Once all the terms had been agreed upon, the Queen of Thorns accepted the stack of papers containing Aedric's health cultivation methods with a satisfied smile. Turning to Lord and Lady Stark — who still had no idea what had just been negotiated — she offered a polite apology.
"My apologies, Lord Stark. I'm afraid my age is catching up with me — the mind grows tired easily. I'll take my leave to rest for a bit."
With that, Olenna gave her granddaughter a subtle look, then rose gracefully and departed, her exit met with courteous nods from the Starks.
As the old woman's figure disappeared from view, Aedric finally let out a quiet breath of relief.
Dealing with a fox like her was exhausting. Every sentence had to take seventeen turns before reaching its true meaning — it was just like negotiating with imperial courtiers back in the Heavenly Sword world.
Suddenly, he felt his sleeve tugged gently. Looking down, he saw Tyrion Lannister leaning in with that sly, conspiratorial grin of his.
"You're really not much like a Northerner," the Imp murmured. "Even the Queen of Thorns couldn't tie you in knots. Impressive."
Aedric smirked. "Sounds like you've had quite a rough time with her yourself, Lord Tyrion."
The dwarf's grin faded at once, replaced by a bitter expression.
He had once been Hand of the King — victorious in war, respected in court. But after Joffrey's near death during the battle, the boy's protectors had turned on him, stripping him of his position for "failing to protect the king."
He'd gone to reason with his father — only to be met with scorn and fury. Tywin had driven him out of King's Landing in disgrace, sending him north as a glorified messenger.
Aedric could guess the rest. With a quiet sigh, he patted Tyrion's shoulder in sympathy.
After all, even a just man could not settle another family's misfortunes. Tywin Lannister was brilliant in war and governance — yet when it came to his youngest son, his hatred bordered on cruelty.
If not for Aedric's timely protection, Tyrion might already have been beaten half to death, just like in the original story.
Leaving the dwarf to his gloomy thoughts, Aedric turned his attention to where Margaery Tyrell was chatting animatedly with Robb Stark.
The famed Rose of Highgarden had barely exchanged a few words before she had every Stark smiling warmly — even Arya, normally so guarded, hovered near her like an admiring little sister.
Aedric couldn't help but admire her. This woman wasn't just beautiful — she was born for politics. Every gesture, every smile was an instinctive act of social mastery.
Shaking his head with amused respect, Aedric took out a small ornate box and handed it to Robb with a grin.
"Congratulations on your marriage. Just a little gift — see if you like it."
Robb opened the box and blinked in surprise. Inside lay a pair of exquisite daggers — gold-handled, ivory-sheathed, their hilts studded with precious gems.
He picked up the longer one and drew it. The telltale rippling pattern along the blade made him freeze.
"Valyrian steel?" he breathed. "Both of them?"
Aedric smiled and nodded. He had collected several Valyrian steel daggers aboard the Serenity, and later obtained more from the Free Cities. Though plain and unadorned, he had them reforged by master smiths — gold filigree, jewel inlays, every bit as ostentatious as a royal heirloom. Perfect for gifts.
He had already given away three: one to Daenerys for self-defense, one to Missandei as a guard's weapon, and one to Grey Worm as the symbol of his command over the Unsullied.
As for Ser Jorah Mormont — well, since his spying had been exposed, the lovesick fool was currently being punished with hard labor by the Dragon Queen. Aedric had no intention of bailing him out.
There's no saving a man who simps himself to ruin.
Valyrian steel was a rarity in Westeros — even Margaery Tyrell, for all her noble wealth, had only heard of it. Seeing the blades, her eyes lit up in delight.
"Thank you so much, Lord Jon," she said sweetly, admiring the shorter dagger's sheen.
"You're welcome," Aedric replied with a faint smile. His eyes met hers, calm and piercing. "May you and Robb have a long and happy marriage."
He stressed each word — long and happy marriage — with deliberate weight.
Margaery felt a chill run through her despite the smile on her lips. She understood perfectly. The message was clear: if she ever caused trouble, the elegant gift in her hand could easily become a weapon.
After all, a dagger was still a dagger — beautiful, but meant for killing.
Taking a slow breath to steady herself, Margaery banished her unease and smiled again, slipping her arm through Robb's. "We will, Lord Jon. Of course we will."
Aedric's expression softened into an easy grin. He nodded and turned back to Lord Stark, changing the subject to tales of the Free Cities and Essos.
He didn't spare another glance for the Rose of Highgarden.
She was clever — frighteningly so — and Aedric knew she'd gotten the hint.
Robb, on the other hand, was happily twirling his new dagger, completely oblivious to the undercurrents.
What a straightforward fool, Aedric thought wryly. Poor boy's destined to be a henpecked husband.
Remembering how Margaery had once outmaneuvered both Renly and Tommen in the show, he silently offered a moment of pity for Robb Stark's future.
At this rate, Winterfell would probably belong to her soon enough.
Still — not his problem. Let the Northerners handle their own mess.
His porcelain business was only just starting to flourish, and Essos itself wasn't even saturated yet. The North had no idea what he was truly up to, and Aedric preferred to keep it that way.
Arya, having been briefed earlier, also knew better than to mention Daenerys or the dragons.
Those were dangerous names to speak aloud.
Only when the hall had emptied and the laughter faded did Aedric quietly mention the Dragon Queen to Lord and Lady Stark.
When they learned that he had helped Daenerys build a strong new power base in just a few months, Eddard's eyes widened in astonishment — quickly followed by concern.
"Jon," he asked gravely, "you don't intend to claim the Iron Throne yourself, do you?"
"Not in the slightest," Aedric said, shrugging. "Whoever sits on that chair makes no difference to me. If I ever wanted to kill the king, it'd take me one sword stroke — too easy to be interesting. Knowledge and higher secrets are what truly matter."
"Then why help the Dragon Queen build her forces?" Ned asked. "You know she'll return to claim the throne one day."
Aedric's smile faded. His gaze grew distant.
"Yes," he murmured softly. "And she'll bring three dragons with her."
~~--------------------------
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