Chapter 10: Justice

Jon

The ride to the Red Keep nearly matched in splendor the tourney at Harrenhal, where it all began. In a fashion. Jon felt uneasy, more than he had when Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark with a circlet of blue winter roses. King's Landing welcomed the guards with dried flowers and cheers, and the prisoners with a hail of filth. A flower by chance got caught in his hair, and he felt ashamed, that he had failed to protect his friend. He brushed it out with his free hand. He and his companions had dressed their best for this occasion, as did Tygett Lannister, who was basking in the applause which third sons so rarely receive. The soldiery behind merely made sure their arms and armor were well-kept before they passed through the gates.

Jon saw a small number of guards and knights were arrayed to greet them at the castle gates, as the procession began the ascent up Aegon's Hill. A small escort of what knights accompanied Tygett Lannister at the front, those his elder brother was willing to part with, anyway, and Jonothor Darry rode beside him, resplendent in a new white silk cloak draped over his shoulders. Jon followed with Oberyn Martell at his side. The Dornish knights were close behind with Ser Myles Mooton and Raymun Darry, whom they had gotten along with quite well on the way to the capital. The common soldiery and the prisoners came last, falling behind for lack of mounts.

It was not long until the leading men reached the top. Qarlton Chelsted shook Tygett's hand as long as he dismounted and a groom came forth and took his horse. Jonothor Darry limped right past. Jon glared at the Hand as he came forward. Qarlton had replaced him as Hand after the defeat at the Battle of the Bells, and Jon still remembered the humiliation the King had forced on him. Aerys was pleased to whip the chain of office in his face, drawing blood, and calling it lenience as he bestowed the chain on Chelsted, whom he had chosen at whim.

Jon forced himself to smile before Chelsted now, and dismounted, though inside he felt like riding the Hand over instead.

"Welcome, Lord Connington," Chelsted said. Jon shook his hand, stiffly. "I did not expect you to return so soon, what with the Ironborn joining the Rebellion..."

"I have come to ensure the prisoners are used for their due purpose," Jon said.

"You will have opportunity to do so, to be sure," Qarlton said. "The King has called for a meeting to welcome you within the hour."

"I understand," Jon said, and walked past him to Ser Manly Stokeworth, Commander of the City Watch.

"Ah, Jon," Manly said, seeing him approach. "You should be more polite to the Lord Hand, you know."

"Perhaps. How go things, friend" Jon said. "I have some matters of importance I would discuss with you."

"Alone?"

Jon looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, and said, "Other things later. But for now, can you find accommodations for my men? Three thousand men of them, I believe. I recall half your men left with Rhaegar. That means the barracks up here can house them? I would prefer them not to stay in the city, what with the thieves and whores prowling down there at night."

"Indeed." Manly scratched his head. "It could be done. It would not be comfortable, mind you, but I will see to it the best I can. I understand that you are a busy man, so I will not hinder you further." He made a thin smile. "You can look for me at my mens' barracks. Just ask for me, and they should be willing enough to find me if you ask."

Jon shook his hand. "I will." He looked around for Willem Darry, the Master-at-arms. Upon realizing he was not there, he pushed past the gate, as Manly strode away to speak with the troops.

He walked into the inner courtyard. Horse after horse trailed off to the stables from the gateway behind him. Then he remembered what he was here to do. Tygett Lannister would be busy with the prisoners for some time. He looked up at the sky. It was just past midday, so there would be time enough.

Willem Darry usually spent the afternoon in the training yard, beating skill into the guards of the royal family... and demanding they look their best. Jon straightened his tunic, and set off to find him.

He walked about aimlessly for some time, as he had so many times with his Prince, the odd guard and servant standing aside as he went. He found himself retracing his steps on the way Rhaegar usually went, back when the King insisted that Willem teach him daily, after he returned from his tutelage. Jon frowned. They were but boys back then, innocent of the harsh realities that caved in Rhaegar's chestplate. Rhaegar knew back then, that something was wrong with his father, but it never came clearer to mind now. That Aerys had dared insult the memory of his firstborn son by disinheriting his heirs…

Jon smothered the anger burning in his heart, as he stepped past a lazing guard into the training yard, where the veritable giant of his youth stood, roaring at a short squire taking turns at the quintain. The sack hanging from it swung around and just barely grazed the boy in the back when he stopped to savor a successful tilt.

"Expect worse when you try that in battle," Willem grumbled. A boy of ten or so climbed on a stool to reset the arm for another go, but Jon scurried forward and did it for him.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, jumping down and sitting back against the foot of the quintain. Jon patted him on the head and walked over to Willem, who had finished his lecture and was helping the squire back onto his pony, handing him a lance.

"Good day."

Willem nudged the squire back to practice, then turned. "I see you have finally learned what I've been trying to tell you all these years about appearances." Jon raised his eyebrows. That is him, alright. "I heard what happened to your friend," he added. Seeing Jon's face, he quickly said, "That was an understatement. I know he was a brother to you, as a son he was to me."

"We can mourn together later," Jon replied. "But there is something important we must discuss."

"The disinheritance?" Willem watched the squire dodge the sack. "I..." He looked around nervously. "I think it is a great shame the King has done. Almost as bad as murdering the Starks when they showed up."

Truth be told, it was worse, but Jon didn't press it. "You fear the Spider has spies watching?"

Willem nodded slowly. "I think the guard you passed over there might be one of them."

"So where would you talk with me instead?"

Willem pointed at the ground. "Here. Quietly. And give the two boys there a word or two while you're at it, so nothing looks out of the ordinary."

Jon looked over Willem's shoulders at the Great Hall, which towered over the grounds. The King would be there, surrounded by his lickspittles. Hopefully daggers soon enough. "About the execution of the two elder Starks..." He blinked. "How do I put it... He will be doing it again soon. You see, my party arrived with dozens of highborn prisoners, and Tygett Lannister will have arranged their new lodgings in the dungeons shortly. You know what the King will want of them. Screams and smoke and soot to warm his blackened heart."

Willem winced, frowning. He pointed at the practicing squire, who had just narrowly missed his target. "You! Don't lean forward with a lance couched under your arm!" Turning back to Jon, he said, "If you were so concerned for their safety, why did you bring them here?"

"Tywin Lannister sent Tygett to do that. I came because I hoped to try prevent the worst from happening."

"I cannot help you much, son. Say what you will of the King, but he is strong-willed. He will not be swayed."

"There are many loyal men, your eldest brother and three of his sons among them, who remain in rebel hands. I would be willing to sway the King with more than words, if it means saving their lives."

Willem looked at him warily. "I worry for you."

Jon slowly took a few steps back to the practicing squire. "Do you not think something must be done?"

Willem nodded slowly. He strode over to his pupil and passed him some instruction, then walked back. When they were far enough again, he said, "If it saves my kin, I can look away from what you do with the King, unless his blood, or that of good men, comes seeping under my door. But I cannot promise that my brother will do the same. You have spoken to him, have you not?"

Jon nodded. "Jonothor has agreed to much of the same, as has Raymun, your nephew."

"I know their names, Jon," Willem said. He brushed dust off his padded vest, and tightened his gloves. "You may wonder why your plans have not shocked me." He looked behind him. "Truth be told, Rhaegar spoke to me as well of what he intended to do after he defeated Robert. He sighed. "That did not work as planned, but I still agree with him. His father is as mad as ever, and without his old friend to restrain him, there is no telling how far he will go in the future."

He still thinks Tywin Lannister wants to serve the Realm, Jon thought, cursing that he'd forgotten. They'd fought together in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and ever since they'd been on somewhat good terms. But not friends, and hopefully that distinction would serve to keep him on the righteous path. "I think Tywin Lannister may have revived his friendship with the King," Jon said after some consideration. "His Grace chose Tywin's son Ser Jaime to deliver some sort of message to the camp. I saw him depart, no doubt after passing something on to his father. Perhaps they have made some deal. It would not surprise me. They do share a certain affinity for cruelty, after all."

"So you did not trust Tygett to perhaps aid you in your endeavor?"

Jon shook his head. "I can trust no Lannister."

"I grown fond of Tywin's boy. He is not the sort I would think to be a plotter."

"I know him as well as you do, and he is not the sort I would expect to disobey the wishes of his father."

"He would not have accepted the white cloak if he was a mere pawn."

"But who knows? Perhaps it was arranged? Perhaps this was a sham to trick Prince Rhaegar into showing his hand too early? You do know His Grace was suspicious of his son's intentions."

Willem shrugged. "If it was an act, I doubt Lord Lannister agreed to it. He could never have stomached putting his son in a white cloak. The oaths of a Kingsguard are for life, and Jaime's name would be stained if he did not live them out." Willem took a swig from the wineskin under his belt. Putting it back, he said, "So what is it exactly what you intend to do, with regards to the King?"

"You summed it up about as well as I could hope to," Jon said. "I give you my word he will not be harmed, merely coerced."

"You tell me you want to protect important hostages, and I know it is in part for my brother, but surely there is more to it?"

"I was just about to get to it. You should perhaps give your pupil a word there," Jon said, taking care not to point. "He landed a clever one there with the lance."

Willem, who had been watching as he listened, nodded, and strode away for a good time. Jon looked around, waiting. He looked at the guard, who noticed he was looking and waved, before averting his gaze. Jon looked at the Tower of the Hand. If not for the King's pettiness, he would be there now. Rhaegar's wife and children resided a few glances away, at the second window right from the King's chambers in the corner of Maegor's Holdfast. Jon remembered the time when Rhaegar waved down at him, telling him his wife was with child. Rhaenys was born months later, the splitting image of her mother, who was bedridden half the year after. And not a year ago Rhaegar's infant son became heir to the Iron Throne, until the King saw fit to filch away the inheritance, and give it to Viserys instead...

"What were you going to say?" Willem had returned. He looked over Jon's shoulder. "Elia will be up there by now."

Jon turned around. "I intend to restore her children to their rightful place."

"In the line of succession," Willem ventured.

Jon nodded. "Indeed. But, trouble is, not all of us are too fond of it. Ser Jonothor Darry only agreed to it because it involved protecting his family."

"I would speak to him, but he is a stubborn man. It would do no good," Willem replied. "And it would be best if I am not implicated, if you fail."

"You think it is possible?"

Willem put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Many things are possible, Jon. I pray you will succeed, but it is not for me to decide what the Gods shall choose."

"If you are not going to help us, do you promise to remain silent?"

"By the Seven," Willem put his hand at his heart. "I promise you that." Trumpets from above rang in the air, drawing their gaze at the castle above. It was the King's summons of all those who mattered… to the Throne Room. As Chelsted had said, one hour after they'd arrived. Still looking at the Great Hall, Willem took a deep breath. He looked Jon in the eye. "Hurry."

"I talked with my uncle Lewyn," Oberyn whispered in Jon's ear. Jon slowed down as other nobles jostled past to the great iron doors to the Throne Room.

"What did he say?"

"I could only get a few words with him before he was summoned to the King, but he is ready to help." Oberyn shot back. Jon brushed his fingers on his lips to signal for silence. It was too risky to speak further, with all the men around them. Jon looked up at the ceiling towering above, as they finally passed the doors. He had always felt that the word room sold this place cheap. The Iron Throne towered over the throngs crowded below.

"We should split up to deflect suspicion," Jon murmered. Oberyn nodded, and pushed his way off to the right. Jon went left, where he saw Tygett Lannister standing near the foot of the throne, with the Hand of the King. Rhaegar's father was seated above, a mockery of the kings before him.

Jon pushed his way to Tygett, as the Hand called for silence.

"What is this?" Jon hissed in the Lannister's ear.

"His Grace wishes to give the rebel leaders a taste of justice," Tygett murmured back, his face coldly still. "I believe you know what happens next."

"Don't you realize what this will mean for our allies who have been captured?" Jon shot back.

Tygett glared back. "It is not my place to question His Grace's will, Lord Connington." Just then, the King began to speak. "My friends," he said, standing. "And foes." He made a grand, sweeping gesture that rested at last pointing at four men in chains. "Welcome to King's Landing. I know some of you have come from far and wide to see this day, and others have fallen on the way. But you all shall see what you came for: Justice." Lannister men in crimson dragged the prisoners to the foot of the throne, and threw them to the floor, where burn marks had been seared deep into the marble. "Lord Hoster Tully," Aerys said, his long untrimmed nails pointed like spears at the Lord of Riverrun. "or raising your sword against your King, I strip your family of its titles and sentence you to death." Jon shook, angrily, as Lord Tully hung his head, whether in shame or in fear. He had come all this way, only for the King to undo everything. Philip Cafferen sobbed at the floor, as Aerys turned to him next. "Lord Phillip Cafferen, for turning your cloak at Summerhall, I strip you of your titles and sentence you to death!"

"Your Grace! I beg you," Jon said, stepping into the clear, arming the Hand aside when he tried to bar the way. "Please, spare these traitors until your loyal bannermen can be recovered from the rebels! Do you know what execution will mean for them?"

"Justice, my old Hand." Aerys smiled thinly. "Do you mean to see these villains depart unscathed?" Jon's jaw dropped, and he looked around the men around him. If they cared, they were doing a good job of hiding it, the cowards. Aerys nodded slowly, cocking his head. "I thought so." He thrust his claws at Lyonel Corbray, who, disheveled, nursed his bruises but kept his pride in silence. "Lord Lyonel Corbray, traitor, the six months you ruled Heart's Home were six too many. I hereby sentence you to death." Jon bowed his head to the King, and retreated from the clear, blood pumping through his face. How dare the King be so callous of the lives of his comrades, and the men around him so indifferent? Although it was undeniable Phillip Cafferen deserved death, surely the lives of Lord Darry and his sons were of greater concern?

The King continued. "Harys Grandison, I recall we served together in the Blackfyre Rebellion. Why did you betray me at Summerhall? Why?" Harys trembled on his knees, but spilled no words or tears. Aerys looked around. "These men disgust me. Burn this traitor with the others. The rest of the prisoners shall await judgement until tomorrow."

No…! Jon thought. But the King's word was law here, for now. Guards with rope bound the four men together with difficulty and then to a metal link embedded in the floor, kicking Philip until he could not muster the breath to sob. Harys's composure at last gave way as Acolytes in flaming-yellow robes came forward with earthen jars, and doused him and all his tears in jade-green liquid. A guard unwound a rope, and laid it down from the slowly-spreading puddle of wildfire to the foot of the throne. Rossart strode forward with a lit torch, motioning the crowd to stand back.

"Stop!" Qarlton Chelsted rushed forward and grabbed Rossart's arm, just as the alchemist was readying to light the fuse. He looked up at the King hopefully. "Your Grace, behead these traitors instead. We need not curse this room with yet more such cruelty as this."

Aerys waved him off. "I will not profane this throne with blood." Qarlton paled, backing away. Rossart looked back at his king, beaming. Aerys nodded quickly. "Do it."

As the "Wisdom" stepped back to admire the show, the flame burned its way through the rope to the four bound men, whose screams already echoed in Jon's ear. Then they were all set alight, and he felt a great hot wind blowing against his face and whistling in his ear. For a moment Jon's eyes could see only white, and a roaring began that drowned the cries of the men within. The fire ebbed a little, and Jon could just make out four black things writhing, twisting in the midst of the flames like worms. The crowd, which for the moments before had been holding its breath, now backed away hastily from the fire. But the King and his attendants merely gazed into the inferno which roared in Jon's ear like a maddened dragon. Soon the charred corpses within ceased their twitching, but the fire, like a lion with its paws stretched over its slain prey, continued to roar through the hall.

"I trust you know now what retribution treason shall be rewarded with," Aerys announced. He fluttered his hand as if nothing significant had happened. "You are dismissed."