Chapter 20: Chapter 20
Even with all that Tiresias wished to change in Westeros, he'd always been able to keep some normalcy in his routine. Sleeping, eating, training, reading, a little leisure now and then. He could still be human, confident with his knowledge of future events.
But do I still know what's coming now? Have I changed too much?
He sat in the Great Hall for breakfast, trying to muster his way through some porridge. It was a losing battle and he found himself glancing at the high table again and again. At little Cara Stark, not Rickon.
By all accounts, Cara was a delightful babe, only a few months old, but beginning to smile widely. He hadn't met her yet, not trusting himself to keep control should he gaze at the child who took Rickon's place.
It's not her fault, he told himself for the hundredth time. It's only mine. It's all my fault.
So confident with everything he was affecting, he assumed that Rickon was inevitable. That Lord and Lady Stark would have one more babe and the babe would be little Rickon. Not taking into account that Ned and Catelyn were now taking different paths in their lives. Not incredibly different, but enough to alter the conception of their fifth child. Perhaps Ned was tired on a day that he wasn't before. Perhaps Catelyn had something on her mind and she wasn't in the mood. He just couldn't know.
He returned to his porridge and forced down another bite. It wouldn't do to forever speculate about this. People only came into the world by pure chance after all. Counting on the fact that one's parents fucked at the exact right time for one to be born. And their parents before them. And their parents and their parents. It all just went on and on, creating an infinite web of circumstances that allowed one to come into the world.
He had altered those circumstances the minute he woke up in Westeros. And Rickon wouldn't be born because of that. He would have to accept that and move on. He would be useless otherwise.
However, it would take more time on his part. He couldn't get over his guilt this morning. The porridge remained unfinished when he stood up to leave for the library. But he couldn't resist another look back at the high table. Even from this distance, he could see Cara smile and he thought of his niece for the first time in a long time.
Clark's niece, not yours…Tiresias has no niece.
Averting his eyes, he saw Mal fetching his bowl and seeing his unfinished meal. She turned to him. He saw reproach and concern in her brown eyes. Inexplicably, he felt his heart lift slightly at the sight. He didn't know why. Not willing to dwell on it, he turned quickly and exited.
Months later, Tiresias waited in the Warden's solar. Surprisingly it wasn't often that he called Ned Stark for these meetings. Only once every few months would they drop all pretense and speak alone about the coming dangers. In the sennights or months in between, he sometimes forgot that he used to be someone else and that these people in Winterfell were soon about to resemble their show counterparts exactly.
Especially the children. Sansa and Arya were still children but Robb, Jon and Theon were beginning to hit puberty and it was shocking at some points to turn a corner and see their increasingly familiar faces.
Anyway, there didn't seem to be a need to continuously remind Ned Stark of the impending doom. The dragonglass continued to be shipped in and weapons were fashioned as they came. Mikken used his apprentices to forge the dragonglass, as Tiresias suggested. They saw it as good practice. The idea of where to store the dragonglass, however, came from Lord Stark himself.
The crypts below Winterfell ran deep and they were forbidden to all who were not named Stark. Or at least heavily discouraged to enter. Two guards stood at the entrance at all times. Lord Stark appeared a more religious man than usual, visiting the underground crypts a few times a week. Each time the Lord entered the crypts, he withdrew the dragon glass hidden under his furs and added to the stockpile, bit by bit. One afternoon, he escorted Tiresias down, after they have been importing the dragonglass for a single year.
Tiresias saw what had been piled and his soft swear carried throughout the catacombs. Rows upon rows of dragonglass daggers were stacked along a deep tunnel. And this was only the first year of the dragonglass deal. Sure it wasn't as large of a collection as he saw before the Battle of Winterfell. But after eight years, or more, if the civil war didn't disrupt the trade, they would have more than enough dragonglass to arm every Northern soldier, plus however many Free Folk fighters came to their side. The ones that will survive anyway.
And not all of it was here at Winterfell. They started to ship dragonglass to Castle Black about six months ago. Not that the Night's Watch believed in its value. The rumors of the White Walkers were growing stronger and beginning to be believed as fact among the Rangers. However, most of the Night's Watch was still resistant to the possibility of the supernatural.
So, Lord Commander Mormont hid a little away, as Lord Stark did, for the right time when it was demanded. For now, the majority of the dragonglass went beyond the Wall. Benjen Stark had not reported a single White Walker in his sighting, but the talks between them and the Free Folk were growing a little more frequent and a little less threatening. However, about three months ago, when Benjen appeared at their parlay with dragonglass, it was accepted more eagerly.
Only took a few years for you bastards to try it and the word to spread, but whatever…
The Free Folk never admitted to victories or even skirmishes with the wights. However, in that parley, they interrogated Benjen fiercely about the dragonglass, where it came from and how much could they get past the Wall. Benjen agreed to a trade with Lord Mormont's blessing. And so the talks became more frequent, the Free Folk more punctual and finally word reached Benjen Stark that Mance Rayder would be willing to come down and talk.
Of course, all of this was privileged information. As far as most members of the Night's Watch were concerned, Benjen was getting far too friendly with the wildling fuckers. It began when he led Craster's wives south through the tunnel. Despite the fact that they had caused no trouble and integrated well enough on Bear Island, that mercy and his wildling parlays had affected his reputation at Castle Black.
Commander Mormont protected him as best he could and Benjen swore to his Warden brother that his life was not in danger. Still, he was running out of time. There was only so much peaceful banter that could be tolerated before the more extreme factions of the Watch lost their patience.
The White Walkers have to be brought into the fold a little earlier, thought Tiresias more than once. Something dangerous has to snap these idiots out of killing each other. Otherwise, there will be blood and many, many corpses for the Night King.
He heard Lord Stark's trudging footsteps approaching. The house guard as per usual were left at the end of the corridor. Ned entered and shut the door, crossing to his desk and sitting down. Out of all the people in Winterfell, Ned Stark was coming to resemble his character on the show the quickest. He guessed that knowing the threat of the White Walkers coming south and the future southern war beforehand did nothing to relieve his stress. However, if it was too much for the Warden, he never said it.
Tiresias stood before him, waiting patiently. Maybe it was years of living in a feudal system or the respect he had for this man, but he was a bit more deferential than he was the first time he stood in this solar. The chair remained by the hearth.
Finally Lord Stark looked to him.
"Well, would you care to begin or should I?"
Tiresias shrugged. "Probably you, my Lord. If I'm being honest, I really never know how much to tell you or what. I have a few points though. And I believe that this is to be one of those days where I reveal something very upsetting."
One could hear a pin drop in the solar. No one had bothered to light the fire.
"So, we might as well start light," said Tiresias.
Ned almost chuckled. "If only storing food for the harshest winter in living memory was a light task."
"Is there a problem with the food storage, my Lord?"
"No, no. All the farmers are having exceptional yields. They're beginning their fourth cycle as we speak. Irrigation should start in the coming fortnight and the new fields that we developed have only bolstered our intake. After last harvest, the Broken Storage is only a quarter full. Actually a little more. Within five years, we should be at four-fifths capacity. Should events proceed as you have seen, that will leave us enough time to really stock up before we're no longer able. At that point as well, the Reach will reach their capacity in storage and the surplus will drive down their cost. They'll want to sell and ship their crops before they're ruined. We'll continue until the last minute. And then there will be enough food to feed us for years. It won't be very comfortable, but we'll survive."
Tiresias nodded, taking it all in. He glanced at the Broken Stores out the window. Not the most creative name, but it did serve a good reminder as to what was there before. After the Broken Tower was taken down, that building took a year to build, but when it was done, it increased the food storage capacity to something absurd. Luwin seemed slightly amused when he calculated it.
Also it was a little bit of an eyesore and some of the talk around the castle was a little derisive of Lord Stark and his overly cautious ways. However those were usually the thoughts of the young. The older residents of Winterfell admonished those dismissive of the cold and the real hunger that accompanied it. They knew what starvation was, and in their eyes, the slightly awkward building was worth not going hungry in the next winter.
Tiresias returned his gaze to Lord Stark.
"And the Night's Watch?"
"No update since the last. No White Walkers. No wights. Mance is still a ghost. Although my brother is assured that should he not appear within the next year, he will the following."
Resisting the urge to grit his teeth, Tiresias thought of Lord Stannis.
"And the dragonglass? Is Lord Stannis still incurious?"
Ned mulled the question over. "I wouldn't say that, but fortunately King's Landing provides him with enough distraction. He leaves the running of Dragonstone to Maester Cressen. If he's revisited the matter since it was first approved, he hasn't informed me."
"Well, the dragonglass is still coming. That's good. I suppose if we leave the matter alone, Stannis will."
Ned nodded and silence fell in the solar. It endured for a while before Tiresias chuckled.
"It's been a while since one of those quiet moments."
"Are you bracing for an unpleasant truth?" asked Lord Stark.
"I suppose. You should be too."
There was a glint in Lord Stark's eye that only appeared when they spoke of this. Tiresias met it easily, but it took a few meetings to do so. A few meetings of truths that will quietly shift the direction of the story. Hopefully.
"It's funny," said Tiresias. "I feel as I always do. Not knowing where to start. I apologize. I imagine it's rather annoying."
"Is it my bannermen?" asked Ned, his voice low.
Tiresias shook his head. "No…well…" He reconsidered. "Perhaps…what I wish to speak of today concerns King Robert and his hand, Jon Arryn."
Ned nodded slowly.
"All right…what about King Robert and Jon?"
Tiresias repeated his mantra.
Fuck me. Here we go.
"In a matter of years, before the White Walkers invade…Jon Arryn will die. And no, I cannot save him."
Ned's face seemed frozen, although after a few seconds, his eyes traveled to the desk. Tiresias let them rest there for a while. He couldn't blame Lord Stark for his reaction. Lord Arryn was like a father to him and in a way, this was worse than just hearing of a loved one's passing. To know they'll die and that one will be powerless to stop it.
At least that's what Tiresias believed. He truly did. He may have killed Littlefinger, but if the state of affairs in King's Landing aren't altered too extremely, Lord Arryn will start to look at Robert's bastards around the city. He'll notice the same things that he noticed before. He'll read the same book of lineages and he'll discover the same thing...
He couldn't imagine him living long afterwards. Cersei or Jaime or Pycelle will ensure his demise before he brings his suspicions to Robert. Littlefinger merely took advantage of a perfect situation to incite the war. So even with Littlefinger taken out, Tiresias still suspected that Jon Arryn will be killed by some party in King's Landing. A party that needed silence when it came to the truth of Cersei's children.
He hoped he was right. As much as it meant wishing death on another man. He hated himself for it.
Ned collected himself and looked back up at Tiresias.
"Why?"
Tiresias shook his head.
"I can't say."
"The hell you can't." Lord Stark stood from his desk. He was still in control but his frustration was apparent. "I want you to tell me exactly why Lord Arryn died and why I can't save him."
"My visions of Westeros didn't include him."
"Your visions…you seem to see a lot in these visions, and yet you can't see the Lord Hand of the Seven Kingdoms…"
"He was already dead," said Tiresias, raising his voice slightly. "The first vision I had included his funeral. He was never alive when I saw him."
He wished the fire was lit. He was desperate for something to fill the silence. It would be worth the stifling heat. Ned continued to stare at him. He had to be the one to continue.
"It's not how he died that's important. It's what happens after, what his passing triggers and it will be catastrophic. It's the event that begins the war in the South, though that's not how it appears."
Ned sat back down, sighing. His frustration was replaced with a deep sadness. However, he refocused and looked to Tiresias.
"What happens?"
"Well, obviously the King needs a new hand. He ignores all suggestions of any southern Lords and rides straight here. Not only to offer you the position of Hand of the King, but the hand of Prince Joffrey in marriage to Sansa as well. You accept both. This, Lord Stark, will be the biggest mistake of your life. Within a year in King's Landing, Robert will be dead and you'll follow him soon. Prince Joffrey will take your head and that will kick off the war."
Ned stared at him silently. Tiresias had debated so much of this conversation with himself. What to tell and what not and the beheading of Lord Stark was one of his most contested points. Ultimately he decided for it and he hoped it was the right call.
Lord Stark cleared his throat.
"Why?"
"You discover a secret in King's Landing. Before you're able to tell Robert, he is killed and then you are killed to ensure silence."
Not technically true, but it will do.
"What truth?" asked Ned.
Tiresias sighed. "That King Robert Baratheon has no trueborn heirs. None by Queen Cersei. Only bastards."
Ned blinked. He probably had never seen Cersei's children before so it wasn't obvious.
"No trueborn heirs?"
Tiresias shook his head. "None."
"But…but the three royal children, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, all Baratheons…"
"Only in name."
Ned took it all, breathing steadily.
"Their real father?"
Oh boy…
"Ser Jaime Lannister."
Now the solar was very quiet. And it remained that way for a decent amount of time.
"The Queen's brother?"
"The same."
"All of them…his?"
"All three. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are no Baratheons. Their true name is Waters. And they are as blonde as their father."
"Jaime Lannister," Ned almost growled. "I knew he had no honor, but this…"
"Jaime Lannister has made many mistakes," Tiresias interjected before Ned could continue. "But he is vital to the future I saw and I would advise you not to go running off to King's Landing, demanding his head."
"So I am to say nothing of this to Robert?" he asked incredulously.
"That's right," said Tiresias, more coolly than he perhaps meant. "You will say nothing because to say anything would jeopardize the safety of your family and the fragile peace that keeps the South running.
"You may say nothing, however…you may act on it. That's why I told you."
Lord Stark looked at him like he never really seen him before.
"You knew this the moment you first walked into Winterfell and said nothing?"
"That's right. I told you from the beginning that I couldn't speak of all that I knew in one afternoon. If I did, you would have thrown yourself onto Ice and ended it. There are things that I still haven't spoken of and things that I'll perhaps never speak of. This is a delicate act, Lord Stark and in order to survive, we need to act delicately. At least you do. You're somebody in this kingdom. I'm not. I can afford a bit of foul play."
The lines in Lord Stark's forehead decreased. He took that as a good sign.
"How you may act…I recommend that you take proactive measures to arm yourself against the Lannisters and Robert Baratheon. Jon Arryn will die and when he does, your friend will come north and practically beg you to come south. He'll offer his son's hand in marriage. Or demand, really. I doubt a king really offers or begs anything.
"So you will need betrothals and fast. Anything to keep Sansa, or even Arya, out of Joffrey's grasp."
Ned blinked. "Ayra? Why Arya?"
"Robert fantasizes about uniting his family and yours. It's a dream that goes back to his pining for Lyanna."
They rarely spoke of Jon Snow's mother. Ned seemed to understand at once, but Tiresias voiced it anyway.
"Even though Arya is the second daughter, Robert might be so desperate that he betroths Joffrey to Arya anyway, should Sansa be unavailable. I know that Arya will hate it, but perhaps if you explain that it's only for her protection and that she can break it if she wants, however…"
He trailed off, sighing. He felt very tired all of a sudden.
"Do you wish to sit?" asked Lord Stark. He sounded tired as well.
Tiresias nodded. "I would, thank you."
Ned Stark joined him at the hearth and they both sank into the chairs. Though there was no fire, they still stared at the empty pit.
"This is a damn mess," murmured Ned.
"Of course," agreed Tiresias. "It's the perfect way to start a war."
"How could this all have happened?"
Because some old man in my world decided it would make for an exciting story? And put pen to paper?
Tiresias shrugged. "Men…well, not just men. Women too. They've all just made it much more complicated than it needs to be. Everyone, they just make choices every day that seem smart or good in the short run and they don't mind if it's selfish or wrong if they just feel good today. No one believes that their decisions will catch up to them. And in a few years, they'll be proven wrong. A fire is going to catch in the Seven Kingdoms and it will rage and destroy us all before the White Walkers even cross.
"And to be honest, Lord Stark, I'm not sure if I can save the South."
Ned continued to stare, but Tiresias could tell he was listening.
"Maybe in a couple of years, I'll go down. See what I can do. What's changed, but…" He sighed. "I honestly don't see what I can do. It's hard enough to save one kingdom. That's why my main piece of advice has always been, when in doubt, stay in the North."
"You'll have me abandon my friend?" Ned asked quietly.
"Aye, I would." He sighed again. "Lord Stark, I won't pretend that I like Robert Baratheon. He's amusing and he seems fun, but he's also a man who will gladly kill your nephew for who his father was. You obviously know this. He whores and drinks, which are fine in moderation, but he lets the kingdom rot while he does so.
"Now don't get me wrong. I don't give a flying fuck about kings. My point is that Robert Baratheon is already dying. He's slowly killing himself. You'll see it when he rides north. You'll barely recognize him. You'll see a miserable man who's blind to his surroundings."
He spoke softly to try and lessen the blow, but Ned was silent when he ended. And he knew it was his turn to wait. Fortunately, he didn't wait long.
Ned turned to face him. "How can I refuse him when he comes?"
Tiresias met his gaze and Ned sighed.
"I'm not speaking because he's my friend. I'm speaking because there are only so few times you can offend a king before you incur serious consequences. Offering me the position of Hand and betrothing my daughter to the future King. And coming to Winterfell himself to do so…it will be seen as a great insult if I refuse him on both offers. And if Sansa is already engaged, and he just passes the offer down to Arya and I refuse that as well…"
He sighed again and turned back to the hearth. Tiresias imagined that scenario himself and thanked God it was so far away. He certainly didn't know how to navigate it.
"I didn't say it was easy," he murmured. "I told you I'm no politician. Perhaps you and Luwin can find a way, discretely. But I'm afraid I don't know how you will manage Robert's feelings. You're right. There's only so far you can push a king's friendship."
"I'll start with the betrothals," Ned stated softly. The focus in his eyes was back and he was ready for something. "It may not hold, but it will be something. Catelyn and I will discuss it in the coming months. My only concern is that if these engagements remain unbroken against the request of a king, then they must be seen through."
Running his hand over his face, Tiresias sighed.
"Well, perhaps just Robb and Sansa then. Not to be cruel, but I don't see Robert surviving long enough to force Arya to wed Joffrey. Who knows? He might even die before Sansa's wed."
Ned's face tightened.
"Is it absolutely vital that all of my children marry in the North?"
Tiresias shrugged. "Perhaps the Vale will be safe. But honestly, I wouldn't tie yourself to any Southern house now. Something is coming for them, even after the civil war."
"And what would that be?"
He shook his head, resisting the urge to smile at the Warden.
"I'm afraid that's going to have to wait until another day, my Lord."
The meeting was over, Tiresias could tell. Perhaps Ned could handle more, but the man had just learned the secret that will drive the Seven Kingdoms to ruin. He learned of Lord Arryn's future death, of Robert's and even of his own. And he had to keep it all to himself.
He wondered if he caused any strain in Ned's marriage. Whether Catelyn noticed the weight of the world on her husband's shoulders. Perhaps that had always been Ned's way.
He rose to leave, though he paused at the door.
"My Lord," he said. Ned turned to him. "I'm not just warning you against marrying Prince Joffrey because of his bastardy. That doesn't matter to me, though the incest is…well, it's gross, but I'm warning you because he's a monster and he enjoys cruelty. And Sansa will be distracted by his pretty exterior and not notice the rot before it's too late. When he takes your head and she is forced to watch."
He inclined his head and made to leave before Ned spoke.
"And the other two? Myrcella and Tommen? Are they cruel as well?"
Tiresias shook his head.
"No. No, they're not." He chuckled without finding anything funny. "Not quite sure how they managed it, but they're good children."
"Robert will kill them if he finds out."
Tiresias shrugged. "Well, I won't tell him if you won't."
He knocked the wooden door lightly. He needed some luck.
"One day at a time, my lord. One task after another."
He left the Lord of Winterfell to his thoughts. That conversation didn't go as well as he had hoped. For all he knew, Ned Stark might try to still save those in King's Landing. He hoped he could douse such desires, even though he understood them. But at least Robert wouldn't catch the Stark household off guard when he marched up here.
Ned was right. They needed firm reasons to reject the generous offers of a king. The North couldn't afford to lose its men and resources before the White Walkers invaded. Again.
The betrothals were perhaps not enough, but it was something. As for Ned refusing the position of the Hand of the King…perhaps that would be more difficult.
Who knows? The North was probably going to get more complicated in the next few years. Perhaps Ned Stark could just point out the obvious and insist that he must stay to sort it out and tell Robert to go fuck himself.
In more diplomatic terms, of course.
Following his discussion, he didn't speak again to Ned privately for months. So he didn't know for certain how the Lord of Winterfell was taking his advice.
He did hear rumors though. Of potential suitors to Robb. Names came to him through various whispers. Alys Karstark, though she was Sansa's age, was suitable for a future betrothal. If Robb wasn't to wait longer for his bride to come of age, there was Wynafred Manderly. Lyra Mormont was whispered once, but as she wasn't the first born Mormont, he didn't put much stock into that scenario.
During lessons one week, he found himself looking at Robb in the library. Talisa came to his mind for the first time in years. The night when she confessed her reason for coming to Westeros. That night when he broke his vow...
I'm sorry, Talisa, he wondered more than once. Not for preventing her death at the Twins. But she and Robb…they certainly did love each other. And now she was just another person that Tiresias would apologize to in his mind.
Coming back to the current potential betrothals, it actually disturbed him to hear the rumors. If he was hearing them here, he could only imagine how far the news was traveling beyond Winterfell. That Lord Stark was now seeking a bride for his heir. After all, it wasn't every day that a future Lord Paramount was engaged. It would certainly reach the Red Keep and the ears of Robert before they were ready. And in the King's mind, if Robb was ready to be promised, why not Sansa?
Tiresias refused to be stuck on that. Perhaps he was overreacting. Robb's future marriage was always going to bring speculation and jostling from the highborn. He wouldn't be surprised if it had started when Lady Catelyn first fell pregnant with him. All the Lords, and not just in the North, thinking of a powerful future son-in-law...
It was certainly on the minds of the children. About once a week, Robb was mercilessly teased, with Theon and Arya being the biggest agitators. In public, he reacted with the usual overblown embarrassment that delighted his teasers. When he wasn't playing though, he seemed to take the whole endeavor seriously. He knew his duty. He knew he was to rule Winterfell one day and an arranged marriage was part of it.
Tiresias hoped that was it and the talk of betrothals would mostly stay confined to Winterfell. No one spoke of a future husband for Sansa yet. For now, the maids had something new to gossip about. The house guards had something new to bet on. And the children had something new to tease about.
Unfortunately that was far from the only headache plaguing Tiresias. Something else was bothering him, sometimes to the point where he couldn't sleep and could barely concentrate on anything when he was awake.
It troubled him most days. One of these days found Tiresias pacing in the godswood during a windy spring afternoon. The weirwood tree was his only witness. Here he was alone, trying to hash out the thorn that was only burrowing deeper into his head.
In the aftermath of his talk with Ned Stark, he kept coming to the same question over and over again: why didn't he tell Lord Stark about Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons? Why hadn't he yet?
Actually, those questions led to another one: what the fuck was he going to do about Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons?
It was a good question and one that he had asked himself ever since he came to Winterfell. He had put it off. Always. Daenerys was far away. In Essos. Right now, she and Viserys were between the Free Cities, on the run. Trying desperately not to be killed.
He would be lucky to find them if he went and that would mean abandoning Westeros for a few years while he did so. And anything could happen while he was gone.
And the dragons…Viserion, Rhaegal and Drogon, all still eggs. Yet to be born.
Should they be?
That was another question that haunted him. These dragons were weapons. Ones that would be useful against the White Walkers.
Ones that would benefit the White Walkers too, should the Night King down another one.
Weapons that would also be under the sole control of one person. Determined to rule, not to be powerless. Never again. She would never more be the little girl hiding in alleyways. She would hatch her dragons. She would fly high. She would burn King's Landings to the ground…
Tiresias stopped himself and dropped, lying on the grass, staring at the sky. He had no idea how he laid there until he finally sat up. He crossed his legs and stared at the dark pool before him.
Whatever his reasoning, whatever his decision…he had to make it now. He didn't have a precise date for when Jorah Mormont would flee Westeros to escape justice. If he decided to stop Daenerys from hatching her dragons and halting her ascendency in its tracks, catching Jorah before he left wouldn't be the worst action.
However, if he decided to roll the dice and let her hatch her dragons again…he could remain silent.
But he had to decide. Rumors were already arriving at Winterfell of the dissatisfied wife of Lord Jorah. His spending was beginning to be noticed. Had he already begun to sell poachers into slavery? Tiresias didn't know. But it meant that the time was near for Jorah's exile. As tempted as Tiresias was to let fate run its course in this regard, he knew deep down if he didn't make a conscious decision whether or not to stop Daenerys…he would regret it.
He picked up a small stone and looked around. Once he was sure he was alone, he turned back to the pond.
"Reason for hatching three dragons," he murmured. "The Army of the Dead. Fire is one of the only things that can stop them. We need that firepower."
He tossed the stone in and picked up another.
"But do we need that firepower? If the Night King doesn't get his hands on Viserion or any other dragon…will we really need that kind of firepower to beat them back?"
Plop. The pond rippled as the stone sank.
"Probably…Jon Snow was seeking that firepower when he sailed down to Dragonstone. With the wights dragonless and firmly behind the Wall. Even if the Army of the Dead doesn't reach the size that it did previously…even if it's only fifty thousand or forty, it's still a tidal wave of unfeeling soldiers crashing into Winterfell. You can't beat that magic without magic."
Plop.
"Jon Snow sought help after the North was devastated. When they couldn't even summon ten thousand soldiers. We're already preparing for the White Walker invasion. We have years ahead of them…well, maybe not. They've been amping up too, but the point is we're working to fight them."
He turned the stone over in his hand.
Can a strong and united North beat back the Army of the Dead on its own?
Tiresias sighed. "I don't know…assuming that the Night King will find another way to cross the Wall…we have more time to make Winterfell battle-ready. We can hold them off, especially if they're a smaller force and if they don't have an undead dragon to cut through our defenses…maybe…"
He looked down at the stone.
"But that's me being arrogant …I'm underestimating the Night King. I'm counting on the Army of the Dead being smaller. On absolutely nothing going wrong in the North or the South to distract us from our task. I've heard little from beyond the Wall. What is Mance Rayder doing? Are the Free Folk moving south? Are they fighting? Are they losing? Even with dragonglass, will the White Walkers simply adjust their fighting strategy? They did in the show. Let the wights take the brunt of it. Just a sea of corpses."
Rolling the stone, it dawdled into the water.
And the South is still a tinderbox. One spark will ignite that goddamn war. Lannisters and Baratheons at each other's throats. How will the North stay neutral? If they stay neutral, they'll be screwed should they need help when the White Walkers come…
"All right, you're getting off-track." A soft bitter laugh escaped him. "What's the point? I shouldn't take out our biggest weapon out of the fight. It's too risky."
You did that already with the Valyrian dagger.
"All the more reason to keep the dragons in the fight. I can't guarantee that the Valyrian dagger will be there with the same fighter that Arya became to end the battle."
Dragonfire didn't stop him though. He smiled after a full blast from Drogon.
"Well, it sure as hell stopped a decent amount of his army. As long as he doesn't down one of them…"
Which sounded stupidly risky as he said it. He picked up another stone.
"Okay, okay…" He breathed in and held it, releasing on a four count.
The Army of the Dead, the Night King…you're taking care of that...sort of…but you've ignored the South for years. Killing Littlefinger…that's history, that's done…what happens when Daenerys Targaryen lands in Westeros? What will she be here to do?
He lifted his head and flung the stone into the pool.
"She's coming to conquer. And there's no such thing as a bloodless conquest. People are going to die…
"In an ideal world, if she had to come, if she didn't decide to burn the people, she could still topple someone I don't care for…but does that mean letting Joffrey rule for years beforehand? And what if the Tyrells entangle themselves again with the Lannisters? Margaery was probably the best queen for the South…but she'll be a target for Daenerys if she lands…"
His temples hurt and he rubbed them gently. He wanted to stop thinking about this, but he couldn't. He had to decide.
"If I make it south…and things proceeded relatively close to what happened, if Ser Barristan is dismissed and he goes to Essos…if Tyrion does…maybe I give warnings of the Sons of the Harpy…maybe if I could prevent Barristan's death…"
But even I keep her advisors alive and she doesn't feel alone when she comes west, will that curb her worst tendencies? When Ser Barristan was alive, he certainly couldn't.
And with those dragons, she will have sole control of three weapons of mass destruction. That will affect anyone's thinking. Anyone's perspective. Will she keep advisors close that counsel restraint? For how long? Aerys was sane when he was younger and he didn't have three dragons to help him descend into paranoia, going through different hands and confidants like changing clothes…
"And I'm arrogant," said Tiresias, picking up another stone. "If I allow her to come, thinking I can control her, even if it's indirectly through her advisors, I will be making the same mistake so many others did. She's a dragon. She'll act like one. And I can't control a dragon. No one truly can."
He flicked the stone across the water.
But Daenerys was more than just a dragon, just a Khaleesi. What about Mhysa? If you stop her, what about Grey Worm and Missandei? And so many others? Are you content to let them be enslaved? Along with the hundreds of thousands in Slaver's Bay?
Tiresias shook his head. "No." Even though, she left Essos probably ripe for the Masters to take over again…though a bloody rebellion is definitely one starting point for a different world…for better or worse...
He leaned back, feeling the grass tickle his neck.
Besides, even if Jorah is taken out of the picture, do you think Varys would let her die? He's tracking Viserys and Dany across the Free Cities and is responsible for the constant failures of Robert's assassins. He has influence across the Narrow Sea. Do you? If you decided to move against Dany, how could you even touch her?
"I couldn't." A thought came to him as well. "But if I decide not to kill her, I can't save her either. She's already traumatized. And I can't get to her and salvage the situation. It's too late."
Rickon Stark came to mind. The youngest Stark replaced and erased from existence. Would Drogon, Rhaegal and Viseron suffer the same fate if he intervened? If he put Daenerys on a different path as he did with Lord and Lady Stark?
"If I want her to bring the dragons to this fight, I have to let the story unfold as it did…as much as it can now…I have to let her suffer further."
His mind quieted for a minute. The wind sang lightly among the trees. He gripped a final stone.
So…you'll let her starve?
"Yes."
You'll let her be raped?
"Yes."
You'll let her hatch the dragons? In all her love and fury?
"Yes."
His arm hung limply at his side. Any desire to chuck it into the pond evaporated.
Whatever the dragons bring…it's now on you. If the Night King slays Viserion, if King's Landing burns, if half a million people die…that will be on you and her. Equally.
"I know." He felt the stone drop to the ground.
But I want to see dragons…it's so childish…but I do.
Tiresias exited the godswood. He never felt so stupid in his entire life. But he had made his decision.
Two months later, he was in the kitchens for the midday meal when he heard a commotion in the front courtyard. He exited to see Gord and other soldiers saddling up.
"Gord," he said, approaching him. "What's going on?"
"We're riding fast," said the big man, not slowing down. "Lord Jorah Mormont was reported to be selling poachers off his land into slavery. Lord Stark and us…we'll be riding out today for the King's Justice."
Tiresias found that his hands were tightly gripped and loosened them.
No…no, you're too late. Jorah's gone. All that will be left of him will be Longclaw…
All the soldiers halted what they were doing and sprung to attention. Tiresias turned to see Lord Stark entering the courtyard. Ser Rodrik strode behind him, carrying Ice.
Sensing this was not his place, Tiresias got out of the way, keeping to the sides as Lord Stark mounted his horse. As he turned, the Lord of Winterfell looked his way. Tiresias saw the obvious question in his eyes.
Did you know?
Part of him wanted to feign ignorance, but a larger part of him couldn't muster it. He met Lord Stark's eyes and didn't deny it. Ned seemed to sigh internally, wanting to ask why. But the horses were ready and they had to move. The gates opened and Ned spurned his horse forward, taking his place behind the front guard. Soon the soldiers were gone and the sounds of galloping hooves faded into the afternoon.
The courtyard returned to normal, as people continued their work. Tiresias stood still for far too long before returning to the keep, his midday meal quite forgotten.
You've just made a terrible mistake, Tiresias.
He entered his room and locked the door. He managed to kick off his boots before collapsing on top of the bed.
Maybe…but I'd probably say the same if I made the opposite decision as well.
He was more exhausted than he had any right to be. Sleep was coming fast.
I've made my bed. Now I get to sleep in it…although the saying should really be...you slept in your bed, now make it…
Whatever, it's done…I'll act accordingly.
Without further ado, he shut his eyes. That afternoon, he slept better than he had in months.
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