The trumpet sounded one last time, the note ringing through the tourney grounds, and panting in exhaustion, Alyssa let her arms fall to her sides. Not five feet from her, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, breathing far less heavy but bleeding from over a dozen cuts, sighed in relief as his sword point dropped to the ground. Alyssa's furious offence had come very close to overwhelming the sellsword knight's defences more than once, but she had been spending far more energy than him to do it, and Bronn had been hoping she would tire before she finally got through. After all, he had to make every single parry to keep his head on his shoulder, while she only had to get lucky once to end him. Wiping his blade on his cloak, Bronn slid it into its sheath and offered Alyssa a wry smile which she returned, both knowing that their battle had stood on the edge of a knife.
Now with a moment free, Alyssa looked around and gasped at the sights that met her eyes. Of the fourteen who had ridden out to battle that day, six were lying on the field unmoving. Two of the Kingsguard were down, Ser Meryn Trant having been clearly spitted with a lance, while his Sworn Brother Ser Osmund Kettleblack showed no visible wound. Joffrey's side had repaid that blood in the same coin, however, and the spiked ball of Ser Balon Swann's morningstar even now remained stuck in the beak of Lord Jason Mallister's eagle helm, while the angle of the cut opening Ser Walder Rivers' throat mimicked the red band over the twin towers on the Frey bastard's shield.
A single glance towards Eddard Stark told Alyssa that her goodbrother was beyond all help, the greatsword Heartsbane still jutting from his chest, but the armored corpse laying next to him said that Lord Stark had not died alone, Lord Randyll Tarly's helm and head some two feet from his body. Bowing her head for a brief moment as a nod to her goodbrother's bravery, Alyssa turned away from the sight of her sister even now pushing free of her guards and running towards the field; searching instead for her brother. The sight of Edmure cradling his arm, with a broken lance still sticking from his shoulder, had Alyssa racing to his side in a heartbeat, exhaustion be damned, and shouting for a maester.
At Joffrey's command, Grand Maester Pycelle was already making his ponderous way across the field to see to Ser Loras Tyrell, the Highgarden knight bruised and battered from his fall, but he wasn't the only one. With fourteen knights battling, many heirs or Lords of important Houses, someone with sense had seen the need for more maesters, and ravens had been sent to the Lords of the nearby Crownlands; summoning their chained healers to the city in preparation for the Trial. Even now Rosby's maester directed men to lift Ser Osmund Kettleblack onto a litter, taking care with the man's head, while the maester in service to the infant Lady Ermesande Hayford was waved away by an impatient Bronn.
Not fool enough to trust any wounds she may or may not have taken in this battle to a maester in Joffrey's service, Alyssa had sent her squire Olyvar Frey to the rookery with her seal to back up her words, instructing him to send a raven to Harrenhal. Inside the sealed scroll, was a request for Lady Shella Whent to send her maester to the capital in anticipation of the Rivermen taking injury in the upcoming fight. Loyal to the Riverlands and House Tully, Lady Shella had heeded Alyssa's request, and an indignant Maester Tothmure found himself loaded onto Lady Shella's largest boat, almost a ship in truth; along with many of his medicines. Sailing across the God's Eye, the maester then found himself taking a terrifying journey down the Blackwater Rush, the fast-moving river getting him to the capital in mere hours.
It had been worth it though, as Harrenhal's maester bent to examine Lord Edmure's injury. Frowning, he called for boiling wine and strong men to hold the Lord of Riverrun down while he drew the broken lance from Edmure's wound. When the last of the bloodied chunk of wood was removed, Tothmure tossed it aside and poured a small cup of milk of the poppy, which Edmure tossed back with a grimace, knowing the next part would not be pleasant. As he drifted out of consciousness, Edmure caught the scent of wine boiling on a fire, and knew he'd wake up with a burn scar to replace his wound.
"You promised me Catelyn Stark would die" fumed King Joffrey, throwing up his hands as he stormed around the chamber. "Now not only is the bitch not dead, her husband is, and she's in charge of the North until her brat of a son comes of age." Joffrey's breath came in a hiss. "It doesn't take a genius to work out that she'll be planning ways to take my head the moment she steps foot back in the North." Folding his arms, the King shot glares at his uncle and mother in turn. "Not to mention Mace Tyrell is furious because the Reach lost its best general along with Lord Tarly's head. So. Do either of you have any idea how to fix this?"
Tyrion opened his mouth, but the clearing of a throat from behind him had the Imp whirling, mouth dropping open when he saw Lady Olenna Tyrell standing there. He had no idea the Dowager Lady of Highgarden could be so quiet, he hadn't heard her cane at all.
"As to the last" the old woman remarked, "I have an easy solution for you. My son angers easily, but is quick to forget when distracted. Name him Hand, and Tarly's death goes away. Oh don't look at me like that" she scolded, well aware of the looks being shot her way, "I'm not suggesting you let him make any actual decisions. Pin the badge on him, place him beside you at councils, let him bring in that gaudy monstrosity of a chair he's had made in anticipation of getting the role, and he'll be happy." Her piece said, Lady Olenna heaved herself into a chair, and Joffrey saw his councillors shooting each other uneasy looks, before they seemed to concede the argument.
"Good". The Queen of Thorns leaned back in her chair, her cane resting within arm's reach, though whether or not she even needed it Tyrion doubted now. "As for controlling Lady Stark, well you could marry her off, but she may well just refuse, and that makes the Crown look weak. Besides, it's not her you need control of in truth, it's the North." Brittle fingers entwined as the old lady lost herself in thought. "The Starks have ruled that frozen wasteland for eight thousand years, the Iron Throne has existed less than three hundred. If you want to keep control of the North, you need the Starks.
That said" she continued, "the boy Rickon is a child, and won't be of age for years yet. His mother would be his regent, but as my granddaughter's soon-to-be-husband said" Joffrey smiling at that thought while Olenna kept speaking, "trusting her with the North would see another rebellion being planned before the King was even wed. She may be a Stark now, but she was born a Tully. Family, and all that. Her husband is dead, and unlike that oaf Luthor I married" she dismissed with a flick of her hand, "she actually cared for him. She won't let this go." Olenna sighed deeply. "No, the North needs a new regent, the question is who."
"Well it can't be a man from the West or Reach" Cersei pointed out. "Northerners detest Southerners, that goes double now that the Tullys have just stabbed them in the back. It has to be a Northman."
Tyrion tapped his fingers against the table, wishing he had wine, but Joffrey had wanted wise council, not half-drunken mumblings. "So a Northman we can trust. Hmm…" Then he smiled, and Cersei saw a light in his eyes, the same light that had heralded the Young Wolf's end and convinced Joffrey to accept the Tullys' surrender. When he revealed his plan, Joffrey's lips curved as he too had come to a decision.
Setting down his needle after the last stitch, Maester Tothmure turned to Alyssa, and his grim face told its own story before he even opened his mouth. "My lady" he swallowed, "Ser Meryn's lance did grave damage to the muscles in Lord Edmure's shoulder, and it scraped the bone." The grey-haired man plucked at his chain for a moment, before hanging his head. "I did all I could, but he will never again have the strength he once did in that arm."
Alyssa bit at her lip, ignorant of the bead of blood now running down her chin. "Which means?"
Tothmure heaved a deep sigh of regret. "Which means your lord brother, my lady, will never be able to raise a shield again. Nor can he fight as you do" he gestured to the double scabbards belted at her hips; "his left arm lacks the strength. He could handle a fork, or a knife to cut his meat, but a weapon or shield on that arm? Never. He couldn't even have armor on that shoulder, its weight would be too painful to bear." Grey robes fluttered in the wind as the old man stared directly into Alyssa's eyes. "Until the day he dies, that wound will pain your brother, even after it heals. Any weight or pressure on it, doubly so. Lord Edmure will never lead a host to battle again."
Cursing under her breath, Alyssa considered the implications of having the Lord of the Riverlands unable to lead his armies any longer. Commanding from the rear was all well and good, but fighting men expected their Lord to fight beside them. After all, if he wasn't willing to risk his own life, why should they risk theirs? Blowing out a breath, she turned her head to see a blacksmith struggling to remove Lord Jason Mallister's damaged helm; the eagle's beak crumpled inwards and now resembling the snout of a pig. Pacing back and forth as she waited for her brother to wake so she could deliver the bad news as best she could, Alyssa turned to avoid the sight of her sister and nieces sobbing over their father's bloodied corpse. Nieces, for Sansa had come down from the crowd and even Arya had joined her, Eddard's blood staining the crimson ripples on her new red and blue cloak.
Alyssa knew the right thing, the dutiful thing, was to comfort her grieving nieces and offer her sympathies to her sister in her time of distress. But she had used all her tears for her uncle and father moons ago, and now when she looked back at the weeping woman and girls, all she could feel was frustration. She had barely known Eddard Stark, and now he was dead while she had more important things to worry about. Edmure was wounded, and the Lords Blackwood and Bracken had defied him in front of the Crown. For the first time since this war began, a crack had appeared in the impenetrable shield that Alyssa had spent the last three years forging the armies of the Trident into. A united Riverlands, as loyal to the Tullys as the North was to the Starks or the West to the Lannister, that was her goal and now it was threatened. It could be nothing of course, Lord Tytos and Lord Jonos may still be loyal to Riverrun, but it also could be of critical importance, and instead of dealing with it, she was stuck here. Hiding her sigh, she wrapped her arms around Arya and muttered empty words into her heiress's ear.
Near noon the next day, word came that Lord Jason had regained consciousness, but before Alyssa could react, that same page had also informed her that King Joffrey commanded her presence in the Great Hall at noon, and so here she stood now along with her brother; his arm still supported by a sling while it healed, Lord Karyl and many of her fellow Riverlords. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Edmure shooting glares at Tytos Blackwood and Jonos Bracken, the two lords who had refused his plea to fight for his sister, and then Joffrey entered, the King taking a seat on the Iron Throne with his mother, uncle and councillors behind him.
"Greetings, my lords." the boy King called, his voice growing stronger with every audience. Soon, Joffrey was sure, he would have the booming voice his father was known for, the battlefield roar that had him known as the 'Demon of the Trident'."Before I get to the reason I called you here, I must first deal with matters of my own council." His face hardened and he raised his voice. "The Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, has failed repeatedly to present himself and fulfil his sworn duties. Though his replacement has served the Crown well and true" Joffrey gave his uncle a grateful nod before turning his attention back to the crowd, "this can no longer be tolerated.
I hereby strip Lord Tywin, therefore" he intoned, "of his title and position as Hand of the King." As if expecting this, his uncle removed his pin and handed it to Joffrey without a word. "In his place" the King continued, "I hereby proclaim that Lord Mace Tyrell, Saviour of King's Landing, shall be named as Hand of the King from this day forward."
Beaming, the Fat Flower made his way forward, accepting the badge of his new rank with barely concealed delight. "Thank you, Your Grace" he beamed, before gesturing to two of his men, who approached carrying a large, ornate wooden chair carved in the shape of a hand. As they set it beside the Iron Throne, Lord Mace took his seat with a smile, the Lord Oaf of Highgarden oblivious to the looks he received for sitting on such a gaudy waste of coin. Barely hiding a shudder at the sight of the thing, Joffrey turned to his uncle.
"As for you, uncle" Joffrey consoled the now demoted Imp, "I have no vacant positions left in my Small Council, yet I would not be without your counsel; aid which proved so valuable in bringing an end to the war. I grant you a seat on my Small Council in an advisory position."
Bowing, Tyrion found himself speechless. "Thank you, Your Grace." The little man waddled back to his seat amidst applause, and Joffrey allowed himself to smile. Lord Tyrell was an idiot eager to please, and would make a far more cooperative Hand, outrageous requests for land and titles notwithstanding. Now to move on to other business.
"Let it also be known" Joffrey called, "that for failure to defend his King from the traitor Stannis' recent attack, as well as his maiming rendering him unfit for further service to the Crown, Lord Commander Ser Jaime Lannister is hereby dismissed from the Kingsguard effective immediately, and freed from all oaths and privileges of that same order. In his place" Joffrey indicated the Knight of Flowers, splendid in his engraved armor and white cloak, "I name Ser Loras Tyrell as Lord Command of the Kingsguard."
"Thank you, Your Grace" Ser Loras bowed his head.
Joffrey smiled to his soon-to-be goodbrother. "With the deaths of Ser Meryn in the recent Trial, as well as many losses in the past fighting" Joffrey adamantly refused to admit to the Hound's desertion "there are many vacancies in the White Swords. It will be your duty, Lord Commander, to see your King protected and these spaces filled."
"I will speak to worthy candidates in the days to come, Your Grace" the Highgarden knight promised.
"Good". Joffrey turned away from Ser Loras, who moved back to his place. "Now, my lords, I am afraid I must turn to less pleasant, but still necessary business. As we all know" Joffrey reminded the gathered crowd, "during Lady Catelyn Stark's recent Trial of Seven, the Lord of Winterfell, Lord Eddard Stark, fell in his lady wife's defence. Lord Eddard fought bravely." Joffrey's stomach turned at praising the man who had named him bastard and tried to steal his birthright, but he was dead now and had died well. Joffrey could be magnanimous in victory. Catelyn Stark smiled faintly at that praise for her late husband, but Joffrey knew she wouldn't be smiling long.
"Lord Eddard fought well" he repeated, "but Lord Eddard is dead now. And before him died the so-called "King in the North" Joffrey's lip curled at that, "and Lord Eddard's second son, Brandon Stark, slain by the Ironborn scum Theon Greyjoy at Winterfell."
The court burst out in indignity at this, and Joffrey allowed the required moment for the gathered men and women to mourn the loss of the innocent Stark boy and curse the filthy squid for their actions. Personally, Joffrey couldn't care less what happened to the cripple, but appearances and all that. After a few seconds, he raised his voice again. "With the death of his father and brothers, rule of the North passes to Lord Eddard's third son, Rickon Stark. However."
Catelyn's blood froze and she could only watch in horror as mock concern pasted itself across the King's face. "Lord Rickon is a boy not yet grown, and unfit to rule the vast lands above the Neck. As such" he declared, "I name Lord Roose of the House Bolton acting Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Lord Protector of the North, until such time as Lord Rickon comes of age." The court burst into applause, and Catelyn's mouth fell open in disbelief, but Joffrey raised his hand for quiet and the room fell silent. Clearly, he was not through yet. "Furthermore" Joffrey continued, "for the key role they played in ending the rebellion mounted by the traitor King Robb Stark, I elevate House Glover to the rank of Lord, and grant them lordship over the lands of the Wolfswood, and all people and Houses therein." He gestured, and a knight brought forth the greatsword Ice, cleaned of Lord Randyll's blood and once again in its wolf-pelt scabbard.
"To aid Lord Roose in his dispensation of justice in the Crown's name, as well as Lord Rickon's" Joffrey announced with a magnanimous smile, "I return to House Stark its ancestral blade. This Lady Stark will take with her when she returns North, along with Lady Sansa" the girl in question looked up with a gasp, "who has her King's permission to return to her home." Joffrey hated to lose his favourite toy, but Margaery was fond of the girl, and as his uncle had told him once while drunk; "a happy wife makes a happy life". Setting the wolf free to return to her frozen den would win him many favours with his rose. Besides, if he wanted to beat someone he had smallfolk for that. The people were muttering in approval now, and Joffrey knew it was time for his greatest announcement, the move that would see him remembered as one of the greatest kings ever to sit the Iron Throne.
"This recent war" Joffrey began, endeavouring to look as kingly as possible, "has been the bloodiest in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. In the past three years, more men, women and children have died than in the Dance of Dragons or in my father's Rebellion combined! All across the North, Riverlands, Stormlands and even my lord grandfather's Westerlands, thousands of fields will go unplanted because their owners rot in some far-off battlefield. The Realm, my lords and ladies, needs time to heal. We must allow our population to replenish, which will not happen if we continue this way. As the Starks are fond of saying, "Winter is Coming, and we must be ready.
Every set of arms in the Seven Kingdoms should be working in the fields or out on a fishing boat somewhere" Joffrey pressed, "not dying in some muddy field for a lord they've barely met." Mutters of agreement greeted this, but more than one frown as well, as lords never took any infringement of their privileges or blame for their actions well. Seeing this, Joffrey knew he had to push harder. "The next time two armies clash in the field" he stated, as if unable to soften the blow, "it may as well be women and children they are slaying, for each man cut down makes one less able to bring in stores for winter, and with the losses the Realm has suffered in the last few years, every man is precious."
"Because of this" he intoned, "the Crown has been forced to issue the following decree. For the period of five years from this day, the Crown will consider it an act of high treason for any Great House to go to war with another without express consent from the Crown, given under the King's name and seal." The gathered lords burst out in indignant cries at this, and not wanting his announcement to turn into a shouting match, Joffrey gestured to Ser Loras, who banged his gauntleted fist on the Iron Throne to silence the crowd.
Once order had been restored to the Great Hall, Joffrey kept speaking as though he had not been interrupted. "Any Great House making war without the Crown's consent will face the execution of not only the Lord of that House" he warned, "but the extinction of their line root and branch, and the attainder of their House." Joffrey paused a brief moment for breath and opened his mouth again only to close it when Lord Karyl Vance stepped forward, indicating a wish to speak. Despite himself, Joffrey nodded, giving Lord Karyl permission.
"Just the Great Houses, Your Grace?" enquired the melancholy looking Lord of Wayfarer's Rest."
Though he made no reaction, inwardly Joffrey was smiling. Lord Vance had just given him the perfect cue, allowing him to reveal his prepared speech to convince the lords of his plan. "Of course, Lord Vance" he reassured the man. "The Crown has no intention of preventing noble lords from meting out justice and keeping order on their own lands. These petty wars between Kingdoms, however, must stop. Grand Maester". The old man jerked, caught off-guard by his King's abrupt change of tack. "Your...Your Grace?" he stammered.
Joffrey spread his arms wide. "Let your ravens fly. Inform the North of its new Lord Protector, but more importantly, tell the Seven Kingdoms of their King's decree. From the Last Hearth to Sunspear, from Casterly Rock to Tarth, let the people know that it matters not if you are Stark, Tully, Lannister, Greyjoy, Arryn, Tyrell or Martell, make war on your neighbour and your line will end. It is high time the Great Lords of Westeros learned to use their words instead of their swords!"
Many still muttered about this, but they were drowned out by the veritable tide of men and women cheering this announcement, and chanting Joffrey's name in delight. Lips curling up in triumph, Joffrey took in the praise with delight, only to catch a look at Alyssa Tully out of the corner of his eye. Strangely, Edmure Tully's formerly bastard sister was outright grinning, as if Joffrey couldn't have given her better news had he tried. Joffrey made a mental note to look into this, or rather have his uncle look into it, before he sat back in the Iron Throne and allowed himself to soak up the praise of his people.
"King Joffrey!"
"Peacebringer!"
"Champion of the People!"
This, this was how a King should be treated.
Alyssa Tully was delighted. Never had she thought she would be grateful for any decision made by the boy King, but she had been proven so wrong. Five years of peace meant that her brother's plans could be implemented immediately without fear of attack from another kingdom while they were working. Extending rivers, expanding towns into cities, all of it could start now, and that meant that the Riverlands would be strengthened that much sooner. The moment King Joffrey dismissed the gathered crowd, Alyssa turned on her heel, mind already whirring with the possibilities this had unlocked.
With Lord Jason Mallister now conscious and eager to return to his seat, against Maester Tothmure's advice, the Riverlords left King's Landing that day. Edmure rode first, his left arm still bound up to prevent it from being injured further, then Alyssa followed and the rest of her brother's bannermen came after. In the center of the formation was Catelyn and her daughter, escorting a long, flat box; inside of which were a series of the boiled bones which were the only earthly remains of Lord Eddard Stark, to be placed in his tomb at Winterfell. That is, if the crypts hadn't been damaged by the fire.
As the Riverlords and their party departed, a flock of ravens squawked before scattering in all directions, departing for keeps throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Catelyn spared them barely a glance, caught up instead with her own thoughts. With all the chaos of the last days, she had barely any time to process the loss of her husband, and now she grieved the loss of her Eddard, her companions giving her space as they rode to mourn her loss. Sansa too, wept for her father, the sight of not only the box but the greatsword Ice; strapped to her saddle as only a Stark should carry the blade, had driven home the fact that her father was indeed dead.
Little did Catelyn know as the first raven to be sent winged its way towards Winterfell, that her troubles were not yet over, as the contents of the message it carried would lead to yet more strife and arguments in the lands above the Neck. The War of the Five Kings, that bonfire which had raged across the Seven Kingdoms for years straight and cost thousands of lives may at last have been extinguished, but a few smouldering embers remained; and unfortunately for Catelyn, the first would land in the North.
Sorry about the wait. On the positive side, my threads have finally been spun and now I need but weave the fabric into chapters. And for those begging me to put out the next ten, sorry but there are only three left to go. I'll start writing the next one right now, so anywhere from tomorrow to a week should be a good guide. Keep checking those alerts, and thanks for staying with me all these years :D
