Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, read the words of his friend, King, and future brother by marriage, with a stony expression.
In his wroth at the Lannisters, he had been almost eager as he awaited Robert's coming to King's Landing so proper justice could be carried against the accursed lion lords.
If it was up to him, he would have mounted the heads of Tywin, Jaime, and Kevan Lannister up on the gate of King's landing to greet Robert as he came to take control over the capital.
As it was, the letter Robert had sent specifically noted the three of them not to be killed.
They were to be captured and imprisoned to await Robert's personal judgement.
Everyone else though...
"I name you Hand of the King, until such a time that Jon reaches King's Landing to take your place regarding the office.
My orders to you in that capacity are simple.
The first is to restore peace and order in the city, make sure no Targaryen Loyalists can threaten it, and to send an offer of peace to the Targaryens on Dragonstone.
If they bend the knee and renounce their claims to the throne, I'll accept them into the fold, and allow them to retain the title as the Lord of Dragonstone. No harm will come to them, and I will not hold them accountable for it if any remaining Targaryen loyalists rises in revolt with them as the claimant.
So long as they bend the knee, and agree to come to King's Landing to swear fealty in person, they will be under the protection of the Baratheon crown.
As for the Lannisters...
Kill EVERYONE. No mercy Ned. Kill every noble, every officer, every knight. All 12000 men. I want every single one of their heads mounted on the walls of King's Landing when I come to the city. Strip them of all armors and equipment, and dump their bodies in the sea.
That said, I want you to keep the heads of Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch, the monsters who butchered the Targaryen children. We're sending both of them south to Dorne.
As for Aerys' old regime, kill Varys and Pycelle. BEGIN the killings with Varys. The worst possible outcome would be for the spider to use the hidden tunnels in the red keep to escape.
Anyone else from Aerys' old regime alive can receive a royal pardon.
Your friend and King, Robert Baratheon. King of Westeros."
The orders were as clear as the purest ice.
Eddard stared at the Parchment, as he mulled it over.
The wording of the letter was not how Robert would normally word letters. Nor was the pardoning of the surviving Targaryen's who had fled been how he'd said he would handle them to Eddard.
The writing was Robert's though. The seal was Robert's, though that could have been stolen. The messenger, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, newly appointed as both Kingsguard, and as Lord Commander, could not be.
This was Robert's letter.
"So, when do we begin?" The old knight asked. Eddard glanced up at the knight. His uncle by marriage looked… Remarkably different in a suit of white, unadorned armor.
The steely expression he'd seen on his face before the battle of the Trident was still there though. The expression that declared that he was ready for anything.
"With the Lannisters? In a few hours. We'll need to make preparations to make this battle as quick and bloodless as possible. As for Varys and Pycelle…" He rose and went to go pick up Ice, where the greatsword hung in its thick, thick Scabbard. "I shall see to them immediately.
I
They lost a little under 200 men, butchering the Lannister host.
For the most part, it has been easy, but time-consuming work. The army had been split into 4 different camps inside the city, and though it was composed of knights, those horses did them little good in the cramped confines of the city.
They had prepared thoroughly, and the Lannisters(Who had not expected an attack at all)had not seen the danger coming before the horn blasts sounded, and the men with spears, pikes, and halberds began moving forward through the cramped city streets.
He'd prepared it thoroughly, cutting off every single escape route and sent men to secure the exits of any of the surrounding buildings.
Had Tywin placed his camps in the still populated sections of the city, his men might have slipped into the surrounding buildings, taken off their clothes, and pretended to be smallfolk as they fled.
He had not. Instead, Tywin had camped his men in spots that were desolate, their occupants having been put to the sword or fled when he'd first sacked this city.
That was good because it meant there was no need to differentiate between lions and anyone else.
Frankly speaking, Eddard had been tempted to just set fire to the buildings as the Lannisters fled in, but he decided against it. This was Robert's city now, and his friend would not appreciate it if he began setting fire to the buildings. And besides… What If the fire spread?
Instead, what happened was that as his foot moved forward, pushing back the lannisters as their pike walls advanced, he sent both men with swords and axes, along with archers and crossbowmen into every building they passed. Both to clear out the buildings of any lannisters and to set up above so they could begin raining death from any window and balcony.
It was a complete and total slaughter, as the 4 smaller armies were surrounded with nowhere to flee, and nowhere to run. Either being cut down by long, sharp polearms, or arrows from the sky.
It had taken a while, and a lot of work and preparations, but it had when it came down to it, been easy.
Still. It was a battle. And men on his side died to see their side to victory.
There had been one part he had failed Robert on though.
Tywin Lannister had taken a crossbow bolt to the eye during the fighting. There would be no royal justice for him.
Eddard was not happy about all the deaths. Death was cold, hard, and cruel… And frankly, he'd seen enough of it for ten lifetimes. But… there was some grim satisfaction at knowing that the monster who had so soured their cause with the murder of children and the sack of this city was no more. Justice had been done. Even if it had been by an anonymous crossbowman, and not by Ice.
Still… the other two Lannisters would get to taste Robert's justice the proper way.
In some regards, he reflected as he contemplated it all in the Red Keep's hollow Godswood once it was all over and night had truly fallen, this really was the complete opposite of the beginning of the war.
They had set out to rid the land of a cruel and despotic tyrant, who murdered men in the great hall in a mockery of justice.
Now, a new King was about to ascend the Iron throne. A king of true justice, who did not balk at his duty to the realm.
Yes, Westeros was in good hands under the stag.
I
"God It's an ugly chair." Robert announced as he looked up at the Iron Throne with pure disdain.
Robert seemed different than usual since he'd arrived in King's Landing. More quiet. Oh, the boisterous laughter and smiles were still there, but it took more effort to bring it out than usual.
That made Eddard uneasy somehow. Robert was not a man made for being melancholy. He was made to smile and laugh.
"Indeed, your Grace. It's a monster of a throne."
"How any king could ever bear to sit on that thing I'll never know."
Robert shook his head, and as he spoke next, life began to return to his voice again, which lightened Eddard's heart to hear.
"Well, not me, Ned. I've no damn plans to risk getting stabbed in the back every time I hold bloody court. I think I'll celebrate my victory by having the damned thing dismantled, and the scraps remelted for something more useful. Armor I think. Or hammers. Actually, anything will be better than this waste of metal."
"I… I think celebrations will have to wait Robert… There are still-" "Lifting the Siege of Storms End, aye. And making the Realm kneel, after the bloodbath we made of most of the nobility of the Westerlands. And rescuing my stolen bride from the Prince's pass. And restructuring the government to get the business of state running again. Aye, there is much and more to bloody do. But for now… Just for today... we'll take it easy and slow."
"As you say, Robert. But still, we need to-" "You can discuss it with Ned right now if you really want to. I need to go and interrogate our captured lions. And after that… I'll have a surprise for both of you two."
Eddard exchanged a mutual glance with Jon, that told him that whatever this surprise was, Jon didn't know it either.
Robert gave a wave for Brynden to follow as he headed out of the throne room, leaving the two of them alone.
When Robert was finally out of the room, Jon spoke up.
"Robert… Did not take the news you sent him very well, Ned."
"That is clear enough. To have our cause sullied at the last possible second..." The Northman felt the bitter taste well up again. His eyes went over to the spot on the throne where he'd found Aerys corpse, his throat cut open, and the stench of shit clear in the air.
The memories of that smiling boy seated on the Iron Throne still brought anger and rage to him.
"It would drive any man to be bitter."
"I don't think this can be called bitterness, Ned. Robert has been melancholic ever since he recovered from his wounds."
The old man that Eddard had always thought of as a second father also turned his head to look up at the Iron Throne.
"I… Think he finally realized that he is becoming king and all that comes with it. I don't think he's particularly happy with that realization."
That feeling Eddard knew all too well. He most certainly had not felt any joy at becoming Warden of the North. Only bitterness and rage.
"Robert will make a fine king."
"I certainly hope so. In any case… There are things we must prepare for. The continuation of the war for one."
"But the rebels are defeated! Their cause died with Rhaegar. Who is there to challenge us?"
Jon looked at him with a patient look. The kind he had usually reserved for Robert in his youth when he'd done something foolhardy.
"The 25 000 strong army Tyrell has outside of Storms End? Dorne? The Iron Islands?The Westerlands? We might have cut the head of the Lion, but the might of the west isn't dead and buried with Tywin. If Robert's offer of a pardon for Kevan Lannister doesn't work to make the Lannisters back down, they might declare independence, or back Viserys Targaryen."
"Wait, a pardon? For Kevan Lannister?"
He felt anger well up inside of him at the mere suggestion that a single one of the Lannisters responsible for the sack getting away with their lives intact.
"Kevin was not the man who ordered the sack, Ned. Nor did he butcher children in their beds. I know the man. He was merely following his brother's lead. If we were to kill every single person simply because they followed their family into battle, we'd have to loop off the head of half the nobles in the realm."
"You weren't here Jon. You didn't see the sack."
Jon studied his face. What he looked for Eddard could not say. As he talked, memories of the sack began to flood back into his mind. The death… The bodies… Dead Children… So, so many dead children.
"As you say. I was not. Regardless… it is not my choice. Nor yours either. This is Robert's choice. And in any case, you might get your wish regardless. If Tygett Lannister does not agree to yield, Kevin's life is forfeit. We will have to march West and put down the Lannisters. That will be expensive in both lives and money, and will prolong this war for years."
"A battle doesn't end before the enemy kneels Jon."
"True enough."
He sighed.
"I don't fault you, or Robert for committing to justice Ned. But there ARE going to be consequences for what we did here. Foes that might have yielded, might now resist instead. Not to mention Robert's new terms…"
"New terms? And those are...?"
"Robert is planning on drawing a line in the sand before we head south to break the siege. Anyone who kneels then and there will receive a royal pardon, and be accepted back into the fold, with all lands and titles intact. No stripping of lands, no ransoms, no hostages. Anyone who refuses and continues to fight though… He will not accept a surrender for a pardon from them at a later point in time."
Eddard considered. He really didn't see what made Jon so worried. That sounded entirely reasonable in Eddard's ears.
Jon sighed again. Then explained his worry.
"What it means, is that if Dorne decides to not yield, we will have to fight them as the young dragon did, and if we are forced to make peace with the Martells anyway, it will drastically weaken Robert's authority. Not to mention that we'll be forced to take every single resisting castle either by storm or siege, as they will refuse to yield as they know they will not be granted any mercy but exile."
Ned nodded slowly. Then he set his jaw.
"Then, we will have to deal with it if it comes to that."
"Aye… That we will. Also… There is something else. Robert was planning to discuss it with you when we met, but he seems to have forgotten to mention it."
"And what would that be?"
"If the Lannisters yield, the new Lord of the Rock will be Tyrion Lannister, with his uncle as regent until he comes of age. Kevan will be exchanged and allowed to return home for one of the other Lannisters."
"And why did Robert wish to discuss this with me exactly? Or is he planning on fostering this hostage at Winterfell?"
Jon actually smiled.
"Not quite Ned. No, the Lannister who will be sent over to our side will be Tywin's daughter Cercei Lannister, who will be sent North to marry your brother Benjen."
I
Jaime Lannister had resolved to meet his death standing, tall and proud as any of his ancestors.
He did rather hope they would give him some clothing before they chopped his head off though. If it was up to the wolf, he'd force him to walk through the streets naked, and ass covered in shit all the way to the scaffold.
He wondered where it would be held.
Probably somewhere large and public. They would make sure to make a spectacle of executing the Kingslayer after all.
There were a lot of things he'd regret in his life. But at the very least no one could take that from him. He'd been the one who killed Aerys. Not Robert, not Eddard Stark, or Jon Arryn. Him, Jaime Lannister, the youngest Kingsguard of all time.
He'd saved half a million lives by doing so and making sure every pyromancer in on the wildfyre plot was put to death. His finest hour.
And they were going to execute him for it.
When he heard the door outside of his cell rattle as the lock was opened, he piped up.
In stepped a tall, young man in a golden surcoat with a stag embroidered onto it, and plated steel beneath. His hair was black as coal in the light from the windows, and his eyes blue as the sky.
Robert Baratheon.
The man who'd killed Rhaegar Targaryen, as well as ordered his father's death.
A pang of seething anger flooded into his mind, as well as guilt at thoughts of the crown prince, and his father.
He had ordered him to keep them safe.
Robert looked… Rather melancholic for a man who'd just won a crown.
"Your grace." Jaime said, making sure the venomous sarcasm was impossible to miss.
"I'd rather you called me Robert, but I don't really care."
The man closed the door behind him, with a decisive thud.
"No need for courtesy from a dead man?"
"You're not dead. And if you agree to my terms, you won't die either."
He blinked. Okaaay… that did take him aback.
"And what pray tell, will I have to do to receive this miraculous pardon. And do forgive me if I'm skeptical of any offer you might make, your grace. Your reward for my father when he turned his coat to you was… less than satisfactory."
"Your father sealed his fate when he decided to kill over half a hundred thousand innocent men, women, and children. A monstrous crime, which demanded justice. I would think you would agree, given what you did to Aerys."
Silence.
"Sooo… You-" "Know that you killed him because Aerys planned to burn down the city, and it was a truly heroic deed? Aye. I know."
"How?" Jaime asked incredulously.
"The same way I know that Lyanna Stark is currently being held in a tower somewhere in the prince's pass. In other words, not a way you will ever know. But be that as it may, I am in a rather depressing pickle with you."
"I would prefer to simply pardon you, as I feel no anger at you for killing Aerys."
"You would be the first then."
"I do not doubt it. In any case, it is not Aerys' death that makes it so I cannot trust you."
More silence as Jaime stared at him through the bars.
This… This was not how he'd expected this to go at all.
"Then what IS the bloody problem then? You know why I killed Aerys. You don't blame me, and you think it was right! You KNOW I was right!"
Robert just looked at him with a sad, melancholic look, that more than anything reminded Jamie of Rhaegar. Was this really Robert Baratheon? The man who roared, and laughed and was hedonism incarnate?
"The reason I cannot trust you, Jaime… Is that you were ordered by your prince to keep his family safe while he was away."
Jaime felt both shame and anger. Shame at the truthfulness of the words, and anger that Robert was the one saying them. The man who had killed Rhaegar, who had forced his father's hand in taking the city.
"In any case, my offer for you is simple. Tell the truth. When I drag you out for your trial, tell the truth, loudly, and honestly."
"And what will that grant me, your "grace"? A quick death for playing at your mummer's farce? And why do you even need me to say this? If you know, you should have all that you require to prove it to the world."
"Well… It would make Aerys look, really, really bad. As for what you will get… You'll get the wall."
"The wall." Jaime said, Flatley. "That's your idea of a reward?"
"Not particularly. But the wall needs strong, capable men. You are both. In any case, if you do not take this offer, I'll have no choice but to chop your head off… and send your brother to the wall instead."
Jaime actually tried to strangle him.
His hands shot out past the bars to close around Robert's mailed neck, but the king had obviously expected it and took a calm step back.
His hands instead grabbed the empty air where Robert's neck had been just a few seconds earlier.
"Yes, you care about your brother do you not, Jaime Lannister?"
"Leave him out of this!" He growled. "This is between you and me."
"Yes, the wall needs spirited men like you. In any case, think about it. Go to the wall, or I'll send your brother there. And your sister to a nunnery. No… not a nunnery. If you don't go, I'll send her to the silent sisters. That's where she will do the most good."
Jaime felt more rage and anger than he'd ever felt in his life. A thought struck him.
"I demand trial by combat!"
"Denied. And just to make the point clear, when I call you to the great hall, I shall have your sister there watching. So consider your words carefully when you stand before my throne."
And with that, he left.
It was only half an hour later that Jaime realized he could at least have thrown the contents of his chamberpot at the bastard while they talked.
I
As Robert walked in, he seemed to be in a much, much better mood. Not quite to the levels of his usual self, but certainly much better than he had been while they talked before the Iron Throne.
He was also carrying two small boxes under his arms.
"So, this is the small council chamber eh? God, it's tiny."
"It is as large as it needs to be, Robert. The small council is only made up of seven people."
At that, Robert laughed.
An honest laughter, though Eddard wasn't sure what he found so funny.
"Well, when I'm done, it'll be made up of quite a bit more than 7 members, let me tell you that."
He seated himself at the big chair.
Eddard swallowed. He had to speak about this to Robert. Now. As quickly as possible.
"You Grace… I… I'm not sure what you wished to discuss at the moment, but…"
"You wish to discuss the possible betrothal between Tywin's daughter and your brother Benjen aye?"
Eddard hesitated. Then nodded.
"Aye, I suspected as much. In any case, I'll just lay it out in full. Assuming that house Lannister actually yields, I need to marry off the Lannister woman to someone I can trust, because I need to remind the Lannisters that if something happens to young Tyrion, Cercei will inherit the Rock, and through her, the west will fall to whoever her husband would end up being. It is a very dangerous and pointed threat of what will happen if they step out of line."
That sounded perfectly reasonable to Eddard. The big question remained though. Why it had to be Benjen. As he opened his mouth to ask said question, however, Robert cut him off and continued.
"The obvious question, of course, is why not Stannis? Well, the answer is rather blunt. I cannot trust Stannis. Not with the lordship over an entire province at the very bloody least. Not if I plan on making a dynasty of my own line. I'll give Stannis some proper lordship, but there is no way I will risk him inheriting the Rock. That just ain't gonna happen."
"That… That is a bit harsh is it not? I mean, Stannis is your brother, and he's held Storm's End for over a year…"
"I know my brother Ned. Better than you, or Jon. He will do his duty aye, but once this war is done and over with, he'll be resentful as the seven hells over the fact I'm not going to give him Storm's end. I would have to be a fool to give him true power. Giving someone who resents you power, is just begging for them to stab you in the back later."
"You're not giving him storms end?"
"No. I have plans, Ned. Plans to make something new and better out of this country. And they will not be bloody served by giving away the heart of the Stormlands."
Ned felt like there was something he was missing, something important. What plans were these?
"In any case, there is more to it, but the simple fact is that your brother is the only man I have for the job. Jon's heir might have done, but… Well, he died in the battle of the bells, which leaves only your brother. But enough talk about marriages, and the damned Lannisters. I have something else I want to talk with you two about, something much more bloody important than the damned Lions."
He placed his hands on top of the two boxes, in a dramatic manner, just waiting to open them.
"It took a bit of rummaging through the castle, but I found what I was looking for amongst the old Targaryen Crowns."
"You found the crown you wished to use your grace?"
Robert snorted.
"Bugger that. I have no interest in the Targaryen crowns. I'll sell all of them for coin once I find a buyer across the sea. Might as well get some use out of them. I'll make my own crown, thank you very much."
Eddard wasn't surprised. Though he might have set aside his hatred of Rhaegar and Aerys for the sake of bringing justice to the killer of children, he knew how much Robert hated Rhaegar and Aerys. He had no doubt Robert wanted to distance himself as much as he possibly could from the previous royal dynasty.
"What was it you found then your grace?"
Robert smiled.
Then, he flipped open the boxes, and pulled out their contents, and held them up in the light.
Eddard looked at what it was Robert was holding.
Then he gasped softly.
He had heard the tales of old nan far, far too many times not to recognize what it was that was before him.
In his left hand, Robert held the Crown of Winter. The crown that the Starks of Winterfell had worn in days of old when they were still Kings in the North.
"The crown of mountain and Vale…" Jon said softly at his side.
Eddard blinked, then turned to look in Robert's other hand.
True enough, that was the falcon crown of the Arryns of old.
Robert laughed. Then he places the crowns down on the table and shoved them gently in their directions.
"Glad you liked them. I'm sure you'll like what they represent even more in that case. Cause I name you two as the Prince in the North and the Prince of Mountain and Vale."
Eddard actually felt his mouth gape open. His eyes went from the crown to Robert, and back to the crown, then back to Robert.
It was Jon who spoke.
"That… Is mighty generous of you Robert but… Why?"
Robert laughed.
"Why the hell not? The Targaryens had the bloody Martells. The Baratheons will have Arryn and Stark. The original rebel trio."
Robert grinned.
"Together we toppled the Targaryen dynasty, and together, our three houses will make this an era to sing about. An era of justice for all, and a monarchy stronger than any this land has seen since the dragons died out."
I
Tygett read the words.
On the opposite end of the table, his brother Gerion was sitting with his face in his hands.
The two Lannister siblings were the only men in the room, and as far as he was aware, they and the Maester were the only ones who had read the letter from King's landing. That meant they had some time to act before everyone else got word about it.
"Well… That could not possibly have gone worse."
Despite his snarky tone, Tygett felt… numb inside. Numbness and rage.
Rage for his brother's death. Numbness because he was too good a soldier not to realize just how, utterly, completely fucked they were.
"What do we do?" Gerion asked. All the mirth and joy that was usually to be found in his brother's voice was gone leaving only hollowness.
Tygett chewed on the question.
His pride told him to fight, to rage, to defy Robert and declare for one of the surviving Targaryens, or even independence. To avenge his brother with steel in hand.
Cold hard logic told him a different story.
"I told Tywin this was a fool's errand. Let the Stag and the Dragon rip each other to pieces, then come swear fealty once it was all over. But no, he just HAD to go and get some revenge on Aerys in person."
He pinched his brow.
"Tywin took EVERY bit of cavalry we had east. Practically every single knight the west had, went with him, and most of the lords as well. And now they're dead. We have NO cavalry. Maybe we can drag up a few hundred hedge knights here and there, but that's about it."
He slammed his hand down on the table.
"And then there's our fucking lords! Half of our noble houses are now headed by children, and all the competent commanders we did have died with Tywin. And both the children and the rest will howl for vengeance. Vengeance which we are NOT in any position to take. If we choose to take up arms, we will have no bloody cavalry! Robert will destroy any army we might field with ease. And that's not even taking into consideration just how many bloody men he's got."
Gerion looked at him with despair.
"If we don't rise up though, we will be called craven until the day we die. Our lords will lose any and all respect for us."
"You think I don't bloody know that Gery?"
Gods, he felt the rage come upon him.
"And then there is Kevin and Jaime… if we rise, both of them will lose their heads."
If truth be told, Tygett had always resented Kevin for always supporting Tywin and his schemes wholeheartedly.
That did not mean he didn't mean he didn't love his brother, however. Not to mention Jaime...
What in the seven hells his nephew had thought when he killed Aerys Tygett could only wonder. There might have been a pardon from Robert for Aerys Kingsguard. But only a true and total fool would keep on a man that had so sullied his cloak by killing his own king.
The wall was a cold, and not particularly glorious life… But it was still a life. It was a better alternative than the grave that would await him if he they took up arms against the Stag.
He wondered if Robert wanted him to resist. That way, he would have the excuse of stripping them of all lands and titles and replacing them all with wild heathen Northmen and savage Stormlords.
The very idea brought bitterness to his throat.
"If we do bend the knee… We would have to surrender Cercei to this… Northman boy."
"Aye… That's a threat. If Tyrion dies before he has an heir… Well. That must not come to pass."
As he said it, he realized he'd made his decision.
"Tyrion must wed as soon as possible. We can not wait. We must find a bride for him as soon as possible."
Gerion looked at him, a melancholic look on his face.
"So we yield then."
"... Aye. This conflict… Is not one that we can win. All that will happen is that we and every lord of the west will lose everything."
He would have to take the blame for it he knew. If little Tyrion got the blame, he would never be accepted as lord in his own right no matter what happened.
No… It would fall to him. He would have to take the blame as the "evil regent", who yielded.
Damn you Tywin, he cursed in his mind.
Why couldn't his brother just have stayed at home, and let this farce play out to the end?
Instead, he'd just had to get involved at led all of his men to their doom. All just to get one last shot at Aerys. He hoped his brother thought the price had been worth it. All it had cost was the heads of 12 000 men, as well as his own.
I
Jon sat uneasily at Robert's right side. The source for his unease was the extra upon his head.
It felt… unnatural to wear a crown. Much less when his actual king didn't wear one. Robert had planned the design of his crown. But given what it was made of, it would take time for it to be finished. Much longer than if it had been made of gold, steel, or silver.
Across the table, on Robert's left hand sat Ned Stark, the Prince in the North.
Frankly, he seemed far, far more dignified than either Jon himself or Robert, and his first thought when he'd seen him with his crown had been that "He wore it well".
Jon felt awkward wearing the crown of Mountain and Vale. Maybe it was the contrast. The two young men who he had come to see as his own sons, in the prime of their lives. While he was an old man that had lost half his teeth and was going to lose another soon enough if he was any judge.
Then there was Robert.
He was glad to see that the life had begun to really return to Robert. It had been 3 days since he came to the capital, and already he seemed tenfold more like the man he had been before the trident.
Young and powerful, built like the warrior himself, Robert had begun to stop shaving, giving him a more rugged look than he was used to seeing. Still, it was not a bad look. On the contrary, it only added to him, heightening that smile of his.
But frankly speaking, if there was one thing he appreciated far, far more than Robert's looks, it had been the way he'd thrown himself into kingship.
As proven by the matter the small council was currently discussing.
"I had no idea that mills could be used for this much."
Ned looked down on the papers looking genuinely impressed.
So had he, the first time he'd looked at Robert's plans for mills.
Grain mills were a valuable resource. It was a lord's right to tax its use, and many a lord earned good coin on that.
Using the power of water to do what many men would do over the course of weeks in a day's work. The idea that you could take that idea and use it for anything else really was... so mindbogglingly simple that when Jon actually thought about it, he could not fathom why no one had thought about it before.
"And you got this from a common man?"
"Aye. Some guy named Godo from Essos." Robert laughed. "He got the idea from the way Qohor uses dozens and dozens of slaves to lift up giant drop hammers that they use to make that steel they're so famous for. But you can get the same result from just using the might of a river. Much cheaper, easier to do, and requires less time, money, investment of manpower, not to mention it will produce better steel too in the long run."
Ned nodded.
"Where is this Godo? Such a mind should be put to use."
"Well… that clever mind of his was burst open by a mace during the battle of the bells."
"Oh."
The younger of his two foster sons considered that.
"You… Didn't mention any of this after the battle."
"Aye, I didn't. I saw little point in it if we didn't actually win. But we did, and now is the time to rebuild, and remake the nation anew."
Robert's brush with death had tempered him, and for the most part for the better.
He did not agree with everything Robert was planning, but he was glad to see that Robert was at the very least using that brain of his to plan. For better or worse.
He'd absolutely refused to bend on the matter of pardons to those who chose to fought on.
"We have to clean up this mess until it's done and over with Jon. Otherwise, the shit we don't take care of now will come up to clog my reign later."
That might mean another year or two of fighting. Thousands and thousands of more deaths that might have been avoided.
Then there were his plans for a permanent council.
It was irony incarnate, that the old ambitions of him, Hoster Tully, and Rickard Stark would come true after all.
Though not quite in the way they'd planned.
Jon had been amazed when Robert had brought up the idea. Ideas he had long since abandoned.
However, Robert had gone far, far beyond the level of what Jon and his allies had wanted.
They had merely wanted a more permanent council of the highest lords of the land contributing to the governance of the realm.
Robert wanted EVERY lord in the entire Kingdom to get a seat in this council.
There were a lot of things Robert wanted.
A reformed law system, mills that produced steel and eastern paper, a royal bank for all of Westeros, centers of learning that were unaffiliated with the citadel, new centers of learning that trained new Maesters, an expansion of the two field crop system to a four-field crop system, more roads, seven different crowns made of pure dragonbone, more cities, rebuilding king's Landing, rebuilding the Red Keep, mapping out the secret tunnels of the Red Keep, make a harbor for the Red Keep, making a new throne for the red keep, make a standing military force to help bolster the Night Watch, conquering the lands beyond the Wall, subjugating the Wildlings of the Mountains of the Moon, get a Valyrian Steel sword for the royal family, get a set of Valyrian steel armor for the royal family, conquering the stepstones, and then there were his plans for the negotiating with the iron bank of Braavos.
Whatever else could be said about Robert, modest was not one of them.
Frankly, he doubted he would live to see even half of what Robert wanted done to its completion. But… He would do his duty. He was the king's hand, the prince of mountain and Vale, and he had never been one to shirk his duty. He had no plans of starting now.
"Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff to do. Endless stuff actually. But the mills will be the most important in the short term. It will be how we increase the productivity of all of Westeros. We need to get that in order before the coronation. Most everything else can wait."
"On that, we can agree, your grace. We need to march out as quickly as possible to relieve your home, Robert. And then there is Lyanna…"
Ned looked at Robert with a questioning look.
"You… You are absolutely certain, that she is in the Prince's pass?"
Robert rolled his eyes in an overdramatic manner.
"Aye Ned, I am. She is in a tower that that bastard Rhaegar called the tower of joy. I don't know where it is exactly, but I know it's there in the pass somewhere. She's guarded by 3 kingsguard knights and is in dire need of an actually capable Maester. Also… Well. You know."
Ned still looked skeptical. Which Jon could understand.
Robert had utterly refused to divulge HOW, he knew Lyanna's location, merely saying it came from a "Trusted source", one which he could not reveal.
Whoever this source was, Robert would not say. He had however provided Robert with the supposed information that the three unaccounted for members of Aerys Kingsguard were to be found there, and that Lyanna was unfortunately pregnant.
Eddard had not taken that news well, though remarkably enough, Robert had.
Either way, he'd asked Ned to look after the child at Winterfell.
"The boy is innocent of any crime his father may have done. Not to mention, he is your blood and my bethroed's son. I'd be quite the heel, to wish him harm. So long as he's not in the south where some damn fool might want to put a crown on his head, he should be free to live his life as he wishes."
It was… An astonishingly out of character reaction from the Robert he had always known. If Jon had needed any proof that Robert was finally growing up, he found it there.
Yes… Robert was going to be a good king.
I
Cressen, Maester of Storm's End had rarely seen Stannis Baratheon smile.
As the Stark-Baratheon-Arryn host lay waste to the army in front of the castle, however, the young man he had come to think of as his son smiled a smile so full of confident mirth that for the moment reminded him that he was barely a man grown.
It had seemed for a moment that the siege would be lifted peacefully. That had not come to pass though, and so, two armies clashed.
They had roughly equal numbers at the start.
In terms of quality, however, it was a different story.
Cressen had reqd enough history to understand the difference between battle-hardened troops and those who had never seen true combat.
And before him, he saw the difference play out with obvious results.
The Tyrell army wasn't completely without advantages. For one, they held a slight high ground, and they could only be flanked on the western side.
Unfortunately for them, they hadn't actually taken full advantage of their time here. They didn't have spikes and pitfalls buried to aid them, so what it all turned out to do, was a giant regular field battle.
In the end, though, it didn't matter.
Robert's troops were battle-hardened, while Tyrell's were not.
The battle lasted for mayhaps six hours, until finally, a savage northern Cavalry charge broke through the ranks, and Eddard Stark did a battlefield maneuver that was only possible with a Valyrian Steel greatsword.
He rode behind the back of the line of fighting infantry, and let his enormous sword remain to the side as he rode, the force of his horse galloping driving him forward as the sword cleaved through the steel-clad line of men beside him, like a heated knife through butter, dozens of men falling like grain before the scythe.
The line immediately buckled and broke in his wake, and their forces poured through the line of breaking men.
"Finally…" Stannis had uttered with nothing but pure satisfaction in his voice as it happened.
Before that, he'd merely scowled as he watched the battle below. After it though, the smile finally came.
The rest of the men were no less giddy in their shouts of joy as the army that had besieged them for a year finally buckled, then broke, then were slaughtered.
And what a horrible slaughter it was.
The army had had its back to the sea and the cliffs.
That meant that when the tide began to turn, there was nowhere to flee, and nowhere to go.
Other than some heavy cavalry that managed to escape through the lines, the entire army died to a man. Either on the spears, axes, hammers, and swords of the Baratheon host or by going over the cliff.
So many dead… Cressen did not relish in the slaughter like the rest of the men did. He felt relieved, but not truly joyful as thousands and thousands of men died below.
"Robert seems to be enjoying himself." Stannis noted.
Though his smile remained, the satisfaction had gone out of his voice, now becoming more like his stoic, usual self.
"Where is he?" Cressen asked, peering across the battlefield, looking for his lord.
He was alone though, as many of the other men(Including Davos the smuggler) scouted the field for the King.
In response to his question, Stannis raised a gauntleted hand and pointed.
And true enough, there, some 200 feet away, stood a man with an antlered helmet, holding an enormous sword aloft.
"Heartsbane. Of house Tarly." Stannis noted cooly. "That was undoubtedly lord Randyll Tarly that he just killed."
He glanced to the side.
"And that cavalry just killed Lord Tyrell as well it would seem."
Stannis' smile did not fade.
"It would seem this siege is finally over."
Robert rode in through the opened gates, mounted on a massive, black stallion.
In one hand, he carried a massive two-handed sword that shimmered in a way that only swords from old valyria did.
"Stannis!" The king roared, the sound reverberating through the visor and breathing holes of his helmet.
"Your grace." Stannis nodded courteously.
He still smiled, though it was far less boylike than it had been up on the walls.
The king did not fail to notice it.
"HAH! Seems I won the bet we made when I was 13 after all! I did make you smile in the end, brother!"
"So it seems," Stannis replied dryly.
"I doubt you shall see again after today, however."
"Maybe, maybe not. But forget about that! Now is not the time to be glum little brother! Now is time for celebrations!"
With that, he turned his head away to look at the rest of the garrison.
"Today we shall celebrate, and ALL of you shall eat like KINGS, from the spoils directly from the stores of the former Warden of the South!"
The entire courtyard erupted in cheers, as he had just declared every one of them would get to take whatever they wanted from the bowels of Casterly Rock itself.
Robert waited until the cheers of men who'd starved through a siege quieted down.
While that happened, men followed Robert through the entrance to Storm's End.
Cressen could tell they were all Lords and their retinues by their sigils, and fine, plated steel.
Of the Northmen, there were Mermans of Manderly, flayed men of Bolton, mooses of Hornwood, Axes of Dustin, giant's of Umber, the direwolf of Eddard stark, who rode besides a strange little man with a lizard lion on his surcoat and scaled bronze for armor.
Though the falcon of House Arryn was not present, his vassals were there aplenty. Corbray, Royce, Bellmore, Hunter, and Redfort were all present.
And then of course there were Robert's own Stormlords. Buckler, Tarth, Dondarrion, Swann, Penrose, Caron, Morrigen, Musgood.
It was as he looked at said stormlords, That Cressen noticed something. A banner he had never seen before.
At first, he'd taken it for the Stag of Baratheon, and the Dondarrions before them, for it had the same colors.
But instead of the Stag, the black in the middle of the yellow was a black, pointed crown.
That it belonged to Robert was without doubt, for the king self wore the sigil on his surcoat.
When Robert spoke again, he continued in his booming voice.
"Aye, we shall celebrate, celebrate the heroes of this siege!"
He pointed his sword at Stannis.
"My brother Stannis, who led it, and stood held it against hopeless odds!"
He pointed out towards the men.
"And the garrison that stood loyally, and faithfully at his side, with no thoughts of betrayal in their minds!"
Well… That was gonna be awkward.
Before Stannis could speak up though, Robert pointed his sword again. This time towards the smuggler Davos, who could not have stood out more amongst the crowd.
"And finally, the smuggler Davos, who against all odds, smuggled my brother the food he needed to keep going! For that, I shall amply reward him, starting with a pardon for all his crimes as a smuggler!"
Cressen saw out of the corner of his eye that Stannis's smile turned to an irritated frown.
But before he could speak up, Robert continued, now in a less booming voice, more jovial.
"But before we continue with that, I have a question for you Stannis."
"Which is…?"
Cressen could feel Robert's grin through the helmet, just by looking at his body language.
"Oldtown or the Arbor and the shield isles?"
Stannis frowned.
"What of them?"
"Which do you want, man? I'm trying to give you a reward here, Stannis! Both fought against men here in this battle, and as such all their lands are null and void to the crown, to do with as I see fit. Now… Which do you want as a reward for your deeds?"
Cressen was not particularly surprised. He knew Robert well enough to know the brother liked to be open-handed and charitable.
Stannis was, however.
He hesitated before he spoke, clearly weighing his words carefully.
Finally, he spoke.
"Storm's End is not an option?"
"No." Robert said, in a very matter-of-fact tone.
"It will serve the role that Dragonstone served for the bloody dragons. The title of the oldest son and heir."
"Stannis grit his teeth. Then, visibly forcing himself to speak calmly, he answered.
"In that case… I shall take Oldtown."
"Very well. You shall henceforth be the prince of Oldtown, master of all its lands and incomes, as you wished."
He then turned to the smuggler Davos. Who looked a mixture between relief(presumably from the Royal Pardon), and utter nervousness by the fact the king was talking directly to him.
"Congratulations Davos of… of… Seaworth. Yes, Seaworth. Congratulations, Davos of House Seaworth. You are now the new lord of the Arbor and the shield islands, and all their lands, honors, and incomes."
I
The Barbarian western King was as Zarro Mudan had expected.
Tall, rugged, and with a wild, handsome unshaven look to him, he was clad in plate armor, and not wearing any form of decoration beyond his surcoat.
He was a true warlord, an uncivilized monarch of a backwards, primitive people.
He was the perfect embodiment of the Westerosi were the most backward people in the Western world.
They had no banking system, no constitution, no checks and balances, no house of nobles to vote on anything, no permanent army, no theaters, other than White Harbor, all of their cities were complete and total unplanned messes that stank of shit.
This capital city of King's landing being the absolute worst.
He could literarily count the good things about Westeros on one hand.
1. The Westerosi had at least outlawed slavery. He would give them that.
2. They had good cavalry in their knights.
And that were the only good things he had to say about the Westerosi.
He had been on his way to discuss the matter of some small debts to the Iron Throne by some of the vassals of King Aerys.
While he'd been sailing, Aerys had been killed and replaced with the rebel lord that had been revolting against him.
How long he would last, only the gods would know, but that wasnt up to him.
His job was to get him to pay the debts.
At the King's sides sat two men. Both wearing crowns, one in white, and the other in blue.
The one in white was the one that spoke up first.
"So… Westerosi Lords owes the Iron Bank some… 48 000 dragons, is that about it?"
"Indeed. Now, it is not the Iron Bank's place to decide which of these lords will keep their lands, but…"
"The debt still stands regardless of whether they lose their lands or not?" The one in blue said, frowning.
"Indeed. Now, I have a list here of which lords-" "Oh, no bloody need for that."
The king smiled.
"The coffers of the crown as swimming in gold. I'll pay it all. Look at it as… A token of friendship from house Baratheon, to the Iron Bank."
Well, that was bloody easy.
"Thank you, your grace. The Iron Bank shall not forget this. If you should ever require our services, do not hesitate to ask. We do remember which of our clients that are… Respectfully in regards to debts."
"Well, that is good to hear… Because I actually had a project I need some help with. Of the financial kind."
Zarro plastered on a smile. Well, this would be good. He wondered what it would be. Probably a loan for the construction of a building or something. Or maybe roads.
"And what do you have in mind, your grace?"
The king grinned in the manner of an arrogant schoolboy.
"Well firstly, I wished to offer you the opportunity to buy the crowns of house Targaryen. Surely the Iron Bank would appreciate them, as trophies of house Targaryen. I wish to get rid of them, and you could provide a buyer."
Zarro cocked his head.
"I… Doubt the Iron Bank would care much for these trinkets of which you speak. That said… The sealord most certainly WILL. I can make certain he hears of this offer. If you have a letter you wish to send, I can make certain it comes into his hands."
"Good. I'll have a letter drafted. We can move on to the second topic then."
"And may I ask… What might that topic be?"
"Canals. 4 of them to be exact."
Well… Maybe he had underestimated the barbarian king.
"I see. And where would these canals be?"
"One would be in the North, west of White Harbor, and link the bite to the sunset sea. One would be further south in the Riverlands, south of Seagard, connecting the sunset sea to the Blue Fork. Another one further south, also in the Riverlands, connecting the trident to the Gods eye. And finally, one in the Crownlands and the Reach, connecting Blackwater Rush to the Mander."
Interesting. Very, very interesting.
"An interesting proposal. Linking the east and west of Westeros through a canal has been discussed many, many times in the free cities, did you know this?"
"Really?"
"Oh yes. The Iron Bank even offered several king's proposals to finance such a canal. The idea of merchants getting to skip the trip to reach and the westerlands through the stepstones, as well as the long, long trip around the continent, is quite a lucrative proposal. Especially for Braavos. We have actually given the proposal of a northern canal to Aegon I, Maegor I, and Aegon IV before this. None of them were interested, once they learned they would need to dredge every river involved and do the same regularly for every canal. Tyrosh also had one planned and ready to finance when they backed that rebel king Daemon."
"Well… That's interesting stuff I suppose, but not really relevant. I'm here now, proposing it to you. You lot seem eager for such a project."
"Oh, we are. We just need a… Business partner, who understands how such deals work."
The king smiled.
"Oh, I do understand that, have no worries. That said… There is a catch."
"Of course there is a catch. There is always a catch. One only has to figure out what said catch is."
"Well, in this case… The catch is that I require every single canal open and ready to go in at the latest 10 years time."
Silence fell across the room.
"10 years time. That… Might be possible… But heavily expensive, considering the sheer amount of manpower necessary. And… Please do forgive me for saying so, your grace… But unless the bank is absolutely certain you can pay such a loan back, it will not grant such a loan."
The two men wearing crowns both glanced at their overlord. Said overlord did not cease to smile, however.
"Oh, I'll pay. But not in coin. Well… Not the usual way anyway."
Zarro sighed lightly. So he wished to bargain, did he? Very well then, he would hear what harebrained scheme the king had planned.
"Well… Here is the deal master Zarro. If the Iron Bank agrees to finance this project, I'll give the bank the right to half of every single toll that is ever levied for the use of each canal for… Let's say... 77 years after the final canal is done? 77 is a good, nice, holy number."
Silence.
Zarro just stared at him, mouth halfway agape.
"Of course, I'll give the bank some say in how large the toll rate will be as well. So... What do you say to my proposal master Zarro?"
What he thought about the proposal, was that the King was an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.
The sheer, unimaginable, amount of WEALTH that he would be signing away with this deal was… Mindboggling.
The Westerosi Canal had been an interesting idea for the Free Cities for centuries. Every one of them understood it's potential for wealth.
They understood it, in a way this backward king never could. In his haste to get the project done as quickly as possible, he would be signing away more wealth than there currently existed in all of Westeros combined… The trip to the Rock and the farms of the Reach would become an easy, safe, affordable trip, and all that would come with it. Wealth beyond dreams.
To surrender half of that for 77 YEARS was such an incredibly one-sided deal. Just building one of these canals would already make the king wealthy beyond dreams. 4 of them would mean tolls beyond counting. Tolls which would be split between the king and the Iron Bank.
Most "long" but still temporary business contracts and arrangements of this kind didn't usually last more than 20 years at most. This deal would be 4 times that.
Out loud, he said:
"It's an… Interesting proposal. I think the Iron Bank of Braavos will be… Interested in hammering out an agreement on the matter."
I
Doran Martell read the letter, his hands shaking. Then they slowly steadied themselves.
All hope was not yet lost.
Robert's victory had been vicious, and total.
Aerys and Rhaegar were both dead… And far, far more important to him specifically, so was Ellia, Lewyn, Aegon, and little Rhaenys.
The men who had killed his sister and their family were dead as well. And so the hand of the monster that had done it.
That did not change the fact that Robert had stepped over their corpses to claim his throne. That he returned both the bones of his butchered kin, as well as the ones who murdered them, did not change that fact.
However, in his victory, Robert had made one, single mistake. A critical one. One that he could use to undo all his victories, and once more seat the dragon upon the Throne of Westeros.
He had let young Viserys and his pregnant mother live and accepted them back into the realm.
That was a critical mistake, one that no ruler who had any real ambition to hold the throne could ever afford to make.
If Robert wanted to be secure in his hold on Westeros, he HAD to wipe out the Targaryens root and stem. But he had not.
In a display of mercy so foolish that it was also insanity, Robert had elected to let the greatest threat to him and his dynasty live.
Doran would not let that mistake go unpunished.
But he would play the long game.
Viserys was still but a boy. He would need time to grow up to become a man that the realm could rally around.
More importantly, Robert had not yet sired an heir. Which meant that if he died, the throne would pass to his brother Stannis.
If he died later down the line, while his child was still far away from their majority, however…
Well. That would mean a regency.
And nothing was worse for a dynasty, than when the ruler was a child.