The Warg King

[Psyckosama]

'Something scarier than this,' Daenerys' expression shifted as her eyes unconsciously went down towards the direction of her bed, under which lay her chest containing the three most precious rocks in the world, rocks capable of bringing change to the world, 'I know of a beast like that,'

Click to shrink...

The Breaker of Chains is back... but this time she's not going to go fucking mad.

 

[Kclcmdr]

Jon very little big buddy Inky Der Terrah Of the Medium-size Krakens just taught a fleet of pirates the folly of their vile trade...

 

[ATP]

Who Dany would sacrifise to get her dragons? if all they need is living human,then 3 average pirates should be enough.

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[LazyWizard]

"Haha, Marvellous! Marvellous!!" Robert exclaimed in jubilation, slapping his thigh again and again, as wine spilt from the goblet he was holding in his other hand, but the man did not seem to care. "I knew the boy had it in him, I knew it!" he boasted proudly to the members of the small council beside him, who all smiled appropriately to humour him.


At the centre of the Tourney grounds, Jon disembarked from his horse and immediately went to help the defeated knight back up on his feet.


"Are you fine, Ser?" Jon asked in a worried voice as he examined the elderly knight to make sure that there were no signs of broken bones or twisted fingers.


"Of course, lad." The old knight groaned in answer as he shook his head and slowly got up with his help. "I learned to fall long before I learned to ride. So do not worry about hurting this old man. I will simply have some ugly bruises for a week or so and then be back to having just back pain and knobby knees," he chuckled as he rotated his arms to loosen his joints, "Though it has been quite a few decades since someone has sent me flying on the third pass," he said as he looked appraisingly at the boy who he had grown very fond of over the week or so that he had known him, "You did a good job, boy," he praised as he patted the boy on his shoulder.


*ROAR*


At that moment, the crowd in the stands, who had already been clapping and cheering, became even more enthusiastic in their celebration and began screaming themselves hoarse as they saw the gesture from the Legendary knight for the young winner.


This was the kind of thing that they had only ever heard tales about, so to see it happening right in front of their own eyes was a dream come true for them.


And some of the usual braggarts sitting amidst the stands almost couldn't hold in their excitement and immediately began running from their seats, wanting nothing more than to rush towards their homes, their friends or even the nearest tavern, to just share(boast) everything that they had seen here today.


"The crowd seems to adore you very much," The knight commented in a low voice as he turned towards the stands with a distant look in his eyes, as if he was seeing something that was not here.


The knight remembered the last time he had seen someone be so popular amongst the smallfolk populace, and how easy it had been for that man to put smiles on the faces of his subjects. 'The charisma is here too...'


"They just appreciate the one who wins," Jon answered with a a humble smile, as both of them took their horses by their reins and began to head towards the exit, "If it had been someone else winning out here, then I am sure they would have cheered for him just as enthusiastically," he said as he raised his hand towards the stands, making the screams from the smallfolks even louder.


"Hm, I am not so certain about that," Barristan replied with an amused look on his face, "After all, the Tyrell boy is just as young as you, and he too has not lost a single bout yet, but I do not see them being so enthusiastic in chanting his name."


And was that not the truth, as out of all the contestants out here competing in this tourney, which included almost all the big famous characters from the Seven Kingdoms, it was Jon Snow, the bastard from the North, whose name was the most repeated on the lips of bards, sailors, and smallfolks in the taverns of King's Landing.


It was as if every one of them had already decided that the boy was to be the champion of this tournament... even though it was the first time he was competing in one.


And the reason behind it all was also not very hard to deduce, as not only was the boy's entrance into the port of King's Landing grand enough that it was still the talk of the city a week later.


But he was also an underdog in their opinion, someone who did not come from privilege, who they could relate to much more than the other nobles, as he was a bastard who made his fortune with his own hands.


Plus, it did not hurt that the boy was as handsome and charismatic as they come, and was skilled enough to beat all the arrogant noble lords out there in a fair fight.


Not to mention, this whole Tourney was being held in his name for the feat of defeating an evil pirate king far away in the Stepstones... so all in all, one could say that after just a few days, the name Jon Snow had become the most famous one in this city, and now even beggars about the bastard of the North.


"The Melee is in a few days, so will you be participating in—"


"Ser Barristan! Jon Snow!"


A loud, booming voice interrupted Jon's inquiry, and both men turned their heads only to see the King standing at the edge of his platform, excitedly waving them to come to him.


The two exchanged helpless glances with each other at that, knowing that their chance to get some well-deserved rest had just disappeared, but there was little that one could do in front of the king's orders, so they sent away their horses and began making their way towards the Royal pavilion.


...


"Haha, tell me, Ser Barristan, how did it feel to lose to someone so young?" Robert began in a teasing voice the moment he caught sight of the man climbing the stairs, his entire being radiating with the excitement of someone who had just had a satisfying big meal.


It had always been a guilty pleasure of the Baratheon king to watch the high and mighty veteran knights, some of whom were even older than him, lose miserably to the younger ones.


It made the man feel as if his decision to let go and enjoy himself to the fullest, uncaring of his health and body, was not so bad.


After all, even these men who rigorously trained themselves every single day were out here losing to these brats, so was it not a better use of time to drink and party to his heart's content?


"Not too bad, your grace," Ser Barristan answered graciously, looking completely unbothered by the defeat, "It was a humbling experience to lose so thoroughly out there; it makes me feel that it is time I leave these youthful competitions to the... youth."


"Ah, nonsense!" Robert snorted as he waved his hand. "Don't hide behind your age, old man. We all know how sharp your skills still are," he said as he turned his eyes towards Jon, who had been silently standing beside him. "It was the boy's pure skill that beat you, nothing else."


"I cannot argue with that, your grace," Barristan smiled before he nodded to Jon and went to join his fellows standing guard behind the royals.


Just as Jon was also contemplating on an excuse to take his leave, Robert sighed, "Ah, if only your father had been here, I am sure he would have been very proud of you," he said with a nostalgic expression on his face, as if imaginging Eddard sitting beside him braggin about his son, and him feeling jealous because none of his progeny had anything worth bragging about, "Why are you standing so far, come take a seat beside me,"


Robert said as he enthusiastically patted the chair beside him.


Only half the small council was present on the royal platform at the moment, because Jon Arryn, whose seat Robert was pointing at for Jon, was still back in the Red Keep, stuck in his chambers handling the increased paperwork because of the sudden influx of all the Nobles, Merchants, and other smallfolks into the Capital.


And keeping him company in the Red Keep was Stannis, who was staying away from the Tourney with the same excuse: that there were too many ships entering and exiting the Harbour for him to comfortably sit here 'entertaining' himself with games.


Another notable absence was of the Master of Whisperer, Varys, who had actually been very enthusiastic about always being present for the popular games of the Tourney, continuously keeping his eyes peeled over the various pavallion belonging to the Lord paramounts to see who was speaking with whom, but for some reason, over the past few days, the Eunuch had begun taking his leave midway through citing various excuses, and the ones who were the most familiar with him, had long noticed that the man looked... distressed underneath his fake smile.


In the end, the only ones present here for the much-anticipated semi-final of the Tourney were Baelish, Renly, and Maester Pycelle, and joining them from the smaller seats at the front were Myrcella and Tommen, with their dearest Uncle Tyrion sitting beside them, keeping them entertained.


The Queen was also not here, but she was indeed present in the grounds and was sitting beside her father and other family members in the Lannister part of the stands, and accompanying her was her eldest son, Joffrey, and their absence was one of the reasons that the two royal children were so relaxed and peeking at Jon with curiosity in their eyes.


"You need to tell me how you trained yourself, boy," Robert asked the moment Jon took his seat. "How can your strikes be so precise, and how ever did you achieve your level of strength at this age? There has to be a secret behind this... Did your father make you drink some ancient magical juice or something, or perhaps sacrifice some animals to the Heart tree to ask the old gods for strength?" he asked with a mischievous look in his eyes, as he leaned down to whisper, "Don't worry, you can tell me; I will keep your secret."


"Just practise, your grace," Jon replied with a small smile on his face as he subtly leaned back, "No sacrifices involved, as far as I am aware."


'I can't say the same about magic, though...' the boy murmured internally, imagining the look on the King's face if he knew how close to the truth he had been at this moment.


In fact, in the beginning, Jon had not even been intending to participate in the Tourney, or even if he had been forced to, he had expected to lose honourably in the quarter-final to the old Royce or the Blackfish, or maybe even before that, and then prepare wholeheartedly for the Melee.


After all, even during their training period at Winterfell, he had always been behind Robb in this art.


Though that was mostly because Jon always considered it to be too dangerous a game, where death or maiming was just a little slip away, and felt it gave little returns for the investment this skill demanded, so he just always focused on his other martial skills.


But then he was blessed with that bullet time skill because of Frost in the fight against the Mountain, and... everything changed.


With the additional brain resources available to him through his warg connection, Jon could enter a completely different world during his bout against other knights, where everything slowed down for him... so much so that it gave him complete freedom to utilise Peggy's speed to the fullest.


And as everyone knows, the worst thing you can do during a joust is to go at your maximum speed, because then everything would be out of your control and you would be depending heavily on luck or instincts to guide your strike or to defend against the opponent's lance.


But Jon did not have to worry about that, as he could accurately see the position of everything in slow motion and make minute changes at the very last moment so that his lance always struck true.


And since everyone knows that speed is power... so no matter who his opponent was, whether it was the bulky beast Sandor Clegane or a skilled veteran like Ser Barristan, Jon could easily defeat them without losing a sweat.


In fact, it was only because he respected the Old Knight so much that he ever let their bout even go to the third round; otherwise... well, one only needed to see the sulking Hound getting drunk in the corner to know how humiliating it was to lose to a little brat in the second pass.


'No amount of strength or skill shall ever come close to defeating a cheat,' Jon decided internally as if he had stumbled upon a fundamental truth of the world.


Rober snorted as he shook his head, "If practice was all it took, then so many old Knights wouldn't have been eliminated in the first three rounds," he said with a little disdain in his voice, "After all, practising and keeping their skills sharp is the only task they have, but I do not see them achieving much, even after all that effort."


Jon had no answer to that, so he simply shrugged with a helpless expression as if saying that he couldn't help it if he was a talented young boy.


"—This is it!! IT'S THE MOMENT WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!" The announcer's loud, enthusiastic voice interrupted their conversation, and they turned towards the grounds to see that the other semifinal was finally starting, "THE PRIDE OF LANNISTER VERSUS THE PRODIGY OF THE TYRELLS. WHO SHALL WIN THIS BOUT—"


"About time," Robert grumbled as he leaned forward with an interested expression, "So what do you think, lad? Which one of them do you expect to see in the finals?" he asked Jon with a raised eyebrow.


"I would go with Loras Tyrell," Jon answered with little to no hesitation, drawing surprised glances from everyone in the vicinity.


"Oh, and why is that?" Robert asked with an intrigued look in his eyes.


"As I previously said, it all comes down to training in my opinion," Jon answered with a tilt of his head, "I believe people who have been at the top of the field for a long time tend to get complacent and slack off, since they have already achieved what they set out to, while those who are still young and rising, strive to do their very best in every training session and bout, because they have a firm goal pushing them forward. So yes, I do believe Ser Loras has a higher chance of winning in this."


Of course, in truth, everything Jon said was bullshit and made up, and the real reason he was so sure of this was that it had already happened in the canon around the same time during the Hand's Tourney.


In fact, even before this, Loras had already defeated Jamie once at a previous tourney hosted during Joffrey's name day, but for most of the people present here, that was a once-in-a-lifetime fluke, and they still believed in Jamie's reputation more, while for Jon, since it had already been done twice, it was no longer a matter of chance but skill.


"Would you be willing to put money on that conviction of yours?" Baelish, who had been silently observing their conversation until now, suddenly intervened with a harmless smile on his face.


"What are you up to, Littlefinger?" Robert asked with a suspicious look on his face, as if trying to see holding some kind of grudge against the boy because of what happened back at the port.


"Just a benign bet, your grace," Baelish answered with a raise of his hands, "I am certain someone as rich as JonSnow here would not mind having a little fun with some gold."


"Sure," Jon agreed after a momentary pause, "How about a thousand gold dragons on the winner then?"


The amount drew surprised glances from everyone in earshot, as all of them stared at the boy, whose calm smile made it seem as if he was betting pennies instead of gold. And while they were already familiar with the fact that the boy was rich, it still took them by surprise the casual way in which he threw his gold on a whim.


"I am afraid not," Baelish answered with a forced smile on his face, "After all, I am just the small lord of a tiny place, and cannot bring myself to bet what amounts to a whole year of my income on a bet. So you will need—"


"I will take the bet then," Tyrion calmly interjected as he turned his head and looked at Jon, a crooked smile on his face, "My brother would be quite cross with me if he found out that I did not jump on the chance to bet my gold on his victory."


"Ah, this is perfect then," Baelish jumped in with a delighted expression before Jon could respond to the dwarf. "We all can see whose eyes are more keen amongst the two of you," he said with a faint smile on his face, but the smirk hidden underneath led Jon to suspect that this weasel had been expecting something like this from the start.


Ignoring the petty lord, Jon turned his head towards Tyrion, who was staring at him with raised eyebrows, with curiosity and a tiny hint of provocation in his eyes.


But Jon could guess that there was probably no malice behind this, and the dwarf was likely just bored and wanted to have some fun, so he shrugged, "Why not? At least I know for sure that you will be able to back up your words and pay me when you lose."


"Oho, so confident in your little friend?" Tyrion quipped with an amused look on his face, "Is it truly about skills or is there something more involved?" he asked with a meaningful glance towards the Tyrell pavilion, where the pretty rose of Highgarden was drawing even more appreciative glances than his sister.


"Just skills," Jon answered without a change in his expression.


The boy knew that his outing with Margaery had drawn notice from various powers in King's Landing, but he did not care much for it, as it wasn't something he wanted to hide in the first place.


"Ah, seeing you two rich ones competing against each other has gotten me even more excited about this bout," Robert said as he took a big gulp and turned his eyes towards the grounds where the two competitors had already taken their starting position.


At that moment, a gust of wind blew, and almost immediately, every single person present scrunched up their noses with disgust in their eyes, as the infamous smell of Kingslanding made its presence known to everyone.


"Ah, fuck!" Robert groaned as he covered his nose with his collar to breathe a little easier. "Why did we even have to have the Tourney here?" It hadn't been the first time he had been greeted by this unpleasant smell that made one want to vomit.


This was actually one of the main reasons he did not like leaving the Red Keep, as at least in his castle, the height and wind meant that he didn't need to be constantly reminded of how dirty and shitty this city was.


"Because this was the only place that was big enough to hold the crowd, your grace," Baelish answered with a helpless look.


"Damn it! What I wouldn't pay to make this smell disappear from my city?" Robert grumbled as he shifted in his seat.


"Then why not simply have the shit cleaned from this city?" a voice suddenly asked, making everyone turn their heads to see who the idiot was speaking so simply about the problem that had bothered the successive kings for centuries on end.


"If only it were that easy to do, lad," Robert answered after a few moments with a look of pity in his eyes, thinking that the boy must not have be fully aware of the size of places like flea bottom yet, because if he knew about the sheer number of lowlifes living in this city who threw their piss and shit directly into the streets every single day, he would not be able to calmly say this sentence.


"I think... I should be able to do it."


///

 

[Kclcmdr]

Jon Snow Stark offering to try to clean/cleanse the smelly broken sewers of KL while Petyr is around to annoy him..
We wait..

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter. Good story as always.

Jon Snow Stark offering to try to clean/cleanse the smelly broken sewers of KL while Petyr is around to annoy him..

Click to shrink...

Is canon that Baelish hides the stolen gold from the Crown in the sewers? Maybe that is Jon angle

 

[ATP]

Thanks for the chapter. Good story as always.

Is canon that Baelish hides the stolen gold from the Crown in the sewers? Maybe that is Jon angle

Click to shrink...

wait,i thought that he hide money in Essoss.

 

[LazyWizard]

"...I should be able to do it."


Jon shrugged with the casualness of someone who was simply talking about going to the market to buy some vegetables.


The reaction his declaration received was quite varied, with most looking at him with either disdain or pity, as if they were watching a young, naive boy claiming to become a king one day.


And ironically, Baelish was the only one who did not dismiss the boy's words outright. He knew better than anyone present just how cunning this bastard from the North could be, and he feared that there was some hidden conspiracy behind this absurd declaration of his.


He just could not see it.


"I think you have probably never been to the slums of the city, lad," Robert said kindly, clearly not taking the boast too seriously. "Otherwise, you would not be saying something like this. You do not know how many kings, nobles, and maesters have spent their entire lives trying to clean the filth out of this city. No matter how many dragons they poured into it, every one of them failed. They had the will, aye, but alas..." He gave a small snort. "The shit has seeped into the very stones of this place. One would have to tear half of it down before there was any hope of making it clean."


"I do not mean to sing my own praises, but I believe I have certain advantages that would make this task far easier than most would expect," Jon said with an enigmatic smile. The people around him naturally assumed he was speaking of his wealth and the resources at his disposal. "With enough gold and proper planning, I do not believe it would take more than a few months."


This claim shocked them more than anything else, as they finally began to realise that the boy was not joking.


"Forgive me, but have I understood you correctly?" Tyrion asked, leaning forward slightly with clear interest. "You believe that, given the opportunity, you could cleanse all of King's Landing within a matter of months?"


"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying," Jon answered with a calm nod.


From across the table, Baelish silently studied Jon's face with narrowed eyes, trying to understand the boy's game. Ever since this conversation had begun, an uncomfortable feeling had been growing in his chest, as if his instincts were warning him that nothing good could come from it.


But before do anything about it, Renly Baratheon of all people jumped into the conversation.


"Then why not give young Jon here the chance, Brother?" The youngest Baratheon brother leaned forward with an amused grin. "Perhaps he could achieve what the rest of us could not. After all, he is the same young lad who has amassed one of the biggest merchant fleets at just fifteen years old, so I think he has earned the right to prove his words."


It all sounded nice, but anyone who knew the man well would realise that it was less about whether the task could actually be accomplished and more about the amusement it would bring for everyone.


Meanwhile, on the field below, the two young knights representing the richest houses of Westeros finally met, their lances striking shields with enough force to shake both men in their saddles. Yet the royal platform barely noticed; their attention was fixed entirely on the more interesting game unfolding before them.


This is bad.


Petyr could feel his unease growing. Even if Jon gained nothing else from this, allowing him official authority in King's Landing would be dangerous. It would give the boy a foothold in the capital, a path into the very circles of power Petyr had spent years trying to climb.


And the last thing he needed was a clever Northerner with influence in his city.


But how to stop this...


Robert looked at him for a long moment. "Are you certain, boy?"


"I can only say that I am more certain of this than I was when I first began my trading company," Jon shrugged.


That answer seemed to amuse Robert more than anything.


"Then there is nothing more to discuss." He waved a hand dismissively. "Try it, if you want. Let me see what Ned taught you that makes you think you can handle the thousands of rats, and beggars crawling through those filthy streets."


He gave a disgusted shudder, his great stomach moving with him.


"Gods, just thinking about it makes me want a drink."


He promptly drained his goblet.


"But if you actually manage it..." Robert wiped his mouth, considering the matter. "What in the Seven Hells would be a fitting reward for something like that?"


"How about you hand me the position of Master of Coin, Your Grace?" Jon said suddenly, turning towards the man in question with a playful smile.


For the briefest moment, Petyr Baelish froze.


It was gone almost instantly, replaced by his usual indifferent expression, but Jon had noticed.


"It was just a jest," Jon immediately followed with a small laugh, raising his hands innocently, "There is no need to look at me as if you are already planning my murder."


Renly burst into laughter.


"That was excellent, Jon. I do not think I have ever seen Littlefinger caught so off guard."


Even Tyrion seemed entertained by the sight.


Petyr smiled along with them, but inside, his thoughts were far less amused, as he could see a contemplative expression on Robert's face from the corner of his eye.


Even if nothing came of this, the idea had been planted in Robert's mind: the possibility of the boy becoming a member of the small council.


'Which might have been the boy's goal from the start.' Petyr guessed, as this was exactly what he would have done had he been in the boy's place.


In truth, Robert had no complicated thoughts behind it. He simply felt that with the boy's wealth, and after all the gifts he had already given him — especially clearing the million-gold loan — it would not be a bad idea to have him as a Master of Coin.


Perhaps his Foster Father would never have to worry about gold again... and he might just stop complaining about me spending too much on Tourneys and Feasts. And having a man with connections to the North at court would not be the worst thing.


Below them, the tournament continued unnoticed.


Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell met once again in the centre of the field, their lances striking shields with thunderous force. Jaime's blow sent Loras reeling backwards in his saddle, and only his stirrups prevented him from being thrown entirely from his horse.


But the young Tyrell recovered quickly. Before the cheers had even faded, he had taken another lance and prepared himself for another charge, earning fresh cries of excitement from the ladies in the stands.


"But you are right in that a task of this magnitude does deserve a proper reward," Renly said, wearing a smile that made it clear he was enjoying himself far more than he should. "What do you think, Robert?"


"Hm?" Robert blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Oh, let's leave it to the lad, eh?" He gave Jon a heavy pat on the shoulder. "If he truly manages to clean this city, or even make it somewhat tolerable, then that alone would be a victory. He can ask for whatever he wishes. Haha."


Petyr waited until then before speaking.


"And if he fails?" his tone was casual, almost mischievous, as if he was merely joining in the jest. "A wager requires both victory and defeat, does it not? Perhaps a small penalty. A fifteen per cent tax on his ships' trade throughout the realm for three years." He smiled. "A fair consequence for a daring claim."


"Is that really necessary?" Robert asked with a raised eyebrow.


"No, no, the man is right. There has to be a penalty for it to be a proper bet," Renly said with a shake of his head, taking the conversation more seriously than he had ever taken a small council meeting. "Though I do think fifteen per cent is a bit much, do you not?"


Is it?


Robert looked confused. To him, a fifteen per cent cut for the crown sounded perfectly reasonable. What he failed to consider was the most insidious part of Petyr's suggestion: the tax would apply to every port his ships visited, not just King's Landing.


It was not simply one payment. It was a burden that could follow Jon's ships across the entire realm.


Such a tax could cripple a large portion of Jon's trade, especially the routes between the North and the Reach where he was hardly making a profit. The effects on the merchants, workers, and common people involved would be enormous.


But before the discussion could proceed any further, Jon simply answered, "I do not have a problem with that." He said it with little to no hesitation.


After all, when it came to money, no amount could truly create a problem for him.


Besides, this was only relevant if he lost the bet, and if the people currently in power were still alive when the time came to collect the taxes.


And Baelish did not look too pleased with Jon's quick agreement, because it only verified the man's fears that the boy was not doing this randomly.


And the Master of Coin was right about this one, as it was indeed not a spur-of-the-moment decision for Jon.


From the moment he had decided to take matters into his own hands, he had been thinking of ways to sneak into the centre of power in Westeros. Starting with the Small Council.


But he knew that as a bastard with little to no connection, no matter how wealthy he was, it would be hard for him to enter the upper echelons without taking some drastic measures, considering how tightly the ones in power guarded the chairs.


He needed a reason.


He needed an achievement so undeniable that no one could dismiss him, and it needed to be in Westeros and be visible enough for everyone to know about it.


And now, after only a few carefully chosen words, the opportunity had arrived.


"Perfect, then. I'll run it by the Hand. The old man will be happy to get you all the help that you need for this, lad," Robert said, patting Jon on the shoulder once more, 'Especially, once he learns that he won't be the one paying for it.'


'It seems this Northerner bastard is more trouble than I had assumed,' Petyr leaned back in his chair with a pondering expression on his face, the unhappiness having completely disappeared from his face.


This bastard is proving to be far more troublesome than I anticipated.


Petyr leaned back in his chair, his smile returning as though nothing had happened.


The man had intended to deal with the boy at his leisure, slowly tightening the noose until he realised his mistakes.


Now, however, he was beginning to think that such patience would be a mistake, 'Perhaps it would be wiser if the boy simply... disappeared.'


At that very moment, below on the lists, the two exhausted riders met for the ninth pass.


Their lances struck once more, but this time the golden knight's shield trembled ever so slightly in his weary hand. Loras did not miss the opening, driving his lance squarely into Jaime's chest and sending him flying from the saddle, ending the hard-fought semi-final.


"Looks like that's one wager won already," Jon grinned at Tyrion as he stood up to clap, and the dwarf responded with a good-natured roll of his eyes, not looking too bothered at either the loss of his gold or at his brother being defeated.


"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I should congratulate Ser Loras."


Robert waved him away without taking his eyes off Jaime.


"Go, go."


The gleam in the king's eyes told Jon everything. Robert was already eager to see his Kingsguard after the defeat, no doubt to take pleasure in teasing the proud lion who had finally been unhorsed.


...


"Those bruises look quite ugly."


Loras turned around sharply, only to find Jon standing at the entrance of his tent with that infuriating smirk of his.


"Well, we can't all defeat our opponents on the second or third pass," he replied dryly as he waved away the Maester, who had already finished applying ointment to most of his injuries.


"I had hoped Ser Barristan would at least give you some trouble, but alas..." Loras continued as he picked up his shirt. "It seems I was being too naive. We haven't even fought yet, but I already feel as if I am bound to lose," he said with a snort, though there was a faint trace of frustration beneath the humour.


Loras was a true prodigy, of that Jon had no doubt.


He could only imagine the amount of effort the boy had put into honing his skills to reach such a level.


But alas... Jon needed the win, the attention of the crowd, if his plans were to succeed, so for now, he could only make him lose by using cheats.


I'll just make it up to him later.


"You know, my squire told me he knew a way to acquire a mare in heat," Loras suddenly said while putting on his shoes. "You think it would have helped me in our match?"


"Well, it won't now..." Jon replied with an amused look on his face, "But I feel I should tell you that Peggy is, in fact, a female, and her standards are very high, so I do not believe this sort of trick would have much of an effect on her."


"Ah, I should have noticed that," Loras said with a shake of his head. "Never mind, then."


He waved the matter away, as the two of them stepped out of the tent together.


Loras's tent was very close to the grounds, allowing them to head directly towards the nobles' stand without passing through the commoner area, which was completely packed at the moment, with all the smallfolks simultaneously rushing towards the city gates, creating a bottleneck that made movement nearly impossible.


Most of the nobles, on the other hand, had chosen to wait and enjoy their refreshments until the crowds thinned.


"Look at her," Loras suddenly said, jerking his head towards his sister in the distance, sitting in their family stands. "I am the one who just fought a tiring match and ended up covered in bruises, yet somehow I feel her eyes are on you."


"Well, who can blame her?" Jon replied with a smirk as he exchanged a fleeting glance with Margaery, who was speaking with her elder brother. "After all, it is hard for anyone to deny a handsome face."


It took a special kind of confidence to boast about one's looks while standing beside Loras Tyrell, whose face had probably broken more hearts than his lance had won him games in the lists.


Loras rolled his eyes at that before continuing, "I still do not know how you convinced my grandmother to let you court my sister... But I must say I am somewhat glad that it is you," he said thoughtfully, "After all, you are much better than the usual parade of Nobles who ride to Highgarden to court my sister," he grimaced as if remembering some unpleasant memories.


"I can only say that I am deeply grateful for your approval," Jon said, patting Loras on the shoulder with a look of exaggerated gratitude.


Loras ignored the theatrics. "I can't say the same about our relatives, though," he said, subtly gesturing towards the varied group of men and women sitting in the surroundings of their platform, and sure enough, Jon could notice a lot of unpleasant glances and disdainful glares from here and there thrown his way.


"Whether close relatives or distant ones, they have all been hounding Grandmother's doorstep from morning until evening, telling her she was foolish for allowing someone like... you to get close to Margaery."


"To her face?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.


"Oh, they went about it in circles, trying to be subtle about it," Loras snorted, "Some of them gave examples of their cousins' sisters-in-law's girl who had her reputation ruined by the bastard of some Noble house," he sent a pointed glance at Jon who rolled his eyes, "While others suggested alternative that would be much more suitable for their family... but their meanings were as clear as day."


"And? How did she respond?" Jon asked curiously.


"Ambiguously," Loras answered with a shrug. "Mostly by telling them that you were merely a valuable trading partner and a friend of Margaery's, and that everything else was nothing more than rumour."


Jon nodded. He had expected as much. It would have been far too early for Lady Olenna to officially name their relationship this early in the game when the stakes were still so low.


"And were they satisfied with that?"


Loras snorted.


"Not in the slightest. Most of them assumed that she's finally gone senile, and began to spread whispers that it was only a matter of time before she croaked... which amused Grandmother more than anything."


He smiled before his expression gradually turned serious as they slowed to a stop a few yards from the Tyrell platform. "Father is another matter, though."


Jon glanced at him.


"We've managed to keep him in the dark for the most part, but I don't know how much longer that can last. And when he does find out..." Loras shook his head. "He could become a serious obstacle to whatever it is you and Grandmother are planning."


Loras had never considered himself particularly gifted at politics, but even he could tell that his grandmother, Willas, and Jon must be weaving together a conspiracy, with all their shadowy alliance, that was far greater than a simple trading partnership.


And while he had no desire to involve himself in their schemes, he still felt compelled to offer Jon a warning.


"Oh..."


"Yes. And when Father digs his heels in, he can be incredibly stubborn. And those are the times when he wouldn't even listen to Grandmother," Loras said with a frown. "And I have a feeling that this would be exactly the kind of matter he would feel strongly about. After all, Margaery is his daughter, and he is the Lord of Highgarden. According to both law and custom, the decision should be his."


He looked Jon in the eye.


"So what I am saying is... be prepared for his hostility."


"Ah, don't worry. I know exactly how to handle him," Jon replied, giving his chest a confident pat.


"Somehow that does not fill me with a lot of confidence," Loras murmured with a sigh, before he shook his head, waved his hand in farewell, and then climbed up the Tyrell platform, where his family was eagerly waiting to congratulate him on his victory.


Jon, on the other hand, broke away and headed towards a smaller, more secluded place near the back where an elderly woman was sitting all by herself out in the open, with a small tea table and two chairs, leisurely enjoying a plate of cheese while a pair of fearsome twin guards stood watch over her.


"Why are you sitting here all alone?" Jon asked as he walked past the two guards, who barely glanced at him, and dropped into the chair beside her without invitation.


"Ugh, I could stand the endless chattering and cheers any longer", Olenna grumbled.


She shot him a curious look.


"And you? Why are you here? Shouldn't you be out there celebrating your win with your brother or something?"


"I will. But first, I needed to ask you something important."


Olenna raised an eyebrow.


"The grain?"


"The grain," Jon confirmed with a nod. "How far away is the shipment now?"


"Another two or three days, according to the latest letters," Olenna replied thoughtfully. "I still do not understand what game you are playing with this. What was the point of demanding such a large shipment so urgently?" She narrowed her eyes. "Do not tell me you intend to give to charity and feed half of King's Landing for some well wishes."


Jon chuckled.


"No. Though I suppose that would earn me a few cheers."


Olenna merely stared at him, unimpressed.


"Patience, my lady. Patience." Jon continued with a mysterious smile. "You will understand soon enough. Just know that those grain ships are merely the first step in a plan that will eventually bring us everything we want."


"You ask a great deal of an old woman by telling her to be patient?" Olenna scoffed as she studied him for a few moments. "You mean to corner the grain market?"


Jon shook his head.


"Buy influence with the Gold Cloaks?"


"No."


Her frown deepened.


"Then what in the Seven Hells are you planning to do with all that grain?"


Jon looked towards the sprawling city beyond the tourney grounds before a grin slowly spread across his face.


"Just clean some shit..."


///

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[TheCuriousGuest]

Lol, Petyr suffering is truly worth almost any price.
Should worry about Robert thinking if not Jon then maybe someone else with proven record with money that can actually make a dent in growing debts.

Olenna really driving herself to early late grave with how much she's trying to understand Jon.

Was this leftover from another version or rewrite? Just Petyr repeating same thought before leaning back.

'It seems this Northerner bastard is more trouble than I had assumed,' Petyr leaned back in his chair with a pondering expression on his face, the unhappiness having completely disappeared from his face.


This bastard is proving to be far more troublesome than I anticipated.


Petyr leaned back in his chair, his smile returning as though nothing had happened.

Click to shrink...