Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. I'm only borrowing some of his characters and settings to practice fiction writing. This fanfiction story is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.
AN: This story was the original basis for Ser Jon, Lord of Castamere. I couldn't finagle my way around what I would think would be Tywin's very logical opposition to making Jon king, or even acknowledging him as a Targaryen, so I gave it up and took the tack seen in Ser Jon.
Like Ser Jon, this was intended originally to be Jon/Joy. Whether it remains that way, or becomes Jon/Talla or Jon/Myrcella (once it's known he's not her uncle), one of the Sand Snakes (I have some Jon/Sarella|Arellas scenes in another unpublished work that I could easily adapt and plug in), or someone else remains to be seen.
I've reworked the first three chapters but ditched the Ser Jon storyline for the balance of this one. It'll take a different path, including Jon at King's Landing at some point.
AWP AWP AWP
Tywin Lannister strode purposefully away from the Great Hall. Behind him marched two files of red armored knights and armsmen, his personal guard. While his face was impassive, he raged inside. He didn't even feel the heat of the noon day sun, despite his heavy armor, such was his anger.
He was the Lord of Casterly Rock. The Warden of the West. For two decades he'd served as Hand of the King. He stood at the head of the best trained, best equipped army in all of Westeros.
It was his army that gained access to the Red Keep. It was his army that took control of the city, avoiding a protracted siege. It was his army that delivered King's Landing to the soon to be King Robert, effectively ending the war.
Despite his station, despite his service, Eddard Stark dared to publicly accuse him of the murder of babes and their Dornish whore of a mother. He dared question his honor and that of his son. The insult was not to be borne.
The fact that he gave the order was of no import. It was necessary. It was for the good of the realm. And for the good of his House, he added mentally. Men who understood these things would not have publicly besmirched his reputation for merely doing his duty.
Lord Stark, he mused as his long strides carried him out of the Red Keep, was a man of limited understanding and forethought. He did not understand the intricacies of the game. He would have to tread carefully around him. Such men often stubbornly clung to their honor. They rarely comprehended the harm they caused themselves or others, so wrapped up were they in their pride.
Normally, that would not concern him. Honorable men, stubborn men, prideful men, died just as easily as weak men. It was unfortunate that this particular stubborn, honor bound, prideful fool had the ear of the soon to be King. That made him dangerous.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East. Together they represented almost half the military power of the Seven Kingdoms.
The three men were inseparable, he knew. Jon was the foster father to both Baratheon and Stark. The two boys considered each other as brothers in all but blood. Then Arryn and Stark had become goodbrothers, marrying the only two daughters of Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident.
It would be a fair estimate that they now controlled, by blood or marriage, more than half of the armies of Westeros. Stark was the linchpin. Stark was dangerous.
It would take a lot to drive a wedge between them and rupture their alliance. Until he did, he would have to endure whatever slights Stark heaped upon him. He raged at the thought.
Aerys had been a fool to execute Eddard Stark's father and brother. They would have made better hostages than corpses. Rhaegar had been a fool to kidnap Stark's sister. No matter how beautiful, no woman was worth war. Beautiful women were common enough and could be had for a handful of coins in any city worthy of the name.
What was worth war, what was worth killing, was a House's honor. Without honor, the noble houses were no better than bandits. And honor was nothing more than another word for reputation. Eddard Stark had besmirched his House's reputation before the soon to be king, and all the assembled nobles and knights gathered in the Great Hall. It was not to be borne.
He ground his teeth as he considered the problem. The kidnapping, and likely rape, of Lyanna Stark had precipitated this war. Tywin did not blame Stark and his allies for going to war over such a slight. A House that could not protect its daughters, could not protect or avenge its blood, was hardly worthy of the name.
Why Stark would take offense over the death of his enemy's family was beyond him. Babes grew. If allowed to live, they would doubtless take vengeance in turn for the death of their father. It was better for the realm that they die, that war be avoided and the peace maintained.
He snorted. Stark likely had no care for the hundreds, if not thousands, of dead babes and mothers his rebellion had caused. War, violence, always resulted in the death of innocents. A slip of a girl, kidnapped and raped, and thousands died, soldiers and innocents alike. And Stark dared lecture him over the death of a mere three such innocents.
He frowned. The war was started over the kidnap of Lyanna Stark. Where was the girl?
He raised his hand as he stopped. His men came to a rest. He was half way to his camp, he noted idly.
"Ser Benedict, seek out Grand Maester Pycelle. I want to know where Rhaegar kept Lyanna Stark before the morning sunrise," he commanded, speaking to the knight to his right.
Benedict Broom saluted smartly as he turned and headed back to the Red Keep with a martial stride. Ser Benedict was a loyal man and a skilled warrior. He would have to see about promoting him.
"Lester, Lum," he continued. Two men broke ranks and knelt before him. They were men of low birth, but reliable as had been their fathers before them. They would do.
He fished some coins out of his pouch and tossed them to the ground before them. "Take the money. Seek out the serving staff, particularly those who served Rhaegar. Bribe them, or ply them with drink, or use more forceful methods, I care not. See what they have to say about Lady Lyanna and where she might be held. Return before sunrise."
He ignored their muttered, "yes, m'lord" as he resumed his return to camp. His mind returned to how he would avenge the slight that Stark had visited upon him. It would not, could not, be forgotten.
He spent the balance of the day and well into the evening, seeing to the disposition of his men. They were all allies now, at least in theory, but he was not one to trust in the honor of others. He ensured that his men were in key, heavily fortified positions. If it came to blows, however unlikely, he would be well placed to take control of the city. He had the numbers and his men were relatively well rested compared to the others.
Of the allies, only Stark had arrived with significant force. Arryn and Baratheon had traveled ahead with only their honor guards. The fools.
He idly wondered who commanded their armies in their absence. It might be worth seeing if their loyalty could be suborned.
It was still hours before sunrise when Ser Benedict returned and found him in his command tent. Lum and Lester trailed behind. Tywin ignored the blood on Lum's steel gauntlets, as he continued to mark up the parchment before him.
"Well?" he asked in a voice like gravel once he had finished approving the budget necessary to ensure the resupply of his forces.
"My lord," Ser Benedict began, "Grand Maester Pycelle believes the Stark girl was being held at the Tower of Joy. He cannot say whether she remains there now. Prince Rhaegar had exchanged messengers with the Tower while marshaling his army at King's Landing. Three of the Kingsguard are believed to stand watch over her."
He nodded thoughtfully. Kingsguard being in attendance was surprising. They did not normally serve as jailers. He paused and considered that thought more fully. He did not like what their presence implied. He pushed it from his mind. For now, at least.
In the distance he saw direwolf banners marshaling. The reports he had received on Stark indicated he habitually mustered his troops as the sun rose. He approved. It was one of the few things he thought sensible about the northern lord.
"And you," he asked, addressing Lum and Lester. "What did you discover?"
"The same, m'lord," responded Lester, as Lum blinked dimly at his side. "They also think the Stark girl left willingly with Prince Rhaegar."
And that, he thought, gave further support to his theory as to why the Kingsguard were at the Tower of Joy. It was a problem that needed to be dealt with sooner, rather than later.
How would Lord Stark react, he mused, if he discovered his war, one that had killed so many, was built on a lie. Bringing that story to light might damage House Stark's reputation. Better, it might drive a wedge between Lord Stark and King Robert. It was worth considering as it would go a small way toward redressing the slight Stark had cast upon his honor.
"Send my brothers to me," he told Benedict before turning to Lester. "Take some men. I want all staff with knowledge of Rhaegar and Lyanna rounded up and placed under guard in our camp. Question them vigorously to ensure we miss no one."
He wasn't worried about Arryn or Baratheon troops interfering. They were too few and would be standing guard over their lords. They would not have time to care about the fate of smallfolk, in the unlikely event they became aware of what he was doing. Stark's forces appeared to be marching and so would not be a factor.
He returned to his supply reports as they hurried to do their duty. He pinched his nose to stave off his tiredness. Sleep would wait until his men were secure, including making sure they were fed and paid.
The sun was just cresting the horizon when his brothers arrived. Steady and reliable Kevan, the tempestuous and brave Tygett, and the flippant but clever Gerion.
"Kevan, you will command the bulk of our infantry forces in King's Landing. Secure the city. Ingratiate yourself with Robert or, failing that, with Jon Arryn. Lord Arryn seems to be a sensible man, one we can work with." Seeing his brother's stoic nod of assent, he continued. "I want a strong guard around Jaime. Not an obvious one, but if there is some misguided effort to hold him to account to dealing with Aerys, our forces are to intervene."
Kevan was an intelligent and cautious man, which made him an able lieutenant. Tywin was not surprised when he asked, "and if King Robert or Lord Arryn insist?"
Tywin's gaze was unyielding. "I would prefer persuasion or bribery, but if they persist, make them bleed. I don't care who you have to kill, you will ensure that no harm comes to my son. Even if you have to reduce this city to rubble. Understood?"
"Understood," Kevan replied calmly. Nothing ruffled Kevan. He was Tywin's most favored brother for a reason. Whether on the battlefield or a ballroom, he always had his wits about him.
"Gerion," he addressed his youngest brother. "You will take whatever gold is necessary and commandeer any available ships in the harbor. You will board as many of our infantry as possible." Based on what little he saw was moored in the harbor, that was likely not more than a thousand men. Even half that number would serve, he thought.
He pulled out a map, which Gerion leaned over to inspect with interest. His youngest brother was flippant and irresponsible, but he did love the sea and was best suited for this task. "You will sail south, hugging the coast. Avoid the Royal Fleet. Sail up the River Wyl. At the headwaters, disembark leaving a strong guard," he said as he traced out the route. "You will then march for what is called the Tower of Joy. It is located at the northern edge of the Red Mountains in the vicinity of the Prince's Pass, between Nightsong and Kingsgrave. Hire guides, if need be. You will seize it and any who are there."
Gerion's eyes continued to roam the map, even as he hummed his assent. Tywin was satisfied. Gerion had long desired an independent command and this would give him a chance to prove himself.
"Tygett, you will take a hundred mounted men and take the overland approach to the Tower. Take remounts. Your primary concern is speed." He looked at the brother who reminded him so much of his son. In many ways, Jaime was Tygett come again, including chafing under his authority. Tygett's grunt was the only indication that he heard his orders. "Your objective is the same as Gerion's," he said nodding to his two younger brothers. "Let us see who can take the Tower first."
He saw them exchange a competitive look and suppressed a triumphant smile. His brothers were all so predictable. It made them easy to manipulate.
"And if Dorne takes offense?" Kevan said softly, always cautious.
"Let them," Tywin responded dismissively. He had killed the sister of Prince Doran and saw no need to pretend that he and the Martells would ever be friends. "I will take the bulk of our cavalry and follow behind Tygett." He looked at his warrior brother, the one who so desired a reputation at arms. "You need only hold for a day or two, if Dornish forces engage. Retire to Nightsong if you must. I will be riding to your relief."
"And if Lord Arryn asks where or why you have gone?" Kevan's tone was not challenging. Tywin knew he was merely trying to prepare for a near certain eventualities.
Tywin's smile was predatory. "Tell him Lord Stark's words were insulting. That while I've taken offense, I will do my duty. I am marching behind any remnant Dornish forces to ensure they are returning to Dorne and that they do not molest our smallfolk as they leave. It is my duty as Lords Stark and Tyrell are otherwise engaged. Once they have entered the Pass, then I will return to the Rock."
Let Lord Arryn worry about how offended he might truly be, what he might do. Maybe it would make him more receptive to the idea that his daughter should be queen.
Despite his brothers' idiosyncrasies, they were energetic and competent. Gerion was embarked with nearly eight hundred men just before the evening tide. Tygett's men, almost all lightly armored outriders leading remounts, had been on the road before even Stark's forces marched.
It soon became apparent that Northern forces had not pulled entirely out of King's Landing. Stark had left a thousand foot to supplement the Gold Cloaks in keeping the peace. While it showed that Stark and his allies were not entirely without wit, his Westerlands men still had the numeric advantage several times over. And securing the city was not the same as securing the Red Keep.
Regardless, the remaining Northmen added another wrinkle and so Tywin was not able to leave until the following morning. The time was spent in too many staff meetings, ensuring the smooth transfer of command to Kevan, and discussing and preparing for possible eventualities.
By the time the following morning's sun rose, he was looking forward to being back in the saddle so he could sleep. A small, but important, trick he'd learned as a young man when he had served in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.
When he finally pulled away from King's Landing, he was at the head of over two thousand heavy horse, and another three hundred light horse serving as outriders and scouts. They would make decent time, he knew, but their supply wagons would slow them down compared to the pace his brothers would set.
If Dorne took offense, assuming they were able to muster a response, his brothers could hold the Pass a few days if need be. But only if they were able to combine forces, which was not guaranteed.
He consoled himself with the thought that they might be able to fall back and shelter at Nightsong. It was a strong castle and should be able to hold out for months, if the castellan allowed them entry. He refused to consider the consequences if the castellan did not.
Tywin Lannister was not a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had ordered the deaths of thousands in his time. Men, women, children, it was irrelevant. He had always given the orders with an impassive face, never betraying a hint of uncertainty, secure in the knowledge that those deaths were strategically necessary.
However, the possibility of his brothers, his blood, meeting their deaths at the end of Dornish spears infuriated him. The remnants of ten thousand Dornish spears had fled Rhaegar's defeat at the Trident. He was reasonably sure that they would pass into Dorne before his brothers arrived, but sometimes men dithered, especially broken men. If so, he needed to be there as quickly as possible to provide support for Tygett and Gerion.
He pushed his men as fast as he dared. It would serve no purpose to arrive exhausted, just as it would serve no purpose to arrive too late. It was a delicate balance, but one that he thought he had long ago mastered.
His outriders kept him well away from Stark's forces. While he would not necessarily mind an unfortunate but accidental skirmish, as spilling a little blood might wash away a small part of the insult inflicted on his House, he wanted to engage only if he would likely prevail.
Stark was an experienced battle commander. He had near fifteen thousand men under his banner, so victory was unlikely. Better to stay far away.
When his men passed by Nightsong, he hired a few hunters who knew the trails around the northern portion of the Prince's Pass. They were able to guide him unerringly to the Tower of Joy.
He was pleased when he saw both Gerion and Tygett's forces encamped around the tower. They did not appear to have suffered any significant casualties. They were in defense positions, taking advantage of the natural terrain and the modest protection offered by the tower itself.
Tygett was the first to greet him. As usual, he was armored and mounted, his golden hair shining under the hot Dornish sun.
"Brother," he said matter of factly as he led him toward the low stone wall around the tower. "We took the tower a week ago. It was defended by three Kingsguard. They defended from the stairwell and fought well." As he spoke he pointed out the areas where the fight occurred. Bloodstill stained the ground. "We forced an entry. Once in, I used crossbows to bring them down."
Tywin looked at Tygett. He could not help the approving look that momentarily crossed his face. He would have bet that Tygett would have taken the opportunity to personally cross swords with a Kingsguard in an effort to bolster his reputation. That he did not was proof that he was acting more a battle commander and less a green boy. He would have to see about assigning more responsibility to Tygett.
"And the girl?" he asked.
"Pregnant but ailing when we arrived. She was extended every courtesy."
"Was?" His brother's use of the past tense was indicative of something, he thought.
Gerion approached, a somber look on his usually jovial face. "The poor thing passed in childbirth a couple days passed. The babe survived." An arrogant smirk crossed his face briefly, before vanishing. "She did speak with her brother before passing. My men captured him and his men as he was coming down from the hills."
Tywin stood still, raising his hand to stop further comments. He needed to think.
Somehow Lord Stark had gotten well ahead of him, despite detouring to relieve the siege at Storm's End. That meant he knew of his sister's location, either before he left King's Landing or he learned it at Storm's End. To make up the lost time, he must have come alone with a small party. That Gerion's men were able to capture him lent further proof to that theory.
"Is he still alive?"
Gerion looked offended. "Of course he is, brother. I know better than to kill a Warden out of hand."
Tywin did not know whether to praise Gerion or take him to task. Killing Lord Stark would have avenged the insult given to their House's honor. It would have demonstrated ample ruthlessness on Gerion's part. Something which he was noticeably lacking, in Tywin's opinion.
On the other hand, he thought looking around, there were several hundred men who were aware of Stark's presence. That Lannisters had taken him into custody would not stay a secret. If he was killed, or even just made to vanish, he was sure that Robert Baratheon would someday soon turn his armies into the Westerlands.
Tywin was proud of his men. He was proud of his leadership. But he knew Casterly Rock would not survive the combined might of the North, the Riverlands, the Vale and the Stormlands.
Now likely the Crownlands also, he added. He needed allies before he'd consider cracking that nut. Perhaps the Ironborn? He pushed those thoughts aside. They could wait.
He decided praise was the appropriate response. "Well done, both of you." Tygett gave his customary grunt in response, while Gerion preened, just slightly. He knew his youngest brother well enough to know that he appreciated the praise but was unwilling to openly admit it. "Is there anything else?"
Tygett looked disturbed. "Yes," he replied as he motioned for Tywin to follow.
He was led into the tower. Four armored men stood outside, which Tywin thought was a touch excessive but then Tygett was always a believer that too much force was better than not enough.
He saw no guards inside. He approved. The babe was a liability one way or the other. Limiting the knowledge of its existence was prudent.
When they reached the top floor of the tower, he saw a well-endowed wet nurse, just short of middle age, nursing a newborn child. His brother dismissed the nursemaid, telling her to leave but to stay in the tower. Tywin raised an eyebrow in question.
"I was present when the child was born and the girl spoke with her brother. She claimed that the war was a mistake, that she left willingly. She also claimed to have been married before a heart tree on the Isle of Faces. The Kingsguard stood witness." He opened a chest and gestured inside.
Tywin saw a marriage cloak in Targaryen colors, embroidered with a three headed dragon. Resting atop the cloak was a dragon's egg, long since petrified. A bundle of letters were wedged between the egg and the side of the chest. A wilted crown of blue winter roses rested atop the egg.
"The letters collaborate the girl's story of a marriage," he concluded.
"So do we smother the boy or crown him?" Gerion quipped. Despite his joking, Tywin could tell he was reluctant to kill the child. Both of his brothers were soft-hearted and would likely protest if he tried to murder the babe. Still, he thought they would not physically resist if that was his decision.
Tywin confessed that a large part of him wished his brothers had simply killed the child the moment it was born. While they each had, so far as he could tell, handled their end of things as well as could be expected, they were still limited by their personal concepts of honor. Neither demonstrated the ruthlessness or cruelty it took to rule.
They each had too much of their father in them. Too kind. Too compassionate. Too forgiving. Tytos was almost the destroyer of his own house, so unwilling was he to do what was necessary.
He sighed as he rubbed his eyes. "Let me speak with Lord Stark before we decide that," he replied. He looked at the chest again. "Secure this. Ensure that it is well guarded."
It was easy to make a corpse, he thought to himself. It was impossible to restore a life once taken. There was no rush to decide whether the boy lived or died.
Lord Stark was held with his men in a tent befitting a lord. He recognized it as Gerion's. He'd likely stored it on one of the ships he had hired for an event just such as this.
Stark's face was frozen, but despite that Tywin could feel that he was raging inside. He almost let a small smile escape. It was good that Stark was angered. He had been angered too, so it was only justice.
"Out," he commanded, addressing Stark's men. There were about a half dozen of them from what he could see. When they protested, like the fools they were, his men manhandled them out of the tent. Stark stared at him with eyes of ice the entire time.
Tywin found all of this entertaining. He sat and beckoned Stark to take a seat across from him. Stark silently refused, preferring to remain standing. Tywin sighed. A stubborn, prideful fool, who mistook stupidity for honor, he reminded himself.
"You have seen the boy?" he asked.
Stark nodded and finally broke his silence. "How is he?"
"Well," he replied graciously. "Nursing from what I could see, which I have been told is a good sign." He considered the Northern lord with hooded eyes. "What are we to do with him?"
For just a moment Stark's mask crumbled. He cares for the boy already, Tywin thought, amazed. A prideful, stubborn, honorable and sentimental fool, Tywin added to his mental assessment of Stark.
"Give him into my care. I'll provide for him," he responded after restoring his icy mask.
Tywin couldn't help a look of disbelief. "The boy is a threat. While few of those south of the Neck would consider him trueborn, even as a bastard he would be a rallying cry." He steepled his fingers. "I will do you the courtesy of not killing your nephew out of hand. But I will do my duty and turn him, and the chest, over to Robert." His heart leapt with triumph when he saw the look of despair cross Stark's face. "I'm sure our King will know what to do with dragonspawn," he finished, relishing Stark's panic.
Stark stood there, silent, as different emotions warred across his face. Tywin enjoyed every moment of it. No matter what happened today, Stark would suffer.
He knew he had bent him when Stark finally took a seat. "I promised my sister that Jon would live, that I'd protect him," he said, trying to hide his weakness.
"Jon? Surely your sister did not name him after your foster father."
"King Jon Stark. A rather famous King in the North," was the subdued reply. "She knew the Targaryens had fallen. It was an effort on her part to protect him, to not to burden him with a Targaryen name."
Tywin could respect that, pathetic as it was. Even a token effort to protect one's child was to be admired if that was all one could do.
He dismissed a brief surge of respect for the girl. It was irrelevant. "Why would I not turn him over to Robert? It would be treason not to," he challenged.
Stark hesitated. "I would be in your debt," he finally said.
Debt and recompense was something that Tywin understood. "And exactly what would that mean? How would I ensure payment of," he sneered, "your debt?"
Tywin quite liked the next several hours of conversation. Stark, it turned out, was not a stupid man. He was just not used to thinking in terms of politics.
"To summarize," Tywin concluded, raising his hand. "First, you will retract your insult and publicly apologize to me and my House," he said, raising a finger. He raised a second finger. "Second, you will support Robert wedding Cersei, advocating the many advantages of that union. Third, you will persuade Robert to strip my son of his white cloak but otherwise pardon him for his necessary killing of Aerys," he continued raising a third finger. "You will support the ascension of my brother, Kevan, to the Small Council, preferably as Master of Laws but some other capacity will do, if not," a fourth finger going up as he spoke. "Finally, one of your children, of my choice, will wed a Lannister, also of my choice," he concluded, suppressing a note of triumph, as he raised the last digit of his hand.
Stark nodded his head in weary agreement. "And you promise that you and yours will not betray Jon's secrets to anyone, and that the boy will be protected and that he'll live. You will give me my sister's body. You will allow me to return Dawn to the Daynes, as well as Ser Arthur's body."
"Of course, Lord Stark," Tywin agreed smoothly as he put out his arm. Stark eyed it as if he were eyeing a snake, but he took it, however reluctantly, signaling his acceptance of their agreement.
Stark stood. "I'll take the boy and my men, and leave you be, Lord Lannister." There was a tone of finality, of command in his voice as he spoke.
The poor, simple man, Tywin thought. "Of course, Lord Stark. You and your men are free to go," he said sympathetically. "I trust you will ensure their silence." Seeing him nod, Tywin smiled in appreciation. "But the boy, and the papers, stay."
Starks' brow grew thunderous. "We had an agreement!"
"We did. We do," he responded placidly. "I will keep his secret. He will be safe and he will live. But he remains in my care to ensure your compliance with our agreement." He showed his teeth as he smiled, something his face was not used to doing. "I would not want you to slacken in your efforts, thinking the boy was safe with you."
Stark did not appear to accept that. He radiated anger, his former iciness gone. "I would not dishonor myself," he said curtly. "I will honor our terms and you will give me my nephew."
Tywin considered him for a long moment. It never ceased to amaze him the delusions of his peers labored under.
"Regrettable," Tywin said, sighing as he shook his head. "And here I had thought we had reached an accommodation that would protect the boy." He stood, matching Stark's imposing height. "I will send a rider to Robert letting him know what we found and asking for instructions."
He was half way out of the tent, when Stark called out. "Wait."
Tywin turned and cocked an eyebrow toward his fellow lord. Stark looked ready to collapse in on himself.
"You'll protect him? Provide for him? On your very honor?"
Tywin suppressed a smirk. A sennight before, the man was claiming he had no honor. Now he was asking him to pledge himself on his honor. The fool had no memory, or no understanding of consequences, at least.
"Of course," he replied gravely. "For so long as the North poses no threat to me or mine, I will raise him as my very own. I will even provide periodic updates as to your nephew's progress."
He saw a dawning realization appear on the face of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. So long as the North did not act contrary to the interests of the Westerlands, the boy was safe. He was not surprised when Stark agreed. It was what he expected from an unsurpassed, yet honorable fool.
When Tywin Lannister left the tent, he left a defeated man in his wake.