"Do everything you can for him, all right?" Robb Stark instructed, looking down at Stevron Frey's injuries. A poleaxe shattered half of his ribs despite the armor he wore, in addition to a sword piercing him in the armpit.
Too many have died already, Catelyn thought, giving him a brief prayer. He was one of the few decent Freys, in sharp contrast to his father.
The Silent Sister nodded in understanding. "Let me know if anything changes," Robb gave a final order as he removed himself from the tent.
Despite winning a major victory in the Battle of Oxcross, Catelyn could not bring herself to feel any joy. Lannister losses were enormous and they'd removed Tywin's ability to assemble another host in the near future, but their losses were still considerable.
What are we even fighting for? Slaughtering Lannister bannermen would not bring her Ned back to her. Nor had her son developed any long-term plans for the future other than vengeance.
Grey Wind marched around the Lannister prisoners, his teeth still painted with red from the enemies he'd slaughtered. Captives observed him with terror, knowing their lives were forfeit if there was even the slightest hint of disobedience.
A couple hours later, her brother returned, wearing a delighted expression. "Hunted down and put some of the Mountain's Men to the sword!" Edmure cheered, raising his sword in the air. The river lords who accompanied him were no less eager, overjoyed at the opportunity for revenge.
"Such men deserve no less," Catelyn spoke. She could not take pleasure in the death of most, but the Mountain's Men and Clegane himself deserved all the justice they could dish out. "Did any of them escape?"
"A few… but they're on the run now," Edmure responded. "Soon as Tywin responds to our attacks, we'll remove his threat and afterwards, win the war."
"You are so certain Tywin will take the bait?" Robb had given orders to move through the Westerlands, with the intent of luring him into a trap. Whether they won or lost didn't matter, so long as he was unable to defend King's Landing from an imminent siege.
"He will have so, else he will look weak to his bannermen," Edmure explained. "I would have preferred to take the fight directly to Tywin, but your son insisted on luring him out." Upon hearing the plan, Catelyn insisted to her son the entire plan be given to her brother, in order to prevent any miscommunications.
If Robb hadn't listened… Catelyn was no soldier, but knew how easily things went wrong in wartime. "My son has won every battle he's fought."
"He has, but what are we going to do afterward? Once Tywin's beaten, we should march down to King's Landing itself." He left before Catelyn could reply, still exultant over his victory.
Catelyn marched throughout the tents, ordering their Maesters and Silent Sisters to look after the enemy as well. She knew many of her son's men would grumble, but with the Lannisters still holding so many of their own men, Catelyn intended to give them no reason to retaliate.
"So what are we going to do now?" Catelyn located her uncle Brynden Tully, commonly known as the Blackfish. "Have you heard anything about our next move?"
"No, and that concerns me," Brynden admitted, a few spots of blood still visible on his armor. Catelyn would have preferred to be told it wasn't her place to know Robb's plans. "Truth be told, I'm not sure Robb knows himself. He's a brilliant commander, but… still only seventeen years old."
"Few of his bannermen seem to care." They were too caught up in their victories to give much thought to the future.
"They're drunk with the idea of vengeance. However much I would like to join them, we need to plan for the future. Perhaps we can go all the way, appoint Robb King of the Seven Kingdoms."
By the Gods, no! Catelyn only just managed to keep herself from saying it out loud. Even if they won, Robb was too honorable to survive in the Capital. They'd murder him the way they killed Ned. "I do not believe that's wise, Uncle."
"We need some reason to continue the war. Vengeance alone will not sate us for long. Winter will soon be here, if it has not arrived already. The Maesters state the South Star has disappeared, a certain sign that Winter is imminent. Else we should send our troops home and resume when summer arrives again."
"Perhaps when we free Sansa and Arya…"
"Sansa recently sent us a letter, asking for us to end the war and make peace." Brynden handed her the parchment. Catelyn looked it over, ecstatic to hear from her daughter. Even if they were Cersei's words, knowing Sansa was still alive filled her with joy.
Catelyn read each word carefully, each line reminding her of Sansa's presence. "This… does not read like Cersei's words," Catelyn concluded when she was finished. Her daughter still had feelings for the King despite everything.
"Perhaps some of her feelings are genuine, but these are still Cersei's words," Brynden lowered his voice and whispered: "I've gathered a handful of my best men to infiltrate King's Landing and free my grandnieces from captivity. It will take time, but we will get them out of Joffrey's grip."
Catelyn forced herself into a stoic demeanor. "That would be most appreciated, Uncle. It's been far too long since I've seen them."
"We'll make our final plans tonight. Thank the Gods you convinced Robb to tell my foolish nephew the plan, else Edmure could have led us to disaster."
Perhaps this is where I can do the most good, Catelyn had wanted to travel in order to form alliances, with her sister if no one else. Staying with her son, however, had convinced Robb not to send Theon to Pyke, keeping their ward by his side.
Robb didn't always listen to her, but Catelyn could change his mind when no one else was capable. The time passed by slowly for her, knowing their next move could make or break their campaign.
"According to our latest intelligence, Tywin is still at Harrenhal," Brynden informed that night during their War Council. "He has shown no signs of leaving, nor do I believe he will, not when King's Landing will soon be under attack."
"Once he leaves, we can take Harrenhal, have a knife pointed right at the Lannister's throat!" The Greatjon declared. "My son's worth ten Southerners." Some of the Tullys scowled but said nothing.
"He won't leave Harrenhal unguarded, and even with a small garrison, we won't have the strength to take it without massive losses," Edmure cautioned.
"We don't need to take the castle, just keep Tywin from using it as a fortification," Roose Bolton suggested. "Kill them in the night, use the gaps in the castle to hit them. Do not let them rest, and Harrenhal will be useless to them."
Arguing continued long into the night. Some wanted to move on Lannisport and Casterly Rock, while others argued for moving on Harrenhal and preventing Tywin from bringing his forces to King's Landing.
"What are we fighting for?" Catelyn interrupted them. "We've yet to lose a battle, but neither do we have any plans for the future. Once my daughters are free, then what?"
"My sister makes an excellent point," Edmure proclaimed with a smile. "The Realm has suffered at the hand of the Mad King, a drunk, and now a boy who possesses the same madness as Aerys. This time, we deserve a King worthy of the Iron Throne." Edmure drew his sword and pointed at Robb. "I can think of no better King than my nephew, Robb Stark."
"It's long past time a Northerner held the Iron Throne!" The Greatjon concurred, slamming his fists on the table. "The Southerners and their political games have no place here! It's time to introduce them to Northern justice! There's only one man worthy for me to bend the knee to: The Wolf King!"
"The Wolf King!" Nearly everyone in the tent cheered. Brynden and Catelyn exchanged nervous looks, knowing there was no turning back at this point.
"It's time we declare an end to all the political machinations in King's Landing," Edmure continued, sheathing his sword. "Westeros deserves a ruler who will look after all his people, not merely his sycophants." The cheer at those words was more limited. Although he cared deeply for the smallfolk, Edmure was among the minority even in the North.
"An excellent suggestion," Roose smiled in a way Catelyn didn't like. "We have suffered at the hands of the Southrons for centuries. All the while, the Targaryens left nothing but ruins behind. I believe My Lord is perfect for the job."
"The Wolf King! The Wolf King!" Amidst the cheers, Robb was the only one who refused to smile. Open-mouthed at his bannerman, he gripped the table and wiped off the displeasure on his face.
There's no turning back now, Catelyn knew. The Lannisters would soon learn of the declaration, as would the Baratheon brothers. She vowed to herself that she would do everything possible to see Robb sit the Iron Throne.
XXXXXXXXXX
"All right, let's see if these designs work," Matthew announced, standing a safe distance away from the cannons. They looked similar to the designs he remembered from Earth, but he wasn't about to bring them into battle without testing them first.
"They have followed your specific instructions," Tycho assured, pointing to each of the four cannons. Matthew was hoping for a more extensive arsenal, especially as they had little time, but new designs took time to perfect.
"I trust all of them are… yes, good," Matthew mentioned, making out the designers having wax and cloth stuffed into their ears.
His Kingsguard watched with trepidation, not believing his ideas would work. Matthew had a hard time blaming them, as he wasn't entirely sure himself. If I remembered enough about how these are built, I've got a game-breaking weapon. If not…
Matthew jumped from the sound of the first cannon firing, his ears protesting despite the distance. He gave a twinge of sympathy, knowing those testing the weapons were liable to be deaf by the end.
All four cannons were fired in sequence, being rocked back but showing no visible damage. "All right, they've passed the first test," Matthew clapped his hands. "Now let's see if they can survive a second time."
"Your Grace, we still possess a limited supply of explosive powder," Tycho interrupted.
"Our battle's likely to last days, maybe even weeks," Matthew pointed out. "I don't want these things blowing up and killing the operators." At least Bronze makes them more mobile.
"As you wish, Your Grace," Matthew noted the Kingsguard were losing their skepticism, annoyed faces replaced with wonder… and a slight amount of terror.
All cannons fired simultaneously on the second test, smoke obstructing Matthew's vision. He looked through, only just able to make out the operators. A couple were unsteady on their feet, unaccustomed to their explosive power.
"So does this mean we have a deal?" Matthew grinned at Tycho, already making plans on how to best use the new weapons.
"You've proven yourself to be a man of your word, Your Grace," Tycho nodded in approval. "I do not think it unreasonable to remove 50,000 gold dragons of the debt."
"Think of what you'll be able to do against your neighbors," Matthew encouraged, looking forward to giving the slaveowners what they deserved. "However, I would recommend you move quickly while you still possess this advantage. If we can figure out how to build these devices, so will your enemies."
"You are most wise, Your Grace. To the best of my knowledge, Braavos has not built any as of yet, but all things take time."
"Speaking of which, how many more of these will we be able to build? At most, we have perhaps three weeks until my Uncle Renly is upon us."
"Two more are in the process of construction, Your Grace. I apologize for the delay, but such designs are tricky to build. Forging them with the strength to withstand…"
"All right, I get the point," Matthew cut him off, Tycho rubbing his beard nervously. "Assuming we survive all this, you're going to start training more men. Find smallfolk willing to learn, follow instructions, and offer a steady payment."
"Your Grace, the process is long and complicated. The consequences of…"
"Since we don't have enough trained men, train more. Or break it down into baby steps any idiot can understand. Best case scenario is we'll have six barrels to face 60,000 men. I want us to do everything possible with the limited opportunity we have."
Tycho knew better than to argue, so he nodded and obeyed. No way to keep them secret for long, Matthew thought. Provided they proved their effectiveness on the battlefield, his enemies would start constructing them as well.
"Any luck on the smaller versions?" The most advanced musket Matthew could feasibly build was the Brown Bess.
"It's proving to be difficult, Your Grace. While the barrel is relatively simple, thanks to your design, the firing device is tricky to duplicate."
"We'll have to worry about that once the siege is over; all the more reason more men have to be brought in." The Braavosi moved to conceal the cannons within wagons. Matthew doubted the secret would be kept for long, but he would make the effort when possible.
No matter how many times Matthew entered the city, he could never get used to the stench. His nose wrinkled, observing the sight of chamber pots being dumped onto the street.
The city's still starving. What goodwill Matthew gained from his displays of charity was rapidly fading. Some smallfolk looked at him with a grateful or neutral expression. Too many, however, blamed him for the city's ills.
"Until this war's over, there's nothing more I can do," even as King, there were limits to Matthew's power.
"Fresh rats! Fresh rats!" He heard a storekeeper advertise.
Matthew moved from side to side, attempting to avoid the puddles of urine. Perhaps some tunnels in the center of the street so we can at least have some waste trickle down into the bay. That would be for the future, provided he survived the Blackwater.
"How many of the people surrounding us do you expect are spies?" Matthew remarked in what he hoped was a casual tone.
"Many, Your Grace," Balon Swann answered. Those staring at him Matthew believed were innocent; it was those who blended in he had to worry about.
The cannon's operator did not speak a word, Matthew's weapons fortunately light enough to be wheeled inside the city streets without too much difficulty.
Inside the Red Keep, Matthew spotted Tommen and Myrcella alongside Clegane, speaking and giggling with each other. He waved to them in greeting, getting a hesitant response back. I'd spend more time with them if I could, but there's a war to win.
"Your Grace, Lord Renly has quickened his pace to King's Landing," Varys hastened to inform upon spotting him.
"How much time do we have?"
"Two weeks, three at most," Varys looked around, attempting to appear frightened. Matthew didn't buy it for a moment.
"Then we'll have to accelerate our defensive plans," Matthew decided. He turned to Tycho and ordered: "Get everything you can completed. Ready or not, they'll be needed."
"At once, Your Grace." Matthew trusted Tycho to take care of the details, at least as much as he believed any banker.
Marching up to his chambers, taking the steps two at a time, Matthew intended to prepare for his training. What time he didn't spend trying to run the realm he improved his skill with weapons. Matthew opted for a mace, not seeing a sword as an effective weapon against plate armor.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Matthew demanded of Tyrion. In the future, I'm going to keep guards on my door at all times. Bywater can inform me which of the Gold Cloaks are relatively trustworthy.
"Is that any way to greet your favorite uncle?" Tyrion smirked. Based on how wide his smile was, the Imp was positively gloating.
"Make this quick; I don't have time for games." Matthew shut the door and removed his formal clothing, preferring to spar in something more comfortable.
"You're not Joffrey Baratheon… or Joffrey Lannister, if we wish to be honest with each other." Tyrion's words made his heart stop.
"What are you talking about?" Matthew stammered.
"I picked it up the moment I arrived in King's Landing. When I heard you were King, I was expecting disaster; perhaps even that you'd executed Stark on a whim." Matthew opted not to tell Tyrion how accurate he was.
"Nobody changes so rapidly without a reason. The way you carry yourself, the face indicating you've seen worse than most can imagine… those can't be faked."
"You've got quite the imagination, Uncle," Matthew attempted to play it off as a joke.
"No, it's not my imagination," Tyrion wagged his finger. "At first, I thought it was a faceless man, but what interest would they have in the Iron Throne? Then I paid attention to your decrees: hand washing, an absurdity you called germ theory, all with absolute confidence they would work.
"And when I saw your notes inside the desk, everything came together. You should really have secured them better, nephew. Locks don't provide much protection in this city. No guards on your door, not that it would have been any certain protection." Tyrion's face transformed into a wicked grin. "I wonder how my dear sister would respond if she knew you were a fraud."
"Empty threat, Imp," Matthew scoffed. "Even if what you said was true, you'd be considered a madman. My mother would sooner rip your tongue out than listen to her hated brother. Hypothetically, you'd be much better off feigning ignorance." He rubbed his chin, considering having Tyrion killed. No, not unless he pushes it.
"There, that's what I was looking for!" Tyrion clapped his hands together, jumping into Matthew's spare chair. "Joffrey would have screamed and ranted for daring to defy him. Truth be told, I'm happy I don't have to suffer my nephew. Having Westeros ruled by a petty, vindictive child isn't something any of us need."
"Where would you think I'm even from?"
"Certainly not from Westeros, or anywhere in the known world. After reading your ideas and possible future predictions, I don't believe you're from Omelos at all."
"Omelos?" Matthew never heard it described any way but Planetos.
"A name some of the Maesters refer to the known world as, though I doubt it'll catch on. Your ideas have the potential to transform Westeros and turn the Westerlands into the most powerful kingdom in the known world. Provided you can duplicate them, of course."
Right; at this point, Tyrion's still loyal to his family. Matthew debated the pros and cons of telling him. It would be nice to have someone to speak to, given that he often felt on the verge of going mad. On the other hand, how far could he be trusted?"
"I don't know precisely where you're from, but you're not from Westeros. Only one thing still confuses me. You've been transported here, for some reason, and you know who most of the people here are. You can speak our language, read our words, and understand our system. Why?"
"I've speculated on that many times myself," Matthew no longer saw a point in denying it. "Perhaps Joffrey's memories mixed with mine. I can't begin to guess how or why this happened, so don't bother asking. I speak and write in your tongue, even if it looks like my language to me."
"Ah, so you're not putting up a façade any longer."
"It isn't like anyone would believe you, and I'm better company than Joffrey. Plus, what good will it do you?"
"What is it like in your world? Despite his best efforts, my father never quite crushed my curiosity."
"A lot of it's going to be impossible to describe. Even after the great war, we have wealth you could barely comprehend. The poorest of us often live in their 70s, beyond the lifespan of most Kings here." Tyrion's eyes widened in disbelief. "No, Tyrion, I'm telling you the truth."
"Something I could scarce imagine."
"And we have weapons more terrible than you can imagine. There are bombs around the size of the cannons I designed capable of wiping out all of King's Landing. Our cities can withstand them, provided you're not at Ground Zero, but the Capital would have no hope." Matthew lowered his voice, knowing the walls had ears.
"It's times like this that we need a drink." Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine and offered one to Matthew, who refused.
"I'd rather keep a clear head," Matthew shared what details of his world he felt were appropriate. In a way, he felt relief that he didn't have to carry his secret alone.
The more he spoke, the more astonished Tyrion became. Matthew worked on keeping his voice low but didn't always succeed. Technology, weapons, medicine, nearly everything stunned his supposed Uncle.
"If I was anyone else, I'd think you were mad," Tyrion laughed, drinking his fourth cup of wine. "You're telling me commoners are allowed to choose their leaders? Even women?!"
"In my world, I'm one of those commoners, so watch your tongue," Matthew warned. "There are still parts of my world that work that are ruled by dictators, but fewer as time passes. Where I come from, the nation- that's what we call it- is meant to be an ideal. There are many times we haven't lived up to them, but compared to here, it's a paradise."
"I hope you're not naïve enough to think you can impose your so-called ideals on us," Tyrion laughed.
"Whatever naivete I had died nearly a decade ago. A world war that claimed 1.2 to 1.5 billion lives shattered it. Hard to believe it ended only five years ago… probably a bit more than that."
Tyrion spit out his drink. "Did you just say billion? Nephew, are you telling me you can count people in billions?"
"Around eight billion before the war; perhaps… 6.7 billion or so after it. Birth rate's only now starting to go up again."
"Even if you proclaimed the truth to the entire realm, no one would believe you," Tyrion grinned, pouring himself the last of the wine. "But you still haven't answered the question as to how you know who we are."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Call it divine intervention."
"Very well, keep your secrets, nephew, though I suppose I shouldn't call you that. What is your real name?"
"That's for me to know and you not to. On another topic, I expect you and Mother will work together. Otherwise, Renly will happily put all our head on spikes and won't give a damn about our internal quarrels."
"Understood." Tyrion growled at that but Matthew didn't care.
Probably shared too many details with him, Matthew considered. However cathartic it was to admit the truth, he should have kept in mind everyone in King's Landing had their own agenda. Fortunately, the fact it's too unbelievable for most helps mitigate the damage, but I will have to watch him.
If it came down to it, Matthew knew he could get Shae to spill the beans. Contrary to what Tyrion thought, she had no true interest in him.
"So Robb Stark's declaring himself King as well," Matthew swore, reading the latest news from the battlefield. Or more likely, someone else has declared him King. It didn't sound in character for Robb to do so of his own volition. That's going to complicate things.
Despite Renly possessing the largest army, Matthew considered Robb a far more dangerous threat. He'd yet to lose a battle, and for some reason, did not make the blunders he had in the books. Perhaps I can convince Balon Greyjoy to attack the North regardless; convince him Robb's too honorable to execute Theon.
The Iron Islands would be an unreliable ally at best, but he'd take whatever he could get at this point. So long as the Westerlands were left unmolested, Matthew would offer them the western shore of the north in exchange for their help.
"If they backstab me, and they probably will, I'll be able to unite the rest of the Seven Kingdoms against them again." Matthew was counting on it, in fact. The Greyjoys would attack the Starks, either Balon or one of his siblings. Eventually, they'd turn their wrath to the others, allowing Matthew a pretext to crush them for good. He wouldn't repeat Robert Baratheon's mistake.
The next day, Matthew received a letter, sealed by the image of a red heart. Knowing it could only be one person, he hastily ripped the seal apart and read its contents.
I will not bend the knee to a false King, let alone a product of incest. Whether you are Joffrey or another man pretending to be such, you have no right to the Iron Throne.
If you are serious about working together to fight the enemy beyond the wall, abdicate the throne and swear loyalty to me. In return, I will pardon you and your family for crimes committed against the realm.
All debt the crown owes to the Lannisters will be null and void. Your grandfather, Tywin Lannister, will personally bend the knee and declare me the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Jaime Lannister will be stripped of his white cloak and sent to the Wall, as Ned Stark once urged. Your mother will be exiled to Casterly Rock.
You speak of unity and claim all of us need to put aside our difference. Prove your words.
King Stannis Baratheon
"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't agree to that," Matthew shook his head. Cersei would have a fit if he brought the proposal. Well, he's talking, which means Stannis isn't an open enemy right now. On his terms, perhaps, but he's shown himself willing to listen at least.
Matthew threw the letter in the fire and began drafting a reply.