Chapter 6
There was a hush as I joined with the others seeking the throne. There was Viserys and his mother, and a surprising handful of small lords hoping to win. I was reasonably confident that they would not provide much issue. Instead I found my eyes gliding to my main competitors. "Does anyone else wish to lay claim to the throne?" Came the call from the maester leading the council. I had agreed to it so long as the tallies would be public - I would not see a repeat of the Great Council of 101. No one stood up. While ambition was possible, most smaller lords did not want to have the ire of their Lord Paramount, and the Lord Paramounts either supported me or found themselves unable to make a claim, like the Tyrells. Strangely, the structure of Great Councils did not weight the votes of Wardens or Lord Paramounts heavily - so Ned's absence was not a major blow, considering his lords knew who he supported.
After a long moment, the Maester nodded, his pale blue eyes roaming over the hall one last time. It was impressive how many Lords had gathered - asking the Maester had produced a result of one thousand and eighty four lords, masters, and landed knights in attendance.
"The candidates may present their case for ascending the Iron Throne." The Maester said, stepping away from the podium and beckoning Viserys and his mother up.
The queen allowed her cool gaze to rest upon the crowd. "By the laws of succession established by previous great councils, my son Viserys is the rightful heir to this throne. I will not see it usurped by the same men who killed my husband and son, not even under the guise of legality. Breaking the line of succession like this will cause chaos and war in the future. That is not a threat but a guarantee. Maegor usurped his nephew, and the realm suffered great disorder because of it." After a beat of silence, the queen continued. "I have little more to say. The laws of this realm stand behind my son. But I will remember which of you stand with us," The queen said. "That is all." The queen and her son stepped down, Viserys looking bored and uncomfortable, his fingers reaching up to fiddle with the circlet of silver he bore on his brow.
I stepped up to the podium next. "The queen cites great councils as the reason her son should bear the crown. Well, so shall I," I said, offering an easy, almost lazy grin to the crowd. "During the great council of two hundred thirty-three, Prince Aerion's son Maegor was passed over due to the possibility of madness and a long regency. Do we not see the same situation today? Before us sits a boy from a line which has already produced two madmen, one who kidnapped my betrothed and the other who burned her brother and father alive when they sought justice, sparking this war. Can we trust the line of such a madman, who oversaw such a breach of justice?" I asked, spreading my hands. "I would not, my lords. I ask you to place your trust in me instead. I shall rule justly and ably, and the realm will prosper as a result. If you place Viserys on that throne, it is a grueling ten year regency, and that is if he makes it to adulthood - many of my cousins did not. The realm did not see so much intrigue and betrayal as it did during the regency of Aegon the Third."
I paused, considering the lords before me. "There shall be no need to fear a succession crisis either, my lords. I have already proven capable of siring children." I offered a wry smirk. "Those of you who met me in the Vale know that fact well." A low chuckle sounded through the hall. "So I ask you; will you disinherit the line of Aerys? Will you place the closest successor on the throne, and see peace and prosperity for the decades to come? Or will you risk another Mad Aerys, and a decade long regency?" Part of me was awed by the stamping of feet that came forth, especially from my own lords in the Stormlands. Gods bless Robert and his natural ability to win allies. The infectious energy spread, and I watched many of the men I had spent swaying offer a cheer in support.
Rhaella looked like she had gotten into the lemon trees of Dorne. I offered a smile and a wave to the audience as I exited the platform.
Really, would it have gone another way? Sure, there had been plenty of loyalists at the beginning of the war, but with the Targaryens looking thoroughly defeated many had opted to jump ship while doing so was still favorable.
The other candidates offered their speeches, though I could barely pay attention, shifting in my seat as I was.
It was not a terrible surprise the council was going well. I supposed the Targaryens had seen this as their last chance to reclaim the crown before it inevitably fell in my hands, but even that effort was likely to fail. Still, it would take a couple of days for the council to finish.
"The council shall now hear speeches in favor of various candidates." The Maester said, looking out over the hall.
One lord stood up. A Reachman, by the cut of his coat and the richness of its fabric. "Why is this even a question? The usurper seeks to steal the throne right out from under his cousin. Well, he made a mistake, that's for certain. Young Viserys has more supporters than he knows!" A low murmur went up at that, with a few nods of appreciation mostly emanating from the Reachmen and some Riverlanders.
A Northerner stood next. From his coat of arms I surmised he was an Umber, perhaps Greatjon or his father. "And put the whelp of the bloody mad King on the throne? So he can grow up to spill more blood, kill more great lords? No, my lords, the lot of them should face the justice they failed to show Lord Rickard and young Brandon. A headsman's axe would see the seeds of rebellion wither before they get a chance to sprout. Robert should be king!"
A murmur of approval, mostly from the Northmen. I could see some of them considering the idea with a gleam in their eyes.
I raised my palms. "I will see no more blood spilled. If it must be so, let them be exiled," I called out into the hall. "Else the safe conduct promised here would mean nothing, and my reign would begin on tainted honor."
"Your so called reign has already begun on tainted honor, or have you forgotten the death of Lady Elia and her babe?" called a voice. Probably Dornish, hoping to stir things up.
"Their deaths were a travesty, no doubt. But justice has already been meted out, and the perpetrators handed over to the Martells." I replied, looking for the source of the voice.
"Is it true the Mad King planned on using wildfire in King's Landing?" Said another voice, cutting in.
"It is. Ser Jaime Lannister witnessed the plot and courageously put an end to it, saving countless thousands." Shocked whispers spread across the hall, amongst those who had not yet heard the news.
"And you would put the son of that man on the throne? Would you see the entire court dead when that boy comes of age?" The same voice was turning on the loyalists in the crowd. Chairs were scraping as men tried to find the sources of discontent.
"No surprise you would say that, Vance, you fucking coward," came a cry from one of the lords in the Riverlander section of the crowd.
Chairs scraped and I saw Lord Vance stand at his full height. "Shut your damn mouth, Mooton, you oathbreaking shit." I thanked whatever gods there were that blades had not been allowed within, or things would be descending into violence. As it already was, things were turning stormy, men eyeing each other. I could feel the tension in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife. The maester in charge was calling for order, but he found no luck. So I did what Robert did best. I let my voice boom out across the hall. "STOP THIS MADNESS! If we wanted things to come to blows, we'd just return to the bloody field." Most of the lords did, but the original instigators were still grappling with each other. So I moved swiftly across the hall, long strides bringing me to the scuffle in just a few moments. Mooton had fallen to the floor at this point, Vance's large form covering the Lord for the most part. A few men were trying to pull them apart, but their efforts were in vain.
But not mine. My fingers dug into Vance's shoulder, giving him only a moment's warning before I hauled him to his feet and off Lord Mooton. "Take your fucking disputes outside these halls. This is a Great Council, not a training yard." I hissed, voice dangerously low as I looked between the two lords. Mooton found his feet, his hand clutching his cheek where a bruise was already forming.
"He dishonored me and my house," Vance replied, his face a rich shade of purple.
"And he was wrong for that, just as you were wrong to attack him. Neither of you are in the right. Take your disputes to Hoster if it's so damned important to you."
After a long moment of sullen silence, Vance nodded slowly, his eyes running back to Mooton for a moment. Just to be safe, I had them sit on exact opposite sides of the Riverlander section, just to be safe. I returned to the podium, looking out across the hall of a hundred hearths.
"There's plenty of bad blood to go around, aye. But I expect you all to respect the rules of this Great Council, and to keep your disputes outside. We're here to decide the next king, not beat each other bloody." A few nods in the crowd; not many, but it was heartening to get any at all after the tension and violence that had burst out.
The head maester cleared his throat. "We shall adjourn for the day, to let tensions ease."
The lords murmured, standing up slowly and making their way out. I didn't even spare a glance to my competitors as I left the hall, cloak trailing behind me regally.
I just wanted to find a drink.
…
Later that night I found myself seated at one of the many tables in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, having abandoned the head table to see what the opinion among my factions were.
In short, not fantastic. Many had seen the bout of violence and were concerned about disputes and feuds flaring up with all the lords here, especially so shortly after a destructive war. I managed to ease the tensions some, but it was no surprise to see everyone alert. I did allow myself a couple of glasses of wine to ease the headache, rubbing my temples thoughtfully as I listened to Lord Fell and Lord Dondarrion quietly reminisce about a hunting trip the two had been on.
"...Robert? Lord Robert?" I snapped out of my heavy thoughts, eyes gliding over to Lord Dondarrion. "We were asking how you felt about your prospects in the council."
"Right. I feel quite good. I've managed to win over several lords, and with the North, most of the Riverlands and Vale, and the Stormlands behind me, I should be able to win, although I think I will manage to get Lord Tywin to back me and some Reachmen were swayed by my plans."
The men nodded, taking careful sips of water. Thankfully Harrenhal had access to groundwater of some kind; an aquifer, maybe. Part of me wondered if Dorne had an aquifer like that.
"You are likely to win, my lord. It is that or choose young Viserys, and that will mean a long regency," Lord Fell said, nodding his head thoughtfully.
"Just so long as this damned thing does not descend into violence. I thought myself clever, outmaneuvering any disloyal lords by forcing them to vote so I wouldn't have them complaining about choosing me or a pike, but instead I'm just seeing more violence here." I said, voicing my annoyed thoughts to the two men. Lord Dondarrion did not look too different to how Beric was described in the books, with hair a more rich brown than his son and a less handsome face, several long scars from a bear attack marring it.
"It's not too terrible a surprise, especially from the kingdoms with a great deal of splits, like the Riverlands. Have no fear, My Lord, things will settle down and you'll win handily."
"I certainly hope so," I muttered.
I should not have been quite so pessimistic. The night passed without much incident. Soon I was faced with another day of the Great Council, the lords assembling a couple hours before midday. "I did not expect your greenlander kingsmoot to be so… lacking," I turned to face Lord Farwynd, noting his well trimmed beard and sealskin cap.
"How so?" I wondered aloud.
He snorted. "No treasure, just boring speeches. Isn't a man supposed to be rewarded for supporting a king?"
I nodded my head. "There is truth in that. The rewards shall come further down the line, but they will be there. There will be rewards for the Ironmen, too, if they have the daring to claim it."
His eyes caught on mine. "Speak, then."
"There are few more skilled navigators than the Ironmen, yet their talents are all too often wasted on petty raids and fishing to sustain the population. There are ways to earn plenty of wealth that would bring riches aplenty to them." I paused, considering it. "I speak of finding a way westward to Essos and Yi Ti."
I had caught his interest from the sharpening of his gaze, but he kept his face largely neutral. "Men have tried it before, and died."
"Those men sailed inferior ships, with worse navigators, and improper tools." I paused. "I am no expert on the subject, but I do know a tool that could always point north, regardless of the time of day, which would allow a man to keep himself directed properly."
"Madness," Lord Farwynd scoffed.
"Many have said the same thing, stuck to the same old traditions, and failed to break new ground." I paused. "Tell me, Lord Farwynd, how would you like to be wealthy beyond compare?" I wondered.
"I would like that a great deal," he admitted.
"Good. Had you said otherwise, I would take you for a fool." I paused. "I shall discuss it with you after… what did you call it, the kingsmoot?" I asked, a wry grin crossing my face. "Until then."
After he found his seat and I returned to the dais where candidates waited, I considered the day ahead. Today could be the day we voted, if the candidates agreed and no one wished to speak further.
There were a handful more speeches from men in support of the candidates. Quiet murmurs filled the crowd, but thankfully they were more subdued after yesterday. After waiting for a bit longer, no one wished to speak further.
"If the candidates have nothing further to say, the voting may begin," the head Maester said. We all eyed each other for a moment. The beat of silence passed, and the Maester nodded. "We shall begin, then."
He paused as several of his acolytes and fellow maesters hauled forth buckets of rocks, distinct x's crossing the front and triangles marking the back. Evidently they were taking serious the threat of counterfeiting votes, though none had known the exact procedures beforehand.
Rocks were passed out to the lords, perfectly matching the amount in attendance. While this happened, several acolytes worked in the background, setting up booths and bringing in boxes with locks on them, symbols showing the houses of the men standing for kingship. I felt a swirl in my stomach at the sight of one of the stag boxes.
Ten booths in all there were, with each lord entering, dropping his stone in the box of the lord he preferred - too small to reach a hand back into and too deep to grab at the stones with a stray finger. I was one of the first in line, and naturally dropped my stone into my own box.
Then I waited for an hour, watching as the lines thinned and the men massed at the back to wait for the results. After the last men exited their booths, quiet chatter filled the hall. I found myself stood alone, considering the situation before me.
Then the Maesters stood, having returned from where they were counting stones.
"The final results have been tallied, and determined fair by this council of Maesters, affirming the result of the Great Council of 282 AC." One of the more burly maesters was speaking, clearly having learned from the mistakes of yesterday. His voice carried well throughout the hall. I looked out across the way, my eyes catching on Jon's. I had not had a chance to speak to him, having only arrived the day before the council. He nodded to me, confidence in his eyes helping me."
"Two votes each for Lords Barton and Ramgate. Three for Lord Blackwood. Two hundred twenty nine for Viserys Targaryen. Eight hundred and fifty three votes for Lord Baratheon. By acclaim of this Great Council, Lord Robert Baratheon is elected King."
A wild cheer took up in the hall from my own supporters, as the supporters of the other candidates - let's be real, of Viserys - looked on grimly and glumly.
"My thanks to you all for your support," I called to them. "I hope to see you all at my coronation and wedding."
Rhaella looked like she had swallowed yet another lemon, but she had accepted the terms of the Council; even she had to acknowledge the results.
I offered a winning smile to the crowd, the best Robert had, as I made my way down the hall, pausing to speak with supporters and accept congratulations and well wishes.
It was a good day, made even better by the news I discovered later that day in the rookery. Lyanna and Ned had arrived at King's Landing, their sea journey aided by a small escort and finding little trouble. I felt a little burden lift off my shoulders. At least dealing with Jon would be easier, with the support of the Lords behind me I could see the line of Aerys attainted and Viserys exiled. While it was a callous punishment to inflict on a child, it was also necessary to secure my throne for myself and my successors.
A/n I edited this chapters final counts. The core of Viserys' support comes from the Crownlands, Narrow Sea, and a scattering of River and Reachlords - namely, the people who had the most contact with the Targaryens or the most to lose, especially the Crownlands with Robert's efforts to centralize them into, well, proper crownlands.