Chapter 1: The Swords of the Riverlands
Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Ned
“I see, I will give you an answer by tonight,” he said and walked out of the door.
He asked a passing servant for directions to the Godswood, and he barely made it there before giving out a bellow of rage. Brandon had passed not three moons past and Hoster Goddamn Tully had the balls to ask him to marry Lady Catelyn or be denied the Riverlands’ swords.
Once he had poured out his outrage, desperation, loneliness, and helplessness, then and only then did he kneel in front of the heart tree, and he convened with the Old Gods and poured out his heart.
He had thought himself a man grown but had been a naive boy thus far; mayhaps, he was one even now. His vassals were righteously angry and made all the correct noises, in loud voices where others would hear them, but their armies were slow to assemble; some needed to be cajoled, some bribed, some punished, others threatened, or worse. Gods, he believed, he really did, that Northerners were a different folk, that honor and oaths meant something, that the death of their liege should be avenged would be a foregone conclusion. It was not so!!! A layer of his naivete peeled off. He had Martyn Cassel make a note of the men sent; once the war was over, he would go through his father’s notes for the expected levies and he would mark those that had sent less.
When Hoster Goddamn Tully demanded marriages of him and Jon, another layer of his naivete peeled off. The man cared naught for his feelings, neither those of his daughter. What a fool he had been to think that Riverlands’ swords would be theirs to avenge Brandon. He cursed his father then and Jon for not educating him thus; he cursed Brandon for leaving this burden to him and for his stupidity in confronting the Mad King; he cursed Lyanna, for what, he did not know yet, still he cursed. And he cursed the Targaryens; he cursed Aerys the Mad and Rhaegar the Madder, and he cursed all those that followed them.
Almost an hour of pent-up frustration and cursing later, the Quiet Wolf sat down to contemplate the events. He brought forth all the knowledge of politics and warcraft his Lord Father and Jon had imparted or tried to impart upon him. The Royal army had been slow to assemble with neither the Mad King nor the Madder Prince to lead them; that more than anything gave them a chance. If they moved swiftly, they could crush the Targaryens once and for all. For that, they needed Tully’s swords, no way around that; if denied, Hoster Goddamn Tully would just stab them in the back. Every throw of the dice seemed in Tully’s favor. However, he knew his Lord Father would not have given Hoster Goddam Tully this much leverage, there would be a betrothal agreement, witnessed and signed. One copy would be in Winterfell but the other would be here. He would marry Lady Catelyn but he would read the agreement first, make any changes if necessary, and then and only then would the marriage take place.
Course set, the Quiet Wolf walked out of the Godswood to give Hoster Goddamn Tully his answer.
Chapter 2: The Lady of Winterfell
Summary:
Lady Catelyn's thoughts as she becomes the Lady of Winterfell
Notes:
Thanks a lot for the reviews, kudos, and follows. In case anyone missed it, this is obviously an AU from the moment the Mad King asked for Ned and Robert’s heads. The changes will cascade slowly until there is an appropriate domino effect. Wish me luck and good writing!!
Chapter Text
Chapter 2
Catelyn
She barely stops herself from sneering, holding her composure by a thread, literally. Eddard Stark is undoubtedly the lesser brother. Her Bran was more handsome, more cheerful, taller, broader of the chest, and he set her heart aflutter. Eddard Stark is stockier, quieter, and in her eyes, plain. She chants her house's words to try and stop or divert her thoughts, tries to sympathize with the fact that he has lost a lot of family members and hence is somber, barely succeeds in doing so, and then she is at the ceremony.
The ceremony in front of the heart tree is quick; the one in the sept takes a bit longer, but she is finally the Lady of Winterfell. Once, when she had been betrothed to Bran, had interacted with him, she had dreamt of being his wife, had dreamt him carrying her to his home, had dreamt lustful dreams, and had dreamt of a host of babies; she had dreamt of happiness. Now, she thinks of duty and she thinks of heirs and spares, but there is no passion, her heart does not beat faster, and her ears and cheeks do not flush. She is polite, for courtesies are a woman's armor, and she makes all the right inquiries of her Lord Husband and his lands, but there is no happiness, for her happiness died with the death of her Bran. There is fear, however; her septa does not have good things to say about the Northmen, never did, things she ignored because she loved Bran, but seeing Eddard Stark has reignited those fears in her. Will she get to pray in a sept, whether Winterfell even has a sept, will she be required to worship the trees; what about her children, can they be bathed in the light of the Seven or forever be denied; she wonders. And she wonders worse, hiding her fears and insecurities beneath a veneer of courtesy, hiding them from a husband she does not know, a stranger in truth; hiding them from her father who does not care; hiding them from the world.
They have talked a couple of sentences, husband and wife, she is bedded that night and at dawn the next day, her husband is off to war.
Chapter 3: Lessons & Learnings - The Stoney Sept
Summary:
Ned's thoughts post the battle at the Stoney Sept.
Chapter Text
Ned
Inexperienced generals, a lack of information, but most importantly, kindness resulted in the route of the Royal army, he mused.
Lord Tully's scouts had made the difference in providing accurate information to their army; something, it seemed, that Lord Connington had neglected since they had neither apprehended nor killed any Royal scouts. This had allowed the Stark, Arryn, Tully army to swoop in almost unnoticed until the last moment.
But it was Jon Connington's kindness, mayhaps his honor which had lost them the battle. The Royal army had the town in their hands for a couple of days. Jon Connington should have set the Stoney Sept on fire. The thought, when it came, startled him so much that he nearly dropped the sword and the whetting stone onto his legs. The thought was fleeting, but it left him shaken. The honor-bound part of his mind cringed at the thought but the pragmatic part agreed. The honor-bound part of his mind thought of the countless innocents in the town; the children, the women, the septons, and the septas. The pragmatic part saw the results: Had Connington set the fire, Robert would have been forced to come out; the forced march of the Stark, Arryn, and Tully army would have been useless; it was a bleak picture.
There was, however, another thought that would leave him sleepless for nights to come. What would he have done if he was in Lord Connington's place? The answer he received was mayhaps the most horrific. He would have made similar mistakes and he would have lost the battle, even his life. His honor and inexperience would have cost him his life. By the Old Gods!, if he lost his life, what would happen to Benjen; to Lyanna, if she was alive even; to the North; to Lady Catelyn? He couldn't bear these thoughts.
That the Old Gods were in their favor was without doubt. Connington's mercy and honor had given them time to reach the Stoney Sept. The Reach not joining the Targaryen army had been an unexpected but welcome boon. The combined numbers of the Targaryens and the Reach army would more than likely have defeated them.
Mercy and honor had cost Jon Connington the battle, mayhaps the war, and even his life perhaps. But then the same was true for his father, was it not; honor had cost Rickard Stark his life.
Once he had begun to understand things, understand his duty towards his house, understand his responsibility towards his smallfolk, he had made honor his standard. He had tried to behave honorably in his dealings with both nobility and smallfolk. War had shown him the results of honor though; his Lord Father dead at the hands of the Mad King; Jon Connington injured, perhaps dying; the Royal army routed. What a naive boy indeed! he thought.
War had already shown him the beasts and greed in men, something he thought he was above for he was fighting for justice. The thought of setting the Stoney Sept on fire though had shown him the beast within himself. It had been a glimpse, enough to make him shudder. It was necessary though, he understood that now; he had to let the beast out, the wolf in him, mayhaps the direwolf, for it would keep him alive.
The change in perception was jarring, the value he had lived his life by thus far, his honor, he would try and set it away for now, for honor had no place in war. He would be honorable during peacetime, he vowed, but now, he would be the wolf.
Chapter 4: The Lion's Legacy
Summary:
Tywin Lannister's thoughts.
Notes:
I have been an avid fanfiction reader for many years now. I just wanted to convey that only now do I understand how difficult it is to actually write fanfiction and continue writing it (this is my first fanfiction). As a reader, I was often disappointed with the number of words in a chapter; I am beginning to realize the enormity of writing huge chapters as a writer, especially taking out time from real life.
That aside, I have excerpts of a few chapters written which I keep expanding as and when thoughts come in. The idea right now is to write POV Ned every alternate chapter with POVs of different characters in between. I am not sure how faithful I will be to this plan, and this may change in the future; we will see.
Special thanks to Draughtjunkman, queefqueen, and Night_Eyes for all their insights. Thanks to others I have not mentioned for their comments and kudos. Appreciate it from the heart.
Chapter Text
Chapter 4
Tywin
Sometime after the battle of Stoney Sept
How many plans had he thought of and discarded since Harrenhal, he had lost count. He had even entertained thoughts of kidnapping Jaime and spiriting him away, hiring an assassin to kill Aerys; there were multiple variations to it, of course, instigating a riot, starting a fire, but every plan had too many risks, and they remained for now just in his head. If Pycelle was less incompetent and Jaime less of a fool, he would have gotten him out by now, alas that was not possible! He had considered contacting even Elia Martell for that matter, only to discard those plans upon further thoughts, he definitely could not count on the weakling. His agents other than Pycelle did not have the capacity to carry out any complex plans and hence would not be of any use.
Aerys did not even know how severe a blow he had given him, or mayhaps he knew exactly, mad he may be now, but he was not without intelligence. His time would come! However, right now, saving Jaime from the Mad King was more important than anything else and that is what had stayed his hand. Aerys still had too many sycophants and lickspittles besides him, too many hostages like Jaime, keeping enemies in check, and there were too many fools honoring their oaths and men to Aerys for him to act decisively. And the biggest problem was the bald eunuch. No matter how many spies he uncovered and hanged, he was not sure whether he had gotten them all.
Things were coming to a head now though, and he knew he had to act. He had to be in King's Landing, that was the only thing he was sure about; the victorious side did not matter. If the Royal Army won, he would simply be the protector of King's Landing, the last defense between his King and the rebels, and he would help Rhaegar finally put an end to Aerys' reign; it would be a lesser victory than if the rebels won but he would most likely avoid any severe repercussions for staying out of the war. And if the Starks, Tullys, Arryns, and Baratheons won, he would graciously hand over King's Landing to them, and Cersei as the bride to the new king, which he suspected would be Steffon's eldest. Either way, Aerys' end was at hand. He would pay Aerys back for all the humiliation and disrespect; and if the rebels won, he would end the Targaryen dynasty once and for all; he would have the bards write another song depicting the end of Targaryens at the hands of the Lion. He hoped Jaime would be smart enough to avoid the grasp of the Mad King when the time came; for if he did not, then Jaime's life was out of his hands. If the fool died, he would have to marry again; he would not leave his legacy to the dwarf, never! He had never given too much thought about marrying again after Joanna; he always felt it would be too much of a betrayal. More and more, however, it was looking as if he would need to do so. Jaime had to survive the war first, had to be out of the new king's grasp, and then had to step up and accept his responsibilities to be the Lord of the Rock and even maintain all that he had gained. If things did not go as he wanted, he would look at potential brides in the kingdoms for himself.
He would move soon, a forced march to be at King's Landing at the right time. Most of his bannermen would not make it in time, but he did not need all of them. He already had his standing army, a part of his legacy, his pride; he would have Kevan and his men; he would call a few other minor houses and knights. And finally, he would have The Mountain and his beasts. It would have to be enough, he would make it enough. And if he got to hang Aerys himself, he would even savor the victory.
The only conviction he had was of the timing; the way the battles were shaping and the armies were building up, the war would be over in less than three to four battles. The rest; he would figure out depending on the victor and the losses suffered by the victor. Whoever won, Tywin Lannister would be there to celebrate the victory in King's Landing and further his power and legacy.
Chapter 5: Lessons & Learnings - "Information"
Summary:
Plans after the Stoney Sept
Notes:
The biggest chapter so far; it went through multiple iterations before reaching this one. And I was like, that is enough; if I keep on changing something, I will never publish it. So finally pushing the publish button on this one. Cheers!
Chapter Text
Chapter 5
Ned
The Northern War Council - sometime after the Stoney Sept.
"My Lords, it seems that the Madder Prince has joined the Royal army and they are on the move; we will likely meet them in a couple of weeks. Our spies report that the Dornish have mustered forces and are going to join the Royal Army soon. There are also reports that the remains of the Royal army, those that fled at Stoney Sept and those we were unable to capture later, are regrouping under someone's leadership. This means that there is a chance that they will have more numbers than us. A part of the Westerlands army is standing at the Golden tooth; we do not know the numbers, just that they are there. Lord Lannister has not responded to any of our ravens. As such, we do not know whether he will turn on us." He pointed to the map then, before continuing, "We will fall back here, at the crossing. We will prepare the ground and then let them come at us. This will give us the chance to tackle even the Lannister army, if necessary. I will share more details once we reach the place."
"Why not press the advantage before they have a chance at regrouping, my Lord? We could smash them and be in King's Landing sooner."
There were multiple shouts in agreement. He banged on the table to quieten his Lords down. "A couple of things My Lords. The Stormlands army has seen more battles than us; despite their boasts, they are exhausted. If we march now towards the enemy, they will be useless for us when the battle comes. With the chance that enemy numbers are more than ours, it is an unnecessary risk." He moved the lion figurines on the map to give his lords a better view. "One army is standing at Golden tooth, as I said earlier. We know definitely that it is not the complete Westerlands army. This means, there is a chance that another Westerlands army could creep up from the Gold Road if the lion finally rouses himself. My Lords, if we overextend now and Tywin Lannister chooses his old, mad friend, we would be facing an attack from three sides. If a coordinated attack happens, that is something we cannot afford, especially if we do not have the number advantage. If, however, we choose the ground, prepare it beforehand, and let them come at us, we can make sure that their number advantage is nullified. This offers us the best chance for victory."
"What if they do not come, Lord Stark? Can we afford to waste the time?"
"They will come, my Lords. The Madder Prince will need to prove himself now. If he does not attack, the soldiers and even his lords will think him craven and lose morale. He will have to attack."
The questions and discussion continued for some time before the lords were satisfied. He gathered his thoughts before addressing his bannermen again. "One last thing, My Lords, I have already discussed this with Lords Arryn, Baratheon, and Tully; I want the Madder Prince alive. If any of you come across him on the battlefield, I want you to take every effort to capture him alive. It goes without saying that this is just one of our goals; our strategies and formations will not change only to try and capture the Madder Prince. However, in the course of the battle, if you have a chance, capture him. I do not care if he loses his arms or legs; he should be alive, should survive for a couple of days, and he should be able to talk, and I will be the first man to talk with him. Any lord who brings the Madder Prince to me in the condition I described, I will grant two boons, one for the man or men who capture him and one for the lord; this I swear as the Lord of Winterfell. That is all. You all can go back to your men. Lord Reed, a word."
I will wring Lya's location out of him if I need to, he thought. Lord Connington's escape meant that he had lost the chance to question him. They had had some skirmishes after the battle at the Stoney Sept, of course, but the men captured did not have any idea about the whereabouts of the Madder Prince, let alone his sister. If he could get the Madder Prince alive though, he would get to Lya sooner; he could not afford to lose any more of his family.
It was only when Howland cleared his throat that he remembered he had asked him to wait.
"Done brooding," Howland asked, and he could not help but smile. "Thank you for that, Howland. Smiles are rare these days."
"Indeed, you have a task for me."
He smiled again at Howland's perception. "I have two in mind. The first one is easier. Lord Bolton has the best scouts as far as the Northern army is concerned, but they are nowhere near as good as those of Lord Tully's. I do not want to depend on them entirely in the future. I have already spoken with Ser Brynden; I will give you three of my men, you will lead them and two of your men and shadow Ser Brynden, learn all about scouting that you can. I understand that you already have some experience doing so in The Neck," he paused, seeing Howland's nod, he continued, "this would be a good chance to get more experience in the Riverlands, perhaps more regions based on how this war goes. What do you say?"
"It will be done, Ned."
"Good. Do you or any of your men have any experience catching lizard lions?"
"Sure we do, you want us to catch a dragon for you?"
"I really want him alive, Howland, and you are one of the very few I trust. I dearly hope that I give those boons to you and your men. I will keep 15 of your men free, and I will give you 15 of my own men; they will not be part of any specific troops or strategy, your only objective in any battle we have with the Madder Prince will be his capture. Do you think you can do it?"
"I will make sure it happens, Ned. I will bring him to you alive, I promise."
"Thank you, Howland. Now, tell me, how do you do it, capture a lizard lion?"
"Well, Ned, you would have to become a crannogman to know the secret."
He laughed at that, a genuine laugh for the first time in many months. He was about to speak when Howland beat him.
"Listen, Ned, have you given thought to what I suggested a few days back?"
All his humor fled then, and the rage came upon him so swiftly; if it was not Howland, he would have strangled him with his bare hands, he thought. The look he gave was enough though, for he saw Howland flinch and back up at that. He was beginning to understand the wolfsblood his father talked about. With an effort of will, he took control of his rage. He poured some wine for Howland and some ale for himself to stop from shouting and to try and calm down. Still, he could continue only through clenched teeth, "She is 15, Howland, by the Old Gods, just 15. Look, we do not know the situation; no one knows. Bran believed that she was taken, so did my father. I tend to believe that too. Bran and my father knew Lya much better than either me or you, and if they think she was taken, I believe them." He held his hand up to stop an argument from Howland.
"We do not know why she went somewhere without her guards, especially at a place which she has not known for too long. I know you think that there is no one in this world more fierce than Lya, and she would not go without a fight if she was taken. But do you think it would even be a fight? How long do you think a 15-year-old girl would last against the Madder Prince? What about the kingsguard with him? What about all of them together and the rest of their posse? That is not enough time for anyone to notice any suspicious activity. And, I also thought about the other possibility you suggested. If she indeed went willingly with the Madder Prince, he is a grown man, who has been learning and playing politics all his life; do you think that he could not have manipulated her into going willingly? Lya always sees the goodness in people, my friend; she has always been fierce and kind, you know this, but we both know the world is not a kind place. We do not know what story the Madder Prince told her, if any, that caused her to go with him. Honestly, it does not matter whether she went willingly or not; she would not stay with him once she heard about my father and Bran unless she has not heard about them or the Madder Prince is holding her prisoner. Once we capture the Madder Prince alive, we will find Lya, then we will know the truth."
"I do not wish to discuss this again, Howland; it pains and distracts me too much, and we have a war to win. You have your tasks, and I am counting on you. Meet with Ser Brynden now or early tomorrow morning to discuss the details of the scout; my men will find you tomorrow morning. Good night, Howland."
He forcefully turned his mind away from any thoughts about Lya and instead turned it once more towards spies and scouts. He marveled again at the information about the Madder Prince brought in by Jon's spies. Again and again, Jon or Lord Tully's spies and scouts had brought important information for their army; information and forewarnings that would change their strategy or tactics. Every time it happened, he would rue the lack of an information network of his own; something he never thought he would need, another thing that Jon had failed to teach him; was it neglect with the thought that a second son would not need an information network? He did not know; he would ask Robert whether he was taught about this to get a better idea. He wondered if his father had a network of his own and if he could make use of it. It did not matter though; if his father did not have one, he would just build one for himself, people utterly loyal to him, reporting only to him, mayhaps to Benjen, not that he had any idea how to build one, but he would gain the knowledge.
The more he thought about it, the more he could see the benefits; not just during the war, even during peace. If he could send a discreet Raven to Ben, but he discarded the thought as soon as it came. At least two maesters would read the scroll, how could it be discreet then. He would talk with Ben as soon as he reached Winterfell.
But thoughts of creating his own information network led him once again to information networks existing already. Did Jon have spies in The North, in Winterfell even? What about the Mad King? What about Lord Tully? What about the other paramount lords, the other lords in the kingdoms? Did they have spies in their camp now? Was information going to the Royal Army even now? He would discuss with Jon about enemy spies in their camp in the morning, he thought. Mayhaps, Jon and Lord Tully had already thought about this and were taking care of it. Still, he would discuss it with Jon for the peace of his own mind. As for the spies in the North, he would root them out. Just another thing he had to learn to rule The North, but he would learn. If he was going to do something, he would commit to it and do it properly, not with half measures.
He would build a network that was better than Jon's, he thought; a network that extended throughout The North, the seven kingdoms, even across the Narrow Sea, if necessary; a network that would let him know the moves of all the major and minor political players; a tool that would help him discover and forever destroy all the enemies of the Starks and The North. And he would also root out all the spies working for others in The North; give them the Northern justice to make an example. Mayhaps, he would even identify some of them, keep them alive, and ensure that they did not get adequate information or that they got false information to send to their masters. His honor-bound mind cringed at the thought, was it honorable to spread false information? The pragmatic mind intervened again though; what was more important, lying to a few spies or the welfare of his family, his vassals, and his smallfolk? If lying kept his family and his people safer, he would do it. He cursed himself then for taking a vow that he would be honorable in peace; mayhaps he was naive still. How many family members will die before you learn, his pragmatic mind whispered. No; he could not be honorable with everyone. He would take the measure of a man or a woman, test them, before deciding if they deserved his honor.
He would change his attitude. No longer would his honor be given freely; it would have to be earned. He would be aggressive against the hostile, disrespectful against the impolite, devious against the cunning, and merciless against the cruel.
Chapter 6: A Worthy Leader
Summary:
A new POV, Wyman Manderly.
Chapter Text
Wyman Manderly
Eddard Stark had been pretty unknown throughout The North before the war. The Northern Lords had only known that he was called the Quiet Wolf, that he was exactly opposite to the eldest son of Lord Rickard Stark, and that he was fostered in the Vale. That was it, not much else was known, and since he was the second son, the lords had not bothered learning about him all that much.
Given his circumstances, the situation he had been thrust in, he had performed adequately. He was grim but approachable. He was not talkative but was a good listener. He was not an outstanding swordsman, but he was better than most given his extensive training. He had commanded the troops adequately, had a good grasp of tactics and strategy, was organized and level-headed. He could easily observe the gaps in the education though, the political naivety, the inability to understand subtle messages, the lack of ruthlessness required by the ruler of The North, the false expectation that folks would behave honorably. Overall, he felt that Eddard would be an adequate leader, not a great one; and if the Gods were unkind, he would not even be a good one. He felt that Eddard would do okay, get by based on his name and the legacy and loyalty left by the previous Starks.
At least those were his initial thoughts, and he was pretty sure they would not change since Jon Connington and the majority of the Royal Army had been allowed to escape after the battle at Stoney Sept. But something had changed after that battle. With the injuries to Robert Baratheon and Lord Tully, Denys Arryn's death at the hands of Jon Connington, and the age of Lord Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark had pretty much become the commander leading the troops from the front, and he did it admirably. Every time the scouts brought in information, he was the one to decide on the troops to marshall against the remaining pockets of the retreating Royal Army, and he invariably was a part of these skirmishes. Each time, he took different lords with him and different men, ensuring a good mix of men from the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands, also ensuring that the men for each foray were well-rested and fresh. And each time he heard the same conclusion about his lord, Stark was ruthless. If the fleeing men hid in a village, the villagers were given the option of giving them up or facing fire; most gave up the men. If men were captured and did not have information or gold for ransom, they were given a choice of Northern justice or the Wall. Each time the men came back from a skirmish, he could see the respect for Eddard Stark in their eyes and hear it in their talk.
His speech about capturing Rhaegar, without limbs if needed, was another glimpse at his ruthlessness, something he was sure had been noticed by all the Northern lords. And the battle of the Trident was a revelation. Three things stood out for him; the birth of the battle commander, the ruthlessness in crushing the Royal Army, and finally, the so-called wolfsblood of the Starks. And he was in the perfect position to observe the carnage wrought by his lord, the Northern army, and their allies.
Rhaegar's mistakes had helped wonderfully, of course, but Eddard Stark had shown no mercy; each mistake had been punished severely and immediately. It was the first time the lord had managed to inspire their whole army; even the taciturn Roose seemed impressed. It was the first time the whole army fought as one under his leadership, not under the leadership of their respective commanders. All the skirmishes and the respect he had earned during them helped his lord immensely during the battle. And it was the first time that Eddard Stark had relentlessly killed his enemies when the stakes were high, even pursuing the fleeing ones while keeping tight control over his troops. It was the first time the Valyrian steel in his hand had swung so ferociously. He was sure that his lord had won the respect of the entire kingdoms in this battle, both friends and foes. He was sure the Northmen would sing the praises of Eddard Stark's wolfsblood for years to come, given the number of lives he had saved during the battle.
It had also brought him to an obvious and very relieving conclusion; Eddard Stark was learning from his mistakes. If he was willing and able to learn, then White Harbor would offer all possible help. And if he was able to learn politics as quickly as he seemed to learn war, his lord would make a great leader yet, perhaps even an outstanding one, not just an adequate one as he had feared. That day, he decided that as long as the Quiet Wolf displayed these qualities, he was a worthy leader to follow.
Chapter 7: Trident - Revelations and Plans
Summary:
Trident aftermath and plans
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ned
"I wanted him alive, Robert, alive! The fucker knew where Lyanna is? Did you think that? Did you ask him? Are you addled?"
"Enough, Ned. Mind your tongue. The only thing that came to my mind when I saw the dragonspawn was Lyanna, and I went into a rage that could be quenched only by his blood."
"Do not lie, Robert. My men saw the whole fight; you could have taken him alive; could have broken the arsehole's arm or leg, if you wanted. Instead, you broke his chest. If you were not injured, I would drown you in the Trident myself right now. You were not thinking about Lyanna; if you were, you would have left him alive. How do we find her with him dead, how? Do you have any answer for me, you fucking meathead?"
"If I were not injured, Ned, I would take your tongue for speaking like that. Stop speaking now or I will forget that you are my friend and you will come to regret it for the rest of your life.
"Are you though, Robert? Are you my friend? How many times did I repeat that I wanted him alive? You have always been selfish, Robert. You have always done what you want, not thinking about anyone else. How many friends do you have, hmm? Do you see any here? I will tell you, you have none left but me, and you do not even care about that, do you?"
"You fucking ingrate. I do not care, you say; I am selfish, you say. Who took up arms against the Mad King for you and Lyanna? Who killed the dragonspawn? Was it selfishness then? I could have sat my ass down at Storm's End, kept out of the war, like the Old Lion, not lifted a finger for you. What would you have done then? I won the war for you and Lyanna. And you have the nerve to say I am selfish?"
"You have got some nerve, Robert. Did you forget that the Mad King called for your head too? Do you think he would have let you keep it at Storm's End? As for the war, you would be dead if our armies did not save your ass at the Stoney Sept, where you were busy with your whores. And who led the armies while your injured ass sat on the horse or slept in the tent? Did you think you did the whole thing? And killing Rhaegar does not make you a winner, it just makes you stupid."
"That's it, Ned. You and I, let us settle this once and for all."
He was about to retort when Jon Arryn burst into the tent. Without the intervention, he was sure that Robert and he would have come to blows there and then. Jon had known both of them for many years though, and he had brought them to a tentative truce for now. And he understood the reasons; the war was not over yet, King's Landing and the Mad King still looming large, and they would need every man for a siege. That did not mean the issue of the Madder Prince's death was resolved, but until the war was over, both of them would keep the peace.
He was about to walk away from the tent when he heard Robert speak.
"Is this is the way he will speak to me, Jon, where anyone and everyone can hear us. I told you we should have told him, then he would know when to keep his mouth shut."
"Calm down Robert, he does not know the game, and did you think he was in his right mind after the death of his brother and father? Besides, it was for Rickard to decide whether to tell him or not, and it is clear that he did not."
With every word he heard, the fervor he had felt during the battle rose again. His father, Jon, and Robert, the three people he had trusted the most and followed with all his heart, had kept something important from him, something they had had discussions about or were privy to. And what game were they talking about in the middle of a war? He entered the tent again then for he could not keep quiet any longer.
"What the hell are you two on about? What game are you talking about? And what are you keeping from me?"
He could see the silent conversation going on between Robert and Jon before Jon gave a sigh and instructed the guards to set up at shouting distance, no one was allowed.
"Robert will be the king after the war, Ned."
He was stunned then and speechless, for what was he to say? Seeing him rendered mute, Jon continued.
"What did you think was going to happen once the war was over?"
That he could answer easily. "I would kill the Mad King for justice and take Lya home."
Robert and Jon spoke at the same time.
"And who would be the king after the Mad King?"
"Lya would be my queen."
He ignored Robert in favor of answering Jon's question, for he knew any response would bring them closer to blows again. "I have not thought about it, mayhaps the Madder Prince's son or Viserys."
"All my spies suggest that Viserys is not of the right mind, and Aegon is just a babe, not fit to rule, certainly not with a Dornish or a Targaryen regent."
"What about a regency council?"
"The last one did not end well, and the Targaryen rule is at an end, don't you think? Their end has been coming for some time now. It is time for a new dynasty."
He decided to change tack then. "I see that your mind is made up. Did my father know about this? Is this what you meant by the Game?"
"Ned," Jon sighed again before continuing, "Every Lord seeks to increase his house's power and influence. For lack of a better term, we call it the Game, the Game of Thrones. As for your father, of course, he knew, why do you think your sister was betrothed to Robert; because you are good friends with him?" he said with a scoff. "Keep it to yourself for now. We will make a formal announcement when the time is right."
"And what about the Madder Prince's children and Viserys? They are innocent in this."
This time it was Robert who spoke.
"Dragonspawn, Ned. Tis better they die."
Jon picked up the conversation before he could open his mouth.
"It is the best way, Ned. Do not forget that your ancestors did the same thing to other kings in the North."
"Children should not pay for the sins of their father."
"And what about the rewards, should the children not reap the rewards of their father's virtues? You have certainly enjoyed them."
"What are you talking about, Jon?"
"You know nothing, Eddard Stark. Lord of Winterfell and all associated lands; commander of the armies; an alliance with the Vale, the Stormlands, and the Riverlands; do you think it is because of your deeds? It is because of your father's deeds and virtues, and it is because your name is a Stark, because of your ancestors' deeds and virtues. Children do both, you fool. They reap the rewards of their father's virtues and they pay for their father's sins. This is the way of the world, it has always been and it will always be. Now, get out of my sight. We will talk later; when you have calmed down."
And he could not say anything after that, for it was the truth. "As usual, you have thought about everything, Jon. I will keep this to myself for now."
He walked out then, and he did not linger this time, afraid to hear anything more. Is that what his father had been doing? If his father was playing some kind of political game, he could begin to understand the strangeness of the Stark-Tully betrothal agreement. And Robert's betrothal to Lya, he had naively thought that that was his doing, was his father always aiming for that? How long had they been planning this; father and Jon? Was it just them? Lord Tully certainly seemed involved, but did he know everything or only parts? And what about Robert's father or was it just Robert? How long had Robert known about this? Certainly from before the war started, which meant his talk about taking up arms for Lya and sitting his ass at Storm's End had been just that; he remembered what his father used to say then, 'words are wind.' Robert had lied to his face. He thought of something else then; if Robert had lied, was Jon telling the truth? His first utterance had been when he had been outside the tent, so that would be the truth, but what about everything else, how much was the truth, and how much a lie? The revelations and mysteries and the questions they brought were making his head hurt. The war had taught him a few things though; working on things in your control and keeping aside thoughts about things you had no control over were two of them. He would keep these mysteries aside for after the war.
For now, he would turn his attention to finding Lya. First Jon Connington, then the Madder Prince; two chances to learn about Lyanna's location, both chances destroyed. The second one destroyed by a man he thought his brother; a man who professed Lya was as important to him as she was to Eddard Stark; a man who had lied to his face. Seeing his thoughts turn to things he could not control again, he forced his mind to concentrate on Lya. Who else would know where the Madder Prince had hidden her? He would need to consult Howland about Harrenhal. He was trying to recall who else had he seen with the Madder Prince when he saw Howland signaling him. Howland spoke up as they started walking towards his tent.
"Ned, you stormed off to give Robert a piece of your mind before giving me a chance to explain."
"What do you mean, Howland?"
"Prince Rhaegar is dead, but we have got the next best thing."
"Show me."
The next best thing turned out to be a sleeping or unconscious, grey-haired, injured man struggling to breathe. It was only when he got closer that a sharp memory from the accursed tourney came to him.
"Ser Barristan Selmy," the words escaped involuntarily from his mouth.
"Yes, I suspect we, the Rovers, captured him only because he was halfway to death."
"The Rovers?"
"Sorry, Ned. The men you gave me; they have taken to calling us the Rovers. They are over the moon that we could capture The Bold. By the time the war is over, I can assure you that the stories will say The Bold was standing uninjured on the corpses of 100 men when The Brave Rovers captured him with a heroic charge."
They had a good laugh at that.
"Is he unconscious because of the injuries?"
"Partly, yes. We gave him some milk of the poppy; kept fighting us even after getting captured."
"When will he wake up?"
"Mayhaps in the morning; I had one of the healers with me take a look and take care of his wounds. If he wakes up in the morning, he will survive. Otherwise, it is up to the Old Gods or perhaps the New Gods."
"How many people know?"
"A lot, Ned. Many people saw his capture; and as I said earlier, the Rovers are already spreading the stories."
He sighed at that before continuing, "Let us tie him down. I do not want to risk him waking up and trying to escape. The men who captured him, The Rovers, have them surround the tent, take watches. No one comes in or goes out without my permission."
"I will see it done. See you tomorrow, Ned."
The Next Morning
He knew before starting that there were three possibilities; Ser Barristan would lie, would not have the information, or would have it and refuse to tell. Given the reputation for honor Ser Barristan had, he was unsure if he would lie, but given his struggles with his honor-bound mind and the recent insights, he was not willing to take that chance.
How to ascertain if he was telling the truth or lying though? He had, of course, observed some interrogations done by Jon. Most of them had been done on smallfolk who were afraid of lying to Jon. A few had been done on some of Jon's errant vassals, but Jon seemed to already know the truth behind the situation, making it easier to catch the lie; and wasn't that a revelation, spies of course. There were a few cases where torture was required, but it was a time-consuming procedure, especially if the prisoner was a warrior. And that was the issue here; he did not know how much time he had to get the information from Ser Barristan, and if he did get some information, he did not want that to reach other ears.
That had led him to the discussion he was having with Howland this morning.
"So, do you have any experience?"
"We do not exactly torture anyone if that is what you are asking."
"But you do capture criminals, so how do you get information out of them? And what do you mean by exactly?"
"The Neck is one of the most magical places in our world, Ned. We have many wonders. You should visit sometime." He nodded and gestured for Howland to continue. "Some mushrooms grow in our forests. We call them happy mushrooms. We cook them and force the prisoner to swallow. It takes 1 to 2 hours, then the prisoners usually start to sing or dance or laugh. Then, we give them a pinch of the Sweetsleep, enough to make them pliant. Once they are pliant, then we ask the questions. That usually works. But, there are some issues."
"Go on."
"Do you want him to live?"
He thought about that a little bit. The Ned before the war would never condone death during torture. But he could not afford such fallacies. "If it is possible. Finding Lya is more important for me than Ser Barristan living. If he dies, so be it. Why do you ask?"
"Hmm, if the man is injured, it is possible that the combination of mushrooms and Sweetsleep may kill him. We have seen it happen."
"Acceptable, unless they kill him before I ask the questions."
"Death takes some time to come, does not happen immediately."
"Good enough. Once I have asked the questions, if he is going to die, I will do it the old way. What else?"
Howland nodded at that and continued, "You have to ask the right questions. If you ask questions with many answers, then the answer can be anything, even confusing for us. It is better to ask questions with only one answer, preferably short answers. Start with questions you know the answer to and see how he reacts. If he reacts differently to different questions, that would give you an idea if the mushrooms are working or not. If they are working, he should answer every question without much emotion or any emotion or one single emotion, most of the time happy. One other thing, you keep calling Prince Rhaegar, 'the Madder Prince'.
"What of it?" he said, losing his temper again, only for Howland to continue calmly.
"In that state, Ser Barristan will not know what you are talking about, so he will not be able to answer. You have to use terms and names that he would easily understand."
"Hmm, thank you, Howland, I wouldn't have realized that."
"Also, there is a small chance that he has come across other similar mushrooms or potions in the past; in that case, he may be able to resist answering your questions, either partially or completely."
"Very well, we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's see if this works first."
A few hours later, he and Howland found themselves looking at Barristan Selmy singing 'The Dornishman's Wife' at the top of his voice; a sight they would remember for the rest of their lives.
He had already thought of the information he wanted from Ser Barristan, and he had thought of some of the questions he wanted to ask. Once Ser Barristan had calmed down after a pinch of Sweetsleep with honey, the interrogation began.
"What is your name?"
"Ser Barristan Selmy."
"Who won the jousting at Harrenhal?"
"Prince Rhaegar."
"Where did Prince Rhaegar take Lyanna Stark?"
"I do not know."
He clenched his jaw at that but knew that he had to continue.
"How did Prince Rhaegar come to King's Landing?"
"By horse, I think." Howland burst out laughing then, and he could not stop himself from cracking a smile either. "Of course," he muttered, "How else?" He wondered if Ser Barristan had even known that the Madder Prince had visited King's Landing. He would need to think a bit more before asking about the Madder Prince.
"Where is Ser Gerold Hightower?"
"I do not know."
"Where is Ser Arthur Dayne?"
"I do not know."
"Where is Ser Oswell Whent?
"I do not know."
"Who does Prince Rhaegar trust the most?"
"Ser Arthur."
"How many troops are still there in King's Landing?"
And the interrogation went on like that for quite a while.
He had gotten a lot of information from Ser Barristan. The troop numbers in King's Landing; the commanders in charge of the gates; the ships in the Royal Navy, the cavalry numbers, and the number of foot soldiers; the weaknesses of the gates, which one was easier to target; which commander of the gates was craven; and many more things.
But Ser Barristan did not have information about Lya's location. There was enough to take a guess though. According to Ser Barristan, Arthur Dayne was the man the Madder Prince trusted the most and Summerhall was his favorite place to visit. Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent were seen in the Riverlands around the time Lya was abducted; they did not join the Battle of the Crossing. Who would the Madder Prince trust to keep Lya prisoner? Arthur Dayne, of course. Where would they take her; either the place the Madder Prince liked the best or the place Ser Arthur knew the best or somewhere close by, a secret place closer to these places but unknown to most people, mayhaps a place not on the map, known only by the Madder Prince or only by the Daynes.
He looked at the map again. It was an instinct, nothing else, but he felt that he would get more information about Lya either in or near Summerhall or Starfall. For reaching Starfall, he had two options, Maidenpool or Seagard, but he dismissed Maidenpool immediately. Lord Tully and Ser Brynden had broken Maidenpool's resistance, but that meant the chance of finding a ship would be minimal. Also, Ser Barristan had told him about the Royal ships, which meant going that way would not be advisable. That left Seagard. The Iron Islands had been silent during the war, much like the Lion, which meant that ships were getting in and out of Seagard unmolested, at least for now. Most of the Redwyne fleet was at Storm's End, so they would let a merchant ship go by as well. He would need to discuss with Jon, Ser Brynden, and Robert about an alliance with Greyjoys, but, a ship from Seagard could be an option. The problem was Starfall; they would likely check each-and-every ship thoroughly with the ongoing war, which meant sending enough men would be a problem. If his assumption was correct and Arthur Dayne was keeping Lya prisoner, then not sending enough men would be foolish.
That left Summerhall, which meant they would have to deal with King's Landing first; or did it? The Royal army lay broken. To Ser Barristan's knowledge, no other army was being gathered. The way to Summerhall would not be as dangerous in that case, especially if the group was small and smart about the travel. But how small could the group be? Worst case, Whent, Dayne, and Hightower were together. Given their reputation, and based on how Ser Barristan had fought during the battle, at least 15 men, if not more, would be required. And if they had more men with them, then even more men would be required. However, if his group had more than 15 men, it would no longer be a small group; hells, even 15 men meant a large group.
And that was just the beginning of the problems. He couldn't leave the army now, meaning he would have to go to King's Landing. Whoever he sent to find Lya would need to communicate their location to him. A sudden thought had him looking at the map again. Not a group of 15, a group of 20 men; one man coming back to King's Landing for every destination they reached; one man once the group was out of the Kingswood, one man once they reached Summerhall and got any news about Lya, and then he would leave it up to the leader of the group.
The route would be another issue. If Lya was not in Summerhall, one way to Starfall was to avoid the desert altogether, through the Reach, a very long way, and not ideal at all since the Reach was the enemy. The other way was through Vulture's Roost. The castle was supposedly in ruins, which meant the chance of encountering enemy forces was low, at least until they reached near Skyreach. Another way was entering the desert from Nightsong, although the group would have to go through Kingsgrave, again not ideal since the Manwoody's were staunch bannermen of the Martells. Entering the desert without proper knowledge of water resources or enough water would anyway be a death sentence. It would be another decision that he would have to leave to the group leader. He thought about getting a letter from Robert for Blackhaven and Nightsong but decided against it almost immediately. He was pissed off at Robert, and most importantly, his trust in Robert had reduced drastically. He was already going to be trusting too many people with the task; it was better not to increase that number.
Which left the question of whom to sent. This required subtlety, the ability to make decisions without overthinking, the ability to keep secrets, and the ability to be level-headed in tough situations. Four names came to his mind; Howland Reed, Gregor Forrester, Wyman Manderly, and Roose Bolton. He discarded Roose Bolton immediately. Roose Bolton was extremely effective, and he had all the qualities required for the task. The problem, of course, was that of trust. A couple of thousand years of mistrust tended to seep through the generations, and he was no different. The Red Kings may have bowed, but the Starks had never been able to uproot them as they had other kings, and the Boltons had never forgotten that they were kings once. Leaving Lya, for any amount of time, in Lord Bolton's control was not acceptable to him.
He thought for a long while on Wyman Manderly. The man had watched him like a hawk, seemingly assessing every move he was making. But that was true for many of the lords. And once he had observed it, he had returned the favor. While the lord had remained aloof at first, content to observe, he had begun to interact more as the war went on. He gave good advice, was level-headed and deliberate, and was unafraid to make decisions. There were two problems. One was that of speed. In all their interactions so far, Lord Wyman had been slow, almost southern in his habits. He took too long to think about things, almost testing his patience many times. He was the last man out of his tent; he was the last man out of a meal; he was the last man to pick up a weapon. He was thorough but slow. If he was the leader, his speed would be a great issue. The other problem was the game Jon had mentioned. His father had seemingly been looking to increase their influence in King's Landing. With Lord Wyman's nature and way of doing things, he was thinking of a different role for him. If things went well, he wanted Lord Wyman with him when they took King's Landing.
Gregor Forrester reminded him of Brandon sometimes; the ease with which the man interacted with both soldiers and lords was similar to Brandon. Despite the death of his father in the war, he had done well. He had taken his men in hand immediately, and it was clear that the Forrester men respected him. He was a good swordsman but was even better with a battle-ax in his hands. He was quick to help any man in trouble, was well-liked, and best of all, knew when to keep his mouth shut.
That left Howland. Howland had been his principal advisor in the war. He was quiet, was so good at fading in the background that many a time people had no idea that he was in the room. He was extremely observant, was able to change plans based on situations, and the man he trusted the most. The only problem was that he was not a fighter. Faced with three fresh Kingsguard, mayhaps the best warriors in the seven kingdoms, what would be his approach? Would he keep waiting for a moment that may never come?
Ultimately, he decided on both Gregor Forrester and Howland. A group of 20 men, Howland would lead until they located Lya, and then it would be Gregor's task to deal with the Kingsguard. They would peel off the army just before their army reached King's Landing, preferably at night, ensuring most of the army remained unaware. He would lead the Forrester men himself, mixing them with Stark men, and hope that no one noticed until it was too late. He would need to talk with Gregor to make the transition easier.
He was ready to finalize his plans when another thought came to him, 15 or 20 men could not go to Starfall and be undetected but mayhap two could or one. One or two disguised men may slip into Starfall, gather information, and report back to King's Landing or send a raven from Riverrun depending on the situation. The only man that immediately came to his mind was Martyn Cassell. It would have to be enough, and Martyn Cassell could leave immediately.
Plans finalized, as much as they could be, he called for Martyn Cassell. It was time to get solid information about Lya's location.
Notes:
This one is a little long compared to other chapters. (I know it is nowhere near the monster chapters some writers can write.) Now, you guys know that this is an AU. However, before this chapter, whatever changes I had made were very minor, pretty much unnoticeable. I have been setting up Ned's changes in perception and attitude. Hopefully, those have come across. The changes to canon have been minor/unnoticeable precisely because of that. And, I could not stop myself from adding "You know nothing" and "Words are wind." So, with that out of the way, the first noticeable changes (something almost every reader would have understood) came in this chapter. Now, the changes may seem minor at first (to some), but the domino/butterfly effect they could have is potentially massive. Frankly speaking, I have given some thought to the domino effect, and you can see that a little bit in this chapter, but even I do not yet truly know how the changes would affect the whole story.
Another thing that I want to address is Rhaegar's death. I struggled with it; whether or not to keep him alive. I played a little bit with the idea of keeping him alive, captured by the Rovers, but as I went down that rabbit hole, I realized that that story would need to focus a lot more on Rhaegar, not Ned because the whole political plot would change with Rhaegar alive. With that in mind, I decided to kill him here.
For those who have read even the Author Notes, my heartfelt thanks; it is a pleasure to have you as my readers, and a Japanese bow for all of you to show my respect.
Chapter 8: Different Roads to the Same Castle
Chapter Text
A few days after the Battle of the Crossing
Tywin
They had been camped in the passes of the hills, near the Gold Road, but not on it when he received the news that Rhaegar was dead. He was rarely surprised, not that anyone ever knew that he was, but he was surprised that the rebels had moved away from King's Landing instead of towards it. It meant that Jon Arryn had his wits about him still, for he was sure that the hotheaded Robert and the green Stark would not think strategically enough to choose the ground for the battle. Jon Arryn would need to be watched closely once the war was over. He had wondered whether Jon Arryn or Rickard Stark was the mind behind the power block they were forming; with Rickard Stark dying a fool's death though, it was apparent that it was Jon Arryn.
And he was beginning to see Arryn's play for being the power behind the throne. From all he had heard about Robert, he would not enjoy the day-to-day grind of the ruling, which meant Arryn would rule from the background. If Cersei became the queen though, he could keep Arryn's influence in check while increasing his own. He could foresee only two obstacles; the time it would take for King's Landing to fall and Robert's obsession with Lyanna Stark. If he could give the rebels King's Landing on a platter, he would be in an unenviable position. And if he made sure that Lyanna Stark was dead, he would ensure that his grandson would one day be the King.
How to approach King's Landing? Trickery was his best option. A siege was impractical, especially with the Royal navy still in good force. The best would be if the gates were opened for him; he would need to use the tunnels if that was not the case. He would start with a letter to Aerys. Aerys would enjoy Tywin Lannister, the humble servant of the crown; he would add another scroll for Pycelle with instructions for the correct things to whisper in Aerys' ear. If everything went well and Pycelle was successful, he would see Aerys and the other Targaryens die. If Pycelle was unsuccessful, mayhaps he had outlived his usefulness. He would need to use the tunnels then. He would need to decide on which tunnels to use and how to attack, but it was better than a siege.
That left the matter of Lyanna Stark. Where had Rhaegar hidden her? His spy had only mentioned Selmy, Darry, and Lewyn; no mention of Hightower, Whent, or Dayne. Pycelle had also reported that Hightower had been sent to find Rhaegar, and Rhaegar had returned to King's Landing briefly, but Hightower had not. Dayne certainly had enough sway in his house, and so did Hightower mayhaps. If Rhaegar had hidden her with the Daynes, she would not be in Starfall, mayhaps one of their vassals; High Hermitage would certainly be a good option, it was close enough to Starfall. A raven to his agent near Starfall and a ship from Crakehall to Starfall would be the fastest. And just in case the Hightowers were involved, the same ship could land men in Oldtown, and he would send ravens to a couple of his agents in Oldtown. He would task Roland Crakehall to deal with this. If she was in or near either of the places, he would learn about it and take care of Lyanna Stark, if possible.
Plans made, he asked for Roland Crakehall to be brought to him, and he began writing letters for Aerys and Pycelle.
Some days after the Battle of the Crossing
Howland
Summerhall
The uninjured soldiers and the cavalry had moved soon after they had received the news that the Lannister army was on its way to King's Landing. The initial plan had been for them to peel off from the army close to King's Landing, but with Lords Arryn and Baratheon staying back due to Lord Baratheon's injuries, Ned had been in charge of the whole army, and he had positioned them in such a way that they had peeled off much earlier, closer to Hayford. They had kept off the road and had been able to avoid the Kingswood altogether, making good time to reach Summerhall.
Wild was the only thing that came to his mind for the trees around the ruins. They had taken over the places untouched by the wildfire, and they looked decidedly different than the ones he had seen elsewhere; it almost reminded him of the Isle. They were taller and thicker than usual and gave off a menacing aura. The men were leery as if they felt someone or something was watching them. He drew a sharp breath when he realized the implication. There was magic here at Summerhall. None of the men with him could feel it, but then they did not have enough magic themselves and had not been trained to identify it. Even after all these years, whatever magic had destroyed Summerhall lingered still. Not the magic of the Old Gods; something else, yet as primal as the one he had been trained in. It was not as concentrated as it was on the Isle, but more so than any other place he had visited. Could he use it? If he could find a weirwood, he was sure he could make use of it, but even if he did not, with the amount of magic concentrated here, there was a good chance that he could make use of it.
He was content that Ned had been clear about leadership until they located Lyanna. It allowed him leeway in doing things his way; ways not easily understood even by his fellow Northmen. They would stay the night; he would ensure that only his men were awake, and the rest of the Rovers and Lord Forrester would have a pleasant and deep sleep. Tonight, if possible, he would convene with the Gods.
He had not found a weirwood unfortunately, but he would make do. With two of his men keeping watch, he ground the weirwood seeds he had brought with him into a powder. The wild redwood trees that he believed had been infused by the primal magic at Summerhall were dripping with red sap. He took some from a tree and mixed it with the ground seeds. He pulled out his hunting knife and a swift cut later, the ancient blood of the Children of the Forest mixed with the ground seeds and the sap. He mixed and swallowed the concoction and waited for some time before he could start to feel the effects of the paste. Once he started to feel a familiar tug at the back of his mind, he closed his eyes, prayed to the Old Gods, and pulled on the tether.
He opened his eyes because of loud, harsh screams. Once he opened his eyes, his own scream joined the terror for the wild trees surrounding the ruins of Summerhall were the ones screaming; they were screaming at him in a foreign language, if it was a language at all. But he did not need to know the language to understand the emotions. The trees wanted him out of there, that much was adequately clear. He was deciding whether to run when he heard something huge crash some distance behind him. He turned to see a great redwood, similar but larger than the one he had taken the sap from, snarl and move towards him as if it were walking. And he ran; there was no conscious thought, just survival instinct. He ran towards the ruins. The roots and branches of the trees in between tried to trip him and were successful a couple of times, but he persevered. Bruised and battered, he reached the ruins and took shelter behind the remains of a fallen wall. He peeked to see the trees waiting for him; it seemed that they would not cross into the areas affected by the wildfire, but he got the sense that they would wait for him with the patience of a hunter.
He willed his racing heart to slow down and sat with his back against the wall. The mad dash across the wild forest had left him panting and out of breath. He was enjoying the cool breeze across his face when he started to hear screams coming from within the ruins, familiar screams this time, human ones. He was about to get up and start towards the screams when he could feel the changes in his surroundings. The cool breeze from earlier had vanished, and he could feel the temperature rising slowly. He understood what he was about to see and shouted, "No, not the past, show me the present, show me my wild wolf." He waited with bated breath, the human screams continuing in the background. When nothing happened, he wondered if the Gods had heard him. He was about to repeat his request, when a voice whispered in his ear, "Come to the fire then." Startled at the sudden sound, a harsh and guttural one which brought all his terrors to the surface, he nearly shat and fell on his ass, wondering when he had stood up. "Come," he heard again, this time at some distance, and he followed the voice on trembling legs. He passed some broken stones and hard, cracked earth, and was near another ruined wall when a veritable wave of green fire rose in front of him suddenly. For the third time, he felt as if his heart would stop. "Look to the fires," he heard again, and he did, and he could see!!!
A ruined burning tower in the desert, he saw. A dark animal ran into the night, away from the tower. He could not see what it was, it was just a vague shape. Before he could think further about it, his eye was drawn to a wild, snarling wolf and birds as black as the night pecking at it. The wolf howled, fighting back, and he could see a smaller white wolf hiding behind what he now understood to be a mother. The birds were relentless though, coming in wave after wave, and he could see blood dripping from the mother wolf through multiple wounds. Lyanna, his mind whispered. His fears were forgotten then, only his will to help and save his wild wolf remained, and he jumped towards her, only for a skeletal hand to catch him and throw him at a wall. A skeleton with a golden crown rose from the wall of the green fire and spoke to him then, all the while walking toward him. "Your blood sacrifice brought you here, but will it be enough to save you? Begone with your magic, Child." And before he could understand what was happening, the skeleton picked him up and threw him into the midst of the waiting trees.
He came to what he felt like screaming, only to realize that no sound came out of his mouth. He could feel a pounding headache and he could feel his body burn from inside, like a fever, but much more intense. A great weight pressed on his chest, and he could not breathe properly.
"Water," he croaked, but before his man could bring it to his lips, he passed out.
Chapter 9: The Sack
Notes:
Right, first of all, heartfelt apologies to readers expecting a quicker update. Shit happened in real life. Lost a job, procrastination, lost the muse, got a shitty job with terrible hours and low pay, searched for another one like crazy until I found one, more procrastination, wrote terrible stuff in the meanwhile and discarded, more procrastination and laziness, you guys know the deal. Rest assured, I am not abandoning the story, but updates will be slow.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 9
Ned
They were in the process of finding and dealing with the hidden loyalists when one of Jon's spies reported that a Lannister army was seen moving along the Gold Road towards King's Landing. They had decided then to keep all the injured behind, let them come in their time, while the cavalry and uninjured soldiers had continued toward King's Landing at an even pace. He had to be careful in not straining the soldiers or horses too much. No one knew if the Lion was going to oppose them or help them, so he had to keep his men as fresh as possible for a battle when they reached the city. At the same time, he had to ensure that all hidden loyalists were dealt with, and he had given Mark Ryswell and Theo Wull the responsibility of dealing with them, as well as bringing the marching soldiers to King's Landing, as he and the cavalry rode ahead to see what the Lion had planned.
They had passed Hayford when one of the scouts had come with the news of Lannister banners on the gates, and they had made all possible haste once they received the news. They were too late; that was his first thought as soon as he entered the city. Chaos was an understatement for what he was seeing. More than once did his bile rise and it was through a sheer will that he managed to keep it down. He was in a hurry to reach the Red Keep but he could not ignore the cries of the smallfolk of King's Landing. Destroyed and burnt houses and shops, toddlers crying for their mums, women crying for their babies and men, women in tattered clothes looking blankly at nothing, dead women, dead men, young boys and girls with blood running down their legs, dead babies, and much more littered their path.
He knew that war was hardest on the smallfolk. However, reading about it, listening to it, thinking about it, or threatening to do it was nothing compared to seeing it with his own eyes. And seeing the handiwork of the Lannister army shook him to the core; the scenes would haunt his dreams for some time, he was sure; and even though they stopped haunting him, he would never forget them for the rest of his life, and he would never forget who was responsible for such horrors.
Whenever and wherever he saw Lannister soldiers in the act, he sent northern soldiers to deal with them. After the third time, he gave William Dustin 100 horse and men to bring the northern justice to the mad lions.
The Northern party was made up of hardened lords; lords and men who had witnessed wilding raids on their lands: war-hardened lords and men who had proved their mettle in the Rebellion, as well as against the wildlings and bandits; there were even some men who had accompanied his Lord Father in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and survived; lords and men who survived the atrocities of the winter in the North; and yet, the party had been rendered mute by the horrors visited by the Lannister army upon the smallfolk of the city, for they had never seen a sack on such a large scale, never seen so many smallfolk suffering in one single place, and they reached the Red Keep in stony silence.
The Madder Prince was dead and the Mad King would join him soon, but Tywin Fucking Lannister had unleashed his own brand of madness on the city of King's Landing.
There were still a few pockets of resistance holding out in the Red Keep, and they ended up helping the Lannisters in breaking those up. Tywin Lannister had taken up residence in the Tower of the Hand, and he ignored it because he knew that if he confronted the Lion and could not keep his mouth in check, he would make an enemy for life. Based on the information he had gotten from Ser Selmy, he sent Lords Manderley, Umber, and Bolton to get a hold of the treasury, the barracks, and the docks. He wanted Aerys and he took the Stark men to the throne room to bring about justice for his Lord Father and Brandon.
It took him some time to find the throne room, but Ser Selmy's directions worked well enough, at least whatever he remembered from the interrogation. The Lannisters had once again beaten them to the throne room. When he and his men entered the throne room, whatever conversation had been taking place died down. He saw the Mad King lying in a puddle of blood at the base of the stairs to the throne, and he saw a Lannister Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister he assumed, with a sword dripping with blood, seated on the Iron Throne.
"What in the hells happened here?" He asked the man-boy on the throne.
"Lord Stark, I presume."
"Yes, and you must be Ser Jaime Lannister."
"The one and the only," he answered with a smirk and a mock bow. "And to answer your question, I have killed the king."
"Kingslayer," the word left his mouth before he even knew what he was going to say. And he could see the change on the boy's face. The haughty, smirking boy vanished and in his place was a hard, closed-off man with flinty eyes and a grim set to his mouth.
"Hnn, the throne is yours, Lord Stark. Do with it as you please. I have things to take care of."
He wondered if he should stop and arrest the man, but the Lannister numbers stopped his hand and his mouth. Another battle here would lead to the unnecessary loss of northern lives, and he did not want that. The Lannister was almost at the door when he spoke again.
"Ser Jaime, I would like to meet your father. Can you arrange it?"
"I will see what I can do, Lord Stark."
By the time he came to terms with the death of the Mad King, the Kingsguard had already left the throne room. He remembered asking for a meeting with Tywin Lannister but had not gotten the chance to ask about the queen or the prince and the princesses before the Kingslayer had stalked out of the room. He immediately set out to find the other royals only to find that the queen and her son had left for Dragonstone only a few days before and that the prince and the princesses were missing. He tasked some of his men to find the missing royals and then he set out about securing whatever important structure came to his mind, including the Black cells. In the Black cells, he found a dirty and malnourished but alive Northman later identified to be Ethan Glover.
Wherever he went, the Lannisters already had a foothold, if not complete control. Wherever they did not have complete control, he ensured that the army under his control established control for themselves. To say things were tense would not do justice to the atmosphere in the Red Keep. His army was ready to spit and stomp on the Lannisters and the Lannisters were ready to return the favor. There were times when the two sides had almost come to a fight, and barring a few incidents, two of which required intervention from himself and Kevan Lannister, major mishaps had been avoided. That one day had, however, strained the nerves on both sides. Swords were brandished and words were exchanged regularly. He felt at least 50 times during the day that a skirmish would break out between the two. Thus, it was an immense relief when Jon and Robert rode into the Red Keep.
His blood was boiling. He had expected that the prince and the princesses were missing because they had managed to escape in the chaos; he was wrong and naive still. Tywin Lannister had built his reputation based on actions, not words. And the Lion had built on it even more in the sack; three bodies he presented to the new King, bodies so disfigured and tortured that only a few features could be made out. Those features, the Lion's declaration, and Lord Varys' confirmation were enough though; Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon were dead. It was almost too much for he imagined Lya in the place of the woman's body. He was about to explode when Robert called him out.
"What? What is it? Go on. I can see that you are not happy with this."
And he could contain it no longer. "Not happy, not happy you say. Are you happy with this? Is this what we fought for? Do you fashion yourself another Mad King then, killing innocents and being happy with it? Does killing children make you happy?"
"You knew that this had to happen you fucking moron. Besides, I do not see any children, I see only dragonspawn. Lord Tywin has done us a great service."
"Great service!! He has punished you, you fool. What he has done is lost you valuable hostages. Do you think the Dornish would let this go? "This man," he pointed toward a stony-faced Tywin before continuing, "has ensured that the war continues with the Dornish."
"Lord Tywin has ensured that there are fewer contenders to my throne. Do you fear the Dornish, let them come. They will meet the bloody end of my war hammer. No more words out of your mouth Ned; I am the King, this is my decree. Lord Tywin has done me a great service. Now, everyone out."
And that was the end of King Robert's first day at court.
Jon caught up with him before he could stalk out of the Red Keep.
"Ned," he could hear Jon holler, and he stopped.
"We should speak in private, Ned."
"Very well, Jon," he sighed, "lead the way."
They ended up going into a room near the throne room. They waited until they could hear silence before Jon started speaking.
"What were you thinking, Ned. Antagonizing Tywin Lannister is not a good idea at this time, especially not in the court. Do you want him as an enemy? Not to mention it shows disunity amongst us."
"And is praising him a good idea then? Dorne is forever lost to Robert."
"What is done is done, Ned. Now we pick up the pieces and move on. Prince Doran is a reasonable fellow, we can and will come to terms."
"And Tywin remains free of any consequences. What about the Kingslayer? Will he remain free of the consequences too?"
"Ned, you fool, do you think all problems can be solved through justice? The Kingslayer, as you call him, did you a favor, killed the man who killed your father and brother, and you still have an issue with him?"
"The Kingslayer killed his king, the king he was supposed to guard. Will he be rewarded for the act? And if he is, will you trust any man to guard Robert's back afterward? We will never agree on the Lannisters, Jon. Do you think these were isolated incidents? The kingslaying and raping and killing of the Targaryeans, those are only parts of it. When you rode into the city, you saw only the aftermath of the sack. You only saw smoking houses; my men doused the fires, my men pulled burning smallfolk from the fires, my men gave them food and water. You only saw relief camps, my men built them, my men are protecting them even now. You only saw hanging Lannister soldiers, my men caught them raping and looting, my men caught them starting the fires, and my men gave them justice. And this in a city that had opened its gates and as good as surrendered. If I had been late, you would find an empty treasury and a burnt city to rule. Do you think the whole army went out of Tywin's control? Do you think he did not know what his army was going to do? And I suspect he knew exactly what the Mountain and his beasts were going to do, ordered it himself I say, and you know it too."
His piece said, he walked out of the solar before Jon could argue any further. Tywin and the Lannisters were not to be trusted, ever. The sack and the raping and killing of the Targaryeans had shown him that much.
Notes:
In case anyone is wondering about the use of princesses (plural), it is for Elia and Rhaenys
Chapter 10: First Moves
Notes:
There are multiple POVs in this chapter. For clarity, the POVs do not happen on the same day, but they do happen within days of each other.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Summerhall
Howland
He woke up with a pounding headache, a parched throat, and extreme weakness. "Water," he croaked, and one of his men brought a water skin to his lips. He wanted to drink like a man who had found water after wandering for days in a desert, but his man only allowed him a little before taking the waterskin away.
"How long?" He asked.
"Two days, milord. You were burning up with a fever the likes we have never seen. It refused to go down. We feared for your life, milord."
A sigh escaped his lips. The green dream had been different than any he had had in his life. The magic at Summerhall was different than the one at the Isle, and mayhaps the two had reacted poorly to each other, resulting in his state. He had had to rest for a few hours post his green dreams but he was never abed for two days, and there was never a chance of him not waking up. This was something he should never do again, he thought, even if the dream did provide him clues.
"Do you feel you can eat something, milord?"
"A bowl of broth, do not fill it up. Help me sit before you go, Owain."
Once he had a few mouthfuls of the broth, he enquired about Lord Forrester.
"He and a few Rovers went scouting for a village, milord, to get some supplies and the like. He has started to think about taking some men and going on his own, milord."
"How many men are in the camp currently?"
"Ten; a few are with Lord Forrester, one we sent the morning after your dream to Lord Stark, and a few are collecting herbs and the like for you."
"Okay. Send one man to catch up with Lord Forrester. They need to find out the house that has a sigil of a skull with a crown or a skeleton with a crown, something like that. Ask in the villages near here. Also, ask if there is a ruined tower near the border here, in the desert, possibly near the house with the skull or skeleton with a crown. If they do not get the information, send one Rover to Lord Stark to find out the information."
Giving even these instructions had tired him out.
"Help me lie down. Wake me up when Lord Forrester gets here."
Instructions given, Howland went back to a deep slumber.
Outside King's Landing
Wyman Manderly
Eddard Stark sat seemingly calmly in a chair in his tent. His eyes and the set of his jaw, however, gave the rage away. He had wondered briefly, after the battle on the Trident, whether or not to tell the Stark about his tells, but had dropped the idea. It was too advantageous for him to read his liege's mood through the facial clues, especially when said man was trying to portray a calm facade in front of him. He was young though, closer to Wendel and Wylis' age than his own, and he may learn yet. And if he did not, all the better for Wyman to read his moods. He was about to greet the Lord when he was invited to sit.
"Lord Manderly, have a seat."
"Thank you, My Lord."
"Would you prefer an ale or some wine?"
"Some wine, please."
They sat in companionable silence until one of the soldiers poured their wine and retreated outside the tent. He had noticed the soldiers keeping a distance from the tent, and others were actively discouraged from coming nearer. With the fact that the tent was surrounded by the northern army, the conversation was bound to remain private; something which he approved wholeheartedly.
"Lord Manderly, I need counsel, and I would heed your advice."
"My experience, knowledge, and wits are at your disposal, My Lord."
"Please call me Eddard when in private My Lord."
"And you must call me Wyman, Eddard."
A nod, before the lord broached the actual subject.
"If you were to stay away from White Harbor for a few years, who would handle things and how good would they be at handling your responsibilities in your absence?"
He took a sip from his goblet to take a measure of his thoughts as well as the young man. He had been expecting a small council position for a Northman, and few more positions in court, of course, but he was expecting few of Eddard Stark's newly made friends to get those, especially the Dustin, to get him and that wife of his away from the North and the resentment of the Starks. Then again, this was before his lord's outburst in the court, an ill-done thing, he thought. A clearing of the throat brought him out of his thoughts, and he smiled ruefully.
"A habit of mine Eddard, one that I have found hard to break."
"I understand. So, your responsibilities, can anyone in your family handle them if you are away for a few years?"
"With the right help, Wylis is capable of handling them. And if he faces any issues, he can certainly write to me about them."
"Good," he seemed to be struggling to put his thought into words as he continued hesitantly, "if the king were to offer you your old lands in the Reach tomorrow, what would you do?"
The gasp that tore from his mouth was a thing of disbelief, sorrow, and a lot of unnamed emotions. The question was so unexpected that his mask and composure had been completely broken through, shattered! The Manderly heirs had never forgotten the humiliation in the Reach and the generosity of the Starks, but never in several generations had anyone asked them such a question. Indeed, only the heirs knew of the exact history of the flight from the Reach and the shelter in the North, at least he thought so. The story was not taught to others and he sure as hells had not heard any of his smallfolk reciting or knowing the story, even the few families that had originally come with them from the Reach. More than likely, no one else knew the exact details, lost to history as they were.
"I would decline My Lord, instead ask the King for a boon in place of the lands." He explained further when he saw his Lord's raised eyebrow. "At the end Eddard, before we left, for a few years at least, mayhaps a decade, there was no peace in those lands, and at the very end, no support for us; all our supporters dead or turned. Even if we get the lands now, the next few generations of Manderlys will keep facing resentment, jealousy, and strife; it would end up being a cursed gift. There may even be another war in the Reach, a war that will drag all other kingdoms. Instead, a boon would see us flourish, and in turn, the Starks and the North as a whole would benefit."
"I see. You have given this some thought previously."
"Not the issue of the King granting the land, My Lord, but every Manderly heir is taught about the lands we came from, and we keep an eye on the current politics in the lands, just in case. I am sure several generations have wondered whether to try and gain it again, mayhaps for a second son. What made you ask the question, Eddard? Has the king said something?"
"The king has not said anything; I am sure the king has not even thought of this, no. I have been thinking about the fondest or greatest desires of the Starks as well as all our vassals. I wanted to see your reaction, wanted to know if you had thought about it."
That was surprisingly shrewd. Eddard had asked the question to see his reaction, to see beyond his mask, and he had certainly achieved the purpose. Even more, he knew the question which would give him an unguarded reaction, even if it was asked hesitantly and with low confidence. Before he could go further with his thoughts, the Quiet Wolf questioned him further.
"And how do you keep an eye, so to say, on the politics of these lands?"
"We have maintained trade relations with the Reach, Eddard. Information can be gleaned from a drunken sailor or a friendly merchant, sometimes with the aid of a few coins."
"Hmm. And what about the other regions in the Reach? What about other kingdoms? Do you keep an eye on them too?"
He was once again surprised by this follow-up question; however, he did not reveal his surprise, his mask, and composure, back in place. At the start of the war, he would never have imagined Eddard Stark to think about politics or spying, let alone ask such questions of him. He wondered if he was being asked this question because of trust or if his lord had asked others the same question naively.
"I do not have any active spies, of course. However, White Harbor is the largest port in the North. As such, we get merchants and sailors from all the kingdoms, even from across the Narrow Sea. I receive a lot of information through them. In the past, White Harbor has shared all pertinent information with Winterfell and will continue to do so, My Lord."
"You know about the game then?"
It was time for Wyman to raise an eyebrow then. "That is a typical Reach word Eddard, a tug of war game between multiple families to gain the largest possible political influence, a game of thrones, used since the time the kingdoms were separate. Yes, I know about the game. Why do you ask?"
Eddard Stark sighed before speaking further, "It seems that the North needs to play the game, now more than ever, even as isolated as we are, especially due to the current instability and the changed political scenario. I need someone in this wretched city to play the game for the North, someone with knowledge on how to play the game, someone with the patience to deal with the Southrons, someone to ensure that we are not neglected, that we do not get just the scraps, and to keep an eye on the politics of the new dynasty and the kingdoms as a whole, as you say. What do you say, Wyman? Would you be amenable to living in the city as one of the small council members, to be my eyes and ears in this city?"
"It would be an honor, My Lord."
"Do you understand that the city has not been kind to its residents in the recent past? Do you need more time to think about the potential risks?"
"I understand, Eddard, and I really do not need more time. I am happy to serve, as always."
"Very well, let us discuss in more detail what I want from you."
Wyman exited the tent after a couple of hours with politics and food on his mind. He was ravenously hungry since the meal offered by his Lord was nowhere near sufficient for him. At the same time, his mind was churning with the possibilities that a small council position would afford the Manderlys in particular and the North in general, while also worrying about the capability of Wylis to manage everything in his absence. In any case, interesting times were ahead for him.
Tower of the Hand
Tywin
"So, how was the Lords' meeting or is it the small council meeting now?"
He looked up from the paper and pointed Kevan towards the chair. Only Kevan was allowed to interrupt his writing, and he was smart enough to do it very seldomly. He went back to finish his notes and waited for the ink to dry before putting the notes away.
"It is the Lords' meeting still. The small council meetings will start soon though, few positions have been finalized by the King and the Hand."
"Ohh! You are not happy."
Kevan's observation was on point, as always. He was the only one of his siblings who seemed to be able to read him. He sighed and relaxed, something he did with only those who had gained his absolute trust.
"No position for any Lannisters, yet. Arryn will be the Hand, as expected. Pycelle will retain his position. Manderly will be the Master of Coin. Varys may or may not retain his position, it is yet unresolved, and he remains for now a 'guest' of the crown. Most likely, the other positions will go to Stormlords; mayhaps a Riverlander, but have not been decided yet. Robert will not marry until the siege at his home ends and until he has news about the Stark girl."
"When are we to move out of here?"
"A couple more days, most likely. For now, Arryn is happy not to climb these many stairs."
"Any news of the Stark girl?"
"Nothing yet. We will see."
"What about the Kingsguard, and what about Jaime?"
"Robert offered to release Jaime from the vows; the fool says that he has not yet decided. Other positions will be filled once the rest of Aerys' Kingsguard is dealt with. It seems that Ser Barristan is a prisoner of the Stark, and Robert wants him to bend the knee and be his Lord Commander."
"Another point where they do not agree, I suppose."
"Indeed, the northern fool wants to escort him to the Wall or ransom him for the men who captured him or some such nonsense."
"And what of Dorne and Dragonstone?"
"Both unresolved until Storm's End is relieved of the siege. Dorne's strength is halved though and Doran will not act rashly, so that can be handled later. The same for Dragonstone; they do not have enough men to launch an attack, and none of us currently have enough ships to challenge them. If Reach comes into the fold peacefully, we can think about using the Redwyne and Hightower ships. Until then, we wait."
"What do you think of them; Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn, and Eddard Stark, now that you have seen them closely?"
"Arryn is the one to watch. He will rule, much as I did with Aerys. The Baratheon and the Stark are fools, Stark is a bigger one, mind. Robert has some wits in that brain of his, not as much as Steffon, but enough to listen to Arryn. He does not have a mind for ruling though, he has seemed disinterested to the point of falling asleep for most of our meetings so far. He will be a poor to middling king, better than Aerys, but then that is no standard for any king. The Stark has murder in his eyes and contempt on his face, and not just for me, the same for the Baratheon. On many issues, Stark seems ready to fight Robert."
"They are at the breaking point then."
"They are. Arryn seems to be holding them together for now. However, Stark has been given the responsibility of bringing Tyrell to heel; he will be out of court, giving me enough time to break them apart further, as well as convince Arryn and Baratheon to accept Cersei as the queen. Once the marriage is done, then we can think further about the Stark, if necessary. The fool may break the alliance himself once Robert marries Cersei, wroth as he is with us Lannisters. We can then slowly increase our influence at court."
He dismissed Kevan and his thoughts turned toward the players. Robert could be manipulated, he had seen Arryn do it already in the couple of meetings that they had had. Stark would likely return to the North and would be irrelevant. Arryn would be the power behind the throne; he would need to find Arryn's weaknesses before deciding on how to manipulate him. The only unexpected factors, for now, were the Stark girl and Jaime. Robert still seemed to be infatuated with the girl. If she survived and Robert married her, then mayhaps he would offer for a marriage between Cersei and Stannis, if he survived. The game would change, but he was adaptable and patient. He would turn the game in his favor, whether the Stark girl lived or not. The matter with Jaime was more complicated; if he failed to convince the fool to give up the white cloak and return home, then he supposed he would be forced to marry, lest The Rock went to the dwarf. The thought of sharing a life with someone other than Joanna was repugnant, some empty-headed twit wanting to marry him for the riches of The Rock. No, never! He would drag Jaime in chains if need be, but his heir was coming back with him.
Notes:
Expect a delay in the release of the next chapter. I know where I am going and what I want, just finding it difficult to put it into words.
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