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Pressing his gauntleted knuckles against the wooden table, Ser Jamie Lannister stared down at the map laid out beneath him. Three others were gathered with him. Ser Addam Marbrand, his childhood friend, confidant and second in command. Lord Edmure Tully, which was understandable considering these were still technically his lands. And the other was the decrepit form of Lord Walder Fray. Though the only reason why the old, shriveled man was with them was because they were currently utilizing the Lord's solar within the Twins. The map before them was a detailed lay of the land of the Neck, showing from the Twins, over to the King's Road and north to the Moat. Surrounding the Moat were dozens of small figurines showing the Northern army, with one large piece standing above the others representing the Northern Sorcerer and his location.
South along the King's Road was his own father's army, the number of figurines just slightly less than those around the Twins. Picking up several of the pieces that were around the Twins, Jamie moved them over to where he knew his father would be setting up his camp. The land was mostly flat, though he knew from his recent venture North with Robert that where his father was heading had a decent hill that he would no doubt be looking to claim and fortify. Forcing any attacking force to attack uphill.
"My father has pulled his force back from the Moat and is heading south along the King's Road to this location. He plans on reinforcing this hill and has called for an additional five-thousand men to reinforce him."
Across from him, Edmure scoffed. "To think, the great Tywin Lannister running from a greenboy like the Stark heir."
"A greenboy that happens to be your nephew, Lord Edmure," Ser Addam reminded the heir to the Riverlands. "A nephew that you have turned your back on. And Lord Tywin did not 'run' from Robb Stark. He made a tactical decision to pull back to a defensible position after the Northern Sorcerer arrived at the Moat with the full strength of the North. Against such odds while holding the Moat, Lord Tywin had little chance of success."
"Then why are you and your men still here?" Lord Walder coughed. "Lord Tywin is gathering his forces to the east. You and your men are eating through our larders faster than we can fill them. And summer is gone."
Jamie wanted to shake his head, "the Twins are being well compensated for housing the army of the King. And we are not combining our forces because with the Sorcerer now taking the field, we have to be cautious and pick our battles wisely."
"Puh, Tywin Lannister will have twice the northern numbers when you join him," Walder shrugged. "Numbers win battles. Combine your forces and crush him. Better than sitting here eating my food and drinking my wine. And besides, why would the North leave the Moat?"
Jamie was truly starting to reach the end of his patience with the man. A lord he may be. But he was a coward and greedy beyond measure. "The Stark girls and Lady Nox are both in the South." Jamie reminded Walder, pressing his knuckles against the table and leaning forward towards the ancient man. "Nox and the Starkswillcome for them. And when they do, they will have to choose. Do they head for my father, or here? Or do they split their forces? If they continue down the King's Road, we will flank them when they reach my father. Should they come here. We will hold the Twins till my father can crush their rear. Should they split their forces, then they will be outnumbered by more than two-to-one. Until they move, however, we make ourselves ready. And while numbers do matter in war, had you left your seat during the Greyjoy Rebellion, you would recognize that numbers do not mean everything when your adversary is the Northern Sorcerer. And that is all I will say on the matter. These are orders given by my father, the Supreme Commander of the Exalted March as decreed by our King. You will do as he says, Lord Walder. Or the King will hear of your disregard and your fate will be up to him to decide."
The Lord of the Twins huffed, but wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Which bannermen shall we send to reinforce your lord father?" Ser Addam asked.
"Mostly men from the Westerlands," Jamie responded, before holding up a hand to forestall any comment from either Edmure or Walder. "The Lords of the Riverlands and their men are needed here. Should the Starks come for the Twins, and on the off chance that they even manage to take this keep, then your men's knowledge of the Riverlands will be essential in a campaign in the Riverlands."
"Then I assume there is nothing further to discuss," Edmure stated, rising to his feet and inclining his head towards him. "Ser Jamie. Ser Marbrand. Lord Frey." And without another word, the future lord of the Riverlands turned his back on the three of them and left the room.
Walder Frey was next, though the 'Late Walder Frey' didn't even bother offering his goodbyes and instead muttered something incoherent before shuffling out of the room, leaving Jamie alone with his longtime friend. Once alone, Jamie let out a long sigh as his shoulders slumped and he fell heavily into the chair behind him.
"The gall of these pompous Riverlords," Addam spat. "To insinuate that Lord Tywin is afraid of a mere greenboy and that was the cause of him temporarily abandoning his siege of Moat Cailin. Ha. As if either of those two know the first thing about war. Lord Edmure is as green as the Stark heir. And the less said about the famed 'Late Walder Frey,' the better. Their arrogance is only a match for their own stupidity."
His friend was right. More so than he probably realized. After spending weeks amongst the Riverlords, 'arrogant' and 'stupid' were perhaps the kindest descriptors he would use for them. Amazingly, both Walder Frey and Edmure Tully stood far and beyond their bannermen regarding both qualities. And the less said about the rabble that made up the army of the faithful, the better. Those fools were no better than common brigands. They were merely smallfolk who decided to join with the faithful on the promise of gold, women, eternal life amongst the Seven and whatever other horseshit promises the Septons were making at the time. Honestly, they were little better than sellswords. But in truth, he would prefer sellswords. At least an even half-decent sellsword company could understand tactics and would know one end of a spear from the other.
"It is as you say, Addam. Yet, for better or worse…probably worse, the Riverlords are our allies against the North."
Addam scoffed. "Allies that we cannot fully trust. The Stark whelps are half trout, after all. I would sooner trust a member of House Martell to serve your father wine than place my trust in the Tullys with the Starks across the field."
"Which is precisely why my father has ordered the Riverlanders to stay here at the Twins under our watchful eyes," Jamie explained. "Should we witness even the slightest hint of treachery by the Tullys, then they will be replaced. And with all the major lords of note from the Riverlands gathered here at the Twins, it will not be difficult to choose a new Lord Paramount. One who will be loyal to our cause and King Joffrey."
Addam didn't give away his thoughts on the matter, but Jamie had known his friend for long enough to know that he would go along with whatever Jamie, or more specifically Tywin, would order. "Do you believe that the North will head for your father? Or for the Twins?"
Resting his elbows on the table, Jamie folded his hands in front of his chin. "Were it just the Stark brat, I would say that he would make for the Twins in some ill-conceived attempt at swaying some of the Riverlords to fight for him. Perhaps he would even send a few thousand out to delay my father. But we are not just dealing with the Starks and the North. But Nox as well. And the Sorcerer has a habit of tossing aside all known conventions of war. I would say that they will divide their forces. But there is one fact that my niece, Joy, was able to glean about the Sorcerer. The man relishes a challenge. Nox will no doubt make for my father as Nox would consider my father the greater threat, or rather the greater challenge."
"So, we will need to make ready to flank the North?"
"No," Jamie shook his head. "While effective, my father's trap is far too obvious. The North will know that whichever force they make for, they will be flanked by the other. No, Nox will no doubt send Robb and the more experienced Lords here to the Twins. Perhaps in the hopes that Robb's ties to the Riverlords and House Tully will cause some dissent in our ranks. But mostly to prevent us from giving aid to my father as Nox makes for him."
"And your Lord Father knows this as well, which is why he has ordered another five thousand to join with him and he is reinforcing his position on the King's Road."
"Indeed," Jamie nodded.
"And if the Sorcerer defies the expectations of your father and instead comes for us here at the Twins?"
Jamie felt a slight wave of fear rise within him at just the mere thought of fighting the Sorcerer within a confined space. He'd walked the halls of Pyke after the Sorcerer's rampage years ago. And it was not a scene he wanted to see repeated. Especially as they were now on opposite sides of the field. Fighting him on the open field would be for the best. But if even half of the tales told of the Battle of Hardhome were true, then they would have to engage him as soon as he appeared on the horizon. Giving the man even half a day to prepare for a battle could spell disaster for them. "Should the worst happen and the Sorcerer himself leads the assault on the Twins, we will pull back our forces to the Riverlands side of the Twins and lure the Sorcerer in. We will then destroy the bridge once Nox reaches the Water Tower, drowning the Sorcerer in the depths of the Green Fork."
Addam's brow furrowed. "Lord Walder will not agree to such a plan."
"Which is why I don't plan on telling him." Jamie responded simply. "Have our best men discreetly placing barrels of oil at whatever weak points can be found around Water Tower and have our men begin assembling our siege engines on the Riverlands side. I want them to be ready to target the Water Tower at a moment's notice. Should the need arise, we will abandon the Twins and sink the bridge, drowning whoever we can and denying the Northerners access to the Riverlands."
Addam nodded, "it will be as you say Jamie. And, if I may, it is a shame that you will not take up your rightful place as your father's heir. Just now, I saw your father in you more so than any other time."
Jamie honestly was not sure to take that as a compliment or not.
Idly flipping through the book on his desk, Petyr Baelish ran through the breakdown of coin that was flowing into his pockets while trying to ignore the sounds coming from the private chamber just off his office. The current brothel he was in was one of his many within the city, but this one had the luxury of being located such on the Street of Silk that it was closest to the Red Keep, and any visiting nobility. As such, it had garnered a reputation of catering exclusively to the high born. Including the royal family. More than one of his whores from this establishment had visited the late King Robert nearly once or twice a sennight. And his 'son' had inherited his father's liking for whores. Though their treatment of them was far different.
Hearing a loud slap, followed by a scream and muffled slapping of flesh, Petyr flared his nostrils while looking over the edge of his ledger towards Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Osmund Kettleblack of the Kingsguard. Neither man looked nonplussed at the sounds emanating from the chamber. And why would they? It wouldn't be the first time either man had been in this same situation. Hearing another vicious slap, followed by a loud degrading slew of words, Petyr frowned as he mentally removed the girl within from his normal rotation. While Robert loved to fuck whores, he at least treated them with a mediocre amount of respect. Joffrey, however…? He got his pleasure from a combination of degradation, violence, and physical pleasure. A true sadist.'A sennight for her to recover. If she doesn't return after, then she will be of no use.'
Hearing the noises cease, Petyr put away his books and got out two cups from under his desk before pouring out two portions of Arbor Gold for him and his guest. No sooner had he finished pouring the two cups than the doors to the private chambers were flung open, allowing the 'King' to enter. The boy was clad in an open coat, exposing his wiry frame that was little more than skin and bones with few muscles. 'At least he remembered to pull his pants up this time,' Petyr frown, glancing over the boy's shoulder towards the still twitching mess of the whore that'd been servicing the King. 'I'll need new sheets for that room as well it seems.'
Without a word, Joffrey picked up the cup and greedily drained the contents in a few gulps. If not for his coloring, this boy was every inch Robert Baratheon come again. "I trust that Shella was to your liking, your grace?"
Coughing at the burn of the wine going down his throat, Joffrey held out his cup again demanding another pour. "She was…satisfactory. Though I think you need to train this whore better. She wasn't nearly as excited as she should have been to receive royal patronage."
'Because word has spread since your first visit when you nearly killed one of my whores. And now I have to threaten to hand them over to the Inquisitors and double their fee to get them to even enter the same room as you.' "I will see that she is re-trained, your grace," Petyr nodded, then frowned as he watched the whore roll from his bed and half-crawl, half-walk out of the private chambers. "Once she is able to work again, of course."
"She served her purpose," Joffrey growled. "Though I may need another of your whores soon."
Setting his cup down, Petyr fixed the King with a neutral look. "Something vexing you, your grace? You seem to be in rare form today."
Joffrey's lips curled into a sneer. "My good-for-nothing-imp of an uncle." Joffrey growled. "My mother always said he was a wretched little creature. And she was right. He struts around my city like he is the ruler. And everyone listens to him! Not me! He talks down to me as if I don't know what I'm doing! Then when I vent my frustrations to my mother, she agrees with the wretched little creature and tells me to listen to him! As if he, a deformed dwarf who's been nothing more than a stain on the Lannister name, knows how to properly rule! And now my Uncle…no…that traitor Stannis sends out that wretched letter claiming I'm a bastard born of my mother and my Uncle Jamie and that I'm not the true King?! I am my father's son! Robert Baratheon's son! Everyone says so! Just because I favor my mother in looks does not change who my father is!"
With a seemingly casual butslightlyquickened upraising of his cup to his lips, Baelish managed to hide his smirk. Anyone who had two eyes could see that Joffrey wasnotRobert's son. Especially when you looked at all the bastards the late fat King had sired. But the boy's temperament was something he hadmost assuredlylearned from Robert. Humming, he set down his cup. "Tell me, your grace. Are you familiar with the tale of Prince Daemon Targaryen?"
"The Rogue Prince?" Joffrey burped, then drained his cup again as if he were drinking cheap ale rather than some of the most expensive wine in Westeros. "What do I care for some damned Prince from a failed dynasty?"
Seeing the opportunity, Baelish leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Before he truly gained his renowned, he was appointed leader of the City Watch. At the time, they weren't the goldcloaks as we know them today. In fact, they were barely above levies that might be raised from the smallfolk. King's Landing was a lawless city. And King Viserys I was a man who preferred peace and hated all conflict. Which of course made him easy prey for Lord Otto Hightower, who quickly became the man's closest confidant and advisor before becoming his Hand. In no time at all, whispers began running through the streets that the Hightowers,notthe Targaryens, were the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. So, what did Prince Daemon do? He reformed the city watch into the goldcloaks. And in the dead of night took to the streets with his men. Any who was guilty of a crime was brought before him and he passed judgment on them immediately. The city nearly ran red with all the blood of those who were punished for their crimes. And after that night, crime in the city almost completely disappeared. The Rogue Prince was proclaimed as a bringer of peace and justice. And no one dared question again whether the Targaryens truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms."
The tale was an embellishment with a sprinkling of lies, of course. But that wasn't the point. The point was the fact that his version had clearly caught the attention of Joffrey as a new gleam entered his eyes. "The same is happening now," Joffrey smirked. "Lawlessness is running rampant in my city. Thieves, murderers, heretics, blasphemers. But they don't care about me, nor my Uncle, nor my grandfather, nor the Sorcerer… But I am the King! I should take to the streets just as the Rogue Prince did and bring order back to my city!"
'Almost too easy,' Baelish grinned. "A fine idea, your grace. And as a belated name day gift, I have something that will benefit you."
Picking up a small bell and giving it a ring, the doors to his office immediately opened as two of his sellswords brought in a wooden mannequin. On said mannequin was a suit of armor. Red steel laden over boiled leather with golden accents, snarling lion heads formed on the pauldrons, lion figures inlaid with gold scattered across the chest of the armor, and a long blood red cape running down the back. It had cost him a decent amount of coin. But in truth the armor was merely ceremonial in that it was all look and barely any function. It would survive a few blows, but it would not last a prolonged campaign.
Getting up, Joffrey eagerly approached the armor and smiled widely as he examined every part of it. "You are proving yourself time and time again, Baelish. I will have to find a way to reward you for your service."
Baelish spread his arms, "I am merely serving my King as any good advisor should do, your grace."
Joffrey didn't seem to hear him, or care that he spoke, as he continued his inspection of the armor. "Yes…I will be wearing this when I lead my goldcloaks out to bring justice back to my streets. But… What if the goldcloaks prove themselves incompetent and can't find any lawbreakers to bring to my judgment?"
At this, Baelish chuckled. "Trust me, your grace. You can't swing a dead cat amongst the smallfolk without hitting at least three lawbreakers. And you are the King, your grace. When you give your judgment, your word is final as is the punishment you deemed necessary. Who are the smallfolk to dare question the judgment of their King?"
The courtyard of the Red Keep was lined with over a hundred goldcloaks, each standing straight with their eyes forward as Joffrey made a show of inspecting those who would be following him tonight. He'd seen his father and grandfather do this same routine each time they were about to lead men out. He didn't understand why they had bothered, but now that he was the one doing the inspection, he understood. Despite being half the age of most of the men before him, they all looked at him with respect and fear. It was... exhilarating.
Completing his walk down the line of goldcloaks, Joffrey turned heel and made his way back to the center of the assembled men where Sers Oakheart, Blount, and Mormon waited for him. 'I will have to find another way of rewarding Baelish for not only suggesting this course of action. But for also commissioning such a fine set of armor.'
The armor that Baelish had gifted him fit him perfectly. While he might carry the name 'Baratheon', the red and gold coloring of his cape and along the armor's accents left no room for doubt regarding which of his parents' Houses he favored. And why shouldn't he favor his mother's House? Both his uncles on the Baratheon side had proven themselves greedy traitors. Renly by fleeing before his father passed. And now his Uncle Stannis with that blasphemous letter he'd sent across the realm.
Arriving before his Kingsguard, he was reminded again that he needed to find new members to replace the old fool that allowed his father to die. He'd intended on gifting the position to Sandor Clegane, but his dog had proven himself a traitor as well when he fled with the Stark bitches. Perhaps he could find a replacement tonight? Yes, an offer of elevation to the highest order of knights in the realm would serve as good motivation to find fools for him to judge.
"Goldcloaks!" he called out loudly. "Ever since the passing of my father, many have tried to claim what is rightfully mine! First the Starks tried to supplant me. Then my traitorous Uncle Stannis spreads foul rumors towards the Queen Mother. And now even my own Hand, my Uncle Tyrion, struts around the Red Keep as if he is the true power of the Seven Kingdoms! But tonight, we will show them all who the true king is. Tonight, we bring justice back to the streets of my city! Serve me well tonight, and you will be remembered when the time comes to choose my next Kingsguard! Now go! Find those who think themselves above my laws and bring them to me so that justice can be netted out!"
"For King Joffrey the Blessed!" the goldcloaks cried out before dispersing and charging out of the Red Keep and towards the depths of King's Landing.
Smirking as he watched the goldcloaks run out, Joffrey made his way towards the center of the yard where a small wooden platform had been hastily erected for him just moments before, along with an elegant looking chair that would suffice as a makeshift throne for him. It wasn't as grandiose as he would've preferred, but it would serve its purpose well tonight. Doubly so if any of the goldcloaks managed to find any heretics hiding in his city. Standing at the ready at the base of the platform was the King's Justice, Ser Payne, along with several Inquisitors who were eagerly awaiting their duty to exercise their craft on the lawbreakers of the city.
He was prepared to have to wait for some time for the goldcloaks to return with any lawbreakers. But the city watch pleasantly surprised him with their competence as a dozen goldcloaks made their way back into the yard dragging six criminals back with them.
Smirking Joffrey made his way to the edge of the platform as the first two goldcloaks come forward dragging a decently dressed man between them. "This bard was performing a song that spoke ill of your father, the late King Robert, your grace."
The bard stared up at him in fear. His body twitching and shaking as sweat ran down his face. "Please, your grace, it was just a song! I won't ever perform it again!"
Joffrey smirked, "Indeed you won't. I hereby find you guilty of blasphemy against my late father! Remove his tongue."
The bard pleaded for mercy, but no one paid him any heed as he was dragged towards the waiting inquisitors. A pair of metal tongs in hand and a glowing red knife ready to remove the bard's offending appendage. Next to be brought forward was a struggling woman dressed in only a sleep dress. "This woman broke her marriage vows to my brother, your grace."
The woman, seeing the bard have his tongue ripped out, fell to her knees before him. "Please, mercy, your grace! Me husband beats me and spends all our coin on the street of silk! I only wanted to feel loved and—"
"And you admit your crime," Joffrey retorted seemingly dismissively as he waved her away. "Guilty of adultery. Brand her face."
The woman screamed as she was led over to the Inquisitors. One of the Inquisitors put a cattle brand in a nearby brazier as the goldcloaks forced the woman to her knees and held her face still. Pulling out the brand, a glowing letter 'A', the Inquisitor quickly pressed the white-hot metal against the woman's cheek. The woman's scream was like music to Joffrey's ears as he turned his attention to the next criminal being dragged before him.
"Thievery, your grace."
"Remove his hand."
Then the next. "Rapist."
"Geld him."
"Blasphemy."
"Remove his tongue."
"Horse thief."
"Fifty lashes with a spiked whip."
"Murder, your grace."
This one made Joffrey grin widely, as the man being held before him tried to claim his innocence. "Ser Payne, take his head."
The man tried to struggle, alternating between claiming his innocence and offering to take the Black even as his head was forced onto the block. Ser Payne didn't hesitate as he raised his axe above his head before bringing it down and removing the man's head.
'Baelish was right,' Joffrey smirked as he watched goldcloaks bring more and more lawbreakers forward to face his royal judgment. Thieves lost their hands. Horse thieves were whipped. Blasphemers had their tongues removed. Rapists were gelded. Adulteresses were branded on their faces. Those who had caused issue in the streets while drunk had a funnel forced in their mouths before being forced to drink an entire cask of water drawn from the Blackwater Bay. Merchants who could not provide proof that they were allowed to trade in the city had their gold confiscated before receiving twenty-five strikes with a switch. And those guilty of murder had their heads removed to decorate the walls of the Red Keep.
On and on the night went. Yet Joffrey never once felt even the slightest call of sleep. By the time the sky was starting to lighten with the approaching dawn, a new river of blood was flowing from the site of the punishments and towards the sewers. And nearly three wagon loads of body parts and bodies had to be removed from the yard. Just as he was about to call an end to the night, ten goldcloaks came back into the yard dragging a man, woman and two girls who looked to be of age with his own sister.
The goldcloak leading the small group bowed to him before presenting him with a small, hand sized, wooden medallion. Even from this distance, he could see the weirwood carved onto the medallion. "Heretics," Joffrey smirked. He'd been waiting for this. He wasn't expecting this goldcloak to find a whole family, but he had a perfect punishment for them.
Stepping off the wooden platform, he walked towards the family. The two girls were clutching to their mother while the father was pathetically trying to put himself in front of them to try and protect them. He could practically taste their fear, and he loved it! "Bring them up onto the platform," he called out. "Bind the girls over a pair of barrels and chain the parents between them."
His makeshift throne was quickly removed as he stood to the side, watching the goldcloak and Inquisitors leading the family onto the platform. Joffrey reveled in watching them all struggle in vain as the mother and father were bound together with heavy chains in the center, while the two girls were force over barrels before being tied in place. After they'd finished binding the family, the goldcloaks and the Inquisitors stepped down. Looking at each member one at a time, Joffrey could only smirk at the look of fear in the girls' and woman's eyes, and he wanted to outright laugh as the father continued to struggle in vain. Turning his back on the family, he stood tall before the nearly forty or so goldcloaks before him. "I, King Joffrey Baratheon find these four guilty. Guilty of treason against the crown. Guilty of treason against the Faith. They are heretics and traitors. And the punishment is death. However, even though they are heretics, they can still serve the crown one last time to earn redemption in the eyes of the gods. You men before me now have served the crown and the Faith well tonight. And as such, I gift to you these two girls to sate your lust upon so that they might earn the forgiveness of the gods before they die."
The girls and mother wailed, and the father screamed, threatening death and pain upon any who touched the girls. That was expected. However, what Joffrey didn't expect was for none of the goldcloaks to rush forward and claim their reward. Growling in impatience, he swept his hand over the gathered crowd. "Any man here who does not partake in my generous gift will be considered suspect of sympathy with the heretics and as such will be handed over to the Inquisitors to find out where your loyalties lie. As will your families."
The goldcloaks still hesitated, but Joffrey motioning for the Inquisitors to step forward gave them the encouragement they needed to take their rewards. One by one, the goldcloaks walked up onto the platform and made their way behind one of the now exposed girls to take their pleasure.
Over the course of the entire morning, the girls were taken by one man after another. It took until the sun was near midday before the last man finish taking his reward. By then, the girls were little more than limp pieces of flesh tied to barrels, and both parents had screamed themselves hoarse and their wrists and ankles were covered in blood from pulling against the binds holding them in place. With all of the goldcloaks finished, Joffrey motioned his Inquisitors forward. Each man came forward with a bushel of kindling or a small bucket of oil. After setting the kindling under the platform and coating everything, including the condemned family, in oil. The Inquisitor bowed to him and stepped back as Ser Moore come forward and offered him a lit torch.
Walking forward the family could do little more than plea weakly for mercy. All except the father who was glaring at all of them. "The Gods will remember this, false bastard king born of incest."
Rage coursed through Joffrey, but he held himself in check. His words meant nothing. "The old gods are powerless in the face of the true king of Westeros!"
Tossing the torch onto the kindling, Joffrey stepped back and watched with a wide smile as the flames swallowed the platform and the family. 'I am the king. Evengodsfear me!'
Creeping silently through the confines of the sleeping camp, Isabela clutched her dark cloak tighter around her body as she kept to the shadows of the tents as best she could as she made her way towards the temporary stable that'd been erected in Moat Cailin. For nearly ten years, she had served as a whore in Winter Town, sent on the direction of Lord Tyrion Lannister. She'd learned her letters, and the complex code that Lord Tyrion insisted she use to hide her messages. But she knew that her time amongst the Northerners was running out.
Her beauty was starting to fade, which meant that while she still had regular patrons, most who visited the brothel looked towards the younger girls first and her second, or even third at times. And, worse than that, her sister was becoming of age as well. And she wanted her out of Casterly Rock as soon as she was able to do so.
Arriving at the stables, her heart sped up as she saw no guards in sight and a single mare within, saddled and ready for her to flee. 'It cost me a night for free with the stable boy. But he came through in the end.'
"I must say, Isabela, you decided to flee far sooner than I thought you would.''
Isabela froze as the words entered her ears. Turning slowly, she prayed to the gods, both old and new, that the voice behind her did not belong to who she feared. But the gods tend to laugh at the wants of mortals. For right behind her stood the Northern Sorcerer.
The Sorcerer was standing calmly with his hands behind his back and no guards at his side. But she knew that it didn't matter. The Sorcerer needed no guards. And she had heard of more than a few tales on how the man was able to kill even the mightiest with barely a twitch of his fingers. While she had never seen the feat herself, she did not want to test whether or not he could on her.
"Lord Nox," she curtseyed, hoping beyond all hope that their meeting here and now was mere chance.
The Sorcerer remained silent as he approached the mare that'd been prepared for her. "Guards away from their posts, something to be addressed later. A horse ready to ride with provisions for several days. And now I find you sneaking around the camp."
Isabel tried thinking quickly to find an excuse. If it were any other man, she would show her tits and offer a quick service to get away. But the Sorcerer was not just any other man. He was well known to stay committed to his marital bed with Lady Nox. More than a few noble hunters had tried finding their way into his bed in hopes of him siring a bastard upon themselves, but all had failed. Some dismissed quietly. Others publicly shamed for their actions.
"A mere chance passing, milord," she said, fingers itching towards the small dagger she kept on her body. "I was merely making my way from the main keep after servicing Lord Theon. If you will pardon me, milord, the heir of the Iron Isles wore me out and I wish to rest."
"A good possibility, Theon is well known to favor your services. Yet there is a problem. Namely that your tent lies on the opposite end of the camp. And while normally I would not bother with those of your profession fleeing, I would rather not have Tywin Lannister learn of His Grace nor about Archon just yet."
Without a moment's hesitation and acting on adrenaline-spiked instinct, she drew her dagger and lunged for the Sorcerer, hoping to bury it up to the hilt in his neck. If she could bring word of not only Jaehaerys Stark, but also the fact the famed Sorcerer fell to her dagger? She would be granted her own fiefdom and enough coin to ensure that she would never have to lift a finger or lay with another man for the rest of her life!
But just as these visions of grandeur entered her head, they disappeared as her body froze. It was as if her entire body was suddenly bound in shackles and chains she could not see. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. All she could do was stare silently in horror as Lord Nox slowly approached her. His face devoid of any emotion.
"It has often been my experience that when a spy is exposed, they react in one of two ways. Fight or flee. I am glad you are of the former. It shows your strength. And I don't have to expend the energy in chasing you down like an errant child."
Isabela ceased her struggles. She knew that this was the end of her life. She knew the danger of being a spy. She knew that if she were captured, a quick death would be the most she could hope for. "How long have you known about me?"
"Since you stepped foot in Winter Town all those years ago," he answered, startling her with his honesty. "But you were useful in relaying information, both true and false, to the South in an efficient manner. Now, though, you are a liability."
'Sister. I am so sorry to be leaving you alone in this cruel and wretched world.' She closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate. "Sorcerer, if I may make one last request? I did all this for my sister who serves as a maid in Casterly Rock. Please... Spare her when you go south."
The Sorcerer tilted his head slightly. "You may wish to change your last request. Your sister is dead. Raped and murdered at the hands of Gregor Clegane when the Mountain visited Casterly Rock some time ago. Tywin ordered his scribe to continue writing to you as if he were your sister."
Isabela wanted to scream that he was lying. But... she couldn't. The Sorcerer was not one known to tell lies or falsehoods. And besides his words…she'd been having her own suspicions that something wasn't right with her sister for some time now. Her letters came far less frequently than before. And they were…strange. Some of the words used were not her sister's words. And there were a few mistakes towards their past that seemed odd. But she'd long since brushed those fears aside, confident that Lord Tywin would ensure that her sister was safe in the Rock. But, apparently, she had been a fool twice over. Once for thinking she could spy on the North and the Northern Sorcerer. And second, for trusting the Lannisters to protect her sister.
"Then a different request, Sorcerer?" she hiccupped, tears falling freely down her face despite her body being unable to move. "The Lannisters and the Mountain... make them suffer before you kill them."
"Done," Lord Nox replied before holding up his right hand. "Don't worry. In recognition of what you've done over the years, and because you showed strength instead of fleeing, this will be quick."
Shuttering, Isabela squeezed her eyes shut. 'Sister, I am so sorry—' She felt something take hold of her head in an iron grip before her head jerked to the side and she knew no more.