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The Return of the Dragon King
Chapter 5
King's Landing stank.
"Still…" Lord Eddard 'Ned' Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North silently reflected. "…it's better than ash and smoke on the wind."
The last time he'd been in King's Landing, passing through on his way to Winterfell to return his sister's body home, the city had been freshly-sacked by the Lannisters. The corpses had been cleared away when he'd come, but the odour of blood and smoke had lingered in the air, while every block and street had at least a few burnt-out buildings.
"Threats though they might have been…" Ned thought at the memory. "…and threats they still are, at least we did not have the corpses of Elia Martell and her children on top of all the dead Tywin Lannister reaped from the city."
He had gone to war for the sake of justice and family, not to kill helpless women and children. The realm had had enough of that with Aerys and his son, and he supressed a shudder at the memory of Robert's rage upon learning of the Targaryen children and their mother's escape. Would he have rejoiced had Lord Tywin offered him their corpses? Would he – Ned – still have seen Robert as a friend, a brother, afterwards?
"Jaime Lannister…" he thought to himself. "…most call him the Kingslayer, others as oath breaker…do I have to thank you for preserving Robert's honour? Our friendship…? Our brotherhood…?"
Ned sighed, looking around him as he rode with the rest of Robert's retinue towards the Red Keep. Now though, the city just stank, the streets teemed with people held back from their way by the City Watch, and the buildings were if not clean, at least alive. That was an improvement at least.
"…the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
Ned glanced at the loud voice, spotting a red-robed preacher with flames tattooed on one side of his face down a street, a book in one hand as he preached to a small crowd from a makeshift podium of stacked boxes. "A red priest from Essos, my Lord Stark…" Ser Balon Swann, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard answered his unspoken question. Ned glanced at the Lord Commander questioningly.
"A few years back a small number of them arrived from Essos bringing gifts for His Grace, and asking leave to be allowed to preach their faith here in Westeros." Balon continued. "His Grace wasn't and still isn't interested in their faith, but felt generous enough to give them leave."
"Red priests…they are flame worshippers are they not?"
"Quite so my lord…" Balon said with a nod. One of the younger members of the Kingsguard, his appointment both to the honoured brotherhood and his being named Lord Commander had caused something of a stir, but Robert had held firm. And with all other members of the brotherhood either unsuitable for the role of Lord Commander – Ser Arys Oakheart being from the Reach while Ser Mandon Moore was too unpopular – or were Lannister appointees, Ned had to agree: Balon was the man for the job.
He had the skill, he was from the Stormlands (his father Lord Gulian Swann of Stonehelm had fought with them during the rebellion), and he had the image for it. Now only if there were less Lannister men in the brotherhood…
"…I myself have little interest in their faith…" Balon continued. "…and the same goes for the lords in the city and the rest of the Crownlands. Shame that the same can't be said for the smallfolk though: from what I hear plenty of the poorer ones and even many of the well-to-do ones across this part of the realm have turned from the Seven to their 'Lord of Light'."
"Men have the freedom to choose what they believe in, Lord Commander." Ned reminded him, and the knight chuckled.
"My apologies my lord…" Balon said, remembering that as one from the North, Ned himself did not believe in the Seven, and placed his faith in the Old Gods instead. "…I meant no offense."
"None taken…" Ned said with a reassuring smile. "…just as they have the freedom to choose what to believe in and defend that choice – within reason – you as well share that same freedom."
"Change isn't something to fear, eh?" Balon said. "Well I suppose so long as they don't cause trouble, they aren't to worry about."
"I agree Lord Commander." Ned said, turning his attention back to the road and the Red Keep in the distance. And behind them, the red priest continued to preach to his flock and to any other who would listen.
"…even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me…"
The welcome feast was in full swing, and to Ned's dismay – shared by the queen apparently – Robert was not only drunk and gorged on wine and food in short order, but had already begun whoring away. Right now all he was doing was flirting with or groping the serving women, but it wouldn't be long before he left with one – or more – of them for his bed.
"Are you not enjoying yourself, my lord…?" Prince Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone mentioned.
"It's not that." Ned responded. "It's just that…this is all…much grander than I'm used to. Celebrations at Winterfell are usually much more low-key than this."
The dour, brooding man nodded. "I wouldn't mind something much more low-key myself." He said, and Ned smiled. That was so very much like Stannis, and in its own way it was quite reassuring.
"Where is your brother?" Ned asked. "Renly is Master of Laws, isn't he? I saw him earlier but he seems to have disappeared." Stannis snorted before responding.
"He's probably run off with our good-brother to 'talk' in private." Stannis said with heavy disapproval, and Ned glanced with sympathy at Renly's wife Princess Margaery, who was currently seated with and chatting with Queen Cersei.
"Poor girl…" he whispered, and to his surprise Stannis nodded in sympathy.
"Aye, I agree." He said. "She's much too good for that foolish little brother of mine. Hopefully she can raise Steffon right. He's still a babe, but hopefully he'll grow up to be a worthy lord for Storm's End."
And wasn't that the truth? Despite being Prince of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, to say nothing of being Master of Laws for the Seven Kingdoms, Renly largely left the running of the Stormlands to his seneschal (and to an extent his wife) and all but neglecting his duty as Master of Laws.
Ned could understand why Robert would want someone he could trust on his Small Council. After all if you couldn't trust your own family, then who could you trust? With that said Renly was much too…flighty for lack of a better word to hold such a post. Storm's End was his by right (what with Dragonstone having gone to Stannis), but surely someone better could have been found for the post of Master of Laws?
Even if Robert couldn't trust the Dornish or the Reachmen, or give the Lannisters an opportunity to increase their influence at court, surely there were plenty of trustworthy lords from the Vale, the Stormlands, or the Riverlands who could be given the post?
"At least he did his duty to father an heir…" Ned murmured, and again Stannis snorted.
"So he did…" he said. "…though it is rumoured that our good-brother was present during the wedding night…"
Stannis trailed off, and after several moments he sighed. "My apologies my Lord Stark…" he said. "…it seems that the wine's gotten to me. It is below our station to exchange gossip and rumour is it not?"
"Quite so my prince…" Ned agreed. The two sat and ate in silence for a while, and then Ned spoke up once more. "…my prince…what would say if I propose that our crown prince be fostered at Dragonstone?"
Stannis froze for the briefest of moments before giving the smallest of nods. "Robert's expressed concern you see." Ned said. "He believes that his son is…constrained in his education and experiences."
"And as Hand it is your duty to respond to his concerns?"
"Quite so my prince…"
Stannis said nothing for a while, instead swirling the wine in his glass. "I suppose I could host my nephew at Dragonstone for a couple of years…" he said at last. "…it would be good for him, a chance to broaden his horizons and to learn more about duty and honour."
"With that said…"
"Aye…" Stannis said with a nod. "…the question will not be if Robert will agree, but if our good queen will."
"Might I count on your support on that ground?"
Stannis raised his glass to Ned in response. "You're a man of duty and honour my lord." He said. "You may, of course, count on my support."
Morning light shone through the windows into the Small Council, Ned Stark entering the room wearing the necklace of chained hands of his office, and followed by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Already present were the Master of Laws Prince Renly Baratheon of Storm's End, the Master of Coin Lord Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish, Master of Ships Prince Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, Master of Whisperers Lord Varys, and finally Grand Maester Pycelle. With Ned and Balon's arrival, the Small Council was complete.
"Lord Stark…" Renly said with a warm smile. "…it's good of you to join us."
"My apologies for being late my lords…" Ned said as he took his place at the seat reserved for the Hand. "…I spent too long over breakfast with my daughters, for which I have no excuse."
"Oh that's no problem at all…" Renly reassured him. "…it's not like we're at war or anything. To be honest, I prefer a more relaxed lifestyle myself."
"Yes well…" Ned responded. "…rest assured it won't happen again."
"I'm sure it won't Lord Stark." Stannis said with a nod, and Ned nodded back.
"Now then…may I ask where His Grace is?"
"Ahem…" Varys cut in delicately. "…His Grace only attends Small Council meetings on the most important matters otherwise he trusts our judgment with regards to the governing of the realm. My apologies Lord Stark, you should have been informed beforehand. Rest assured I will personally ensure that you will not be caught ignorant of such matters again."
"I…see…" Ned said with a deep breath. "…with that said and understood, as the Hand of the King I open this meeting of the Small Council."
The other councillors nodded, while Ned took one out from Jon Arryn's many notes that he'd brought with him from the Tower of the Hand. "Very well…" he said. "…as our first matter of business we have here a recent invoice from the Iron Bank, with regards to the realm's standing debt of…three million gold dragons…"
Ned trailed off and looked around the Small Council. Most of them directed their gaze to the Master of Coin who smiled disarmingly to only minimal effect. "Yes well…" he said. "…our expenses over the past decade and a half – largely on rebuilding from the damage of no less than two large-scale revolts – have taxed the realm's finances greatly. And there are also other costs to keep in mind such as upkeep for royal properties, pay for royal retainers such as the Royal Fleet and the City Watch…"
"And to cover for all those expenses we have incurred a total of three million dragons in debt…?"
"Correction…" Renly said. "…the realm is six million dragons in debt."
"Six million…?"
"Three million to the Iron Bank…" Petyr clarified. "…and an estimated one million each to Houses Lannister and Tyrell, as well as to the Faith…"
Ned Stark was struck speechless. He had expected having some debt given the turmoil of the past decade and a half, but six million? This was madness.
Not to mention how despite his distrust for the Reachmen Robert's not above borrowing money from Mace Tyrell.
Ned took a deep breath. "Lord Baelish…" he began delicately. "…do not expect me to believe that my predecessor was unaware of the depths of this problem, or did not at least attempt to resolve it."
"I would not ask that of you my lord." Petyr replied. "My Lord Arryn along with Prince Stannis brought up this matter with His Grace several times."
"And what did he say?"
"He said not to bother him over 'counting coppers'." Stannis said.
"More like 'counting dragons'…" Ned growled, irritated at his friend's neglect of something so important. "…I'll speak with Robert myself afterwards over this matter. Lord Baelish I assume you submitted a proposal to Lord Arryn with regards to solving this problem?"
"Unfortunately not my lord…" Petyr said. "…Lord Arryn only entrusted me with keeping the realm's finances going, not actually resolve them. I assumed he had his own plans on the matter, though if you wish I could have a proposal ready for you in a couple of days."
"Make it so…" Ned said, shuffling his notes. "…Prince Stannis I'd appreciate it if you could accompany me when I see Robert over this issue."
Stannis nodded his assent, but Renly snorted in derision. "Good luck with that…" he said. "…you're going to need it."
Stannis glared at Renly, opening his mouth to retort but was pre-empted with a cough from Ned. "Yes well…" he said, clearly trying to be conciliatory and avoiding having the council bog down with infighting. "…now that the debt issue is…resolved for now, let us move on to our next topic of discussion. Now according to my predecessor's notes, he was aiming for another attempt at a marriage alliance with Dorne?"
"That is correct Lord Stark." Grand Maester Pycelle said, speaking up for the first time. "Lord Arryn believed that the best way to heal the wounds of the past and bind the kingdoms together under His Grace and his successors would be through mutually-beneficial bonds of matrimony."
"If only the Dornish thought so too…" Ned murmured.
It wasn't the first time Jon Arryn had tried to forge such a bond with Dorne (as he would later do with the Reach through Margaery and Renly's wedding). Four years ago he'd tried to arrange a marriage between Lord Hoster's heir Edmure and Prince Doran's heiress Princess Arianne. Prince Doran had expressed neither support nor opposition, though he had allowed Jon Arryn and Lord Edmure to court Arianne at Sunspear.
To be fair to Jon Arryn, it wasn't a bad idea. The West was already bound to Robert through Cersei, the Riverlands through Catelyn and Ned, Lysa and Jon Arryn (thus including the North and the Vale), while the Stormlands would follow Robert without question. Had the marriage gone through, along with Renly's later marriage to Margaery Tyrell it would have deprived the Targaryens and their remaining followers any highborn support they would need to make a successful restoration.
Unfortunately Jon Arryn had underestimated Dorne's cunning. True Prince Doran had disowned his second child and eldest son Prince Quentyn and two of his brother Prince Oberyn's bastard daughters for going to Pentos and swearing their swords to the Targaryens, but as with all things Dornish and the Targaryens it was just a matter of show.
Disownment could easily be reversed later on, without care for lost face.
House Martell and their vassals had sworn oaths to House Baratheon, and renounced support for House Targaryen…but they could easily break those oaths and offer their spears to House Targaryen when the time was right. Again, any lost face would not be cared about.
It was like with Daeron the Young Dragon. The Dornish had offered truce, and had broken truce to kill the king, with no care for lost face. Why would they care now?
The Dornish had lost the opportunity to see a Dornish Queen through Elia Martell, but they would settle for the Dornish-blooded Aegon Targaryen. The unfortunate thing was, as treasonous such intentions were there was hardly proof of it.
Prince Quentyn…Lady Obara…Lady Nymeria…they had been exiled on pain of death by Prince Doran himself. Their involvement with House Targaryen could thus be said not proof of treachery on House Martell's part, merely as individual initiative.
However as for Princess Arianne…
Why should I who am due to become Princess of Dorne and thus equal to any Lord Paramount, lower myself to become a mere consort of one?
The princess' refusal had utterly humiliated both House Tully and Jon Arryn, and by extension Robert and all who stood by him. And the worst part was that Princess Arianne was well within her rights to ask such a question.
As per the privileges granted by Daeron the Good to Dorne, she was the next ruling princess of Dorne. Even Tywin Lannister had grudgingly expressed approval of her defence of her rights and privileges as any highborn heir should. That House Martell had earned the utter hatred of House Tully and even more distrust from King's Landing meant nothing to them in their deserts.
"And why should they?" Ned thought bitterly. "It cost the Young Dragon ten thousand men to conquer Dorne, and fifty thousand more to try and hold it. Why should we fare any better? This isn't a matter of smashing ships at sea and storming and sweeping islands clear of opposition. The heat and the sand will break our men, and those that do not will die by Dornish spears and blades."
"Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella…" Ned said aloud. "…it's not a bad idea, it's not like the prince will be surrendering any inheritance of his own, though it might be best if we slow things down a bit."
"Meaning what exactly…?" Renly asked.
"As much as I respect the late Lord Jon Arryn…" Ned said. "…I have to admit he might have rushed things and pushed the Dornish too far too soon when he tried to arrange a marriage between Lord Edmure and Princess Arianne."
"So what do you suggest then?" Stannis asked.
"Rather than sending or bringing Myrcella to Dorne…" Ned said. "…we should send envoys to negotiate this matter over time. Compared to our financial issues, the Dornish aren't that pressing."
"They are borderline Targaryen loyalists my lord." Stannis pointed out, and Ned nodded.
"So they are." He agreed. "With that said we already have all six of the other kingdoms firmly on our side. Even if the Targaryens manage to get to Westeros…"
"They won't." Stannis said grimly. "If they try, then I'll personally have them experience what the last of the Blackfyres did during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. If they want to live, they will stay in Essos."
"Quite…" Ned said. "…but my point is with six of the kingdoms on our side, even if the Dornish revolt we can wear them down over time, and eventually bring them to the negotiating table."
"You won't be taking war to them…?" Petyr asked.
"The Dornish lands are fundamentally-unsuited for prolonged combat my lord." Pycelle said. "A quick campaign is possible, but such a quick campaign would not be able to root out any and all opposition. The Dornish however are adapted to their homeland, and would not be affected to the same extent – if at all – by the desert as our men would."
"Long story short Littlefinger…" Stannis said. "…why don't you go look up the life of Daeron the Young Dragon?"
Petyr Baelish's smile turned wooden, but he said nothing. "I trust there are no objections to pursuing a marriage alliance in the long-term with the Dornish?" Ned asked, and was answered by six shaking heads. "Excellent…let us move on…"
"The answer is no Ned."
Most of the Small Council's other issues – reports of pirates in the Narrow Sea off the coasts of the Vale, unrest among the mountain tribes (also in the Vale), petitions from various lords, knights, and commoners across the kingdoms and the like – were dealt with quickly and with less trouble. Before the council was dismissed however, Petyr Baelish brought up something Robert had decided.
Apparently Robert had got into his head that he – Ned – needed a tourney to celebrate his becoming Hand. Apart from the expenses of preparing and conducting the event, there was also the prize money: one thousand gold dragons for the winners of each event.
Money that the realm could not afford to throw around, not with all the debts it was burdened with.
"It's ridiculous, you will have to borrow even more money from Tywin Lannister or the Iron Bank among others to fund it. It's a waste of money." Ned insisted.
"Nonsense Ned!" he responded and it was all Ned could do not to roll his eyes.
"If you want me to help run your kingdoms then you need…" Ned began only to be interrupted.
"The tourney's happening Ned…" Robert said with finality. "…whether you like it or not…"
Ned stared at Robert for a long moment, and then with a sigh gave a bow. "As you wish Your Grace…" he said, ignoring Robert's resulting protests over overbearing formality.
Gods…I've got my work cut out for me.
A/N
Yes, Arianne gave STAB a big middle-finger. Hard to blame her really: why should she become just a Lord Paramount's wife, when as Princess of Dorne she's equal to any one of them? She might even be their social superior, at least by our standards, given a Lord Paramount could be said to equal a duke while the Prince/Princess of Dorne could be equal to one of our sovereign princes or a German furst, who to my knowledge outrank mere dukes.
Stannis acting a bit OOC…? Nonsense…he covets Storm's End, but he doesn't have a son, so even if he had Storm's End, his heir would still be Renly's son Steffon (by agnatic primogeniture). So he doesn't really resent Steffon (that he's named for their father could be another factor) and actually hopes that he'll be worthier of the ancestral seat than Renly is.