Chapter 3 – The 20th day of March, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
The capital had changed a great deal since Lady Catelyn had last seen it.
Since she'd last seen Ned.
She had gone to look at the Tower of the Hand, the first night of her stay. She had looked with wide eyes at the yard around it. It had been months, so there were no more bodies and the rain had long washed any blood away, but the walls were still pockmarked with queer little holes. They were no larger than coppers, but there were hundreds of them. She poked a finger into several, often not able to find a bottom. What could punch through solid stone like it were cheese? She thought, concerned. The other Northern lords examined the scene curiously. "Three hundred men died here" the Greatjon said, sounding slightly awed. "Three of them kingsguard, yet not a single flying man was slain." Ser Wendel Manderly put it succinctly. "Woe to any man who challenges them."
The Northern Lords had been placed in a row of apartments over the castle armoury. All day and often long into the night they could hear the constant ring of steel on steel as his grace's armies prepared for their departure. Catelyn could hardly hear it however over the snoring of the Mormonts – both Maege and her daughter Dacey, whom she shared the quarters with. She awoke early on the morning of the king's coronation. Yet heading downstairs into their kitchen hall, half her father's and son's bannermen were already awake, breaking their fast on bread and eggs and honey. Gossip and rumour were flying thick and fast, in anticipation of the flying men soon to arrive in the city.
"There is not just one city through the Ring, but hundreds" reported Lord Jonos Bracken "Melbourne has a queen, but she is a thousand years old, and no living man has seen her in person."
"Aye" agreed Ser Marq Piper "There are men today coming from a place called America. They rebelled against their king, and now they choose a new one every four years. The new king lives in a flying palace, and his feet are not allowed to touch the ground again until he dies."
"The others come from a land called China" spoke up Theon Greyjoy, all smiles. "They killed their king as well, then the smallfolk took over and tried to rule themselves. The lords all fled to an island. The smallfolk never learned to swim, so they don't know where they went. Someday they will find them again, and they say there will be another war…"
Come midmorning, the lords from the North and the Trident and their retinues were converging on the throne room. Many lingered in the yard outside however, as the flocks of flying machines began to rumble overhead. When she squinted, they looked almost like a school of silver fish, but soaring through the sky much faster than their brethren in the river. She saw flashes of other colours, reds and blues mostly. Sigils of the flying men, though she still struggled to distinguish which. It was an awesome display, humbling even the greatest lord waiting within the walls of the Red Keep.
A few hours before noon, a long line of black carriages rumbled up to the gates of the castle. A small army of Gold Cloaks formed a long honour guard to keep back curious crowds. A phalanx of highborn Westerosi, led by the Lord Hand Mace Tyrell and the Kingsguard, met them by the front barbican. Groups of men began to emerge. Most wore the same black 'suits' she had seen before, though others were more colourful. She saw a phalanx of men, perhaps forty all up, dressed in bright red jackets and black trousers, many coated with what looked like cloth of gold. They dress up prettier than Lannisters she thought darkly. The men formed up in the yard, proceeding the rest of the delegation. They clutched curious looking items, which at first she assumed were weapons, but as they brought them to their lips, she suddenly realized they were instruments. Some looked like trumpets, but of a more complex sort than she had ever seen. Across the yard many had been talking, but a hushed sort of silence fell as the band began to play.
The procession slowly made its way up to the throne room. The first party came behind a large blue flag, the colour of the sky, though with a complex white emblem on it she could not fathom the meaning of. The people looked diverse, as if they had flown from the Summer Isles or Sothoryos or beyond. They were led by a woman with chestnut brown skin and wearing an elaborate green headdress. They were followed by a party bearing what was recognizably the Australian banner, led by a bald man with suspicious looking eyes. Behind them were the Americans, carrying the bold stars and stripes. Their leader was a man with silver hair. She thought his eyes more kindly. The men in the last party looked the most queer to her, slightly shorter in stature, with eyes that squinted as if the day was brighter than it truly was. They carried a blood red banner, with yellow stars in the corner.
The delegations from Earth made their way into the throne room, crowding together along its western flank. The Westerosi filled the rest of the space. Every soul was standing. Highborn lords and ladies, some of the wealthiest merchants and other people of note, had turned out in their finest silks or most ornate armour. Others had come from beyond the seas, magisters and their retinues from Braavos and Pentos and Lys, and even as far as Volantis.
Robb stood beside her. There was no Grey Wind at his heels. The wolf had not taken well to the notion of riding in the flying machine. The last time they had tried, he had almost taken a finger off poor Olyvar Frey, so they had left him at Riverrun. She had not been fond of the direwolves at first, but now she felt oddly naked without them.
As the music died away, the throne room fell oddly silent, despite the well over a thousand people present. She could see the royal family now. Queen Selyse, the new consort of the Seven Kingdoms, stood by a hard stone bench beside the throne. Holding her hand was the king's only child and heir, the princess Shireen. She was a homely girl, Catelyn noted, with a plain face and the overly large Florent ears. Even without the scarred flesh that covered one side of her face and neck. Greyscale. She was no stranger to that plague. Riverrun was a damp castle at the best of times. Two of her grandfather's brothers had succumbed to it, during one of its infrequent outbreaks in the Seven Kingdoms. Will they call her the Grey Queen when she comes of age? And what of her betrothed? The Cripple King of Highgarden?
She pushed those thoughts aside for now. The ceremony was starting.
There was no more High Septon, or else his replacement was a thousand leagues away in Oldtown, defiant. Most of the faith had fled the city, but a trio of septons had been found from somewhere. They were dressed plainly by the standards of the hall, but their white robes looked freshly washed, with bright red or yellow crystals hanging from their necks. They came forth and proceeded to bless the ceremony, making particular mention of the foreign guests. We welcome our new friends, those who have found us, their way lit by the crone's own lantern.
They were followed by the red woman, Melisandre of Asshai. Lead us from the darkness, O Lord. Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. Protect your loyal servants, your chosen, O lord, so that we may drive the darkness back. Tall and terrible and too beautiful by half, with a ruby gem ornamenting the tight choker about her neck. All sorts of rumours surrounded her. Asshai was hardly less mysterious than Australia, after all. Is this Stannis' true queen? Some said she shared his bed, while he shunned his lawful wife, who had given him nothing but stillborn sons and a sickly daughter.
As noon approached, a herald announced the king himself. "All hail His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Bringer of Justice, Friend of the Flying Men and Chosen of the Lord."
The king emerged from a door behind the throne. He walked past his lady wife and daughter without so much as a glance at them. He was dressed in Baratheon blacks, with a crowned stag embroidered on his chest. It was a more ornate outfit than she had yet seen him wearing, yet it still seemed modest for a man about to be crowded monarch of seven kingdoms. Of which how many truly recognize him? Four? Four and a half?
He walked to the base of the iron throne. There he knelt, tall and rigid even on his knees,
The Small Council stood opposite the queen and princess. It would fall to the Lord Hand to crown the new king. Mace Tyrell strode forward, holding aloft the new crown, with its curious fiery points. A few more words were exchanged, not all of which reached the far end of the hall, but at their conclusion the crown rested atop the head of the new king, and Stannis stood. His footsteps echoed throughout the hall as he rose high atop the mess of twisted metal that was the Iron Throne. As he sat the Small Council took a knee, hundreds of others followed. All the Westerosi, Catelyn included. By convention, the foreign guests were not required to kneel, but many bowed all the same. Few of the flying men were among them.
"None may withstand him!" Melisandre cried. Many echoed her, including the queen, though they were a minority in the hall. Stannis looked over the gathered crowd as they rose to their feet.
"The Small Council may be seated. Grand Maester Gormon, I command you to read my decrees."
The Small Council complied. Gormon remained standing, consulting a long roll of parchment. He spoke loudly, so that the whole hall could hear.
"His grace expresses his sorrow at the recent destruction visited on the kingdom" he began, in a grave tone. "The treachery of House Lannister has cost the realm dearly. Her grace, queen Cersei, failed to provide her late husband, Robert of the House Baratheon, with any trueborn issue. Her children were bastards, born of an incestuous union with Ser Jaime Lannister, now twice a kingslayer, of Casterly Rock."
There was murmuring in the hall at this. Catelyn did not doubt it herself, not after her experience with Bran. She glanced down at the scars on her hand, which had never truly healed. Ned had sworn as much besides, but many in the room may still have doubted it. Gormon continued.
"For any who still doubt this claim, the crown presents his grace's nephew, Edric Storm of Storm's End, recognized bastard of King Robert, born of a union with lady Delena Florent of Brightwater Keep."
A young boy stepped forward. He could not have been older than twelve, though he was tall for his age. He was almost of a height with his lady mother, who stood beside him. They shared the Florent ears, but otherwise the boy was like the ghost of Robert come again, minus the beard and a few chins. The murmuring in the hall grew louder.
"Any man can look upon him and see the clear likeness of Robert Baratheon. He is black of hair and blue of eye, already tall and strong, like his sire. Any who knew the king well knew he fathered many bastard children, all of whom bore his likeness. There were several throughout King's Landing and the wider realm. However, his grace's agents discovered, after taking the city, that all his known bastards had been disappeared. Several are known to have been murdered, on the orders of the queen regent, by the City Watch under the corrupt Janos Slynt. An obvious ploy by Queen Cersei to remove the evidence of her monstrous crime. The boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen and the girl Myrcella being obviously of the Lannister likeness, blonde of hair and green of eye."
Murmur slowly turned to uproar as the Grand Maester spoke these words. He paused a minute, while the goldcloaks smacked the butts of their spears against the stone floor. "Off with her head!" cried the Greatjon. "Aye, off with her head! The whore queen!" agreed some Dornish lord. Many others soon took up the cry before order could be restored. Edric Storm was soon withdrawn back to his mother, and a flock of protective Florents. Gormon had soon moved on to the next issue.
"It is the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant, Prince Oberyn of Sunspear, be immediately seated upon the Small Council in the new role of Master of Lightning to better assist in the governance of the realm. So the king has decreed, the Small Council consents."
Catelyn watched as the lithe Dornishman came forward and swore himself to the new king. She took up an empty seat at the council table.
"It is also the wish of his Grace that his loyal servant, Ser Stevron Frey of the Twins, be seated on the Small Council in the new role of Master of Flying Machines to further assist in the governance of the realm. So the king has decreed, the Small Council consents."
Lord Walder's heir kneeled also, then took up a seat beside the Dornishmen.
"His grace instructs, in order to better protect the royal person and his family, that the following individuals are to be appointing to the kingsguard…Ser Damon Paege of Yellowhedge."
A tall young riverlands knight strode up to the base of the throne, where Ser Barristan Selmy was waiting for him. Catelyn had watched the bouts, and Ser Damon had outfought all his opponents, even lasting a while against his new lord commander. His family were landed knights sworn to Riverrun, which she welcomed. He swore his vows. Ser Barristan placed the white cloak around his shoulders, and he went to stand with his new brothers.
"Ser Donnel Locke of Oldcastle."
There were cheers from the gallery. There had never been a Northern knight of the Kingsguard before. Ser Donnel too had performed exceptionally. He had been part of Robb's Battle Guard ever since the Whispering Wood and had killed two Warrior's Sons on the Goldroad as well. He kneeled, said his vows, and was offered a white cloak. When silence had fallen again, the Grand Maester continued.
"Furthermore, the following individuals must present themselves before His Grace, to swear their fealty. Those who fail to do so will be adjudged traitors, their lands and titles forfeit to the throne."
Gormon began reading a long list of names, and a steady trickle of lords and ladies stepped forward to kneel before the new king. The first few were Tyrells, Garlan and Margaery and little old Olenna. Next came the name of her father, Lord Hoster Tully, but he was ailing, bedridden at Riverrun, so Edmure went in his stead. Then it was Robb's turn, then hers.
She kneeled on the hard stonework before the throne. Stannis looked down at her, cold and rigid, but was that just the uncomfortable seat? She raised her hand and so swore. I will be faithful to my liege lord, his grace Stannis of the House Baratheon. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New…
Theon Greyjoy stepped forward, the only representative from the Iron Islands. Then followed scores of lesser lords and ladies. Tarlys, Rowans and Oakhearts, Brackens, Blackwoods and Freys, Manderlys, Umbers and Karstaks, Blackmonts and Ullers, Velaryons and Celtigars. She watched the Hound, Sandor Clegane, step forward and kneel as well, one of the few present from the Westerlands and perhaps the most surprising defection. An hour had passed before they were all done. Gormon read out still more names. Tywin Lannister, Lysa Arryn, Balon Greyjoy, Leyton Hightower, Paxter Redwyne, Lords Lefford, Lydden and Rykker…
Come mid-afternoon a final trumpet blast sounded, and the ceremony was complete. Catelyn filed out behind Edmure and a score of his bannermen. Two feasts were scheduled to be held later that evening, but they had another three hours to prepare. The larger would be held in the Great Hall with a thousand guests, but a smaller and far more exclusive one would start an hour later in the Queen's Ballroom at Maegor's Holdfast. Among the Northern lords only herself, Edmure, Robb and Theon had been invited to the latter.
Many men milled about in the yard in the meantime. Most of the flying men trooped out, retiring to their noisy vehicles. A few remained, drawing knots of curious onlookers. Nearby she saw a comely woman, with blonde hair and striking pale eyes, wearing garments of a dark blue. She might have been about Catelyn's age, though she could not be sure. She had learned that the flying men were oft older than they first appeared. Behind the woman was a man holding a bulky device which reminded her of maester Luwin's spyglass. Catelyn was about to walk past the pair when to her surprise the woman turned towards her and called out her name.
"Excuse me, my lady. Are you Catelyn Stark?"
Catelyn turned, curious and cautious in equal measure. "Yes, I am."
"Would it be alright if we could speak to you for a minute?"
"Yes" Catelyn replied. "Only, I do not know you, my lady."
"My name is Leigh Sales, my lady, from the aye-bee-see." The woman gave a small and slightly clumsy curtsey. "Would it be alright if I could ask you a few questions?"
"Ah…alright" Catelyn replied, already lost. She glanced around at her brother's bannermen, who were watching the encounter, equally baffled.
"Firstly, I would like to offer my condolences my lady. I understand your husband perished within these walls, not long ago."
Catelyn blinked, for a moment unsure how to respond. "Yes, he did. I thank you for your condolences."
"Can I ask if you harbor any ill will towards Australia? Do you feel we are to blame for his death in any way?"
Catelyn had to take a moment to absorb this question. "I do not quite know the truth of what happened here…" she said slowly. "From what I have been told, it was the Lannisters who slew him. They are the ones to blame."
"Our soldiers were with him when he died though, weren't they?" Leigh Sales pressed. "Do you feel they could have protected him better?"
Catelyn was even more uncertain how to answer this. She looked over at Edmure, then at Robb, who were both standing nearby, listening to the exchange. "I do not know of that. I do not know much about your warriors…but no, I harbor Australia no ill will" she went on, suddenly remembering the first part of the question. "You may not have returned my Ned to me, but you did return my daughters safely. For this I am grateful."
"We have heard many stories of what happened here before the opening of the Ring" the woman went on. "We understand there is a feud between your two families, the Lannisters and the Starks. What would you say started this feud?"
Catelyn's eyes narrow. "The Lannisters came into my home and tried to murder my son, a boy of seven."
The woman nodded, looking sympathetic. "We have heard of this incident. May I ask, why do you think they would do such a thing?"
"My son Bran always enjoyed climbing, much as I begged him not to" Catelyn replied, slightly bitter at the memory. "When the king's party last visited Winterfell, we believe Bran saw the queen and her brother, at their incest." She practically spat the last word. "They pushed him from a tower. They made him a cripple, but he refused to die, so they sent a cutthroat to silence him for good. I nearly died defending him." Without consciously deciding to do so, Catelyn realized she had raised her hand, where the scars from the Valyrian steel dagger were clearly visible. The woman looked at them, eyes widening in surprise. Behind her, the man with the bulky instrument seemed to shift it down slightly, as if following her hand.
"Some think our government should do more to aid your family in your struggle. What would you say to that?"
She glanced over at Edmure, who stepped forward to make himself heard. "We would welcome their aid. With the help of the flying men, we can end the threat of the Lannisters against our lands for good."
The man shifted the bulky instrument over to face him. "Pardon my lord, would you introduce yourself to us?" Leigh Sales asked.
Edmure gave a shallow sort of bow. "I have the honour to be Edmure Tully, son and heir of Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident."
"Could you perhaps explain the nature of your feud with the Lannisters, my lord?" she asked.
"Our feud?" Edmure said, aghast, as if the very inadequacy of the word offended him. "Smallfolk have been killed and women raped by the thousands. Villages and holdfasts have been destroyed and field and forest burnt to cinders. My people have suffered grievously from Lannister brigands. This is no mere feud. It is war, and we will have our vengeance before this is through…"
Edmure went on like that for some time. Eventually, the woman turned to Robb, who had stood there silently, listening to the exchange. "And you, my lord, you are Robb Stark of Winterfell?"
"Aye, my lady" her son said with a nod.
"And what would you say of the Lannisters, my lord?"
Robb took a moment to consider the question. "I would say they are a great evil, in this land. If the gods give us strength, we will defeat them. And if your people are good, you will help us. You will help us bring to justice the people who murdered my father."
After a brief pause, the woman thanked him. Shortly afterward she begged their pardons. The Northern lords walked off, oddly bewildered at the encounter. Catelyn herself gave little thought to it. As she returned to her rooms to rest and let Maege Mormont help her into a fine evening gown, she could not conceive of the half a billion people that would have heard their words, or seen the scars on her hand, by the end of the day.