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Walking with his head held high, Tyrion Lannister kept his eyes forward as he and his Uncle Gerion were escorted through the halls of the Rock by his Uncle Kevan. 'Apparently, father was too busy to actually welcome us home and instead sent out Uncle Kevan to come and fetch us like a couple of errant children,' Tyrion thought, resisting the urge to scoff. 'Not that I actually expected a warm welcome from the man. He is the famous Tywin Lannister, after all. He has a reputation to uphold.'
Even though he was in his ancestral home, Tyrion found a not-so-small part of himself missing the North. Part of his longing was easy to figure out, considering the young girl he'd left behind for her own protection. But there was something else that clearly separated Casterly Rock from Winterfell, and that was the warmth within the walls of the great keeps. Not that Winterfell was warm, not by any stretch of the imagination. But regardless of the weather, there was a persistent warmth, an almost joyous disposition, to the people of the North once you could get past their cold reception to outsiders of course. And after being with them for over a moon's turn, Tyrion was convinced that warmth of Winterfell and the Northern people was due primarily to those who ruled them. The Starks. A family that had ruled the land for over eight thousand years and had the respect, love, devotion and even fear of the people that called the North their home. While it was painful to admit, he knew that his daughter would not only do well in the North, but she would thrive.
Coming to his father's solar, Tyrion pushed thoughts of the North, and more importantly his daughter, out of his mind as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation about to be had. Without saying a word, Kevan opened the door and ushered the two of them inside before quickly closing it. His father was exactly where Tyrion expected him to be. Sitting behind his desk and working diligently on several scrolls that were scattered neatly across his desk.
"Your ship arrived last evening," Tywin Lannister stated, his eyes never leaving the scroll he was working on. "It is now morning."
Now knowing what he did, Tyrion found he was no longer intimidated by his father. Not when his sheer hatred for the man burned so violently within him. It was hard to fear someone that you hated more than anyone else in the world. "Well, we were at sea and on the road for so long that Gerion and I felt a nice warm bed was in order for the night," Tyrion remarked calmly, making his father's quill cease its movements even if the man didn't look up. "Not to mention, they were serving quite a delicious meal at the inn, which just so happens to be across from one of my favorite brothels. And a few weeks on the road and at sea with only men as company can build quite the appetite for a woman's warmth."
Tyrion smirked as he noticed his father's hand tighten on his quill, nearly breaking the feather in his hand. "You will not make such a delay again when issues of importance are needed to be discussed." Tywin intoned, setting aside the scroll he was working on and motioning for the three of them still standing to take seats. "Your last—and only—raven from Winterfell mentioned that Joy was accepted by the Sorcerer. What is the estimation of her power? What were you able to ascertain from the Starks regarding their rise in wealth? And what of the former-bastard boy?"
"Nox wasn't one to go about ranking the strength of his students, or acolytes as he calls them," Gerion answered quickly. "However, despite only having a few lessons under the sorcerer before we left the North, Joy was able to start moving objects around with her powers. Nothing overtly heavy, but the fact that she was able to progress so quickly is astonishing."
'Astonishing to us perhaps, Uncle, but we have no idea if the feat was astonishing to Nox,' Tyrion thought as he glanced at his uncle out of the corner of his eye.
"Good," Tywin stated simply. "And what of the bastard boy and the keys to the Stark's rise?"
Sharing a glance with his uncle, Tyrion took the lead. "You might as well give up on Jon Stark. That horse has already left the barn."
His father folded his hands under his chin and stared hard at Tyrion. "Explain."
Gerion picked up the tale as he knew what'd happened far better than Tyrion seeing as how he was present for it. "During our time in the North, Stark initiated an expedition beyond the Wall to treat with the rising King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder. In the interest of forging relations with the Starks, I and some of our men went with him. Stark met and made an accord with the wildlings, but in the process of this we were ambushed by a rogue group of wildlings that were looking to take advantage of the situation. It was during this battle that Jon…initiated a marriage ceremony between himself and one of the wildling spearwives. A spearwife that has since followed the Starks back to Winterfell and taken up residence with the lad."
Tywin frowned and Tyrion could see the wheels turning in his father's head. "An obstacle. But one that can be overcome with care."
He couldn't help the scoff that escaped him. "Trust me, father, Ygritte, that's her name by the way, is not a simple obstacle that can be overcome in your usual manner. And even if—and that is a big if—you managed to get her out of the way there is another, much harder to remove obstacle standing in your way. One by the name of Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne."
That caught his father by surprise, and it showed on his face. "What does the Martell girl have to do with the bastard boy? And for that matter, what were the Tyrell's and Martell's hoping to accomplish while they were in the North?"
Shaking his head and hiding his smirk, Tyrion almost relished the fact that he was about to completely unwind one of his father's intricate plots to gain more power. "The Princess has everything to do with Jon Stark, considering she shared his and his new spearwife's bed on multiple occasions. And given the rather open nature of sexuality in Dorne, I wouldn't be surprised if we soon learned that young Jon Stark was about to be elevated to Prince Consort of Dorne alongside his 'paramour' Ygritte of the Free Folk."
There was a slight twitch around his father's eyes, but that was all the reaction he gave to the news. "The Stark heir."
"Completely enamored with the foreign girl Talisa Maegyr that came back with Nox from Volantis," Gerion added almost immediately. "She's the daughter of one of the Triarchs of Volantis as well. Should such a union be pursued, and the Starks would be foolish not to, then it would open up trade routes for the North from Braavos to Volantis and possibly even beyond."
Now his father's face went to stone. "The eldest Stark girl."
"Betrothed to Willas Tyrell and set to become the next Lady of House Tyrell once she comes of age," Tyrion answered, more than slightly enjoying seeing his father struggling to hold himself together.
Turning around, his father got up from his seat and walked towards the open balcony that overlooked the Sunset Sea. 'How tempting it is to just walk up and give him the slightest bit of a push,' Tyrion thought maliciously as his father stood in front of the open doors, his hands held behind his back as he stood silently in thought. 'But I am no kinslayer…yet.'
"Kevan," Tywin announced without turning back around. "You will write to King's Landing. Your son Lancel and our nephew Tyrek are both expected to expand their knowledge of the North to the best of their abilities. Tell them to even ask of Robert to talk of the North and the Starks. Gods know the man never shuts up about the wolves. It is time to use this to our advantage."
Kevan merely nodded, not even questioning the order, which was typical. Tyrion did respect his uncle, but the man was practically a bootlicker when it came to the 'great Tywin Lannister'.
"And what are you hoping to achieve now brother?" Gerion asked. "Trying to get your hands on the second Stark daughter, Arya? Well, best of luck with that. Kevan, no offense to you or your son. But that girl would chew your eldest boy up and spit him out if he so much as even looked her way."
"And what of Tyrek then?" Tywin asked, not bothering to turn around and seemingly not surprised by the statement.
"Possible, but he'd best spend as much time as possible in the yard with both Jamie and Ser Barristan," Tyrion remarked, drawing a look from his father. "Arya is a warrior, a woman of the North through and through. The only one who will claim her hand, without risk of being emasculated during their wedding night, is the one who can best her in the yard. And considering what I've seen of her, and the fact that she is being trained by Nox, it is very likely that the girl will go to her deathbed unwedded."
Turning back around towards them, Tyrion could now fully see his father's anger. When he was younger, or even before heading to the North and learning a few truths, Tyrion would've been scared shitless to be on the receiving end of that look from his father. But now Tyrion found he didn't care. Not anymore. "You two were in Winterfell along with the Martells and Tyrells. Yet both Houses managed to steal a Stark from under your nose…and you two did nothing. Are there any more failures that you two wish to tell me about?"
Scoffing, Tyrion pulled out the leather notebook he'd always kept on his person while he was in Winterfell. Tossing the book onto his father's desk, Tyrion leaned back in his seat and folded his hands under his chin. Glancing down towards the leather-bound notebook, Tywin took a few steps towards them and picked it up. "And what is this?" Tywin asked, opening the book and flipping through the pages.
"The keys to the North's success over the past near decade," Tyrion answered, more than slightly savoring the quick look of surprise that got from his father. "I took careful notes on the printing presses that they have in the North. As well as their process for making Northern glass, though they did keep a few ingredients hidden from us. I also examined their construction of their glass gardens and how they go about rotating their crops to avoid depleting the soil of its usefulness. I also have a drawing of their blast furnace and notes on how the process works."
Turning his back on them once again, Tyrion watched in silence as his father flipped through his notebook. "And what of the medicine to treat greyscale and other sicknesses?"
Tyrion wanted to roll his eyes. He'd managed to gather just how the North managed to advance itself to perhaps the premier house in less than a decade, and his father wanted more. Typical. "They kept the process for creating the medicine a closely guarded secret," Tyrion explained. "I was able to look around the Sorcerer's…laboratory I believe he called it. And I noticed that they were boiling rotten food and other foul concoctions. But I have no idea just how that gets one to their miraculous medicine. The students at the Winterfell College were rather tightlipped on the matter as well. No matter how much gold I dangled before their eyes. But even without the medicine, what we managed to obtain will keep us busy for some time as we set everything up. And we also have the added benefit of not having to create these wonderful creations through trial and error, wasting time and money. The Starks have already taken care of that for us. We just need to duplicate what they've already accomplished."
The Lord of the Rock said nothing as he continued to flip through the notebook Tyrion had handed him. Eventually coming to the end of the book, Tywin closed it and set it back down on his desk. "You will write out what is required to build each contraption, Tyrion. Kevan and Gerion will begin assembling the craftsmen to construct them once the materials are brought into the Rock."
"Shouldn't take me more than a few days to get the list compiled," Tyrion responded with a shrug. In truth, he'd already compiled everything that would be needed to create each item he'd copied from the North. But he wasn't about to tell his father that. "After that, I'll be departing for King's Landing."
His father narrowed his eyes at that. "And you will be going because?"
"Because my brother, sister, niece, and nephews are in King's Landing and it has been some years since I saw them last," Tyrion responded. "In fact, I do believe the last time I saw them, Tommen was still just a wee lad sucking at his mother's tit. However, I've also learned a bit more about those smallfolks that Nox took an interest in and brought back North with him. But, to confirm what I've learned, I need to speak to a few people in King's Landing."
His father appeared to think about what he'd said for a moment before giving him a curt nod and then abruptly dismissing the three of them from his presence. 'Plus,' Tyrion thought as he made his way out of his father's room, 'Jamie and I are long overdue to have a conversation about family…and the cost of betrayal.'
Sitting in his study, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, Alim Nox idly rotated a chunk of silvery metal the size of a fist in the air before him. His forefinger on his right hand moving in tandem with the piece, creating its path in the air as he stared in contemplative silence at what he was now fully convinced was raw beskar ore. 'Despite being allies of the Empire, the Mandalorians were quite secretive with their forging techniques. Especially when it came to beskar. Understandable of course. Beskar is the one metal in the known universe that can truly stand up against a lightsaber, the primary weapon of the Sith and the Jedi. They would be foolish to let the knowledge of how to forge it out into the hands of those who could be, and were, their enemies.'
The metal had an extremely high melting point as well as an extremely poor thermal conductivity, which made it so that even if you could reach the required temperature to melt the metal for the purposes of working on it, you would have to act quickly before the heat dispersed. The problem was, on this yet still primitive world, the capabilities of reaching the temperature required to work the metal was out of their reach. Yet despite this, the Valyrians were still able to work it. And he was now positive that the reason why they were able to do so was because of their dragons. As his acolyte Gendry pointed out, dragon's fire could melt even the hardest of stone. The only problem was that dragons were extinct from this world. So, using them to forge the beskar into something useable was out of the question. 'At least for now. But until that changes…an alternate means of forging beskar is needed. An army, or even a squad of well-trained individuals wearing beskar armor and carrying beskar weapons could easily turn the tide of any war. And for the wars that are coming, we need every advantage we can get.'
Sensing one of his acolytes running as fast as his legs could carry him up the tower, Nox kept spinning the metal ore with his right hand while he used his left to open the door to his study. The door hadn't even had the chance to open fully before one of his newest acolytes, Gendry, rushed headlong into the room. The young man was panting as he tried to catch his breath, only just barely managing to stop himself once he entered the room so that he could drop to a knee. "Mi'lord, for – forgive my – my intrusion."
Lowering the metal ore to his desk, Nox waved off the large young man's concerns. "There is no intrusion, Gendry. Though, you should be at your lessons with Samwell, should you not?"
"Aye, milord," Gendry nodded, hastily rising to his feet and working to get his breathing under control. "But d – during the lesson Samwell said somethin and I – I had a thought. And then, then I remembered somethin about me time with me former Master, Master Tobho Mott in King's Landin. And – and I think I know how he was reworkin Valyrian steel."
Now the young man had Nox's full attention. Lowering his feet, Nox turned so that his sightless eyes were towards the bulky lad. Nyra had tasked young Gendry and Master Mikken with trying to uncover the secrets of how to forge beskar. But so far despite nearly two months of work, neither Master nor Apprentice had made any headway into even getting the ore to a point where it could be shaped. "Talk."
Nodding, Gendry took a few cautious steps closer to Nox. "I – Samwell was talkin about history, about the Targaryens and how they lost their dragons and were trying to hatch da eggs they had. He was sayin that it was believed dragons used they're own flames to warm and help hatch the eggs. But with no dragons around, the Targaryens had to use something else. Then he was talkin about some place called Summerhall and how it was believed that the Targaryens burned the place down while they were tryin to hatch the eggs and…and some that survived were said to have seen green fire…green fire that could melt stone. And – And there be only one thing that can make green fire that can melt stone and it be –"
"Wildfire," Nox finished for Gendry, resisting the urge to smash his head against the surface of his desk as he did so.
Honestly, he was completely stumped by the fact that he hadn't thought of it first. The one encounter he'd had with the volatile substance during his brief stay in King's Landing had given him a firsthand perspective as to the true nature of it. The shit certainly could create enough heat to melt stone. And perhaps with a slight adjustment with his own knowledge of Sith Alchemy, he could improve upon the formula. Make it more stable. But the issue was, at the present time, he had no clue how to create it.
"—curious as to how Master Tobho managed to rework Valryian steel because he was always very secretive about it. But I do remember seeing some men in robes delivering a few vials of green water or something when I was still apprenticing for him. And after listenin to Samwell describe wildfire, and how it's green before it's set aflame, I realized that—"
"Gendry," Nox said, cutting the boy off. "You've made your point. And I do believe that you are onto something. But wildfire as it currently stands is highly dangerous, even in small quantities. We will have to take precautions if we're to use it to forge new Valyrian steel."
Grabbing a quill and a blank piece of paper, Nox began jutting down a few notes while Gendry stood before him, nervously shuffling his feet from side to side. "Um…milord? Do you…Do you need me for anythin else?"
"Yes, you can," Nox finished, using the Force to create a small blowing of air to quickly dry the ink he'd just written before handing the note off to Gendry. "Take this down to Master Mikken. You two will have whatever you need to create a smithy outside of the Walls of Winterfell."
"Outside of Winterfell?" Gendry asked, his attention flickering to the note in his hands.
If he could've, Nox would've rolled his eyes at the young man. "Unless you plan on working on a highly volatile compound that is capable of destroying a building even in small quantities within the confines of Winterfell…?"
Recognition flowed through Gendry, as well as a touch of embarrassment. "Of–Of course, milord. Master Mikken and I will get workin on it immediately. But…what are we gonna do about the wildfire? How do we plan on gettin some? From what Samwell has said, and from what I saw in King's Landin, it really isn't a good idea to be cartin the stuff across the land."
"No, it isn't," Nox acknowledged as he began formulating the message that he needed to send out. "But we won't be looking to gather wildfire itself. But rather the ones who can, and have been, producing the substance for years." 'Let's just hope that Robert hasn't gone and killed them all after their failed assassination attempt.'
Standing upon the balcony overlooking the sprawling mass that was King's Landing, King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, watched wistfully as the people of the city went about their daily lives with seemingly little care besides trying to keep a roof over their family's heads and food in their bellies. How he envied his people for their simple existence. They didn't have to care about trying to appease those beneath them. They didn't have to care about some brats across the Narrow Sea potentially returning to wage war. They didn't have to worry about whether former dragon boot lickers would finally work up the nerve to try and put a dagger in their back. They didn't have to care about the finances of the realm…or the blasted 'game' that all these upstart 'nobles' insisted on playing. No. All they had to do was wake, go out for the day, and make some coin then go home. 'Such a simple existence. One I would've been more than suited for. But no. That life was denied to me since birth. Instead, I am cursed with having to sit through endless meetings, having to listen to ass kissers day in and day out. And constantly worrying about whether the former dragon loyalists have finally grown a spine and decided it was time to eliminate me and end my reign.'
Sighing, Robert turned his attention away from the people of his city, and instead focused on the cup of Arbor Gold that was in his hand. Despite the sun already approaching the horizon, this was still his first cup of the day, and it was still mostly full. Raising the cup, he took a small drink, allowing himself a chance to taste and savor the wine instead of just drinking it down as fast as he could. Another change that the Sorcerer and Ned had brought about in him. And one that he could tell Jon Arryn greatly approved of. The old man always did say that Robert drank far too much and far too quickly.
"Your grace."
Turning his head slightly, Robert saw his squire Lancel…no…Tyrek, the other nephew of Tywin Lannister that he'd been forced to accept as a squire because of the gold he owed the fucking man. "What is it?" he grumbled, unhappy that his brief respite from the weight of the crown was about to come to an end.
"The Lord Hand, Lord Jon Arryn is here to see you, your grace."
Even though Tyrek was another golden-haired shit that he was forced to be around, he found himself not minding the lad, which made him one of three golden haired youngsters he didn't mind spending time with as the other two were his own children, Tommen and Myrcella. Tyrek wasn't a scared little shit like his cousin Lancel and could talk to him without stuttering out every other fucking word. He was even decent with a blade in his hand and wasn't scared to put his full effort in the yard against Robert. And best yet, as of the last few days the lad had started asking him of war stories of the Rebellion. Something that few, if any, did anymore.
Knowing that his respite was over, Robert cast one last longing glance at the simple life below him before nodding, "Show him in. And pour him a glass as well. Then get out."
The lad didn't say a word as he went about letting Jon in and pouring him a glass of wine before making a quick retreat from the room to leave the two alone. "Well, Jon," Robert sighed, making his way towards his father in all but name. "What has gone to shit now?"
Jon's old eyes narrowed at Robert, but he honestly didn't care. He was making the effort to be a King, a real King. But he knew that he would never be the King that Jon wanted him to be. That just wasn't him. "Nothing is wrong, Robert," Jon replied, setting his untouched wine glass aside. "We received a raven from the North this morning. A formal request from both Ned and the Sorcerer."
"The man's name is Nox," Robert scoffed, taking a drink of his wine, and finishing half of it in one go. He had a feeling that the way this meeting was going, he would need both his own wine and another. He loved his Jon, he truly did. But Jon always acted…strange when the topic of the Sorcerer came up. He outright refused to refer to the man by either his name or title that Robert had bestowed upon him. "What do they want of the crown? Whatever it is, send it to them."
Jon frowned, shaking his head. "This request is not so simple, Robert. They are asking for wildfire. Or rather, they are asking for the pyromancers who make it to be sent to Winterfell."
That was not what Robert had been expecting. Gold, manpower, more prisoners or volunteers for the Wall? Any of those and he wouldn't have even batted an eye. But the pyromancers? What in the name of the fucking gods did Ned and Nox need those fuckers for? "Did they say why they wanted them?"
"They didn't say," Jon responded, clearly not pleased with his own answer. "The only thing Ned was willing to divulge in his letter was that having a pyromancer, or several, in the North would aid them in something to combat against the enemies from the Far North."
Robert's blood began to race at the mere mention of the White Walkers. 'An enemy from the Age of Heroes…the greatest foe ever to stand against the world of men! Fuck…I can't wait for the day I take the field against those fuckers! That's the kind of King I can be! One to lead his armies from the vanguard! Not one to sit his ass on a throne day in and day out listening to one ass kisser after another trying to raise themselves to higher and higher positions of power.'
"Fine," Robert said with a wave of his hand, doing what he could to calm his need for a good fight. "I guess it's a good thing you convinced me not to kill all of those fire-fanatics. Send a half a dozen that are still alive North with whatever supplies they need to create their shit. And have Stannis go with them. He might be too fucking proud to admit it, but I know the uptight shit misses his daughter. And this will give us a chance to have one of our own assess the progress of those under Nox's tutelage."
"I do not believe that this would be a wise course of action, Robert."
Blinking, Robert stared at his foster father and closest advisor. "Why not? Stannis is more than adequate to judge the progress made by those training under Nox."
"I'm not referring to Stannis. In fact, I agree that sending Stannis north on a formal inspection by the crown is a good idea," Jon replied. "I'm referring to sending the pyromancers North to serve under Nox. Unsupervised and without knowing just what he is planning on using them for. You've given the Sorcerer much leeway, Robert. But now it appears as if we've given him too much such that he now believes he can make demands of the crown without providing much in the way of reasoning and expect it to be fulfilled. He's becoming too powerful, and we need to reign him in. At the very least, we need to know exactly what he wants the pyromancers for. And we should have a representative of the crown with him at all times from here on out."
"The man has more than earned it, Jon," Robert growled, starting to grow tired of his foster father's recent distrust of Nox. "He has arguably done more for the North, and by extension the rest of the Seven Kingdoms since Aegon the bloody Conqueror united Westeros three hundred years ago."
"I do not question his contributions to the realm, Robert, merely his motivations. Which even to this day are a mystery to all but him." Jon countered. "His influence has grown greatly across the realm and continues to grow with each passing day. What happens when the day comes that he decides that he is no longer satisfied with his current lot in life and sets his sights on the Iron Throne?"
Rolling his eyes, Robert set his now empty wine cup down. "If Nox truly wanted the Iron Throne Jon, he would've claimed it years ago. And we know his motivation, stopping the White Walkers."
This time it was Jon who rolled his eyes at him. "Yes…the White Walkers. Creatures of legend that no one has seen in thousands of years since the Age of Heroes and Bran the Builder. Do you not find it the least bit suspicious that, mere years after Nox arriving in the North, we are suddenly faced with an enemy that only he can truly provide a counter to?"
"I would say that it is by the grace of the gods that he arrived when he did and is willing to help us," Robert shot back before stopping as a thought struck him. "Or perhaps that is the very reason why you don't trust him. The gods. I know you're devoted to the Seven, Jon. Do you perhaps think that your devotion to the Faith is clouding your opinion of the man? And if that's the case, then do you have the same thoughts of Ned's children? Or of my own niece, Shireen?"
Jon hesitated, clearly weighing his words carefully before speaking. "It would be a lie for me to say that I am not wary of the magic Nox possesses. Such power should be in the hands of the gods, or those the gods have chosen. Clearly, Ned's children and those who have been found with the power were blessed by the Seven and the Old Gods. However, Nox is not of any faith of the land. He is not beholden to our beliefs. Our morals. And, while you may not like to hear this Robert, perhaps it would be best for us to begin planning how to start…removing Nox's influence now that those under his tutelage are coming into their own."
Robert merely stared at his foster father, unsure of just how to answer the man's thoughts. But then the answer came to him. Not in words, not truly. It started low in his chest, then moved up and soon he couldn't hold it in as he laughed out loud, nearly doubling over as he did so as he tried desperately to breathe through his laughter. Jon, however, did not appear to share in his amusement.
"This is not a laughing matter, Robert." Jon tried to cut in harshly, which only made Robert laugh harder. "Nox has too much influence. The North, and by extension the Riverlands. With Sansa Stark now being betrothed to Willas Tyrell gives him access to the Reach. The Westerlands through Joy Lannister as his acolyte. And Dorne through his friendship with Prince Oberyn. If it was just his power, his magic, he would be manageable. But now with his connections and influence, he could very well be a threat to yourself, your children, and the realm."
Slowly getting himself under control, Robert sat down heavily in his seat and continued smiling at Jon. "I'm not laughing at the thought of Nox taking the throne, Jon. Gods know he would most assuredly do a damn good job of ruling if he did. I'm laughing at the fact that you think that, if he wants to take the throne, that we can actually stop him from doing so."
Jon really did not care for that answer. "Robert, I don't think you fully understand—"
"No, Jon," Robert countered, leaning forward in his seat and meeting his foster father's eyes head on. "In this instance, it's you who doesn't understand. I know I'm not the King you wanted me to be. Hells, the only reason I'm not a complete shit king is because some of the dragon fucks before me were far, far worse than I could ever be. The inner workings of the court are a fucking mass of tangled strings that I don't want to even look at let alone interact with. But I do know men of skill and warfare, Jon. I remember well what I saw that day when Nox practically took the Pyke singlehandedly. I saw him when he brought the Greyjoys, brutalized and defeated, before me and threw them down to their knees. He was bored, Jon. He'd just stormed a keep that was, and still is, considered one of the most defendable structures in the land. To him, it was little more than a nuisance. A fly to be swatted away. He wasn't taking it seriously. Now, knowing that Jon, what do you think the man would look like if he did start taking things seriously? Actually, we don't even have to speculate on that either. Just look at what he did to Corbray. He ripped the man's soul out of his body and entrapped it in stone before throwing it into the sea. That is the type of man we would be facing should he ever wage war for the throne. So, it isn't a question of whether he would be able to claim the throne should he make a play for it. But rather, it's a question of how much blood would be spilled before he did claim it. And before you get the idea in your head about removing him permanently, don't. We've all seen what that outcome looks like. Doing so now will also turn the Starks fully against us, despite our relationship with Ned. And I'm sure the snakes and those grasping roses wouldn't hesitate to join his side either."
Jon's eyes narrowed even further till they were little more than slits. "You make it sound as if the kingdom has already fallen to him. And you intend to do nothing."
"I intend to do something, Jon," Robert countered, earning a quick look of satisfaction from Jon. Though he knew from the way this conversation had been going that it would be short-lived. "I'm going to offer Nox a seat at my table for both himself and his wife. To take him in as an advisor and appoint him to the Small Council. Instead of pushing him away or minimalizing his accomplishments and denying him his due, I'm going to befriend the man, not chase him away and push him into the arms of our enemies."
Jon was clearly not pleased with his decision. "And when he decides he doesn't have enough and wants more?"
Robert just shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. "Then I hope that he will only do so when he is in a position to achieve his goal with as little bloodshed as possible. Because in truth, Jon, when it comes to Nox, that is the only thing we can do."