Robert's Rebellion
"Tristifer." Tristifer looked up from the reports as he heard his cousin's voice from the entrance.
Robin closed the door to his solar before settling into the chair opposite Tristifer.
"I've received some concerning news from one of the girls," the dirty blonde man said, his expression serious.
Tristifer sighed inwardly; he had just settled in for the morning. "Oh?" he leaned back in his chair, giving his cousin his full attention.
"Prince Rhaegar was seen early this morning leaving the city in great haste, escorted only by Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne," Robin informed him.
Tristifer maintained his composure outwardly, aware of the need for caution in their discussions. Internally, annoyance surged at the Prince. Rhaegar, whom he had once respected as a seemingly perfect prince destined to be a good king, had proven less ideal the longer Tristifer knew the Silver Prince.
In the rough span since becoming lieutenant, Tristifer had steadily crafted a small yet robust power base around him and his family. Captain Ronnel, growing increasingly weary and apathetic, seemed convinced that each day could be his last, uncertain whether the threat loomed over his position or life itself. As a result, he had shifted the majority of his responsibilities onto Tristifer, effectively making him the acting Captain of the Gate of the Gods.
This transition hadn't escaped notice. With Addam serving as Captain Ronnel's other lieutenant, the two acted swiftly to populate the ranks under Captain Ronnel with loyal men. These recruits owed their ranks or positions in the Gold Cloaks to Tristifer's influence, further solidifying his grip on the operations within the barracks.
This blatant power grab, while noticeable to those who cared, felt necessary in Tristifer's eyes. The current Commander of the Gold Cloaks didn't seem keen on rewarding competence, relying instead on connections and favors to friends. After eight moons of observing the Commander's consistent favoritism and lack of sound decision-making, Tristifer doubted any shift toward more intelligent choices.
"Thanks, Robin. We'll just have to see what our dear Prince has decided to do now. It's not something we can control. Meanwhile, I want you to see if your girls can keep tabs on the newly appointed captains by Commander Merryweather and the Commander himself," Tristifer ordered.
He continued, "I know it's a long shot, as the Hand will likely dismiss anything minor and try to bury anything substantial. Still, give it a shot. It might be our only chance to have something in case."
Robin nodded seriously. "I will keep you informed of any developments in the city, especially around the Prince. Unfortunately, my reach outside of King's Landing is still limited to what travelers and Lords learn from ravens."
Tristifer nodded, and Robin soon departed, leaving Tristifer to return to the administrative work of a captain. The downside of having informants only within the city was that they learned information at the same time as the rest of the city. It was an unfortunate reality.
Two weeks later, Captain Ronnel Penrose was found dead in his quarters. The investigation concluded it to be of natural causes. Tristifer didn't delve much into it, as the manner of his death mattered little – whether smothered or passing in his sleep. Tristifer had naively held out hope for a natural ascension to captaincy.
This hope was shattered the day after Captain Ronnel's death when the men of the West Barracks were introduced to Ser Gerold Hastwyck, the son of Lord Owen Merryweather's vassal, Lord Hastwyck. What a coincidence.
The new captain harbored unrealistic expectations, inquiring about the Gold Cloaks' cavalry as if it were a private army. Tristifer, instead, handed him two hefty stacks of administrative papers and reports – a deliberate and petty act to deliver a harsh reality check.
Introducing himself and Addam as Captain Gerold's Lieutenants, Tristifer falsely claimed he was needed for other business and excused himself. In truth, he should have assisted the new captain in familiarizing himself, but Tristifer harbored doubts about Captain Gerold's longevity in the role.
Robin's reports suggested the Hand's growing unpopularity with the king might lead to his dismissal. With Lord Merryweather's influenced appointments likely to follow suit, Tristifer anticipated changes on the horizon.
As he passed through the gold cloaks, their silent and subtle pats on his back spoke volumes. Intent on visiting his guards at their inn, Tristifer noticed a gold cloak rushing from the Gate of the Gods.
"Lieutenant!" The man called out, prompting Tristifer to approach with trepidation, wondering what urgent matter this man brought. His haste suggested something significant, perhaps even an army at the gates.
"Yes? Report," Tristifer replied as the watchman nearly skidded to a stop in front of him.
"Ser, Lord Brandon Stark, and a few other lordlings are outside the gates, demanding the arrest of Prince Rhaegar for the kidnapping of Lord Brandon's lady sister, Lyanna. How should we respond to this lunacy?" the guard explained almost helplessly.
Tristifer felt his jaw drop. What in the Seven Kingdoms could the Prince be thinking? Was he utterly out of his mind? Kidnapping the daughter of a Lord Paramount, whose heir was betrothed to another Lord Paramount and virtually allied with another? Tristifer had no doubts that something along those lines had happened; the Starks may not be politically adept, but they wouldn't fabricate something like this.
Almost a minute passed as Tristifer grappled with disbelief. The guard mirrored his stupefaction, eventually appearing confused about what to do.
"Ser? What should we do?" the guard repeated, snapping Tristifer out of his near-trance state.
"We will get back to the Barracks. You will saddle my horse and four others, and then we shall send a message to the Red Keep about this," the man saluted as he rushed to action, running back to where Tristifer had only just left.
Tristifer followed at a slower pace. Doubts about his whole presence in King's Landing were growing. What if this escalated into a rebellion? Would Tristifer stay?
Now was not the time for such a momentous decision, to abandon all he had built here. The influence and power he wielded would be hard to replicate elsewhere. He lacked the influence or connections to receive a lordship, the only way to eclipse his current standing. No, this decision could wait until after dealing with Stark.
His mount was saddled as he returned to the courtyard. Tristifer was disheartened to see Captain Gerold mounted and trying to direct things. Yet, he was pleased to see every man turn to him as he climbed onto his mount, all the guardsmen looking in anticipation at what he would order.
"Send a rider to the Red Keep with all the current information. Four men will follow me to the Gatehouse, where we will contact Lord Brandon and see how the situation evolves from there. Do you concur, Captain?" Tristifer finished with a completely professional expression toward the overwhelmed man. He enjoyed seeing the previously cocky and confident knight squirm.
"Sounds reasonable, continue as you were, Lieutenant," Tristifer swore he heard a few snickers but ignored them as he selected four additional riders to accompany him.
Tristifer and Ser Gerold were soon at the head of the mounted Gold Cloaks.
They were silent as they rode through the square and into the street leading to the gate. Soon, Hastwyck leaned in a little closer. "I believe it will be important to show a strong front. To be firm and not let them believe that they can just threaten with violence. While that may work in their lands and with people such as them, they need to learn that they cannot do such things in a civilized society. Do you agree, Ser Tristifer?"
Tristifer fixed him with a deadpan look. It shouldn't surprise him that some minor Reach lordling would be so ignorant, but it still did. Even the smallfolk of Sow's Horn were aware that the Northmen were not wildlings. It seemed like Ser Gerold had mixed the two.
"I think I will handle the talking, Captain. You need not concern yourself," Ser Gerold fell silent, and the ride to the massive wall of King's Landing and Gatehouse grew blissfully quiet.
"Lieutenant," one of the gold cloaks saluted as he approached. "...Ser?" The watchman then seemed to notice Ser Gerold with his black officer armor and four golden stripes designating him a captain.
"Our new Captain, Ser Gerold Hastwyck," Tristifer quickly introduced his 'superior before turning his attention to the open portcullis and the wall of gold cloaks barring entry to a group of five armored riders standing impatiently outside the gate.
Tristifer easily recognized the tall form of Lord Brandon with shining plate armor and furs on his broad shoulders, the very picture of a northern lord. Though even from this distance, Tristifer could see the furious expression that graced his face.
"Captain," the man saluted before turning to Tristifer again, blatantly seeking his directions. It was almost comical how fast his men dismissed the Reach Knight, their commanding officer. "How should we proceed, Lieutenant? Do we apprehend them? They have threatened the prince's life repeatedly and brutally; surely, it constitutes treason at the very least," the man suggested.
Tristifer shook his head. "Let me talk to them and attempt to make some sense of this mess."
The gold cloaks made way for him and his mounted men as they moved past.
Brandon seemed to recognize him almost immediately, and almost all his anger turned to confusion.
"Tristifer? What are you doing here?" The Stark heir asked him. The Stark's companions, all of whom had been at Harrenhal, soon followed their leader with equally surprised looks as they recognized Tristifer. Some, however, bore angry expressions.
Tristifer identified the sandy blonde Ser Elbert Arryn, Heir of the Vale, the curly brown hair of Ser Jeffory Mallister, blonde Kyle Royce, and a redheaded Glover, judging by the last man's fisted gauntlet on his surcoat.
His gold cloaks, meanwhile, looked perplexed, trying to make sense of the fact that the son of the Lord of the North knew their Lieutenant on a first-name basis. Ser Gerold, especially, appeared as if he had sucked a lemon, realizing his subordinate seemed more connected than him—an heir to a lordship, even if it was a small holding not even a direct vassal of the Tyrells, was overshadowed by a 'lowborn'.
"Brandon, it is nice to see you again even in these circumstances," Tristifer replied respectfully. "I am the Lieutenant of this City Gate and have heard reports of threats, abductions, and treasonous behavior. I would appreciate hearing your side of this situation," Tristifer stated professionally.
This seemed to remind Brandon of the situation as anger quickly reappeared. "My sister has been abducted by Prince Rhaegar, and I demand her return in my father's name," the Northman demanded.
Tristifer raised his hands placatingly as the gold cloaks raised spears and Brandon's followers drew their weapons. "Calm down, lower your weapons, everyone," Tristifer's gold cloaks lowered their spears again, but Brandon's followers did not.
Tristifer somehow did not doubt Brandon's claims. After the last day of jousting, this did not seem impossible, although with how Lyanna looked at Rhaegar and her betrothed Robert Baratheon, he wondered how unwilling she was. But that was not his place to speculate, and neither was speaking 'treason' of the Prince. He only hoped that Brandon would see sense and approach this more diplomatically.
"I am afraid that any slander of Prince Rhaegar is treason, so refrain from doing so," Tristifer threw out a chance for them to save themselves from lawful imprisonment, but they did not take up his generous offer.
"That cur has overstepped any rights he has as Prince of the Realm! He has abducted the daughter of one of his Lord Paramounts, and I am certain that my uncle will not let this injustice go on!" The Arryn Heir exclaimed, and Tristifer could feel his grip on the situation falter.
"Why do you even suspect that this has occurred? Did you witness this yourself, or has it all been an unfortunate misunderstanding?" Tristifer made a last-ditch attempt to salvage this situation for Brandon. They were no friends, more like acquaintances, but Tristifer would be the first to admit that King Aerys was quite arbitrary in his punishments. Doing something unexpected and idiotic was almost the more predictable path for their monarch. Tristifer did not wish for the Northman to be imprisoned or, gods forbid, executed.
"Misunderstanding?!" The Glover man exclaimed in rage and disbelief. Brandon, however, managed to interrupt his fellow Northman before he could continue.
"We are positive that this happened, as Lyanna disappeared a few leagues from Harrenhal and was last seen with a silver-headed man with purple eyes and two white-clad knights. None mentioned any specific names, of course, but we all know who matches that description exactly. Do I really need to spell it out?" Brandon explained with frustration.
Tristifer did agree that it was quite obvious who it was; it matched exactly to what he had heard when Prince Rhaegar had left a short fortnight ago. As Tristifer was about to reply, a booming voice interrupted him from behind, along with the sound of approaching horses.
"LORD BRANDON STARK AND YOUR COMPANIONS, ARE UNDER ARREST FOR TREASON IN THE NAME OF HIS GRACE KING AERYS TARGARYEN SECOND OF HIS NAME!" Tristifer turned swiftly to witness Lord Commander Gerold Hightower advancing with more than a dozen Targaryen guards. In proximity, close to half a hundred gold cloaks followed, shadowing the young visage of Commander Arnell Merryweather.
Tristifer knew now that it was too late and quickly moved to a side. Maybe he could try to help Brandon once imprisoned, but for now, he was helpless.
Almost as helpless as Brandon and his four companions; they first moved into a circle with their backs to one another as they were surrounded by the gold cloaks under the Commander and approached by the Kingsguard.
They soon realized the futility of resisting and were promptly put in chains, then loaded into a cart bound for the Red Keep. The Kingsguard lord commander and his Targaryen men-at-arms departed, escorting the cart. However, Commander Merryweather stayed behind, his gaze first drifting to Captain Hastwyck before settling on Tristifer.
"You, Ser, what rank in my gold cloaks do you hold?" Tristifer barely resisted gesturing to his visible two gold disks, recognizable to the Commander of the Gold Cloaks as those of a Lieutenant, but apparently not to the man who had never served in the lower ranks.
"I am a Lieutenant, Commander," Tristifer replied. The Commander, with a youthful appearance that couldn't be older than twenty, nodded contemplatively, dark eyes sizing Tristifer up.
"Why weren't these lordlings already apprehended when we arrived, Lieutenant? I have heard lots about you, Ser Tristifer," the man said, testing his name. "So what has changed? Allowing these traitors to continue to insult and threaten the Crown Prince is not something I would've expected of one of my Lieutenants."
Anger surged within Tristifer as the Commander's voice grew almost mocking. Before he could reply, one of his men from the barracks spoke up.
"Do not question the Lieutenant's integrity, Commander. He has achieved more here than you have in your life." A crowd had gathered around the three officers, consisting of men from the West Barracks and those from the Red Keep barracks that had arrived with the Commander. Tristifer's men murmured in agreement, while the Red Keep gold cloaks looked conflicted, their gazes shifting between Tristifer and Ser Arnell.
The aforementioned Commander grew a furious shade of red and pointed an accusatory finger at the watchman. "Thirty lashes! Thirty lashes for this disrespect of a commanding officer, I have never witnessed such insolence!" Ser Arnell shouted in some disbelief.
The watchman turned to Tristifer, ignoring the Commander's ruling. The man bore a determined look on his face as he awaited Tristifer's decision.
Deeply touched by the watchman's loyalty and willingness to defend him, even at the cost of punishment, Tristifer made his decision. It was evident that such loyalty was not easily earned or dismissed. As some of Merryweather's men moved toward Tristifer's defender, the knight's decision became clear. He jumped off his mount and moved in between the Red Keep gold cloaks and his watchman.
"I shall bear the lashes. I am obviously the cause, and for that, I will endure the consequence," Tristifer stated, purposefully vague about whether he 'blamed' the watchman for the incident. Ser Arnell looked shocked before growing triumphant, believing he had won this little game. However, when Tristifer glanced at the now clearly conflicted men standing behind the Commander, with expressions ranging from respect to surprise, he knew that the Reach knight was mistaken.
This act of sacrifice would spread throughout all three barracks, and word would circulate despite the Commander's attempts to control it. Tristifer understood that he needed to survive this lashing, which would prove easier said than done, as he had never experienced the cruel punishment before. Some playful whipping between him and Addam as children that he still remembered of course but never thirty whole lashes directly on the skin.
Yet, amidst this daunting experience, a glimmer of hope emerged. It could potentially forge an unshakeable bond with his men in the barracks. The incident seemed to be elevating his reputation, not just within his immediate circle but also earning respect elsewhere. This sacrifice, though challenging, was transforming into a stepping stone for Tristifer's journey toward the Commander's position, a possibility on the horizon.
"Then we shall complete them immediately. Ser Gerold, is there a posting and whip in your barracks?" Ser Arnell asked with a tinge of excitement in his voice, only to grow annoyed as the Captain turned to Tristifer for a moment. Merryweather's eyes narrowed as Tristifer nodded to Ser Gerold.
"Yes, Commander." There was absolute silence in the crowd as Tristifer's men appeared incensed by his treatment, and Ser Arnell's men wore sour and dark expressions, some glancing at Tristifer with sympathy.
The Commander displayed an irritated look on his face before turning to the Red Keep gold cloaks. "Escort him up to the West Barracks. There's clearly a culture of disrespect toward authority breeding in these lower barracks."
A couple of men hesitantly followed the orders. They paused briefly as Tristifer's men made to step forward, but he waved off the watchmen.
"I've given my word and won't break it now. Let them escort me," Tristifer declared, his tone resonating with an almost painfully honorable facade that masked his opportunistic and ruthless ambitions. The gold cloaks ordered to accompany him looked apologetic as they formed a protective circle, ensuring not to lay a hand on him during the lengthy walk back to the barracks.
His gold cloaks followed immediately behind him, with Commander Arnell and Captain Gerold leading the procession. Tristifer walked the street with his head held high, sporting an inscrutable expression as smallfolk observed with a mix of curiosity and confusion, witnessing him being escorted past.
As they walked, Tristifer was left in his thoughts. Once again, the idea of fleeing the city crossed his mind. Imprisoning the son of the Lord of the North could potentially spark a rebellion, given Lord Stark's formidable alliance network. King Aerys seemed destined to invite unrest, and if the North, Vale, and Stormlands joined forces in rebellion, the Reach alone could determine the outcome of such a conflict. The Reach's involvement could either separate the theaters of war or pose an extreme threat if they aligned.
This consideration didn't even account for other potential players. If Lord Tywin sought revenge for past insults, if Lord Hoster Tully grew greedy for rebellion, or if Dorne chose to stay uninvolved despite Princess Elia's presence in King's Landing—though the latter seemed unlikely given the well-known fierce loyalty her brothers had for their sister.
Abandoning the King and then returning if they emerged victorious would be just as catastrophic as the potential rebels winning. Tristifer had carefully built something here, and his contributions to the Targaryen cause, especially recognized by Prince Rhaegar if not by King Aerys, could undoubtedly yield substantial rewards. However, the looming question was how many more years the 'mad king' had left. This rebellion might very well mark the end of King Aerys, and Tristifer had to weigh his options carefully in this turbulent situation.
Someone had obviously been sent in advance, as when Tristifer was escorted into the now-familiar courtyard, a wooden post had already been set up with ropes hanging ominously from it.
His 'guards' almost reluctantly removed his black chest plate, fastened his hands with the ropes to the pole, and raised his undertunic, exposing his bare back to the pleasant sun and wind. Positioned on his knees in the sandy courtyard, his back bent, Tristifer awaited the impending punishment.
"Lieutenant Mudd has let his men's mouths run amok, and for this, he will be punished with thirty lashes of a whip," Commander Merryweather declared with a spiteful tone behind him. Tristifer noticed how the knight conveniently omitted the fact that he had volunteered for this in place of one of his men. It was a feeble attempt to control the narrative, but the correct information had undoubtedly circulated twice over in the crowded courtyard.
As the cracking sound of the whip echoed, Tristifer remained resolute, not flinching. Though he had seen the five-tailed leather whips used for punishment, and they didn't look overly intimidating, a small feeling of trepidation crept over him at the sound.
He heard the man, presumably the one designated for the punishment, walk up behind him. A serjeant, undoubtedly from the Red Keep barracks, would carry out this unpleasant task. Tristifer contemplated the identity of his punisher, clenching his teeth when he heard the ominous whoosh of the whip behind him.
The first second was almost unbearable as his back was engulfed in a searing pain. He grunted, barely managing to stifle the scream. It was a furious pain that, thankfully, seemed to dissipate quickly. However, he did not have much time to recover, as the whip snapped again and again against his back.
The relentless lashes continued, each one leaving its fiery mark on his skin. Tristifer endured in silence, determined not to give his tormentor the satisfaction of hearing him scream. As the punishment persisted, the courtyard remained eerily quiet, the onlookers hushed in a mixture of shock and sympathy, witnessing the severe consequences of defiance.
Tristifer's scream pierced the air at the seventh lashing, the sound echoing through the courtyard. He could feel the warm, sticky trail of blood coursing down his back, a grim testament to the relentless punishment.
Despite his best efforts, he managed to stifle the following scream of pain at the eighth and ninth lashing. However, the facade of strength soon crumbled as any coherent thoughts were shattered by the vicious leather tails of the whip. Each strike brought an agonizing surge of pain, blurring his senses and leaving him gasping for breath.
He rapidly lost track of the punishing blows, his entire existence reduced to the relentless rhythm of each strike. Despite the excruciating pain that surged through his back, he remained on his knees, trapped in a world dominated by the repetitive onslaught of the whip. Abruptly, the torment ceased, leaving him disoriented and barely coherent.
Gradually, the constraints binding his arms were loosened, and two heavily armored figures hoisted him upright between them. The transition from the vicious whipping to this unexpected rescue blurred his senses. As they carried him into the barracks, the overwhelming agony and exhaustion plunged him into unconsciousness, his battered body surrendering to the respite.
As Tristifer stirred from his unconscious state, the sharp jolt of pain served as a harsh reminder of his injuries when he attempted to shift in the bed. Though he initially lay on his side, the instinct to roll onto his back was quickly abandoned with a stifled grunt.
As his eyes scanned the infirmary within the barracks. The half-maester, dedicated to tending to the men of the West Barracks, had his back turned. However, at the sound of Tristifer's pained grunt, he swiveled around to face him, acknowledging the awakening with a measured gaze.
Tristifer heard shuffling behind him, and soon, Addam and Robin came into view.
"That was idiotic. You've been out for close to three days now," Addam stated bluntly, his gaze sweeping from Tristifer to the visible evidence of his injuries.
Tristifer responded with a weak smile. "I don't disagree, especially now, but it was meant to send a message."
Robin, a mix of admiration and concern in his eyes, chimed in. "Send a message, you did. The Serjeant responsible for your punishment was found dead at the bottom of some stairs in the Red Keep Barracks with all his limbs broken yesterday."
Tristifer managed to raise an eyebrow. The Serjeant had been a faceless figure to him, someone he had never seen. While he had harbored a desire for retribution against the one who had lashed him, Tristifer didn't care for the specific identity.
"It seems to be a most unfortunate fall, and one that was not influenced by any of us," Addam added. "We did keep eyes on him, but this appears to be an internal matter within the Serjeant's own barracks. You evidently earned some sympathy from a few of the Red Keep watchmen," Addam admitted with a hint of reluctance.
Tristifer's kin shared more information, reintroducing him to the situation in King's Landing.
"Commander Arnell is struggling to maintain control, facing dissent from gold cloaks across all three barracks. None of them faced punishment as severe as yours," Tristifer's cousin informed him. "It became a topic in a small council meeting, overshadowed, however, by Lord Brandon's imprisonment in the Black Cells. The King is summoning the fathers of Brandon and his companions to present themselves at King's Landing."
"Only Lord Rickard Stark has answered, stating he will travel down via White Harbor, arriving in a moon," Robin added. Tristifer absorbed this information when Addam interrupted with a stern expression.
"You won't witness this, as Burton here has determined that you won't recover within a moon. Guards are posted at the door to protect you. Be compliant," Addam demanded, gesturing to the half-maester before saluting and departing. Robin sent Tristifer a last look before leaving.
In the following weeks, Tristifer drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Robin and Addam visited regularly, checking on his progress. Fortunately, Burton found no signs of infection, a stroke of luck that spared Tristifer additional complications.
Tristifer was kept informed about the outside world by Robin. He learned of King Aerys' fury and the anticipation of Lord Stark's arrival. Details of the grim conditions in the Black Cells, situated even lower than the Red Keep's normal dungeons, were shared. Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna remained absent, and the prevailing belief in King's Landing was that their situation was a result of a forbidden romance. However, Tristifer discovered that this perception differed in the other kingdoms. Robert Baratheon claimed that Lyanna had been abducted and subjected to unspeakable horrors a hundred times over.
Tristifer had only last week managed to walk slowly with minimal pain and rest carefully on his back when Robin rushed in with a panicked expression. It had now been a moon since his flogging and he had barely ventured outside the quarters of the half-maester.
"Lord Stark and his Heir have been executed in a trial by combat" Robin shouted.
Tristifer's eyebrows furrowed, executed? Surely they had been killed in a trial by combat? Still, he waited for Robin to continue, a sinking feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
"King Aerys named his champion for the trial, fire," Robin's voice trembled with shock as he relayed the horrifying details. "Lord Stark burnt in his armor, flames burnt him alive, while Lord Brandon had a cord around his neck that tightened as he moved with a sword just out of reach and suffocated to death."
Tristifer was stunned by the brutality, but the execution of the Starks seemed almost characteristic of their King. The Targaryen who once had been such a promising monarch after the passing of his father and ascension as king only grew more unstable day by day. King Aerys could not survive this war regardless of the outcome.
"Has there been any response?" Tristifer eventually asked Robin who shook his head.
"King Aerys sent a letter to Lord Jon Arryn, ordering the execution of Lord Arryn's two wards, Lord Baratheon and the new Lord Stark."
"Well, that isn't happening," Tristifer replied swiftly. "We shall prepare for war."
Robin wore an unsure expression. "Who will we fight for? The Rebels?"
Tristifer locked eyes with Robin. "Where we can gain the most, loyalist or rebel—I don't care. As long as I end up with a lordship. This war is the perfect opportunity to catapult our family up, and I won't achieve that by playing it safe," Tristifer explained firmly. Robin eventually nodded, a bit more assured.
"Do look into where we may go and how to leave the city, just in case," Tristifer instructed.
"Certainly, Tristifer. I'll look into it immediately," Robin nodded before leaving Tristifer to his own whirring thoughts.
In a matter of days, Tristifer caught wind of Lord Arryn's outright refusal, swiftly followed by the calling of banners from both the King and the rebel faction. The dissenting lords at present were Lord Stark, Lord Arryn, and Lord Baratheon.
Lord Arryn's vassal, Lord Marq Grafton, remained loyal to the crown. He had promptly informed the King of his intent to prevent Lord Robert from returning to his lands across the sea.
The unity of the Stormlands under their liege lord was also fragmented. Lords Fell, Grandison, Cafferen, and Jon Connington aligned themselves with the Crown, creating a schism within the region.
Thus began the rebellion that Tristifer hoped to exploit for his gain, with him confined to the infirmary of a Gold Cloak barracks, nearly bedridden.
Lord Jon Connington adjusted the gleaming pin on his red and white surcoat, proudly displaying the griffin sigil of his House. The past week had felt like a nightmare, with chaos reigning from the Stark family's untimely demise to the outbreak of rebellion, all worsened by the absence of his Silver Prince who was in Dorne with the Stark girl. Amidst the turmoil, the removal of Lord Owen Merryweather as Hand for failing to quell the rebellion offered a small sense of relief.
Jon was elated to be appointed Hand of the King, even if it wasn't for the Targaryen he wished for. Maybe, from this position, he could pave the way for his Prince's rise to power. Contrary to the ineffective Lord Owen Merryweather, whose legacy consisted of misguided attempts to build a power base, Jon was aware of the significant influence the Hand held as the second most powerful figure in the Kingdoms.
His immediate focus, however, was on undoing the repercussions of Merryweather's actions in the capital. Fortunately, the damage wasn't widespread, mainly confined to King's Landing. Lord Owen's misguided emphasis, particularly on the Gold Cloaks, had left them a mere shadow of their former selves in just a short time under Merryweather's rule.
His Silver Prince had tasked Jon to keep a vigilant eye on Ser Tristifer Mudd. Though unimpressed by the man's cousin, Jon couldn't deny Ser Tristifer's confidence and ambition, traits not uncommon among knights of his station. In these times of war, such matters often found their own resolution. Overconfident knights with big dreams often found themselves in precarious situations all on their own.
What Jon had heard concerning a flogging gave him pause; though crude, the stunt had yielded impressive results. To endure a whip for his own subordinate's actions was a masterful ploy, lifelong loyalty had been made for far less. Jon was keenly aware of the fate of the man who wielded the whip. Even with Trisifer bedridden from the experience.
Without Jon's intervention, Commander Merryweather might have followed. A contingent of Connington men stationed at the Red Keep Barracks ensured otherwise. Despite harboring personal disdain for the Commander, Jon recognized the gravity of the situation. As the Hand of the King during wartime, any hint of insurrection or the assassination of the City Watch's commander was utterly unacceptable.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. At his prompt, the door creaked open slowly, revealing the very subject of his contemplation. It seemed the knight had accepted his summons.
Commander of the City Watch, Ser Arnell Merryweather, entered the room. He was the grandson of the man whose seat Jon now sat—a fact that only served to underscore the nepotism evident in his appointment. Recent events had highlighted Ser Arnell's incompetence and lack of experience all too vividly.
Despite being only a few namedays younger than Jon, Ser Arnell still bore traces of boyhood, whereas Jon exuded a sense of maturity. In contrast, Ser Arnell possessed an inflated ego that matched his inexperience. While he may have refrained from displaying such arrogance to his superiors like Jon, the young knight's treatment of those he deemed 'beneath' him did not escape notice.
"My Lord Hand," Ser Arnell greeted Jon with a simpering smile, prompting a barely concealed grimace from Jon. He despised lickspittles and cretins like Ser Arnell, who reminded him of the King's most ardent 'supporters'. These individuals, driven by greed and lacking in intellect, managed to escape consequences solely through their fawning loyalty to the King—a trait Jon found both repugnant and perplexing. Lord Quentyn Chelsted and Lord Symond Staunton came to mind as prime examples, their antagonism on the Small Council evident from the outset.
"Commander Arnell," Jon replied after a moment, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. As Ser Arnell sat down, fidgeting nervously, Jon continued. "I appreciate your prompt arrival."
Ser Arnell nodded eagerly at the supposed compliment, oblivious to the fact that Jon had only just dispatched a messenger to summon him for their conversation. "I will always heed the command of the Hand, my Lord Hand"
So nothing has changed then? Jon thought to himself. He was certain that Ser Arnell was well acquainted with the Tower of the Hand from Lord Owen's tenure, which ended with the Reach Lord's exile and loss of titles. It was apparent that Ser Arnell had gone unnoticed by the King's small inquisition of the Merryweathers in King's Landing, a fact that seemed to matter little to the increasingly reclusive King.
The Queen's seemingly lighter disposition, in contrast, hinted at more than just a lack of interaction with her husband—it whispered of her sorrow, a whispered secret well-known throughout the corridors of King's Landing. Less widely acknowledged was Queen Rhaella's palpable distaste for her brother-husband. Jon allowed his thoughts on the King to fade away as he redirected his focus to the Merryweather knight before him.
"As is your duty," Jon stated firmly. "Nevertheless, I did want to discuss the state of the City Watch."
Ser Arnell's smile vanished, replaced by a mix of nervousness and irritation. It was no surprise, though Jon had no intention of relieving the Commander of his post just yet. That time would come when Ser Arnell had exhausted his limited usefulness.
Lord Varys, always the informant, had suggested using Ser Arnell to maneuver for Ser Tristifer Mudd's promotions, potentially paving the way for the young knight to assume the role of Commander if he proved reliable.
Isolated and without allies, facing a potential mutiny, and lacking in competence, Ser Arnell was ripe for manipulation. Jon wagered that the Merryweather knight would sacrifice much in his desperation to avoid facing the consequences of his actions, or at least to appear to do so.
"I've received reports concerning numerous new and unprepared Captains, ill-equipped for their roles and duties. In particular, I wish to discuss Ser Gerold Hastwyck, the Captain of the Gate of the Gods," Jon stated, his tone laden with gravity as he addressed the young Commander.
Initially, Ser Arnell appeared perplexed, but realization dawned upon him as the gravity of Jon's intent became clear.
"I-I... Ser Gerold is a good friend, and I believe, given time to familiarize himself with his responsibilities, he could serve admirably," Ser Arnell stuttered, his voice tinged with desperation.
Jon shook his head in disapproval. "We are at war, Ser. The luxury of time for 'acclimation' for the capital's garrison officers is a luxury we cannot afford. This is why I am considering appointing a replacement from among the more experienced lower-ranked officers."
"He's a lowborn schemer, plotting against my life!" Ser Arnell burst out, his voice rising in agitation. It was clear they both understood to whom Jon was referring, and it seemed Ser Tristifer had left a significant, albeit unfavorable, impression on Ser Arnell as well. "His 'followers' have already slain one of my men and are plotting a mutiny against me."
Jon was somewhat taken aback that the often inept Reacher Knight had managed to grasp the undercurrents among his men. Yet, he had no intention of letting Ser Arnell believe they were entering some kind of partnership.
"My mind's made up, and nothing you say will change it. So, don't bother," Jon stated plainly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. Ser Arnell's expression shifted from shock to a sense of betrayal, but he remained silent as Jon continued. "Ser Tristifer Mudd is taking over as Captain of the Gate of the Gods. I won't tolerate any attempts to undermine him. Remember, you're still Commander by my leave alone. Step out of line, and I'll have no qualms about handing you over to the King's judgment."
Jon watched as the young knight clenched his jaw, anger evident in his quick, tight swallow, before he abruptly stood and offered a curt, frustrated nod. Jon had no illusions about the knight's potential for stirring trouble, yet it was crucial for the City Watch's stability that Ser Tristifer be properly integrated and ascend the ranks. A captain who commanded respect was far more suited to eventually take on the role of commander than a lieutenant whose name was only somewhat familiar.
"You're dismissed," Jon said plainly, his voice brooking no argument. Ser Arnell paused momentarily, perhaps searching for some argument or plea that could alter his fate, but finding none. Then, as if snapping out of a reverie, he turned sharply and made his swift exit from the room.
Jon sighed wearily, his attention shifting back to the scattered missives on his desk, each one bearing news of the conflict. Among them, the report of Gulltown's fall and Lord Marq Grafton's demise at the hands of Robert Baratheon stood out starkly.
While Jon could respect Lord Robert's martial skills and prowess on the battlefield, he had long held reservations about the man's capabilities as a Lord. Yet, if there was any realm that could withstand being governed by such a singularly focused Lord Paramount, it was the Stormlands. His fellow Stormlords, for all their might and loyalty, often lacked in subtlety and refinement.
This turn of events, though regrettable, was hardly unexpected. It effectively unified the Vale under the Arryn standard once more, providing Lord Robert with the opportunity to journey to the Stormlands and muster support for the rebel cause among their countrymen.
Lord Mace Tyrell had fortuitously decided to stay loyal and the raven that Jon had received only this morning had been very welcome. The Tyrells had called their banners and all of their vassals had followed uncommon with split loyalties in the Stormlands, Vale, and of course Riverlands. Truly without the Reach then this rebellion would've been lost already.
The silence from the Iron Islands and the Westerlands was unsettling. Their apparent neutrality, coupled with an uptick in raids along the western coastline of Westeros, suggested a lurking opportunism rather than outright support for either side. Dorne's allegiance, while secured in the name of the King, was undoubtedly coerced by the presence of Princess Elia, her children, and Prince Lewyn Martell in King's Landing — hostages in all but name.
Jon's strategy aimed at exploiting the rebels' divided fronts, particularly isolating the Stormlands to dismantle the rebellion piece by piece. With the numerical superiority of the loyalist forces, there was a tangible path to victory, one that necessitated swift and decisive action to prevent any potential regrouping of the rebel factions.
Yet, amid the calculations and planning, Jon's thoughts frequently drifted to Prince Rhaegar. The Silver Prince's return was eagerly anticipated, for his leadership would undoubtedly invigorate the loyalist cause and provide a much-needed boost to morale. Until such time, the weight of command rested on Jon's shoulders — a burden he accepted with grim determination. Failure was not an option, not just for the sake of the realm, but to honor the trust placed in him by his Prince.
End of Chapter
And then we arrive at Robert's Rebellion. Gulltown Has Fallen.
Tristifer also rises the ranks once again and we shall see how far he will get. Tristifer 'selflessly' volunteers to take the lashing of his subordinate, something that as Jon thinks will foster quite the loyalty in at least the West Barracks for our favorite Mudd.
Don't expect any fast updates as exam season nears and I will probably not be able to do much as that will be my priority of course.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well, please review if you have suggestions, questions, praise, or criticism.
Next time we will arrive in 283 AC and the fated Battle of the Trident, though not immediately. It will be when Trisitfer finally becomes a true player of the Game and will be the start of something significant for House Mudd.