The meeting got ugly even before it started.
A hundred Dornishmen lined up in front of the Red Keep's throne room, their spears pointed at a roughly equal number of Tyrell men-at-arms whose hands rested on sword-hilts. A few dozen Crownlanders formed a circle between the two. Even from this distance, Rick and the mounted entourage behind him could see the lit fuses of the musketeer's matchlocks as they took shelter behind an outer rank of pikemen.
"Congratulations on your smashing victory at Maidenpool, Lord Grimes," the Red Viper loudly announced. Though Rick doubted it was meant for his ears, for the two had met just days ago, and he had already heard the same compliment from the Dornishman who was now carefully looking at Rick's small contingent of Alexandrian cavalry. "I didn't know you were bringing your own escort, so I thought to provide you one. Evidently Lady Olenna had the same idea, except her men brought swords while mine brought spears."
"Stand down!" Rick ordered. "May someone tell me the meaning of this?"
A Crownlander ran towards Rick. Except it was an Alexandrian in Crownlander armour, judging from the assault rifle in her hands. "It seems Olenna Tyrell called Oberyn Martell some… words behind his back," Sam Fairbanks explained in a voice low enough that neither party could hear. "I don't know what it was, but it isn't the first time. Last time she called her daughter 'the serpent's whore' and the two nearly warred."
Rick sighed. The Blackfish and Wyman Manderly were watching all this unfold, Rick having invited both to spectate the meeting as guests. Despite his small reservations about them, the Northmen and Riverlanders were united as one at the very least. The same could not be said of the lands Rick now ruled over, if only in name.
"Fuck this shit," Carl mumbled from beside Rick, and before he could do anything to stop him the boy jumped off his horse and ran toward the standoff. Rick opened his mouth to repeat his order, but the Crownlanders moved without him, splitting into two roughly equal groups. Sam marched one half towards the Queen of Thorns' men while the other half followed Carl to the Red Viper.
"Did you hear what my dad said?" Carl screamed. "My dad told you to stand the fuck down!"
But Oberyn shook his head. "I shall, Lord Carl, when the withered rose over there does so first."
Carl grabbed at the Red Viper's spear and started pressing it towards the ground. The Dornishman barely moved. With a flick of his wrists, the spear was freed from Carl's hand, and raised just high enough that it was too tall for the boy to reach while jumping. Moments later, sharp cracks erupted from the Crownlander ranks. Two clouds of gun-smoke whiffed over the belligerents' heads. A warning shot.
Rick simply pointed to the front. Under Dwight's lead, the Alexandrian cavalry cantered forwards. There was no mistaking the black assault rifles in each horseman's hands. Oberyn lowered his spear almost immediately and the Tyrell men and the Dornishmen did the same. The weapons that had destroyed the Lannisters had a well-earned reputation.
The spears had been lowered but the disagreements had not ended, as quickly became clear when they entered the throne room. The parties had scarcely sat down on arranged chairs in the middle of the room when the Queen of Thorns accused the Northmen of excessively harsh terms. "When King Robert died, he left the realm six million gold dragons in debt. This is a number built up across his entire reign, by a king who was far from miserly with his coin, quite the opposite in fact. Now the North demands we repay nearly twice that amount every year for five years. You might as well ask us to fly to the moon."
The Blackfish was next to speak. "The repayment is to be borne by the Westerlands and Reach together, not the Reach alone. The famed gold of Casterly Rock could pay for much of that amount. And Lady Olenna may have forgotten the Reach's grain, which we would also take instead of coin. Grain that the Reach would not need, now that it is no longer waging war upon other realms. If the Tyrells struggle to repay, we could post garrisons in the Reach to help you collect taxes," the Blackfish threatened.
"A war that the Reach lost, I might add." The Red Viper's tongue was even sharper than his spear. "Be glad that your borders remain the same."
"You-" the Queen of Thorns began. Then the Blackfish tried to speak again, and so did the Red Viper. Soon every man and woman in the throne room had something to say. Spittle and froth accompanied all the pointing and motioning. Rick stood up from his chair and waited for the noise to die down. For once he did not mind the pointless arguing. He needed time to think up solutions anyway.
Rick scanned the crowd. The Dornish and Reachmen sat to his left and right respectively, still glaring daggers at each other. On the far side, the few Westermen looked like beaten dogs and said little. And on his side was a mix of Alexandrians, Crownlanders and the Northmen. Sansa Stark didn't speak much either, though she kept close to the Blackfish and Lord Manderly, who now ruled the North and Riverlands in all but name. Carl and Arya stayed near the front, whispering to each other. Next to Rick himself were Maggie and Michonne, both of whom content to just watch as well. We don't want to be seen as siding with anyone, at least not before we know more about their politics, Maggie had told him beforehand.
Finally an answer came to his mind. "The Reach will provide Ser Brynden enough grain to feed the Trident for the duration of the reparations, so that the Rivermen will not suffer from starvation due to the cause you foolishly supported. You will also pay the Starks as much reparations as you can afford. As for the rest, we Alexandrians will pay what you cannot afford and you will pay us back later. In return, you will open the Citadel to our people and those north of the Trident so that they can freely attend. You will also send shipwrights to King's Landing, and help us to the best of your ability in any field that we wish to develop."
The Blackfish and Lord Manderly conversed for a while. "We can live with that," the Blackfish declared.
Olenna regarded him evenly for a moment. "And I suppose so can I," she said at last.
"Good. I gathered all of you here so that we could make peace, not war. I thought the lords and ladies of Westeros became such because you could supposedly rule better than the smallfolk, yet even children could behave better than you. Literally." He pointed at Carl and Arya who were both content to watch, their hands tightly clasped together as the adults argued above their heads. Rick had wanted to save them for last, but it was practically impossible to discuss anything else until the tensions died down.
"Carl, Arya, come and stand in front of the Iron Throne so everyone can see you," Rick ordered. Eugene dashed out as well with a bulky camera in his hand, one of the very few pieces of 'proper technology' in the city thus far. The assembled nobles murmured again. For some reason the Reachmen did not seem happy at all.
They were even more unhappy when the Blackfish announced the betrothal. "Though Westeros is now divided along the Trident, we do hope to maintain our friendship and peace with the south. Young Carl here is also a hero for ending the War of the Five Kings before it could get any bloodier, and us north of the Trident owe him our eternal gratitude for avenging our king the Young Wolf, for ensuring our independence. Lord Grimes and I have therefore agreed that Carl of Alexandria shall be betrothed to Princess Arya of House Stark, soon to be Queen."
Cheering filled the throne room. Carl and Arya! Carl and Arya! The Alexandrians and Northmen cheered, the Crownlanders following suit soon afterwards. Even the Dornish, if only to spite the Reachmen, though the Red Viper's bemused expression suggested he had foiled plans as well. From what Rick had heard, the man had several daughters born on the other side of the sheets.
Snap! White light flashed on the two children.
"What are you doing?" Rushing over to the camera, Oberyn asked Eugene who was lining up for another shot.
"He's taking photos to mark this betrothal. It's like a portrait, but done much faster and more accurately too." Rick hoped this explanation would be enough.
It turned out to be more than enough. This is not how to do a portrait, Oberyn declared. He then proposed so many poses that even Rick struggled to keep track of them all. "Can't you two be more enthusiastic?" he asked at the end.
Yet the children remained uninterested. Carl and Arya drew their weapons and held those by their sides, but the adults weren't able to coax anything more out of them other than a slight smile. "Dad, are we done yet?" Carl asked. "It's boring and I don't get the point."
"Done!" Eugene announced. Before Rick could say anything more, the two had sheathed their weapons and melted back into the crowd. And so the meeting continued, though it was much more relaxed than before.
"Lord Grimes, what will happen to the Westerlands now that the Lannisters are overthrown, at least the parts which have not been taken over by the Starks? Who shall you name as lord of Casterly Rock? Where will Alexandrian troops be garrisoned? Should we continue to pay our taxes to King's Landing, or to Alexandria instead?" One of the westerman loosed a barrage of questions. Rick did not know his name, so he asked Maggie to ask the Crownlanders. Soon the answer came back. Lewys Lydden, Lord of the Deep Den.
There was no microphone, and the hall was far too large for his voice to echo properly, so Rick walked towards the middle of the circle. It was all too important that all the Westerosi heard what he had to say next. "I will not send soldiers into the Westerlands. Or any other realm, unless there's a crisis. Nor will I collect taxes from you, though I expect everyone to contribute to common projects that serve to better us all. Alexandrians or Westerosi, north or south, we are all just people at the end of the day. I don't intend to control you or your peoples. Instead we are a network, each region free and equal, but also part of a greater whole. We will trade with each other, and help each other, and defend each other against common threats."
"That's good and all, but what about the Westerlands itself?" Another westerman asked.
"You guys will choose and then tell me. On one condition. From now on, nobody will automatically succeed as the leader of the Westerlands because of who their father or mother is, or the family they are from. As the winners of this war I think I have the right to demand this at least. This goes for whoever succeeds as me as well, both in Alexandria and in Westeros."
Rykker was the first to object. "Lord Grimes, it is customary in Westeros that the eldest trueborn son succeeds his father. As you are surely aware."
"Not in Dorne, where the firstborn inherits regardless of sex. But I don't think it matters, for Rick's successor at least, as his oldest child is a boy. And one that Dorne can respect," Oberyn added.
Rick frowned. "We Alexandrians do things a little differently. I'm sure my son will be a great leader himself, but we believe our sons and daughters should earn their positions by their own deeds, rather than have us hand everything over to them on a platter. I think it should be a good lesson for this side of the God's Eye too, so I will not appoint a successor in Westeros either. If anything happens to me, you guys will meet up and choose the next leader of Westeros. I hope this is not beyond your abilities."
The nobles laughed. Surely they were laughing at his little half-joke at the end, but he truly meant the last part. If all went according to plan, succession should not be a problem by the time it was time for Carl's generation to lead, as the Westerosi would be choosing their own leaders instead of having these lords and ladies imposed on them. The nobles did not know this, nor did they need to know. But if anything happened to Rick himself before he had the chance to grow old, they would be the ones choosing the best person to continue in his stead. It could be Maggie, it could be Carl. It could even be someone else.
"Then Lord Grimes cannot be King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, if he doesn't want his son to succeed him without question," Lady Olenna pointed out.
"Nor would it be right to call him Lord of the Seven Kingdoms when the Seven Kingdoms no longer exist. Perhaps he could still be Lord Protector of the Realm?" Oberyn proposed. "It's also one of the three titles borne by the Targaryen kings, and the Baratheons after them."
Lord Protector of the Realm. Rick repeated the phrase a few times under his breath. Not too bad, he thought. There was no way he could get the Westerosi to stop calling him 'Lord', though in truth he wasn't one. He would just have to treat it as a courtesy title for now, not dissimilar to the Alexandrians' 'Mister' or 'Sir'. And wasn't his job to protect the Alexandrians and Westerosi? As for the Realm, it was murky enough to define however he wished.
"I'll go by Lord Protector of the Realm," Rick declared. "Or Realms, if you prefer. But there are better things to discuss than my title. Carl, step up here and tell them."
After he reached Rick's side, Carl unfurled a small piece of parchment in his pocket. "Wildlings at the gate. The realm in danger. Send all the help you can to Castle Black. This message from the Night's Watch was found on Tywin Lannister's desk the night of the Grey Wedding, unopened. But my father is not Tywin Lannister. He is planning a northern expedition to help the watch and deal with the wildlings. Will you help us?"
"I will go with some of my men," Oberyn declared. "But you will have to arrange the ships for us. We arrived on horseback."
"I regret Highgarden is embroiled in its own troubles. The Ironborn have begun raiding the Reach, and we also have to prepare our payments for the Northmen. I'm afraid it will be difficult for us to help the North in its time of need." Olenna Tyrell did not sound regretful at all. "Nonetheless, should Ser Loras wake up I'm sure he would be a useful addition to your troops. And perhaps some hedge knights may prefer fighting in the frigid north than the tumultuous seas."
"It won't just be fighting. We will stop at Braavos and negotiate with the Iron Bank before we make for Eastwatch," Rick clarified. They would stop at Driftmark before that, and White Harbor when they came back down south, though he thought the Reachmen would not appreciate the latter. And maybe a few more cities as well. Rick intended to make most out of the holiday he had long since promised Carl, and the boy more than deserved it.
"Very well. I shall head back to the Reach after this council ends, but my granddaughter Margaery will go on your expedition as well," Olenna introduced a young woman who stood beside her, beautiful though scarcely older than a girl.
Discussion turned towards preparations for the expedition, of the ships and weapons required, and then to a few small matters after that. When it ended and the lords departed, the Blackfish and Wyman Manderly invited Rick to Tobho Mott's workshop at the top of the Street of Steel. He had briefly met the blacksmith once before, the one whom Carl introduced as the best in the city.
Mott picked up one of the two swords on a nearby table and handed it to Rick.
"Valyrian steel?" Rick asked. The blade was much lighter than it should have been. Nor would it be possible to overlook those same Damascus steel-like ripples as the Tarly sword he took at Maidenpool. Like its larger cousin, this sword had a grip of grey leather and a silvery pommel shaped into a snarling direwolf's head, but it also had a crossguard that resembled a wolf's paws, claws outstretched as if it were about to pounce upon its prey.
"Indeed it is," the Blackfish replied. "Both were made from House Stark's greatsword Ice. The Lannisters claimed these swords as their own, and the sword in your hand was even named by Joffrey Waters, but your son was able to… civilise the sword from Joffrey before he held it for even a day. I asked Tobho to redo the swords, and remove every last sign of Lannister from them."
Tobho made a face. "And it took forever to scrub out the red from the blade. Nor was there any time to design a completely new hilt before Princess Arya's coronation next week. Luckily Ser Brynden appreciated the hilt I designed for Lannister's pretender, save for the house motifs and colours." The blacksmith rummaged through a nearby box. He produced a hilt that was nearly identical to the one in Rick's hand, but without a blade, and with gold and lion instead of silver and direwolf. "Take this, Lord Grimes. I have no use for it anymore, and I don't think Ser Brynden has either."
"Except to take for a prize, but I already have the other hilt for that," said the Blackfish.
Rick took a few practice swings with his left hand. The blade was good, far too good for a one-handed man with a limping leg. "What will you name it?" he asked.
"This one is Retribution, to be worn by Arya when she is crowned next week. The other one is Restitution. If you do not object, Rick, I want your son to escort Arya to her coronation. I will lend him this sword."
"That's fine with me," Rick replied. He handed the sword back to Tobho Mott, who slid it back into a wooden scabbard. Made from Ironwood, the Blackfish explained.
"Ironwood that came from the North itself, to replace the cherrywood scabbard he prepared for Tywin Lannister, for a sword that he knew was unjustly stolen from the Northmen. Tobho was lucky that I liked his work, and he was smart enough to offer me a large discount for this and… other items. Or I would have made sure he got not even a single order from the many visitors north of the Trident. He would be smart enough to give a discount to Lord Grimes as well. I do not think the Alexandrians tolerate building weapons for tyrants any more than the Northmen and Rivermen do," the Blackfish all but threatened. "Lord Grimes, I believe you have Heartsbane? Bring it to Tobho's shop, and I will pay for it to be redone. Or broken down, if you wish. I would suggest two longswords, one for yourself and another for your son."
Rick thanked the blacksmith and took his leave. But just before he stepped out of the shop, Wyman called out to him. "Lord Grimes, would you mind giving your son the gift I bought him? Master Mott, if you may."
The blacksmith went into a side room. He came back out with a gun in his hand. A matchlock, not unlike what the Alexandrians gave the Northmen, but more of a large pistol than a musket. The stock was elaborately engraved, with the initials KG etched in flowery silver script.
Mott flipped open a hinged block towards the gun's back.
It was a breechloader.