FIC: The Young Wolf's Journey, Chapter 10: Prepare for Landing (November 2022) (Patreon)

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“Will you not reconsider, Your Grace?” Davos asked. “No man would think you any less a king for offering Lord Stark the same peace terms you offered him before.” He could already tell that this was a losing battle, but that would not stop him from trying. He had sworn to serve his king faithfully and honestly, and he would continue to offer his opinion even when he could see that Stannis’ mind was made up.

“He had his chance to accept my terms,” Stannis said. “They were more generous than he deserved even then, and still he did not accept them. No, Ser Davos. Robb Stark can no longer set his crown aside and return to Winterfell with his wife and sister. He has lost that right. He has continued his rebellion against the rightful king of Westeros, and when that rebellion ends, the title of Lord of Winterfell will not be waiting for him. His only options now are death, or the Wall.”

“Then I fear it can only come to battle,” Davos said. That outcome had seemed inevitable all along, in truth. King Stannis would never give up his throne, and with the full support of House Tyrell, there was no reason for Robb Stark to accept any disadvantageous peace terms. It had been unsurprising when Robb Stark rejected the offer of setting his crown aside, swearing fealty to Stannis and returning north as Lord of Winterfell, and his position had not gotten any weaker from there. The hope of him accepting such terms now was an incredibly faint one, but even the faintest of hopes would be better than what Stannis was offering now.

“So be it,” Stannis said. “We have been preparing for battle all along, have we not, Davos? We have not sat and done nothing while the boy dealt with the remnants of the Lannisters and went north to take Moat Cailin back. We’ve repaired much of the damage the city suffered when we defeated the false King Joffrey and his defenders, and thanks to the loan the Iron Bank gave us in exchange for my promise to repay Robert’s debts once the whole of the realm is fully under my control, thousands of fresh sellswords from the Free Cities stand ready to supplement our forces when Stark’s army finally reaches us. He will not find us nearly as weary as he might have had his attack come sooner. The foolish boy has given us time to prepare, and we have not wasted it. When he comes, we will be ready.”

“Aye, we’ve rebuilt the walls,” Davos said, nodding. “We’ve strengthened our defenses, and we’ve even had the time and the gold to bring in fresh fighting men. But the numbers are still against us, Your Grace. Robb Stark has more men than we do. Far more men. And the food to keep them fed. If Prince Doran had agreed to support us, perhaps we could defeat Robb Stark in battle. But—“

“But Prince Doran has refused to call his banners and bring the Dornish army to support his king,” Stannis said gruffly, interrupting Davos. Indeed, Doran had politely refused to either muster his army for Stannis’ cause or to turn the former Princess Myrcella over to him. Doran claimed that Dorne would remain neutral and stay out of the fight for the throne between King Robb and King Stannis. Robb Stark likely had no problem accepting that stance. He didn’t need Dorne’s army on his side. It was Stannis who would have most benefited from Dornish support, and so it was his cause that suffered when Prince Doran refused all efforts to bring him into the war.

“Aye, he has,” Davos said. “And without Dorne, our chances of victory are slight, Your Grace. Speaking honestly, I do not believe we can defeat Robb Stark’s army, even with our strengthened defenses and our sellsword reinforcements.”

“Have you lost faith in the Lord of Light so quickly, Ser Davos?” Melisandre said, smiling at him. “Have you forgotten that the king’s brother Renly once commanded an army that greatly outnumbered ours as well?”

“I have not forgotten, Lady Melisandre,” Davos said.

“And have you forgotten how the Lord of Light struck Renly down before it could even come to battle?” the Red Woman continued.

Davos swallowed thickly. “I have not forgotten that either, Lady Melisandre,” he said. Some said that a lady knight, jealous that Renly would not return her affections, had slain him in his tent. There were other, more fantastical tales, such as Robb Stark either setting his wolf on Renly in his tent or even turning into a wolf himself and tearing Renly’s throat open with his teeth. Davos did not lend much credence to the tales of Robb Stark’s involvement, particularly since the Tyrells had been so quick to join with him. But it was the whispers of Renly being slain by a shadow that Davos struggled to ignore.

It had been a great shock to hear that Renly had been slain in his tent, and when his king had confided in Davos that he was innocent of the crime of kinslaying since he was in his bed at the time, Davos believed him. But when Davos had bluntly asked Melisandre if she had played any part in Renly’s death, she had smiled at him and answered only that the Lord of Light had clearly punished Renly for trying to usurp the throne from his brother, the rightful king. Most might think the talk of a shadow murdering Renly in his tent was no more believable than the version of the story where Robb Stark turned into a wolf and killed his rival king with his teeth, but Davos knew differently. He’d seen the shadow himself, the night he’d rowed Melisandre under Storm’s End. He would never forget seeing that shadow kill Cortnay Penrose. And from the moment he’d seen it, he’d known the truth about what happened to Renly.

“Then why do you have so little faith in R’hllor after seeing what he has done already?” Melisandre asked. “The Lord of Light has slain three of the four false kings who dared attempt to usurp the throne from the one true king. Robb Stark is all that remains, but his days are surely numbered.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but there are many thousands of men who might have something to say about that,” Davos said.

Melisandre smiled. “Despite the many thousands of men he’d drawn to his false cause, Renly was the first of the false kings to fall, killed in his own tent as punishment. Why should Robb Stark be any better protected from R’hllor’s judgment?”

“The tale of how Renly came to die changes depending on who’s doing the telling,” Davos said slowly. He didn’t know how much his king knew of what happened, and Melisandre wouldn’t acknowledge it openly regardless. “But the one consistent part of the story is that Robb Stark was in the tent with him when he did. And if he knows how it happened, he might know how to avoid suffering the same himself.” Davos wasn’t sure how a mere man was meant to defend himself against a shadow, even if he knew it was coming. But Robb Stark had been in the tent when Renly died; that much was acknowledged as truth by every version of the story. Whether any man could defend against something like that, Davos didn’t know. But having seen it for himself, Stark would at least know it might be coming. That alone gave him a much better chance at survival than Renly or Cortnay had been given.

“R’hllor is not so easily defied,” Melisandre said, laughing lightly. “Four false kings stood, and two more were struck down after Renly, each in a different manner. The boy Joffrey was next, removed from a throne that should never have been his when the Lord of Light guided the king’s forces to glorious victory in the Battleof the Blackwater. And, though he never left his islands, Balon Greyjoy fell next. The reach of the Lord of Light extends across the whole of the world, and if the stories from the Iron Islands are true, Greyjoy fell to his death while crossing a bridge. Three false kings are dead and all of them in different ways. Do you really think R’hllor will suffer Robb Stark for much longer? No, Ser Davos, there is nothing for us to fear. Whether he is slain in his tent, he is defeated in battle, he loses his footing or he dies in a manner unforeseen, Robb Stark will die. King Stannis is Azor Ahai come again, and the Lord of Light will protect him.”

“I can only pray that you’re right, Lady Melisandre,” Davos muttered. “I don’t know how we’re to win the war otherwise.”

She shook her head with a smile. “Defeating Robb Stark is not the end of the war, Ser Davos. It won't even be the beginning of it. The real war is yet to come.”

--

"Lovely, Mira," Margaery said. "Oh, that's good. You're doing wonderfully." She reached down between her legs and ran both of her hands through her handmaiden's dark hair affectionately. Part of her wanted to grab Mira's head with both hands and force her to start licking harder, but despite her building need to climax, her body felt too good to interrupt what was happening. And her mind was nice and relaxed for the first time all day, which was arguably even more important.

Leave it to Mira to help her take her mind off of any and all concerns in her life. Her husband was presently on his way back east, leading his army towards King's Landing at last. Her father had wished for her to become queen for so long that Margaery could scarcely remember a time when her visions of her future hadn't included a crown. She'd already been a queen for some time now; first Renly's, and now Robb's. But she wouldn't truly be the queen of Westeros until they'd taken King's Landing. Now, having dealt with the Lannisters and recaptured Moat Cailin from the Ironborn, her husband and his army would soon arrive at the capital. The day she'd waited for, and her father had waited even longer for, was not far off now.

Margaery knew that the battle was in their favor; that they held the advantage, despite Stannis having time to entrench himself in King's Landing. But she could not help feeling nervous about the likely coming battle regardless. There were so many things that could happen unexpectedly. What if something happened to Robb, or to one of her brothers? Margaery could offer her husband counsel when he asked for it, and she could work at being a good queen wherever she was, but there was no place for her on the battlefield. She felt helpless, staying at Casterly Rock and awaiting word.

Mira, as always, anticipated her queen's need and worked to relax her. The girl knew Margaery's body, she knew her need, and she knew what it would take to bring her pleasure. Today, Mira seemed to be on a quest to keep her near her release without reaching it for as long as she could manage. Doubtless she reasoned that the longer she could keep her queen focused on her pleasure, the longer she would go without worrying about the war and the battle to come.

She was right, and her plan was working exactly as she intended it to. Her tongue moved up and down along Margaery's outer lips, licking her with just enough pressure to keep her heated but not giving her enough of it to finish her. Mira used a single finger in a similar fashion, stroking the hood of her clit slowly. She kept bringing Margaery pleasure with her tongue and her finger, but any time she began to approach a climax, Mira would back off. Again and again, Margaery would get close, and Mira would cool her off before she could get there. That she managed to keep this up for so long was a powerful demonstration of just how well her handmaiden knew her body, and how skilled she had become at pleasing her.

This was exactly what Margaery needed on a day like today, where her fears had been threatening to drag her down. But the need to get off was starting to become an issue in its own right. Too much more of this, and Margaery might just have to grab Mira's head and pull her in after all. But this turned out to be one more chance for Mira to show just how well she understood her needs, because before Margaery could actually go beyond some mild whining and writhing, Mira got serious in her efforts to finally deliver on all of the pleasure she'd only teased her with until now. Her tongue moved faster, and her finger stroked her hood with more consistent pressure.

It did not take long for Mira to finish her once she got serious about it. After just a bit of legitimate effort from her talented handmaiden, Margaery groaned loudly and held onto Mira's head as the pleasure struck her. That it came after so much time spent building towards it only made her enjoy it that much more. What a wonderful handmaiden she had, working so hard to take her queen's mind off of matters outside of Casterly Rock for as long as she could!

"That was delightful," Margaery said once her moans of pleasure had stopped. "Thank you for your service, Mira."

"It was my pleasure," Mira said, pulling her face out from between Margaery's thighs and smiling up at her. Her chin rested on the queen's naked thigh, and Margaery chuckled at the sight of her handmaiden's tousled hair and sticky face. Mira surely knew how she looked, but she just smiled back and wore the proof of her service with pride.

"Oh, I beg to differ," Margaery said, going back to caressing Mira's hair. "The pleasure was mine." A sudden prickling feeling low in her abdomen made her wince, but she shook it off. She wasn't going to let it ruin what had turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon.

"Are you still not feeling well, Margaery?" Mira asked, frowning. Margaery shook her head right away.

"No, I feel wonderful," she said. "Thanks to you, of course."

Mira smiled slightly, but she still seemed somewhat concerned. "You seem to be wincing like that quite often recently," she said. "I assumed it was just your concern for your husband and family while they're out fighting, which was why I wanted to try and take your mind off of it."

"And you did a wonderful job of it, truly," Margaery assured her. "This is nothing. It's just a bit of cramping. It's been coming and going lately. Not anything to concern yourself with."

It was meant to reassure Mira, who had already been concerned by Margaery dealing with a queasy stomach and struggling to keep her food down several times in recent days. But instead it seemed to cause her to get lost deep in thought. She stared straight down, looking like she was concentrating hard, and Margaery watched on in confusion, rarely having seen her closest handmaiden looking so preoccupied. Mira finally looked back up, and something about the expression on her face suggested to Margaery that whatever conclusion she'd come to was going to be very important.

"My lady," she began slowly. "When did you bleed last?"

--

“You cannot remain in King’s Landing, Lady Sansa. You must flee with me, now, while there is still time.” Meya’s voice, usually so sweet, was firmer and more serious than Sansa had ever heard it. She merely stared at first, taken aback at this unexpected side of the beautiful singer. Meya had encouraged her to leave King’s Landing several times since she had arrived, it was true. She’d even suggested that she might be able to aid in that escape and accompany her on her journey.

Sansa had always dismissed her concerns, and Meya had never pushed. She’d always quickly let the matter drop and returned to singing her beautiful songs that made Sansa’s days in King’s Landing somewhat easier to bear. But the tone of her voice, and the way she stared at her, suggested to Sansa that Meya’s worries would not be so easily silenced this time.

“We’ve discussed this, Meya,” she said patiently. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I cannot flee King’s Landing. The eyes of King Stannis remain on me, always. I am his honored guest.” Prisoner was the more accurate description of what she was to Stannis, though she did not say as much out loud. So long as her brother Robb remained a rival claimant to the Iron Throne, Stannis would not allow Sansa to go anywhere. She was glad to be free of Joffrey and his cruelty. King Stannis largely ignored her existence, which was far preferable to her treatment under the Lannisters. But she was no freer now than she’d been while betrothed to Joffrey.

“His eyes cannot be everywhere at once,” Meya said. “And he is too busy preparing for your brother’s approach to watch you very closely right now. Now is the perfect tine to escape. Now, while everyone in the city gets ready for another assault. We must leave before it’s too late, Lady Sansa.” It wasn’t just her voice that was different. Her very personality felt completely different now, like she was a mummer who’d finished performing and was now showing her true self.

“I have no reason to flee, Meya,” Sansa said. “King Stannis will not harm me. He is a man of honor.”

“It is not the king you need protection from,” Meya said. “The people of King’s Landing have grown to fear the red woman, and rightly so. And you have more reason to fear her than most.”

Sansa felt a shudder run through her as she remembered the burnings. It was true that the population of King’s Landing feared Stannis, and his priestess of R’hllor even more. She would never forget the screams, and thinking about the possibility of the same happening to her was far from pleasant. Still, she shook her head. “Even if Lady Melisandre should wish to harm me, King Stannis would not let her. I’m too valuable to him.”

“You’re very valuable to him,” Meya agreed. “You’re valuable as a hostage. But if the battle looks lost, and if the red woman convinces him that offering you up to the flames as another of her sacrifices will help him defeat your brother somehow, do you really think he will hesitate to give you to her?” Sansa had no answer for that, but Meya did not seem to be expecting one, because she continued to speak. “Please, Lady Sansa. You know you are not safe here. You must escape King’s Landing. Let me help you.”

Sansa chewed her lip, trying to decide whether or not she should confide a certain secret to Meya. Now that Meya had suggested the possibility of her being another of the sacrifices offered to R’hllor, Sansa was starting to fear staying in King’s Landing even more than she feared trying to escape and being caught. But if she were to flee, was entrusting her safety to Meya really wise?

Eventually she settled on giving her partial information. “Not to be rude, Meya, but even if I did want to escape, I’m not sure that you would be the person who would most be able to help me. There is another—a knight, in fact—who has offered to help me find my way home. And he—“

“Dontos Hollard, you mean?” Meya interrupted. “You should not trust him.”

Sansa stared at her in shock. “How did you know about Ser Dontos?” She did not even think to try and deny it.

“He’s not as careful as he seems to think he is,” Meya answered. “I’m not sure who he’s working for, and I doubt he’s told you either.” Sansa shook her head numbly. “Whoever it is, you cannot trust that they’ll keep you safe.”

“And can I trust that you will keep me safe, Meya?” Sansa asked quietly. “You’re no mere singer. Who are you working for? What do they want with me?” She took a step back; away from the beautiful woman who had allegedly come to King’s Landing as a singer, but clearly had other reasons for being here. Meya’s gentle voice had been a comfort, and she’d seemed sweet and kind. But Sansa should have known better.

“I will not deny that I was sent to King’s Landing for the purpose of bringing you with me, Lady Sansa,” Meya said. “But I was not sent to cause you harm, or to put you in danger. I came to remove you from the danger. Since you refused my attempts to gently convince you to leave with me, I was left with no choice but to talk with you openly.”

“Who sent you?” Sansa repeated, hating the way her voice shook. “Who are you?” What a fool Sansa was! The closest thing she had to a ‘friend’ in King’s Landing was a false singer who’d been deceiving her from the very moment they met.

“My name is Tyene, though I doubt that means anything to you.” Sansa shook her head. “I cannot tell you who sent me; not until we've made it out of King's Landing. But I will tell you that they will not harm you. They want to be good friends with your brother, but they aren’t free to act openly yet. So they sent me here to protect you, help you escape and bring you to safety.”

“And why should I believe you?” Sansa asked. “How can I trust you?”

"That's a question you'll have to answer for yourself," Tyene said. "Do you want to take me at my word when I say that I want to take you to safety? Will you place your trust in a lazy drunk like Dontos Hollard, and whoever might be? Or will you stay where you are, pray to survive the battle and trust in the honor of Stannis to protect you if the red woman wishes to make you his latest sacrifice?" Tyene slowly reached her hand out towards Sansa. "The choice is yours, princess. But you need to make it soon."

Sansa stared at that outstretched hand while considering her options. It was true that Ser Dontos, despite his pledge to serve her and be the Florian to her Jonquil, was a pathetic sort. He would have to rely on the planning of whoever this 'friend' was that would hire the ship, because he would never be able to get her out and to safety on his own. But could she trust this unknown friend?

She frowned while looking at Tyene's hand and then up to her beautiful face. The woman's face was as lovely as her voice, but now that she knew 'Meya' as not a mere singer, Sansa wondered what expression would cross that face if she refused. Tyene was talking as if she would respect Sansa's choice, whatever it was, but was that really true? If she refused, what would Tyene do? She almost wanted to say no just to see how Tyene would react.

But she thought of the red woman's flames, she remembered the screams, and she made her choice. Tyene had, in her own way, been more truthful with Sansa than anyone had in longer than she could remember. Sansa would have to hope that she was being truthful about leading her to safety as well. She reached out and slipped her hand into Tyene's.

"Wise choice, princess," Tyene said, smiling. Whatever the truth of this woman and her motives was, it was a very pretty smile. "Let us prepare our escape. There is no time to lose."