Chapter Title Quote (and inspiration for the whole story, actually):
„Lord Rickard demanded trial by combat, and the king granted the request. Stark armored himself as for battle, thinking to duel one of the Kingsguard. Me, perhaps. Instead they took him to the throne room and suspended him from the rafters while two of Aerys's pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him. The king told him that fire was the champion of House Targaryen. So all Lord Rickard needed to do to prove himself innocent of treason was ... well, not burn."
Jaime Lannister, A Clash of Kings
But what if he did not burn?
Rickard Stark survives the attempt at burning him because the pyromancers could not tie a proper knot.
Watch as he fixes the realm, his family and shit in general from the overall incompetence of kings, lords, knights and other idiots. For though the king may be a mad lackwit, his subjects at least should have a shot at peace and happiness.
Shouldn't they?
(Full story title did not fit the field, so here it is for those who care:
Idiots, lackwits and imbeciles - The Trials of Rickard Stark trying to save Westeros from incompetence)
Rickard realized, hoisted up on the rafters by the pyromancers above the pyre they were trying to set alight, that he was not just surrounded by madness but also by incompetence.
His son, his heir, who was too stupid to stop and think for a second before charging into the domain of a mad tyrant with a penchant for burning people with wildfire while questioning said king's power and threaten the crown prince.
His king, Aerys II Targaryen, the aforementioned tyrant with a predilection for everything green and flaming, probably needed no further explanation. Still, for the sake of due process, his incompetence needed to be explained as well. The fool had managed to antagonize one of the most brutal field commanders and able peace-time administrator of their time, his Hand Tywin Lannister, because of how well Tywin had steered the realm in Aerys' name.
The Kingsguard around him, in their full glory, who for their vaunted post apparently traded in their pride and honor as anointed knights for the wonderful job of acting as hired muscle. Even their coats, while nice, were horribly impractical. Pure white? Forget stealth and prepare for a whole lot of cleaning if the Kingsguard did their work decently.
And lastly, the pyromancers. The Wisdoms might be a sure hand with their fireworks, but they obviously did not know how to properly tighten a chain or tie a basic knot. Imbeciles. All of them.
To the backdrop of cackling Aerys, Rickard was simply hoisted up in loose chains that Rickard was able to slip out of the second the kindling set the wood alight underneath him. Rickard dropped into the stack of burning wood in his heavy plate mail, breaking branches and timber with his fall, only to proceed to walk out of the fire with flames licking at his boots. Free from the fire Rickard felt comfortably warm inside his armor for a second as he stepped on the cool marble floor of the throne room.
Rickard strolled towards his son Brandon with the quiet dignity Rickard was known for. While Aerys laughter first devolved into an ebbing giggle and after into a fit of screams and shaking, Rickard unsheathed his sword and cut the noose his foolish son was threatening to strangle himself with. Idiot.
Behind Rickard his liege apparently found the one wit again that remained in his head and started screaming orders to his guards, to his knights, to his pyromancers, to all the nobles in attendance. The majority were by and large too shocked to act from the way the king had despoiled the sanctity of the Trial by Combat to react to the mad man's screeching commands.
Not so the pyromancers, mad men one and all, of the king's likeness. However, trained alchemists made for poor fighters. Wisdom Rossart was the first to reach Rickard, followed immediately by Wisdom Garigus and Wisdom Belis. The three Wisdoms seemed half-lost to the world around them at the sight of the burning pyre, not even aware of the fact that the guards that were supposed to follow and help them simply did not do so.
As his son was recovering his breath with hacking coughs on the ground behind him, Rickard closed in on the fire slingers and swiftly cut off Rossart's leg with a single swing of his sword, smoothly felled Garigus with a stab to the stomach and cut Belis' throat with only a cursory glance in Belis' direction.
Now, however, followed the most distasteful part of this whole sham of a trial. With a little exertion of strength Rickard pushed both the surviving Wisdoms into the burning fire in the middle of the room to quell the king's thirst for the smell of burned flesh, and afterwards Rickard dragged the body of the dead Belis along to keep Rossart and Garigus company. The fire quickly cauterized Rossart's leg, keeping the man from bleeding out too quickly. Screams by the burning pyromancers rose in tandem with the renewed cackling of the king. Lackwits.
„Wisdom Rossart, Wisdom Garigus and Wisdom Belis tried to interfere with my Trial of Combat, your grace. The fire is still burning; therefore my trial is not over. The gods have judged them through my hand for their insolence. Your Majesty, let us watch together as the flames righteously take these heretics in their wonderful glory."
Rickard solemnly lied to his king with exactly the necessary words. The old wolf had taken the measure of Aerys. To the king it did not matter who burned, it mattered that someone burned. Rickard had given Aerys the spectacle he wanted. The king would be mollified after he had gorged himself on the stink he craved, the noxious odor of fire and blood. Rickard watched stoically as the two men in the fire died screaming. Aerys laughed. The fire cracked and hissed. All else was silent.
The screams stopped after ten minutes. The fire continued to burn for another hour, accompanied by the king's manic laughter and the smell of burnt hair and flesh. Not once did Rickard avert his eyes from the flames that would have been his doom had the alchemists been any less foolish.
Once the fire had burnt itself out, leaving only ashes and three vaguely human looking incinerated husks, Rickard dropped on one knee and addressed the king on his throne.
„My king. I have won my trial and bid you to release my son and his companions. I need to thoroughly teach Brandon not to question his betters."
From the corner of his eyes Rickard could see his son gearing up to speak, red rage on Brandon's face. The fool had not learned. Rickard swiftly rose, swiftly strode over to Brandon and swiftly slapped him. Hard. Rickard was still wearing his full plate.
„Son. Why. Do. You. Not. Yet. KNEEL?!"
Brandon stood stunned into silence, so Rickard backhanded his heir, strong enough that Rickard's iron gauntlet drew blood. Brandon finally got the message. He knelt, shamefaced and quiet.
„Please pardon my son's unjust transgressions, your grace, it was rooted in misplaced anger towards your family. Brandon only acted the way he did because your son Rhaegar took action that was only to be in your power, my king. If it pleases you, your grace, to break the betrothal of my daughter to Lord Baratheon, you needed only send the word and I, your loyal subject, would have complied. We did not know it was your will that Prince Rhaegar was carrying out when he left with my daughter Lyanna."
Rickard's words had the intended effect. Fiery fury twisted the king's face in his unhinged madness. Rickard once more regretted not going to the Tourney of Harrenhal himself. He should have verified the rumors of the king's state personally. The discord between the crown and its heir was the wound to be exploited from this transgression.
Brandon should have salted that wound, not bound it. This was the moment to drive the final wedge between Aerys and Rhaegar. The dragons would turn on each other as the loyalists chose sides and the more cunning houses would watch the spectacle from afar, forcing the winner for concessions.
The king finally got his features under control again before he made to address Rickard and the court.
„Lord Stark, your loyalty to the throne is exemplary, indeed. We regret to inform you that Rhaegar did not act in Our name. It seems like he unlawfully abducted your daughter Lady Lyanna. As a just ruler We cannot condone such an act of tyranny. Let it be proclaimed to all corners of the realm that Crown Prince Rhaegar is to return Lady Lyanna within a moon turn, unharmed and with her honor intact, or he will cease to be the crown prince. In his absence We proclaim Prince Viserys as Prince of Dragonstone, to be anointed by the Faith in a moon if Rhaegar does not return in time."
The king looked superbly pleased with himself. Brandon was flabbergasted, trapped in a cycle of never-ending shock as one upset followed the next. The whole court mirrored his expression, all the noble lords and ladies schooled in keeping up their courtly masks finding themselves in a stupor that broke their expectations.
It was time for Rickard's exit.
„Your grace. Thank you for the honor you give our family by seeing that justice is done for the abduction of my daughter. I beg you once more for clemency in the name of my son in your great mercy. I am willing to meet any demands you ask of me to see him safe. I promised his mother."
Aerys was watching him now, slyly and dangerously. Though mad, the king was not hopelessly foolish and was at times prone to cunning schemes that could disrupt the plans of many a great lord. His naming of young Jaime Lannister had been a particularly vicious ploy.
„Lord Stark, as merciful ruler We grant pardon to your son should your offer for his release please Us."
Rickard had expected worse. He knew what the king liked to take from powerful people under him and what moved his heart at its core. In a way, Aerys perfectly embodied the words of his house, Fire and Blood. He was obsessed with fire and liked to shame lords of high blood and take control away from them.
Making up his mind Rickard addressed the king with a voice that Rickard knew to carry his words to all the lords in attendance. There would be no going back after this proclamation.
„As punishment for my son I am ready to strike him from my line of succession as long as he keeps his life. Brandon has demonstrated he is unfit to rule when he insulted his liege whom he owed fealty to. That would place my second son as my heir apparent, just like the young dragon Viserys might be slated to become your heir.
„Furthermore, I will immediately send a raven to Winterfell to affect the gifting of a year's harvest of ironwood to your grace's treasury. Famed for their incomparable sturdiness when worked into shields and their unique blue flame, I will deliver the processed timber at your convenience."
Brandon made to turn to his father, probably to say something, so Rickard offhandedly gave his son another firm slap that sent him reeling. Well, at least Brandon did keep quiet after that. Idiot.
The king giggled gleefully at the sight, at the rush of power from shaming the Starks and at the thought of glorious blue fire. Lackwit.
The court stood inactive as the king tore the realm apart with his folly. Imbeciles.
Rickard could not await the minute the gate of King's Landing closed behind him and he was on his way back to Winterfell. Good riddance.
After the king had bubbled his agreements to the terms Rickard proposed and bade Rickard to carry Aerys' good wishes north, Rickard was out of the throne room within a second. A raised hand stopped Brandon when the fool made to speak. Rickard grabbed his fallen heir by the neck, to pull him in and whisper into his ear.
„The walls have ears, you idiot, we will talk after we have left the city. Actually, every time an unnecessary word escapes your mouth, I will slap you again. Understood? No, don't answer. Nod."
Brandon almost caught his next slap, only narrowly dodging it by keeping his face shut and complying by way of motion.
Behind them Rickard could hear a stout man approach, the steps marked by the man's slapping weight. Upon turning Rickard found himself across Owen Merryweather, the old lickspittle. And Tywin Lannister's replacement as Hand of the king.
It took only a short time for Rickard and Lord Owen to arrange the minutiae for the release of Brandon's companions, chief among them Elbert Arryn, heir to the Vale.
The first thing the young falcon did once he was free of his manacles was decking Brandon in the face. There was no collective gasp from Brandon's entourage of northern youths at the action, either. Obviously, all of them felt that Rickard's son had earnt that one. Cutting him off as his heir had been the right decision for Rickard. Too many lords would lose their respect for Brandon after this folly.
It would also give the stick to Hoster Tully. Ambitious cunt. Even denied Rickard an escort to the king and tried to change the Tully daughter's betrothed to Ned the minute Rickard and Hoster heard of Brandon's actions. As if Rickard's firstborn was already dead. Slippery, honorless fish. Hoster would now probably break the betrothal of Catelyn and Brandon.
After that, Jon Arryn would not treat with the trout anymore either, seeing as Tully had also consigned Jon's heir Elbert to death. None of Hoster's daughters would ever be a lady paramount, not when one had an abortion and the other a broken betrothal in their past.
The only other heir left to a great house that was close to marriageable age right now was Rodrik Greyjoy. But that boy was two generations away from the Seastone Chair. And though Quellon was a good sort for an Ironborn and possessed at least some smarts, Quellon's brood did not inherit those at all it seemed.
The Tullys would find themselves no allies, no brides and no friends for the foreseeable future. Served 'em right. It was time to focus on the North again. The southerners and their dragon kings could go fuck themselves for all that Rickard cared.