The Actions We Do, The Consequences We Take
The dawn of an apparently serene day rose over Lannisport.
After their victory over Tywin, the Starks and Tullys gathered their prisoners, buried their dead, rounded up cattle and horses from the defeated enemy, and loaded all the weapons and loot they could find onto carts, before beginning their march westward.
The Lannisters of Lannisport were a rich and proud lineage, but nevertheless envious of being only a cadet branch. They had not yet recovered from the fires of the siege they had endured—certain that the Young Wolf had retreated to avoid being crushed by Tywin's returning troops, and that soon they would see their overlord arrive with the invader's head—when they saw said invader return with a much larger army, accompanied by a column of prisoners from the Westerlands.
Among those prisoners were Addam Marbrand, Daven Lannister, and Kevan Lannister, who personally went, under the arrows of the Riverlands archers, to negotiate under Lannisport's walls to request the city's surrender.
What ultimately convinced Lord Lannos Lannister, son of Lord Reginald—who had died the previous year from peritonitis and lord of the city—to open the gates and surrender, was something else: a funeral cart bearing the corpse of their former overlord.
For the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister's death was an immense tragedy. What was a cruel and ruthless man to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms was, to them, a true rock to lean on, the certainty that, as long as he was there, the Westerlands would always come first, one way or another.
Robb gave assurances that the city would not be sacked but ordered both Lannisport and Casterly Rock—the otherwise impregnable fortress to which swift messengers were sent—to surrender unconditionally.
He soon discovered that the Lannisters were as numerous as weeds: Lannos was the son of Reginald, lord of the cadet branch of Lannisport, married with two children, Tygett and Tyra, while the daughter, Darma, had married a Greenfield, producing Lanthos and Isabel.
Old Reginald also had a sister, Lannos's aunt, who had married a Lannister of Casterly Rock, namely Lord Damon, Tywin's first cousin and brother of his wife Joanna. Damon had choked on a chicken bone years earlier, but he had left a son, Damion, who married Shiera Crakehall, in turn producing the young Lucion and Lanna.
After accepting their act of submission and renunciation of force or any claims against the Riverlands, Robb took all the male cousins—Lucion, Tygett, and Lanthos—as hostages, adding them to Kevan's sons, Martyn and Willem, already in the Northmen's custody.
Then he ordered the lords to hand over a great number of swords and other weapons, leaving the Westerlands virtually defenseless, and personally sent his men to collect the gold amassed by the Lannisters within Casterly Rock and inspect the gold mines.
To their great surprise, the wolves discovered that the mines had been exhausted for some time, and a thorough inspection confirmed it was no ruse: for at least five years, the Lannisters' wealth had derived solely from their previous reserves, their trade ventures, and... enormous loans they had received from the Iron Bank of Braavos... which they had almost immediately funneled into further loans to the Iron Throne.
"They've indebted the realm to keep Robert Baratheon under their thumb," remarked Edmure Tully, "using money they were already in debt for."
"Utterly slimy," commented Brynden.
But the amount of gold amassed within Casterly Rock was still tremendous, and Robb seized nearly all of it to pay war damages to the Riverlands.
Once the fortress was emptied, its occupants were also evicted, forcing the remaining cousins to live in Lannisport with the cadet branch.
After loading gold, weapons, and a significant quantity of provisions onto a long caravan of carts, they were ready to depart again.
Robb, however, chose, after having so humiliated them, not to be overly heavy-handed with his now-former enemies, preferring to restore normal relations. He thus released Addam Marbrand and almost all the officers who had not proven irreconcilable, allowing the red-haired knight to return to his ancestral castle.
"I assure you, Ser Addam," said the King in the North, "I treated neither the castle, where I stayed for a few days, nor your father, who hosted me, poorly. You'll find them both in excellent condition."
If Ser Addam thought of giving a biting response, he had the good sense to hold his tongue.
Along with him, thousands of prisoners who had been common soldiers were freed, allowing them to return to their homes and harvest another crop before winter, while the remaining lords prepared Tywin's funeral.
Having resolved the war on the western front, Wolves and Fish resumed their march, with loot and hostages, toward Riverrun.
Since the raven had not been sent immediately after the city's capture but delayed by several days, they did not learn of King's Landing's fall until they returned to the Riverlands.
They were personally informed by Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont, who rode out to meet them from Riverrun, where they had left Lady Catelyn. Naturally, Dacey had much to tell Robb, especially about what had happened in Renly's camp.
Robb wanted to know if, along with news of King's Landing's fall, Stannis had sent any word about his sisters, but there was none at all.
The King in the North prayed to both his gods, the Old and the New—his mother's faith—that Sansa and Arya were safe.
But the strangest news, because it was unexpected, came from Smalljon: his father had sent a raven from Harrenhal, the fortress he had taken in Robb's name… reporting that his scouts had found a large Tyrell army camped at the southern border near Stoney Sept.
The looting and massacres in King's Landing continued for two days. Though Stannis Baratheon was a man opposed to letting his men indulge their baser instincts on the civilian population, like all commanders, he recognized the need to allow his soldiers some release after risking their lives for him... but, believing they had gone too far, he declared martial law. He executed two dozen men as an example, and the abuses ceased, but by then, the number of raped women was incalculable.
Three days after the city's occupation, Stannis ascended the Iron Throne as Stannis of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
In the throne room, observing his coronation, were a thousand lords, great and small, and knights loyal to him... and all noted that the coronation, with the The same crown Robert had worn was placed upon his head during the coronation. The ceremony, however, was conducted by Melisandre herself.
The new king did not see fit to visit the Sept of Baelor for a blessing from a Septon. In any case, the High Septon who had been killed during the riots months earlier had not yet been replaced. Melisandre, the enigmatic Red Woman, boldly proclaimed that Stannis was king by the will of R'hllor, the Lord of Light—the one true god.
What exactly the faith of R'hllor entailed, the people of King's Landing did not yet know, but they had gotten an idea the day before the coronation during the funerals. Those who died in the battle had been hastily buried to prevent disease, but the more illustrious dead were honored differently.
Among them was Alistair Florent, brother of Queen Selyse and Hand of the King, who had heroically fallen while taking the city. In adherence to the faith of R'hllor, he and other officers of Stannis were not buried but burned on towering wooden pyres, a tradition once exclusive to the Targaryens.
Queen Selyse Florent mourned her brother's death but took solace in his sacrifice for Stannis' ascension to the throne and the belief that he now basked in the glory of R'hllor. These mixed feelings were reflected as the pyre was lit.
A smaller pyre burned for poor Tommen Baratheon. Melisandre declared him an innocent victim and spread the story that his own mother, Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, had murdered him to keep him from falling into enemy hands alive.
The next day, during his coronation, Stannis declared that the King's Justice would be meted out to all responsible for turning the city into a cesspool of crime and treachery.
Before all of this unfolded, Sansa shivered from the cold as the faithful Dontos strained to row their small skiff out of the coastal caves. At first light, evading the Baratheon fleet in secret had been her sole concern, but as morning passed, another pressing fear emerged: they might freeze before reaching any safe harbor.
"Ser Dontos, where are we going? We're far from the city now; you could at least tell me," Sansa said.
"Just a bit farther, Lady Sansa," Dontos replied, panting with effort. "We should soon see the ship waiting for us, where we'll transfer. It sailed from Duskendale, so it shouldn't be far now."
"Duskendale?" Sansa echoed, puzzled.
Who would I know in Duskendale?
She didn't have to wonder for long. Soon, a medium-sized ship with brightly colored sails, clearly signaling for recognition, appeared on the horizon. It anchored as it spotted them, allowing them to approach. As the vessel loomed closer in the cold morning light, Sansa's heart raced with curiosity about her mysterious savior.
When they finally drew alongside the ship, Dontos rested his oars. "We made it," he said, relief evident in his voice. "I'm truly glad you're safe, Lady Sansa."
Emotion welled up in Sansa. "Ser Dontos, I... I don't know what to say. I owe you my life."
"And I owed mine to you, Lady Sansa. It was only my duty to repay it."
"Joffrey may have made you a fool," Sansa said, her voice thick with gratitude, "but today, you're more of a knight than any man in King's Landing." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
Dontos blushed and bowed deeply, removing his hat.
At that moment, a rope ladder was tossed down from the ship, and Dontos helped Sansa start her climb before following her up.
The hand that helped her over the railing wasn't the one she had expected. The smile was radiant, the mustache unmistakable.
"Lord Baelish? You were the one behind Ser Dontos? But... I thought you served the Lannisters!"
"And fortunately for you, Lady Sansa, so did they. But they overplayed their hand, and I had to reassess my strategies."
"What will you do with me?"
"With you, my sweet Sansa? I'll take you to safety. That seems obvious enough. To the safest place in the Seven Kingdoms. But first, I must do something."
With that, he leaned over the railing and let the rope ladder fall back onto the skiff.
"Hey!" Dontos cried out in protest. "What are you doing, Lord Baelish?"
"You served me well, Ser Dontos," Littlefinger declared, drawing a crossbow handed to him by a deckhand, "but I no longer need you. Goodbye."
He loosed a single bolt, striking the hapless fool square in the chest. The former knight collapsed backward, and the skiff began to drift away.
"NO!" Sansa screamed, horrified. But there was nothing she could do. The ship hoisted anchor and sailed on.
Hours later, out at sea, Sansa sat curled up in a corner, eyes red from crying. She couldn't shake the thought that she should have left with the Hound.
Petyr Baelish approached her. "I've given you some time, but it's time to stop crying."
She glared at him with nothing but contempt.
"Don't you understand why I did it?" he asked.
"He was LOYAL to you! What reason could you possibly have had?"
"Ah, loyalty in a man enslaved by drink is like a spring butterfly, my dear Sansa. Today, it lands on this flower; tomorrow, it flits to another.
"Dontos was devoted to you, no doubt. But tomorrow, or in a month, or a year, the gold I'd given him wouldn't have sufficed. Then, to buy another drink, he might recall a certain very important secret he knew... and decide to sell you to the highest bidder.
"Do you understand, Sansa? I did it for your safety.
"You've endured many terrible experiences, but you still have the unfortunate habit of trusting people. If you want to survive in this world, you'd best break that habit."
Her breath hitched. His words stung. She hadn't thought of it that way.
He extended a hand to help her up, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it.
"Very good. Come, I'll show you your cabin. There are quite a few developments you need to be informed about."
But as they reached the door to the lower deck, Sansa stopped.
"I've been dragged from place to place for so long. Before anything else, I demand to know where we're going."
"Did I not tell you I would bring you to the safest place in the Seven Kingdoms? That's exactly what I'm doing. This ship is heading to Gulltown... from there, we'll ride to the Eyrie, to your aunt Lysa, Regent of the Vale of Arryn."
Robb's triumphant return to Riverrun with his victorious army was met with great enthusiasm. Catelyn, in particular, was overjoyed to see her son alive and well, embracing him with all her might.
The visions she had of Renly's death haunted her nightly, filling her with dread that Robb might meet the same fate—an assassin's shadow in the form of Stannis creeping into his tent to claim his life.
At the same time, she was filled with pride for his remarkable feat of defeating Tywin Lannister, a victory that seemed impossible, and for saving her homeland.
"When you left Winterfell upon hearing of your father's capture, you were still a boy," she said. "Now, you've become a man."
"He's not just a man, he's the King in the North and the Riverlands!" roared GreatJon Umber, raising his cup to toast alongside the crowd. He had ridden his horse to death to arrive from Harrenhal in time for the celebrations.
Robb had been pleased to learn that GreatJon had crushed Vargo Hoat's band, and reportedly, Gregor Clegane's as well. Three-quarters of the Mountain's raiders had been ambushed and annihilated. Gregor himself, pierced by several crossbow bolts while unarmored, fled into a dense forest—a forest rumored to be home to a massive wolf pack led by a ferocious female direwolf.
During the victory feast, Lothar Frey praised the Young Wolf for plundering the gold from the Westerlands, which could be used to pay for war damages. He suggested that House Frey keep a portion of it for safekeeping.
Robb, noticing the suspicious glances exchanged among the other lords, was compelled to declare that no division of the gold had yet been decided. To prevent disputes, he proposed splitting the gold into two portions: one to be held at Riverrun by his uncle, the Warden of the Riverlands, and the other to be kept at Harrenhal, recently occupied by the Stark forces. This plan, while meant to quell contention, only seemed to heighten dissatisfaction.
The King in the North had heeded the warnings of Dacey Mormont and his mother: if Stannis truly wielded dark magic against his enemies, Robb himself could be in danger.
Gods, just when I thought it was over... If Stannis has taken the city, he could return Sansa and Arya to me, let me claim Joffrey's head, and the war would be finished. We could return to the North. But how will he react to my coronation? He doesn't seem like the type to accept splitting his realm in two. And if I kneel to him, my lords will turn against me and strip me of my crown. What is the right course of action?
"May I have a word with you, nephew?"
"Of course, Uncle Edmure. Speak freely."
"I understand that the decision to split the gold into only two parts wasn't well-received, but you were right. You can't imagine the kind of squabbles that would've erupted otherwise.
But there's another matter I must raise with you.
I was considering disbanding my army."
"What? Already?"
"Well, yes. The war is over. The Lannisters are defeated. Kevan and Daven have joined Jaime Lannister in my dungeons. Joffrey has been overthrown, apparently. We have no more enemies."
"But we don't know Stannis's intentions, Uncle. If what my mother says is true…"
"Come now, Sire. You don't actually believe those stories, do you?"
"Are you calling my mother—your elder sister—a lunatic? A liar? A dreamer? And she isn't the only one who witnessed that scene."
Edmure hesitated, conflicted. "They definitely saw something. But still..."
"And let me remind you that there's a Tyrell army of thirty thousand men on your lands. We need to ask them what they're doing here and ensure they don't have hostile intentions."
"I'm sure the Tyrells are here for diplomatic purposes. But that's not the point. My people are starving, Robb. This war has devastated us. If I don't release at least part of the army, the men won't return to their fields to plant a new crop. And then, well, I won't need to worry about anything because I won't have any subjects left to govern."
Robb fell silent for a long moment.
"You're right, Uncle. However, I would ask you not to disband your entire army just yet. For now, release half. Ensure this half is evenly distributed among all the lords—especially those who've suffered the most losses. Until we're certain of a recognized peace, I don't feel safe demobilizing entirely."
"Very well, Nephew—uh, I mean, Sire. We'll do as you say."
Two days after the feast, Lord Hoster Tully, long ill, passed away. His funeral took another two days.
Then Robb, Edmure, and Catelyn departed with a strong escort to meet the Tyrells halfway, near the Inn of the Kneeling Man, while half of the Lannister gold was sent to Harrenhal under heavy guard.
The delegation consisted of a limited number of individuals, with five hundred riders from each side left behind three hundred yards from the abandoned village tavern where the meeting took place.
Robb was accompanied by his mother, Dacey Mormont, Robett Glover, Wylas Manderly, Edmure Tully, Jason Mallister, and Brynden Tully. Brienne was also present.
On the Tyrell side stood Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, Loras Tyrell, Garlan Tyrell, and Margaery Tyrell.
The moment Loras laid eyes on the towering blonde warrior, he saw red.
"What is SHE doing here?" he demanded, reaching for his sword.
But everyone quickly stepped between them to prevent the meeting from derailing before it even began.
"Ser Loras," Catelyn intervened. "I requested Brienne's presence specifically to address this matter. She did not kill Renly Baratheon, nor did I, nor Dacey Mormont. We came to seek his alliance, and he granted it. We were the last people in the world who would want him dead."
Brienne stepped forward, kneeling before Loras.
"Ser Loras," she said, her voice heavy with emotion, "I know how much Renly Baratheon meant to you. Please believe me when I say he meant as much to me. If you decide to kill me here and now, I will not resist. Death would be a relief compared to living with the memory of failing to save him."
Loras seemed taken aback by her words and demeanor. Doubt flickered in his eyes. At last, he sheathed his sword.
"Tsk! Fine. But I'm not entirely convinced yet. If it wasn't you, who killed him? There was no one else in his tent."
The women sighed in relief but soon exchanged embarrassed glances.
"It was like…a dark shape…" Catelyn started.
"An shadow," declared Dacey Mormont firmly, "brought to life through dark magic."
"Oh, come on! Do you take me for a fool? I'm a bit old to believe in fairy tales!"
"My mother doesn't lie," Robb retorted, irritated. "And perhaps, in the South, living your comfortable lives, you've forgotten things we in the North still remember. The Wall, the White Walkers... It seems Stannis is traveling with a priestess of R'hllor, and we know strange rituals are practiced in Essos."
"In fact," Margaery took the opportunity to step forward, "even in the South, we remember old traditions. My family is half Hightower, and Oldtown was founded by the First Men. It stands atop a labyrinth of ancient origins, perhaps older than the Wall itself. At the Citadel, even Archmaesters admit that magic truly exists.
"Loras, dear brother," she continued, addressing him, "I'm not asking you to forsake your revenge, but to have patience, yes? I do not believe these people killed Renly, and we were the ones who requested this diplomatic meeting."
Loras gave a half-nod and stepped back.
Margaery turned to the others. "I apologize for this little incident. Brienne, my dear, rise; I know how difficult this must have been for you. Lady Catelyn, it is a pleasure to see you again, although in this dark times.
"As for you, King Robb, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your resolve equals your reputation."
Robb was unsettled by the girl's boldness.
"While… your reputation does not do you justice, Lady Margaery," he managed to say.
Catelyn eyed him sidelong.
"And if we're done with childish flirtations," Brynden Tully interjected scornfully, earning a glare from Loras, "can we talk about grown-ups matters?"
"I agree," Randyll Tarly ground out through clenched teeth.
"But first," Mace Tyrell interrupted, "allow me to congratulate the Young Wolf on his splendid victories."
"Defeating Tywin Lannister at such a young age is no small feat," added Garlan sincerely.
"Thank you, my lords," the King replied politely, "but I imagine you didn't come all this way just to pay me compliments."
"No, indeed. We've come to propose an alliance," Mace clarified.
"An alliance against whom?" Jason Mallister asked. "The Lannisters are already defeated. For us, the war is over."
"Exactly. And from what some scouts told me weeks ago," Brynden Tully added, "it seems you've already tried to meddle in our conflict… and I don't know on whose side."
Mace Tyrell turned beet red. "We… we were coming to help you! As per Renly's promise! It's… outrageous to think we had any other intentions."
"Perhaps so, perhaps not," Brynden conceded.
"In any case, you don't have the luxury of making such judgments," Randyll Tarly cut in. "Because if you think the war is over, you're gravely mistaken. That means you don't know Stannis Baratheon. That man is so stubborn he held Storm's End for a year while we besieged it during Robert's Rebellion. If you think he'll sit idly by while more than half his kingdom secedes... well, with all due respect, you're poor fools."
"I have no intention of starting another war unless it becomes necessary," Robb clarified. "At this point, I have only three objectives: to execute Joffrey and Queen Cersei, to have my sisters returned safe and sound, and to see the independence of the North and Riverlands recognized."
"Objectives that, I fear, may be somewhat difficult to achieve with Stannis on the Iron Throne—especially the last one," Mace Tyrell added.
"Frankly speaking, what exactly are you proposing?" Catelyn asked. "And how can we trust that you're not just dragging us into your vendetta against Stannis... or trying to avoid punishment for failing to support him?"
"We've all made choices," Garlan conceded, "what we thought was best for our family and our lands. Certainly, you had a noble cause on your side.
But, as much as you may think ill of us, I assure you, we too have an ideal: that the Iron Throne should be occupied by someone worthy, who will not ruin the realm and will bring about a stable and lasting reign."
"If you truly believed that, you wouldn't have aligned with Renly Baratheon," Brynden interjected. "That man, from what I hear, had charm but little substance."
"I won't allow you to speak of him that way. You didn't know him. Renly truly cared for the well-being of the common people," Loras asserted.
"And naturally, it would have just been a fortunate coincidence that by marrying him, Lady Margaery would become queen, isn't that right?" Robb remarked sarcastically. "Your primary goal was, of course, the welfare of the people, who might ever doubt it."
Margaery could have taken offense, but instead, she merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say: Well played.
"Are you calling us opportunists?" Loras asked.
"I don't know. You tell me."
"A-hem, it is a common practice for great houses to marry off their children," Mace interjected. "Certainly, both parties have something to gain, but that doesn't mean such unions cannot be happy… or fruitful for the realm, Lord Stark. Even you were born of such a union, between two houses that had not mingled for millennia."
"And when they did, together they overthrew the Mad King," Garlan added.
"And who's to say Stannis Baratheon won't be a good king for the Seven Kingdoms?" Wylas Manderly asked. "He is an experienced commander and, by all accounts, a stern but just man. It's very likely he will be a better king than his brother."
"You yourselves have declared that Stannis used dark magic to murder Renly," Margaery said, "inspired by that… Red Priestess who accompanies him. A woman who seems to follow him like a shadow, whispering into his ear what to do. It was suspected she used the same methods to kill Cortnay Penrose, the castellan of Storm's End, to reclaim his ancestral seat.
Do you truly think a man like that can be a good king for the Seven Kingdoms?"
For a moment, no one could respond.
Catelyn's eyes flickered with fear, and Robb noticed. She wanted to deny she'd thought the same thing, but she couldn't.
It was Edmure who broke the silence. "The Riverlands have suffered greatly from this war waged against them. The men of the North, whom I will always be grateful to, have also suffered to help us, straying from their true objective. And now you're asking us to take up arms again for…"
"And all this while the Greyjoys have invaded our lands," Robett Glover added.
It was Robb himself, however, who cut the conversation short. "Let's say, for a moment, that it really comes to that.
But let me make it clear: I will not strike the first blow against Stannis and his seventy thousand men unless it is absolutely necessary."
All eyes turned to him.
"If such a thing were to happen… what would you offer us? I assume you've come here with a concrete proposal. An offer."
Mace Tyrell smiled. "Of course, Your Grace. What I have come to offer you is the same thing I offered Renly: my daughter Margaery's hand."
The young woman stepped forward, guided by her father's hand. She pulled back her travel hood, revealing not just her strikingly beautiful face, which all had seen before, but also her magnificent light brown hair.
"And the chance to rise… not only as King of the North and the Riverlands… but as the King on the Iron Throne!"
Nine pairs of eyes widened at the proposal.
"You're speaking of high treason," Jason Mallister hissed.
"In Stannis Baratheon's eyes, you committed high treason the very day you crowned Robb Stark King of the North and the Riverlands," Loras interjected. "One more offense will hardly make a difference."
"But… my son is already betrothed," Lady Catelyn added, "to Roslin Frey, daughter of Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing. Breaking that promise would make us oathbreakers… and would alienate not just the Freys but many other Riverlords as well."
"If I may, that was not a prudent arrangement," Mace interjected. "The son of a Warden, pledged to a minor house of another kingdom. I'm sure the agreement can be renegotiated, and a way found to appease Lord Walder."
"But your girl has already been married," Robett Glover objected, "and is widowed. For all we know, she could be carrying Renly's heir."
Brynden cast a skeptical glance at the statement but refrained from voicing it aloud.
"Ahem, on that note…" Garlan began.
"I assure you," Margaery declared, "my marriage to my husband was not consummated. Wisely, he chose to focus on the war effort and feared leaving behind a widow. Alas, his fears proved prophetic.
Naturally, any future marriage could be consummated in three moon cycles, when you could be sure I am not carrying an heir."
"We're putting the cart before the horse, as we say in the North," Robb intervened, noting again how everyone was discussing his life without consulting him.
"Lady Margaery, you are undoubtedly the most radiant maiden in the Seven Kingdoms, and under normal circumstances, I would be honored by such a proposal.
But I have no intention of becoming an oathbreaker, nor do I believe your eyes, beautiful as they may be, are worth sending thousands of men to slaughter for my ambition.
Personally, I believe the Iron Throne is cursed, and I harbor no desire to sit on it if it can be avoided. We will return to Riverrun and send a raven to Stannis Baratheon to see if he will accept our terms.
If not, we can revisit this matter. Are these conditions acceptable?"
Mace seemed disappointed, and Loras and Tarly looked annoyed, but it was Garlan who concluded:
"Of course, Your Grace. We fully understand this is not a decision to be taken lightly. When you have received an answer, you will still find us here. We only ask that you not keep us waiting too long."
Once the Starks and Tullys had departed, Garlan turned to his sister with amusement.
"Well, little sister, it seems for once your charms have failed you."
The girl gazed at the horizon with an ambiguous expression.
"You think so? We'll talk about it again."
In the main square of King's Landing, near the Guild of Alchemists' hall, a large space had been cordoned off with chains. Inside, a tall wooden platform stood to one side, while in the center, four large piles of firewood with tall stakes at their centers commanded attention from the massive crowd—tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands—gathered all around, tightly controlled by several thousand armed soldiers.
The bulk of Stannis' army was encamped outside the city walls, in various camps, draining the city's and the Crownlands' lords' resources to sustain them. Yet, on this day, four days after the coronation, none thought of this, as the enormous crowd had gathered to witness an execution. Or rather, MANY executions—and illustrious ones at that.
On the grand wooden platform stood Stannis Baratheon, wearing his crown. At his side stood his wife, Selyse, with their daughter Shireen clinging to her arm, her half-scarred face marred by greyscale. And beside them, the ever-present Melisandre.
Around them was a square formation of guards, half armed with spears, half with crossbows.
Just behind them stood three members of the Alchemist's Guild, including the Grand Master, nervously waiting. Several acolytes with small barrels stood by each pyre, though it would be men in red, obedient to Melisandre, who would light the fires.
Finally, carried up the stairs on a litter by two servants and followed by a Maester tending to his condition, came Davos Seaworth.
The old smuggler had miraculously survived the explosion that destroyed his ship and thirty-four others, killing an untold number of men, including his eldest son. He was found a day and a half later, with burns covering a third of his body, though none were permanent. In a few days, the Maester assured, he would walk again.
But in a few days, my son won't rise from the grave.
"There you are, Davos. You were the only one missing, and I wanted to make sure you didn't miss this spectacle."
"What spectacle, Sire?"
"The King's Justice."
At some unseen signal, shouting began in the distance.
The entire road between the Red Keep and the square was flanked by two rows of soldiers, one on each side. Behind them, however, stretched two wings of the crowd. These spectators would not witness the main event but had a unique opportunity: to insult, spit on, and hurl vegetables, rotten eggs, stones, and filth at the prisoners paraded in cages drawn by mules toward the execution site.
These cages were tall and narrow, forcing the already physically and psychologically drained prisoners—after their short but grueling stay in the dungeons of the Red Keep—to stand upright with their arms by their sides, unable to shield themselves from the barrage.
The cacophony of insults made it hard to distinguish individual words, but the most frequent cries were "WHORE," "ABOMINATION," "MURDERER," and "TRAITOR."
Finally, the cages reached the square. Soldiers opened them, dragging the four screaming and struggling prisoners toward the stakes rising amidst the kindling and tightly binding them there.
Another five prisoners, who had once been mighty men with long hair and well-trimmed beards, followed the procession, riding donkeys and clad in rough burlap tunics like penitents, their hands bound behind their backs. While the first group was being tied, these five were forced to dismount and kneel.
When everything was ready, Stannis himself blew a great horn, calling the frenzied crowd to silence at the sight of the prisoners.
These prisoners were Joffrey Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lancel Lannister.
The five kneeling men, save one, were members of the Kingsguard: Boros Blount, Balon Swann, Osmund Kettleblack, and Meryn Trant, alongside Ilyn Payne, the executioner.
"Citizens of King's Landing," Stannis began, speaking through the horn so all could hear him, "your rightful King has summoned you here today to witness a grave yet important moment for all Seven Kingdoms.
We are gathered to discuss the crimes committed in this very city against the rightful order and to dispense justice to the guilty."
The prisoners often screamed, but no one could hear them.
"I AM THE KING! Let me go, damn you! I'll kill you, do you hear me? I'LL KILL YOU!" Joffrey wailed, the picture of wounded dignity, a ball of filth dripping down his forehead.
"You're a monster, Stannis," Cersei protested indignantly. "My father will come for you. But I hope he frees my brother first, so he can bring me your heart."
"That will be a bit difficult, former Queen," Stannis declared, "because Tywin Lannister is dead."
"What? My father is dead? What are you saying? You're lying."
"Not at all. A raven from Lannisport arrived two days ago. Your father was defeated in battle by the Young Wolf and fell in combat—torn apart by his direwolf, they say. The Westerlands have surrendered to Robb Stark."
The crowd roared at the news.
Cersei seemed more shaken than she could have imagined. Even Joffrey was incredulous.
Both had, as always, counted on someone else to get them out of trouble, but...
"MY LORD!" Pycelle screamed with all the breath he had left. "Whatever you may accuse the others of—whatever crimes you think they committed—what am I doing here? I'm just a poor Maester! I've faithfully served six Kings... including your brother, I remind you... I've always done my humble duty and—"
"That you served six Kings is undeniable, Pycelle, but perhaps that's a few too many to claim you always served them faithfully," Stannis interrupted. "Your loyalty has always belonged first to House Lannister, hasn't it? During the Rebellion, you advised the Mad King—whom you served without regret—to open the city gates to Tywin's army..."
"I... I truly believed he was there to help," the old man stammered.
"But instead, he was there to betray him and deliver the city to my brother—not before allowing his men to sack it. And not only that. You continued to serve the Lannisters rather than the Crown, acting as a spy for the Queen—a crime for which the Imp threw you into the dungeons."
"A filthy lie!"
"Really? Then tell me, Pycelle, was it not you who committed the crime that started this whole story—poisoning the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, at the Queen's command?"
"THAT IS A LIE! A FILTHY LIE!"
"IT'S A LIE!" Cersei screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Why would I do that?" the old man demanded.
"Because he discovered the truth, of course. He investigated alongside me, but he found out first... I realized his death was suspicious and fled the city. Later, Lord Eddard Stark uncovered the same truth... and met the same disgraceful end.
All to keep from revealing the most scandalous secret: that Queen Cersei committed INCEST with her brother Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and that all the children we believed to be Robert's are, in fact, her BASTARDS!"
The crowd became uncontrollable, shouting all manner of things.
"IT'S NOT TRUE! LIES!" Cersei protested.
"NOOO! I'M THE KING!" Joffrey wailed.
"I declare, before the one true god R'hllor and all men, that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are ABOMINATIONS and have no right to sit upon the Iron Throne!
And I have proof," Stannis added. "Bring him forward."
His guards pushed a richly dressed boy onto the stage, about sixteen years old. He was tall but not overly so, somewhat plump, with long black wavy hair and blue eyes.
"This boy is Edric Storm, one of the bastards sired by my brother the King. As you can see, he has black hair and blue eyes, as all in our family do... just like all the other bastards my brother fathered!"
The crowd roared again.
"My lord, even if what you say is true, I am not to blame," Pycelle pleaded. "I assure you, I did NOT poison Jon Arryn."
"If that's true, you must be a truly incompetent Maester not to have noticed he'd been poisoned," Stannis concluded. "But even if you weren't the one who did it, I believe you knew and kept silent—likely because you suspected the real reason for his death and who was behind it."
The old man fell silent, and Cersei turned her head toward him, doubtful.
Is that so? I didn't order Jon Arryn's death... then it's true! He was murdered! And that fool Pycelle stayed quiet thinking I was the one behind it! But then, who...?
"And it doesn't end there," the King continued. "For one crime begets another, and one betrayal leads to the next. This vile cabal of sinners that usurped the Throne has committed ever greater misdeeds to cover the first.
Another victim was the subsequent Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark: he discovered the truth and was imprisoned under false charges of treason. Then, under the threat of harm to his daughters, he agreed to a false confession to save them—humbling himself in this very square, the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, under the promise he could take the Black.
And instead, Joffrey, the perjurer, ordered his head cut off!"
The entire crowd fell silent.
They had all jeered at Ned Stark during his execution, and now it turned out he was innocent. Furious at the deception, they began shouting even louder than before.
"NOO! HE WAS A TRAITOR! HE SAID I'M NOT THE KING! I'M THE KING!"
"That man tried to take the throne away from my son, the rightful heir of his father, my husband, the King!" insisted Cersei.
"Wrong: your husband was not his father, my lady… but he was indeed the King. A King you had assassinated."
The crowd, if possible, erupted in an even louder roar than when they learned of Ned Stark's innocence.
"This isn't just a lie, Stannis! This is MADNESS!" screamed Cersei, somewhat emboldened.
"There are many witnesses that my husband was injured during a hunting accident by a huge boar in the King's Wood! I understand you want to usurp my son and need an excuse, but this is ridiculous! What will you accuse me of next, unleashing the Doom of Valyria?"
Some laughed, but Stannis smiled. That was never a good sign.
"True, that's what it seemed… and this is the reason why your cousin Lancel stands there with you."
Cersei turned to Lancel, furious. The boy still bore the marks of torture. "What have you told them, you IDIOT?" she hissed.
"Lancel Lannister has confessed the truth. Apparently, not content with lying with her brother, Queen Cersei, this insatiable harlot, also lay with her cousin…
… but this time, it wasn't for pleasure.
Oh no, it was calculated. She needed to get rid of King Robert so her bastard could usurp the throne before the truth came out. Or perhaps she was in a hurry to rule as Queen Regent. Either way, she convinced Lancel—who, let's remember, was Robert's squire—to never let the King go without wine during that hunt…"
"Robert was a drunkard, as well as a philanderer! Everyone knows that!"
"True, my brother had those vices… but that time, the wine was laced with something else… a powerful drug from Pentos that dulls the senses… to ensure that Robert, whose hunting skill was legendary, would miss his strike at the crucial moment… and be killed by the boar, leaving no suspicions. Needless to say, we know who procured the drug…"
By now, the uproar was indescribable. The crowd resumed throwing stones and rotten vegetables, though they were too far to hit the prisoners. The people were bloodthirsty and attempted to breach the barriers, giving the soldiers plenty of trouble keeping them back.
"WHORE!"
"HARLOT!"
"KINGSBANE!"
"INCESTUOUS!"
"ABOMINATION!"
"MONSTER!"
Cersei began to sob, realizing there was no escape. Joffrey, on the other hand, seemed stunned. This, he had not anticipated.
"But not even the usurper Joffrey's rise to the throne put an end to the crimes," continued the last remaining Baratheon mercilessly. "For just as this boy is proof of Cersei's treachery, so too were there many others, thanks to my brother's lust… and they had to be eliminated, lest someone else uncover the truth.
And so Queen Cersei ordered the Gold Cloaks, under their commander Janos Slynt… to hunt down all of Robert's lowborn bastards, ripping them from their mothers' arms if necessary… and kill them to the last."
It's unnecessary to recount what the crowd shouted at this point. Many of them had witnessed those atrocities without understanding their purpose.
"It's a lie! A LIE!" protested Cersei, increasingly unconvincing.
"It is, unfortunately, the truth, or those poor children would still be alive. Even your brother, the Imp, was disgusted when he found out… which is why he sent Janos Slynt to the Wall… a punishment still too lenient, in my opinion…"
Stannis turned his gaze toward the five kneeling men.
"… but I offer these men the same chance, should they accept it. Their crimes were lesser, but they cannot be ignored."
The knights of the Kingsguard protested.
"Your Grace, we served Joffrey in good faith. None of us knew of these deeds," assured Balon Swann.
"Perhaps so, Ser Swann. I am told you are the only one among you worthy of the white cloak… but none of you opposed Joffrey's orders."
"The Kingsguard are sworn to serve, not to judge orders…" began Boros Blount.
"Indeed, Ser Blount?" Stannis replied disdainfully.
"Then enlighten me—where is it written that the duties of the Kingsguard, beyond protecting the King and his family… include beating young girls? Because that's what you did every time Joffrey ordered it. You struck Sansa Stark every time her brother Robb won a battle… and as for you, Ser Meryn, I am told you killed a septa and a dancing master… tell me, what great threat did they pose to the King?"
The four men remained silent, shame weighing on them. Only Osmund Kettleblack had the gall to speak. "It wasn't just us, Your Grace! Even Arys Oakheart—"
"Yes, I know, the last of you besides Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, who has been dismissed. Ser Oakheart was sent to Dorne to protect Myrcella, wasn't he? Well, I will send a raven there as well… to proclaim that I REMOVE YOU ALL FROM THE KINGSGUARD by royal decree."
"Wait," Joffrey protested. "Where is the Hound? He can't have died in battle; I don't believe it."
"Ah, that one," sighed Kettleblack. "The coward fled halfway through the battle. By now, he's probably halfway to Yi Ti…"
Joffrey seemed genuinely hurt. "That's not possible. He… he wouldn't abandon me…"
"Choose, knights," Stannis said. "Death or taking the black."
There wasn't much to choose from. The men glanced at each other, then turned to the King and answered in unison: "The black, Your Grace."
"Then let them be loaded onto the next ship to Eastwatch," Stannis proclaimed.
At that moment, however, the fifth man stood. It was Ilyn Payne, the executioner. Unable to speak, as he had no tongue, he simply shook his head, eyes resolute.
With a mere nod from the King, a soldier made Payne kneel, placed his head on a block, and a third man struck it clean off with an axe.
Boros Blount quipped, "Guess he couldn't stand the cold…"
Stannis turned again to the prisoners atop the pyres.
"And finally," he continued, "the last and most heinous crime was committed mere days ago, during the siege. Queen Cersei… poisoned her youngest son, Tommen, rather than let him fall into my custody."
"WHORE!"
"MURDERESS!"
"MONSTER!"
"KINSLAYER!"
"Mother, is it true?" Joffrey asked, incredulous.
"They would have torn him apart, Joffrey. Just as they will do to us... my sweet Tommen... he didn't deserve such a cruel end… he died as if in his sleep..."
"You wrong me, Queen. I would not have harmed a single hair on your son's head, just as I will not harm Myrcella when she is handed over to me. They are blameless. He would have joined the Night's Watch—not immediately, but once he had grown a little—and she could still become a septa...
...YOU, on the other hand, have committed countless crimes, including treason, murder, regicide, kinslaying, usurpation of the throne, conspiracy, incest, infanticide, slaughter, perjury, and these are just the most severe.
By the authority vested in me as King of the Seven Kingdoms and by R'hllor, the Lord of Light, I sentence you to death.
Your sentence shall be carried out by fire."
The four prisoners' eyes widened. Despite everything, they hadn't expected this.
Joffrey wet himself, and the crowd, besides roaring, began to laugh. Then he started to whine, begging his mother.
"Save me, Mother, SAVE ME! I don't want to die, I DON'T WANT TO!"
Melisandre smiled and stepped forward.
"The Fire is life and death. The Fire judges. The Fire purifies.
In life, you were sinners, but the Fire will burn away your sins, and perhaps one day you will live in the glory of the Lord of Light.
Light the pyres."
The four Alchemists near the pyres began pouring wildfire oil over the wood, slowly, on all sides, while the prisoners screamed, begged for mercy, cursed, or wept in despair.
Then they stepped back, and Melisandre's red-robed servants lit torches, placing them in various spots on the piles to ensure they caught fire properly.
Cersei thrashed as if she could break free, as if she couldn't believe this was her fate.
It's not possible; it can't end like this. This isn't my destiny; it can't be.
No… wait… what had Maggy the Frog told me when I was a girl?
She had prophesied... that I would marry not the prince—Rhaegar—but the King… and indeed, I married Robert.
Then, that he would have sixteen children, and I three… and indeed, he had his bastards, and I had my treasures...
Golden shall be their crowns and golden their shrouds...
Oh, gods, does this mean Myrcella is also in danger?
And then, what else had she said?
That another, younger and more beautiful, would come to take everything from me... but that makes no sense. Neither Selyse nor Shireen are beautiful… who was she referring to? Someone who will come later, to take my place?
It's not a current event, but something yet to come?
And then she said... that the valonqar... the "little brother"... would wrap his hands around my throat... and watch as the life drained from me...
I've always thought I'd die strangled, and I've tried to prevent it.
I've always thought it would be Tyrion.
She was jolted from her thoughts. Her pyre had a problem. The bucket of oil wasn't opening properly, so they finished with her last. When the other fires were lit, hers was still dry.
Cersei Lannister watched the other three pyres burn like torches. Her Joffrey was engulfed in flames, still screaming.
Her eyes filled with tears. The wind carried the smoke her way.
She cast one last furious glance at Stannis.
"DAMN YOU, STANNIS! MAY YOU SUFFER FOR ALL SEVEN HELLS AND FEEL THE SAME PAIN I DO NOW!
You have no right to do this! NO RIGHT!"
Stannis dryly replied, "On the contrary. As the younger brother of the former King, I am the only one who has such a right."
Cersei was stunned.
Younger brother. Valonqar.
So it was him...
He put his hands on my neck that night to make me spit out the poison.
Her pyre was finally lit, but before the flames consumed her, the smoke from the other fires threatened to suffocate her as she wept.
And now he's watching me as the life drains from me...
They were two separate actions...
So much for trusting prophecies...
Robb's camp was calm, and there were no omens when the raven arrived at Riverrun. The message was quickly brought to the King in the North and the Riverlands, who read it and paled without saying a word. Those present, including some of his advisors, asked what had happened, and he raised his eyes from the parchment and said,
"It's a message from King's Landing. Stannis Baratheon announces that he has tried Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Lancel—Kevan's son—and Grand Maester Pycelle; a long list of their crimes follows, confirming more or less what we already know, but also adding many other things.
It also says he has already executed them. By burning them alive."
"Burning them alive?" roared Greatjon Umber. "Like the Mad King?"
"So it seems."
"Surely Joffrey Baratheon deserved a terrible punishment for what he did to your father," began Marq Piper, "but it would have been more just if you yourself, my Lord, had taken his head with Ice once it was recovered… this… this is too much. How did the people take it?"
"It doesn't say. However, there is a postscript," Robb added. "It says that Stannis Baratheon is King of all Seven Kingdoms in the name of the one true god, R'hllor, the Lord of Light. And that all those who deny this—usurpers and traitors alike—will meet the same fate as Joffrey."
An unsettling silence followed those words.
"WHAT?" Rickard Karstark finally screamed. "Does this mean that bald, constipated little man dares to threaten the King in the North?"
"The girls? Does it say anything about Sansa and Arya?" asked Catelyn, anxious.
"Nothing at all. I… I need some time alone to think."
Robb Stark stood in a grove near Riverrun for a long time when his mother approached, making her presence known.
"Are you seeking answers from the trees? From your father's gods?"
"I'm seeking answers anywhere I can find them, Mother. The problem is, I can't find any," the young man confessed, disheartened.
"I was overjoyed. I was convinced the war was over and that we could recover my sisters, return home, drive the Ironborn out of our lands, and live in peace for the rest of our days. And now… I don't know what to do."
Catelyn knew her son well. She would do better to change the subject. She also knew this wasn't the only thing troubling him.
"This isn't the only thing on your mind, is it? You're upset… that Joffrey is dead but not by your hand."
Robb seemed surprised by her statement, but he didn't try to deny it.
"I… hated him so much. Every night, I dreamed of killing him. Of driving my sword into his gut, putting his head on a block, and beheading him with my own hands, or handing him over to Lord Bolton and watching him scream. And now… it's not fair. Joffrey made our family suffer; the vengeance was mine to take!"
"You're right, Robb; it belonged to no one more than you. Or perhaps to me, since I lost a husband, the father of my children. Or to any one of your brothers and sisters, who lost their father and barely got to know him before he was taken away from them."
Robb seemed to mull over her words.
"But above all, the realm suffered because of Joffrey. A war with tens of thousands of deaths… for what? To keep a bastard on the Iron Throne? I understand your frustration, my son—it's mine as well.
But now, we must look forward. Whoever killed him did the realm a favor, and we can at least take solace in the fact that he died suffering. But we must think about the future, not the past."
"What should we do about Stannis? After what you told me about black magic… after what he wrote… do I really want to ignite another war? Cause the deaths of thousands more… just to keep my crown?"
"More than for the crown, to keep your head," his mother reminded him. "Stannis's threats were very clear. And Stannis Baratheon is not the kind of man to make idle threats.
Perhaps we were lucky to encounter the Tyrells on our path. They are seeking vengeance for Renly's death. We could make a similar deal to the one I proposed to him. I won't tell you to marry that girl, since you're already promised to a Frey, but… well, a solution can certainly be found."
In that moment, Robb knew what he had to do.
"If possible, I'll avoid another war; I'll try to prevent it. Call the scribes. I'll send a response to King's Landing. I'll ask Stannis for a meeting to resolve this situation through negotiation, even in the presence of the Tyrells. Perhaps we can still avoid the worst. But first," he added, walking in the opposite direction,
"I'll go to the dungeons. Our prisoners must hear what's happened, and I believe it's only right they hear it from me."
Jaime Lannister lost his trademark bravado upon hearing that two of his children—and especially his sister and lover—were dead, and in such a horrific manner, while one of them, Tommen, had died at the hands of his own mother.
At first, he refused to believe it, then he began cursing everyone: Cersei, Stannis, the Starks, the Seven Gods… Then, in a rare moment of lucidity, he asked for news of his brother Tyrion, but Robb had none to offer.
The subdued demeanor of the King in the North indicated he was also embarrassed to bear such grim news.
Kevan was devastated by the news of his son Lancel, bowing his head to his chest and weeping silently.
Daven, realizing that what remained of their dynasty had vanished and that their value as prisoners had plummeted, reacted with anger, hissing insults at the Young Wolf.
"And why did you come to tell us this yourself? Are you here to gloat, Robb Stark? First my father, then Tywin, and now everyone else? Will you not be satisfied until you've killed us all? But know this: even in the dust, lions remain lions, and dogs remain dogs!"
But he fell silent when Robb turned and looked at him with genuine regret before saying,
"That's right. You've lost your father, Ser Daven. That was Lord Stafford, correct? My condolences. I know what it means to lose a father—I've lost mine as well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your grief." And he exited.
Reunited with his bannermen, Robb was deep in thought.
"Sending half the troops home was a grave mistake!" roared Lothar Frey. "We should have known Stannis wouldn't stop. He's surely after the gold we took from Casterly Rock, you'll see. Good thing we Freys all stayed here. And now…"
"Hold your tongue, Lothar," Brynden hissed. "You're speaking of your liege lord. And be thankful that some men returned to the fields; otherwise, famine would defeat us long before Stannis Baratheon ever could."
"So what do you intend to do, sire?" Garbart Glover asked.
"What I said. I forwarded Stannis's message to the Tyrells as it is, informing them that I responded by proposing a peace meeting with Stannis, which they should also attend—they are as threatened as we are, after all—in the hope that we can still avoid war.
If not, we will accept their proposal for an alliance, though of course," he cast a glance at Lothar, "I will not be the one to marry Renly's widow."
"If necessary," Edmure interjected, "I could propose myself to marry Lady Margaery. I'm free of any obligations, and as a lord paramount, it would be an excellent match for the Tyrells."
"No one will marry anyone until we have concrete terms of peace," Catelyn interrupted. "And I still don't like you going to that meeting, Robb. I know what Stannis Baratheon is capable of—I've seen him use black magic."
"I won't go alone, Mother, but with a strong escort. If Stannis Baratheon tries the same trick on me, Grey Wind's fangs will taste his throat, just as they tasted Tywin Lannister's."
"Speaking of the Lannisters," Roose Bolton interjected, "what should we do with the Kingslayer?"
An uneasy silence followed that question.
"It's true that, for now, he no longer has value as a hostage to exchange with the Iron Throne… or as a prisoner," Robb considered.
"We could send him back to Casterly Rock as a token of peace with the Westerlands," suggested Myles Smallwood. "Or hand him over to Stannis as a gesture of goodwill."
"Send him back to Casterly Rock?" roared Greatjon Umber. "That oathbreaker would restart the war within a month. We should kill him—right now, I say!"
"I don't trust him either," replied Jason Mallister. "If we must spare him, we could send him to the Wall."
"If we're giving him to Stannis, why for free?" asked Wylis Manderly, newly freed from Harrenhal after Greatjon's forces took the castle. "Let's demand your sisters in exchange, my King."
Robb spoke.
"Alas, my Lord, I fear that to Stannis Baratheon, the Kingslayer holds far less value than he did to Cersei—unless the new King shares certain tendencies rumored of his younger brother.
No, my Lords, I could not trade Jaime Lannister for my sisters when I had the chance, and I won't do so now. If Stannis returns them to me, it will be because our meeting succeeds, not for any bargain he cares little to no about
On the other hand, Greatjon is right: I don't trust releasing him outright. Nor would it be just after what he's done in the Riverlands. And the Wall is no place for an oathbreaker—give him a sword, and he'd kill four or five men before escaping on horseback."
Rickard Karstark leaned forward, bloodlust gleaming in his eyes. He had begged his king so often to execute Jaime Lannister that Robb had once threatened to cut out his tongue if he asked again.
"Lately, I've reflected on justice and revenge," Robb continued. "I could not claim it for my father, as Daven Lannister cannot for his. Loras Tyrell may never have vengeance for Renly. But perhaps the Riverlands, and my brother Bran, who was maimed, can have some.
Rickard Karstark, I name you my judge: you may try Jaime Lannister for your sons' deaths and his other crimes."
The old lord could scarcely believe it.
"GUILTY! I'll take his head with my own hands!"
"Then you shall carry out the sentence in two days, on the morning of our departure," Robb declared.
The night before his execution, Jaime Lannister was moved to a cell in a separate wing of Riverrun's dungeons.
Brienne of Tarth, who had sworn fealty to Robb upon his return from the Westerlands, was assigned to guard him.
The former Kingsguard lay sprawled on the cell floor like a drunkard. He had cried, screamed, and cursed until he had nothing left. Now, he simply stared at the wall, awaiting death as a release.
But even in despair, he was Jaime Lannister. Refusing a public execution, he began provoking Brienne—first calling her fat and a cow, then suggesting she wore armor because silk dresses didn't fit her.
"I know what you're doing, Kingslayer," Brienne said. "But you won't escape your punishment tomorrow. I've heard insults like yours my whole life, and yours aren't even the more brilliant ones."
"Oh, yes...Kingslayer," Jaime sneered. "But in that, aren't we alike, Brienne of Tarth? I've heard what the Tully guards say—that you killed Renly Baratheon, the king you swore to protect. Let me guess—did you offer him your cunt and he turned you down?"
Jaime didn't expect such speed from a woman so large and armored. Brienne shoved her arm through the bars, grabbed his collar, and pulled hard, slamming his face into the metal.
"WATCH YOUR MOUTH. I can't kill you, but no one will care if you're battered tomorrow.
And for the record, that's a lie. I didn't kill Renly Baratheon. It was Stannis...using black magic," she added, shivering and looking away.
Jaime, recovering, raised an eyebrow with sudden interest.
"Ah, so we've come to this—direwolves fighting for the Starks, the bloody Others descending from the North, a girl with three dragon pups in Slaver's Bay...and now Stannis Baratheon, the stiffest man in the Seven Kingdoms, using black magic.
Even though, honestly, that's still more believable than his troops choosing him for his charm.
Gods, the world's gone mad. I'm almost glad to leave it."
"Say what you will. I know what I saw. And I don't care what people say—I've never betrayed my vows like you have. I'd never harm Renly. You and I are not the same."
"Oh, of course. Enduring what people say seems easy, doesn't it? At first.
But it gets harder. You think you'll grow used to it, but you never do—year after year, jab after jab, another sly comment...another laugh..."
"But you broke YOUR VOWS!"
"TO HELL WITH VOWS!" Jaime snapped.
"What are vows compared to human lives? And which vows matter more? Respect your family...honor the gods...protect the weak...revere women...obey your king.
But you can't obey them all. They contradict each other.
What happens if you love your sister and she's a whore? If your father rebels against the king? If your king murders innocents?"
Brienne turned to him, her gaze searching.
"You...mean to say that..."
"THE MAD KING, you called him. Yet you're all so outraged that I killed him.
Were you just as outraged when I protected him while he burned people alive—like Eddard Stark's father and brother? So which was I first, a hero or a monster? Or both?"
"You...is there something we don't know? Why did you kill the Mad King?"
"BECAUSE HE WAS ABOUT TO BLOW UP ALL OF KING'S LANDING, THAT'S WHY!"
The words burst out of him, followed by deep, heaving breaths. Even Jaime couldn't believe he'd finally spilled it.
"What?"
"Forget it...pretend I said nothing."
"No, I want to know."
"Why? Would it change your opinion of me? Or anyone else's? WHO CARES?"
"I CARE. I know what it's like to be wrongly accused."
Jaime stared at her for a long moment. Her blue eyes were steady, sincere. Finally, he sighed.
"Ah, to hell with it. I'll be dead tomorrow anyway...it happened when the war was lost. My father arrived at the city gates with fifteen thousand men... he said he wanted to help… Pycelle convinced Aerys to let him in… and my father's troops began sacking the city.
But what no one knew was that Aerys was READY for this. Ready for Robert Baratheon's arrival, for the Starks, the Tullys, and Jon Arryn… He had ordered the Alchemists' Guild to fill the entire city with barrels of wildfire. And they did. I saw it myself. The tunnels beneath the city must still be packed with it to this day."
"But… that's monstrous."
"And when he realized he'd been betrayed, he ordered it lit, to blow us all to hell… he kept saying: Burn them all… I couldn't believe it… so first, I made sure it wouldn't happen, killing the head of the Guild… then I went to him, and I killed him as well."
Brienne was silent for a moment.
"But… then why… have you never told anyone the truth?"
"Why should I? The judgmental glare from Ned Stark when he walked into the throne room was all I needed to know… no one would have believed me, so I may as well play the part."
"But he saw you sitting on the Iron Throne, with your sword stained with the blood of the king you swore to protect, while your father's army was sacking the city. WHAT ELSE was he supposed to think? I don't think Ned Stark, wise as he may have been, was a mind reader, you know?"
"What right does the Wolf have to judge the Lion?"
Brienne looked at him for another moment.
Jaime was surprised by that look. It wasn't scorn; it was… compassion. And he realized that hurt even more.
"Oh, poor, poor Jaime Lannister," she said to him. "So handsome, so talented with a sword… and so incredibly stupid.
Twice the usual pride of the Lannisters and not even half their wit. You've lived all these years in dishonor… for nothing. I pity you."
"Save your pity for someone who wants it, woman," he tried to retort, but he was visibly shaken. "The only thing I'd accept pity for is being so stupid as to fall in love with my sister."
"Incest. Abomination."
"And yet, until twenty years ago, when the Targaryens did the same thing, everyone looked the other way, didn't they? Bunch of hypocrites."
"There's a reason for that. The Targaryens rode dragons; people thought they were different from normal men. Is that what you thought, Jaime Lannister? That you were above everything and everyone?"
"I… no, it's just… I… loved her. She probably only used me, but I… loved her anyway, and I didn't care. I don't know if you can understand that."
"I do. Believe it or not, I understand."
Now it was Jaime's turn to look at her. She was talking about Renly.
Then he let out a bitter laugh.
"But look at us. Two irredeemable fools in love with the wrong person. Two people accused of being Kingslayers.
Of all the nights for me to meet someone like you, Brienne of Tarth, it had to be my last. Who would have thought?"
"Perhaps it's fate. What you've told me won't be for nothing. I'll make sure everyone knows the truth. I'll clear your name."
"I don't give a damn about my name. That was all my father cared about… the name… the honor… the family legacy… and look where that got him."
"You're a knight. You've lived poorly. Made many wrong choices. But maybe you can avoid being remembered poorly for the one right choice you ever made. The decision is yours alone."
Jaime looked at her thoughtfully.
"I don't know. Maybe… what we think of ourselves matters more than what others think of us… as long as we truly know we did the right thing."
"Ser Jaime… in this moment… what is the right thing for you?"
Jaime Lannister was dragged out of his cell at dawn.
In the courtyard of Riverrun, all the banners of the Starks and Tullys were gathered.
Two guards placed his head on the block and tied his hands behind his back, while Rickard Karstark waited, trembling with anticipation, his massive axe in hand.
Jaime started with his usual theatrics, shouting curses at everyone.
"May you all be damned, Stark, Tully, all of you! Do you think you can rise above a lion? Take off these chains and let's see how manly you are! I'll only need a knife! I'll face you however you want, one at a time or all together! May the Others drag you all to hell!"
Robb motioned, and two guards gagged him.
"Jaime Lannister, in the North, where I come from, the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. Since Lord Rickard Karstark insisted on executing you himself, I have appointed him your judge. Lord Karstark, pronounce your sentence."
"With pleasure, Your Grace. Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, you are accused of the following crimes: incest, perjury, treason, attempted murder in the person of Bran Stark, brother of the King in the North; waging an unauthorized and unlawful war against the Riverlands, killing thousands… and the murder of my two sons. You are found guilty, and the sentence is death!"
Robb said, "Remove his gag. Jaime Lannister, do you have any last words?"
Lord Karstark raised an eyebrow.
He wouldn't perchance try to ask to be sent to the Wall, wouldn't he?
At first, Jaime continued with his bravado: "Yes, I hope Winterfell sinks into the mud and your family rots, Robb Stark, and furthermore…"
Then he stopped, as if he had no desire to keep up the pretense. He glanced briefly at Brienne.
He looked up and spoke more solemnly, his eyes sincere.
"I have two things to say. A statement and a request."
"Speak."
"The statement is this: I know you won't believe me, but I swear on my children that my brother Tyrion had nothing to do with the attempted murder of your brother, Stark. He never knew I had pushed him from the tower… he never even knew about me and Cersei. Either you've made a mistake, or he's been framed. Kill me if you must, but don't punish him for crimes he didn't commit."
Robb considered this. "Your brother is missing after the siege of King's Landing. We've had no news of him. However, I will take it into account.
And the second thing?"
"The second is… it's…"
Jaime hesitated for a while. He couldn't find the words. It was difficult for him to beg.
"My daughter, Stark! Myrcella is the only good thing I've ever done! She is… so kind. So innocent. She's nothing like Joffrey, Cersei… or me. I've already lost Tommen too, and she's all I have left. I beg you, Stark!
Save my daughter."
Jaime's eyes were desperate. Robb was surprised by it.
"If it's within my power, I will. You have my word, Ser Jaime."
Brienne seemed reliefed.
Rickard Karstark had had enough of all the groveling. He lifted the prisoner back onto the block.
"Fine, little girl, but don't cry too much!" he mocked. "You won't make us forget your crimes, that's for sure. And speaking of children… I'll have to wait until death to see mine again… but I want you to know this… you'll end up in the hell of the gods of the Andals, Jaime Lannister… one way or another… you'll never see your daughter again, not even in the afterlife!"
As long as Myrcella is safe, I don't care.
Rickard Karstark raised his two-handed axe above his head and brought it down.
With a single strike, he cleanly severed Jaime's head.
The spectators mounted their horses and prepared to depart.
Brienne was thoughtful.
So, you did it, Ser Jaime… you overcame your pride… maybe I can do the same… if, in any case, I am to be called a Kingslayer… I want it to be for the right reasons… I will bring justice for Renly… I will kill Stannis Baratheon with my own hands.
King's Landing had not been the same since the day of the executions. The people moved from street to street like ghosts.
They had cheered at the moment of the Lannisters' deaths, but it was as if only afterward they realized the true weight of it all.
People burned alive in the streets, much like at the time of the Mad King. At the order of a stranger, priestess of an Eastern deity.
At many street corners, small groups gathered to listen to ragged, barefoot preachers whispering to them not to bend to the false god of the new king.
Davos Seaworth was summoned to the King's chambers. He had healed enough to walk on his own.
"Sire, you called for me?"
"I did, Davos," said Stannis, looking out the window. "I gave you seven days to mourn, and they end today. If it had been possible, I would have given your son a proper burial, but it was not feasible to recover his body."
"What belongs to the sea should be left to the sea," grunted the old sailor-Whether I can bury him or not, I won't get my son back."
"The machinations of the Imp prevented him from dying with honor," Stannis confirmed, turning to look at him. "But at least he died for a just cause, as did my brother-in-law. I did not call you here by chance. We are about to leave."
"For where, if I may ask?"
"The Riverlands," he said, handing him a parchment. "Robb Stark has requested a meeting to negotiate. The Tullys and the Tyrells will also be there."
"Do they intend to recognize you?"
"That is not stated, but in case they don't, I will bring the entire army with me. I will leave only five thousand men here to replace the City Watch, and, of course, my wife and daughter will reside at the Red Keep. Melisandre and Edric Storm, however, will come with us."
"Do you intend to wage war on the Young Wolf? But he fights to avenge his father, who had declared for you! He defeated the Lannisters; he did us a great favor."
Stannis looked almost amused.
"Ah, good old Davos. Always willing to tell me what you think, unlike all those sycophantic, fawning nobles hoping for a reward. That's exactly what I need. I am truly convinced of my decision."
"What… decision, sire?"
"Davos Seaworth… from this moment forward, I name you Hand of the King."
Author's Note:
This chapter is incredibly long, nearly twice the length of the others, but I didn't want to split it into two parts despite the many events that occur. All the happenings described here are deeply interconnected.
Things are moving; new alliances could be forged, and new conflicts could arise. The story has taken on a life of its own.
Sansa arrives in the Vale as in the original, but a little earlier. In the next chapter, we'll see Arya again too.
The Lannisters have been practically annihilated, but that's what would have happened if the chain of incredible circumstances—the mistakes of Robb, sheer dumb luck, and the Tyrells' ability to race halfway across the continent—hadn't intervened in the original story.
I found it interesting to give Cersei an ending that aligns with the prophecy while emphasizing the unreliability of prophecies, and Jaime an ending that allows him a redemption arc and to influence Brienne without needing to regain his freedom.
And then, as in the original story, people don't die at the hands of those who deserve revenge… but watching Joffrey wet himself and beg for mercy before screaming his last was satisfying, admit it.