Chapter 7
While the election was done, there was still business to be done in Harrenhal. Wrangling my new lords for the small council, for example. My current running list was Wyman Manderly as spymaster (cunning, but loyal) Hoster as my Master of Roads, Leyton Hightower as the Master of Customs, Damon Marbrand as Lord Treasurer (one of the few men who matched up on both the list Tywin had 'helpfully' provided me and Jon's list. Plus, I recognized the name from his son, Addam, who had been a pretty good Westerlander. I hoped the same held true for his father.) Jon, of course, as my Hand. Lord Orys Dondarrion would serve as Master of Laws. Would I really be a king without a little favoritism for my own region? With Stannis as Captain of the Royal Guard and, brewing in the back of my mind, perhaps as a counterpart to the Hand meant to handle military matters (the Fist of the King, perhaps?) There would be a slight majority for the Stormlands. Finally Lord Allyrion Dayne would serve as Master of Ships, to round off the council. Admittedly he wasn't the best choice, but I wouldn't snub Dorne by, for example, putting a Redwyne in the position.
Those meetings went largely smoothly. It was the meeting ahead that turned my gut. So my thoughts churned like a whirlwind, again and again, as our procession returned from Harrenhal, banners whipping in the wind proudly as my guards proved their discipline, marching ably along the edges of the column to the beat of a drum. The Lords I had wrangled were trailing behind the procession, their own men less orderly and careful but still resplendent - not to be outdone for pageantry, though careful to not outdo the newfound King. Not that they could have outdone my men, of course.
To distract myself from Lyanna, I turned my thoughts rather deliberately to the remaining Targaryens. Rather than face whatever small mercy I would have bestowed upon them (excluding Viserys) - perhaps Summerhall, as a reminder of what hubris can do to the House of the Dragons, and surrounded by loyal bannermen - They had opted to flee. I had allowed them. What little influence they could exert would be gone, my promise to honor the Great Council's sanctity and not kill them upheld… It was a winning solution. I would have to be wary of envoys from Dorne to the court in exile, but once they were out of sight for a time and my policies brought newfound wealth and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms, their ability to win would fizzle out. Pretenders make good fodder for angry nobles, but I would move slowly and carefully. Jon's half-coup had reprimanded me thoroughly on that front. I needed to be more like Baelor Breakspear, using the institutions themselves to exact necessary change.
So we marched, and I considered things around me, half baking plans and finding myself ultimately distracted. I was concerned that there might be some external force pushing the Targaryens away, perhaps to railroad Dany onto the path of hatching dragons. But how would that work, if I did not play the part of the vengeant King and order her killed?
I realized with a start that the column was slowing. We had crested one of the smooth, lumbering slopes near the Blackwater, offering a good view of King's Landing.
The burnt out husks were gone, cleared by deliberate action from the newly reorganized Gold Cloaks and my own trainees as strength training and a favor to the peasants. Carpenters worked carefully, their scaffolding like toothpicks from this distance. I had ordered a more structured rebuilding of King's Landing, with proper cisterns and the like. The destruction of the Dance of the Dragons had broken much of the infrastructure Jaehaerys had made - unfortunate for the smallfolk as it was, it provided a good foundation to rebuild that infrastructure from. Hopefully King's Landing would smell less like shit. My gaze turned to the Blackwater, where water wheels were under construction, different craftsmen finding themselves eager to hop on the wagon when it proved profitable. I smiled at the sight, watching men with hooks scramble in the water like ants, catching logs and guiding them to one of the mills.
It was good to know I had had some effect on Westeros.
But I also had to admit I was stalling. I needed to make the right impression on both my court and Lyanna - so that I didn't suffer a 'boar attack' and also didn't suffer a loss of face. If nothing else, it would establish me as a strong king. If I went through with the marriage pact, all the better that my first impression was not terrible. Well, actually, it was probably, hmm, my seventh impression. But my first as a king, and that was more important.
Plus, what can I say? I have a soft spot for Jon. He had all the qualities of a good king in the story, and was a solid candidate for the Prince That Was Promised. I paused to consider that. If he was never going to inherit, would he be a prince forever? Did it matter? It seemed like George was driving towards some other point in the books, with the entire Aegon storyline. Shame I would never know the truth, but it was fun to theorize.
I spurred my horse onward, and the column followed, banners flapping in the wind. The men on the walls - new trainees mixed with Gold Cloaks and Northmen, judging from the golden glints on the wall - called out a greeting with the horn, and we returned with a call of our own. The gates opened, and we made our way through the city street, the smallfolk clearing the way and watching carefully as we moved. I was still new to them, the Sack fresh in their minds, so they likely didn't know what to think of me.
Soon they too would bear the fruits of my efforts, I thought with a wry smile. But for now they shied away, sure that their lives would be the same as before.
Ned met us as the gates, looking solemn in his garb, his cloak billowing around him in the sea breeze. Standing by his side was Lyanna, in a grey gown, holding a linen swaddled bundle in her hands. Her gaze met mine, sharpened by her stormcloud eyes, and she dropped into a proper curtsey. She was beautiful, I would give her that, though she looked exhausted, the bags under her eyes and her short stature (I would be surprised if she was an inch over five foot two) almost surprising me. With how so many characters remembered her, I guess I expected someone… fiercer. It certainly made the knights she faced seem more pathetic, now that I thought about it. Still, I dismounted carefully, handing the reins off to a stableboy.
The Royal Guards I dismissed with a calm nod, filing away to their barracks for rest after a long march. "My lady, it is good to see you returned from your kidnappers." I offered by way of greeting. Lyanna nodded her head, grimacing at the reminder. Let her stew in it. She had fucked up, not me. I allowed a broad smile at Ned. "Ned," I said, bringing him in for a hug. "I am glad to see your ugly mug alive, especially going up against the Sword of the Morning," I said, allowing a touch of joy to seep into my voice. Then I allowed myself to grow more serious. "I suppose we ought to find a more private place for this discussion. It will be a long one, no doubt." I sought out a servant, finding a young page. "Gather some others and help the lords find chambers. In Maegor's Holdfast, for most of them." Once the boy sped off, I beckoned for them to follow.
Ned did, Lyanna taking a long moment to follow. She held the bundle closer, refusing a wetnurse's grasping hands. I supposed that made sense. Even without the old Robert's behavior towards Targaryen children, it would take some healthy paranoia to prevent his assassination, probably by the hands of some Lord thinking they were doing me a favor, Thomas Beckett style.
We made our way through the halls of the Red Keep, though they seemed less impressive after being at Harrenhal. Finally we reached an out of the way meeting chamber which - I noted with distaste - was still decorated with Lannister colors from Tywin's time as Hand.
Finding my seat at the head of the table, I considered the two - no, three - Starks. I was trying to work out what to say first. Despite spending long hours on the road thinking it over, I was still no closer to knowing what to say. Finally, I blurted out, "Why?" I paused, trying to find what I elaborate on, but Lyanna knew what I meant.
"He offered me such sweet tales," she finally said after a moment. "Queenhood. Freedom. Everlasting loyalty." She looked around the room as if to say, you can see the results. "I was a silly little fool, with a head full of tales. Here was the handsome prince to whisk me away from my betrothal to a man I feared would never stick to one bed." She paused, swallowing hard. "It was a coat of lies he wore. He was a monster, but the worst part was he believed himself good. That raping me would fulfill his prophecies and save the world."
I nodded slowly, tenting my fingers. "You recognize that I have every right to void this betrothal? To send you North with Ned to a life of shame and embarrassment?" I asked. She grimaced, but eventually nodded. "Good. You recognize the situation, at least. I will not pretend you were not a fool. You were. The Mad King may have started the war by burning your brother and father, but they would never have been in that situation if you had not fled with your prince. And even if you had succeeded, what of Lady Elia and her children?" I paused, letting my thoughts wander a bit as she mulled that over. Tracks of tears rolled down her cheeks as she nodded. But I found my face resting on my fist, my eyes focusing on the decorations around me. Red and gold, red and gold. Memories of bodies wrapped in red cloaks to hide a grievous crime. Was that my next best option? A lady of a line so fragile it shattered mere months after Tywin died. A lady who committed incest with her brother, kingslaying, and a thousand other crimes. Oh, sure, they hadn't happened yet, but how could I know they wouldn't? With Lyanna, at least, things would have to be different. She had been dead originally, after all. So I turned my eyes back to her. Ned was sitting in silence, watching things proceed. His eyes met mine. Make your choice and I'll support it, he seemed to be saying. Perhaps I was just looking for confidence.
"Lyanna," I said. She looked up, holding her child closer. I looked down at him. "I shall marry you. Your son, however, would be at great risk in the court. So here is what I shall do. He shall bear the name of Stark, renouncing all claim to the Targaryen name, the Iron Throne, or any associated with it. He shall go to the North, and be raised there with however many cousins Ned gives him -" wink towards Ned, since a little bit of bawdy humor was well within Robert's repertoire - "And, gods willing, that will be the end of it. He'll be a true little Northman, without the influence of poison words in his ear or, for that matter, poison down his little throat. Those are my terms."
Lyanna looked down at the babe and then up at me. "Take Brandon away?" She wondered. Ned nodded his head in approval. She considered it for several long seconds, and I decided to nudge her.
"It is not as though I shall never go North to visit Ned and take stock of my kingdom. You will see him on occasion. But he must be raised there." I explained. "Those are my terms," I repeated.
She considered it for a long while. "Very well," she finally said. She turned to Ned. "You'll take care of him, right? Make sure he's raised well?" Her tone sounded pleading.
"Of course, Lyanna. And with Robb so close in age to him, I am sure they will be close." Ah, so Robb had already been born.
Lyanna turned back to me and nodded. "I'll… I'll accept." I nodded my head resolutely.
"I'll see to it that the proper documentation is drawn up, very official. As to the wedding date, I believe having it close to my coronation will ensure everyone of note can attend." Thank god I had stewards to sort that stuff out; party planning had never been my forte.
Finally I looked to Lyanna. "Meet me in the godswood an hour before sunset," I said. While I didn't really need to court her, I wanted to show that I was not just a serious king or, for that matter, a philandering lout. It would have to be secret to maintain my standing, of course, but ensuring a good relationship would keep one more potential knife out of my back. Which was good, because Tywin would need some serious wooing after this. He was a bastard, and oversaw some real Machiavellian brutality, but damn if I didn't need allies right now.
The meeting done, I paused to speak with Ned after Lyanna left, likely to settle down a now fussing Brandon for one of the last times. His frown had deepened during the meeting. "Robert, you truly have changed. But it cannot be accounted for by the war. I was there with you nearly the entire time." He looked at me with concern. "You've been different ever since the Trident. Since you nearly drowned, as a matter of fact." I nodded my head at that.
"I told Jon of this, but I did not get much chance since you left for the south to break the siege and find your sister. Thank you for both of those, by the way." He nodded at the thanks but waited for me to continue. I offered him a similar explanation as that I offered Jon. He seemed a bit mollified by it, at least.
"Such strange visions… I've not heard of such a thing happening before. You're sure these inventions and machines work?" Ned asked. It was a valid question. Frankly, ASOIAF could be in an entirely different universe with slightly tweaked laws, just enough to entirely upend my schemes. But I was fairly confident.
"Surely you passed the waterwheels on the way here. One of many machines I plan to use to bring prosperity to the kingdom." Ned nodded at that, reminded of them. "There shall be more to come, Ned. I have great plans to expand the wealth of this Kingdom of mine. Plans that even involve the North. Tell me, what shipping does the north do along the White Knife?"
After a long discussion on that front, I had the information I needed. Not much trade was done along the White Knife beyond bringing in food, bringing out various trade goods. I could utilize the river as both a source of power and irrigation, then, to fertilize the southeastern portion of the North. Not just that, however. The Wolfswood stretched to the headwaters of the White Knife, which meant there was an excellent opportunity for shipping logs down the river, milling them into planks, and selling the wood to Braavos for an excellent profit, since they always needed more hardy wood for ships. Already I was plotting out the first portion of my trading fleet's journey. With the wealth secured by selling the wood, I could have my men purchase the fine trade goods characteristic of the Free Cities, filling their holds with cloths, dyes, glass, and other manufactured goods to sell further east.
It was a crying damn shame that so few Westerosi kings had invested in trade properly, especially when it was the lifeblood of kingdoms. Jaehaerys had understood that when he built the roads, and I would improve upon them, of course (The apparent lack of bridges, for one - probably another godsdamn problem that no one bothered to solve after the Dance of the Dragons) but trading outside the Kingdoms would provide me a steady supply of income, keeping me from relying too much on my lords and in turn allowing me to make steady power plays with my foundation secured. In addition to my efforts to centralize the Crownlands, the King would have a proper power base.
It was almost too convenient. I needed to plan out as many contingencies as possible, whether it be pirates (gods, would I need to clear those bastards out sooner or later) strange, terrifying diseases from being blown to Sothoryos or the Summer Islands or god knows where, or really any other disaster that could befall the fleet before it returned with its riches.
But for now, I had a meeting to make.
I made my way to the godswood, leaving Barristan and Brynden to guard the outside and make sure no one spied upon us. Then I went further in, finding myself standing before the heart tree. I heard the crackling of a branch and turned my head. Lyanna stood there, in riding breeches and a shirt this time. I found myself both surprised and unsurprised at the choice of attire, and it was not just the Robert part of me that admired how the breeches hugged her skin. She looked elegant and casual all at once, and I found myself somewhat jealous. Martyn Cassel followed after in the garb of a Stark guardsman, his grizzled face looking a bit annoyed at playing glorified chaperone. Still, considering what had happened the last time Lyanna had met someone in the godswood, I guess it was a good precaution on Ned's part.
"My lady," I offered as a greeting. "It's good to see you." I allowed my eyes to glide over the outfit again before offering an unspoken question with my eyes.
She flushed a bit. "I assumed with the secrecy I could get out of those stuffy dresses for a bit," she admitted. I nodded my head and shrugged. Fair enough. I would expect propriety in court itself, but here, with just loyal guards watching? Why not. After all, it wasn't like we were going to sip tea and do needlework. I reached inside one of the hollow trunks laying on its side and produced two wooden practice swords.
"I believe the example of Lady Elia is proof enough of the value of learning self defence," I explained. "Now, I shall guard and you shall attempt to attack me." She grinned, and I found myself shocked that it was the first time I had seen her properly smile. Then it was on, and my mind wandered no more, focused on the thrill of a fight.