Chapter 7: The Path to Treason

Jon

"Quellon Greyjoy turned on us," the messenger said. The assembled lords, knights, and captains looked at him, all manner of surprised expressions running down the tables where they were feasting.
Jon broke the brief silence. "At this stale hour? The way of rebellion has run its course." His mug of steaming hippocras clinked among the laden plates. "What a fool." The messenger put both hands on the table and gathered himself.

"They killed Lord Darry and his army as well," he said. "And broke the siege of Riverrun, milord, though they only hold the north riverbank."

Ser Raymun Darry stood up, his seat clattering to the cold stone floor. "What about my brothers?" Even five lords away, Jon could see his knuckles whiten against the wood.

"I... do not know," the messenger mumbled. His face had grown sweaty from the warmth of Castle Stokeworth's hearths, and his surcoat, though clean, bore brown-pink stains and slashes that told of battle and blood.

"I demand an answer!"

"Calm yourself, cousin." Ser Jonothor Darry, who was seated beside him, pulled him back into his chair. "He probably was taken prisoner, not killed." Raymun's face twisted with anger, but managed to restrain himself and did not rise into another fury.

Lord Leo Lefford waited to be sure that would continue, then said, "What of Kevan Lannister?"

Tywin Lannister looked at his bannerman and then the messenger, who after a moment's hesitation said, "Kevan Lannister and the bulk of his men are alive and well. He sent me to tell you he intends to keep the rebels bottled up."

Jon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was not an unmitigated disaster as he had initially feared, but Lord Darry was one of the few he could depend on to defend the rights of Rhaegar's children. He would be sorely missed when Jon would attempt to restore the rightful inheritance. Curse that fool in Pyke, he thought. Lord Quellon's folly was unfathomable, especially after receiving Jon's letter of the decisive defeat of the Rebellion. How could he have been so impossible foolish? But no matter. This pointless Ironborn rebellion would be crushed, like all the last ones. As silence gave way to whispers, a plan formed in Jon's mind. If the Royal army would be drawn away from King's Landing, would it be possible for him to bring his own soldiers and at sword-point make the King restore Rhaegar's son? He would need allies, but he had a few he could depend on. It is usually the few that determine the way of things, he reminded himself, remembering what he had read of past wars. A few archers brought down the Blackfyre Rebellion, so surely a small army with the aid of the Seven could force a foolish King to do what was right? His thoughts went back on course. If Tywin went to the Riverlands or even the Westerlands, to gain the glory of crushing the fools, he would be away from King's Landing. Jaime Lannister had come a few days ago with some secret message for Tywin Lannister, from the King himself. Probably an attempt to reconcile. And if it was that, then it would be crucial that the former Hand be confined from the action.

"This insult cannot be borne," Jon said at last. "If what you say is true, the Greyjoys will reap what they have sown, though deny it they will." He stood up, gathering himself. Perhaps there was still a chance to restore the inheritance to Rhaegar's children. "We should double back and finish them off with another decisive blow, and it is not too late to recall the levy."

Tywin Lannister, who had so far merely brooded in his chair, nodded. Good. "They were indeed fools to declare against the Crown, but we should act quickly. If they reinforce the Bloody Gate, the Ironmen may embolden the Valemen to continue the fight, in spite of our hostages."

"My father marches with Ser Barristan to subdue Moat Cailin, but a raven would suffice to turn their efforts to the High Road if need be," Ser Stevron Frey said from his seat near the hearth, nose glistening red from an abundance of sweat and drink. Jon Connington nodded, and most men arrayed there said their agreements.

"Then the Twins would not begrudge us passage over the Green Fork?" Tywin said.

"I believe he will spare you the trouble of tolls, this once," Stevron said, chuckling. The men laughed with him but Jon knew better. The prickly Lord Walder Frey would disagree with his heir. Tywin Lannister shit gold, after all, and thousands of men crossing a bridge would many times surpass the yearly tolls. Jon chuckled at the thought. Tywin Lannister would march north with his lickspittles, and in the night Rhaegar's loyal men could ride with Jon for King's Landing and bring the royal inheritance to rights by reason or force or both. Whatever it took. It could become treason, but a good cause would justify it. He stood up, hardening his resolve. "All in favor of giving the Ironborn a taste of steel?"

"Aye!" a lord heard, followed by another, and then a hurricane of ayes. Jon was sure he had heard not a single dissenter in the ranks, as the lords swelled up and all stood to their feet, raising their cups like swords pledged to a liege. They were all eager for war once more. Fortunately, the men of true hearts, Jon knew, would be willing to set aside their pursuit of glory and fight for the greater justice once he told them his plan. "To another great victory!" They raised their cups above their heads and drank.

"I take it is then concluded," Tywin said, standing up as well at last, "We march north once more, to the Twins, then onwards to clear them out."

"Aye!" Jon shouted, and a torrent of voices followed. Inside, Jon chortled with glee. Lord Lannister was playing right into his hands. By committing himself to the task in the Riverlands, Tywin would find himself forced to remain absent as the inheritance would be sorted out once and for all. Then Lord Lannister brought a hammer to his plan.

"Five thousand men of my retinue with my brother Tygett will proceed to King's Landing," Tywin said. "To give our prisoner train suitable accommodations." Jon seethed but nodded with the rest. That stood to ruin everything. But he should have foreseen the former Hand would grasp for power in all directions, most of all the Throne. Perhaps Jon could attach men of his choosing to the war party? Perhaps the Kingsguard Ser Jonothor Darry?

So Jon kept silent, as the words of a war council flowed back into the rut of the evening banquet. And he realized that if the Ironborn were in the Riverlands, odds were that they were raiding the Westerlands and Reach as well. No doubt Tywin was already planning to send men and ravens back to Casterly Rock, but it would be important to know how many. If he sent the bulk west, Jon would have a freer hand in King's Landing. Jon stood up and walked with his cup around the table until he stood over the Lord of Casterly Rock, ignoring the glances of those who had to squeeze their bellies against the tables to let him through.

"No doubt the Ironborn raid the Westerlands as we speak," Jon said, leaning over. "Lord Lannister. Do you have enough men there to protect your lands?"

Tywin looked up from his cut of pork. Some others, mostly his bannermen glanced over again, but soon returned to their meals. He snatched his golden goblet of wine, and turned his chair around until he faced Jon. "I have all the men I need there." He drank. "Twenty thousand men, once they have been mustered."

"Spread over eleven hundred miles of open coast."

"I intend to send another five thousand men to reinforce the defenses. But a good much of the coast is as suited for raiding as a caltrop-strewn field for cavalry." Tywin's cup clattered to the table. "You do remember the cliffs on the Coastal Road, on the way to the tourney I held seven years agoat Lannisport to celebrate the birth of Viserys?" Jon remembered that one. The King had grown wroth when the crowd cheered Lord Lannister more, and Jon only later learned the King had repaid the slight with a rejection of his Hand's request for a royal betrothal.
After a sip of wine, Tywin continued. "I would worry far more for the Reach. The Shield Isles are apt to be seized and by now probably are. There is little to be done of it but from retaking them. When the Redwyne and Royal fleets round Dorne in search of Lord Greyjoy's head."

"The Royal Fleet will undoubtedly be required to subdue the Vale," Jon said.

"The Iron Throne will have enough hostages to make a bridge over the Bay of Crabs." Tywin brought his cup to his lips and set it back down without swallowing a drop. "When the Ironmen are swiftly crushed, the remaining lords of the Vale who elude us will be content to kneel. When it grows clear the King does not demand their heads as payment."

"Nay, their ashes instead, to dance in," Jon said after looking to make sure nobody else was listening. "Immolation is his favored way of execution and has been for years. Do you think that will change when your brother arrives with these hostages you speak of?"

"Go to King's Landing, by all means, if that would comfort you," Tywin said, arrogance flowing from his mouth with every word. "I believe my brother will convince the King to refrain from executing the prisoners we truly need."

"I think I will go with him then!" Jon put his cup to his lips for a long, feignedly rash drink of his own. "He is merely a third son, and lacks the clout of lordship."

Tywin shrugged. "What makes you think you will do any better? But if your pride wills it, so be it. Have it your way."

"I will," Jon said, scowling. He meant it. Jon returned to his seat without another word, and spent the remainder of the feast exchanging words with the handful he knew to be loyal, trying to convince them to go with him. He did not say why, but he hinted that answers would be forthcoming if they came to his tent later for a council.

Raymun Darry was the first who came to mind, when Jon was thinking of those loyal men, and the was the first to enter Jon's tent that night.

"Welcome," Jon said. He had set aside several chairs in a circle around the brazier that lit the tent, and now he gestured Raymun to take a seat beside him. Darry did not join him immediately.

"I know why you asked me to come," he said. Jon raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure nobody is eavesdropping?"

"Only my soldiers for a good hundred feet in all directions," Jon replied, "And they are all sworn to me. Nor would they know of the importance of this discussion."

Raymun did not look very reassured, but he sat down nevertheless. "You want to restore the rightful inheritance."

"Who would not, in my position?"

Raymun firmed his voice. "It is treason."

"The King is mad and unfit for the throne," Jon said.

"That takes us down a path I do not like. Right in the footsteps of Robert Baratheon." Raymun looked away for a second, then continued, "Or do you not remember the execution of Lord Stark and his son? They did less than you would now do."

"I remember too well. No doubt he would burn every prisoner Tygett brings him. That includes the hostages who we need alive. That is why I will ride with Tygett Lannister tomorrow. If they burn, all hope of ending this without unneccessary bloodshed will be gone."

"The Ironborn will have to be defeated for that to work," Raymun said. "But that is why I intend to follow you to the capital. As you know, my father and brothers are probably prisoners of the rebels. What do you think would happen to them if the king executes Jason Mallister? His son will call for their heads. And I have no doubt his uncle Rodrik would wield the sword himself. They were close brothers, Jason and Rodrik..."

"Many of us stand to lose if the King has his way," Jon said. He looked Raymun right in the eye. "But is that the only reason you have?"

"Oh come on, Jon. You have known me for years, a close, loyal friend of the Prince. You know as well as I do that I would lay down my life for him. And now that he is dead, his children. What do I care that they are half-Dornish? Their inheritance must be restored."

"Indeed," Jon said. "Then let us proceed. This is not something to be taken lightly. But justice must be served, in one way or another."

"Oh, spare me that." Raymun stood up and walked away, pressing his hand against the tent on the way out. He looked over his shoulder. "I will gather my men and ride with you for King's Landing on the morrow." Then he was gone. And immediately Ser Jonothor Darry replaced him, limping under his white cloak until he, exhausted, fell into a chair across from Jon.

"Seven help you if you did not have a good reason to summon me here," the knight grumbled, warming his hands and looking over the fire.

"I am a godly if cautious man," Jon said. "Welcome, friend."

"Go on."

"The King will execute every prisoner he gets his hands on. If Jason Mallister dies, his son will probably execute your brother and nephews, ifthey are indeed not slain."

"And there are many like me, I know."

"Do you see where I am getting at?"

"The King's will must be done," Jonothor said.

"The King hurt our cause more than Robert Baratheon ever did. His judgement is his own worst enemy, and it must be forestalled so peace may return to the realm."

"What do you propose? I will not be Criston Cole the Second, mind you."

"I ask merely that you suspend the King's judgement for the prisoners until they have been dealt with in a way that does not imperil the lives of his loyal men. I should like to convince him to restore the inheritance of Prince Aegon, but I imagine you do not see things eye-to-eye with me?"

"I believe Prince Aegon should be restored as Crown Prince, but he is just a boy. He can fight for his inheritance later, when he is grown and the King frail."

"And that, Ser, is where you are wrong." Oberyn Martell strode into the tent and sat beside Jonothor, like he was doing his best to make the knight uncomfortable.

"Where did you come from?" Jon said. He had not expected the Prince of Dorne to come now, what with the war being almost over.

"Dorne," Oberyn said. "But that is probably not the answer you were looking for. Truth be told, I wanted to come help against the Rebellion. But as of late, I have learned something that boils my blood. Not the hottest day in the desert would have angered me as much as learning how my sister and her children have been cast aside." The Red Viper's eyes caught a slithering, fiery glint. "I knew the Prince had something against her. Why else would he crown that Stark bitch the Queen of Love and Beauty? But that his father would go this far..." Oberyn snorted. "He disinherited her children. They aren't even Targaryens anymore, if his word be true. Princes still, but no thanks to him."

"What are you are getting at, boy?" Jonothor Darry said. "Get to the point."

Oberyn gave him a nasty look. "Aegon will not live to see out the year if the King gets his heir betrothed, which he will seek no doubt, to secure his position against us. And whoever the bride's father will be, will want my nephew gone permanently, perhaps remembering the last time a pretender with a valid claim was allowed to live."

The tent fell silent. Surely Oberyn did not believe Daemon Blackfyre was right to rebel? But Jon kept those thoughts to himself, and he was the first to speak. "You believe Viserys's future goodfather, whoever he will be, would murder a boy of the royal family?" he said. Even he was surprised. But then Jon remembered a man who could well fit that mold... "There are powerful fathers who would do such a thing," he admitted moments later. "But I do agree with Ser Jonothor. The most pressing concern is the treatment of the hostages. Leave them to the King's mercy, and none of our fellows in rebel hands are safe from reprisal."

"I couldn't care less about your fellows, but I will help you if you help me. I have five hundred knights and two thousand foot at my back, but they are only useful to you if you pledge on your honor that you will restore the rightful inheritance to my nephew and niece."

"Extortion," Jonothor said. "Conduct worthy of a Prince, I'm sure."

"I will not ask you to do what this Prince of Dorne asks," Jon said hurriedly. "But I do ask that you help me convince the King, by force if necessary, that the prisoners mustn't be rashly used for kindling." He stood up, and walked around the fire to Oberyn. "Is that enough for you?" Oberyn glared. Jon continued. "He is only a Kingsguard, and can only do so much to help you in your goal before his oaths are violated. Leave him be. We each want, no, need to convince the King of something, but alone cannot impress upon him the need to listen." Jon gestured at them both. "I am depending on you"—The men both glared—"To cooperate. You both seek justice, different ends perhaps, but there is no reason you cannot share the way."

"Whatever you just said, Jon Connington, I would not put it that way," Ser Myles Mooton said, parting the tent cloth to enter the firelight. He'd walked in with a limp and a staff he'd used since the Battle of the Bells, and his face was graced with scars with a broken nose to match. Jon quickly moved to help the bold knight into a chair.

"Welcome, friend," Jon said. "This is Prince Oberyn, and this is Ser Jonothor Darry." Myles nodded slowly as he sat down, eyes darting between the three other men. Jon continued. "As you are aware, King Aerys did the most vile deed of disinheriting his grandchildren without cause."

Myles scowled. "The bastard. What do you plan to do about it?"

"Convince the bastard by force, of course," Jonothor said. His eyebrows flit up and down as if by a great struggle, and he continued, "Make him see reason and spare the lives of the most important rebel prisoners, and secondly..." He glared at Oberyn. "Secondly, Jon and the Prince of Dorne wish to make Prince Aegon of Dorne a Prince of Westeros, and thus return to him his eventual rightful place on the throne." The tent fell silent.

Myles looked at Jon through his eyebrows. "That would be treason."

"Manhandling the King is nothing new," Jon said. "When kings were unready for rule, a Regency would handle matters of the Realm. I see little difference now, merely that Aerys is not too young, but mad. Maegor would find in him a rival in cruelty and lack of sense, where Rhaegar told me the rebels should be spared where possible. Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark are dead. Jon Arryn rebelled to protect them from the King's misplaced wrath, and he is on a ship to the Wall as we speak. So there is no reason for the war to continue but their thirst for vengeance, a drink they know is now forever beyond their reach. There is no sensible reason for this madness to continue. Unless the King gives them one, which, no doubt, he intends to do." Jon raised his voice. "If Aerys has his way, he would burn all bridges to peace but their utter destruction, which would beggar the Realm. I would not see lives and gold wasted so rashly, friends." Jon pointed at the other men. "It is our duty, Myles, Jonothor, Oberyn. We have no choice in the matter, lest our children curse our blind loyalty and name us cowards."

"No children of mine would do such a thing," Jonothor said, wincing, and making a show of brushing dust off his shoulders. "But I see your point." The Kingsguard stood up with no small amount of effort. "I don't know about you, but I will support you, Lord Connington, at least in convincing the King of the need for mercy. If only because it is in the King's best interests."

"As will I," Myles said, rising to his feet, still leaning on his staff. "The rebels do not deserve mercy, but if saving them is required to restore the rightful inheritance to Rhaegar's son, so be it."

Oberyn stood up. "I concur. The King has made an insult that shall not be borne in silence. Whatever it takes, I will see my nephew on the Iron Throne. But..." Anger writhed almost to the surface of the skin on his face. "Where, Jon, did Lyanna Stark take Rhaegar when this war began?"

"The Red Mountains, my Prince," Jonothor replied, before Jon could say no. "In Dorne."