Just my thoughts on the size of Westeros in my story. It's somewhat smaller than GRRM mentioned, but being that even he admitted he made the Wall to big, for instance, I shrunk things a little bit.
Riverlands: 160,000 Square Miles
Crownlands: 60,000 Square Miles
Westerlands: 125,000 Square Miles
Stormlands: 165,000 Square Miles
The Vale: 180,000 Square Miles
The Reach: 270,000 Square Miles
Dorne: 210,000 Square Miles
The North: 800,000 Square Miles
Skagos: 31,000 Square Miles
Iron Islands: 21,000 Square Miles
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"We'll reach it within the hour," Yoren announced, seeing Winterfell in the distance. He spoke primarily for Arya's benefit, who had successfully snuck her way out of King's Landing before she could be captured.
Happy to know some things don't change, Arya's delight had to be contained, though, else those who surrounded her would know who she really was.
"So that's what a real castle looks like," Gendry Waters remarked, looking it over with astonished eyes.
"You've never seen a castle before?" Arya scoffed, before giving a mental apology. Winterfell was home to her, but it was easy to forget others lived very different lives.
"No, m'lady," Gendry responded too low for anyone to hear. Arya pushed him in response, as she did every time he referred to her that way. "I've never been outside King's Landing."
"Perhaps you can find work at Winterfell," Arya suggested. She wasn't sure why, but she'd grown to enjoy the boy's company. As a smith, he'd be guaranteed immediate employment especially if she spoke up in his favor.
"Watch yourselves!" Yoren warned. "We might be in the North, but it ain't like it was before the war broke out."
Fear cuts deeper than swords, Arya reminded herself. Bandits had been a constant problem during their travels. A few had been murdered in the night, and several more perished from disease.
Arya looked over at the carts carrying those who were too sick to stand on their feet. Despite the fact most of them were criminals, she gave a brief prayer for their health. Lommy at least she got along with after he was intimidated into leaving her alone.
"My master wanted me to go to the Night's Watch," Gendry repeated. "Don't know why. Thought I was doin' well, but one day, he threw me out."
"I'm sure Bran will be willing to take you on," Arya encouraged. "You're not like all these others; you don't belong at the Wall."
"Maybe," Gendry wasn't convinced anyone inside Winterfell would be interested. He hated the idea of spending his life at the Wall, but with the smith throwing him out, Gendry had nowhere else to go.
She fingered Needle, still fearful someone would steal it from her. It was the only thing Arya still possessed of Jon's. "Maybe I'll be able to visit him," Arya considered. After surviving the long journey, Arya was confident in her ability to defend herself.
Despite being at war, the landscape was just the same as ever. Farmland and nearby villages were left untouched, save for a few missing men that journeyed with Robb. Most of those around her shivered in the cold weather, huddling their clothes around themselves as tightly as possible. Arya barely felt it, her skin free of goosebumps. Such weather only reminded her that she was home.
Another day passed before they reached the gates of Winterfell. Curious eyes looked at each other, wondering if perhaps they would be released from their orders to head to the Wall.
While the castle appeared unchanged at the surface, Arya saw very few of the men she was familiar with on the walls or at the gate. Instead, there were old men and young boys, inexperienced with the weapons they carried.
"State your business," One of the guards near the gate demanded. Arya spotted two archers nocking their bows in case of a threat.
"Yoren of the Night's Watch," he introduced himself. "I have someone you might be interested in." Seeing no point in playing coy, he added: "In my company is Lady Arya Stark, who escaped King's Landing shortly after the King's death."
The guards chuckled in response. Arya marched over to them, exclaiming: "I am Arya; now I demand entrance into Winterfell!"
"Didn't we have an Arya yesterday?" One of them remarked to his fellows.
"No, that was last week," a second responded. "And we had two of them."
"I'm telling the truth!" Arya insisted. She returned her voice to its feminine pitch instead of the masculine one she'd been using to conceal herself. "My father was killed by Joffrey, and Sansa's still held there!"
"Well, I suppose Lady Catelyn will be delighted to see you again," A third sighed. "Your older brother Rickon has missed you."
"He's my youngest brother, not my older!"
"Maybe she's telling the truth," one of them realized. "All right, we'll take you to Lord Stark, see if he recognizes you. But if you're lying, you'll be flogged before we throw ya out."
"Open the gate!" Someone screamed, Arya struggling to contain her excitement. It was tempered by the fact Sansa was trapped in the Capital. However irritating her older sister was, she still feared for her safety.
Yoren and Arya were allowed in, as was everyone else, although they were closely watched. Spears were raised and swords were unsheathed with the full knowledge of who many of them were.
But no one but Yoren and Arya were allowed into the inner gates. Unlike the previous group of guards, her attitude convinced them that she was indeed Arya Stark.
"It's wonderful to see you back, Lady Arya," her father's household guard recognized her instantly. "We've feared for your safety since the King's death."
"I'd like to speak to my brother," Arya was eager to reunite with what remained of her family. Despite it being months, Arya found her way to the Main Hall easily, convincing any doubters that still existed who she truly was. She flung the door aside despite its weight, sprinting ahead.
"Bran, it's me!" Arya called out upon seeing him. She spotted him writing something on parchment, so consumed by his duties that her words weren't heard. Maester Luwin gave Bran a gentle touch, pointing towards his sister.
"Arya!" Bran exclaimed, trying to push himself to his feet before remembering that he was crippled. Not caring about decorum, Arya jumped up and hugged him tightly.
"I missed you so much!" Arya grinned.
"How did you get out of the city?" Bran questioned, hands on her shoulders. Arya opened her mouth, only for Maester Luwin to cut him off.
"I believe this is not the best time to tell your story, My Lady," Luwin mentioned. "Much has happened since we saw you last."
"Sansa's still trapped in the Capital," Arya announced despite everyone in the room already knowing. Her eyes wandered over to two boys around her age she'd never seen before.
"These are two of Walder Frey's sons that Lord Robb agreed to foster in return for his support," Luwin explained. "May I introduce Big Walder and Little Walder."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lady," Little Walder kissed Arya's hand, making her recoil in disgust. Despite being named Little Walder, he was in fact the larger of the two.
This one's a beast, Arya realized. She didn't like either of the Freys but had an especially uncomfortable feeling around Little Walder. Only twelve and yet he had a look that reminded her of the most dangerous criminals bring transported to the Night's Watch.
Big Walder had a cruel look, but Little Walder. . . the boy would likely torture any unfortunate soul he could get his hands on. Fear cuts deeper than swords. It took great restraint for Arya not to kill him where he stood.
"Lord Robb has won every battle he's fought," Luwin informed her. "And he has declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms." He curled his lip in worry.
Good; Robb will be able to kill them all, Arya thought. Luwin continued summarizing all the information she'd missed during her travels. Some of it matched rumors she'd listened to, which Arya viewed skeptically at the time.
"And Renly is marching on King's Landing," Rodrik Cassel spoke up for the first time. "He's liable to take the city within a fortnight."
"Bran, there's a smith that I know would be perfect for Winterfell; his name's Gendry." Even with her joy at returning home, Arya refused to forget about him. "His master threw him out and forced him to go to the Night's Watch. I've seen his work; it's amazing!"
"My lady, if he is being sent to the Night's Watch, he is most likely a criminal," Rodrik cautioned.
"He's not!" Arya screamed defiantly, looking toward her brother for support. Bran had no time to answer before the door opened.
One of his household guard marched in, saying nothing but his face was a combination of grim and furious. He walked to Bran's desk, setting down a piece of paper. The guard muttered curses under his breath, although Arya could not make out the specifics.
Was Robb beaten in the field? Arya couldn't fathom it, not after so many successes. The Lannisters weren't going to beat her older brother.
Bran opened the letter carefully and read out to the others, more shocked than angry: "The Ironborn are raiding the western shore,"
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"There you go; I hope it assists your family being fed," Matthew smiled, giving out all the food he could. With a siege imminent, he knew he had to keep the smallfolk at least somewhat happy. It wouldn't do to have discontented peasants opening the gate and allowing Renly's forces to slaughter them.
Giving out food was a familiar routine to Matthew by now. As an added precaution, he brought along all members of the Kingsguard rather than Barristan alone. His efforts had done some good, but hunger was still rampant.
"I'm afraid that's it; I'll be back tomorrow," Matthew waved, but there was no cheer, unlike the previous occasions.
"Your Grace, I would suggest a retreat back to the Red Keep," Barristan spoke up. "They are hungry and for all your efforts, there are still many who blame you for the city's ills."
"I think you're right," Matthew admitted, not liking the feel of the crowd. He knew danger when he saw it. All it would take. . .
"That bastard's been holding out on us!" A voice in the crowd claims. "He gorges himself at every meal while he feeds us scraps!" There were more "yeah" responses than Matthew cared to hear.
Knowing pushing through the crowd would be a mistake, Matthew moved to the opposite direction. It was a detour, but it wouldn't matter if he could prevent a possible riot.
"Bread! Bread! Bread!" An increasing roar came up from the mob. Barristan and Balon unsheathed their swords, surrounding Matthew in both directions. He picked up his mace, hoping it wouldn't be put to the test. A few in the crowd dispersed, mostly those who had received food from Matthew's donations. He forced himself to appear confident, knowing that weakness would be provocation.
Their escape was cut off by more angry smallfolk. Matthew scanned the crowd, seeing men, women, and children shouting for more food. I'd better not say anything, He didn't think reason would cut it. Had he possessed more food, Matthew would have given it out.
The mob was only twenty feet away, but not quite ready to attack. "Don't make any provocative moves," Matthew ordered, staring the crowd right in the face. All Kingsguard had their swords ready, with Matthew having to place a restraining hand on Mandon Moore.
Matthew ducked under a cow turd, the excrement landing on Barristan's armor. A second, however, smacked into the right side of his face, making him curse.
That was all the inspiration Boros Blunt needed to charge into the crowd and shove his sword through the heart of the boy who threw the cow dung. "Get back here, you idiot!" Matthew screamed, but the man either didn't hear his words or chose to ignore them.
With the boy's death, dozens charged forward. Boros swung his sword towards each attacker, killing several. Eyes wide, he attempted to retreat, but was overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
"Protect the King!" Boros struggled to his feet, only for a peasant woman to repeatedly smash his head with a rock. His helmet protected him from a lethal blow, but more attackers soon followed, restraining his arms and tearing his helmet off.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Matthew cursed, barely able to see around the Kingsguard surrounding him. After everything I've done to assist them, and this is how I'm repaid?! He clenched his mace tightly, ready to use it against anyone who dared come near him.
"Bread! Bread! Bread!" Was the main cry. "King Robb!" "Stannis!" and "Renly!" could occasionally be heard alongside the curses for whom they considered born of incest.
Rocks and cow dung were hurled, impacting members of the Kingsguard. Occasionally dung found itself on Matthew's armor as they delicately moved through the streets of King's Landing.
"They charge forward, they die!" Matthew had no more interest in mercy. They would receive none, so he would offer none. Fortunately, unlike Boros Blunt, the other Kingsguard had more sense than to charge into the crowd.
Smallfolk charged forward, carrying clubs, stones, and spears. Barristan and the others cut down anyone who came near, working as a team to escort Matthew to the Red Keep.
Matthew raised his mace and split open the skull of a woman Mandon was too slow to intercept. He curled his lip slightly at the blood, but revealed no other sign of displeasure. Despite the Kingsguard surrounding him, there were gaps for rocks and dung to be thrown.
"Shit!" Matthew looked up, seeing rocks being thrown over his guards. He was constrained so closely that there was no dodging them. Two rocks slammed into his helmet, nevertheless making him curse in pain.
The Kingsguard backed into the corner of the nearest building, realizing getting away was futile. Smallfolk charged into the them, intent on physically wrestling them to the ground. Matthew was forced to kill two more, one of them a boy who couldn't have been older than twelve.
Never thought this was how I was going to die, Matthew fought with all his strength, seeing his guards being overwhelmed. Meryn Trant fell to the ground, forcing Matthew to protect him. Rocks pummeled his body, while he used his spare arm to protect his face.
Even Barristan found it difficult to keep Matthew from harm. With hundreds of enraged smallfolk, it wouldn't be long before they reached him. That so many were slaughtered apparently did little to deter them.
"Fine, if that's how it is," Matthew glared. His skill was still minimal, but he wasn't facing trained Men-at-arms. A peasant shoved a knife towards his breastplate, Matthew almost laughing at the stupidity as he slammed the mace into his ribcage.
Gold Cloaks called from the Red Keep reinforced the Kingsguard, hitting the mob from behind. A few smallfolk had time to respond, although it mattered little. Those in the middle of the crowd turned their attention away from Matthew, either attempting to fight back or flee.
It took Matthew a few moments to realize reinforcements had arrived. Blood dripped down his helmet into his eyes, obstructing his vision.
"Your Grace, we need to move," Jacelyn Bywater urged him, clearing away the last of the opposition. "Shall we…" He gestured to the wounded smallfolk.
"Let them choke on their own blood and die," Matthew spat, hurrying to the Red Keep. I expect by now, the entire city knows what happened here.
No one dared to obstruct them further, as he feared they might. The presence of a hundred Gold Cloaks deterred angry smallfolk enough for everyone to reach the Red Keep unhindered.
"Are you okay, my son?" Cersei rushed over to him, looking over the bloodstains on his armor. "Did those vermin…"
"I'll be fine," Matthew put on a brave face. "None of the blood is mine. I may not have Uncle Jaime's skill, but thanks to the bravery of the Kingsguard, I am unharmed." Matthew turned to them and gave a nod to their bravery.
"It's nothing more than my duty, Your Grace," Balon responded, uncomfortable with such praise.
I am never doing that again, Matthew decided. His efforts had done little but put himself in mortal danger. For a few moments, Matthew expected to die, intending only to take as many as he could with him.
"I'll cut off all their hands for this," Cersei swore. "Their tongues, their feet… once Varys finds out who they are." She lowered her voice, pleading: "Please don't go back out there again. You cannot put yourself in such danger."
"Ser Boros Blunt's body should be recovered and buried properly, if possible," Barristan reminded.
"See to it," Matthew never cared for the man and in fact, the idiot helped spark the riot. As he was a member of the Kingsguard, however, Matthew reluctantly chose to give Blunt posthumous respect.
"You just can't seem to stay out of trouble, can you, nephew?" Tyrion remarked, waddling over to check on him.
"That would be putting it mildly," Matthew gave a dark chuckle.
"Let me guess: you were out feeding the smallfolk again?"
"With what I could manage, yes," Matthew didn't see the point in lying. Tyrion shook his head in shame.
"Sister, I trust you can allow me to speak with the King in private," Tyrion flashed Cersei a mocking smile.
"It'll be fine, Mother," Matthew reassured. Despite his orders, the siblings only barely cooperated.
Tyrion dragged him to the quietest place he could and asked: "What in the Name of the Seven were you thinking? You nearly got yourself killed!"
"Seemed like a good idea at the time, since we're not going to…"
"Good idea?" Tyrion scoffed, as if not being able to believe his stupidity. "The city's starving, and you thought it was smart to hand out scraps?! If my sister hadn't sent the Gold Cloaks, you'd be dead!"
"Nice to know you care," Matthew attempted to make a joke of it.
"Not the time for jokes, nephew. Barristan is the greatest Knight in the Seven Kingdoms, but even he could be killed by enough ants. If you were forced to fight, it meant you were about to be overwhelmed."
"All right, I think I've learned my lesson. . . at least until things improve."
"You're still not listening to me, Joffrey. I know that's not who you are, but as you haven't told me your real name, Joffrey it is." Tyrion looked over at his sister and the Kingsguard. Cersei looked about ready to order her brother's death.
"I made a mistake; I can admit when I'm wrong."
"All well and good, but you've forgotten the most important fact of all. From what you've told me, the nation you come from is a far gentler place. It's what you knew your entire life. But Westeros is not your world. Nor can you force it to be your world."
"Think I've figured that out by now," Matthew shrunk at Tyrion's words.
"I know you think you're doing what's right. However, all that will accomplish is getting yourself killed. . . and by extension, me. Cersei will no doubt hold me responsible for anything that happens."
"God, I wish I could say you're wrong, Uncle Imp," Matthew groaned, taking in Tyrion's words. "What we're used to considering horrific atrocities is normal in Westeros. Thought I could change that, but. . ."
"You've already made a difference, nephew. But that doesn't mean you can act like my grandfather. He was a kind, gentle man, and his vassals thought him a weakling."
"I'm no Tytos Lannister, if that's what you're worried about."
"No, you possess strength that he lacks," Tyrion shook his head. "You have the makings of a good King, one far better than your predecessors. You can't just expect to behave like you would in . . . where did you come from?"
"A story for another time," Matthew considered Tyrion's words.
"You've told me as a ruler, it's best to avoid being hated. Perhaps that's true, but you need to avoid being weak as well," Tyrion concluded. "I'm always willing to offer advice on the Game of Thrones."
"And what are you expecting in return?" Matthew knew Tyrion well enough to understand he was working in his own self-interest.
"See, you've got at least a rudimentary understanding of all this," Tyrion encouraged. "And I don't have to suffer at the whims of a Mad King."
"What was that infernal Imp talking to you about?" Cersei questioned once Matthew returned to her.
"About how I shouldn't lower myself to help those ungrateful little bastards," Matthew lied with a scowl.
"For once, my brother speaks sense," Cersei conceded.
"Have the rioters put to work," Matthew decided. "They put the security of King's Landing in danger, and it seems fitting to have them contribute to the defenses. Send them out escorted by Gold Cloaks to help barricade the gates from both sides. If any attempt to flee, fill them with crossbow bolts."
Tyrion's right; virtue is weakness in a shithole like this. If I want to change things, then I'll have to win the war first. Matthew heard the whispers when people didn't think he was listening. Too many at court alternately thought of him as weak, or Aerys reborn. Rather contradictory, but since when have they ever been rational?
He wandered with no particular destination in mind, considering his next move. Renly was perhaps a week's travel away from the city, and they were outnumbered eight to one. Varys warned him the Vale was calling its banners, warning Matthew his attempts to conceal Baelish's death had failed. I wouldn't doubt Varys spread it to begin with. Too valuable to replace and he knows this.
"Maybe I should have behaved like the canon Joffrey," Matthew mouthed once he and Barristan were alone in the training yard. A massive army was marching towards the gates of King's Landing, and he couldn't rely on a Lannister-Tyrell alliance to save him. "We'll find out if those cannons make a difference."
Matthew sparred with Barristan, putting unparalleled ferocity into his strikes. Venting his anger, Matthew was heedless of the danger he put his Kingsguard in. Fortunately, Barristan had faced much worse.
Matthew quickly found himself on the ground after being tripped. "Your Grace, you cannot submit to anger, else your form will be weak," Barristan advised.
"Yeah, well, it helps with relieving stress," Matthew returned, getting to his feet. He lasted longer during the next round, learning to use his hand-to-hand combat skill alongside what passed for his swordsmanship.
Battle fever entered Matthew's body despite it being a sparring match, allowing him to drown out his fury and exhaustion. For a few moments, he forced Barristan onto the defensive until the legendary knight adjusted his tactics and won the match.
Matthew lost track of how long he dueled and clashed. By the end, he could barely swing a sword, but it didn't matter. "Well… that was helpful," Matthew let out a dark laugh, feeling himself nearly overheat in the armor.
His squires, two boys Matthew hadn't bothered to learn the names of, helped him out of it. Matthew stumbled slightly, knowing there was only so much he could do to improve.
Once he'd managed to calm down somewhat, Matthew approached Tyrion a second time. He and Bronn exchanged jokes and quips. "I think you're correct, Tyrion," Matthew conceded. "I won't be able to do anything if I don't win the war first, and I haven't forgotten how your grandfather was treated by his vassals."
"Always nice to have my genius appreciated. Never fear, I'll be happy to help you keep that ugly iron chair."
"While expecting a reward, of course. That isn't why I'm here, though. I was going to ask you to. . . bring Alayaya to my chambers. It doesn't seem like a good idea for me to go out there right now, and you're small enough to blend in."
"What happened to being prim and proper?" Tyrion was well aware Matthew had never actually had sex at the brothels despite his protests otherwise.
"At this point, I don't really give a shit anymore. Make the arrangement and tell her she'll be well paid for her time. Do try and keep this discreet."
May as well accept it: I'm stuck in Westeros. Sure, I'm in Joffrey's body for some godforsaken reason, but I have no idea how to get back. It's long past time to accept I'm never going to see them again. Matthew had a hard time caring about his previous morals.
He didn't intend to give up on improving things in Westeros, especially as it was his new home. However, Matthew would have to wait on many of them, at least until the Blackwater battle was won.
"And I'm done being soft," Matthew whispered to himself. I've got to stop acting like I live in the 21st century. Jaehaerys is considered the best Targaryen King, but he was still brutal when he had to be. In a lot of ways, Earth isn't that different. Some changes will be possible, but others won't.
Matthew marched up to his chambers. At least Alayaya would be able to keep him distracted for a while.