"No…" Catelyn Stark uttered a whisper at the sight before her. A coffin carrying the Stark insignia laid in a horse carriage, nearly spotless.
Who is it? Catelyn wanted to collapse into her grief but forced herself to remain stoic. Howls of rage could be heard across the procession. A handful of men drew their blades, among them Rickard Karstark.
"My Lady, King Joffrey gives his condolences of the passing of your husband." Cleos Frey shrunk away from all the hateful eyes upon him. Though carrying the Frey name, his mother was Genna Lannister, Tywin's sister. "While held in the Tower Cells, Baelish treacherously slew him in the night and…"
"Lies!" Catelyn could hold herself back no longer. The idea her oldest friend could commit such a despicable act of murder…
"Give the word and we'll gut them all!" The Greatjon announced, lifting his sword into the air. Stark and Tully bannerman formed a half circle around the Lannister procession.
"No," Catelyn raised a hand to hold them back despite every instinct in her screaming for revenge. "They have arrived under a peace banner and I will not go so low as to imitate Cersei Lannister."
"My Lady… the King wanted me to assure you that Lord Baelish will receive severe punishment for his treason," Cleos stammered.
"Spare me his lies; I have no desire to hear them," Catelyn interrupted him, moving towards the coffin. She was surprised to find it in such condition, meticulously maintained even during the long journey.
Her hand brushed against it, Catelyn struggling to hold back tears. Throughout the war, she prayed for her husband and daughters, only to see the man she loved dead.
"The King made sure to have his body taken care of, as befitting a man of his honor," Cleos promised.
"What do you know of honor, you Weasel-eyed Frey?" Karstark bellowed. The Freys sworn to Robb Stark gave the grieving father dirty looks. "You butchered our liege lord, just as you killed my sons!"
"Thank you… for that at least," Catelyn could at least take comfort in the fact his body was not mistreated. "And my daughters?"
"Safe and unharmed. His Grace is willing to return them in exchange for the freedom of Jaime Lannister."
Catelyn almost said yes. More than anything, she wanted to see her children again. She cared nothing for glory in battle, only for her family returned to her. But Robb's bannermen will not accept the Kingslayer being traded for two girls.
Robb alone had yet to speak. Hand on his sword, the seventeen-year-old did nothing but stare coldly at the Lannisters. Catelyn shivered despite the glare not being aimed at her. Her son was more furious than she ever imagined he could be.
"King Joffrey has ordered me to give terms," Cleos continued. "He is willing to pardon you for your treason and return Sansa Stark if you agree to pledge fealty to him. His only conditions are that taxes to the crown will be increased for a period of seven years."
"No," Robb responded. "The only terms I will accept is Joffrey's head on a pike. Run back to the Lannisters. Tell them that I intend to paint the realm red with their blood."
Catelyn arranged for Ned's bones to be transported to Winterfell, buried alongside his ancestors. I can break down later. She needed to stay stoic with so many eyes upon her.
Cleos and those who guarded him were reluctantly given food and shelter, although they would be forced to depart in the morning. With Eddard's death, there was no longer any chance for peace.
Five of Robb's best men surrounded her for protection. No major battles had been fought since the Battle of the Camps but skirmishes and raids were constant. The Riverlands had yet to be liberated from Tywin's forces, who were busy burning every farm and village they could locate.
"Ought to march right down to King's Landing, burn their city to the ground!" Greatjon suggested.
"I hope you haven't forgotten that Lord Tywin still resides at Harrenhal," Roose Bolton reminded.
"First, we need to clear the Riverlands of these raiders," Edmure Tully announced. "Already too many will die when winter comes. The longer they are allowed to roam free, the more damage will be suffered."
Arguing was constant and little was accomplished. Some wanted to take the fight right to King's Landing; others argued for a retributive strike into the Westerlands. A few suggested attacking Tywin at Harrenhal, although it was quickly shot down as a disastrous suggestion.
Catelyn could not keep her eyes off Robb, only partially listening to the discussion. His eyes were cold, staring into the abyss.
"Having our liege lord in captivity is something you cannot let go unanswered," Bolton advised. "We should send Cersei a few body parts of her brother, reminding her that actions have consequences."
Robb looked like he was considering the idea. "Whatever you do to Ser Jaime, Joffrey will have done to your sisters!" Catelyn noticed, however, that Cleos only mentioned Sansa, not Arya.
"He has already murdered your father," Bolton reminded. "Fail to respond in kind and the Lannisters will consider you weak."
"I will… keep the offer under consideration, Lord Bolton," Robb gripped the table hard enough that Catelyn could hear a crack in the wood. "If I choose to do so, it will be done by my own hand."
Catelyn waited for the discussion to be concluded, intending to persuade her son otherwise. Although the Kingslayer would deserve nothing more. Every time she walked by Jaime, her hatred for him only intensified. Attempting to murder Bran, burning the Riverlands, killing her husband… she feared she would have the mutilation done herself.
Despite the victories they achieved, however, the Northerners were still outnumbered. Out of the 30,000 bannerman, perhaps 22,000 were fit to fight, the remainder incapacitated by wounds and disease. More were tied down guarding Lannister prisoners.
When the sun set, discussion tapered off, Robb retiring to his tent. Catelyn looked around, reassured to see the sentries surrounding them. A large host provided security but it was impossible to conceal, leading to the danger of a hired killer reaching her son.
She pushed the folds of his tent aside, his guards making no move to stop her. "Robb…" Catelyn spoke softly, knowing he was falling apart inside.
"All the Lannisters will die for this!" Robb swore, pacing around to the extent the tent allowed him to do so. "I will personally make sure of that! Jaime, Joffrey, Tommen, Mycella… they're all going to suffer."
"Robb!" Catelyn rebuked, though there was a part of her that felt the same way.
Robb showed no sign of hearing her. "Perhaps I'll even give them to Lord Bolton, have all the Lannisters flayed alive! Joffrey… I'll enjoy seeing him beg for mercy! I'll…"
"Robb!" Catelyn approached him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "What would your father think of you if he heard you speaking this way?"
"He's dead so it doesn't matter. Cersei's children will grow up to be no different than her."
"Enough!" Catelyn knew the gentle approach wasn't working. "Listen to yourself, Robb! You're threatening to have innocent children flayed alive!"
"Why not? They're Lannisters and…" Robb strained to push his anger away, his eyes looking at the ground. When he spoke next, it was in a calmer voice. "I'm sorry, Mother. I… I don't know what came over me."
"I miss him no less than you." Were Cersei Lannister in her grip. Catelyn would take great pleasure in squeezing the life out of her. "But we can fight them without falling to their level. Eddard resigned as Hand rather than agree to assassinate the Targaryen girl. He wouldn't want to see his oldest son commit such cruelty."
"I know. I just… I thought we could free him," Robb lowered his head, shoulders slumped. "What we do now, I don't know yet."
We return to Winterfell, rebuild and prepare for the coming winter. However much she wanted vengeance, Catelyn knew she had to think of others besides herself. A crusade of revenge could lead to the rest of her family being killed, especially with the likes of Tywin Lannister.
But she kept quiet, knowing their bannermen would never respect Robb again if he chose to end the war. "We still need to get Sansa and Arya out of the Capital. From what I saw of Joffrey, there's no doubt in my mind he will brutalize them both."
"All the more reason to at least give terms. If they think you're only interested in revenge, the Lannisters will have nothing to lose. I want them to pay no less than you, but forcing them into a position where they have no choice but to fight will be a disaster."
"I will speak to him shortly," Robb conceded. "With Father dead, what are we fighting for now?"
"To have Sansa and Arya returned to us," Catelyn offered the instant those words left his mouth.
"They're not likely to ever let them go. Even if we offered the Kingslayer, I wouldn't put it past them to trick us and have them ambushed on route to Winterfell. And I don't want the Iron Throne. Spending my life inside a pit of vipers…"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll let you know when I have an answer. I was considering sending Theon to treat with his father, forming an alliance with the Greyjoys. We offer gold and plunder in the Westerlands, perhaps some land to settle."
"Do not send Theon!" Catelyn pleaded. "He is a Greyjoy, or have you forgotten?"
"That's precisely the reason I'm sending him," Robb turned his head. "Balon Greyjoy will be willing to listen to an offer coming from his only son."
"Theon is a hostage, not a member of our family."
"He is my brother, no less than Jon is," Robb rebuked. Catelyn's lip curled at the mention of Ned's bastard. "And I love him as one. He would not betray us, not after so much time at Winterfell."
"Robb, please listen to me," Catelyn gripped his hand. "Theon still sees himself as a hostage and it is the only thing holding Balon back from attacking us again. If you insist on treating with him, send someone else. Send me, send Edmure, Stevron Frey… anyone but Theon. He might care about you, but a day in the Iron Islands and he will remember who he really is."
Robb thought it over for a couple minutes before answering. "All right, I'll send someone else. But I still intend to treat with the man. He'll see the opportunity an alliance with us will provide."
Catelyn wasn't so sure of that but she at least convinced him not to have Theon rely the message. She had a grim look on her face for the rest of her waking hours thinking of Jon. While Eddard made it clear he wouldn't tolerate her mistreating him, she could never bring herself to accept him. At least he is at the Wall and no threat to my trueborn children.
Catelyn retired to her tent and allowed herself to cry. She sobbed herself out for as long as the tears would flow.
"Could it be true?" Catelyn hated the thought but still asked the question. She'd known Baelish since they were children, but she hadn't seen him for eighteen years. Men could change a great deal in that time.
And Petyr possessed an unrequited crush on her; that much she knew. Catelyn always pretended she didn't, not wanting to destroy their friendship by her rejection. Even if she had been interested, though, her father would never have allowed it. He was nothing but a minor lord, barely above a peasant.
He hated Brandon after the duel, and by extension, Eddard. "But he can't have held a grudge that long. Not over me." Petyr had always been jealous when he attempted to woo her and when he learned she was going to be married to Brandon, it had been too much for him.
Catelyn did not wish to believe a dear friend was capable of such treachery. Joffrey was lying… or so she wanted to believe. But the voice whispering in her head that it could be true refused to remain silent. Had she thought to check Ned's corpse instead of merely sending him to Winterfell, she would have seen the truth.
She slept very little that night.
At first light, Cleos was woken up and given new instructions. "These are the terms you will give Cersei Lannister. She will immediately hand over my sisters. The crown will pay for all the damage they have inflicted on the Riverlands. There will be no betrothal. Once they are released, I will return Willem Lannister and Tion Frey to wherever she chooses.
"Make it very clear: any harm she or anyone inflicts on my sister will be repaid ten-fold on the Kingslayer."
"Perhaps we should send her one of his hands." Theon laughed, a smirk on his face as always. "Or his cock; that she might recognize more easily." Roars of laughter came from all the bannermen, though Catelyn curled her lips in disapproval.
"If any of the men you hold are executed, we will return the favor," Robb continued as though he hadn't spoken. "We hold over three times as many Lannisters so I recommend Tywin not forget that. Agree to my terms and we will stand down. Fail to do so and your entire family will suffer the consequences."
XXXXXXXXXX
"I wasn't expecting to see representative of the Iron Bank to arrive as well," Matthew admitted, shaking the hand of Tycho Nestoris. However, his eyes were on the dozens of technicians setting up the equipment.
"For a deal such as this, the Iron Bank wishes to make sure its interests are protected," Tycho smiled. Only a handful of torches could be seen, all placed far away from the gunpowder. "Moreover, the crown still owes us a substantial amount of money. I wish to make sure you'll be able to fulfill your obligations."
If you can't pay us back, we'll support your enemies were the real words. "Sadly, I am aware that my father nearly spent the realm into oblivion with little to show for it. Difficult to solve in the middle of the war but we're well on our way towards rectifying the problem. I've already managed to root out significant portions of corruption."
"We are patient and know that repayment can be difficult under such conditions, Your Grace," Tycho responded. "But I am sure you understand my superior's concerns."
"Yes, I'd feel the same way in your position. We can negotiate after I have a chance to see these weapons."
At first glance, the cannon was little more than a long iron tube made with iron hoops. "Tell me, what guarantee do I have that this thing is going to do anything besides blow up and kill the operators?" He demanded, remembering how dangerous early cannons were to use.
"Your Grace, it is a risk, but over the last thirty years, we have steadily improved the design," lead operator Gian Verci promised. "And they have proven themselves in combat against the Dothraki. Their horses cannot stand the noise and break formation."
"All well and good but they don't look suitable for the field."
"They are not, Your Grace," Gian admitted. He was a short man in his early 40s, his eyes barely coming up to Matthew's shoulder. "They cannot be easily used and are slow to load. However, they are highly useful when it comes to sieges. One iron ball can kill a dozen men."
"How many of these did you bring?" Despite how primitive they were, with enough cannons, Matthew knew it would give him a decisive advantage.
"Four, Your Grace. We were all the Sealord was willing to spare."
Not what I hoped for, Matthew thought. It was at least a beginning and cannons were weapons Westeros wasn't familiar with. At least as far as he knew.
"Has anyone else in Westeros been interested in these weapons?"
"Not until now, Your Grace," Tycho interjected. "Your father considered them worthless, as did your grandfather. And we would never have assisted the Mad King's effort to stay in power."
"I'm curious as to whether you invented these weapons or if they came from elsewhere."
"They came from Yi-Ti behind the Shadow Lands," Tycho admitted. "It is said they possess a hundred dragons and many cities far greater in size than King's Landing. Whether these rumors are true, I cannot say."
"And those metal tubes over there?" Matthew recognized them as hand cannons.
"Hand barrels, Your Grace," Gian informed, setting one up on a stand. "One hundred of them. Unlike bows, these weapons are capable of penetrating armor."
Matthew opened his mouth to ask for a demonstration but Gian's assistants were already moving. They placed a chestplate against the stone wall, two other men moving forward to load their weapons. Two other loaded powder, both holding wicks in their spare hands.
Mattew hoped neither were foolish enough to let the dim flame anywhere near the gunpower. He hated such dangerous conditions but this was something he felt essential to keep secret.
Despite bracing himself for it, he jumped at the noise. Only one of the iron balls hit the armor, but it nevertheless succeeded in penetrating it.
"I see their accuracy leaves something to be desired," Matthew sighed, although it was nothing he didn't already know about guns of the period.
"Yes, their accuracy and range are inferior to bows," Gian admitted, appearing nervous. "But they have superior penetration. Not only that, they do not require the years of training necessary to learn archery."
"Do they meet to your satisfaction, Your Grace?" Tycho inquired.
"We'll need to make some improvements but yes." Wonder if Westeros has armor that can withstand them. Perhaps, although without gunpowder, they've never had a need to adapt to bullets.
"It just so happens I have ideas for improvements," Matthew played the first card in his hand. "Your weapons have great potential."
"That is a bold claim, Your Grace. We are confident you can pay for the barrels, the gunpowder, and our specialists, but to say you alone can improve the designs…"
"First, I intend to re-enter negotiations with you. This might sound like insanity to you, but I assure you, I'm quite sincere." Matthew moved to the brown box where he kept all his papers. "I was thinking a more permanent arrangement between the Iron Throne and Braavos."
"Your Grace, I am only authorized to negotiate payment for this deal alone…"
"You may change your mind when you see these. Gian, I'm going to need your input as well. Being a torch once you're sure it won't touch any of the gunpower." Matthew didn't fancy seeing half the Red Keep blown to bits.
Gian obeyed, he and Tycho standing a few feet behind him. Matthew muttered, searching through his papers to see if he could find the right ones.
"What do you think of this?" Matthew revealed the design of an advanced cannon, at least relative to what this world possessed. Contrary to the iron tubes, it had wheels, handles, and made of bronze rather than iron hoops. He'd done his best to approximate the designs from his world but wasn't sure how good his best was. It isn't like I can go on Wikipedia to check if I'm missing any details.
"A… most interesting design, Your Grace," Gian confessed. "However, I am not sure if bronze is strong enough to withstand the forces necessary."
"Could you duplicate something like this?" Tempting as it was to make the design himself, Matthew didn't have the time in between his other duties. Not only that, he wasn't sure if he'd designed it properly. "It's smaller, but something like this would be more mobile, with certain versions suitable for field battle."
"I cannot help but ask: how did you come up with this concept?" Tycho inquired.
"Call it the will of the Gods, a magical vision, or just a young King with boundless curiosity," Matthew shrugged. I wonder how long it's going to be before the world learns the truth. "And answer my question."
"I… believe it should be possible, Your Grace," Gian bowed his head.
"You're quite the inventor, Your Grace," Tycho nodded in respect. "Perhaps in return for this design, provided it works the way you claim it will, we can re-negotiate the interest rate on the crown's debt."
"I was thinking forgiving the debt in exchange for a more strategic alliance," Matthew offered a counterpoint.
Tycho coughed. "Your Grace, we are willing to negotiate terms in exchange for assistance, but considering the sums your late father borrowed from us…"
"Oh, this isn't the only thing I'm offering," Matthew smiled. "I wouldn't be much of a negotiator if I showed all my cards at once. I know these talks will go on for some time, but I assure you, it will be in your interest as much as mine."
Gain left the conversation, him and the other workers looking over Matthew's designs. While he couldn't understand the language, he surmised that the specialists considered the design feasible.
"I am listening." Tycho's mouth hung open, rubbing his chin.
"You might only be authorized to negotiate this sale alone but I'm confident both the Sealord and the Iron Bank will be interested in my offer. I ask for two things in exchange for this design: food shipments and the lower interest rate you offered me previously."
"Even for this design, you're asking quite a lot," Tycho pointed out. The two of them left the armory and took the stairs to the Small Council chamber, which was currently empty.
They continued haggling over the details, but Matthew slowly wore the man down. Tycho's interest in the weapon was plain to see, but both still wanted the best deal possible.
After sweetening the pot by offering to lower tariffs on Braavosi exports, Tycho agreed to Matthew's terms. "You are one of our more stubborn negotiators," he chuckled, pouring himself a drink of wine.
"Just an effort to show my sincerity," Matthew replied. "Once this deal is complete, you'll be the strongest civilization in Essos."
"Your Grace, assuming of course you can fulfill that promise, I can't help but ask about your motivations," Tycho rubbed his beard. "Few are willing to offer such a boost to an ally, let alone a kingdom many consider a rival."
"For one thing, you've got more immediate concerns. Eight of them, in fact, and I expect Volantis in particular is working on barrels of their own. They've got enormous potential for warfare." Far more than any of you can dream.
Tycho didn't miss the implied threat. "We are already the strongest empire in Essos, Your Grace. The Dothraki rarely raid us and those who do pay for their arrogance."
"I suppose that has nothing to do with the fact there are multiple empires in between you and the Dothraki Sea," Matthew wasn't impressed by his boasts. "But you're still not strong enough to achieve your goal. Work with me, agree to my terms, and you will be."
"If I heard this from anyone else, I would consider them to be mad. After seeing your design, however… almost as if you're a man from the future."
Matthew laughed, hoping it wouldn't be seen as forced. "I have numerous other gifts, which will be revealed at the proper time. And both of have a common desire: the eradication of slavery. A scourge of man that must be destroyed." As a former black man, it was personal for him as well as recognizing the key selling point for Braavos.
"Our empire is devoted to that, but…"
"The Seven Kingdoms all oppose slavery, even the likes of the Ironborn," Matthew reminded. "If on little else, we are in agreement here."
"All due respect, Your Grace, many Lords treat their smallfolk little better than slaves. There is little difference in practice, only the name."
"I am aware of this," Matthew sighed. Unlike real-life Europe, there were few distinctions between the smallfolk. Based on his reading, most were better described as serfs than peasants. "King or not, I cannot change everything. All I can do is get things moving. Tell me, does Pentos continue to abide by the treaty?"
"So long as we watch them carefully. Turn our eyes away from a moment, and slavery will be openly practiced again."
"Consider what you could do with my design, along with everything else I have in mind. We will benefit greatly working together."
"If you are capable of living up to your words…"
"I don't expect you to take it on faith. All I ask is for a chance to prove my sincerity." The two men shook hands, Matthew considering this his greatest opportunity yet.
XXXXXXXXXX
Robb's going to be a little more ruthless than he was in canon. If he seemed a little out of character, he's just gotten the news about his father's death. He's still too honorable to carry that threat out. He hasn't (yet) sent Theon to Pyke, which bodes well for him. Somewhat less so for Matthew.
Tempting as it is, he knows he can't construct such devices alone. That the Free Cities have knowledge of gunpowder and knowledge of cannons will make his designs easier to build. That being said, it requires time, which he doesn't have much of.
I hope to have chapter 6 done in around a week.