Chapter 12

I felt confident after my victory over Tywin. I was only human, after all, and going toe to toe with the lion and winning left me feeling optimistic. So, I set to work on advancing my plans. First came a quiet meeting with Hoster Tully. My master of roads had been thoroughly engaged by the repairs and expansion I had him undertake, but now work was winding down and men returned home to sow the first seeds of the dawning spring. They would be back in a few months time, but in that time I had another project I wanted to work on. We met in one of my meeting rooms. The wine was tasted, then I had all but Ser Barristan exit the room.

"Your brother has been an invaluable help to me in guarding my life," I said, between sips of wine. It didn't taste as terrible as I used to find the stuff. "At least now he has a proper reason to avoid marrying, after all."

The man shook his head. "My brother has always been wayward. If his talents can be made to serve you, your Grace, all the better." He considered me thoughtfully. "I have already told you of the state of the roads, of course, so I imagine your grace has some other duty for me?" He asked, his eyes sharp with eagerness. This was the man who leveraged his ambition to become tied to three kingdoms. But, he was a staunch ally. I conjured up the memories of Hoster fighting with Jon Connington in my name to remind myself of the fact. He was no Tywin.

"Indeed. Tell me, who reigns where the Blue Fork meets the Trident?" I asked, pointing to the triangle of land on the map. Lord Tully seemed surprised, but he managed a more relaxed face after a moment.

"That sliver of land is held in stewardship, Your Grace. It was long disputed between houses Roote, Bracken, and Blackwood. After one of the disputes turned bloody, well, King Maekar chose to place it under royal control. After the foiled second Blackfyre Rebellion, he wanted to ensure they couldn't foment rebellion in the Riverlands, but he fell in the Peake Uprising, I'm afraid. Since then House Tully has loyally stewarded the lands," explained Lord Tully. Yes, yes, and surely made them a good bit richer.

"That is good," I said, pleasantly surprised. "You recall my plans for Fairmarket?"

"Of course," He said, his face turning a little more concerned. "I still don't know why you don't choose to make Maidenpool or even Saltpans a city. No doubt Your Grace has a plan, of course, but…"

"But right now it seems quite strange? I am not in disagreement with you. From the outside, of course, it would not make sense. But I have plans for that area of the Riverlands, Lord Hoster." I explained, pointing to Fairmarket and then following the Blue Fork up. "The area around its origin is not particularly good ground, but more manageable than, say, the Neck. More importantly, the distance is shorter. I have plans to build a great canal between the Blackwater and the Mander, so that shipping grain takes less time, but another canal from the source of the Blue Fork west would allow for heightened trade in the west. It will take many years for the former project, but this one would be simpler. How many miles is it to the sea?"

"About twenty, your grace. Perhaps more, if you skirted the worst of the bogs." He seemed fascinated by the idea.

"Your people are skilled at navigating rivers, so I imagine this would be the best test of my canals." They were pretty much the biggest thing I could introduce, since it mostly demanded lots of labor.

"It has been considered before, though, Your Grace. But it would make it much easier for the Ironborn to raid." He waited expectantly for my response.

"I do not deny this, of course." I said, placatingly. The threat of the Ironborn loomed in my mind. "That comes to my second idea. This strip of land would be given over to an Order of Knights, with a castle raised here and a bridge here. I would also have beacon towers created along the shores and down to their castle, to warn them quickly. The knights could police the Riverlands more effectively, able to move quickly along the waterways and, if necessary, fight the Ironborn. In peacetime they could ensure bandits do not threaten the lands," I explained. "Working with the Mallisters, that should be enough to counter them. The Ironborn succeed by striking fast; having a capable force dedicated to defeating their tactics should force them to look elsewhere." Like westwards, hopefully. The Farwynds had just sent out the ship on an expedition, last I heard.

Of course, I needed to sweeten the deal. The Tullys were no doubt pocketing a fair bit of money from these lands, after all. "The bridge tolls would help pay for the upkeep, or at least most of it. The rest would come from the city of Fairmarket; a small price to pay to ensure their trade is not bogged down by the Ironborn, and that the roads remain clear for traders. But of course, the Tully's should be rewarded for their leal stewardship of this land, so I am willing to grant the first five years of tolls from the Canal to you," I explained. Not great for my pockets, but five years would reach us towards the end of the Greyjoy rebellion and the long summer, and the trade should be fantastic by then.

He seemed pleased with this prospect. "Your Grace is gracious," His head bobbed with his words. "I would be foolish not to accept. And if these knights and their bridge hurt the Late Lord Walder's coinpurse, well, all the better." Indeed, I thought. Still, feudal politics was a balancing act. It was strange how much of a mishmash things were, with feudal lords yet armies the size of early modern ones.

"Excellent. That concludes my business, of course. I shall announce the plan at the small council now that I know I have your support." I patted him on the shoulder and then paused, as if in thought. "Hmm. Once I marry Lady Lyanna, you will be my Good-Uncle. How high the Tully's have risen!" I said, toasting him with my cup of wine and draining the thing. Even if I was wrong about how that worked, he seemed so pleased by the prospect he didn't correct me.

After I announced the plans to the small council, I set them to work on it. Labor would still be short for the sowing season, but that was fine; for now it would be about surveying locations and considering supplies. Ah, logistics, that most terrible and important thing. Still, I chose Ser Witney Keath as the grandmaster; brother to the current Lord Keath, a small house in the Riverlands, he was recommended by both Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden; the latter swayed me. If both brothers agreed, he was likely a good pick. So I ordered him to come to the capital to receive the honors.

After that, it was mostly counting coins. The treasury was in a fairly heavy deficit with all the spending on projects, but with the amount Aerys had gathered over his reign, things were still fine. It was better than wasting it on wars, since my investments would pay off. The printing presses were being spread en masse as a shared expense between myself and the Faith, since they benefited from the vast increase in copies of the Seven Pointed Star that could be made. After that we discussed the bank; I decided on twelve keyholders, many of them nominated from the ranks of the merchant class and selected by myself.

Soon enough I would be able to offer loans to people to establish farms in underpopulated areas, most especially the North. There would be clashes of culture and faith, no doubt about that, but with Ned working alongside me I felt fairly optimistic about working things out. Closer to home, I would also encourage a vast increase in farming in the Crownlands; being dependent on the Reach for most of my grain was a nasty situation, as proven by the books. I also set aside several farmsteads for experimenting with different tools. The deal I made with the farmers there was that they could either have the profits from the crops or, if they failed because I fucked things up, they could have a lump sum of gold to ensure they made it through the year. They could test my vaguely remembered seed drills and plows, even my attempts at crop rotations.

Still, I wanted to get a sense of the scope in my lands. While surveying the mountains of the Vale or the Wall were off the table - hill clans preventing the former and spring snows the latter - I could still start with some censuses (censii?) of my own lands. So I began with the city, since it was the simplest affair; close to home, easier to be accurate.

It took a while. In that time, Ned told me he was coming, and I received word that Tywin had docked at Eastwatch. I even received a letter from Jaime, accepting my invitation. There was even a second page with about a hundred questions about King's Landing in childish handwriting, which I tried to respond to as best I could. But when the results came back, they were actually rather shocking. Far from the half million figure cited in the books, the population of King's Landing was only a hundred and sixty two thousand. Still a lot, but comparable to Paris. Pycelle seemed perturbed by that. "It was closer to one hundred eighty thousand, ten years ago." He had been a lot quieter at small council meetings of late.

"Well, that was before Lord Tywin's men graciously sacked the city for several days on the tail end of a, what, four year winter?" I said, with a shrug. I was in the middle of reading the rest of the information the scribes had jotted down when a messenger arrived.

"Your Grace, Lord Eddard Stark has arrived. He awaits you in the Great hall, I believe."

I smiled at hearing the news. Ah, good. I turned to the assembled lords. "My lords, I'm afraid I must adjourn this meeting. You all have your orders; we shall meet on the morrow."

Lord Wyman stood slowly, his girth forcing him to be careful. "Your Grace, would you mind terribly if I accompanied you? It would be good to meet with my liege-lord, you understand." No doubt he would inform me of the situation in the West as well. I wanted to be optimistic and trusting of Jaime, but frankly, considering the track record I had with the Lannisters, it was best to be wary.

As we walked through the halls to the Great Hall, Lord Wyman spoke slowly. "I have had word, your grace, that the banners do not stir in the West. But Lord Jaime seemed most perturbed at your letters, and his uncle Kevan arrived soon after. My friends in Lannisport whisper about Tywin taking the black with distrust. Things sit uncertainly in the West. I believe it would be wisest of you to use your skills at befriending men on Lord Jaime, and secure his loyalty tightly. Perhaps let Lady Cersei go west after the wedding and coronation?" He asked, his hands behind his back as we walked, his eyes flicking about to the corners. He had taken well to his role. "If your grace would provide me with a bit more funding, it would be much appreciated. My men are stretched thin as it is. I did discover one of Tywin's men in the serving staff, however. Be watchful, your grace. If there are more, they will move hastily after this."

"I will look into it, Lord Wyman. Give me some numbers I can show to the treasury, and I will make sure the Kingsguard keep their swords close. I do have another task for you. I want you to begin preparing a strike against my would be usurper, Viserys. Take whatever precautions necessary to ensure it works the first time."

When I finally arrived at the Great Hall, I found not only Ned waiting there but Ser Witney. He was average height, broad, with scars across the backs of his hands and a clean shaven face, with long auburn hair. He was quietly talking with someone from Lord Hoster's retinue, while Ned was looking up at the Iron Throne with an expression on his face I could not place. Soon the hall quieted. Heads snapped over towards me, the murmuring in the court resuming after a moment. I made my way over to Ned, pulling him in for a hug.

"Ned, good to see you again. Do I get to meet that lovely wife of yours?" I ask, raising my brows. "Perhaps say hello to my namesake?"

He offered me a small, tired smile. "Good to see you too, Robert. I'm afraid they're settling in right now." His eyes shifted to the Throne for a moment. "This business with Tywin… you will have to fill me in later," He said, his eyes shifting meaningfully to the courtiers around us.

I nodded my head. "No matter. There's plenty of time before the wedding. Get settled in, Ned. Then come meet with me tomorrow and we'll talk about the future," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. Then I moved forward, the crowd parting for me. Lord Wyman stayed behind to speak to his liege. My eyes flickered to Ser Donnel of the Honeywine. He nodded to me determinedly.

As I made my way up the throne - the massive monstrosity had plenty of steps before you reached the top, and the damn thing was always threatening to nick me, but it was a symbol of my power. When I reached the top, the crowd quieted after a moment. Looking down on them was a heady thing, the guards lining the walls a reminder of my power. And now I would use the power this thing gave me to change Westeros greatly, instead of deals and edicts made in the small council chamber. "Ser Witney Keath," I boomed from atop the throne. He stepped forward from the crowd and kneeled. "You have served the realm honorably and with determination. For this, I would ordain you as grandmaster of the Knightly Order of the Scale. Do you accept this duty?"

"Yes, Your Grace," his deceptively low voice carried up to the throne and presumably to the back of the hall.

"Then I charge you in the name of the Father to be just in your decisions, in the name of the Warrior to be brave in confronting evil, in the name of the Smith to be industrious in expanding your Order, in the name of the Crone to be wise in the face of uncertainty, in the name of the Maiden to be chivalrous to all who cross your path, and in the name of the Mother to protect the innocent and honest from those who would do them harm, until your vigil ends and the Stranger guides you onward. I charge you to serve the realm and all honest folk who call it home, to keep river and road safe, and to mete out justice to those who would prey on my people. Do you accept these duties?"

"Yes, your grace, until the end of my days I shall serve the realm and her people."

"To carry out this duty I grant unto you the lands between the Red and Blue Fork held by the royal family, and the right and funds to raise a castle and bridge there. On your death, Ser, the title of Grandmaster shall pass to another man of your Order chosen by his fellows. Rise, Grandmaster Keath! Take up your sword and cloak." Ser Barristan stepped forward with the two. While it was no Valyrian Steel, the sword presented to him was gorgeously wrought, the sheath studded with sapphires and yellow garnets, the sword itself forged by Tobho Mott and clearly showing in the work. The hardy, shining steel of the crossguard gave way to a wire grip and a pommel with a cut sapphire embedded in it. Inscribed on the sword in stylistic letters was a simple phrase: "With this, I give justice." The cloak was nothing to scoff at either; a rich, royal blue with gold scales emblazoned on the back. The entire thing was made of velvet, trimmed with shadowcat fur. The clasp was pure gold and silver intertwined. I was holding nothing back in the spectacle and grandeur of these gifts; hopefully they would draw in plenty of knightly courtiers to swear service to the Order.

The awed chatter of the crowd was certainly giving me a good impression. I held out my hands for silence once more. "Lords, Ladies, good people of this court, this order is for those who seek to fulfill their knightly vows in the truest sense, to defeat any who would scourge the innocent of this realm. Those who would swear to this Order must be brave and true, for their focus must solely be on serving the realm, which is no small task. But I know that there are many among you who wish for something greater, and this is your opportunity. Any who would serve in this order must swear to serve seven years, but after that time you are free to leave. Will any of you swear to this order?" I asked. There was a moment of pregnant silence, and I could feel the crowd roiling, trying to decide the best course.

And that was when Ser Donnel stepped forward. "I shall, Your Grace!"

And as he kneeled to swear the same oaths to me, a dozen more men surged forward. I recognized a few; second or third sons, glory hungry and eager to put their knighthood to good use. More followed, until before me were thirty four men swearing their oaths to me and to Ser Witney. The crowd sat, awed by the display. Murmurs broke out as I clapped my hands, and thirty four servants emerged from the side doors, carrying cloaks of fine wool in the same colors as Ser Witney's. They also received fine swords forged from the Street of Steel, largely plain and uniform things with the same inscription as their Grandmaster's. I had actually had fifty servants waiting outside the doors; if there had been more, the spectacle probably wouldn't have been as grand. The rest would no doubt come in handy. These were the most rash of the men who would join; others would follow, especially after this showing.

I reveled in the moment, and then clapped my hands. "Fine men, every one of you! Rise, Sers, as Knights of the Order of the Scale!" and mostly uniformly they rose. The crowd exploded in whispers and murmurs. Knightly orders had gone out of favor since the fall of the Green Hand on the Field of Fire and, later, the holy orders against Maegor. Whatever this meant, it was something new. Exciting. The court seemed to tremble with anticipation, and the applause of Lord Wyman and then Ned spurred them into joining.

After the men were done being hailed, the court was dismissed for the day to celebrate the rise of the new order. I walked through the halls to the godswood.

There was a certain familiarity to the place, now. The smell of the leaves budding on the branches, the soft crunch of grass underfoot… the clearing was a safe place, for me. My eyes flitted to the heart's tree. Lyanna was waiting there, practicing various strikes with slow, careful movements, but when she saw me a soft grin crossed her face. "Knightly Orders? Been reading too many tales, Robert?" She wondered, cocking her brow and putting her sword into a guard.

I responded with a feint, forcing her on the back foot with a quick offense. "There's power in tales. What gives a king power?" I wondered. I drew back on the offensive so she could answer, which proved a mistake as she quickly danced forward, weaving slashes.

"The swords he commands?" She asked, cocking a brow once a quick stab caught her on the shoulder.

"Slashes are too wide," I said, before continuing. "Swords, aye. What makes those swords follow him? Aerys was king and one of his own men killed him. What gives a king power is the appearance of being kingly. By acting in ways a good king does, and having grandeur and prestige. But also by the little reminders, the more constant ones. When a man looks at a coin, what face does he see? The kings. There's plenty of different kings on coins, but when a man is saved from bandits by my knightly order, he'll be reminded that I am king, and because of that he was saved." I explained.

"Why not spend the coin on charity, then, and remind the folk that way?" She wondered, shifting into a lower stance.

"There is power to that, no doubt. But it's a costly thing, and when the bread is gone, a man grows hungry again. Hunger is a constant. Banditry does not need to be; when a man walks roads once patrolled by bandits without fear, then he'll know his king is good and wise." I explained.

"So in the end, it's still about swords," she said, attempting to overrun my defenses with her thin practice sword.

"Perhaps," I admitted as we circled one another. I met her sword three times in quick succession, before the whipping little blade tapped my thigh. I let out a curse before drawing back. "My point still stands."

She was about to say something else when I heard crunching afoot. I turned and saw Ser Oswell as well as Martyn Cassel and, surprisingly, Ned. He looked confused at the two of us. Martyn looked vaguely apologetic, shrugging his shoulders as if to say, I could hardly refuse him.

Ah, well. "Ned!" I said with a grin and a chuckle. "I fear you caught us in the middle of a bout. She was losing, of course,"

"It was even," She clarified with a frown directed at me. Ned seemed to shake off his bewilderment.

"I came to pray, and instead I find you two fighting." He deadpanned. "Should I bother asking why?"

"After the death of Princess Elia, it seemed wisest to teach her."

"I suppose I can forgive that," He said, shaking his head. "I'm more concerned by how little oversight you two have. Why is that, Robert?" He asked, with a slightly glacial tone. Hmm, in hindsight, I should have expected my lecherous reputation to come into play. Especially since I was meeting with my betrothed pretty damn close to alone every day.

"I swear I haven't done anything untoward. Well, except for knocking her into the dirt." I said, raising my hands and offering a charming smile instinctually. His brow raised and he turned to look at Lyanna. Only when she nodded did he breathe a sigh of relief, massaging his forehead. Lyanna turned a sharp grin on me.

"Though he did talk to me about having a bastard or two," She said. Ned's head whipped so fast his neck should have broken. I shot a scowl her way and turned back to him.

"I was talking about making sure my bastards were taken care of!" I said. His scowl lessened, but he still seemed quite displeased.

"Wait, bastards? You only had one." Ned said, brows furrowing together.

"Long story short, I was delirious from poppy and certain of my death in a brothel. Put the pieces together, Ned," I said. He nodded slowly, then I turned to Lyanna.

"I think it would be best if I took my leave now so you can pray. My lady," I said, bowing my head to her respectfully.

"You just don't want Ned to see me win," Lyanna said in a singsong tone.

"Sure," I said with a wave of my hand, leaving the woods. The evening was giving way to nighttime darkness, now. Ser Oswell soon followed as I made my way back to my bedchambers. I opened them, and the darkness took me off guard. Normally the place was well lit, the opulent tapestries in the hallway giving way to richly built furniture next to a fire. Instead I was met with near darkness, only a couple of candles flickering against the shadows. Remembering Lord Wyman's warning, I took a step back and beckoned Ser Oswell forward. He unsheathed his sword only a moment before a dagger came glinting from the shadows. He moved in a graceful dance, creating space between him and the assailant while preventing him from moving through the doorway to me.

My eyes moved to the rest of the hall, but thankfully the only other occupant was a guard rushing towards the commotion. He took out his short sword, and my eyes almost turned back to the assassin ahead of me. Something about him set off all my alarm bells, though, and I realized after a moment why - he didn't wear the badge the other soldiers did. This time I fumbled for my dagger as I stepped to the side, his sword stroke coming down where I had stood a moment ago. The blade turned, sweeping towards me, and my hand shot out, gripping his wrist with the furious strength of a Baratheon. He tried to catch the blade from my hand a moment too late, the sharpened dirk taking him in the throat.

Ser Oswell finished the assassin off, the whole thing having only taken a few seconds. When he turned and saw the other dead at my hands, shock passed over his face. Confirming quickly that no others were there, he fell to his knees, his face ashen under the helmet he wore. "I've failed you, your grace," He said, looking mortified. "I allowed myself to be distracted from your safety."

I clasped his hand, my own still slick with blood, and pulled him to his feet. "Remember this blood well, Ser Oswell, and never fail me again. Still, only three Kingsguard to protect me simply isn't enough." Especially stretched between resting, guarding me, and Stannis. I had procrastinated on the matter long enough.

I paused, looking at the mess in the hallway for a long moment. "Lord Hightower wanted a tourney to celebrate the end of the war and the beginning of my reign," I said after a long moment. "I shall look for new Kingsguard in their midst."

Ser Oswell nodded his head gratefully. "I will not allow anything like this to happen again, Your Grace," he said fervently.

I would do my best to make sure of that. "I suppose the corpses will need to be removed," I said with a sigh, pinching my nose. I would need to find another bedchamber for the night, until the place could be cleaned properly.

Eventually things were sorted, though. Despite the excitement, I announced that the Kingsguard would be filled and any knight who wished to join could come try their hand. People in the court murmured about that. Several were swearing loyalty to the Order, having had time to think on it.

The more idealistic wondered if it was a rebirth of the noble tradition of knighthood, while the more pessimistic wondered if I would secure my kingship with swords in lieu of dragons.

A/N And that's our chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it, even if it was a bit more relaxed. Having some bridge chapters to develop the kingdom and its growth under Robert is fun and a good break from the more event heavy ones. I'm trying to be more descriptive rather than constantly analytical, so I hope you all enjoy a little change in pace. As to the city itself, I settled on a lower but still high population. My justification is that after both a ten year summer and then a refugee crisis, the population might be able to swell to that size, but the 'resting population' is less than two hundred thousand. Next time will be the coronation, wedding, and perhaps tournament (I might need to split them up). Cheers!