Stannis XIII

There were few of Robert's decisions that Stannis approved as much as the one to rid the capital of Pycelle. Of course, all good things came to an end.

"I-I would hope that we might be able to put past misunderstandings behind us."

Robert stopped outside the tower that was their destination. "Maester, I think we understand each other perfectly."

"Your grace?"

"Well, perhaps I'm wrong. Did you really think I wanted to bring two kingdoms to the brink of war?"

"That's hardly fair, your grace. I can hardly be blamed for Prince Quentyn's plot."

"Only for indiscretion," snorted Stannis. If Pycelle had reported quietly, at least half of the problems around the city would have been averted.

Robert's brow furrowed. "It occurs to me..." He snapped one hand around and caught Pycelle by the shoulder. "Ser Brynden, hold him."

The Riverlands knight caught the old man's wrists. "Your grace?"

"W-why are you doing this?"

"Stop pretending to dodder," the king said and walked around Pycelle. "It occurs to me that you treated Lord Tywin. If you suspected he'd been drugged then why didn't you treat him."

"I did not suspect until it was too late!"

"Yet you were entirely confident upon his death," noted Stannis. He scratched his chin. "Colemon had to study the body to be sure."

Robert leant over to Pycelle. "That sounds suspicious to me." He stepped back. "I think we need to discuss this with the Grand Maester. In the meantime, please accept the hospitality of one of our cells. I wouldn't want you to run off back to the Citadel until this had been suitably investigated."

Stannis watched with a certain satisfaction as the white-bearded Maester was handed off to some of the King's Men. "Do you think he's the one who actually poisoned the Old Lion?"

"I'm shocked that you'd suggest that." Robert laughed cynically. "Didn't you see the trial by combat prove in the eyes of the Seven that it was Quentyn Martell?"

"If the Gods exist, they care nothing for us."

His brother nodded. "All it proved was that Jaime Lannister is still deadly with a blade. Although he didn't kill Prince Oberyn, which was an interesting choice."

"Still, Quentyn was up to something."

"Yes. Clegane proved that to my satisfaction. Pycelle may have let it happen - or perhaps he's just not all that competent." The king shook his head. "I'm going to speak to the boy."

"He'll play on your soft heart," Stannis warned him. "You know you have no choice but to see him executed now."

"I know." As he walked through the doorway, he slammed one fist against the stone of the arch. "I know." He wiped his knuckles against his tunic, licked the wound and then went up.

Stannis followed him. He'd done it thus far, and perhaps he could prevent any foolishness.

The few chambers at the top of this tower had long been used for prisoners being kept in some degree of comfort. Robert much preferred to use these rather than the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. He'd even had the black cells filled in and sealed rather than make use of them.

There was a guard at the top and Robert waved him back. "I'm just here to see the boy."

When the door was unlocked, Quentyn was sat on the bed. He looked up and then rose to his feet when Robert entered. "Your grace. Is it... is it time?"

Robert folded his arms. "Not yet."

"I... I won't..."

The King shook his head. "I'm not here to question you. I don't believe you acted alone but I don't believe it was your father or your uncle behind it. That doesn't leave many options... and I don't see how it serves me to chase this further."

Quentyn frowned. "I don't understand."

Nor do I, Stannis thought from where he stood in the doorway. The law is the law and the conspirators pose a threat if they act again.

"Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn would never risk you like that. They have more than enough resources to use someone more deniable. Now they've lost you. That wounds them - terribly. If I dig further into this, they lose more of their children -"

"I didn't..."

Robert pointed at Quentyn. "Do you think all your elders are fools?"

The boy looked down.

"I think that if Doran Martell thought I would go after more of his children, he would do something drastic. I don't want that. He doesn't want that." Robert turned and looked over at Stannis. "He will punish them so that I don't have to."

"I avenged my aunt."

Robert nodded slowly. "I hope you feel it was worth it... tomorrow."

Quentyn nodded slowly. "You said you didn't come here to question me. Why did you?"

"It's purely selfish. I try to look my failures in the eye."

Barristan VI

He hadn't intended to attend the execution, but Ashara felt that she should and so he accompanied her. Barristan had seen enough executions for a lifetime, even one as long as his. Now he was a Northern lord he was expected to carry out his own, although fortunately he'd not faced anything yet he hadn't felt he couldn't offer the Black as an alternative to the condemned.

It wasn't a public spectacle. Heralds from all seven of the kingdoms attended as witnesses as Quentyn Martell marched up to the dais where the Iron Throne had once stood. Now a simple block of wood replaced the throne that had once dominated the chamber.

Attendance in the hall was by request alone with the King as arbiter. Arianne Martell was there, escorted by an armsman. Prince Doran himself had visited his son in the morning and walked with him as far as the foot of the dais - the four King's Men around the two Martells acted more like an honour guard than anything more.

A small number of Dornish and Westerland lords attended, two ranks of King's Men - each headed by a knight of the Royal Guards - firmly dividing them. Ashara went to stand with her brother while Barristan, after exchanging a silent glance to her, went to the other side, to a man he had once called his brother.

"Prince Jaime."

The Prince of the Rock was seated in deference to his wounds and not his rank. "Lord Barristan."

"I hope your wounds aren't troubling you?"

"No more than usual. Maester Pycelle will probably be upset he didn't get to treat me, but as the King pointed out, his treatments didn't do my father any good."

Barristan kissed Cersei's hand gallantly and shook hands with Tyrion, Benjen and Kevan.

"Have you met Ser Ilyn?" asked Tyrion politely. "He can't speak for himself, alas."

"I recall." The knight had jested once that it was Tywin ruled Westeros rather than Aerys. The Mad King had removed his tongue as punishment.

"He served as father's executioner," Cersei added. "Jaime suggested he might take care of the matter for the King."

"His grace declined?"

"Most gracefully." Tyrion spread his hands. "I believe Lord Bolton usually makes the arrangements in King's Landing. Then again, executions of a prince are rare."

Fortunately so, thought Barristan. Quentyn Martell had abused the King's hospitality and had he been less careful with the poison, could have killed many people besides his target. But now Barristan had a son of his own and could imagine how Doran must feel.

The King entered through a side door, accompanied by both his brothers and by Sandor Clegane. All four dressed in unrelieved black save for golden stags on the Baratheon's tunics and the crown on Robert's head. Renly carried the only weapon, a heavy-bladed bastard sword. Barristan thought it likely a greatsword ground down - perhaps after damage to the tip of the blade.

Quentyn Martell stiffened at the sight of the king and of what was evidently an execution weapon.

Robert glanced around the hall and then nodded. He held out his hand, not looking back, and Renly drew the blade. The metallic rasp silenced everyone in the hall and the prince placed the hilt in the king's hand. Folding his hands around it, Robert planted the tip on the stones. "The charges?"

Stannis nodded. "Quentyn Martell, firstborn son of Doran Martell, stands accused of murder by poison of Tywin Lannister, firstborn son of Tytos Lannister. The deed done while both were guests of his grace, Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

"And the verdict?"

"All evidence -" grated Sandor Clegane. He paused and then added with evident reluctance: "- and trial by combat - show the accused to be guilty."

Robert sighed. "The sentence?"

"Death." Stannis' voice echoed through the hall.

"Quentyn Martell, you have been accused, judged and sentenced." Robert raised the sword before him. "I offer you the opportunity for final words. Speak now."

Barristan saw the boy tremble but then he stepped to the block. "I do not repent the deed, your grace. But I regret to have abused your hospitality."

"That was fairly spoken." The king gestured to the block and Quentyn knelt with no further prompting.

Robert Baratheon was no great swordsman but he was a strong man, trained to arms. There was no art to the blow but none was needed. Ilyn Payne managed a hoarse grunt of approval as the king severed the boy's spine with a single cut.

There was a gasp from the Dornish side of the hall. Among the Lannisters, none of Tywin Lannister's children looked away as Robert returned the sword to Renly and strode out of the room.

Behind him, the King's Men carried forward a shroud for the body.

Ned XIV

It was a long time since Ned had woken Robert from a night of heavy drinking.

After the execution of Prince Quentyn - after carrying out the execution himself - the King had retreated to the White Sword Tower and his former apartment there. He'd sent for wine and firmly closed the door.

When Ned tried the door it was unbarred. Possibly it had been all night with nothing but respect for the King keeping the Royal Guard from entering.

Robert was sprawled on the bed, still wearing the black of yesterday, cloak pulled up over him as a blanket. A flagon stood by the bed, a second - empty - was on its side. As Ned entered, Robert opened his eyes.

"How much of this did you drink?" Ned asked, picking up the fallen flagon.

"Pretty much all of it. Oh gods, my head."

"How long has it been?"

"Since I got this drunk or since you had to pick up the pieces?" Robert sat up and rubbed his head. "Quite a while either way."

"I'm amazed," Ned said honestly.

"That bloody stupid boy." Robert twisted and kicked his legs off the side of the bed. On the first attempt he managed to kick over the remaining flagon, which wasn't entirely empty as a trickle of wine spilled onto the flagstones. The second try got his feet under him.

"My father taught me that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. It's the way of the North to look him in the eyes and hear his final words." Ned picked up Robert's discarded cloak and rolled it into a bundle. "You did right by him, Robert. You hardly forced him to poison the Lannister."

Roberts shrugged and took the cloak back. "At least things held together until the Council had agreed on the basic measures. I was worried things would derail entirely."

"Winter is always a concern."

They descended the stairs and left the tower, Robert shading his eyes as the morning sun beamed down on him. "There are still a lot of things to do before I leave for the Wall."

"While we're here, have you made a decision on Pycelle?"

"Him, I wouldn't have nightmares about shortening by a head, the bastard." Robert raked his fingers through his hair. "Probably shouldn't say that though."

"The Grand Maester is very reluctantly of the opinion that the most he can realistically be blamed for is having bad judgement."

"Let him out. Put him on a ship back to Oldtown. Tell him he's not welcome in the Easterlands and that he'd probably be wise not to visit the Westerlands or Dorne either."

"I'll add the North to that list," Ned said with a sour look on his face. "There are a fair number of good Maester's in the North - men I consider good anyway. He's not in their mould."

"Are you sure you want to take a side? There would be something to presenting yourself as a more moderate voice on the Small Council."

"I'm not going to lie about where I stand, Robert."

The king nodded. "Alright. It's your conscience, I just didn't want to cause you trouble."

"I think the Citadel owes me anyway. With all the books being printed there's more need for maesters to teach people how to read. That's why we're building a new Maester's Tower at Wolf's Den."

"Ah." Robert rubbed his unshaven chin. "Well, with all the woods in the North I suppose you'll be profiting by the demand for paper. Are you printing any books up there?"

"Mostly forms. Why do you ask?"

"If all the books in the North are from south of the Neck then people reading them will only get the southern point of view. Having a more... independent view could be useful."

"I see what you mean there," Ned agreed slowly. "Although most Northern traditions aren't written down."

"Maybe they should be... and by people who aren't Maesters."

"You don't trust the Maesters?"

"I don't trust every Maester. Not unreservedly. And let's just say that the History of the Targaryen Kings that's being written up for me has led me to some interesting points about the neutrality of the Maesters. There's an old saying about it being the winners who write the history books - and the Maesters have written just about all of them."

Ned nodded slowly. "I'm beginning to think we owe Jon Arryn for forcing us to learn our letters."

"Aye. And I didn't make it easy on him."

Obara II

A hush fell within the Crown and Obara turned to see that Prince Jaime Lannister had entered the central chamber, at the head of a party of Lannisters in riding leathers.

"Prince Lannister!" called her father.

Had she thought it was silent before? Now it seemed that no one was even breathing. Only days had passed since they shed each other's blood. Obara tried to step between them but Oberyn sidestepped her deftly without even appearing to have registered her presence.

The Prince of the Rock met her father's approach with only the slightest hint of concern. "Prince Martell. Your wounds are healing, I hope?"

"I will recover. Except for the ear. I'll need to style my hair to cover that. And your own wounds?"

"Nothing that won't heal, I'm told."

"By your friend Maester Pycelle?"

"Since he didn't manage to keep my father alive, I don't rely on him for his medical services."

Her father smiled broadly. "A wise decision. It was an excellent fight. I regret the outcome, of course, but it was very exhilarating. We should do it again."

"With training weapons?" suggested an older man who had the Lannister look to him.

"Where's the fun in that, Ser...?"

"Kevan Lannister."

"Ah." Oberyn nodded. "Tywin's brother. You were with him when he sacked King's Landing, weren't you? I remember the name."

The Lannister nodded. "I was. Tell me, Prince Oberyn... if my brother had been the one lying helpless, would you have shown mercy?"

Obara's father shrugged. "In that situation? I would have killed him. His life or my nephews. If the situation was completely reversed, I'm sure Prince Jaime would have done the same."

It looked as if the Lannister would continue but Prince Jaime gestured him to silence. "If I was fighting for my nephew's life, you'd be right. My father and I had our differences but we both care a great deal about our family."

"I can say the same." Oberyn smiled toothily. "Prince Jaime, I wish you a swift and easy ride home to your lovely wife and fine, healthy children."

Jaime's eyes narrowed but there wasn't anything he could specifically take offense at. "And I hope you have a good voyage back to Dorne."

"Ah. I will not be going back to Dorne immediately." Oberyn shrugged. "It seems, having let my nephew down so publically, I should not show my face in Sunspear for a while. And it is so much less handsome than usual, at least until my scars are more healed. So I will be taking ship for Oldtown. I have many happy memories of my time there."

"Well, do enjoy yourself. I hear Maester Pycelle will be going back there."

"Do you know, I have heard the same thing." Stepping back, the Red Viper bowed and made way for the Lannisters to depart - which they did, Kevan Lannister throwing a suspicious look back at them.

Obara walked closer to her father. "Oldtown? I would have thought Essos."

"Ha." He shook his head. "You were thinking Tyrosh, but no. I am not what that young man is looking for." Then he glanced towards Obara's half-sister Tyene. The one who had all but admitted that she had provided Quentyn with the 'medicine' he had used to kill Tywin Lannister.

"You trust her?"

"If she succeeds, it is good. If she fails, it is not so bad. We will see how she manages without her family's support." Oberyn smiled cruelly. "You didn't risk, Obara. That isn't quite so bad, but I expect more of you. Do impress me."

"I'm going to see the Wall."

"Indeed. Commissioned by Prince Doran to inspect the two castles we've been charged to rebuild. Which ones are they...?"

"The Torches and Greenguard," Obara reminded him. "As far away from as the two Lannister castles as possible."

"Very wise." Her father gave her a look. "King Robert will be visiting the Wall himself. I expect you to make a good impression. Ingratiate yourself. He seems to be faithful to his wife but he's impressed by skill at arms and by appointing the Queen of Thorns as his Whisperer, he won't mind you're a woman."

"You want his support?"

"It would be well if he thinks that. He knows he has enemies, it would be best if the Baratheon does not consider us to be among them."

Obara nodded. The serpent was most dangerous when no one could see it in the grass.