard had a sword identical to Nox's, Tywin's intent to get one of his own under the tutelage of the sorcerer had intensified. Once Joy, or any other of the Lannister name, proved themselves worthy in the sorcerer's eyes he would no doubt grant them a blade as well. A blade that would then be promptly handed over to the Lannister main line. While Brightroar was still a tremendous find and a symbol of prestige, it was still but a child's toy when compared to these 'lightsabers' the sorcerer wielded.
"She is," his youngest brother nodded. "And she knows what your expectations are for her as well."
"Good," Tywin stated with a note of finality.
He knew that his brother did not like the idea of using his young daughter as a pawn, but that mindset only proved that while his brother had grown during his failed expedition to Valyria, he was still but a child. Wants and desires of the individual did not matter. All that mattered was the family name, for that was what lived on. And through Joy, House Lannister would be able to incorporate the sorcerer's powerful magic into their family line and be next to unrivaled.
"Did the sorcerer do anything else besides dealing with the wildfire caches before he left the city?" Tywin asked, very interested in what exactly the sorcerer had been up too during his brief stay in King's Landing.
Tywin was no fool. He knew that the sorcerer was ambitious and had plans to further his standing, though to what level was still unclear. But Tywin knew that one day he would have to face off against the man. Not on the battlefield of course. From what he'd seen of him, it would take nothing short of an entire army catching the man by surprise to even have the possibility of defeating him. No. Rather, this war he would wage against the sorcerer would be one fought with words and deeds. And he needed a solid foundation underneath him for when that confrontation came. A foundation that was now weakened with the loss of Pycelle.
"Beyond dealing with a group of slavers that'd somehow managed to take root in the city, no," Tyrion replied. "What information we have of his movements is limited at best. It is widely known however that when the Northerners left the city, they did so with the young Lady Shireen Baratheon riding along with them. Along with a handful of other smallfolk that'd once called King's Landing home."
Stannis's daughter going with the sorcerer was expected. The man would've been mad to not take the offer presented to him. But the fact that several smallfolk left with the northerners was concerning to him. After all, while he still found Stark predictable, the sorcerer was anything but. But while he was unpredictable, Nox was much like himself in that he never did anything without reason. There had to be some benefit towards House Nox to allow those smallfolk to follow them back North. "When you are in the North you will expend every effort to discover why Stark and Nox allowed those smallfolk to travel with them back to the North."
"Of course," Tyrion nodded before turning pensive. "And…if it turns out that those smallfolk who caught the eyes of the wolves and the sorcerer turn out to have the same power as themselves?"
It was a possibility and one of the few reasons why he could think of that would explain Nox's interest in them. "If they have the same power, you and Gerion are to do all in your power to discover their parentage in King's Landing."
If these individuals did indeed have the same power as Nox, which was a good possibility, there was opportunity to be gained. Not by trying to collect the individuals themselves, he had no means of training them. But rather he would go after their families. Arrange for better living conditions, positions within keeps perhaps even a marriage or two should the individual be of high enough status. He would allow Nox to train these individuals and make them strong. But in the end, he would be the one holding onto their leashes as he collected their families under his banner.
"There is much work to be done," he said, rising from his seat. "And you all have much work to do. Tyrion, Gerion. You two will set sail at first light for Winterfell and make sure Joy finds a place either by the sorcerer's side or within the Stark Household. Kevan, continue your work renovating some of the abandoned mining houses around the Rock for when they return with the North's improvements. And Genna, inform your husband to send a letter to his family. The Starks will no doubt be heading for Riverrun so that Lord Stark may pay his respects to his late wife's family and from there they will head North to the Twins. Inform the Freys that I will be most…displeased should they do anything to anger or delay the sorcerer and the wolves."
Olenna Tyrell had lived a long life. A very long life. One that had seen the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty and the rise of the Baratheon reign. She'd lived through the War of the Ninepenny Kings and survived escaping a betrothal to a Targaryen Prince when she was eight-and-ten. And now, she was the leader of the Reach in all but name. She had fought and clawed her way through everything the world had thrown at her and come out the other end stronger than ever. She'd negotiated trade deals. Arranged betrothals. Settled disputes both petty and significant. And she'd even arranged more than a few unsavory acts of murder and theft all in the name of keeping House Tyrell in power. And through it all she'd lived a life without regrets. Until now.
Overlooking the sprawling gardens that were scattered throughout Highgarden from the balcony connected to her private study, Olenna was overcome with the one feeling she hadn't felt in some time. Regret. But not regret that stemmed from actions that she'd taken. Quite the opposite as the regret that was currently gnawing away at her came about because of her inactions. Resisting the urge to smash her head against the stone walls of Highgarden, Olenna forced herself away from the pretty landscape below and back into her room so she could start thinking properly.
She'd blundered, though in her opinion that was far too soft of a word to describe it. She'd known about the Order of the Guiding Hand for years, ever since the Maester here in Highgarden had arranged for her late husband to have the riding accident that claimed his life, thereby setting up her oaf of a son to take over rulership of the Reach. But in her youth and arrogance instead of putting the man to death she had instead confronted him and turned him into one of her agents. It was her hope that through him she could gain control of the organization that was spread throughout Westeros and had the ear of every Lord and Lady in the land. She used the knowledge she had of the Maester's role in the death of her husband to gain control of him. His task was simple. He was simply to relay the plans the Order had regarding the other noble Houses to her so that she could take advantage of said plans. And for a time, it had worked. She'd managed to use the system the Order of the Guiding Hand had in place to help further the prosperity of the Tyrells and to ensure that their place as Wardens of the South and Lords of the Reach went unquestioned.
But now it had all come crashing down around her. Her little spy in the Order either hadn't informed her of the conspiracy against the Starks, or he hadn't known about it. Either way, he had utterly failed her and the task she had set before him. Had he informed her of the conspiracy, she could've curried much favor with not only the Starks, but the sorcerer and the entire North by revealing the plan to them and helping the wolves crush the dissenters within their ranks. But that was not what happened. Instead, the Maesters had incited an attempted coup of the North, a coup that failed epically. And then, they'd made the mistake of leaving a trail behind that the Starks followed right to their doorstep. And now the entire realm knew of the Order and the Lords and Ladies across Westeros were currently decorating their keeps with the heads of Maesters.
The exposure of the Order left her with another problem as well. She couldn't allow the fact that she knew about the Order to become general knowledge to the people. She could think of more than one upstart House that would try and use the knowledge to try and unseat House Tyrell from their place of power. Which was why she'd had Left and Right…encourage the Maester of Highgarden to down his entire supply of poisons before leaping out of his tower right onto a rather conveniently located rack of spears. But while she'd managed to cover her insight into the Order, the people of Westeros were still looking at House Tyrell and blaming them for the Maesters being able to act so brazenly right under their nose. They were the Wardens of the South after all, and the Citadel fell within their jurisdiction. It'd been their responsibility to watch over the Maesters, and they'd failed at that.
In time this whole debacle would be forgotten, but until then House Tyrell would have to be vigilant with their vassals. 'Gods, what a simplistic fool I was,' she cursed herself as her regret at having failed to act reared its ugly head once more. She should have just exposed the Order of the Guiding Hand the moment she learned of them and started decorating Oldtown with their heads. But no. She hadn't done that. Instead, she had tried to use them. And now the Starks and the Sorcerer were being heralded by the people for uncovering the conspiracy of the Maesters and cleaning up their mess. The 'Second Hour of the Wolf' the people were calling it, in reference to the first 'Hour of the Wolf' when Cregan Stark took over governance of King's Landing after the Dance of Dragons. And just like his ancestor had before him, Stark swept into King's Landing, oversaw and performed a few beheadings, and then left to head back North.
Unfortunately, her failure to take proper action against the Maesters was not her only blunder, or even the biggest of her blunders. No. That honor lied with her inaction in trying to coerce the Sorcerer to come south. She should've acted years ago when Mace had returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion with tales of a so-called 'sorcerer' in the employ of the Starks. But instead she simply assumed that, if the man was even half of what her oaf of a son claimed him to be, he would grow tired of the boring North and the Starks who were hosting him. After all, what was there in the North besides cold, snow, trees and constant threats from the Wildlings? She assumed that he would grow bored and eventually head south to seek his fortune, and when he did that was when she was planning on striking. Offering him a place of honor at Highgarden's court, perhaps even offering him a lady from the Tyrell family line to keep him here. But had he done that? No. In complete defiance of what she thought he'd do, he stayed in the North. And not only had he stayed put, but he had helped turn the North into a thriving land that while not quite at the level of wealth held by the Reach or the Westerlands, was far from being the poorest land in all of Westeros.
Looking down at her desk, she glanced over the pair of glass wine chalices that she'd had commissioned from the North. The cups themselves were in the shape of roses with the petals acting as the cup and a green stem below. The pieces were incredibly detailed to the point where they almost looked exactly like a rose. The man who'd made them even managed to tint the glass to give the peddles a light red coloring while the stem was a dark green. They'd cost a small fortune, but they were worth it to see just how truly talented these Northern glass smiths had become. And they were talented. It had only taken a few years, but now the North had completely replaced the Myrish as the principle supplier of glass in not only Westeros, but also the northern parts of Essos as well.
'If it was just glass they were making, I would be able to deal with that,' Olenna thought ruefully, sitting down and spying the next item on her desk, a bowl of exotic fruit grown in the North, and only in the North. 'But no. The sorcerer not only helped the North to create their glass trade, he also helped them set up numerous other ventures as well. New forms of alcohol. A way of copying books in days rather than weeks. New medicines that can even cure greyscale. New food stuffs unseen in all of Westeros. And a new place of learning…a place that will now surely see quite the uptake in members thanks to the actions of the moronic idiots in the Citadel.'
Forcing down thoughts of the Maester's once more, Olenna focused more at the problem at hand. Had she acted when she'd first learned of him, she could've enticed the sorcerer south and all the gifts he'd given House Stark and the North would belong to House Tyrell. But because she had hesitated, the North was now the primary recipient of the man's gifts. Hells, he'd even begun teaching the children of House Stark how to use his magic. And doing a damn fine job of it considering Eddard Stark's bastard son was able to handily defeat a member of the Kingsgaurd during a Trial by Combat. The man had even taken a northern woman as his wife. The fact that the girl was a former serving girl might be a fact that some houses would try to exploit to break their union, but that was a fool's errand. The girl, from the tales she'd been told, was said to be her northern equivalent. Which was something that would insult a lesser lady, but Olenna was not insulted. The girl had earned her place. And even if she wasn't born a noble, she now was one with her marriage to the sorcerer.
'He is a full Northerner now,' Olenna thought with dismay. 'With everything he has set up in the North, he will never leave. But, when the gods close one door, they open another. The sorcerer may be lost to House Tyrell, but the game is far from over.'
Pulling out several pieces of parchment, Olenna grabbed her ink well and best quill and started getting to work creating a few drafts. "Left," she called out, not bothering to raise her head from her work as she addressed her guards. "Wait until my son has finished stuffing his face and then bring him here. Right, see to the assembly of a proper escort for a long voyage and have the servants begin packing enough for several months. Shoo."
By the time her son finally arrived, Olenna had gone through no less than a dozen drafts of what she had been working on and two full ink wells. Pausing from her work, she took a moment to gaze at her son. Which proved to be a mistake as she couldn't contain her scoff. The Fat Flower he was called. And unfortunately, it was an apt name for her son. And it was a name that he had unfortunately done nothing to try and dismiss or counter. Thank the gods her grandchildren at least gave her hope for House Tyrell's future. Willias, despite his crippled leg, would make for an excellent future Lord Tyrell. Hells, if she could truly have her way, she would ship her son and his wife off to some villa in the hills and leave the two there until Willias could formally take over. Garlan was the Warrior reborn with Loras proving himself as well and aiding to repair relations between the Tyrells and Baratheons. Though she did wish he would do so without biting a pillow. And Margaery, her sweet flower, she carried with her the hopes and dreams of House Tyrell. And thank the gods that she had the mind and the body to see those dreams come true.
"Mother," her son greeted her, a food stain on his shirt directly below his mouth. "Was there something that you wis—?"
"Sit," Olenna commanded, pointing to the chair directly across from her as she slid the two finalized documents she'd spent all day drafting. "Sign these."
Frowning, Mace reached over for her quill before thinking better of it and reading what she'd handed him. 'At least not all of my lessons have been for not with him.' "Mother," Mace said, his brow furrowed as he read over the first document. "This is a…recruitment drive for the Night's Watch?"
"Congratulations, Mace, you have a pair of eyes and can use them," she scoffed.
The writ called for all the cells in the Reach to be emptied of all who were willing to take the Black. But that wasn't all it called for, otherwise she wouldn't have needed her son's name on it. It also called for every able-bodied man, young or old, to take the Black as well. And knowing how well that would go over, she added a clause that, pending on the man's age and ability, their family would be compensated a set amount of gold for them joining. An old man joining the Watch would give a family enough coin for a few years. A young man joining the Watch would earn his family enough coin to last a decade if spent wisely.
"This…This will put quite the dent in our coffers mother. And some of our vassals may not take heed of the writ given their own limited coffers." Mace stated, amazingly correct for once. "Why should we—?"
"Because while most of the kingdoms of Westeros find the Night's Watch to be little more than a penial colony to send our undesirables. The North find the place as one of honor and respect those who voluntarily take the Black. And given recent events with eyes towards the future, it would behoove us to curry some favor with the North." Olenna lectured her son. "And while this will hurt our coffers a touch, it is nothing that we will not be able to recover from in a few years."
Setting the parchment down, Mace scratched at his immaculately trimmed beard. Honestly, if the lad spent even half the time he spent in front of the mirror dedicated to his studies, then he could be an Archmaester by now. "But why should we care about gaining favor with the—?"
"What is this?" Olenna asked, pointing towards the twin wine glasses on her table.
"Umm, a pair of wine glasses."
"Very good. Now, where were they created?" she pressed, making her son squirm.
"The North."
"Good, now these?" she said, pointing towards the bowl of exotic fruit on her desk. "Where do these come from?"
"Um…?"
"The North as well," Olenna sighed. 'Honestly, he doesn't even realize which food comes from which province?' Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a small book and a flask of strong wine and set both on the desk before her. "I won't bother to ask this time, seeing as how you don't appear to know, but both of these also come from the North as well. Glass, ornate and practical. Strong wine and ale. New types of fruits and vegetables. And books. All coming from the North. Not the Reach. Not the Westerlands or any of the other kingdoms. Only the North. Now, tell me again why we shouldn't bother to try and gain favor with the North?"