"The little lord's waking..."
"Over here…"
A strange whistling sound came from behind, followed by searing pain. Carl's eyes shot wide open as he struggled against the ropes binding his feet. "Argh! What was that for?" he yelped, wincing at the burly man with a thin stick in hand. Nobody had beaten Carl before, not even Dad. Certainly not when he did nothing wrong.
The man took another practice swing with his stick. "'fraid you wouldn't listen. We will not suffer another slow learning prince. We Kingslanders will now do the teachin' rather than your mad Da or some fancy lord in a doublet."
Carl balled his fists. "My dad isn't-" he began, until the wind was knocked out of him from another blow.
"You'll learn quickly, m'lord. It's more exciting without a whipping boy, eh?" another man in a blacksmith's apron shouted. The thin stick gently tapped Carl's back. "First lesson, mi'lord," the blacksmith hissed into his ear. "The Lannisters-"
Shill screams erupted further back in the crowd. Carl groggily raised his head. They were still inside the Great Sept of Baelor, the sky dark blue beyond the crystal dome. A man hung unmoving from one of the two wooden poles raised next to the Father's statue. Another struggling figure was being hoisted onto the other amidst the crowd's cheers. Kevan and Lancel Lannister, Carl realised with a shock.
"Please free hi- ow!"
"You still haven't learned, have you," the man holding the stick asked. Free… free… Carl whimpered over and over, and the stick crashed again and again into the limp boy's back.
"Are you mad?" Someone in the crowd shouted. "Are you trying to kill the lordling?"
"Teaching the pampered boy a lesson, that's all," the stick-wielder sulked.
"Pampered?" A hand grabbed at Carl's collar and yanked him beyond the stick's reach, another lightly rapped against the plaster cast. "This poor boy broke his arm fighting the redcloaks at the Sept. Did Joffrey ever defend us against the redcloaks?" The crowd broke into laughter.
"But-"
A woman as thin as bones took away the stick. "The new lordling didn't ask the goldcloaks to beat us, dear. Perhaps we should return the favor."
Carl's eye ached from crying as they placed him between the two poles. Finally he got a better look at the Lannisters. Kevan was long since dead, his open eyes as lifeless as those on the Stranger's statue, but Lancel Lannister's feet still struggled despite the noose about his neck.
"Cut him down!" Carl yelled, panic filling his voice. "Cut Lancel down before he dies!" He shouted again, when the crowd shook their heads. "I had promised Ser Marbrand that the Lannisters could take the black so he would yield Maegor's Holdfast. If he didn't yield, more innocents would have died. Should I keep my word? Or does your Seven-Pointed Star teach its readers to lie?"
The crowd did not move.
"Your word not ours, m'lord," someone said.
"He killed the King! He confessed!" another shouted.
"The Father preaches justice! Your father does not!" Justice, justice, the crowd chanted.
"What did you say about my dad?" Carl heard his own voice rise. He would have lunged at whoever said that if it weren't for these pesky ropes, beatings be damned. His father had always been kind and fair.
A piece of paper dropped in front of Carl's eyes. "Read, m'lord. We got this from a runner who was delivering it to you." It was Dad's handwriting alright, Carl thought. "Do not kill any of the prisoners," he read aloud. "Do not turn any of them over to the Northmen. Remember that we're trying to rebuild civilization the right way this time, without any of the cruelty or hatred. We have to show… to show the Westerosi..."
Carl tipped his head upwards. Lancel had finally stopped twitching.
"Burn the letter in the nearest flame. Give the two men a proper burial, and I'll tell Dad I ordered them killed if he asks. Last thing we need is for him to give you shit over this. Now what do you guys want?"
The sun had fully set by the time the Kingslanders laid out all their grievances. A hundred different supplicants, a hundred different problems, but ultimately it boiled down to one word: Food.
"The Reach has agreed to sell food to us at fixed prices. If their wagons aren't coming into the city by this time next week, we march south," Carl explained. He had written to Arya's aunt too. The Vale had been untouched by the War of the Five Kings, surely they would have some food to sell.
A gaunt man in dirt-smeared robes squeezed to the front of the crowd, towing a little girl behind him who seemed barely older than Judith. "We don't need food that may or may not come in a week, m'lord. We need food now. Our children will starve."
"Then we'll starve. I cannot spawn food out of thin air. But I'll starve with you. I'll come down here and share your meals every night, until we have enough food that nobody has to spend days without eating anymore." Carl knew how that felt. Hunger had never been a stranger to those Alexandrians who followed Rick all the way from Atlanta. "I'll bring as much of the court as I can. Judging from how much they eat, it's past time the high lords of Westeros learn what true hunger feels like."
The crowd cheered. Two swift slices later, pieces of broken rope slid down Carl's ankles. "Thanks. We'll start tonight then," he announced.
The moon was high in the sky by the time Carl staggered through the Red Keep's gates.
"Carl! We were worried sick! Sandor was about to lead the Goldcloaks out!" Sam rushed to his side. Her jaw dropped open. "Shit. What did they do to your back?"
"They beat the fuck out of me," Carl laughed. "I would have thought that was obvious. Is there any blood?" The sting of the beating had faded, replaced by a dull, grinding ache that was almost worst.. First a broken arm. Now a bruised back. King's Landing had offered far more than he had bargained for.
"No. I can see loads of angry welts through the tears in your shirt, but the skin isn't broken. Oh, and Aurane Waters has been waiting for you at the Great Hall all day. So have Lords Rykker and Rosby. We'll get you a cloak or something to cover up the sores. Guards! Get him a cloak!" A pair of the goldcloaks rushed to obey.
"Lord Rykker?" Carl asked. Had Varys mentioned him before? He tried to remember. "The Lord of Darkendale?"
"Duskendale. Apparently there was a huge battle over at a nearby town called Maidenpool two weeks ago. Rykker and his sons were laying siege to it, and then your dad came around and kicked their ass. Lord Rykker was retreating from that back to Duskendale, but when he heard what happened here he decided to come over instead. Just got in a couple of hours ago, and his army is outside the city. Oh, and Arya's there as well. If James and Mikey hadn't tackled her, she would have stormed the Sept herself. Sorry to lay so much on you like this."
Carl's feet shuffled uneasily. "Once I get that cloak we'll go in to see them. We can't keep them waiting too long. Did anyone else get caught beside me?"
"Two. Lancel had no chance anyway, as ill as he was, and Kevan got caught by the mob trying to save his son. Are they..."
"Yes." Carl nodded. "I saw them hang." Neither he nor Sam said anything more.
When they reached the top of the steps, Carl turned and looked back at the city. Most of the Kingslanders would have gone to bed by now, but flames still flickered along the city wall's towers and gates, forming a dim ring around the now dark city. A few islets of light along Visenya's Hill still burned. The Alchemist's Guild. They were dabbling with wildfire-soaked materials night and day, spurred on by promises of power in a world which would soon be dominated by firearms. The Street of Steel's smiths were not slacking either. There were more than enough lions and roses to remove from pile after pile of surrendered war gear.
The world was already changing, Carl realised, and faster than he had ever thought it could.
Finally the goldcloaks returned with a thick woolen cloak. Carl put it on and walked into the Great Hall. He had almost made it to the raised dais, when two slender arms suddenly wrapped him from behind.
"Ow- Arya?" Carl twisted to face the princess.
"Did they hurt you?" Arya asked. Her eyes were red. Had she been crying?
"Just a bit," Carl replied, then winced as Arya pulled him into a hug. Carl smiled and hugged her back, ignoring the murmurs from the Crownlanders, the Northmen and all the others..
Finally the whispers grew too loud for Carl to ignore. "Let's go," Carl drew away from Arya's embrace. "Better get this sorted if we want any sleep tonight."
"Is this Lord Carl?" An unfamiliar Crownlander noble mumbled to Aurane Waters. "He's even younger than I expected."
"Yes, and yes, he is." the Bastard of Driftmark muttered under his breath. "Now don't spoil it for both of us."
"Spoil what?" Carl slid between the two men, smiling as best as he could despite the throbbing pain from his back. "I don't think I've seen you before. You must be Lord Renfred Rykker of Duskendale. I'm Carl from Alexandria."
"Glad to meet you, my lord. Any later, and I would have marched my men down this hill and up Visenya's. I hope the smallfolk treated you well, or else..."
"They did," Carl lied. He didn't like being beaten until his back was striped red, but neither did he need the nobles to try teach the smallfolk any lessons with the blades of their swords. "Now what do you want?"
Renfred cleared his throat. "Aurane has told me about the various works you proposed. Perhaps your father may wish to order works of his own, and for that you will need more coin. Coin that Duskendale can supply… if Lord Carl gives us permission to expand, and grant us a proper city charter."
"Charter?" Carl asked.
"A charter guarantees certain rights to those who live in it, and this one would also turn Duskendale into a city," Rykker explained. "Duskendale is already a city in all but name, but without a charter we are cramped, hedged in, and limited… merchants from the Free Cities don't feel at ease trading at our port."
"The Essosi should still trade in King's Landing, of course," Aurane hastily added. "There is enough trade for us all, if the wealth of Alexandria is to be believed."
Renfred unrolled a parchment and slipped it into Carl's hand. "Lord Waters and I have already drawn up terms. If you will but sign it, my lord-"
"Give me a moment." Carl read the charter as fast as his groggy eyes could. It was full of ridiculous rights, though there wasn't much point throwing that in the Crownlanders' faces. Why would their King's permission be needed to build a market or trade? Or to manage their own settlements' own affairs? Or even things as simple as making their settlement a bit bigger? Maybe they had their own weird customs. Carl didn't see any problems with the charter, but perhaps there were meanings hidden between the lines. He would have to send a raven to Michonne to sort it out. The former lawyer would know it all.
Carl asked for ink, quill and two pieces of parchment. Then he knelt in front of an empty chair and began to scrawl. Lord Renfred Rykker. I hereby grant the City of Duskendale permission to expand within lands they already own. Signed, Carl of Alexandria. Though he felt more comfortable writing with his left hand than when he wrote in the White Book, Carl couldn't wait until the plaster cast on his right arm could finally come off.
He handed his new orders back to the nobles. "Duskendale is now a city. You can expand, in land and in trade," he said, trying to ignore the wide grins that crept across their faces. "Before you go I'll have a copy made. I'd like to read it, and maybe write up some charters of my own. Make one for King's Landing, heck, maybe even make one for all the Crownlands."
But signing charters could not feed King's Landing. Between his heaving coughs, Gyles Rosby promised his lands and the Stokeworths would continue to send as much food to the city as they could. Rykker offered Duskendale's supplies should Carl grant the city charter, now that the war was over and his men could swing scythes instead of swords. Yet Aurane's proposal was the grandest of them all. He spoke of ship after ship of grain brought in from the Free Cities, and fleets of fishermen in the Blackwater Bay, all protected by the might of the Royal Fleet. "We must restore our strength at sea," he stated. "Lest Blackwater Bay be full of pirate sails."
Renfred nodded. "Aurane Waters speaks truly. Our fleet is most essential to defend our waters."
"But how will we get the coin to build this fleet?" Gyles coughed. "May I remind you, my lords, that our debt to the Iron Bank remains yet unpaid. A Braavosi envoy is already here in King's Landing to seek payment for his gold."
"What debt?" Carl asked. "I don't remember borrowing any money."
"Debt owed by the Iron Throne to the Iron Bank, Lord Carl," Renfred explained. "It is… unwise to anger the Iron Bank of Braavos, unless you want new princes and lords and kings to appear who are more interested in honoring their debts."
"Unwise? They're the ones who were lending money to people who were losing a war. If they are going to lend more money to a bunch of losers again, they're in no position to teach me about wisdom. The Braavosi can have that damn throne if they want it so bad. it doesn't rule over jack shit anymore, and is too spiky to sit on anyway." Carl's head ached with pain. "Ugh. Let me write to Dad, he'll know what to do. But we sure as fuck won't pay for the Baratheons' partying and the Lannisters' warring."
Lord Rosby pressed a silken handerchief to his mouth and coughed violently. "My lord, is that what I should say to the bank's envoy?"
Carl massaged his temples. He was just a kid, he hadn't been expecting to deal with all this bullshit. "Tell him to meet me under Baelor's statue at sunset tomorrow. I will dine with him. Aurane, you were talking about the fleet."
"I propose we build new dromonds. Ten, to start off with."
"I don't know what dromonds are, and we Alexandrians might have better ship designs anyway. Write me a book explaining all the ship types you have and how they work, then we'll talk."
"My lord-"
"It's getting late now, and 'my lord' is tired after a long day," Arya suddenly butted in. "Good night, my lords." She pulled at Carl's good hand. The two began walking towards the doors.
"Thanks for getting me out of there," Carl whispered when they were far enough away. "I thought they would never-" Cough after cough followed the two, growing ever louder. "Shit."
"Lord Carl, Princess Arya," Gyles Rosby huffed and puffed. "I have but one more thing to show you."
"Fine," Carl grumbled. He needed a good night's sleep, to get away from all the pain, but Rosby seemed insistent. "Lead the way."
They finally reached Gyles Rosby's apartments after a long walk. A young man greeted the trio at the door. "My ward Olyvar," Gyles introduced, holding in his coughs for once. "I would like for him to take the Rosby name, Lord Carl, for he is the son of my kinswoman and of Rosby blood."
"Fine. Give me something to write on. What house is he originally from?" Carl asked.
Olyvar's face turned red. "I will not utter its name after what they did, my lord." he fumed. "I am Olyvar, Olyvar Rosby if my lord will grant me this name. Nothing less, nothing more. I squired honorably for King Robb, until those who share blood with me decided to-"
"Frey." Arya's left hand rested on Needle's hilt. "So you say you had nothing to do with the Red Wedding?"
"I was at Rosby during the Red Wedding. The man who I used to call father said there was important business for me to do here at Rosby, that I had to inherit the Rosby lands should anything happen to Lord Gyles. He sent Perwyn and Alesander out of the Twins as well. I should have known he was trying to make sure all of those who would have warned the Young Wolf were nowhere near. If only I knew," Olyvar's voice seemed laced with grief. "If only I knew. Then my King would still be alive today."
"His sister is," Gyles Rosby pointed out. "This is Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell."
Olyvar went down on one knee. "I shall serve you as faithfully as I served your brother, from this day until my last."
"Words are wind, as you Westerosi say. You will go back to the Twins as Olyvar Frey. There you will make a list of everyone who was part of the Red Wedding, and everyone who was not. Then you will come back to King's Landing as Olyvar Rosby, with the remains of King Robb," Carl ordered. There was no point asking about Lady Catelyn. Arya already saw in her dreams.
"And Grey Wind," Arya added.
The Braavosi envoy arrived on time the next day. If Noho Dimittis of the Iron Bank was unimpressed by the smallfolk's crudely baked bread, he certainly did not show it. He seemed far more interested in market prices within the city, now that it was under new administration. Despite the plain food, many of the city's wealthy merchants had turned up when they heard both the city's new lord and the Iron Bank's envoy would be eating with the smallfolk. Sansa was able to provide valuable information about King's Landing, yet little of recent news in the North itself, while Arya spoke of the devastation she saw when she was roaming all over the Riverlands.
"It will be difficult for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to repay what they owe," the banker observed. "And the King more so. When should we expect your father to arrive, Lord Carl?"
"I don't know," Carl replied. Maggie had promised they would send a raven from Harrenhal once reinforcements were ready and marching south. "Dad's not a king anyway, and the Seven Kingdoms were gone the moment that volley gun opened fire."
"But Lord Carl knows that the Crown's debt still remains. I'm sure a boy clever enough to defeat the Lannisters with less than a hundred men can find ways to repay all the gold the Crown owes."
"We will pay whatever gold King's Landing itself owes, though that ain't gonna happen when half the city is still starving, and we will certainly welcome any shipments of grain you guys can arrange. The faster we stop starving, the faster you get paid. If you find Lord Gyles tomorrow, he will help you find out how much of the loans were actually used on the city itself."
"And what of the rest of the loans?" Noho asked.
"Go find Stannis if you want someone who claims all of the Seven Kingdoms. Good luck with him though. Westeros may have the Iron Throne, and Braavos has the Iron Bank, but we Alexandrians have the Iron Guns." Carl tapped at his pistol holster. "Maybe Stannis will be luckier than the Lannister and Tyrell army, which destroyed his army months ago. Maybe not. But I'm sure we cannot trade with a city and a bank which supports those who are threats to us."
The Braavosi envoy shuook his head. "The kings of Westeros borrowed our gold in the name of the Iron Throne. Forgive me if I'm wrong, Lord Carl, but does the Iron Throne not still stand in the Red Keep? Do you not hold the capital of what used to be the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Is that how this works? I killed a bunch of Lannisters and conqered their city, and now I need to pay their debts? We're allies with the Starks and the Tullys, are they going to pay for the armies that invaded their lands? Are the people of King's Landing going to pay for the debts of the King that starved them? You think we Alexandrians want to pay for tyrants' armies?"
"We can negotiate something, I am sure."
Carl scowled. "All I can do is pass word onto my Dad, anyway. For now, uh…" He sighed. "I can give you a charter?"
"A charter?"
"To let the Iron Bank open shop in King's Landing and make money from... lending to all the rich people here. Stuff from Alexandria's gonna pass through here first, so this city's going to be crazy for the next few years. Wanna see what we have?" He took out the pair of plastic glasses in his bag and presented them to Noho. "Go. Try pick it up."
Noho carefully picked up one of the glasses. "This feels much lighter than any glass I had ever held. Is it even made out of glass?"
"No. Now try dropping it." The glass crashed towards the floor, yet it did not break. Noho's right eyebrow raised with interest. Carl smiled. All the locals had reacted like that. "We got loads of interesting stuff back home. I'm not good at math, but maybe being able to buy and sell stuff like this is worth far more than whatever money you can squeeze out of a destroyed country." Carl picked up the fallen glass and poured water for himself, then poured more for the Braavosi envoy.
"We'll repay the debts of King's Landing itself as soon as we can. You can take these glasses after our feast. To our peoples," Carl toasted.
"To our peoples." Noho's glass struck Carl's. The two drank, and chatted some more until it was time to go home.
The dinner after that was spent with the pyromancers and blacksmiths. Wisdom Hallyne of the Alchemist's Guild gifted Carl a set of drinking glasses, shaped like the beakers with which they conducted their experiments. Tobho Mott presented an elaborate seal with the 'Alexandrian sigil' etched upon it. "I am happy to sell you more wares at lower prices, my lord, for what you did to defend King's Landing and our street," Tobho offered.
"Good. We'll be ordering a lot of new weapons soon, and you guys will be working very closely with the Alchemist's Guild. That's why we're eating together today." As much as a few pieces of bread and vegetables can be called 'eating' anyway. Like those early days of survival, back in Carl's old world. Like those days on the road.
"Will we be building weapons like yours, my lord?" Hallyne asked.
Carl smiled. "Not as good as ours. But good enough."
The dinner after that was spent with the Faith of the Seven. The High Septon gave Carl a copy of The Seven-Pointed Star, embroidered cover and all, and another copy to the Starks. In return, Carl promised to defend the Faith and those who followed it.
The dinner after that was spent with the men of Flea Bottom. They had little to offer but interesting stories, stories of how they survived and thrived among the city's streets and gutters.
"Have you ever looked up your hill and wondered what's on the top?" Carl suddenly asked.
"What's there to see apart from the Dragonpit?" a small lad asked. "Ma said there used to be dragons there, but they're all gone now, and so are the kings and lords who once rode them."
"Yes, and it's burned and ruined, but not for much longer. I'm thinking I want to clear it. I've got the coin to pay for people to do it, so why not? You think there'd be people in Flea Bottom interested in it?"
The Flea Bottomers listened patiently to Carl's plans. Perhaps when all's said and done, clearing the Dragonpit would be the easy bit.
Two more dinners later, a raven flew from King's Landing to Harrenhal.
And two more dinners after that, another raven from Harrenhal to King's Landing.
Carl summoned Aurane Waters and Renfred Rykker to the Small Council chambers after the Alexandrians finally wrote back.
He handed a signed charter to a pleased Renfred Rykker… and another to a surprised Aurane Waters. "Driftmark shall be a city too, once we take and secure it. I want a fleet of ferries to regularly sail between King's Landing, Duskendale, White Harbor, Braavos, and Driftmark. They will transport mail and passengers, linking all these cities together just like the roads Dad set up back in Alexandria. Another ferry will run between King's Landing and Alexandria. Aurane, you will plan these routes until Dad and his men arrive with ship designs."
"Pentos, Lorath and Gulltown are smaller, yet still worthy of trade," Aurane suggested. "And perhaps Maidenpool as well. Shall I include them too?"
"As long as you give me something that works," Carl replied.
When he headed to the Sept of Baelor that night, he had yet another charter in his hands. And a promise to the people of King's Landing, and of the Crownlands.
Carl marched into the Sept with an entourage of Crownlander nobles, heading straight for the dome's center. The Sept was crowded, even more crowded than the trial, even more crowded than during the Second Sack. Everywhere Carl's eyes glimpsed, men, women and children sat side by side in the Sept of Baelor. They had come here for the last night of 'feasting', though rumour had spread among the Kingslanders that their new lord had announcements to make about the future of the city.
When he reached the center, he waited till all eyes were on him.
"Tonight will be the last night of these dinners. The first food wagons from the Reach should arrive tomorrow. The Tyrells had agreed to feed the city until all their soldiers are sent back home. After that, the Reach will continue selling food to us at fair prices." Carl had considered inviting the Reachmen to the 'feast', but it would be too dangerous for the Tyrells to be seen as the city's saviour. So Lady Olenna stayed at the Red Keep, while Mace rode away to command the carts as they inched towards their destination. "We will also buy food from the Free Cities, and expand our fishing fleet to several times its current size. Lord Aurane will be in charge of this. Now that we've sorted out the food, I have a few more things to say about what King's Landing and the Crownlands will be like."
The crowd was silent now. Carl wondered how far his voice carried. Though his voice echoed off the dome's walls and roof, surely those at the back of the Sept could not hear him. He hoped that those at the front would pass his speech on.
"I have decided on my small council for the Crownlands. Lord Varys will be the Master of Whisperers. Lord Aurane Waters will be the Master of Ships, raised to the rank of Admiral. Lord Gyles Rosby will be Master of Coin. Samantha Fairbanks of Oceanside commands my personal guard. For the rest of the Crownlands, each lord will continue ruling over their own villages and towns. I have also given charters for the cities of Duskendale and Driftmark. But a third City Charter has been written for King's Landing itself." He raised the roll of parchment in his hand so that all could see. "I'll spare you the details. Copies of the Charter will be posted under the Statue of Baelor and in front of the Red Keep. Those who can't read can ask their family and friends. All you need to know now is that King's Landing will be divided into twelve wards, each with its own leader. These leaders will form a City Council which make the city's own rules, and help run the city according to the Charter. And in some of those wards, you guys will be choosing your own leaders."
A wave of murmurs started from the front rows and slowly made their way towards the back. Carl saw confused faces at first. A few smiles crept up here and there. Then the chanting began. "Grimes! Grimes! Grimes!" the Kingslanders cheered.
Prince Oberyn stood up and clapped his hands until the crowd quieted down. "The Seven Kingdoms may have fallen, but Dorne is still an ally of the Crownlands. We support Carl of Alexandria and those who are with him," his voice boomed across the Sept.
Princess Sansa spoke next. "And the North also. Though we no longer swear fealty to the South, our bonds of friendship still remain, and Lord Carl is a hero to both our peoples. But I think he has more to say."
Carl took a deep breath.
"I know King's Landing suffered a lot during the War of the Five Kings, and I am very sorry that I helped cause some of this suffering. But the war is now over, and there is a chance for us to learn together, as friends, as equals. A chance for us to build a better realm than what came before. A day will come when no man, no woman, no child in this city has to starve any longer."
If even a pin dropped onto the floor, Carl would have heard it.
"Beneath these fancy clothes I am just another kid, like many of you here. I am not better than you guys, not even more capable than you guys when it comes to many things. I came to King's Landing with my friends to seek peace for the Alexandrians, and justice for the Starks. When the Lannisters fell, I found myself somehow lording over all of King's Landing and the Crownlands. I took this city by conquest, but I will not hold this city without the will of the people. So I have a few promises to make."
"As lord of King's Landing and the Crownlands, I promise to reign with wisdom and courage. I promise to uphold your customs, protect your faith, defend your laws. I promise to feed the hungry and shelter the poor. I promise to listen to your suggestions and understand your wants. I promise to guard this land and the people who live on it, against all its enemies and threats, foreign and domestic. I promise to abide by this social contract and the will of the people. Will you have me as one of your own?"
Yet as the Kingslanders cheered, Carl wondered whether it would have been better had they cheered for his father instead. Rick Grimes was a hero; wise, brave, all knowing. And Carl was just a reckless kid who bit off more than he could chew.