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Servants packed belongings at a frantic pace, compressing into a matter of hours what would normally take days. The n of the Lion and the Falcon watched one another warily, but no one wished to be the one to start a bloodbath. The courtiers, in the interest of self-preservation, decided not to tempt fate and stayed locked in their chambers until the danger had passed.
The castle was wound tight, and Axel decided he wanted answers. He set off with his companions toward the last place he would have chosen to be right now. The Great Sept of Baelor was as overwhelming as ever in its scale and the intricacy of its detail, but there was no ti for admiration. He needed answers.
"Lord Hand, I am glad to welco you to the house of the gods. Is there sothing I might do for you?" the High Septon ca rushing toward him, moving with surprising speed for a man of his size.
"I wish to say farewell to my friend one last ti." The guardsn began ushering everyone else out of the sept, leaving alone with Robert's body. The servants of the gods raised their objections in words, but offered no physical resistance.
I can admit it to myself: I am afraid of magic. No, that is not quite right. I am afraid of the consequences it carries. The thought of spending eternity as a shade terrifies . Every ti I call on it in earnest, so part of crosses permanently into another plane of being. The last ti, it cost an eye. My left eye will never again see light or beauty. I was young then, and every year my resistance to the worst of it grows, but the fear does not go away.
"Nagtul kegvan dug azh nag," green energy, dark as bog water, surged toward the body. "Azh dug vadan zang tul DAGTAN." The corpse shuddered and opened its eyes, and they were green. "TANGOR DAGAD IB HANRAZ." Robert arched violently, and from his open mouth drifted a blue haze that slowly took the shape of a man.
"What in the seven hells?! Why am I still here?!" the ghost demanded the mont he had fully ford.
"Hff... hff... Robert. We need to talk."
...
Having endured the unpleasant aftereffects of the spell, I turned my thoughts to the future. Summoning the soul of the recently dead had left its mark. My sense of taste and sll had dulled significantly, and by my estimation it would be two months before I recovered fully. The requirents of the spell were simple enough: a fresh corpse, a skilled necromancer, and a great deal of energy.
Five minutes with Robert's spirit left with more questions than answers. Robert was absolutely certain that no one had killed him. I had no choice but to believe him. A spirit cannot deceive the one who summons it. More than that, a spirit has no gaps in mory and recalls every mont of its life with perfect clarity. Robert had seen nothing suspicious from anyone present at the mont of his death. The only explanation I could find was a horse spooked by the reek of wine on the breath of its rider, then further startled by the shouting of courtiers, and finally driven to frenzy by a sword wound inflicted by his "protectors."
I did not know what to make of it. On one hand, the urge to cut down every Crimson Cloak and drag the queen in for a hard interrogation had left . On the other, the man who had overthrown the last dynasty in a bloody war, who had crushed the Ironborn rebellion, had died because of a horse. It simply would not settle in my mind. What unsettled even more was Robert's request: to look after his children, and Myrcella in particular, for she had been born premature. That was sothing I had not known.
When the betrothal had been officially announced, I had been obliged to get acquainted with her. She was a kind and gentle girl, not without her wits. Eight or nine years old, and already making every effort to be friends with . I had not discouraged her. Despite everything that demanded my attention, I had found ti now and then for Myrcella. Reading books to her, playing with her dolls, walking with her through the gardens of the Red Keep, doing what I could to build sothing between us. And naturally the first thing I had done was scan her for illness or defect. Nothing. Myrcella was perfectly healthy and full of life, which sat poorly with the idea of her being premature.
"My lord! An urgent letter from Runestone." A ssenger pulled from my thoughts and placed a sealed letter in my hands. I read it at once.
"RAAAGH! DAMN IT ALL! ROTTEN BLOODY TROUT! I'LL KILL HER!!!" My guardsn recoiled from the outburst.
"Axel, what has happened?" Waymar was one of the few n who had any right to speak to like that.
"Rebellion."
...
My uncle had written with grim news. Lysa Tully had seized the Eyrie. Every man loyal to had been either killed or taken into custody. She had declared that I was responsible for her husband's death. "Falcon's eye coveted my husband's power, and so he poisoned him, then took his place." The Trout had declared a bastard, born outside of wedlock. "By the laws of gods and n, Axel Stone cannot be an Arryn and has no claim upon the Vale."
She had called the lords of the Vale to assembly, and many had co. They were the political enemies of the Arryns: those who had fought for the Mad King, those I had driven into poverty for their treachery, those I had wronged in so fashion. And the Rotten Trout had persuaded a good number of them of my falsely claid cris. For evidence she had brought everything she could lay her hands on: letters exchanged with my father in which my rights to the Vale had been questioned, my self-imposed exile to Essos, the stripping of Bloodbeak, the Valyrian blade of the Arryns ant for heirs and lords, my father's death coinciding with my ascension, and more besides.
And the worst of it was that the lords believed her. They believed the whole mad story, because every last incident could be explained away by pointing to my "bastardy." My father had exiled to Essos to prepare Robert for the burden of lordship, and to keep from being able to kill "the true Arryn," as I had allegedly killed Jon Arryn. Her own panicked flight to Winterfell she explained away in the sa fashion. The business with the Lannister girl and the duel remained behind closed doors. Only a handful of people knew the truth of it, and right now the truth would sound like nothing more than an excuse.
The Eyrie had called its banners in the na of Robert Arryn. Their first target would be Runestone, the heart of the opposition in the Vale. My uncle was urging to use my authority as Hand to prevent a civil war. Unfortunately, I no longer had that authority. Cersei had demanded too much in exchange for the Iron Throne's intervention on my behalf, and offered far too little for the price she nad.
By my reckoning, Lysa Tully's rebels could not march for at least three weeks. In that ti I needed to reach the Vale and gather my own supporters. Runestone would be the ideal place to begin, but it would be the first target the rebels struck. I could not afford to lose the Royce castle, for reasons too many to count. If Runestone fell, the chances of putting down the rebellion would drop to almost nothing. I needed an army, here and now, and I knew exactly where to find one.
...
"So why exactly have we all been gathered here?" Aenys Rogare asked, and it was a fair enough question.
Aenys was the younger son of what had once been the great house of Rogare. Their roots could be traced all the way back to Valyria. At their height, the Rogares had rivaled the Iron Bank, which said sothing. Through a series of circumstances they were now simply an impoverished house with a rich history and a long list of enemies. Like many of those assembled, Aenys had followed Axel to Westeros in search of a better life. His talents had carried him quickly upward, and he had beco one of the gate captains in the Gold Cloaks.
Now everyone who held a position of any consequence and had a connection to Axel was gathered in a large hall in one of the Arryn family's townhouses. Robar Royce, lord-captain of the city watch, had asked them to co on account of a single matter. They could not refuse their benefactor. Forr sellswords, rchants, and successful craftsn, all assembled in one room.
"As you all know, I have been removed from the post of Hand. After his grace, King Robert's death the Lions decided to seize power in violation of every written and unwritten rule there is. I had no wish to fight the children of my friend, and so I accepted the situation as it stood."
"And here I thought we'd be overthrowing kings," Laplashe muttered. Being Essosi-born, he held none of the sa reverence for kings that the people of Westeros did.
"No. It was unpleasant, but I have little enough care for the Lions. I gathered you here for another reason. My 'stepmother' has raised a rebellion and wants her son installed as lord paramount in my place." Among sellswords, plain speech was the custom. "Will you ride with to protect what is rightfully mine?"
The n looked at one another. After a silent exchange, Rogare rose to his feet and said:
"Then what are we waiting for?"
...
Three days later. Duskendale.
"I am glad to welco you to my ho, my lord Arryn." Renfred Rykker, Lord of Duskendale, ca out to et , the man with whom I had conducted a great deal of business during my ti as Hand.
Long before Aegon the Conqueror, Duskendale had been one of the most prosperous trading towns in all of Westeros. Its wealth had rested on a sea route connecting the Vale, the Stormlands, and Essos. But with the coming of the dragons and the founding of King's Landing, the town had slowly lost its appeal to rchants and fallen into decline.
The final blow to its prosperity had been the "Duskendale Rebellion." The ruling house had been put to death in its entirety, the lands stripped and heavily taxed. The Rykkers had been nad the new lords of the castle, but the Crown had changed nothing else. And so things had remained until I had begun doing business with the house. My influence in King's Landing, my contacts across Essos, and my interest in strengthening sea trade had led to an alliance with the Rykkers. Together we had turned a dying port into a flourishing town. Now the Lord of Duskendale commanded a respectable military and rchant fleet, which I had borrowed for my own purposes.
"Good to see you as well." I shook hands with my acquaintance and walked toward the castle. "Have you prepared everything I asked?"
"Yes, the ships are ready, the supplies gathered, we could sail this very mont. How many n did you bring?"
"Fifteen hundred." Renfred looked surprised. "We depart tomorrow afternoon. Until then..."
"Not to worry, everything will be seen to," the Lord of Duskendale assured . "There is also so news that needs your attention." He handed three letters bearing the Baratheon sigil.
"Give the short version."
"Lord Stannis Baratheon has declared that the king's children are not Robert's at all, but bastards. He has produced evidence from the book of lineages, and pointed to a discrepancy in the dates surrounding Princess Myrcella's birth. Lord Eddard Stark has declared for him. Lord Renly, having married Margaery Tyrell, has crowned himself. King's Landing has declared both Baratheon brothers traitors, is summoning everyone to the capital, and is threatening consequences for those who refuse." Renfred finished with a grim look.
"Stannis has the Lords of the Narrow Sea, the North, and the Riverlands. Renly has the Reach and the Stormlands. Joffrey has the Crownlands and the Westerlands. Each of them with serious strength behind them, seasoned commanders, and deep resources." I exhaled slowly. "This war is going to be long and very bloody."
"Which side will the Vale take?" Rykker asked, an interesting question.
"I haven't decided yet," I admitted. "First I put down the Trout Rebellion, then I think. And you?"
"Duskendale stays neutral for now. If I march for the Lannisters, my ships go into the front line against Stannis's fleet. Renly has no real claim. And for loyalty to Stannis, I'd be the first to pay for it. The capital is too close."
Fair enough. He was using as a shield to keep his forces out of the fighting entirely. If anyone asked, he had barely enough n to defend his own domain, let alone offer aid to anyone. That was to be expected.
"Thank you."
"The Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts," Rykker said with a smirk.
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