It was a few days later, just shortly before Jon was supposed to leave and a day after Hoster had arrived, resplendent in his velvet and his men bedecked in gleaming plate, swooping banners in tow as his column carefully avoided the shit in the streets. He was not the ill man of the books; here he was whole, hearty, healthy. I found him to be a gracious enough man, though not without his plots of advancing his family. Still, at least he was largely open about his ambition; it was a breath of fresh air.
I found myself in one of the antechambers, quietly going over a few schematics that Pycelle had found which might be used to create my rudimentary printing press. I was comparing the benefits of various materials for the wooden type in my head when Jon entered, followed by a handful of his guard.
I had expected this, to be honest. Both Brynden and Barristan were with me in order to keep things even. Good will and trust could only last so long before Jon grew suspicious that I had been replaced by a faceless man or something equally sinister, and I wasn't acting like Robert nearly as much as I should, especially around a man who had known Robert for half his life.
So I had been preparing my explanation. "Robert," said Jon calmly, his tone slightly dangerous. "I have cause to believe that you are not the man I raised, that you have perhaps even been replaced." I could see the hands of my Kingsguard going to their hilts and I stopped them.
"Jon," I said, keeping my tone even, although my heart was beating furiously in my chest. "I know you do not have cause to trust me right now, but please, let us speak more privately. No guards, just the two of us. What I will say must be kept between us."
Jon considered me for several seconds, weighing my words. Eventually he nodded slowly. "Stay outside," He said to his guards. "If you hear my knock, come in immediately and be prepared for a fight." He grabbed a chair, setting it right beside the door as his men filed out, followed by my own Kingsguard, reluctantly.
The situation was tense as I sat down in my chair, pouring a cup of wine. I offered Jon one and he shook his head, so I simply sighed and sipped mine for a moment.
"You're not entirely wrong," I eventually said. "I am not the Robert you knew. I still have all my memories - you can ask me about anything only the two of us would know and I could answer - but…" I paused, considering how to phrase this. "When I was in the river, I think I drowned, Jon. I woke up in a strange world, entirely bizarre and different to Westeros. I lived for twenty three years there, Jon. It had so many impressive things, Jon. Towers of steel and glass, built not for fortification but for glory. Machines, able to fly vast differences and create great destruction, made entirely of metal. There were so many machines, Jon, capable of making work so efficient that barely anyone had to farm, yet the vast majority were well fed. And the governments!" I said, my voice growing a bit more excited about the topic I had actually majored in. "Governments capable of raising armies of millions of men and keeping them paid and fed without living off the land, Jon. Every man as capable of killing and fighting as a knight, able to rain death on their foes from vast distances."
I knew the rest wouldn't make a whole lot of sense to him as a feudal lord - the beauty and tragedy of democratic systems, the massive efforts of programs like social security and medicare to take care of the weakest. But I forged on regardless. "Medicines and doctors capable of healing nearly any wound, even the spectre of disease kept at bay by miraculous medicines and cures." I allowed the wonder I felt at the world I had once inhabited fill my voice. Then I finally looked at Jon. "And then, I was back here. But things were different, Jon. I had lived longer in that world than I had in this one, and now things that once made simple sense to me no longer do. I suppose I am guilty of wanting to make that world ours, of wanting to do too much too quickly, but I am not guilty of replacing Robert." A lie, but an unprovable one, since I had all of Robert's memories. "So yes, I have changed, changed as much as any man would from living in such a strange, beautiful world for so long. But I am not gone."
Jon seemed to be mulling things over for a good long while. He was likely not prepared for so open an admission. I had considered lying, but it would fail eventually in the face of Jon's knowledge of Robert. Having someone in my inner circle who knew what I had seen and been changed by would either build trust or get me killed. I was desperately hoping for the former, but part of me wondered if dying here would return me to my old world. Some part of me knew it wouldn't.
Eventually Jon spoke. "You will understand if I have trouble believing you," He said slowly.
"I would be surprised if you did not. It is a strange tale, even to me, and I lived the bloody thing." I admitted.
"Just to be sure…" Jon said, narrowing his eyes. "What did we do to celebrate your eleventh nameday?" He asked.
I closed my eyes, sorting through the memory of mini-golfing with friends before finding Robert's answer. "It was my first away from home," I admitted. "You brought me out to the foothills of the mountains, and showed me one of your trails you and your father had rode." I said, following the member along. There was a lot of tender warmth surrounding this one. "As we were riding along, you left the guards behind to show me a smaller path, and we rode along a bluff. Then you had us stop, and you pointed out a shadowcat's lair to me. The creature was resting, and I asked why we didn't hunt it," I recalled.
"'Why, a lord should respect his fellow lords,'" I said, at the same time as Jon, a bittersweet smile etched on his face.
"I will not pretend to know how you have changed, Robert." Jon said slowly. "But I am at least convinced you are not all gone." He shook his head. "I suppose I see now why you were so eager to push through so many strange changes," He admitted, standing slowly. "This Great Council… Robert, you're certain you wish to go through it? I asked Maester Pycelle to hold off on sending out the invitations until after this meeting."
I turned to the old lord. "I need a firm foundation for my reign to begin on. If I am acclaimed king by lords who support me and force others to bend the knee in the face of military might, the reigns of my sons and their sons will never be stable. Any man with enough swords may decide to strike out in hopes of claiming a crown," Like my brother, who was ten or so at this time. "But if I am acclaimed king at a Great Council, something that does not happen often at all, then it will be more difficult for ambitious lords to strike my sons down." That was another thing to consider remedying. Gender equality when it came to Westeros would be difficult, especially when inheritance went to the man's family rather than the woman's.
It would have to wait. This… unfortunate meeting with Jon reminded me that I was not invincible, and unlike him I did not have rapport with others to fall back on. I needed to pace myself rather than rush things.
It was something of a baptism by fire, and I had survived mostly unscathed. I didn't doubt Jon would be less hesitant to pump the breaks on me, so to speak, but honestly that would be helpful; having someone who had been immersed in the Westerosi system willing to tell me what was utterly unfeasible would be valuable.
"I am considering what to say to Lord Tully," I admitted, looking over to Jon. "If I begin to take actions as a king, people will see my Great Council as a farce, that I have every intent to sit on the throne regardless. But there are some changes that need to happen immediately, especially the policing of the roads - men who would normally deal with bandits are fighting each other instead, and war breeds desertion and brigandry like rats." I said, offering Jon a cup of wine. This time, he tentatively accepted as I considered the situation.
"Then don't make it an official post yet. Hint at it to Lord Tully to more securely gain his support, of course, but simply take action as a lord leading his army rather than a king leading his council." Jon said. Of course. The man had allowed Robert's whims - hard not to when the office of Hand had little bite against the King himself - but the realm had also enjoyed a great deal of prosperity. I thought faintly of peaches, and a grim smile crossed my face.
"A simple solution, but a wise one. The sooner the roads are cleared of bandits and hostilites are ended, the sooner commerce can resume and the treasury can begin filling instead of emptying. Well, guardsmen aside." I said.
"I suppose that idea is related to those armies you were speaking of earlier?" Jon asked, mostly rhetorically. "I had wondered why you were so interested in it. Admittedly, it would be valuable to have a good core of men able to fend off surprise attacks, but it would be a costly drain during peacetime."
"You're right, but I think the benefits would be worth it. Having the King's faction have the most swords behind him in the city ensures that any intrigues would have to enlist their assistance, and I plan to find someone decidedly uncorrupt to lead them. Perhaps my brother," I considered. "I had wondered if putting him as governor of the Stormlands in my absence would be wiser, but I believe the lords would chafe under him. But that same unbending, iron will would serve him well as captain. Pity it would chafe his damnable pride so much," I muttered the last bit.
"It's not the worst idea, but your brother would believe it a snub, if the tales you told me of him are true," Jon said carefully. "Think it over. There will be time for permanent appointments later, once I have returned and can advise you on who is best for what." I nodded my head thoughtfully.
"Aye. I hope things go well with the Martells. I wonder if telling them Princess Rhaenys may be fostered in Dorne if they support my bid for the throne would go over well with them." I wondered aloud.
Jon hesitated, his jaw working for a moment. "Perhaps. It would be difficult to phrase it where it doesn't seem a threat to her safety. I will likely not use it unless I need to tip things greatly - making promises like that can be unwise." I nodded my head at that. It was an idle thought, that was all.
"There's one more thing I'd like to discuss before I go meet with Hoster," I said slowly, drinking the last of the wine. I had hated the stuff back on Earth, but I had to tolerate it here. It was weaker, at least, thank god. "Lyanna. If… if she returns, it may be she will not want to marry again. She may… she may have a child borne from that bastard, even." I said slowly.
Jon considered that for even longer, taking several sips of wine as he thought. "If your bid at the Great Council goes well, that child will be disinherited at the risk of madness. She would likely care for the child, a mother's instincts are strong, so that would be a difficult roadblock, admittedly. Her not wanting it would also be difficult, especially after she was kidnapped and raped." Jon thought it over. "In the end you will have to ask her yourself, Robert." Jon shrugged. "I am not an expert on the subject of your betrothed."
Whatever part of Robert was left felt a dull throb of pain at the thought. Whenever I considered Lyanna, there was a mist of… infatuation, perhaps, hanging over her. It made it difficult to think clearly about marriage prospects. And I was fairly certain these emotions were dulled for me - for Robert, it must have been unbearable when she died.
Still no excuse for the pit he had fallen into after, especially considering Lyanna had been his betrothed, not even his wife.
"You'd best get some rest before heading out. I expect we'll hear news from Ned before the morrow, but if not, I suppose it will have to wait 'till after Sunspear," I said, reaching out and clasping his hand. He considered me for a moment, eyes focused on my own, before he nodded. "Right, then."
"Brynden, Barristan, with me," I said as I walked out the door, the two white cloaks falling in and serving as my shadows as I stalked the halls of the Red Keep. Lord Hoster was being housed in Maegor's Holdfast, and I made my way to his rooms, sending a messenger ahead to let him know I would be coming. I arrived before the door and the guard opened the door, murmuring something inside before drawing his metal capped head out and nodding to me deferentially.
"Your grace," He murmured, and his eyes followed me a moment longer than normal.
"Lord Hoster," I said pleasantly. He was a stout man, shorter than me but with thick dark eyebrows and a strong face that made him seem taller than he was.
"Your Grace," He said. "I'm pleased to meet with you so soon after arriving, of course. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He wondered aloud, beckoning his hand for a servant to bring forth some wine. I accepted the cup gratefully, taking a polite sip and then setting it aside. A pleasant buzz was nice, but any more and I'd get sloppy drunk.
"I had hoped to discuss a matter of great importance to you," I said. "With my upcoming plans for a Great Council and the war nearing it's close, I wished to convey a task upon you. One that would become permanent upon my ascension to the throne, meaning a seat on the Small Council, of course." Hook the bait, pull it along in front of his nose…
"And what might this duty be?" And he's taking it, good.
"As you well know, the roads are the lifeblood of a kingdom. All forms of commerce flow along them. Naturally since war breeds desertion and discontent, brigands will be a problem in the coming days. For now I would assign you several thousand of our cavalrymen to run along the main roads and ensure there are no bandits nearby. The sooner commerce and wealth can flow along the roads, the better. This is only the temporary duty, of course. Upon permanent appointment you would have greater duties and responsibilities, like managing new road construction, maintenance of current roads, and overseeing security and a system of messenger stations all along these roads." And if there happened to be a higher density of all of those things in the Riverlands, well, so be it. It was the centermost region, after all, bordered by all but the Dornish.
Hoster made a big show of considering it, hemming and hawing, but he ultimately accepted it. The post would be beneficial to him too and he knew it.
The next several weeks passed quickly. Jon departed south for Dorne, prisoners and bones in tow, followed shortly by the envoy to Dragonstone. I continued arranging things with the Whents for the Great Council, overseeing the training of my men, the first two hundred of which had been recruited as a test phase - marching in step, carrying heavy packs on their backs, formations, basic things that would instill discipline that I hoped would not shatter immediately on the field. The smiths were pleased with my patronage and intrigued by the possibilities presented by the waterwheels. Slowly I saw to it that they were housed and armed, and when I was presented with them in their gleaming steel, halberds and crossbows held at parade rest, I found myself filled with pride at the sight. They were all raw, but as the weeks passed Aron and I shaped them to steel.
News arrived from Ned that the Reachmen had dipped their banners, and I got a message through to Stannis, offering him the position of captain of the new guards if he wanted it. I needed a new name for them, admittedly. His reply back was as stony as ever - a muted 'I will do as you command' but I could tell he felt it was a slight. I would have to convince him otherwise, I supposed.
Jon sent news of his progress with negotiations back, saying that he was hopeful and that the Martells were not hostile at the least, which seemed a good sign - perhaps the offer of justice had worked, and Jon wouldn't need to pull the trump card out.
Tywin continued to slyly try to move into my good graces, offering me advice on good appointments - almost all Westermen, naturally. I informed him that I would consider some of them - I would want representation from all the regions I could get, after all, though the ironborn were.. tough. He continued to broach the topic of Cersei, and I continued to put him off, telling him it would have to wait until news of my betrothed arrived.
Then news arrived from Starfall, that Ned had arrived. He had with him five of his eight original companions, Oswell Whent, a wounded Gerold Hightower, and a weak but thankfully alive Lyanna and babe in tow.