Ned VIII

Since the Westerlands were the first targets of the Ironborn, Ned wasn't surprised to learn that Benjen had brought almost a hundred of his swornswords south to join the muster. Queenscrown couldn't support many armsmen yet and formally their obligations were to support the wall and not the Starks. Nonetheless, the Ironborn's burning of Lannisport had cut close to home for a number of the Westerlanders who had settled on what had been the New Gift.

Since Longlake was on the road south from Queenscrown, the column being a mix of Lyanna's men and Benjen's was only good sense and he'd not held any hope out that Lyanna wouldn't accompany them.

Seeing Cersei Lannister on a warhorse beside his sister was definitely a surprise, as was the mail shirt she was wearing.

"What's she doing?" hissed Catelyn.

"I suppose we'll have to ask." He walked forwards. "Benjen! Lyanna!"

Lyanna scrambled down and hugged him, while Benjen turned and helped his wife dismount. "Ned!" She lowered her voice. "Don't worry, we left the boys at Long Lake. All three of them will be safe there."

"And our goodsister?"

Lyanna laughed. "She heard about the Mormont women and decided she wasn't going to be left behind."

Still on his brother's arm (and wobbling a little as she walked), Cersei showed no other sign of discomfort. "Prince Eddard, Princess Catelyn. It's my pleasure to meet you again."

"The pleasure is ours, Cersei," Cateleyn said smoothly. "Please, don't dwell on titles, we are all family here."

"Thank you, Catelyn."

It was young Robb, standing beside Ned, who asked the obvious question. "Why are you wearing armour?"

Cersei leant slightly more heavily on Benjen. "Your uncle wouldn't agree to let me go to war with him unless I wore it."

"But no one's going to attack you here, Aunt Cersei."

"It takes some time to get used to wearing armour, Robb," Ned explained. "We've made some quarters ready and I'm sure you're more than ready for warm baths."

"Oh gods, yes." Cersei let Lyanna and Catelyn guide her away and Ned gave Benjen a sceptical look.

"I thought it would deter her!" his younger brother hissed. "The closest she's been to war was the tourney at Harrenhal and hitting at sticks with her brother!"

"You aren't actually going to take her to war, are you?"

"I promised her that if she wore armour she could come with me." Benjen shook his head. "I didn't realise she'd be so stubbon - by the time we got to Long Lake I was sure she'd never want to see that mail shirt again."

"And if she was staying at Long Lake you thought you could convince Lyanna to stay with her?"

"I didn't have much hope on that score," Benjen said sourly. "I can probably persuade her to visit Casterly Rock rather than sail to the Iron Islands when the time for that comes."

By unspoken accord the two brothers left the yard and walked towards the Godswood. "How well are things going up at Queenscrown?"

Benjen considered. "It was looking bad for a while. I warned the southerners who came north with Cersei about what winter would be like but I don't think they believed me. Fortunately Cersei is good at handling them."

"And how is she managing?"

"I think she was having doubts until Joffwyn was born." Benjen puffed up like the proud father he was. "He's a good boy, although Cersei spoils him a little. It might do him good to stay at Long Lake for a while."

"Will you bring him down to Winterfell once the war is done? Introduce him to his other cousins?"

"Of course! And what are you feeding Robb? He's growing like a weed!"

"Just the usual. It seemed to work for us, after all."

"Aye. And your daughter - word was that she's Lyanna all over again?"

"In looks," Ned allowed. "She isn't as wild as Lyanna was - I think."

Both men chuckled at that, glanced around to ensure their sister hadn't overheard them and then met each other's eyes.

"It's good to see you again, Ben."

"Aye, and to see you Ned. Now I'll ride south and meet Robert again. Although it's hard to picture the roisterer you brought here that time as a wise and sagacious king."

"Well, I have trouble seeing him like that myself. But he's a goodhearted man and I think it's that he wants to do well by the Kingdoms. There are worse starts for a king."

"I was worried for a bit when I heard he'd given Lord Bolton a position, have you heard aught of him? You know the old stories of the Dreadfort."

"Those days were long ago. Bolton does well in the south - he's wed, I don't know if you heard?"

"No! Again? To a southern woman?"

"Aye, one of the Stokeworth heiresses." Ned saw his brother's blank look. "The Stokeworths' land is just north of King's Landing, near the King's Road. It's a good marriage."

Viserys II

"There are excellent latrines in the camps - they were dug for the road repairs - so for the love of the Gods, use them!" Robert scowled at the assembled lords. "I do not want half the army down with the shits. If I find out someones got his pants around his ankles anywhere else in the camp then I don't care if he's taking a crap or shagging one of the smallfolk, they'll be named and shamed before the army before they're allowed to belt themselves up. And flogged if that's what it takes."

This wasn't exactly the sort of conversation that the bards spoke of when discussing war. It was, however, more than typical of the meetings Viserys had stood through, behind and to one side of the Usurper.

"At times I'll have you fetch and carry for me," Robert had explained the duties of being his squire. "The rest of the time, watch and listen because there's no better education for war."

Now the man glared after the lords filtering out of his small encampment. "Fools," he said quietly. "But perhaps no more than I myself." He glanced at Viserys. "So how are you enjoying war, cousin?"

"I'm rather wondering when I'll learn something about war rather than... bread and boots and..."

"And shit?" asked Robert sardonically. "Very well, I shall teach you something of war. Walk with me."

They left the small perimeter around Robert's tents. It was no more than a low wattle fence marking out his headquarters - the King's tent was no better than that of anyone else, save that he shared it only with Viserys and two of the Royal Guards, not ten or eleven more.

"Strategy is not complicated," he was lectured. "It is very little more than an objective: in this case to march up the Riverlands and join forces with other companies until we reach the coast and can spread out to reinforce the defenses of castles and towns there. Until Stannis arrives with the fleet, that's really all that we can do. So much for strategy."

"What about tactics?"

"Tactics are a variable, but until you know the battleground there's little you can do except keep in mind the capabilities of your troops and those of the enemy. Somewhat important but not immediately relevant."

They had walked past the tents of the King's Men and were now among the supply wagons, loaded with disassembled siege weapons. "What a war really hinges on, nine times out of ten, is supplies. Any fool can raise an army - all you need to do is be born in a suitable family. The trick is to feed it, arm it, clothe it and to do so not at a castle or city where the requirements are at hand but on the road, miles from anywhere. If you can do that and your opponent can't then you have a profound advantage."

"Advantage," he said again. "That's what matters, Viserys. Stack up the advantages on your side: position, numbers, training, morale, more and better food, less disease... and then you're unlikely to lose a battle. And the way to get those advantages is to pay close attention to those details."

"That doesn't sound very knightly."

Robert stopped and leant against the side of one of the wagons. "Knights predominantly wear heavy armour, ride large horses and fight with lances, right?"

Viserys nodded uncertainly.

"Tactically speaking, that's ideal for breaking up poorly disciplined infantry. Like a smallfolk revolt, for example. I don't know for certain but I suspect that the tradition of the knight dates back to Andal lords busy beating First Folk conquests back into line. Charge into the mob, break their will, hunt them down as they run." He paused. "I suppose as the heir to such traditions I should admire that but the tools for beating up smallfolk aren't quite the same as those for a serious war."

"But didn't the Storm Kings make peace with the Andals?"

"Only after the vast majority of what were later the Storm Lands had been conquered. Ancient history I suppose." Robert shook his head. "But I suppose what you mean is knights who are brave, chivalrous and noble. Who see war as a sort of tournament where glory and wealth can be won but no one important is ever hurt."

"Except the villains."

"Oh, I stand corrected." The black-haired man laughed sourly. "No one is a villain in their own eyes. Your father probably thought he was securing his throne and while I've no damn idea what your brother thought he was going to accomplish, I'm sure he didn't see himself as a villain."

"Rhaegar wasn't a villain," snapped Viserys.

"He was a gods-damned fool. If he'd kept his damn head then he'd be king now and I'd have had about half as many headaches."

His squire stared at him.

The usurper sighed. "Fine, fine. I doubt you'll ever believe me on that one. Let's go back to my tent. No doubt I have more letters to -" He broke off.

Looking around, Viserys couldn't see any cause for alarm. The man's eyes were fixed on one of the cart horses being unharnessed. "Sir?"

"I'm a bloody idiot," Robert muttered. "Right. Letters. And while I'm at it, designing a horse collar that won't strangle the poor beasts."

"If you say so," Viserys said dubiously.

"If the horses can pull the carts better they can carry more supplies and that makes it easier to keep the army fed. Little things like that can decide battles, or were you ignoring everything I just said?"

"No but... why are you teaching me how to wage war when..."

"When you might use those skills against me?"

Viserys nodded reluctantly.

"Well you might not use them against me too. I don't think it'd be fair for me to punish you for something you haven't done so far. And who knows: one day you might succeed the throne. I'd rather that if you manage that it wasn't as a complete incompetent. It would make me look bad to be deposed by an idiot."

Tywin VIII

"I have the harbour being cleared and our defenses restored," Kevan reported drily. "We won't have more than a handful of galleys ready before the Royal fleet and the Redwynes are expected, but at least we'll be able to accomodate them."

"It's a start." Tywin looked to Jaime. His heir was... not quite what he had hoped for in administration, but he was certainly a formidable warrior and made a strong impression on the bannermen. If it was not ideal, it was far from a disaster. And perhaps Kevan's sons would be as loyal and able as their father. "How does the muster stand?"

Jaime studied the map. "We're forming smaller armies at the major holdings along the coast. Four or five thousand men at Banefort, The Crag, Faircastle, Kayce and Crakehall. Besides the eight thousand here, there are another ten thousand from assorted levies still marching from the more eastern lords. We could ask for more, but with the first few harvests still coming in after winter even the most loyal lords don't want to take too many off the fields."

"We could probably do with dividing those levies and placing them at... at where Tarbeck Hall and Castermere once stood," Tygett warned. "There are still smallfolk on those lands and they look to Casterly Rock for protection now."

"A good point," Tywin agreed. "But Jaime, move half the levies from Kayce to Feastfires. The Kennings are loyal enough, but their merchants may need to be reminded of their place. Two thousand men should be enough to hold Kayce long enough to be reinforced if need be." The merchants of Kayce had tried to take advantage of Tytos Lannister's generosity.

Jaime nodded. "I'll send a raven."

"The North and the Riverlands have also reinforced their coasts," Tywin informed them. "The Ironborn attacked Seagard to try to destroy the Riverlands' only port. Since they'd heard what happened here, the Mallisters were on guard. The Ironborn were repelled with significant losses, including one of Balon's sons."

"They knew they could come under attack," noted Tygett.

"That's the purpose of having defenses. I'm displeased with our cousins of Lannisport. If they cannot redeem themselves, I can grant them less vital lands and appoint a new lord over Lannisport." Tywin swept the room with a fierce gaze. "Our House does not prosper when it is subject to mockery."

"And are we being mocked?"

Tywin thought back to the King's recent letters. "Not in King's Landing. But it would be well that once the Dornish and Reachman levies reach the Westerlands that they should see no sign of weakness. Can Lannisport be ready by then, Kevan?"

"It can." His brother folded his arms. "I've put Tyrion to the task."

"You left him with wine and whores, Kevan. Make sure it'll be done."

"I left him overseeing the raising of the Lion of Lannister. The upperworks are gone but the hull itself may be salvagable. He's doing good work."

Tywin met his brother's eyes and then glanced at his son. "Hmm. Very well. If he can restore it, tell him he's assigned as its new captain."

Tygett stirred. "He's young."

"Either he's ready for responsibility, or he isn't we will see." He dismissed the matter. "Cersei writes that she is riding south with her husband and he's persuaded her that staying at Casterly Rock would be better than joining the army. She can help Genna and Leyla oversee the household while we are at war."

"I'm sure they'll be glad of the help."

"I doubt it, but Genna has Cersei's measure." Tywin stared at Jaime until the boy looked away. "Cersei is your sister, but Leyla bears your heir. The future of the Lannisters matters more than the heirs to a northern lordship. I've heard no ill reports from Queenscrown, I don't expect any from here while I'm away."

"So you'll be joining the King's army then?"

"I'm the Warden of the West. It's my place to be at his side now. Tygett will accompany me. Jaime, you're in charge here at Casterly Rock. Listen to your uncle -" he nodded to Kevan "- but the decisions will be yours."

"I could ride with you and inspect the defenses along the way."

Tywin shook his head. "No, your place is here defending our land. Once the iron Fleet is defeated, once Leyla gives birth, then you can join me with the army. Not before."

Tygett looked as if he was about to speak up but Tywin silenced him with a stare. "We'll need a thousand men from the forces here as an escort," he continued. "We're due to send taxes to King's Landing but the king's directed that we should send the money directly to him to supplement the coin he has on hand with the army."

"That's a large sum of coin to transport. If the Ironborn learn of this they'll want to catch you on the road."

"Indeed. However, the River Road is well away from the sea and we can follow it all the way to Riverrun." Tywin considered. "Have Lord Clegane's younger son as part of the force. His brother was useful, perhaps Sandor will be as well. It'll also keep him away from the Dornish levies."

Olenna IV

"This book is abomination!" the High Septon called out in an annoyingly high-pitched voice. "Every copy should be burned! I call on the Hand of the King to enforce decency upon the realm!"

"Why now after two hundred years of degeneracy," Olenna grumbled from her chair to one side of the hall.

The Small Hall in the Tower of the Hand wasn't large enough for her words to go unnoticed and there was a titter of laughter from some of the spectators.

Jon Arryn sighed with what sounded like exagerated patience, or possibly the beginnings of a nasty chest cold. "Your excellency, not all of Westeros take vows of celibacy. I am assured by those who have read the book that it places a very high value on chastity with strong admonitions against adultery to give an example."

"My lord, I am appalled that the most honourable house of Arryn would extend your protection to this matter. With but a word to Lord Bolton, I am sure that the printers responsible could be brought to heel and the souls of the impressionable youth brought safe from harm."

Roose Bolton, seated next to Olenna, gave the Septon a bland look. "I would advise against such an order," he said in his usual low, emotionless voice. "But would carry it out if given."

"You advocate the practises in this book?" The High Septon shook his head sadly. "But I forget, you are from the benighted North. I shall pray for your soul, Lord Bolton, for this is degeneracy that even a Dornishman would blush at."

"You haven't met very many Dornishmen, have you?" asked Olenna drily. "You're very loud in your outrage, High Septon, for a man who would supposedly have no knowledge of the practises described. Given that one of the Seven is the Mother, I suspect that the Seven-Who-Are-One would be far less offended."

The man went red.

"Besides, I've read the thing and there's a lot of good sense in it. I could wish Luthor had read it and I've already sent a copy to my gooddaughter, told her to make sure my son reads it."

Jon Arryn cleared his throat. "Lady Tyrell, you are perhaps in a unique position on the Small Council to advise on that matter. You consider the book to have... virtue...?"

"Even at my age, there was a thing or two to learn." She gave him a dry look. "Unless Lysa's conceived and somehow hidden it from me, perhaps you should read it. You're not getting any younger and an heir for the Vale would calm a lot of eastern nerves down."

"This foul text," declared the High Septon in ringing tones, "Will do no such thing! Your grace, Prince Arryn, I appeal to you! There is, I am told, entire chapters are devoted to the prevention of conception."

"Those would be the sections marked out for those not within the bounds of matrimony. And if men followed those rules then there would be fewer bastards running around - meaning no disrespect to the King's elder daughters, but I imagine that Queen Alysanne wouldn't be distraught the King had read those parts when he was younger."

"I rather gather, my lady, that this is perhaps the sort of book that Robert might well have read closely in his younger days." Jon shook his head. "Well, I shall obtain a copy and examine it before making judgement, High Septon. The King, as a general practise, is not inclined to ban books and I wouldn't wish to set a precedent he might later overturn."

The High Septon opened his mouth but Jon raised his hand. "On to the next matter," he said firmly.

Lord Celtigar stepped forwards, displacing the High Septon's blustering with his own. Not that Olenna thought it would get him much further. "Prince Arryn, I seek justice from you. My cousin Ser Maelon was most brutally slain by the Hardys."

"A serious claim!" Jon sat up. "With the realm at war, we hardly need our noble houses slaying each other. Does House Hardy have a representative here?"

"Aye, your grace." An older man in the colours of the Crackclaw Point house stepped forwards. "Greygor Hardy, at your service."

"Do you deny this claim?"

"The Celtigar accusation omits certain key facts." The man sneered at Lord Celtigar. "Maelon Celtigar was indeed put to death by my House, for his fraudulent claims to be the King's tax collector."

"In point of fact," Olenna said sharply, "Maelon Celtigar is a tax collector for the crown." She tapped her cane when mutters went up. "However, his commission extends only to Massey's Hook and other lordships east of the Wendwater and north of the King's Road."

"I see you're familiar with the situation, Lady Olenna?"

"Indeed, my lord Hand." She placed one hand on top of the other, resting both on top of her cane. "I wonder, Lord Celtigar, that your House keep sending their kin and servants to try to claim taxes are due you from Crackclaw Point."

"We have an ancient and lawful claim, Lady Tyrell, which I would not expect you to be aware of."

"I'm most certainly aware that King Robert hasn't struck down Targaryen legislation on a general basis," Jon observed. "Nor has he specifically struck down that which asserts that the Houses of Crackclaw Point owe allegiance directly to the crown."

"Ah, but in fact that document cites House Targaryen and the Iron Throne," said the Celtigar smugly. "House Targaryen most clearly no longer rules over the Point and, quite famously, the Iron Throne is no more!"

Jon paused. "That's an interesting point, Lord Celtigar. And if you brought that matter before me, or before the King, it would be open to discussion. However, if Lord Maelon was falsely identifying himself as a crown tax collector for the Crackclaw Point then it would still be a matter of fraud on his part."

"My cousin's presence was to collect taxes on my behalf, so I could render them rightfully to King's Landing. I choose him for that role on the basis of his experience collecting taxes on the behalf of King Robert. There was no claim that he was acting for the King directly."

"That's not the tale he told us!" snapped Greygor Hardy.

"I'd hardly expect your tale to be a confession of your murdering ways."

"Why you..."

The Hand raised his hand and four King's Men moved in, poleaxes in their hands, two of them blocking the Celtigar and the other Ser Hardy. "I will have order," he said firmly. "It seems to me that there is wrongdoing on both sides here."

"How can I have done wrong!?" cried out Celtigar. "It was my cousin who is dead! His wife and children who are bereaved."

"House Hardy had due cause to doubt Ser Maelon's authority," Jon said firmly. "However, they did not have the right to slay him. For this reason I fine them a gold dragon each year, payable to Ser Maelon's widow for the rest of her life. In future, I trust they will in future remember that the King's justice requires the accused be judged by the King, not by themselves."

He turned to Lord Celtigar. "Lord Celtigar, for sending your cousin in to collect taxes that it isn't at all clear you are due, particularly after not less than thirteen cases I recall of your asserting these claims in the past and having your collectors treated no differently than this, I also fine you a gold dragon each year, payable to King Robert for the cost of fostering all of Ser Maelon's children, which the crown will undertake. These payments to be due until all of those children are of age."

"And where do we owe taxes in the future?" demanded Greygor, anger at the fine apparently abated by seeing the Celtigar similarly humbled.

"That shall be placed before the King on his return. Until then, taxes will continue to be paid directly to King's Landing. An accounting shall be available to you, Lord Celtigar, should the King then decide in your favour."

Fat chance of that, Olenna noted to herself. King Robert wasn't noticeably rapacious but he'd be a fool to offend every house on the Point just to please the Celtigars.