King Jon I
The Small Council
"Your Grace…", the alarmed voice of Grand Maester Qorgyle trailed off as he bowed his head and took his seat at the small council. Though his footsteps were that of a younger man, his chains rattled like that of an older, wiser Grand Maester.
Jon always felt uneasy as a king, but then again he was always taught that lords and kings should never rest easy. He arrived an hour earlier than the meeting was to be held. He sat in silence, his mind drifting to his wife, Queen Daenerys. In his thoughts, she smiled at him, he thought of their first day as king and queen. In front of thousands of smallfolk and the surviving lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, they stood together, Daenerys dressed in the black and red of House Targaryen. Her dress flowed off of her shoulders and onto the steps of the badly damaged Red Keep, a small red dragon made of rubies covered her heart. On her head, a crown of black steel, with rubied tips. Jon was dressed in black as well, but his clothing was not fit for a king, but a warrior. Daenerys reached out that day with a single finger and stroked his hand, before holding it tight. Jon held her hand tightly, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. The smallfolk smiled and cheered, the knights and warriors of Westeros breathed easy, for the dragons came to Westeros again, this time not to conquer, but to save the Seven Kingdoms.
The smiling face of his wife disappeared into a gust of wind and snow. Jon Snow, or Stark or Jaehaerys Targaryen, he was the Prince that was Promised, Azor Ahai. Whenever Jon thought about those months he grew cold. He remembered individual faces, warm, happy and full of life, and then before good memories could take hold of him, Jon watched as Others and Wights cut them down. He remembered Gren, his sword in the air, looking back at Jon before his body fell, and blue eyes stared back at him. He thought of Dickon Tarly, a young boy and his close friend's younger brother, on a frozen Ruby Ford, he hacked and slashed at wights before the Nights' King ended his life with one swoop of his icy blade. In his darkest dreams, the faces that stared back at him were of his family. He saw his sister Arya cut down by the rust-covered broken swords of past warriors, but he knew she was safe at the Dreadfort, raising her own family.
The movement of heavy steps ended Jon's daydreaming, he rose to his feet as more members of the small council arrived. The first to make his presence felt was the Master of Laws, Edmure Tully. Lord Tully's shock of auburn hair had faded over the years, and grey hair had taken hold along his temples. Lord Tully was a quiet, and fair Master of Laws. Rarely did he speak up during small council discussions. A few years ago, Jon spoke with the Lord of Seagard and Master of Ships, Jason Mallister about Lord Tully. Mallister smiled and laughed with the king until Edmure's name was mentioned. Mallister grew angry, and saddened, he spoke of a happier time, when Edmure was...Jon struggled to remember his words, "Not broken". Mallister's fist had balled up, "That my king is what years under the hospitality of Lannisters and Freys will do. He was a LORD!, He should have been treated with dignity and respect of his station". King Jon smiled warmly at Lord Tully, and in his king's voice, "Lord Tully", Tully's response was soft "Your majesty, your council is gathered and ready to discuss the king and queen's business".
The small council took their seats around a rectangular black table, with dark red trim. King Jon looked around the table, Lord Tully, Master of Laws, Lord Mullendore, Master of Coin. Lord Mullendore was a man of the Reach, and Tarly's ally on the council.
He was young once, dashing and brave. How many blue eyed demons did he strike down with an obsidian axe? Mullendore was much older now, and thinner. He walked with a reddish-brown cane. While Lord Mullendore struggled to move around King's Landing, his mind for diplomacy and coin was still sharp. Sitting to Jon's right was the Hand of the King, Lord Randall Tarly. Even though Lord Tarly could look back on over four decades of military command, his movements were that of a younger man. He was gruff, unflinching, and he commanded the respect of folk born both low and high. In the small corners of Kings Landing, and the Reach where men drank and sought the touch of women there were whispers that ̈even the dragons shivered at the gaze of Lord Tarly. That thought brought a smile to Jonś face. Tarly was a battle-hardened commander and one of the heroes of the Long Night. But Tarly knew his place around his queen. Even his proud "commander" voice, softened around Dany.
Jon stood for his small council, his plain crown, an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords was not on his head, but in his hands the way a child would hold a metal ring in a game of Quoit. Jon twirled the crown on one finger, before placing it down on the table before him. Jon was quick to notice Lord Tarly eye his crown and its placement on the table.
"Jon, my love, a king must wear his crown in the presence of those who serve him". It was Dany's voice, but Tarly's words.
Lord Tarly stood, cleared his throat and spoke with an even albeit stern tone. ̈ ̈Your majesty, we have much to discuss, and with your permission may we continue with the rule of these seven kingdoms. Tarly looked around the table, his eyes staring at two empty seats where other members of the Small Council should be seated.
Jon held back a smile, Tarly believed so sternly in the idea of order and discipline, that every meeting started, and Jon knew it would end the same. Though if his queen was here, Tarlyś voice would be far sweeter.
We shall leave within the week, for Harrenhal and the Great Council. While it is my duty to rule the realm in the name of our King and Queen in their absence, this important position will go to Lord Tully. Lord Tully, you have a great responsibility ahead of you. You must protect the seat of our power and most importantly, Prince Aemon, the crown prince. While I wish I...
Lord Tully's face turned quickly toward Lord Tarly, and Jon noticed his face held back little emotion. There was anger, maybe even a small bit of audacity. When Tully spoke next, Jon thought to interrupt these two lords before an argument could break out.
Lord Hand, while I understand that you still view me as some lordling hiding behind his sister's skirt, may I remind you that I too fought in the Great War. I saved thousands of small folk lives during those months of total darkness. I led men into war, and I killed wights. I know my duty better than most men. I can assure you, I will not fail to protect the Prince or this city.
As the veins of Lord Tarly's neck began to pulse, Lord Mullendore broke the silence with a scoff, "Lord Tully, I speak for all the seven kingdoms, and especially the Reach when I say, That we remember your gallantry. I am quite sure that Lord Tarly meant no offense. It was just a mere reassurance".
King Jon looked toward Lord Tully and gave a solemn nod. "My lords", Jon spoke and quickly all attention was on him. "In a few weeks' time, the lords and ladies of Westeros will gather our third Great Council. As all of you know, this was a promise made following the Great War. Every ten years, we will gather and we will address previous concerns and the future. While I know we cannot prepare for all problems that the crown will face. Are there any rumors, or concerns that we should be prepared for?"
Lord Mullendore spoke first, his hands spinning a coin through his thick fingers. "My king, there will be your typical concerns, taxes, betrothals for young Princes Aemon and Daemon, and a certain Lannister will make her demands as usual. There is of course the Dornish problem"
Tarly spoke next, his voice gruff and determined, "These lords have naught to complain about my King. We have had twenty years of peace and prosperity. Our Queen is on her way back from Dorne as we speak. It seems like all is going to plan"
Grand Maester Qorgyle cleared his voice, a preparation Jon always heard if the Maester planned on asking Tarly a question or making a contradictory statement. Jon looked at his grand maester, and thought of Samwell Tarly, who currently served his sister in the Dreadfort. Not as a maester, but as a trusted advisor and friend. Qorgyle was Dornish, and young for a maester, only just last year reaching 50 years of age.
"Lord Hand, as a Dornishman you must remember that we can sometimes speak in the loyalist of ways, but when we whisper, we whisper foul and treacherous things. Dorne has seen nothing but Civil War since the untimely death of Arianne Martell."
Tarly gruffed out what sounded like "Untimely?"
"Untimely or not, she is dead and with her death the last of the trueborn Martells. This council suggested the natural son of the late Trystane Martell, but the boy was murdered in his sleep shortly after. The Ullers, Yronwoods, and their allies will continue a war of attrition until one of them becomes Lord Paramount of Dorne."
Jon smirked as he heard Tarly's gruff, and his stern words. "What Maester, can the Iron Throne do to end this matter"
"Nothing my lord Hand, just as I have advised. It seems only our King takes my council. Dorne settles its problems, the Dornish way...Blood, venom, and steel. We should keep our distance, and when this sandstrom dies down, the crown supports the victors."
Jon heard a sudden noise and looked to the doors of the small council. Beyond the doors stood two Kingsguard. The two last remaining members of the Small Council entered, Lord Jason Mallister, the Master of Ships, and Lord Davos Seaworth, the Master of Whispers.
Jon smiled at Lord Seaworth. He was Jon's most trusted advisor, and one of the most loyal and honest men Jon had ever known. While Randall Tarly could be firm with his advice, he rarely gave honest answers. He gave advice that he thought Dany and Jon would want to hear. It was Davos, who gave them the hard truths, especially when it came to the smallfolk.
Randall Tarly stood, his fists closed and placed on the table before him.
"You two are late"
Before Mallister could respond, Jon watch as Davos took a step or two toward Tarly, raised his gloved hand high and spoke, "Forgive us, Lord Hand, there was a minor issue on the docks and with tariffs"
Tarly smirked at the response, a rare facial movement from a man who usually wore a scowl. "So the Onion Knight also serves as Master of Coin and Master of Ships?"
Once again, Lord Mallister went to speak, and this time he matched Tarly with a scowl of his own.
Jon could only smile at the situation before him. Lord Mallister was someone who rarely missed an opportunity to argue with Tarly, but Seaworth enjoyed these moments even more than him.
"Again, I apologize to my Lord Hand. However, to answer your question, I serve wherever my king wishes. I was there on his and Mullendore's orders."
Jon watched as Tarly eyes darted between Davos and himself.
He would never give his queen that look, even after twenty years Tarly still thought I was nothing more than a bastard, with no right to rule, Jon thought.
"My king, members of the council, there is a concern from the Citadel that I wish to share with you". Jon looked toward his soft, but well-spoken Maester. Qorgyle had been chosen to represent the Citadel, but also Dorne. While Jon never questioned the Grand Maester, there were members of the council who often called him "Maester Sand" for his affinity to always look after Dorne.
Jon nodded his head, giving his Grand maester a chance to speak.
"The Citadel was commissioned ten years ago to calculate the population of your Seven Kingdoms. It was tireless work, and the Citadel believes we can finally release our findings. However, we are afraid our calculations for one of your kingdoms is wrong."
Lines formed between Davos the eyebrows, "Go on, Maester"
"The North my lords. I know it has a special place in our Majesty's heart. But, the numbers we are seeing cannot be accurate. Twenty years ago, you, my king said it would be a grand accomplishment if we could raise the numbers of men and women of your kingdom before the War of Five Kings. Every kingdom, except the Riverlands and Dorne, are near eighty percent of that total. Most being teenagers, but still in a few years, adults."
Lord Tully spoke between pauses, facing down as he often did, "What of the Riverlands?"
Jon watched as Tully and Mallister sat higher in their seats to prepare for the maester words and then he watched as their shoulders crumbled as the words, "sixty percent, my lords. As you both know, wars are never kind to the Riverlands. The Dornish issues are self inflicted"
Jon stood, he walked around the table and every member sat a little straighter. He placed his hands on the shoulders of the two lords from the Riverlands. "Sixty percent is quite the accomplishment my lords. Please continue maester."
Jon stood for the rest, as the other members listened.
"From the information we have gathered, the North has been able to completely rebuild its population. It is not just rebuilt my lords, but they seem to have grown in almost forty percent larger than during Robert Baratheon's reign"
Jon noticed that Tarly wasn't bewildered for Qorgyle's statement, and confidently asked "How is this possible?"
Jon noticed Lord Davos looking toward him as if he should step in before Qorgyle spoke.
"My lords, here is what we know. White Harbor now has a population near one-hundred thousand, before the war...they had a population near thirty thousand.
Davos interjected quickly, "Simple explanation my lords. During the long night, the small folk turned to the cities in their need. They populated one area, and depopulated another."
"A wise observation, Lord Seaworth. But, one already discussed by the citadel. It seems the other areas have not grown smaller, but have also become...robust if you will. I even hear Lord Rickon Stark has begun called Wintertown…"
"Winter City"...Jon's voice was but a whisper but all in the room heard him and looked to him for more answers.
"Yes, my king...Winter City. So you have heard as much. Would the crown be willing to help the citadel understand the north's population growth."
Jon sighed and walked back to his seat. He sat and brooded for a few seconds. My brother, and his schemes. Jon had known Rickon Stark's plans for at least the last 15 years, and yet somehow only a small amount of knowledge has escaped the North. Soon they will all be asking questions. Within weeks, the lords of the Southern Kingdoms will seek answers from The Black Wolf, and they will not receive them. Not from Rickon they won't.
"My lords, I don't have all the answers you seek" Crossing his arms, Jon felt his jaw clench before speaking. "Only Lord Stark"
I've only known two Lord Starks, and they meant the world to me.
Jon thought about his father, the man who raised him and his brother, Robb. "Only Rickon Stark can answer your questions. But, I will share what I know. As you know, many of those numbers are Free-folk. Somewhere around fifty-thousand survived the Long Night."
Lord Tarly gruffed, "That explains some of White Harbor's numbers. We need answers, my king. While we must commend Lord Stark on taking on this challenge. Other lords may be nervous of a powerful north. Especially, since the Black Wolf commands Winterfell"
"Aye, my brother can be difficult, and for many of you, he seems dangerous. But, he is also devoted to the North. When the Iron Throne decreed each kingdom to raise their numbers, Rickon Stark took that as a challenge. I'm afraid I don't know exactly how he has done it."
Lord Tarly rubbed his hand along his bristled, white beard. "Then we shall ask him. I will send ravens demanding the Lord Paramount of the North to Harrenhal. Lord Stark has not ventured below the neck, since…
"Birth, Lord Tarly. Rickon Stark has never been below the neck, and I doubt he will ever. Bad things happen to Starks in the South."
Jon could see Lord Tarly grow agitated. "Go on, my Lord Hand...speak your mind"
Tarly rose to his feet, "My King, I say this at the peril of my own position and possibly my own head. But, if Rickon Stark was not blood, would the Iron Throne allow a lord of his power to ignore, not one, not two, but three great councils.
Jon smiled and Jon could see Tarly grow impatient. "My Lord Hand, while I may be a dragon, I was raised to be an honorable one." A noise distracted Jon for a brief second, as Lord Mallister tapped his wine glass on the table before them and spoke. "Aye, my King was raised by as honorable a man as this world has known."
Jon gave a short glance and nod to Mallister, before looking into the eyes of Tarly. "Lord Tarly, my brother had everything and everyone he has ever loved ripped from him. He bares those pains, and sometimes a wolf's teeth are sharp and dangerous. But, make no mistake...my brother is loyal to me. Anything he does is for the good of the North and with my and the Iron Throne's blessing. My sister Arya and her lord husband will represent the lords of the North. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and my brother Rickon has taken on that burden."
Before another member could speak, Jon spoke again, "If there is nothing else my lords, I will call an end to today's meeting. Lord Tully, I will be inspecting the gold cloaks and the battlements tomorrow morning. I would enjoy some company."
Lord Tully rose to his feet quickly, and bowed his head, "It would be a pleasure my king".
The small council exited the chamber, all except Davos Seaworth. Seaworth watched as the hall cleared. Sir Emmett Ranger or Iron Emmett, a former member of the Night's Watch, now Kingsguard, was on duty. Dressed in all white, across his back was a circular shield made of ironwood. The shield was trimmed in the same bright white steel on the Kingsguard. The shield was painted white, with a faint drawing of the Wall.
Emmett stuck his head into the room, smiled and spoke with a smirk. "The king may speak to his left hand now, that the right hand has left".
Davos turned, raising an eyebrow and stared at Emmett. "How does someone spend twenty years in King's Landing and still smell like Shivering Sea Lion shit?"
Emmett smirked and took a few steps toward Lord Seaworth, "You got a lot of nerve saying that since you still smell like flea bottom pig shit"
Jon watched as Davos stood to confront Sir Emmett, and they drew closer, smiles appeared and they shook hands.
"It's good to see you guarding the king, whenever I see the "Ice Shield", I know my king is well protected.
Emmett nearly blushed at Lord Seaworth's words, "Aye, I thank you for the kind words Lord Seaworth. Myself and the people of the North know that he is well advised when he sits with you. Now, let me get my arse back outside the door so the Lord Hand or my Queen's spies have nothing to whisper."
Jon watched as Iron Emmett left the room, as Jon turned Davos gave him the look. This look always prepared Jon for harsh words, just like it prepared and annoyed Stannis Baratheon.
"Jon, this thing with your brother is a problem. I have been around southern lords longer than you. You are their king, so courtesies are always made. I might have been your hand once, and I may still sit on the small council. But, they still see me as the son of a crabber, They forget their courtesies with me. Behind your back they say that King Stark plays favorites to his family. Why should I leave my lands when Rickon Stark gets to sit his ass on a frozen throne in the North. I know you and Rickon have some kind of deal. Only the most naive think that a king would treat a stranger as well as a brother. But, even Dany questions."
"I don't care who questions, Davos. Especially my wife"
Jon looked out a nearby window, from this view he could see the city sprawled out before him. The newly built manses of merchants, flea bottom and the Blackwater Rush. Jon's hands rested on the window ledge, his arms and back tensed. He was brooding, he knew it and without seeing his face, Davos knew it as well.
"What I said earlier was true. My brother has no love for the south or its pleasantries. He is of the North, more so than even I. These lords call him the Black Wolf, and it's a fitting label. As a boy, whenever Robb and I got mad, my father would speak of wolf blood. He used to say his brother and sister suffered and died too young because of it. He was always worried that Arya would fall victim to it as well. Rickon was too young and innocent when my father was alive. But, I shudder to think how my father would react to his youngest pup."
Jon turned toward Davos, "Rickon Stark does not stay above The Neck because he wishes to avoid the South, he stays above The Neck because his king demands it. Know this Lord Seaworth, if the Black Wolf ever comes South he will bring fifty-thousand Northern warriors with him, and you and the rest of the Southerners better pray to the Seven that he is coming as a friend, and not an enemy".