PART II: The Great Game
Blackwater Bay
300 AC
King's Landing looked far more solemn during winter.
Jon Stark watched the approaching city, loosely counting the columns of smoke in the thousands as they came up from old chimneys made of cream-colored stone. From the bow of the Silence, it all looked rather dour and uninteresting.
Already he missed the cold blistering winds of the North-the snow and the winds were thinner in the south. And while he could still see his hot breath in the air every time he exhaled, it simply didn't feel the same.
He'd been to this city only twice before. Once he'd gone in his youth with his uncle, and the second time was when he'd returned to Westeros the year prior. On his first visit, the whole place seemed so very colorful and vibrant-even Fleabottom. The second time was even more powerful since he'd almost died more than a few times on that particular expedition.
But now, the whole city seemed to take on a shade of dark grey, as if there was a great revenant looming over the city, a sort of darkness corrupting it from within. Not exactly the kind of place to raise one's children.
Age showed itself on the walls of the Red Keep. Old scars of battles and treachery had revealed themselves to him, even from this distance. No doubt the buildings and streets suffered a similar condition. How much innovation had been made? What else in the environment had changed over the decades, the centuries since this place had been built?
Not a single thing. Jon thought to himself. The Conqueror strove to unite the Seven Kingdoms. But after him, the rest of Jon's ancestors had been far too busy worrying about how they'd stay in charge of the Seven Kingdoms. Which, now that he reflected on it, was precisely why they lost it.
What would Aegon think of his descendants? The heirs who he'd handed a whole continent to on a silver platter, pissing it away in less than three hundred years? He probably would've blamed them. They lost their ambition. They committed the worst sin of them all.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Despite only being eight-and-ten years of age, Jon Stark felt as if he were an old man with the things he'd seen, things that only the smallest margins of men would lay their eyes on. And with what he knew about humans, why that itself would be worth more than a hundred kingdoms.
Humans simply ceased to live when they lacked a worthy goal to strive towards. He knew this because if he did not have a project to work on or some kind of dangerous mission to take, he would find himself sinking into decline. The silent death was made all the more apparent by the fact that his home life was considerably comfortable. Margaery would always be there for him, food was always available, and the warm hearth in the Lord's Tower of Snowgate Keep would always be lit.
This, no doubt, was the same self-destructive disease that would just as easily befall the common man as it would any of the nobility. And it was the very same type of affliction that his ancestors had allowed to take root.
Yes, Targaryen Madness was commonly fingered as a popular excuse, yet Jon wondered if the Mad King and the Seven Kingdoms as a whole would've been better suited if instead of being paranoid about losing his throne, he would've taken up some other worthy cause to combat his ailing mind.
Even madmen could shift the world, perhaps even in a positive direction if the intention was there. Jon had learned that from Euron Greyjoy. Why, as the Ironborn raved and ranted about his desire for godhood, Jon had parsed the difference between Greyjoy and his own grandfather. One man arguably had good intentions from the beginning of his reign and would've made a good king if he'd set his sights on something aspirational. The other was more or less a deranged lunatic set on enslaving mankind and replacing the gods themselves.
How could one madman nearly succeed in his seemingly divine mission, while the other had lost everything he held dear in a matter of decades, eventually allowing his own mind to collapse?
Simple. Jon concluded. He'd asked himself that question many times in the last year. Aerys had lost his mind because he had nothing to strive for. He allowed life to do its work unto him, as opposed to enacting his own work unto life.
Meanwhile Greyjoy, in all of his deranged brilliance, had a clear objective. He took aggressive action to make it a reality. And he almost would have, if not for Jon and his friends. If not for Starag. If not for Arthur.
"I died for my King." The Sword of the Morning's words had rasped to life in Jon's mind. The same memory of Arthur being gutted with his own sword had replayed itself again. As vivid as ever.
When-or if the time came, would Jon actually rise to his uncle's expectations of him? Could he manage the frustration and headache of looking after not just one, but seven whole kingdoms?
Jon supposed he simply didn't have a choice. And neither did he really want one in this regard. His ancestors-in one way or another-were watching him. So was Arthur. And so were the Old Gods. He could not act in any other way but to make the men and women who had come before him proud. Because Jon himself could not bear the thought of bringing shame upon his family, and of the countless others who had died before he was born.
The city grew closer, and Jon hardened his mind once more. First, he would need to find out who was behind Jon Arryn's death. Then there was the matter of dealing with the Baratheons and Lannisters, and then there were the Others. After them-if Westeros hadn't been totally crushed by that point-Jon supposed he could worry about some kind of worthy goal to chase.
For now, he had his work cut out for him. And soon enough he would be descending into the city of darkness itself, into the very Lion's Den where his half-brother and stepmother had perished.
One step at a time, I suppose. He thought to himself as he glanced at the long oak dockside. The boards were covered in a grimy grey and brown slush.
"Jon," He heard his name being called from the right.
Jon turned his head and saw his father standing just a few meters away from him. He knew that Eddard Stark was his uncle by blood, but… it just felt right calling him father.
"Yes, father?" He asked.
Lord Stark gave him a searching look, briefly scanning his face. "You remember what we talked about?"
Jon nodded with a light smile. "I do." He said. Father was talking about their plan going in.
His father was meant to do most of the talking, seeing as he was Hand of the King. Jon was to make observations of the other members of the small council, watch how they spoke, how they moved their hands, and gauge the tone of their voices. He would record such observations in his mind and make them known to Eddard in private.
Jon grinned when he realized that he was more or less playing the spy. Feels like Duskendale all over again.
No doubt the Lannisters would want to assert their presence over both himself and his father. Jon couldn't let that happen. The Lannisters themselves were partially responsible for the mess that his father had been called in to clean up. He would need proper authority over them, which meant they'd end up ruffling some feathers-or fur if it was more appropriate.
Well, then. Jon readied himself, instinctively lowering his palm over the white direwolf's head of Sunfire. Time to make one hell of an entrance.
King's Landing had not aged well since Jon had last seen it.
Jon was partially thankful that they'd brought their horses along with them, as the high street that led out from the harbor to Jaehaerys' Square was covered in muddy-brown slush that would've made even the staunchest Northman miserable.
And the less-than-warm reception they'd received from the citizens thus far had also not done much to lift their spirits. The smallfolk who worked at the docks simply leered at the escort of Northerners, rather fearful of the oncoming infusion of soldiers into their city.
It was the stark opposite of White Harbor-where the people had been cheering and happy to see Jon's father. Now, it appeared that the folk of King's Landing were scared of even glancing upon a soldier.
For good reason too, as Jon immediately lay eyes on a squadron of Tully men-at-arms cruising through the docks. One of them pushed aside a dockworker who crossed his path.
The city must be filled with them. He thought.
They reached Jaehaerys' Square. Jon finally got a solid glance around the massive sprawling courtyard and let out a quiet disappointed sigh. He'd hoped that this place at the least, would retain some of the color from his childhood memories.
There was a large cluster of crimson red-cloaked men-at-arms occupying the north-western portion of the Square. Lannisters. There were even firepits, almost as if the men were camping in the woods. And closer to Jon's side of the courtyard were the blue and mud-red cloaks of House Tully. Even over the faded fabric, Jon could make out the dozens of leaping silver trout in the large crowd.
Both forces must've numbered somewhere in the hundreds. No doubt they'd been placed here in light of the pissing contest between the two Great Houses. Neither side was eager to give up ground. Even the citizens gave the soldiers a wide berth.
"This place is like an army camp," Eddard noted grimly.
The Lannisters and the Tullys immediately noticed the presence of the Northmen. Most soldiers stood up rather slowly, placing their hands on their pommels. The rest stared dangerously at the northern escort as Jon and his father passed by with the extra two hundred men behind them up towards the Red Keep.
Once at the gates of the Red Keep, they'd been allowed in by a rather disgruntled guardsman. Once inside, Jon dismounted along with his father, and they handed off the reins of their horses to an anxious stablehand.
Jon saw another man approaching them. Messenger. He knew instantly.
The man stopped before them and bowed to his father. "Welcome to the capital, Lord Stark." He didn't smile at Eddard. "Lord Tywin has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested."
Jon almost laughed. Requested. That sounded more than anything like an order.
His father didn't give away anything. He simply told Jory to get the men settled in.
"Would you like to change into something more… appropriate?" The man asked with veiled contempt at their northern armor. Jon and his father both wore the familiar boiled leather coat of plates, though Jon's coat was darker, almost black.
Neither of the Starks said a word. The messenger gulped in discomfort and nodded. He turned away and started walking. Jon and his father followed.
It was distinctly warmer inside the Red Keep. Jon decided to keep his gloves on, though. He was in hostile territory after all. Especially when he'd noticed the guardsmen walking in groups of four through the marble halls. They should be in pairs of two. He'd remembered from his last visit to this place so many years ago.
The twin twenty-foot tall doors to the Throne Room had opened before them. The messenger stopped and bowed again. "The Tower of the Hand is located beyond the western corridor."
"What of the Small Council chambers?"
"Alas, Lord Tywin found them ill-suited… He summons the Small Council to the Hand's Tower for all important meetings."
Eddard nodded, hiding his disgust quite well-if not for the vein that flared on his temple. "I see. Thank you."
The messenger bowed once more and left them. Jon looked back to his father, who was clearly angry judging by the fire in his dark eyes. "Already making himself comfortable, it seems."
Jon glanced further into the cathedral, and at the iron monstrosity on the other side of it. "He's not a member of the Small Council, is he? Unless he's just trying to make us look weak."
Eddard grunted. "Wouldn't put it past the old bastard." He stepped inside. Jon followed.
Faded sunlight peeled through the glass windows on the opposite end. There were six great pillars of white-caramel marble that lined the right and left edges of the throne room. The cream-colored tile flooring held quaint black patterns and symbols. And upon the wide stone dais at the end, basking in lifeless sunlight, was the Iron Throne itself.
Their footsteps echoed inside the cathedral as they approached the blasted chair. Jon loosely counted the number of sharpened blades jutting out from all sides of the throne. He counted about one-hundred-and-sixty-two by the time they reached it.
"Lot bigger than I expected," Jon admitted. He'd not seen it during his last visit.
"It causes as much trouble as it looks." His father stated.
Jon recognized the strain in his father's voice. And he knew why. The last time Eddard Stark was in this room, he'd been witness to the dead corpses of an innocent woman and two children. This was even the same room his father and brother had died in.
It was the same place that Jon might've called home in another life. Perhaps he would've been Crown Prince. Rhaenys-though the oldest and with the most legitimate claim by Dornish standards-would not want to sit on the Iron Throne.
And his mother and father? The people who sired him? He would've grown up calling Lyanna Stark his mother, and seeing Rhaegar Targaryen as his father. What a life that would've been. Would he still be betrothed with Margaery? No, likely Rhaegar would've wed him with his aunt Daenerys. Rhaenys would be sent off to Dragonstone or another of the Great Houses. He'd never have met Starag. Duncan, Thalia, Jeor, and Arthur would never have existed. Ghost would never have been at his side. Snowfyre would still be trapped in Valyria. Hell, he'd go by the name Jaehaerys Targaryen and not Jon Stark.
The more he thought about it, the less he preferred it to his current reality. By all accounts, he was lucky to have had the life he'd lived. Especially with the terrible events that had occurred. The other version of himself-if he could call it that would not have had to face such trials in his life.
"Oh, Ned!" A feminine voice had called from behind them.
Jon turned quickly. He saw an older woman with flaming red hair stride up to them. She must've been about his father's age.
Catelyn Arryn.
"Catelyn," His father said warily, though not without a warm smile. She was friendly.
Lady Catelyn had embraced Eddard, which the older man had awkwardly accepted. When she pulled away she readjusted herself. "I apologize, my lord. It just-" She sniffled. "It feels so wonderful to see you after all these years, especially since-"
She didn't need to finish her sentence. They both understood. Immediately, Catelyn looked at Jon and gave him a motherly smile. "Oh, dear! I've gone and forgotten my manners. You must be Jon."
"I am, my lady." Jon bowed his head. "I am sorry for your loss. I grew up hearing stories of Lord Arryn, he was my favorite outside of the Lord of Winterfell."
Catelyn Arryn smiled her thanks. "Your kind words warm me, my lord."
His father spoke up. "Where is your sister, my lady? I must speak with her soon."
Lady Arryn nodded. "She is in her manse by the Old Gate. She has asked to escort me and my children out of the city back to Riverrun."
"You're leaving?"
She nodded again. "Yes, I can no longer stand this place. It is not the same without… without…" Catelyn trailed off.
Eddard attempted to comfort the woman, but she refined her smile and shook her head. "It is a shame we could not have more time to talk, Lord Stark. I should have liked to catch up with you." She looked at Jon. "And a part of me wishes that my Sansa were here to meet you, Lord Jon, but perhaps another time?"
"Another time," Jon said.
Further beyond the red-haired woman by the western hallway came a familiar-looking man. Tall, with spun gold blond hair and cat green eyes. His white cloak billowed behind him as he held the hands of two small children.
Jon smiled as he set his eyes on Jaime Lannister. He'd not seen the man for over half a decade. He was just as kingly-looking as he had been before.
And walking on either side of him were two children whose hair was far lighter than Lannister's, both with sharp aquiline noses. They shared the same vibrant blue eyes as Catelyn Arryn.
"My lady," Jaime addressed Catelyn. "Your escort is waiting in the courtyard."
"Thank you, Ser Jaime." Said Lady Arryn. She took the hands of her children and led them to Ned and Jon. "This is Lord Stark and his son, Lord Jon."
"The Wolfman?" The boy had asked curiously.
"No," Eddard smiled. "But I do have a wolf." He trailed off. "...Somewhere."
Jon concealed his snicker. Ghost and Lya were somewhere in the Kingswood, or likely roaming around the Crownlands in the outskirts of the city.
"Can I see him?" The boy asked again.
"Maybe another day, Pelinal." Catelyn shook her head. "Say goodbye to Lord Stark, both of you."
"Goodbye, Lord Stark." Said both Pelinal and Anastasia. Catelyn curtsied to Eddard and then took her children to the entrance at the far end of the hall, leaving their sight as she turned the corner. The tall doors shut behind her.
Jaime approached them, his expression was devoid of the usual arrogant smirk that adorned it. "Lord Stark," He bowed his head. Then looking at Jon, he smiled slightly. "Lord Jon."
Jon's father scanned Lannister's face. Scrutinizing every single aspect of the Kingslayer himself. Jon knew that his father did not like the man very well for breaking his oath, yet he knew that Lannister redeemed himself since he'd saved Rhaenys from Amory Lorch during the Sack.
No doubt, Lannister expected some kind of rebuke. Jon had already heard the story of how his father found the Kingslayer sitting on the Iron Throne, and had stared at Lannister until he stood up from it.
"Lannister," His father spoke. He held out his hand to the younger man.
It was a gesture that Jaime had not been expecting, judging by the surprise that danced in his cat-green eyes. He swallowed and shook Eddard's hand.
Sharply, Jon's father pulled him in close and whispered a few words into his ear. Jon saw Jaime's eyes go wide.
When they separated, Lannister looked almost relieved. His smile returned. "Well, I'm certainly glad you two came around. We need some stern Northern Leadership these days." He looked at Jon. "And I don't suppose you'd be up for a spar later today?"
"Of course," Jon smiled back.
At least they had an ally within the enemy camp, albeit an unexpected one.
The climb up the Tower of the Hand had not been as exhausting as it looked.
No words had been spoken between the three of them as they went up the steps. Until they finally reached the summit.
Jaime nodded to the two Kingsguard stationed outside the Hand's Chambers. They opened the doors.
It was colder inside of the Hand's Chambers, not that Jon noticed very much. Winter in King's Landing was more akin to summer in the North. But the lack of heat was more so because of the assembled gallery of nobility and eccentrics that made up the Small Council.
Seated around a long black wooden table were six, though there were only four members on the Small Council itself. Jon had not failed to notice the stoic-looking older man sitting at the far head of the table; Tywin Lannister.
Sitting to his immediate right was Queen Cersei, who Jon had greeted cordially during his last visit to the Red Keep so many years ago. It seemed as if she'd barely aged a day since then, as there was not a single trace of silver on her head of golden curls.
Jon had felt her emerald green eyes latch directly onto him as all chatter ceased in the Hand's Chambers, and as he inspected the rest of the Small Council.
The other four were the men who actually did make up the ruling council. They were lined up along the right side of the table going from Tywin's side to the opposite end in this order; A lithe and slimy-looking man who Jon assumed to be Lord Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger, an aged and balding man who he pinned as The Spider. Then there was a decrepit old man with a great snow-white beard than ran down to his stomach. The Grand Maester, Jon thought as he instantly picked out the dozens of heavy multi-colored chains that hung from his neck littered with small gems and pearls. And finally, there was the Master of Laws, Renly Baratheon. He was more or less the same as when Jon had last seen him, though his head of black hair was slightly longer now.
All of their eyes were directly on Jon and his father. Beside him, Jon had casually noticed the staring match that had begun between his father and Tywin.
After a few moments, the silence had been disrupted by the shuffling of chairs. Lord Varys had stood up and walked over to the both of them, an easy false smile stretched out over his plump cheeks. "Lord Stark," He greeted Jon's father with a polite bow and then held out his hands. "You have no idea how delighted I am to hear of your safe voyage from White Harbor."
"Thank you, Lord Varys," Eddard said without a smile.
His father bowed to Cersei. Jon did the same. "My Queen."
The Lioness had nodded gratefully to him, though Jon could see the hidden daggers behind those cat-green eyes. They'd have to be careful around that one.
Tywin's voice rumbled from the other end of the table now. Everyone in the room looked directly at him now. "I thought Lord Mormont would be with you."
Wyman was right about those spies, then. Jon thought. There's no way the Lannisters would know Starag departed from White Harbor with them unless they were watching them.
Jon's father gave nothing away to the Old Lion. "Lord Mormont is handling business in Runestone. He will join us at a later time." He said and left it at that, denying Tywin a full explanation.
Renly was the next to stand up. He smiled at Eddard. "Good to see you, Lord Stark."
"And you as well, Renly." Both men shook hands and grinned. It was likely to be the only positive exchange in the whole room.
Jon almost smiled when he'd noticed the Old Lion's nostrils flare slightly once Littlefinger had gotten up from his own seat, then followed by Pycelle a few moments afterward. He'd probably not expected Eddard Stark to hold his own so quickly, and seeing the rest of the Small Council kowtow to the new Hand of the King soon after, the meeting quickly spiraled out of his control.
It was not a massive rebellion or anything like that, but it brightened Jon's day just a little. He shared a brief glance with Jaime, whose cat-green eyes were laughing at the display before them.
Jon had not liked Petyr Baelish the moment the man opened his mouth. Silkened, honeyed words poured out like fresh vinegar. The small man-Baelish was actually smaller than Jon himself-also had one of those faces that screamed for a good punch.
Pycelle was much the same. Jon knew he was more or less a lickspittle the moment he'd fully inspected the old man. Someone here owns him. Probably the Lannisters. Jon knew the old man had also served his grandfather, the Mad King. Yes, the Lannisters own him.
Pycelle had reached into his bag and took out the badge that belonged to the Hand of the King. The iron brooch looked warm and dull in the old man's crinkled hand. Jon's father had taken it and given his thanks.
Soon enough, the others resumed their seats while Jon stood with his father on the side of the table opposite Tywin.
"There are more chairs just outside," Tywin nodded to the guards. "If you'd prefer to sit."
"We'll stand."
Tywin said nothing for a moment. He then settled his eyes on Jon now with a lack of interest. "This must be your son."
"He is. My second-born, Jon."
"My word," Renly had smiled. "How long has it been since we've last seen you, Lord Jon?"
Now, all eyes had landed on him. He briefly felt the pressure behind his ears, and then promptly swallowed it. "About six years by my count, Lord Renly. I have fond memories of the South and wished to visit again."
"There isn't much to see when one rules over a barren tundra, I imagine." Littlefinger had piped up now, his slick little smile was infuriatingly smug to Jon.
"On the contrary, Lord Baelish, it's good country for riding horses. Plenty of hidden meadows and small valleys if one's eager to explore. Though I admit that it isn't kind if you cannot handle the cold." Jon did not fail to notice how Littlefinger had clutched his cloak during the meeting.
Indeed, Petyr Baelish had not expected Jon to return his serve. Jon had felt the swelter of satisfaction within him as the conversation carried on. "Where's the King? And Stannis?" his father had asked.
All eyes moved back to Tywin. "Lord Stannis has gone to Dragonstone. He did not say when he would return. And His Majesty has found the Kingswood a more prudent demand on his attentions. However, he has left a message for you." The Old Lion then stared directly at Littlefinger. The weasel-looking man had quickly slinked out of his chair holding a sealed letter in one hand and walked over to Eddard, handing it off to Jon's father.
Jon began to read the letter after his father had broken the seal. He wasn't all that surprised by what it read, though. His father had already mentioned that Robert wanted to throw a winter tourney in his honor.
"It says here that we're to arrange a tourney," Eddard began. Jon knew his father disliked those sorts of extravagances. "The prizes come out to ninety thousand gold dragons. Can the treasury bear such an expense?"
"Unfortunately not, Lord Stark," said Baelish without a care in the world. "The Crown is already six million gold dragons in debt. Half to the Iron Bank, and the other half-"
"To me." Tywin Lannister had said abruptly.
Jon immediately felt his senses firing off a warning. Was that why Tywin Lannister-not even appointed a seat on the Small Council-was really here? Was this some sort of trap set for his father? Or a prod meant to gauge his father's mind?
Eddard looked to Baelish with a sharp gaze. "Six million? Do you mean to tell me that Jon Arryn allowed Robert to beggar the realm?"
"I do, Lord Stark." Baelish nodded. "No doubt, Lord Arryn gave wise council…"
Renly gave Jon's father a nervous half-smile. "But my brother was never one for counting coppers. Or so he says."
Counting coppers. That sounded like Starag, but Jon now knew that there were two ways to do anything; the flashy way, and the intelligent way. Where the Crown was now six million gold dragons in debt, House Mormont was overflowing with gold. Starag had never shared how much his holdings were worth now, probably because there was too much to keep track of.
And being in debt to not only the Lannisters, but the Iron Bank itself was not the smart way to go.
"Indeed," Tywin Lannister's voice had broken into his thoughts. "I would gladly fund the tourney myself, only my own lands have suffered much to the raids and skirmishes of the Rivermen. Unfortunately, I cannot lend aid at this time." He said, leaving no room for argument while he stared directly at Eddard Stark. "However, I've heard that the North is doing rather well for itself these past few years. No doubt you would prefer to finance such a beneficial event for the people of King's Landing, Lord Stark?"
That was why the Old Lion was here. Jon saw the brief smirk that tugged at the Queen's lips upon hearing her father's words. Though Tywin himself was the picture of stone, Jon had a strong feeling he also wanted to see if Starks would melt under pressure.
"Pissing more gold away won't solve the problem." His father said. "I shall speak to Robert. This tourney is an extravagance we cannot afford at this time."
"But Lord Stark," The Queen started talking, her face the picture of worry. "Surely a good tourney would lift the peoples' spirits?"
"Be that as it may, Your Grace, I will not further put the Crown in debt. Not even for a tourney held in my honor." Ned threw the letter down on the table. "Besides, there are larger issues at hand. I saw hundreds of soldiers camped in Jaehaerys' Square. Why?"
The mood behind the meeting had quickly changed. As if most of the assembled players had thought they were going to watch a good show, only for them to be thrown into an interrogation. For a few moments, none of them spoke. And Tywin Lannister continued to lock eyes with Jon's father.
He wanted to meet us. Get the measure of us. Jon thought. Doesn't particularly care what happens after unless it affects him.
Slowly, eyes began to travel toward Tywin's end of the table, though most of the present members didn't bother looking into the Old Lion's eyes.
"Lysa Tully has called her banners and ordered her men to raid and pillage my lands. And now she comes to the city where my children and grandchildren reside." Tywin's eyes narrowed precisely an inch. "I do not intend to let her harm them."
"And where is Lady Lysa?" Eddard asked.
"Strongarm Manse, by the Old Gate." Varys had answered with an easy smile. "My little birds tell me she plans to leave the city with her sister."
"She'll do no such thing," Eddard said bluntly, looking to Littlefinger. "Lord Baelish, Lord Arryn mentioned in one of his letters that you and Lady Tully are close friends. Bring her here on the morrow."
Littlefinger bowed his head. "Of course, my lord."
Eddard looked at Tywin. "I shall need to speak with you in private after this meeting, Lord Tywin."
For a moment, it seemed as if the whole room was still. Nobody present had actually spoken that directly to the Old Lion in their lives.
Slowly, without a word, the older man dipped his head in acknowledgment of the request. There was a small glint of grudging respect in his eyes.
The meeting continued. No more amused glances were cast toward Jon's father. Instead, the members of the Small Council-save Lord Tywin and the Queen-were far more amenable to the new Hand of the King and his straightforward brand of leadership.
The Grand Maester soon brought out a map of the city at the order of Jon's father. From there, Jon was shown which patches and quarters inside the city walls that held Tully or Lannister troops.
As Jon looked out over the worn edges of the paper map, he grinned to himself.
Time to get to work.
Author's Notes
We're back!
Now we're kicking off the sequence of events inside King's Landing with Jon and Ned showing up and quickly taking the reins from the Lannisters. And Jon gets to have a few moments to himself to reflect on past battles, and whether he'd actually make a good ruler if the chance was given to him.
Two characters I was interested in seeing together are Tywin and Eddard, mainly because they're terrific foils for one another, and both are no-nonsense types of rulers who place similar-ish importance on family. Except where Tywin cares more about House Lannister's legacy/reputation, Eddard chooses to do good by his children while also knowing what is best for them. They both serve a good lesson in "you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar"
Next time we'll see more of Starag traveling through the Vale (he gets a surprise visit from someone in the night). Let's keep rolling!
Lb: I've never seen a full episode of House of the Dragon. And I don't have much interest in writing a fic for it, either.
As for Starag's integration, thank you. I like to think he could fit more or less in the same universe as the books without conflict. If someone is going to write an original character, taking the time to make sure the character is 10000% compatible with the world is the first thing they should figure out.
Jaybanks: You're preaching to the choir, my friend. I'm Jon Snow's #1 fan.
I was probably the most annoyed after his treatment in Season 7, but I was done with the show when Arya ended up killing the Night King while Jon stands there making baby faces at an undead dragon. I could write an essay on why Jon should've dueled the Night King, but I've got money to make.
Certain events are planned on the roadmap, and I can't say what happens right now, but I know you'll like it.