310 AC
Robb Stark
"Bran…your thoughts?"
Robb sat alone with Bran in a small room in Last Hearth. The two were sipping on a dark ale that could put chest hair on a woman.
"Truly Robb, I have racked my mind for some time with possibilities. I have truly only come to about four possible conclusions."
"Well, four is better than none. Tell me."
"My first thought was that whoever sanctioned this action, simply was daft to believe that moving against Rickon was politically effective. In this case, I do not think we will ever find the true culprit, but then again, they aren't the greatest threat either. My second belief was that it was actually a failed plan. Perhaps a minor house pay the wildlings to kidnap the sons of two powerful lords, then they come in and 'heroically' free them…no doubt winning favor with father. Only, with this possibility, somehow talks between the unknown party and the wildlings fell through. If this is the case, we'd have to keep a lookout for someone who keeps wishing to grab more than they should ever have."
"Not bad thoughts. But they are certainly long-winded."
"Aye, no arguments there. Which is why I believe it to be one of another two. One, that this unknown party targeted Rickon for an ulterior motive. Perhaps not actually to do harm. Maybe they wished to help with something, and in the confusion, ended up taking them to Skane. A truly far out thought, but a thought nonetheless."
"And your last thought?"
Bran had a frown on his face.
"My last conclusion…and the one that is unfortunately most likely…is that we don't know the motive. That there is still some unknown reason that none of us can yet see. And that's what worries me Robb. We can fight against those enemies that we know of. But those that hide? That seem to be a step ahead of each other? I fear for our house, I fear for the North."
"And this matter with the Bastard of Bolton? At the end of the sennight, after final preparations, I shall lead a party. First, eastwards, to meet with a party from Karhold, and then together, south. We'll ride into the demesne of the Dreadfort. And finally, we will find an end of this matter with this bastard."
"Who'll you take with you?"
"I'll leave Lord Umber here. Despite his support and ability, he is still a lord in his own right, and I don't wish to take him away from his own duties. I'll take probably two of his sons. Smalljon and Harlow. If not Smalljon, than Harlow and Robard. Some combination of them."
"Will you take either of Lord Umber's brothers or other family? Mors and Whoresbane are more influential than either of Lord Umber's brothers; Thom and Harmon. Hells Robb, not to speak ill of our host, but Lord Umber entrusted his uncles with the castellany over his own brothers during the Lion's War. What does that say?"
"True. However, much of that was due to both Thom and Harmon joining our host in the south. Perhaps I'll have one of them join me as well. They are more comfortable following than leading."
"I assume both Karl and Daryn will join you?"
"Nay. Only Karl. Our dear sister Arya sent a strongly worded letter. Daryn is to return to the Hornwood quickly…"
Both brothers looked at each other with knowing grins. "Perhaps we'll be uncles again soon?"
"Ha, only once Daryn finds his own courage."
"Robb, once she got her hands on a blade, even you were wary of sparring with her."
"That was only because I didn't wish to harm her!"
"Of course brother, of course."
Robb shoved Bran due to the smirk that he didn't wipe off his face.
"Regardless, Karl Cassel will join. I have half a mind to send you and Daryn off together to the Hornwood. It'll be good for you to see your sister."
"…actually."
"Yes?"
"Perhaps if I can be permitted to remain here in Last Hearth?"
Robb looked at him confused. "Why would you…"
Robb smiled.
"Oh I know why."
"No Robb! It's not that! I swear!"
"Woah! I never said anything. It seems like you've caught the eye of…maybe a shieldmaiden of the North perhaps?"
Now, Bran's face once more looked the same shade as the coals burning in the fireplace.
"I'll never live this down, will I?"
"Never wolfy." Robb chuckled, using the newfound nickname that Larra Umber gave to Bran.
Bran just hung his head low as Robb chuckled.
"I'm going to kill you."
And that chuckling turned into laughter after that remark.
"Peace Bran. You know I only tease. Truthfully, I hope that it works itself. I have long wished to see you find connections. If the first person be the daughter of Lord Umber, then so be it."
"But…I won't be able to. Doubtless she needs a man who can stand on his own strength. Hells I won't even be able to carry her if we're married from the Godswood to the hall!"
And once more, Bran's self-confidence reared its ugly head. He had worked his body to the point of exhaustion every day he had been told during the war. While Robb and Edwyle and their father had fought a war of swords, Bran had fought a war with his body. It seemed that though his body recovered more than any expected, his mind had not. Robb hated to see him like this, so he tried to lift the mood.
"Already thinking of marriage are we?"
It failed. Bran only turned more inward to himself. He could walk without assistance. Once, never thought possible. He could ride his own mount without assistance, once thought impossible. He was able to stand for an hour straight before his one leg became wobbly and he'd have to find a chair. He wasn't bed-ridden for the rest of his life.
But he never measured himself enough. For while father, Edwyle, himself and the entire family greatly admired him for his relentless pursuit of recovery, Bran never saw it himself. He measured himself not against his own accomplishments, but those of the family. Because he could no longer swing a sword, he felt ashamed against Robb…against Edwyle. Because he could not lead men into campaign, he felt ashamed against father. And it saddened Robb. Because deep down, he knew, that if the same thing ever happened to him, he didn't think he would have the courage and strength that Bran had.
He cleared his throat, moving the conversation along. "Well…any way…I will also bring two thirds of the guardsmen that we brought. The last will remain with you, wherever you will be. Though, if you wish to remain here, it isn't me that you need to request, it is Lord Umber."
Bran seemed thankful that the topic had moved on. "And what about the Karstark party?"
"Unknown fully. Once again, I'm sure that Lord Karstark will remain in Karhold due to his responsibilities. Harrion's wife, Dayna formerly of House Slate, just gave birth to their first child a moon ago. A son if I remember…Bennard? As such Harrion will likely remain in Karhold as well. In any case, I imagine Torrhen will lead their party. If not Torrhen, than definitely Arnolf or one of his sons. Lord Karstark will doubtlessly wish that at least one of his house lead their party."
"Will you send word to the Manderlys or other bannermen to join from the south?"
"Nay. I wish to show a strong front when we march into the Dreadfort's demesne, but too much and it will seem of an invasion. I'll send a raven to White Harbor informing them of the situation, but past that, I won't call on their men unless I require them."
"Have care Robb. Lord Bolton is a dangerous man, nonetheless. I'd have White Harbor and their own bannermen prepare their hosts, if not a portion of them anyways. If Lord Bolton is in on this, than you may not have time rouse reinforcements."
Robb once more wished to point out the intelligent tactical thinking of Bran but knew that it would only send him in a morose mood once more.
"Aye, you have the right of it. But Lord Manderly's size extends to his head, not just his girth. He'll prepare for possible repercussions. He's loyal and intelligent, best qualities in a bannerman."
"Very well." With that, both Starks slapped their legs and stood up, Bran more shakily than Robb on account of his injury. As most young men find, you don't realize how much you've drank until you stand. Once reached their apex, both were shaky, and not because of wounds or injuries.
"Gods damn it." Robb muttered. The ale of Last Hearth made Robb wonder how Lord Umber was ever able to accomplish anything if this is what he has been drinking.
"G'night Robb."
"Night Bran."
Tyrion Lannister
If he could speak to his younger self, he'd no doubt be called a liar. When he was still only a young lad, the dream of being the heir to Casterly Rock and all of its additions, would've made Tyrion cry, doubtless it was some cruel tease. But now, he had royal warrant cemented in war. Tyrion Lannister, and no other, was the heir to House Lannister.
When the war had first ended, he had still been in King's Landing. He had initially been worried that with the absence of Eddard Stark, Stannis Baratheon would try to move against him. He was never anything but vocal in his opinion that Tyrion should share the punishment his family had. However, no matter how much Stannis believed something true, only one thing could overcome it. His incessant duty. Eddard Stark had left him as acting Hand of the King. Stark was still the actual Hand…and as such, would not overrule his decision. Politically, it would do nothing but show the weakness of the Crown. Something that once more, Stannis wished less, than he wished Tyrion to be punished.
Once news that Tywin Lannister had agreed to the peace reached the city, Tyrion was gobsmacked. He had purchased the service of three whores that night. It was a night of celebration doubtless. The next day reality hit. Stannis had asked…demanded when Tyrion would resign from the Small Council to return to the West. He decided that the West had waited a long time and could wait a little more. Tyrion responded that he would serve the Crown until asked to leave, either by the King, or the royally-appointed Hand of the King requests so. Stannis had ground his teeth at that.
Tyrion remained as master of coin for a number of years after the end of the Lion's War. Despite the taboo that surrounded his family name, he was able to recover a small degree of dignity. In his youth, he was very able at spending coin. It wasn't until he became the master of coin that he learned he was a natural at making and managing it as well.
Secretly, it filled him with pride. Handling the finances of the Crown was immense. How hard could the finances of Casterly Rock be?
Oh how he learned later.
In 306 AC, he had finally relented, and resigned from the Small Council. The continued badgering of his father to return to the Rock became unavoidable. It had been odd to return home. The last time he had seen his father was before he had joined the King's party to Winterfell back in 298 AC. He did not join Lord Stark when he traveled to the Golden Tooth to negotiate a peace, and as his father was banned from leaving the Westerlands unless expressly summoned by the King or the Hand, he had not traveled to the capital to see Tyrion.
Upon his initial return to the Rock, he had noticed that much had changed. For one, without the presence of Cersei, it was far more hospitable place. Those who still showed him dislike was his father, and those distant Lannister cousins so far removed that Tyrion thought they were nothing but gutter-born.
His father on the other hand…
He had changed…and yet, he had not.
He no longer continuously insulted Tyrion, nor looked at him with burning hatred. Rather, almost wishful regret. It was obvious that Tywin Lannister had wished his other son was his heir, and a good one at that. But even Tywin could not deny Tyrion's skill. He had been positively shocked, which in Tywin Lannister's case meant he simply sat wide-eyed, all other things still stern as the gods, when Tyrion showed his knowledge during their very first meeting. Apparently his Lord father expected to have to teach him everything from the basics.
It hurt, but it wasn't unexpected.
The two of them reached an uneasy truce. Father wouldn't blatantly insult or ridicule or punish unjustly…and Tyrion wouldn't mention his two siblings. It was a…shaky peace, but one that held so long as both stood by it.
His father's voice took his attention away.
"I said-" He repeated, annoyed. "-what do you propose? You've already proven your significant intelligence. Put it to work, now."
Always one for comforting words his father. The problem at present? Casterly Rock's famous gold mines had run completely dry. Even the most experienced miners and ground-listeners emphatically stated that the mines were empty. Unknown to Tyrion at the time, his father had subsequently, and covertly, executed every miner and supervisor they employed in their mines so as to not spread rumor at the loss of their power.
It was explained that one of the mines faced a massive cave-in, and workers would be put to work to clear it 'soon enough.' Regardless, their families all received significant pensions. So much that a lowborn family could afford to purchase a small house in Lannisport. Now it was up to him apparently to come up with other influxes of revenue and coin.
"The mines of Casterly Rock were not rich in gold only. We can conduct business in the jewel and gem trade."
"Yes, but many of our bannermen who possess mines are far more rich in such minerals. No, another idea."
"We can invest?"
"Invest? Expand." Again, such a way with words Tyrion thought amusingly.
"The Westerlands, and Westeros at large for that matter, is a large place. With many unused or empty plots of land and other resources. We can purchase land from all over at a low price."
"But further investment requires more gold. And. We. Have. No. More."
"Yes, which is why we shall simply purchase such lands, but make no improvements on it. Than the smallfolk can live on it, turn it into something useful, and we make revenue from it."
"How is that different from taxes on the current smallfolk?"
"An incredibly small, yet distinct, difference. Currently, all taxes that are paid, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, are done out of the 'Golden Laws of 1 AC,' passed by Aegon the Conqueror once he was crowned." Tyrion became very familiar with the financial laws of Westeros during his time as master of coin. "The taxes that are paid to us are paid, due to our position as liege lords of the Westerlands. They are not paying taxes to House Lannister specifically, but rather, the Lords Paramount of the Westerlands; that House Lannister just so happens to be. You see, this new method, House Lannister specifically will own the land, in right of themselves, not in right of their titles and positions."
"And this is effected differently at the legal level?"
Tyrion knew his father was testing him. "Yes. Due to this incredibly fine detail, we in turn, would pay less taxes on this land to the Crown than our normal, noble lands would. As such, we can see a greater surplus return than our normal lands. Additionally, another benefit is since this land would be tied directly to the House, and not our titles, should the unfortunate ever happen such as attaintment-"
His father gave an evil eye at that.
"-then we will still hold those lands as they are tied to us by legal tender, and not through noble right."
Tywin gazed at him hard for a few moments before nodding unemotionally. "Good Tyrion. I myself thought of that solution. Of course as Hand of the King to the Mad King, I attempted to have Aerys pass a law barring private land ownership by Great Lords, now, it is beneficial. At the time, the Tyrells and the Tullys were making incredible amounts of gold, moreso than they normally would be able to, and paying less taxes on such lands."
Tyrion felt good that he had actually, for the first time, met the expectations of his father. But of course, it wasn't enough.
"However, it is still insufficient. Kevan and I have examined the numbers multiple times, and it still simply wouldn't bring in our standard revenue."
"Well then, perhaps this is time for a break? My head hurts, and my belly aches, and my tongue is dry."
Once more, the disappointed visage he was used to was put on his father's face. "I'll have no whores in Casterly Rock. Go, go and do not return until you have thought of other ideas."
"My lord." He bowed sarcastically before leaving his father's study.
Bronn joined him as he continued to walk through the Rock. Bronn had been an interesting man these years. True to Lord Stark's words, after the Lion's War, Bronn had been given a knighthood. After hearing of his actions against Cersei and Jaime, Robert went a step further and ennobled him in Westeros. He was now Ser Bronn Blackwater.
He still didn't have an established seat, his father had not been keen on granting him one, and an ennoblement does not automatically bestow lands as well. Regardless, Tyrion meant to grant him lands once he became the Lord of Casterly Rock. Perhaps Clegane Keep? The last Clegane alive was Sandor Clegane, and he has repeatedly and vocally refused anything to do with such keeps. He is also the last of his blood.
No doubt, upon his rise as Lord of Casterly Rock, he would negotiate the purchase of Clegane Keep and its lands, granting it to Bronn to establish a knightly house.
But a matter for another time.
"Where to now, little lord?"
"Lannisport I think. I am in need of a whore, and a drink, and a meal…and all of them again after that."
And so heir and knight went a'singing to Lannisport down; down, down, below the deep grey Rock.
*A forewarning. My new job starts this coming week. Now, I the next chapter is already written just waiting for me to review it, and the next after that is in the process of writing; about 1/5 done. I say this to let you know that I am NOT ABANDONING this story. However, I have been spoiled with free time, so the time between chapters will most likely be longer.