A/N: Happy New Year. Let's all pray 2022 is better.
Chapter Thirty: Restoration
Robb Stark was adorable.
Quick to anger, even quicker to forgive, and with his heart bleeding all over his sleeve. He was a natural born leader of men and a tactical genius.
Politically, he was an idiot.
Brynden Tully, on the other hand, was not. Which explained why the man sat glowering in the great hall of Castle Derry where the newly unified leaders of Westeros had gathered to celebrate the peace. Men were dancing and singing to the accompaniment of pipers and lutes who magically appeared out of nowhere to provide for entertainment.
The food, of course, Taylor knew about. It came in carts from farms across the Riverlands.
She danced with them all—with Robb Stark, his half-brother Jon; she even took swirls with Sansa and little Arya. The dances were all roughly choreographed through ages of tradition, but the roles of the dancers weren't important. The goal was to lose oneself in the joy of the moment.
At the head table, the Blackfish sat pouting. During a second dance with Robb, she said, "Your uncle looks rather put out with us."
For all his scars, the young nobleman blushed like a boy of twelve. "Aye, he thinks perhaps I should have pressed our cause more."
Taylor chuckled. "Your lady wife is a lucky woman, Robb Stark. You live with passion. But the Blackfish needn't worry. The fact the war is over doesn't mean negotiations must end. Would you object if I spoke to him about his concerns?"
Rather than take offense, Stark looked relieved. "That might ease his mind, your grace."
"Good. Go dance with your sisters. I'll see if I can crack the Blackfish's frown."
"As you command, your grace!"
The exuberant young man, only a few years Taylor's junior, swept across the floor to pull his youngest sister screaming into a dance. Taylor made her way to the head table. She noticed, to her surprise, that Sansa and Tyrion had also joined the Blackfish.
The three all stood when she approached, though she waved them back to their seats and settled in. Somehow, a cup of watered wine appeared at her side, along with a small bowl of diced blood oranges. It was good to be queen, she reflected.
She shoved the bowl in front of the others as she settled into her seat. "Robb is quite the dancer," she noted to Sansa.
"Yes, your grace," Sansa said. "In the saddle or in the hall, he's always been among the best."
Taylor smirked. She couldn't help it. Sansa was thinking the same thing she was about her brother's strengths and weaknesses. The Blackfish actually grunted.
"So, Ser Brynden, now that the civil war is finally over, let's get down to business. Tell me, Ser, if we were back at the pavilion and you were laying out the terms for the North to bend the knee, what terms would you demand?"
"Stop boarding our shipping," the Blackfish said without a moment's hesitation. He added a gruff, "Your grace."
Taylor looked to Tyrion. The dwarf nodded. "Already done, your grace. A raven flew out to Ser Davos as soon as we reached the castle to Ser Davos."
Tully looked surprised. "And the extra taxes levied against our merchants?"
At this, Tyrion looked a little less enthused. "In truth, ser, we need the revenue."
"What rate?" Taylor asked.
"Half," Tyrion admitted.
Taylor tried not to snort. She knew it wasn't his decision. "All that does is drive merchants to smuggle. I don't want any merchant levies exceeding ten percent. It may go lower in the future, but I want more trade, not more smuggling." She looked to the Blackfish. "Would this address your concerns, Ser?"
"It would, your grace. I'm surprised by your quick agreement, though."
"It's difficult for people to become wealthy on lands alone," Taylor said. "But good trade and produce can create wealth. The more wealth the kingdom creates, the more everyone enjoys its benefits. Taxes are a necessary evil, but they're also the destroyer of wealth. So we have to find a balance that does more good than harm. It's a process."
Tyrion stared at her, his jaw gaping. He closed his mouth, only to gape again. When he finally found his voice, he said, "Is...this to be the philosophy of the Iron Throne, your grace?"
"One can hope," Taylor said. "As I said, it's a process. Because just as we must find a way to leverage taxes against wealth without causing harm, we also need to find a way to leverage the needs and safety of the people against the unbridled pursuit of wealth. I view the Iron Throne as a servant to the people of the Kingdom. But understand, ladies and gentlemen, I include all citizens of the kingdom in that statement, regardless of their birth status."
Ser Brynden regarded her with a carefully schooled expression. After a moment, he said, "Your grace, Ser Kevan Lannister is housed under my protection at Riverrun. What is to become of him?"
The question shouldn't have surprised Taylor. She knew the last Lannister fighter had sought refuge with his former enemies after she took King's Landing. She glanced at Tyrion. "Tell me about your uncle, Tyrion."
Her minister of finance drowned a cup of unwatered wine. "A Lannister man through and through. And like us all, he has suffered. He has lost all three of his sons-one in King's Landing fighting for Cersei, and two at the hands of Robb Stark's bannerman, who murdered the squires in their cell."
"And for that crime, Robb had Rickard Karstark beheaded, and lost the Karstarks as bannermen," Sansa pointed out quickly.
"Yes. Blood for blood." A servant swooped in and his bronze cup was once again full. For a moment. "Ser Kevin was...kind to me, your grace. He and his dear wife Lady Dorna were the closest things I had to parents growing up. He was fiercely loyal to my father, but he was honorable, your grace."
Taylor looked to the Blackfish. "What's your take on the man?"
"A good knight and an honorable man who fought on the losing side, your grace. Before I rode north he'd received news that his wife had perished by her own hand when she received word of their last son dying. He has suffered as much as any man could."
She heard respect in the man's voice, and pity too.
"I believe I've shown that I don't hold grudges against families, only those individuals who act against me." She nodded to Tyrion. "If he wishes to bend the knee and make fealty to the throne, he and his men will receive the same pardon as the rest who supported Lord Stark and the Lannister pretenders. If his pride does not allow that, I'm sure Lord Commander Baratheon would welcome him to the Wall."
"And wouldn't that be an odd meeting?" Tyrion said. His voice had grown thick, and his eyes had a sheen to them. "A kindness, your grace. Thank you."
The dancing continued. Robb was twirling every lady in attendance.
"What of the Wildlings at the wall, your grace?"
She looked back at the Blackfish. "It seems to me if we fight them, we'll have to fight them twice. Once as wildlings, and once again as wights. It also seems to me that we have a great deal of empty land in the North."
"They're raiders and rapists," Tully noted. "Robbs people will not take kindly to them."
"So were the Northmen during the war," Taylor said. "And the Lannister forces as well. There was a philosopher of the lands beyond Asshai who once said that man, at his best, was the noblest of creatures; but set apart from law and morality, the worst. We'll just have to make sure that the Wildlings know the law of the land."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The next morning, Taylor climbed out of bed. Quaithe was already gone about her mission for the day. For a brief moment, she looked for Missandei or Barristan before biting back a brief surge of regret. The pain had faded, but the regret and loss remained.
Instead of her own people, she saw one of the Darry girls (and didn't that have an odd ring) who was serving as her chamber maid for the day. After a year on the planet, Taylor had come to accept the absence of morning showers. Fully immersive bathing was a time-consuming activity. Instead, most northerners used small casks and sea sponges to wash. She did so then, washing the day's sweat from her skin. She'd just finished when the maid woke, terrified that she'd failed in her duties.
"Don't worry, dear, you had a late night. I let you sleep."
"Thank you, your grace," the girl said with a nervous curtsy. "Does your grace require anything?"
"Perhaps some tea," Taylor said. Given the lack of clean drinking water, she didn't drink anything that wasn't boiled or alcoholic.
The girl scampered away as Taylor dressed. She'd packed light for her flight, but had spare linens. So she was back in her semi-formal culottes, but with a woolen tunic with cloth-of-gold and ruby panels similar in shape to armor.
When she came down stairs, she was pleased to see that Lord Yronwood had finally joined them. The lord regent of the Vale found himself in a difficult position. He was good friends with Robb's father, but Robb's aunt Lysa was essentially responsible for starting a civil war and getting Robb's father killed. Taylor's offer of neutrality gave Lord Yronwood the door he needed to avoid breaking any other vows, while at the same time breaking Robb's trifecta of Riverrun, the Vale and the North. She suspected the Vale's neutrality played as much role in the North's surrender as the threat of the Wildlings and the Long Night.
"Your grace," Lord Yronwood said. Without hesitation, he knelt down with head bowed.
"Rise, Lord Yronwood," Taylor said, familiar with the ritual after having overseen hundreds of others. "And be welcome to the Queen's peace. Do you have Lord Arryn with you?"
"Aye, your grace. He's...improving."
And wasn't that a story? The young son of Lord Jon Arryn, the Warden of the Vale, had been spoiled and poisoned by his own mother almost to the point of being damaged. Lysa Arryn was a very disturbed woman.
"I'm pleased you could join us," Taylor said. "I've requested a closed breakfast with only a handful of lords. I'd be pleased if you could join us."
"It will be my honor."
The tables were rearranged within the hall of Castle Darry at her insistence. They were placed together to form a hemisphere which faced two large wooden boards. One held a recreation of an ancient and well-known tapestry map of the north, from White Harbor to the Wall. The original was centuries old, chartered by the Targaryens and their dragon-riding map-makers.
This one was less than a month old, commissioned by Taylor herself.
The second was a wood frame that held a large, heavy but relatively thin sheet of dark gray slate, smoothed with grit, sand and a lot of elbow grease.
Lord Yronwood stood studying the map when she entered, and after his oath, continued to do so. "If I may, your grace, I was told Prince Doran was in attendance in the parley yesterday. Is he still here?"
"Unfortunately, I need him to run the Kingdom while I'm in the field," Taylor said. "My Uncle is a capable and even-tempered man. His brother's a viper. Between them I have no doubt they could keep the peace. And…"
Taylor stopped mid-sentence when she saw Sansa walk in beside Tyrion fucking Lannister. Tyrion looked somewhat confused, and when he saw his queen staring at him, openly alarmed. Sansa, though, looked pleased. She did have the grace to blush when she saw Taylor staring.
"Your grace," Sansa said with a court-perfect curtsy.
"Lady…" Taylor shook her head. "Sansa, I was under the distinct impression that you were going to seek an annulment. I know for a fact that Tyrion agreed to provide one. I didn't even have to threaten to cut his balls off for him to offer it."
Tyrion opened his mouth to speak in his defense only to make an odd squeaking sound. Sansa demurely studied her feet. "After speaking to him last night, my queen, my husband and I have reached an accord. If your grace permits, I shall return to King's Landing with him as Lady Lannister."
Tyrion finally found his voice. "Your grace, I am as confused as you."
The stunning young woman, barely older than Taylor was when she triggered, met the queen's eyes. "I have learned that strength of character and wit are as beautiful as any appearance, and last much longer. My husband was as kind to me now as then, and I find to my surprise that I enjoy speaking with him."
Among other things. Taylor had heard of Lord Tyrion's famous brothel adventures. It was frankly a miracle that the man wasn't a walking pox. She met the dwarf's face. He, though, was lost in confused study of Sansa, as if he couldn't quite understand what she'd said.
"You'll need to let your brother know. Lord Tyrion returns to King's Landing after the meal. If you intend to go with him…"
"I do, your grace. I brought all I might need. And I spoke to Robb before we arrived."
Taylor's gaze once more shifted to Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion. Are you, too, content with this marriage?"
He opened his mouth, then tilted his head. "In truth, your grace, I don't feel worthy of it. But I can't be unhappy with the match. She is a beautiful young woman, but I find that the young girl I protected from my nephew has grown into an intelligent and striking woman. What man could ask more?"
"You do understand you'll need to cut back the wine, and no more brothels."
"All men must sacrifice for their families," Tyrion said piously, folding his hands before him as if in contemplative prayer.
Taylor snorted. "Be on the ship for King's landing when we're done. I want that proposal for the bank ready by the time all this is settled."
Tyrion bowed, and then glanced at Sansa. "I'll have it in your hands the day after you return, your grace."
They took their seats. Others came-Robb Stark and his Uncle. Jon Snow, representing the Night's Watch. Jon rolled Bran Stark in on a primitive but cleverly crafted wheelchair.
Of her own generals in attendance, she saw the newly appointed Lord Dunstonbury, Laswell Peake, enter beside Rezhal mo Zhaeq. With the deaths of Ser Barristan and Wylis Toyne, she'd given command of her horse to Peake. Rezhal continued to command her Unsullied, with Grey Worm now a senior squad captain, but she'd tasked Baelor Hightower as one of her generals, given he brought another ten thousand with him, and could call another ten thousand easily.
Greatjon Umber and his son Smalljon came as the most powerful of Stark bannermen, following the fall of the Dreadfort and the elimination of the Boltons.
Hightower represented the Reach; Yronwood the Vale. The Blackfish was the Riverlands, even if his nephew was officially it's lord. Prince Oberyn was still cleaning up the last Lannister rebels, and at her orders was now going through quelling the various little pockets of lawlessness that sprouted up during the war. He'd no doubt join them in time.
Last to arrive was Quaithe. She'd spent the early morning on her own mission, quietly searching for Warlock or other magical influences. Behind her mask, she nodded to Taylor that they were secure. With that, Taylor stood and walked to the map. "My lords, thank you for joining me this morning. I know it was a long night for many of you, though I promise I will not comment on the Greatjon's singing voice."
Greatjon laughed louder than those laughing at him. Like Robb Stark, Greatjon was a fearsome fighter. He also made Robb look like Machiavelli. The man was as dumb as an ox. His son was a little better, if just barely.
"I wish us to eat our fill, and then begin the work of defending the United Kingdom of Westeros. To that end, let us break our fast together."
She took her seat in the middle of the hemisphere of tables, with Robb on one side and Ser Baelor Hightower on the other. The food was simple but plentiful-porridge sweetened with honey and crystal sugar from the Summer Islands. The northerners were enthralled by the treat-none of them had ever had processed sugar before.
Of course, it was a meal in the north, so there were also thick cuts of venison and eel pies and other foods that Taylor would never have imagined eating back in Brockton Bay. And when the food was cleared and heavily watered wine was dispensed, she nodded to Tyrion as he stood and, taking his young wife's hand, left the room to catch ship for King's Landing. Quaithe followed with a nod.
When they were gone, the doors were closed and more rushlights and lanterns were brought in to provide additional light.
"My lords and ladies. Now that our bellies are full, it's time to get to work. As you all know, we're facing two threats. The immediate threat is the hundred thousand wildlings that are camped right outside Castle Black." She took a large, rough piece of chalk and wrote "Wildlings" on the left-hand side of the slate board.
When she looked back, the men were staring at her as if she'd just performed magic. "Slate and chalk, my friends. A tool I learned about beyond Asshai. So, back to business. That is the immediate threat. The longer-term threat is the White Walkers."
She wrote that on the right-hand side.
To her approval, no one scoffed at the idea of the White Walkers. The Northmen had already been introduced to the idea, and those she brought from the South had learned to take her at her word.
"Let's look at the most immediate threat. First, the problem itself. If we choose to fight the wildlings, then we will have to do so twice-first as men, then as wights. In fact, I would suggest the second fight would be worse. Children and the infirm would not fight us the first time around; they most certainly would the second. We also know the Wildlings do not live by our laws, and have a history of raiding, murder and rape."
As she spoke, she wrote her points. When done, she turned to face the assembled lords. "So, we discuss the first threat. For the duration of this meeting, I wish to say that all thoughts are welcome, no matter how odd or foolish they might sound. My lords, what are your thoughts on how to deal with this immediate threat?"
"Kill them all and burn the bodies!" Greatjon roared enthusiastically.
Taylor dutifully wrote out "Kill and burn them" on the board. "Do we have any other thoughts?"
"Aye," Jon Snow said. "Let them in. Give them land in the Gift. And make them help us defend the wall."
Taylor wrote "Accept them as allies" on the board. Turning, she faced the lords of the realm. "Now, we have to figure out which of these two approaches has the best outcome for the greatest number of people."
"What's that mean?" Greatjon asked.
He wasn't joking. She also realized he had no idea how to read, but didn't mention it. "My goal as your queen, gentlemen, is to save the most lives we can. The Long Night comes. Your own greenseer has foretold it. Your lord's half-brother has seen it. We know it's coming, and coming soon. So, which of these two options gives us the best chance of surviving the Long Night?"
"I wouldn'a want to go into a fight with untrustworthy knives at my back," Smalljon noted.
"Me neither," Tayor agreed. "But neither do I want to see those knives coming at me in the hands of blue-eyed wights commanded by ice demons. More importantly, life is precious. My lords, life is a gift from the gods. All men, women and children have a right to live. Only through bad acts may that right be taken from them. Yes, there are raiders among the wildlings. But as Jon Snow can attest, there are also women and children who have never done any crime. You are not just the lords of the kingdom, you are its champions! It's protectors. So, again, I ask you-which of these options means the most lives protected?"
The Umbers looked confused. Ser Brynden stared at her appraisingly.
Robb looked inspired. "We grant them lands in the Gift," the former king declared. "We let them come, and require their promise to man the walls."
"Make then join the Night's Watch?" Lord Yronwood asked. "Would they?"
"No," Jon said. "They enjoy their pleasures too much, and don't believe in vows."
"No, but we don't need warrior monks," Taylor said. "We just need fighters. What say you to this idea? A new brotherhood to support the Night's Watch. We'll call this new body Wardens. Wardens of the Wall. They'll be drawn from the Wildlings and serve a term of some years to be determined. After they've done their service, they'll be citizens of Westeros, just as any other."
"But they're rapists and raiders!" Greatjon bellowed. It appeared to be his equivalent of an "inside" voice.
"Because they view you as their enemy," Taylor said. "But if they're own people are at risk behind the wall, don't you think they'll fight to defend it as hard as you? You are the champion and protectors of your lands, Lord Umber. Give them land, and give them something worth protecting, and they too will be champions and protectors as well."
"What if they don't?"
Taylor's smile held no humor. "Then I'll have my dragons burn them to ash, like I do all my enemies."