Kill the Boy 10
The chamber in which the Small Council met was quiet. It held only three people within, only one of which was actually on the Small Council. Within the room was Ned Stark, Tywin Lannister, Mace Tyrell, Lysa Aryn, and Tyrion Lannister. They'd were sitting quietly, waiting for the meeting to start. It wasn't that there was some great ceremony, or something else to wait on, it was just that the Hand had suggested they save their discussion for after their lunch.
Tywin and Ned were able to see that Tyrion was stalling for time as something was arranged, while the other two were simply content to enjoy the simple feast in front of them. Lord Tyrell had finished what he thought was an engaging story about some of his glory days from Robert's Rebellion, completely failing to grasp that two of the people at the table with him were on the other side of the war, and the other two had betrayed his house to win it. Lady Aryn was just quiet because she was worrying about feeding her son.
Eventually servants came and took away the cleared dishes and refilled cups with wine or water, and the discussion could begin in earnest. Nearly as one, the Wardens looked to the Hand to start the debate, "Well, I'm sure we all know why we are here, my lady sister, former queen Cersei Lannister has been caught in an affair that has lasted for at least as long as her marriage. My brother, Jamie Lannister is accused of aiding her in hiding the affair. Both crimes are against the crown, but due to the nature of his relationship with the Lannister family, the King has seen fit to step away from the affair until judgement has passed."
"And it gives him a chance to whore across the kingdoms with that new Frey bride of his," Lysa spits.
Tyrion gives a grimace smile, "Indeed, the King has taken a liking to his new queen, and they both seem to share a taste for excess."
That the King had married a Frey was upsetting, that she had turned out to be as big a whoremonger as he was catastrophic. One Robert had managed to set the crown six million dragons in debt, he couldn't even conceive of the damage two of him would do. Already the King had sent three letters demanding new chests of gold to spend. It was insanity, how quickly the pair of them went through coin.
"We are not here to discuss the King's actions," Tywin grunts, "We are here to talk about my daughter's punishment, and my son's."
It is clear that the more pressing for the Warden of the West is Jamie. Tyrion would not enjoy breaking him of his hope that Jamie would get a slap on the wrist and banished from the court.
"Yes!" The boisterous Mace nods, "We've been dawdling enough, let's get to the meat of the issue!"
"Lord Mace, please," Ned sighs at the man's volume, "This is a solemn affair."
"Not that solemn," Lysa spits, "The trallop spat on the King's name and in his face for seventeen years!"
"Careful girl," Tywin growls, "You speak of my daughter."
"Oh, do I?" Lysa snorts, "I apologize, I thought we were speaking of the whore that betrayed the Seven kingdoms!"
Tyrion slams his goblet down on the table before his father can rise, "Enough."
Eyes turn to him, and he revels for a second in their complete attention. After making sure to lock eyes with his father and Lady Aryn he says, "I will not have this discussion devolving into a row. We will keep civil tongues or we will break for recess. The more we break, the longer this will take, the longer this takes, the more frayed our nerves will get. I wish to settle the matter as quickly and as peacefully as can be done. You will keep a civil tongue, Lady Lysa, or I will have your son in here instead of you."
"What!?" Lysa snaps, "My sweet Robin is but a child!"
"He is, and yet he is as old as I was when the Ironborne burnt Lannisport. If I, a stunted dwarf, could find it in myself to slay a reaver that managed to find me; your son, who does not have my disadvantage, can manage matters of state."
Tywin narrows his eyes at his son, knowing the dwarf's recollection to be a lie. He turns his gaze to Lady Aryn, and sees that she believed him, though. It was the tone of voice, something Tyrion alone had inherited from him, a surety of speech and purpose that made every word law. It would do well to remember that in all the ways that Tyrion was flawed, he was still Tywin's son.
"Very well," Lysa grunts.
"Will there be any more issues?" Tyrion asks the table at large, looking directly at Tywin.
"If she keeps a civil tongue, there will be no issues," Tywin tells him, already thinking of ways to get Ser Gregor into the Lady's room and out again before anyone realized the life had been choked from her.
"Good," Tyrion nods, hoping that the problems would end there. He brings the subject back to the reason they were there, "So, my Lords, my Lady, does anyone have a true suggestion?"
Ned is the first to lean forward, and everyone turns their eyes to him, "Jamie Lannister cannot be allowed to remain in the Kingsguard, of course, but more than that I feel that he should be sent to the Wall."
"If that is how you feel, why was he not sent there with your nephew?" Mace demands to know. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond knew Jon Snow's true parentage by now, but it was clear from Lord Stark's flinch that he was not used to that fact.
After a brief pause, he says, "The King thought that in order to avoid war, Lord Tywin should be given the chance to help determine the fate of both his children. Over the course of my voyage to the Capital, I have come to agree with this decision."
"Thank you, Lord Stark, for your consideration," Tywin nods to the man, and though he did not like the Warden of the North, he did respect him.
"You would go to war over a criminal?" Mace asks, aghast.
"Would you not do the same for your son?" Tywin asks, then looks around, "Would any of you?"
There is a moment of silence as the Wardens thought about Tywin's words, and in the end they had to agree with his reasons. Each of them validated their choices in their own way, but in the end it boiled down to the fact that they would kill or die for their children. Either was a viable option at the end of the day, though the plan did involve the other side dying instead of them.
"So we are all agreed that this situation is delicate and could easily lead to a war that the realm cannot afford," Tyrion notes, to the nods of everyone at the table. He indicates Ned with his hand, "Lord Stark has proposed sending Jamie Lannister to the wall to atone for his crimes, are there any objections?"
"I, of course, object," Tywin tells him, raising an eyebrow, "I will not have my son be sent to the end of the earth to die at the hands of the cold or a wildling."
"Exile then?" Mace offers, "Clearly we cannot send him to the wall without Lord Lannister declaring war on the rest of us, but we cannot let the Kingslayer go!"
"There have been larger crimes that have led to exile," Ned nods along with Mace's words.
Tyrion and Tywin eye Mace suspiciously, doubting if the man's words had come originally from his own mind. Both knew that the true power in Highgarden was held by the fat fool's mother, the Queen of Thorns. She had no doubt seeded the idea of exile into Mace's head long before this meeting, so they both had to wonder what the hell she was playing at. Jamie up at the Wall or dead would be better for Highgarden, it would increase their own power and decrease Tywin's. But she had to be thinking long term, long enough that Jamie would probably be useful if he were ever allowed to return to the Seven Kingdoms.
"If we are going on about leniency, why not ship him off with a crate of gold and a valyrian steel sword?" Lysa snorts.
"No," Ned snakes his head, firmly, "If it is to be exile, he is to go in but the clothes on his back. He will not live off the gold of his family."
Eyes turned to Tywin, and the Lord of the Rock just nods, "Agreed."
After this first meeting, he would have to see about speaking with his son. Perhaps he could send the boy in the direction of the Targaryen brats riding with the dothraki. If he could get his son ingratiated with them, perhaps when the time came, as the winds seemed to be saying it would, for the return of the Dragons, House Lannister would stay aloft through the surge.
"Is it decided then?" Tyrion asks.
"I ask that I be allowed to speak with my son before he is exiled," Tywin says, putting his thoughts to action.
"Then you are agreed?" Tyrion asks.
"I am."
The rest of the Wardens nod with conviction, and the decision was made.
Thousands of miles to the north, an equally important decision was being made, though far more violently as Jon dives under the sword. He clambers to his feet and faces his opponent, a massive Thenn. The Thenn roars and slices down at him, which he sidesteps in the direction of his fallen sword. As the enraged wildling takes another swing, Jon drops below the slice and grabs his sword.
As soon as his fingers are around the hilt he thrusts up and his own blade sticks in the Thenn's stomach. As the man dies, Jon drops his sword and snatches the one in slackening fingers. Ice, strapped across his back, deflects a blow he hadn't even known was coming and he spins to face his next enemy. The next wildling, wielding a large double bladed axe, raises it to strike at him, only for an arrow to catch him in the throat and end his life.
Jon sags in relief, then looks around to make sure nobody else is going to charge at him from odd angles. Thankfully it looks like the area was cleared of attacking wildlings. He smiles to Ygritte, who rewards him with a cheeky grin as she steps up to him to give him a eck, "Well, lover boy, you think the Crows are going to let us through, then?"
Jon turned his head to look at the Wall, towering above them only minutes away. After he'd managed to convince Mance that they would be allowed safe passage through the Wall, the tent city had packed itself up quickly, but not before nearly half the wildlings had vanished into the snows. They didn't trust the word of a kneeler, and especially not one who walked with Crow. He didn't know why, but they had decided that they would kill any who joined him on his journey south.
This had led to more deaths than he could ever have guessed, dwindling the fifty thousand strong caravan of Free Folk down to forty thousand in a matter of a month and a half journeying straight to the Wall. Of the near ten thousand dead, Jon was lucky that only two of the Stark men were among that number, and they had died valiantly. They had died horribly as well, but he chose to think of getting boiled alive by geysers an afterthought to saving a pair of children from the same fate.
Now, three months after he, Benjen, Jory, and his ten guards had departed from the Wall, he had returned two men down and forty thousand up. It was going to be a bit of a problem feeding everyone, but thankfully the Free Folk knew how to make a deer last three weeks and be edible for two large families. Not to mention that they had brought all of their livestock, what livestock their was, and every bit of preserved supplies that they owned, and so long as winter occurred at the same time as it did last time, he should be able to get three or four harvests in before the snows fall in earnest.
The logistics of running lands fell to the back of his mind as he stepped out of the forest in front of the Wall. It always filled him with a sense of wonder and dread when he saw it, because it was proof that the White Walkers existed just as his scars were. They'd been fortunate not to run into any of the undead, but he knew they were out there. He was just glad he didn't have to draw Ice. He was never any good with greatswords, and would have made a damned fool of himself before he died.
Pushing more thoughts from his mind than had any right to be there, he stared up at the top of the Wall, knowing just how small he must look to those so high above. He wondered if he was even a person to them, if they thought like Aliser Thorne did. Wildlings weren't people, in their eyes, just monsters on par with the White Walkers. An enemy that had been fought against for thousands of years.
"Boy."
His eyes drop, and he is looking at Jeor Mormont. The old bear looked tired, but somewhat cheerful, "I see you've brought some guests."
"I have, Lord Commander," Jon nods, "Though they won't be needing to stay in your home, only mine."
"Aye, I figured as much," Jeor nods, then looks to Benjen, who'd stepped up beside Jon, "First Ranger, anything to report?"
"Yes, Lord Commander," the Black Stark nods, "There are roughly as many wildlings still aiming to kill us as are looking to make peace."
"And these are the ones here to make peace?" Jeor makes sure.
"Yes," Benjen nods, "They won't make trouble, I can promise you that, the worst of them broke off at the start."
"Good," The old bear turns his gaze back to Jon and nods, "As the King proclaimed, I will allow you and the wildlings through."
"Than-"
"But know this, boy," Jeor cuts him off, "The King gave you leave to do this only once, after your people are through, the gates will never open for any wildling but a dead one. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Jon nods, taking a breath, "Shall we get on, Lord Commander?"
Lord Commander Mormont nods gravely, and with that another forty thousand people are added to the population of the north.