ASOIAF: Lord of Nature

(Edmund Mudd, Firmridge)

His lips thinned at the recent news.

Envoys from the Great Houses arrived one after the other, doing their best to distance themselves from their rebellious and now-extinct vassals.

Many were now looking at him with new eyes, realizing that, contrary to their hopes, the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Generally speaking, Edmund had overstepped the Crown's authority by wiping out these cretins without much input from the Great Lords. Still, due to the special circumstances, none of the noble Houses dared raise a fuss about these purges.

After all, the Unworthy had done the same with the Toyne after their failed assassination attempt.

Not only did the Crown have a legitimate cause, but the raw power his father wielded dissuaded the wiser ones from raising a fuss while sending the ambitious rats scampering back to their holes.

Thankfully, none of his father's direct vassals from the Heartlands and the Vale attempted anything stupid. Nearly a decade of rule and influence had shaped the two kingdoms directly under Mudd rule into firm Crown Strongholds.

A blessing if he had ever seen one.

The problem that was giving him a headache was the fact that Jon's father and the Dwarf were expected to arrive soon, both with legitimate concerns, concerns that would need his father's attention.

According to the shadows, the Lord of Casterly Rock desired a betrothal agreement between Myrcella and his son. Something Edmund was leery of accepting and there was also the issue that if he agreed without his father's express permission, then the older Mudd was likely to tan his hide.

Never mind Myrcella's reaction to getting sold off.

Just because he understood the difficulties the man was facing, didn't mean he was willing to sell his sister for a grain of loyalty from a House he otherwise greatly distrusted.

Hell, Aunt Cersei herself admitted that trusting a Lannister was akin to inviting a lion into a den of sheep. Nothing good came out of it. It was no surprise that Father kept a tight leash on her.

His father himself said, "Cersei is a cunning fool. She can easily procure the right tools, she just always finds a way to make a mess of things."

Lord Benjen's reasons were less apparent, the Northern Wolf being tight-lipped, much to the dismay of Lord Mooton who had nothing to show from hosting the Stark and his entourage at Maidenpool.

Edmund wasn't worried about Lord Stark scheming something, the Durrandons and the Starks were the only two Houses firmly on the Crown's side, otherwise his father would never have granted them the titles of Wardens. No, something had spooked the usually stoic Lord, and if the young prince's guess was correct, then it was just going to add to his headache.

That or the man intended to wed Jon with a Southerner of all things, and the thought of that would be both hilarious and troublesome.

The last thing the Starks should do at this moment was to wed a Southerner. Such a decision would not be well-received by their vassals. He was once again reminded of the tragic fate of the late Lord Stark and his heir, which soured his mood a bit.

Truly as his father liked to say, the Targaryen men of this generation were mad sacks of shit that were eternally burning in whatever hell they belonged to.

Speaking of the Durrandons. Steffon had it slightly better, the muscle-headed friend of his only had eyes for Allyria, which made it hilarious since Aunt Shara and Edric took great joy in teasing the two.

At least the maiden herself didn't seem opposed to such a prospect, though she made clear to the young Durrandon heir that he better not start emulating his late Uncle, or he'd lose more than just his manhood.

This had initially caused a bit of tension between the Dondarrions and their overlords, who had been seeking Allyria's hand. Though reportedly, Steffon had managed to ease the relationship between the two Houses quite swiftly.

He marveled at the raw charisma his self-proclaimed cousin wielded, there was no denying that the Young Stag was truly something. 

Making him glad that the two were close friends.

A polite knock could be heard, "Enter." Edmund said.

Once the shadow entered the Solar, he bowed his head in respect, "Your Highness, news has arrived from the East. Pentos has fallen." The shadow announced.

The Young Prince was taken by surprise at the news, it was assumed that the Pentoshi would put up an extended fight, this was a war for the continued existence of the magisters after all. 

His father would never allow the old guard within the city to maintain any semblance of power once he took control.

"A more detailed description of the successful siege has yet to arrive, but the message confirms that His Majesty made use of the Great Beasts once he arrived to reinforce Lord Stannis." The man explained, handing over the parchment.

That explains it, they were too dead to continue stubbornly resisting. Death had a way of dealing with the most bull-headed of people.

Taking a good look at the brief message, Edmund dismissed the steward who silently made his way out. This would greatly reduce the expected timeline, his father only needed to subdue what remained of Volantis and the Three Daughters and he would be able to return. 

As for what would happen to the traitorous Blackfyres, that was none of his concern. Knowing his Aunt's temper, Varys and his nephew were likely to suffer grievously.

That woman might not like him or his siblings, but he knew that she would take it personally that her 'kin' dared to attempt to harm any of his father's loved ones. She was weird like that.

Glancing at the parchment one more time, he tossed it aside once he found nothing else.

There was paperwork to be done, and he'd already wasted too much time contemplating the recent events.

…

(Erlend Mudd, Pentos)

Erlend loved Visenya with all his heart, but she could be damn frightening when she wanted to be.

From a practical perspective, Malora should realistically be the scariest one among his loved ones, but with her, you'd at least know that it was nothing personal. Even if she was operating on you while you're still alive.

Visenya on the other hand, not so much.

It was sort of inspiring knowing that even after losing his manhood, Varys could still experience a worse fate. His beloved Dragon Queen proved to her eunuch of a brother that there were far more terrifying experiences to a man, than just losing one's cock.

As for Faegon, the boy had mercifully died peacefully, a poisoned wine was all it took. His father and Uncle on the other hand, well that was a whole other matter.

He hasn't received any details about what exactly the fate of the fat Cheesemonger is, but Visenya did hold a personal grudge against the man for practically grooming her ditzy sister in this life.

No matter how much Visenya spoke flippantly about the still unnamed sister of hers, her pride rankled at the idea that a worm-like Moptis managed to get his grubby hands on a proud descendant of Valyria.

This was sort of anti-climactic. Decades were spent countering the influence and schemes of the spider and his cheesemonger, and all it took was an army, a few dragons, and a determined general to bring everything they built down to the ground.

Wait… Ignore what he just said.

After praying for the deceitful duo's tortured souls for a percentile of a second, Erlend shifted his attention to more important matters.

Doran was doing something stupid again, though surprisingly, not against Erlend this time. Rather against himself? This was perhaps one of the most convoluted plots he'd ever seen, and that was saying something, considering Erlend had practically mastered the art of scheming.

It was so outrageous, that it might just succeed, to the point that Erlend was even willing to forgive the old bastard for the annoyance he'd been to the Crown this past decade.

Should it succeed, that is.

He wasn't going to personally interfere this time, it was up to the Martells whether they sink or swim in these turbulent waters.

…

Having two very convincing reasons pressed against his head convinced Erlend quite easily to shift his attention toward his partner.

Visenya quickly skimmed through the paperwork on the desk, humming here and there when she found something particularly interesting, whilst Erlend not so discreetly rested his head on the twin prides of hers.

He could vaguely tell of a lavender scent on her body, no doubt having just cleaned herself of the stench of blood.

"So, how's life with a goddess in your head?" Erlend asked curiously.

Non-pulsed by the question, "Odd at first, but you get used to it after some time. Right now she refuses to speak to me after killing the brat." Visenya looked pleased with herself.

Erlend could easily imagine her breaking that particular news to the Cheesemonger, the fat mercenary had taken great pride in being the father of a dragon seed and had doted on his only legitimate child with much enthusiasm.

"He would have died anyway. Better peacefully than by the hand of the remaining sycophants in this wretched city. Also isn't she a goddess, surely she's seen enough death to get over it." Erlend turned to his wife, with confusion visible on his face.

"Oh no, nothing like that. She thinks I was too merciful to the boy. The brat defaced a few of her statues with some of his friends a while back. Said some crude shit while he was at it."

"In public?"

"Yeah, the little shit was in the market at the time I believe."

Silence filled the room as Erlend stared incredulously at his bemused partner. What the fuck did he just hear? 

For someone who had every intention to reign over a continent, one of the stupidest things one could do was to openly insult and deface the main faith of those lands. It wouldn't be all that difficult for a spy to pass that news on, by that time most of the lords were well aware of the Blackfyre's existence.

"Why haven't I heard of this before?" Erlend asked, surely his shadows would have informed him of this amusing news.

Visenya gave him a dry look, "They did, it was on one of the 'unessacory but interesting' stacks you burned when you got fed up with the paperwork."

Erlend wisely shut his mouth after that, deciding that relaxing on the two convenient cushions was far more interesting than continuing down that rabbit hole. Yes, he had his paperwork organized in different categorical stacks, it was better to get the more important ones before he threw himself into the less important bits.

It was also very therapeutic to burn the pointless ones when he got fed up with that shit.

While the two moved to the much comfier couch, "I'm curious, when are you going to inform the rest about your ascension to godhood? You've never bothered to hide your powers from them before." Visenya voiced the thought that had been nagging her for a while now.

Having his beloved lay on his chest certainly did things to him, "I'm waiting till I'm finished creating a new plane. My personal heaven you could say." He saw no reason to hide it from her, she'd know sooner or later.

"The maiden said you'd inherit both the Seven Hells and the Heavens from them, there would be no need to do so."

"Yes, but it wouldn't be ours. I intend to create one solely for us and it would avoid them being sucked into the reincarnation cycle without my permission."

Playfully tapping on his nose, "Aren't you a possessive one." She teased him, only to scrunch her nose adorably a few seconds later, undoubtedly remembering his lovers.

Erlend watched the changes in her expressions with amusement, it was obvious she was having a conversation with the goddess in her head. Taking advantage of her distraction, Erlend began peppering kisses on her neck.

This was enough to bring the Dragon Queen back to reality, as she moaned softly into his ears, at the not so gentle caress.

His gaze filled with desire "There's a much better way to spend our time, don't you think so, love?"

…

(Tyrion Lannister, ???)

The dwarf of Casterly Rock felt like tearing his hair out.

His entourage had been received less than warmly by his ever-distant vassals, who saw his marriage to Tysha as an insult to all that they stood for. 

This response infuriated him, considering how many of the Smallfolk had risen recently due to the King's reforms and the fact that they dared not show hostility to them. 

The Gentry was a new class introduced by the King, who was viewed by the landed nobility as their lessers, but important enough that marriage between the two sides wasn't out of the question.

Hypocrisy at its finest.

This was just what his House had done with the Clegane and Spicers, just without elevating them to nobility.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced at his wife and newborn child with a warm gaze. No matter the response of his worthless vassals, Tyrion would move mountains to ensure the safety and happiness of his family.

Even his late brother Jaime had failed to induce such emotions from him.

The travel-weary guardsmen kept their eyes peeled at all moments, ready to defend their liege and his family at all costs. 

Inspired by the King, Tyrion had shown great care towards his servants and guards, well aware that there were diamonds hidden in the rough, waiting to be polished and cleaned. Even going so far as to start a smaller-scale Gentry, based upon those found within the Vale and the Heartlands.

He knew that it would be decades before the Lannisters would be able to match the Crown, yet it was enough that they'd provide the Lord of the Westerlands with a significant power base that could be used to counter the unreliable landed lords.

His father had failed to understand that fear alone was only useful so long as the source of that fear remained alive. The old lion was dead, and a great chunk of the lords loyal to House Lannister had fallen alongside him.

Suffice to say, Tyrion felt nothing but resentment towards his corpse of a father. In life, he was hardly a father to him, and in death, he proved much the same.

Covering his face from the blinding sun, Tyrion was met with the welcome sight of the Heartlands border, Bannermen staring pointedly at his entourage. Their gazes could cut through steel. 

He had been walking on pins and needles the past few days. Fearing that some of his unruly vassals decided to deal with him and his family once and for all. Thankfully, no such event had come to be, and if there was, then they could no longer be carried out, as long as his family remained within the Heartlands.

Smiling contently at the grim-faced Banners, Tyrion no longer felt like grabbing the dagger attached to his hips every single waking moment.