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Chapter 11 Part 3

=Sith=

291 AC

Winterfell

The North

Sansa Stark was a little girl enamored with songs and knights. Olenna could leave the girl to her childish fantasies for a few more years before dissuading her from such misconceptions. The Reach was the heart of Westerosi's knighthood, which meant people like Olenna had no illusions about what knights were at heart – the best-trained and most reliable killers in the realm. Everything else was gilding to make the truth prettier and keep things from descending into utter barbarism. After all, most men wanted to be something more than common killers, and knighthood afforded them such an illusion.

Olenna looked down at the courtyard from the terrace she sat at. The weather had improved significantly a few days after the Tyrells arrived, resembling a proper spring, if not summer. Garlan was at the sparing ring, happy to be with a sword in hand and teach the Stark heir pointers. Considering what was to come, it was heartening to know that one of her grandsons was a competent warrior and, hopefully, a decent commander. While Loras showed unparalleled potential with a sword, he was far too young to say for sure if he would be great or merely very good.

Lord Stark's eyes lingered over the sparing pair before he returned his attention to Olenna. The negotiations were both more straightforward and more challenging than they should have been, for the Lord of Winterfell still believed the Tyrells came for a hostage in truth, not the next lady of Highgarden.
In that regard, the direct approach wasn't quite working. Instead, Olenna decided to use the Stark's obsession with winter.

"The summer is in its third year," the Queen of Thorns pointed out and deliberately frowned. "Yet, there are snows here in the North. We passed by vast fields that would have been covered with farms or turned into pastures anywhere else," she recalled what they saw on the way to Winterfell.

"My ancestors tried it in preparation for winter," Lord Stark grimaced. "The soil is simply not good enough. The North is ancient, Lady Olenna. We have farms in all the good spots. Working the land everywhere else would require a tremendous investment of labor and gold for no payback. Buying food is far cheaper than trying to grow it on such poor soil. The grass that grows across many of the free fields in the North is not something cattle want to eat unless it's starving. Our population has grown as much as it could have since the Conquest. Peace and safe trade routes prevented us from losing too many people, even during the harshest winters. However, we simply can't feed many more throats or put more people into farming, for there is no good place to do it."

"We've heard nothing about many deaths in the North over the past winters," Olenna noted. That didn't quite add up with the constant increase in the population Lord Stark spoke of.

"The mere existence of the Seven Kingdoms means that more people than before could find their fortune South than before. Essos has been a safer option than it was before the Crown put an end to Ironborn raids on our shores. If the North could sustain many more people, we wouldn't just be the largest, but one of the most populous kingdoms in the realm," Lord Stark explained.

"Winter is always coming," Olenna nodded, gaining a better appreciation of where Stark's obsession was coming from. "The Reach has always been bountiful, and this is going to be a long summer yet, or so the Citadel says."

"Which means a long winter," Lord Stark agreed gravely.

"Joining our houses would mean better and cheaper access to the food we produce. The Redwyne Fleet can guarantee food shipments to White Harbor in case the Ironborn go mad again in a few years," Olenna suggested. She watched in amusement how it dawned on Stark that she was Olenna Redwyne before she married.

Soon, it became clear that the offer of cheaper food to feed his people in winter was the path to crack Lord Stark's ice walls and begin negotiations in earnest.

=Sith=

Maidenpool
The Riverlands

For years now, William Mooton has been playing a role. It was true that, as a younger man and a second son, he resented his brother Myles. It didn't help that his older sibling was simply better at everything he set up his mind to. Willam had been furious when Myles threw their lot with Rhaegar without even thinking about the consequences, leaving Maidenpool ill-prepared to face all the rebels who rose with Hoster Tully. Then, the Battle of the Bells happened, and Robert Baratheon killed William's brother.

The new Lord Mooton was lost and angrier then, yet he saw no choice but to bow to his liege and blame it all on Myles—not when Arryn rode from the Vale with tens of thousands of knights. Stark was marching to the Riverlands with another army.

William's anger still burned hot, though it wasn't aimed at Myles anymore. He would forever regret his last meeting with his brother and their argument that almost descended into blows. It didn't help that Hoster Tully was the first to proclaim Robert King after the Trident. William had to smile, kneel, and swear his fealty to the man who killed his brother while cursing Myles' name. Otherwise, it would have been his head or the Wall and likely the end of his House.

For eight years, William kept the pretense of being loyal to that grasping cunt Hoster and the King, for there was nothing else to do. Whether you liked it or not, Robert's reign was secure. Despite his hatred, there was no way William would have thrown his lot with fucking Ironborn rapists, so he fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion, slaying his share of squids and reinforcing the perception that he was loyal.

Then, news from Essos reached Maidenpool, giving William hope that his brother would be avenged. For once, he was happy to bide his time and wait.

Many long months passed, and eventually, news from Astapor spread throughout Westeros. Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen were still alive; they had a city and an army of Unsullied. Now, William watched with unholy glee as the people who got his brother killed scrambled to prepare to face a Targaryen restoration while playing his part.

This time, the next exciting news came from the North, which was a surprise. William's flustered Maester brought it, spluttering at the indignity of such a treachery.

"Make sense, man!" Lord Mooton snapped at the old man who stormed into his solar. "Who could possibly betray us in the North of all places?!"

"Deserters from the Night Watch! Damned Targaryen loyalists! Murderers!" The Maester gasped and waved a letter.

"Give it here, sit down, and drink," William pushed his cup of ale to the far edge of his desk and waved to the Maester to join him.

The gray-haired man nodded in gratitude and shuffled to take a seat after giving his Lord the letter. William skimmed through the contents and took note of the signature.

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, with all associated titles.

"Is this for real?!" William exclaimed after reading the letter.

The Maester nodded numbly. "Tis' true, my Lord! A betrayal most foul!"

Well, it was good to know for sure where his Maester's allegiances lay, William decided.

"Send a word to the docks. I want what few warships we have to take sail as soon as practical and to be on the lookout for the deserter's ships. Lord Stark is likely correct, and they left for Braavos. However, they might be arrogant and dash for the Stepstones, racing to reach Lys before anyone could intercept them. I'll prepare letters to Dragonstone and the Lords of the Narrow Sea. They must also dispatch the ships they can spare to go hunting."

The Maester bobbed his head again, finished William's ale, and hurried to do as bit. Meanwhile, Lord Mooton had to decide what exactly to write to the likes of Velaryon and Celtigar, for he could imagine Robert's wrath at what had happened at the Wall. Soon, being known as a Targaryen Loyalist in the Seven Kingdoms might be very unhealthy. William knew he would be all right. Who would have thought that, for once, being young and stupid at the right time could be such a shield when you grew up?

There wasn't much William could do for most known loyalists. He couldn't be seen warning them. Hells, there might be nothing to warn them about if Jon Arryn managed to keep Baratheon's infamous temper in check.

On the other hand, there might be something to do for the loyalists in the Riverlands like the Darrys. William decided he should be visiting Riverrun soon and be ready to push for taking hostages instead of doing something bloody. Besides, Raymun's newborn son might be a good match for one of William's young daughters. Raising the lad might ensure he turned up all right as well…

=Sith=

Chapter 11 Part 4

=Sith=

291 AC

the Red Keep

King's Landing

There were no Targaryen loyalists of consequence left in the Vale; Jon Arryn saw that before he marched his knights to war during Robert's Rebellion. Hoster could be trusted to properly secure the Riverlands as long as he had firm Royal support behind him. The loyalists there who survived the war were all weakened for rising against the Tullys. This allowed for an even-handed approach to dealing with them. Taking hostages and strategic marriages, which would double as more hostage-taking, should keep them in line this time around.

No Targaryen loyalists would dare do anything in the West if there were any in the first place. Arryn's guest saw to it.

Tywin Lannister leaned over a map of the Reach with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"We couldn't feasibly deal with them eight years ago," the Old Lion admitted.

It wasn't mere benevolence that let the Reach as a whole emerge unscathed from the Rebellion, especially after Mace Tyrell starved Robert's brothers for nearly a year while besieging Storm's End.

"You had twelve thousand men here. We had to leave at least that many to watch them," Jon confirmed. After the Trident, that meant over half of their remaining army. While reserves were being hastily trained and raised, they would have needed more time to prepare and even longer to march… The Westerlands' whole army wasn't in King's Landing. Dorne wasn't fully committed, and then there was the Reach with nearly fifty thousand waiting below Storm's End alone.

The relief force Ned led wouldn't have been able to take them in open combat. If Mace Tyrell had decided to fight and crown Viserys back then, he might have won… or laid the realm to waste while losing.

"We can contain twenty thousand Dornishmen or destroy them in the field. However, the Reach must be brought properly in the fold," Tywin tapped certain holdings. "The Tyrells are bound with the Redwynes twice over and Hightowers through recent marriages. Making their choices more complicated than merely supporting family would be best."

Jon didn't comment that Paxter Redwyne's marriage was practically Targaryen – he was Olenna's nephew twice over after marrying her daughter Mina.

"Lord Hightower still has an unmarried son and daughter. Lord Redwyne's sons and daughter are not married yet either," Lord Arryn recalled, which was not surprising considering they were all just over ten years old.

"Binding them to the Crown would be for the best," Tywin agreed. "Shireen Baratheon? She survived Greyscale. If that didn't kill her, she is likely to survive to womanhood."

The Hand of the King frowned at that. He had seen little Shireen and knew she would forever carry scars as a testament to what she survived. Her looks were not going to make her a prize to be pursued.

"We must convince Robert to confirm Stannis as the Lord of Storm's End in a most permanent fashion. That will incentivize us to find Lady Shireen a proper consort," Jon suggested.

"A second son will do. Hightower's boy's too old to wait for an infant bride to grow up. The same is true about Tarly's boys…" Tywin trailed off. "We need Tarly bound to us. He is the best commander the Reach has and arguably the most powerful Lord over there not bound to us or the Tyrells."

"He has two sons and two daughters. We need them all married to loyal houses binding them to the throne," Arryn agreed. It was refreshing to work with someone competent and, in this case, trustworthy. No matter the Lion's appetite for power, he wanted the Crown secure so his grandson could sit on the Iron Throne.

"Daven and Myrelle Lannister," Tywin suggested. "Myrelle will do well as the next lady of Horn Hill. Daven is the heir of Lannisport, the best prize in the Westerlands after Casterly Rock. Marrying him for a Hightower or Redwyne will be beneficial."

Either of those options might help secure the Westerlands in the future. While Paxter Redwyne commanded the largest fleet in the Reach and the second largest in the realm after the Royal Fleet, the Hightowers had a smaller fleet that was nothing to scoff at.

A rapid knock on the door interrupted them.

"Lord Arryn, Maester Pycelle is here with important news," One of Jon's household guards announced.

"Let him in," Lord Arryn told his man.

The door opened, revealing a Pycelle like Jon had rarely seen him. The doddering old man impression was gone as well as the shuffling. Instead, the old man walked in rather energetically and waved a parchment at them.

"My Lords! Treachery most foul! Betrayal!" Pycelle exclaimed.

Jon had to struggle not to laugh at the antics of the Maester. It was the grave contrast between his usual act and this, whatever this was.

"Report," the Old Lion growled, sending a shudder through the Maester. At least there were no pretenses about whose creature he was today.

"Treason at the Night Watch! Targaryen loyalists sentenced to the Wall murdered their way through Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and stole a ship! They took Maester Aemon, burned down the Maester Tower at Castle Black, and killed off all the ravens!" Pycelle ranted, clearly furious by such an attack at a Maester, with every other betrayal being secondary.

"How long ago?" Tywin demanded.

"Over a month. It took the Lord Commander too long to figure out what was happening, and he had no ravens to send," Pycelle admitted, handing the parchment to his real master and irk Jon.

Robert was going to erupt when he learned about this. They had to break the news carefully and have a plan of action before that. Otherwise, Jon's foster son was liable to start a war against any perceived Targaryen loyalist left in the realm. That might not be something Jon could feasibly avoid; he had to face that truth. In that case, aiming Robert at a less volatile target while his Hand and other allies did their job might be for the best.

"Robert can't be allowed to start a war with the Reach right now. We are about to have the Tyrells bound to us through marriage. That should entice the Redwynes and Hightowers by placing their blood on the throne through Mace's girl. More marriages and concessions should bind them closer to us," Tywin concluded.

"The Narrow Sea Houses. If Robert needs to do something, that's the best target for his wrath," Jon decided. He exchanged a grave nod with Tywin and stood up. "Stannis should still be in the capital discussing matters with the Master of Coin. We should inform him before speaking with Robert."

=Sith=

Robert's muscles strained as he walked around the Red Keep's training grounds with a tree trunk held over his shoulders. Only the prospect of impending war for the Stepstones and, later, that dragonspawn bastard Viserys, let him feel alive since the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Robert had something to look forward to instead of dealing with fools and counting coppers. War was in his blood, and focusing on it meant he didn't have to constantly drown his sorrows in drink. While Robert still drank, it was in moderation, which allowed him to train longer and harder. He could fuck whores harder as well, even that bitch of a Queen the Lannisters threw at him. As if Cersei could compare to his Lyanna! Bah!

At least now, Rhaegar, the fucking rapist, wouldn't be the only Targaryen Robert killed in battle. He was looking forward to testing his warhammer against that dragonspawn's sorcery! Blood and steel won battles, not magic!

Robert completed his tenth lap around the training ground and let the trunk fall behind him with a loud thump. He took a few deep breaths and drank some cool water before emptying a jug over his head and shaking it.

"All right, you bastards! Who wants to spar with your King?" Robert bellowed.

Most of the warriors training flinched at the suggestion. Since the Greyjoy Rebellion, all the fat Robert put on after becoming King had melted in the flames of war and constant training. The Demon of the Trident was back, and there weren't many willing to test their mettle against him, even with mere training weapons.

"Come on! Are you men or frail old women!?" Robert taunted.

"Robert, you can hit them with your hammer later," Jon appeared from an alcove, followed by Lannister and Pycelle. "We have news. Come, we need to talk," Jon beckoned.

"Not good news, I take it?" Robert grumbled and walked towards his foster father.

"THEY DID WHAT!?" The King roared a few minutes later. "I want them dead, Jon! Such treachery can't go unpunished! What about all the bastards who are bidding their time in their keeps, just waiting for Viserys to return?!" Robert demanded.

"We are working to neutralize them as threats. Leave the Reach to us," Jon raised a hand before Robert could snap at him. "The Narrow Sea Lords are of a more immediate concern. They can actually cause problems right now if they so wish."

"They might decide to run to their precious dragons," Tywin added.

"With Mace Tryrell here and his daughter set up to be the next Queen, we have ways to deal with the Reach that won't mean a civil war. The same isn't true about the Narrow Sea," Jon added.

"Stannis?" Robert looked accusingly at his brother.

"There was only so much I could do from Dragonstone. It wasn't until very recently that I could draw on manpower from the Stormlands, and I have yet to find the time to go to Storm's End and put things into proper order. I've written to the Royal Fleet to be ready to mobilize, and we have four squadrons docked here at the capital," Stannis countered.

"Crackclaw Point here in the Crownlands might be something for you to focus on, Robert. You know they've been whacking our tax collectors since the Rebellion, but going after them was more trouble than it was worth until now. Blockade them from the sea and send an army to take their keeps and towns. We have an explicit reason to move against them over unpaid taxes," Jon suggested.

"Then you can claim you've found evidence of treachery among the other Narrow Sea Lords who will raise for a Targaryen the first chance they have," Tywin added.

"The Master of Ships here can keep them in place until it is prudent to move against the likes of Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass, and Bar Emmon," Jon continued.

That wasn't what Robert really liked, but it was better than nothing. Besides, it would be a war if a small one!

"You've convinced me. Call the banners!"

"I'll have Stormlords ready to march as soon as possible," Stannis vowed.