Chapter 17: Marriages

“Your Grace, we really must stop meeting this way,” I drawled as I entered Robert’s room.

He laughed before wincing in pain. “Odysseus, you cruel bastard,” he gasped. “Everything hurts. Don’t make me laugh, I beg.”

I sighed, shook my head. “Really, Your Grace. What happened this time?” I asked as I began to treat him, once again pretending to use Chinese massage. It went much faster with my improved reserves and greater finesse, but he had been in quite poor shape. If it weren’t for some upgrades I had made to his kidneys and liver the last time, he would likely have died before I made it back.

“Ah, one of the servants. Had some debts. Was told he could either put something in my food, or die. The fool. I would have paid him twice that to have a chance at these fucking traitors,” Robert grumbled.

I hummed. “And there was no one found? The man behind the servant escaped?”

Robert nodded. “Aye. And a fucking shame it is too,” he said darkly. “I swear, when I catch whoever’s behind this, I’ll shove my hammer up their throat.”

“Up their throat, Your Grace?”

He smiled viciously. “That’s right. Up their throat. Starting a good bit lower, of course, through a different hole entirely.”

I chuckled at the imagery.

“I think it’s clear, Your Grace, that we need to get a new Master of Whisperers sooner rather than later,” I suggested. “And perhaps have new servants brought in from men loyal to you and your brothers.”

He grunted as I worked on a particularly tight spot. “You’re not the first to suggest it. Going to tell me who I should marry too?”

“Well, as you mention it, I still think Lady Margaery might make a good choice,” I said, pretending that his question had been serious.

His eyes flashed. “They sided with the Mad King and Rhaegar,” he complained.

I nodded. “They did. But that was the previous generation. Loras was but a babe then, and is a good friend of your brother’s now. Margaery wasn’t even born. And it’s a good move politically. If Dorne were to rise up, and Highgarden were to join them, it might even convince the Westerlands that they should cause some trouble in Tywin’s memory.

“But if the Reach is loyal, then Dorne is surrounded on them on the one side and the Stormlands on the other. Likewise, the Lannisters are flanked by the Reach and the Riverlands. Of the remaining territories, you know that the North is loyal, and the Vale still remembers you. The Riverlands will side with family, which means the North and the Vale, which means you, Your Grace. The Ironborn are a bunch of opportunistic curs; they’ll stay bottled up if there’s no weakness.”

Robert sighed. “I had thought of waiting a few years and wedding Sansa,” he admitted. “To be Ned’s family in truth. I feel like I have poorly rewarded the Starks for all they have done for me.”

Pervy old man; you can have Margaery, but not Sansa. No matter how annoying she can be, she was still partially my responsibility to protect. I would have suggested having Sansa marry Renly, if I didn’t think he was gay and entirely too content and able to manipulate her to his own ends. That wouldn’t make for a happy marriage either.

I shook my head. “Perhaps one of your children with your next wife, Your Grace, and one of Ned’s. Rickon and Bran are both young enough that if you have a daughter in the next few years they might make a good match. Or one of his grandchildren, come to think of it; Robb’s of an age to marry soon. My lord will love you as a brother regardless, and needs no further honors to do so. But the realm would do better if you were wed, and had some heirs, and the Reach has the best candidate for that.”

Robert lay back with a sigh. “I suppose you are right,” he finally accepted. “Did you have thoughts for the Master of Whisperers?”

In fact, I had. Both Tyrion Lannister and Oberyn Martell were decent candidates, if it weren’t for the fact that they’re politically unreliable. The Blackfish likely still wouldn’t leave his niece, and was thus stuck in the Vale. The North, Vale and Stormlands were generally less political, while the Riverlands used less subterfuge. Or at least, I didn’t know of anyone from there who was both suitable and wouldn’t misuse the office.

But I did have an idea. Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns. She was meant to be quite the character, and extremely cunning. Granted she was pushing seventy, but I could make sure she had a few more good years in her, and it would be a way to give the Tyrell’s influence at Court to match Margaery’s new station without letting that bumbling oaf Lord Mace Tyrell get involved.

I just wasn’t sure how Robert would react to the suggestion.

“I have some ideas, Your Grace, but they are not firm ones. I’d prefer to raise them in the small council. Anyways, I’ve finished the treatment. Same as last time; take a piss, drink some clean, unpoisoned water, and don’t drink for a couple of days.”

He nodded vigorously, springing out of bed. “By the Gods, Odysseus! You are truly a miracle worker,” he boomed, then picked me up in a bear hug before putting me down. “I swear, a day or two after your treatments and I feel even better than before!”

Well, that’s because you are better than before, you great lummox.

I grinned. “It’s the contrast, Your Grace. Your body is simply overjoyed not to be poisoned. And the lower amounts of alcohol in your system helps too.”

He frowned. “Bah, now you sound like Erreck. Always going on about the benefits of boiled water strained through charcoal.”

I raised my eyebrows. “The Grand Maester is entirely correct, Your Grace. Pure, clean water is quite healthy, and using boiling filtered water to make healthy teas can be beneficial as well.”

He just looked at me and sighed. “But what’s the pointing in living, if it’s not to live well? And who lives well if they don’t drink? I tell you truly, Odysseus, being dead inside your heart is just as terrible a fate as being dead in truth. I’ll help you with that; you’ll sit alongside me at dinner, and we will be drunk and merry!” he announced with a wide grin.

I laughed, shaking my head at his antics. “Very well, Your Grace. But not tonight. Two days from now, remember?”

“Bah. I’ll have to be more careful not to be poisoned again, if this is the sort of care I get,” he complained sarcastically as he opened the door to his room.

Ser Barristan, who had been standing by the door and obviously heard everything spoke up. “If it will make you more careful, Your Grace, perhaps you should forebear from wine for three days.”

We all laughed.

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Later, I reported back to Lord Stark about my return and the king’s renewed good health. I also introduced him to Nevermore.

“Say hello to Lord Stark,” I said, sounding like one of those idiot pet owner that think their animal is really no different from a young child. Ned looked at me with a bit of confusion.

Then Nevermore turned his too clever eyes to point at Ned. “ ‘Ello, Lord Stark,” he cawed. “I am Nevermore!”

Ned’s eyes were wide. “It talks,” he muttered in disbelief.

Nevermore cawed in disagreement. “He talks! I’m a he, not an it,” he complained.

Ned blinked a couple of times, still not quite believing his senses. “My apologies, Master Raven,” he said on autopilot. But that was Ned; unfailingly honorable and proper.

“Of course, of course,” Nevermore replied. “We can’t all have them fluffy dresses, or massive mounds of tender fat to tell apart girl from boy like you humans.”

I facepalmed. I should never have made the raven conversational. And how he ended up with the local equivalent of a cockney accent was utterly beyond me.

“Ser Odysseus, why does the raven talk?” Ned asked, begging for the world to make sense.

“Because I’ve got things to say!” chirped Nevermore / “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I replied.

I still couldn’t tell if the bird was always taking the piss, or the universe had decided I needed some insightful yet clueless comic relief. Either way, I got a headache anytime the bird spoke for more than a minute. At least Togo seemed to share my pain. Then again, he seemed to be blaming me for the situation, so maybe that wasn’t such a good thing…

“Ok, ok, enough for now, Nevermore,” I ordered. “Why don’t you go for a fly.” And in a flutter of wings Nevermore was off.

Ned drew a deep breath, then another before he spoke. “You know, Odysseus,” he said with an artificial calm. “I really am not sure I was ready for a talking raven.”

I nodded. “As it turns out, neither was I.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “What were you thinking? I mean, do you just go off into the woods, and get bored, and think I know, I’ll make a raven able to speak?”

I laughed. That was actually pretty damned accurate, though the talking bit was more of a fortuitous accident.

When I was doing the auditory link something must have interacted with the memory improvement and suddenly Nevermore could speak. Come to think of it, I needed to fix that auditory link enchantment at some point, make it more of a telephone and less of a station-to-station telegraph so that I could add Togo and Aethon onto it without building up some tangled mess of enchantments right next to my brain. Yet another thing for the list.

And while I’m thinking of the list, maybe I should add a Togo-like dog for Ned and Robert; it would certainly cut down on the poisonings.

I shook my head and drew my focus back to the matter at hand, namely, why Nevermore speaks. “That’s not entirely incorrect,” I admitted. “Really, Nevermore is meant to be a scout and carry messages. I can see through his eyes and hear through his ears. But I also made him able to remember conversations. And then he just started speaking.”

Ned sighed. “Of course,” he said, somewhat used to my antics. Then again, I’d never created a whole new obviously (semi) intelligent species before.

“So, not to change the topic or anything, but I’m changing the topic. I was speaking to Robert earlier; I think he’ll go for marrying Margaery Tyrell.”

Ned brightened up. “That’s good to hear,” he said. “It would help the Realm’s stability if the Reach were to brought in closer with the Crown.”

I nodded. “I was thinking about that. Given that Sansa isn’t going to be marrying Joffrey,” I said, watching as Ned winced at that reminder, “I was thinking that it might be a good idea for her to marry Willas Tyrell.”

Ned looked a little shocked. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Willas Tyrell?” he questioned.

“Yes,” I answered. “It strengthens both the Stark and the Crown. A second marriage alliance, to the heir of Highgarden especially, would even more firmly bring the Reach into the fold. Beyond that, Sansa is the daughter to the Lord Paramount of the North, cousin to the Lord Paramount of the Vale, and the granddaughter to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. If she marries Willas that would make four of the great houses with close familial ties to the Starks, and the Reach has a lot of food that could help during Winter.”

“And why not Renly?” Ned asked, wanting to hear my reasoning.

“Renly is firmly wedded to the Crown as is, he can hardly rebel against his brother,” I joked. “Beyond that, he has less to offer the North. But perhaps most importantly, I believe Sansa will be happy with Willas. He is by all accounts a good lord, a kind man, gentle with animals; the fact that he is like that after being crippled speaks to a strong character. Sansa believes too strongly in storybook tales, in pious, true knights, dastardly villains, and the eventual and relatively painless triumph of good. She lacks the teeth, physical or political, to truly protect herself. I don’t know that Renly, who is relatively untested, is the right man for her. I think Willas might be.”

I wasn’t sure whether to say my suspicions of Renly and Loras, but decided that doing so was better than not, and so continued. “Beyond that… I have seen the way that Loras looks at Renly, and Renly Loras. I do not judge them for it if it is the case, and I am sure that each will do their respective duties with regards to fathering heirs either way, but I cannot help but suspect that there is more than simple friendship between them.”

It took him a moment to catch on. “Ah. Ah! I see. Yes, that could make for an unhappy marriage,” he mused, grimacing a bit at the thought. “I’ll think on what you’ve said, Odysseus, and speak to Sansa as well.”

I nodded my head in an approximation of a bow. “Very good, my Lord.”

===================================

Two days later, I allowed myself to get roaringly drunk with Robert. We had a grand time.

The next day in the small council he announced that he would be asking the Tyrells for Margaery’s hand. Renly seemed pleased.

In the ensuing discussion about the Master of Whisperers, Stannis proposed Ser Davos Seaworth. The man had extensive contacts among Braavos and the Free Cities, but was relatively weak on internal affairs, especially among the nobility. I had initially proposed Olenna Tyrell. She might have been female, a mark against her in that society, but she was wickedly intelligent and had a powerful grasp of the political movements within the Seven Kingdoms. That said, she was far less connected outside of Westeros, and had few connections to the lower classes.

I actually preferred the solution we came up with; a new position was added, the Director of Foreign Intelligence, who would serve to manage spying activities outside of the Seven Kingdoms, working closely with the Master of Ships, Master of Coins and Master of Whisperers as their interests intersected. Ser Davos was made the first Director of Foreign Intelligence, and it was agreed that Lady Olenna would be offered the position of Mistress of Whisperers.

The next morning, the ravens went out, and by the end of the week we had received their agreement. In some five to seven weeks the Tyrells would be at court. Three months after that Robert would wed Margaery.

Meanwhile Davos, at Stannis’ order, had already prepared the first foreign intelligence briefing for the small council. The results of which meant another adventure for yours truly.