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Chapter Text

For almost 300 years, House Targaryen ruled the Realm of Westeros. Houses Stark, Tully, Arryn, Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, Greyjoy and Martell were its major vassals as the rulers of the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Westerlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, the Iron Islands and Dorne. But the time came where House Targaryen lost enough prestige to make its vassals start questioning its authority. During his reign, King Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name, was descending further and further into insanity. How is it possible for a King, who can’t rule his own mind, to rule an empire? He begun seeing conspirators and enemies everywhere. And when they were none, he’d make sure to create some. Westeros endured his more and more erratic behavior however, because there was hope that the Crown Prince Rhaegar, calm, cautious, competent and gallant, would make amends for his father’s shenanigans and fix the Realm once he had ascended to the throne. But this hope was shattered at 281 AC (After Conquest). When Rhaegar presumably abducted Lyanna Stark, daughter of Lord Rickard Stark and betrothed to Robert Baratheon, brother to Argilac Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands. When Lyanna’s father and eldest brother, Brandon, demanded justice from Aerys, the Mad King obliged…laughing as he dispended it. He had lord Rickard Stark burnt alive and Brandon Stark strangled in his attempt to rescue his father.

Unsatisfied with only two unjust murders, Aerys called for the heads of every male member of Houses Baratheon and Stark, as well as for the heads of Catelyn and Lysa Tully, daughters of Hoster Tully and betrothed to Brandon Stark and Argilac Baratheon respectively. Instead, the Stormlands under Argilac Baratheon, the Riverlands under Hoster Tully, the Vale under Jon Arryn and the North under Brandon’s younger brother, Eddard Stark, stood in rebellion and crushed the Targaryens and their loyalists at the battles of Summerhall, Stoney Sept and Trident where Robert Baratheon slew Rhaegar Targaryen in single combat before he too was killed by Ser Alliser Thorne.

With Rhaegar’s defeat nothing stood between Argilac and King’s Landing, Westeros’ capital-city. Apart from the Lannisters who sacked the city, only to hand it over to the Baratheon loyalists when the latter arrived.

After the war’s end, Argilac sat the Iron Throne and in accordance with many people (even to the begrudging achknowledgment of former Targaryen loyalists) he seems to have the potential to be a good King that will bring peace, stability and prosperity to the war-torn Realm. Only time will tell if this will be the case.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the mountains of the Vale, 5/3/283 AC

"Seven Hells! These mountain passages are indeed a killer for the feet!" Tyrion Lannister mentally cursed as his foot collided with a rock once more. But he was glad that he was out of the capital and into open air. This was what he always wanted: to travel the world and see its wonders, the wonders his dear uncle, Gerion, so often spoke about. But then again, having a father who keeps you confined into your home because he doesn’t want to be embarrassed by you…it isn’t the ideal environment to encourage travels.

Tyrion hoped that one day he would get the chance to travel Essos and see it with his dear uncle. But at least for now, he could satisfy his curiosity by travelling around Westeros. He should remember to thank his old friend Orys, as well as His Grace the next time he would see them. He owed this newfound freedom to them after all.

Tyrion let out a small chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" His latest companion, Benjen Stark asked him.

"Oh, nothing. I just imagined what my father’s face might look like when His Grace had told him that I was to travel to the Vale and attempt to persuade the Vale Mountain Clans to bury the hatchet with the Vale Lords and migrate to the North. He must have been close to a heart attack."

Benjen didn’t seem to take the joke. One of the cons of being a Stark: they’re just too serious for their own good.

"I don't get it. But the truth is that I've always been curious: what was it like to have Tywin Lannister as your father?"

"A pain in the arse. The man isn’t satisfied with anything. He always has something to criticize about what you do. At least now I get to travel without him breathing down on my neck."

"You think that we can succeed in this mission?" Benejen asked, changing the subject after seeing the frustration it was causing Tyrion.

"Did your brother clear out the lands of the New Gift? Did he separate them into individual holdings?"

"He did. The castles will take two years to be constructed though. However, proper settlements and the necessary infrastructure have been completed. Do you have any idea for how many people we are talking about?"

"According to Archmaester Arnel’s book, Mountain and Vale, there are 10 major clans in the mountains of the Vale. If we combine that with the 7 major clans you have in the North, then we’re talking about roughly 12 to 15 thousand people. 5 to 6 thousand of them being warriors."

"And you think that we can convince them to cease their raids and migrate to the North? As far as I am concerned, they could just kill us where we stand and be done with it." Ser Denys Arryn, Lord Arryn’s heir asked, joining the discussion. Of course there was no way for Tyrion and Benjen to go to the Vale Mountains on their own. King Argilac Baratheon had commanded Jon Arryn to prepare an escort of the two negotiators. The party consisted of representatives from all the major Houses in the Vale. Arryn, Royce, Egen, Redfort, Moore, Hunter, Waynwood, Corbray. The party consisted of 60 members. All armed to the teeth. All here to finally end the menace of the hill tribes.

"I do, Ser Denys." Benjen said. "You’ve sent representative on these mountains per the King’s orders. Some of them returned with replies from the clans: they’ll meet us somewhere on the high road that passes through the mountains. And when that meeting happens…We’re going to end this menace."

"Why don’t we just kill them all, while we have the chance? We all know that these are savages who would gladly do the same to us." Lyonel Corbray asked.

"Corbray, I will not tolerate disobedience." Denys Arryn growled. "Both our liege Lord and the King were clear on what we do here: we rid ourselves from the Mountain Clan threat and the North gets the extra manpower for crop raising and population supplementation.

"Which means that no needless killing will be allowed here. Have I made myself clear?" Denys Arryn declared at the rear of the party. None dared to protest to this declaration, which in Tyrion's book was a good sign. He and Benjen have had their fill with prideful Vale scions calling them cravens and traitors when they had initially proposed the task they were assigned to.

"Think that your Northern pagans can handle these savages, Stark?" Lyonel said as he was turning to face Benjen.

"These people have the blood of the First Men in their veins. They and we, Northerners, are kin. No matter how distant. And most certainly they will have a much better life with us, than here living the life of a bandit and a raider." Benejen said, ignoring the insulting remark.

"We’ll see about that." The heir to Heart’s Home said, before moving aside.

Night fell and the negotiation party made camp. Tyrion was sitting by the fire reading a book before sleep when Benjen approached him.

"Why do you read so much?" Benjen asked Tyrion bluntly.

"What do you see?" Tyrion replied in a tone harsher than usual.

"I, ah…"

"What do you see, Benjen Stark?" Tyrion repeated on a less friendly tone.

"A… a dwarf."

"Exactly. A dwarf. I can’t use a sword as good as my big brother, Jaime, does. So I have to fight with my mind. And books keep it in shape."

"What do you read this time?"

" Archmaester Arnel’s book, Mountain and Vale. The man had made some serious investigation regarding those clans. I must admit that I found his work quite exquisite. For example, he says that the clan of the Black Ears has close ties with the Burned Men but have a strong dislike to the Stone Crows."

"Hmm…That may come of use when we get to transport them from Gulltown to White Harbor with the ships. And then on what castle should we put each. My brother was right of counseling me to trust you, Tyrion Lannister."

"Trusting Tyrion Lannister the Imp. You are a smart man, Benjen Stark. Just like your brother." Tyrion laughed. Benjen followed his companion.

"How’s your brother doing?" Tyrion asked.

"He’s taken his new responsibilities seriously. He wants to repay his debt to the Vale by removing the clan issue from the equation and use this manpower to further the North’s prosperity. He also wants to establish trading relationships with the Iron Islands, the Westerlands and the Reach by building a port-city to the western coastline of the North." Benjen replied. He said just as much as he needed to say. Ned was clear on the matter:

«Tyrion Lannister is a smart, cunning man. He will help you a lot in your tasks, but it’s best not to trust him completely. Nobody outside the North should know our complete agenda. »

"I see Ned Stark is keeping his dutiful nature honed. I remember him in the capital. He was always there to provide a helpful hand then and there. He worked alongside Roose Bolton as the City Watch was reorganized. He helped a lot in keeping order in the city."

"You speak as if you interacted with my brother."

"I did actually. Although we didn’t spend great amounts of time together, we spoke a few times. He was always courteous and treated me with respect. Your brother is a good man, Benjen. What the Mad King did to your father and brother was a terrible crime. What Rhaegar did to your sister was a horrible thing."

"Your sister…how does she fare? Ned told me that King Argilac appointed her in the Royal Council."

"She’s doing great. She and her husband, Orys Baratheon, manage the Crownlands and King’s Landing swiftly and efficiently on the Crown’s behalf. When I left the capital, the sewer system was complete and Orys sent y workers to continue that job to the rest of the Crownlands. The port is well-visited by ships from all over Westeros and Essos, order is well-kept within the capital and a military school has been established in the seat of the now extinct House Thorne. His Grace and Lord Tarly thought it best to start establishing a standing army. But first, they want to ensure that the officers who will command this army have the best preparation possible. As for Cersei herself, she’s with child. 4 months along."

"Really? Congratulations are in order then. May the Gods bless this child with good health, wisdom and happiness."

"Thank you. Personally, I was certain that this was going to happen soon enough. She and her husband were rutting as if they were animals in heat. We could hardly sleep at night. But I am glad: the days following the deed she was in such a good mood, that it was almost sickening."

Tyrion liked seeing his older sister being content with her life, for once: she was in a position of power, she had a husband who respected and pleasured her and she was well on her way to become a mother.

"I am a little afraid of becoming an uncle though."

Benjen gave Tyrion a sympathetic smile. He patted him on the shoulder.

"It is a complicated feeling, if I may share my experience with you. You know that you have the same blood with that child and that said child is a younger version of your brother/sister. Perhaps you can have the chance of doing things with that child that you couldn’t do with your brother/sister."

"Then I guess that I will have a lot of things to do with my new nephew or niece. Cersei and I were very distant towards each other during our childhood. Only Orys’ arrival to Casterly Rock brought us together."

"These Baratheons are indeed of a different stuff than the rest of their brood." Benjen said.

"Yes…and no. Sure they are more levelheaded and better suited for the field of politics than the late Robert Baratheon was or Stannis Baratheon will ever be."

"You know, my brother once told me that nothing a man says before the word “but” matters much." Benjen chuckled.

Tyrion smirked at that remark.

"But" He emphasised. "I see the Baratheon in them: strong, brave and loyal to family, duty and justice like all their family members have been. I won’t deny that I am not proud of this development. Orys Baratheon is something like an apprentice of mine."

"Was he now?" Benjen asked amused.

"Aye. I educated him in how to manage in the Lion’s Den we, Lannisters, call a home. If you can survive that, you can survive anything."

Benjen laughed.

"Well, you certainly need to tell me all the details. But you better tell me tomorrow, when we’ll be rested."

"I agree. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The next morning Tyrion was woken up by smothered voices.

"Tyrion!" Benjen said in a hushed voice as he was shaking his left shoulder.

"Hmm…what? What is it? I swear to the Gods, I didn't do anything!"

"They’re here."

All over the camp all men were on their feet with sword and bow at hand. Around the camp, armed men under ten different banners. Tyrion could identify them all: Moon Brothers, Stone Crows, Burned Men, Black Ears, Howlers, Milk Snakes, Redsmiths, Sons of the Mist and Sons of the Tree. And, finally the oldest and greatest clan of them all, the Painted Dogs.

A tall man with a large beard approached the party. He was massive and he was carrying an overwhelming stench with him. He was dressed in animal skins and was carrying a battleaxe. To his left was a small, flat woman with white skin, brown hair and a necklace of cut ears on her neck. To his right was a tall, fierce but handsome man of not even 20 years. He was having a more dark skin and an empty left socket in the place of his eye. Finally, a man of a medium structure and dressed in misplaced parts of armor was marching on the rear.

These seemed to be leaders of the at least four clans. And if Tyrion could assume it, they were of the most respected and feared. It wouldn’t be everybody who would step in to make the negotiations.

"Come, friends. Join our fires. Help yourselves to our food." Tyrion invited them as he was motioning to his companions to keep their arms in check.

The clansmen finally came close. And then, the massive axeman declared:

"When you meet your Gods, tell them that it was Shagga, son of Dolf, chieftain of the Stone Crows, who sent you there."

"I am Tyrion, son of Tywin, of clan Lannister. And this is Benjen, son of Rickard, of clan Stark. And this is Denys, son of Elyn, of clan Arryn. Who are your companions, Shagga, son of Dolf, of the Stone Crows?"

"Timett, son of Timett, chieftain of the Burned Men." The one-eyed man said.

"Chella, daughter of Cheyk, chieftain of the Black Ears." The flat woman stepped forward.

"Ulf, son of Umar, chieftain of the Moon Brothers." The armored man said.

"Now, how do you like to die, Tyrion, son of Tywin?" Shagga asked.

"In my own bed, at the age of 80, with a belly full of wine and a girl’s mouth around my cock." Tyrion said jokingly.

Shagga let out a loud laugh. And all of the clansmen imitated him. Even Benjen and the Vale party joined in that laugh.

"Take the Half-man. He can dance for the children. Kill the others." Shagga ordered.

"Wait. Wait!" Tyrion kept his companions form using their weapons.

"My House is rich and powerful. If you let me live, my father will shower you with gold."

"Why don’t have use for a Half-man’s promises." Shagga said bluntly.

"I may be a Half-man, but at least I have the courage to face my enemies. What do the Stone Crows, The Burned Men, The Black Ears and the Moon Brothers do? Hide behind rocks and shiver when the knights of the Vale ride by?"

"Watch your tongue, Half-man. For nobody questions the strength of the Burned Men without paying it with his life." Timett growled.

"Were these the best weapons you could steal? I see they’re great for killing sheep. They can’t fight back after all. The smiths we have at Lannisport shit better steel." Tyrion said while looking at the axes and swords of the Mountain Clans with contempt. In response, Shagga scratched Tyrion’s left check with his battleaxe.

"Do you think that you can win us over with your trinkets?" He said dismissively.

Tyrion pulled out a ring he was wearing on his left hand and showed to Shagga.

"This trinket is worth more than everything your tribe earns. But if you have the wits and the balls to join us, Shagga, son of Dolf and chieftain of the Stone Crows, you and your people won’t have trinkets. You will have steel weapons, lands, animals and roofs over your heads."

"And what about us?" Ulf asked.

"Our people need these things too! Winters are harsh here!" Chella said.

"And your people can have them too, Chella, daughter of Cheyk, of the Black Ears. You and any other clan who wants to join us." Benjen stepped in.

"And what do you seek in return for this offering?" Timett asked.

"That’s a good question, Timett, son of Timett, of the Burned Men. See, gentlemen? This is a smart man. You could learn a thing or two from him." Tyrion teased his companions, making some chuckle. Even the clansmen joined as Shagga slammed Timett on the back.

"Bury the hatchet of war with the Valemen and join the North." Tyrion said.

A frown took over Shagga’s face. Replacing the mirth he was showing moments earlier.

"You want us to abandon our lands? Our homes? And for what? Empty promises?"

"What homes? Some caves where you take shelter in the winter? Or the forests where you try to evade get spotted by the Knights of the Vale? Your are blood of the First Men! Brothers to us, Northerners! And you don’t deserve to live and die like a bunch of outlaws! Sure, the North is a cold and harsh place to live, but if you prove your endurance and skill, you will be treated with respect and acceptance. If you have the guts to follow us, you will have everything my friend promised you and more. Food for your children, respect for your strength and valor and lands that you can defend and love." Benjen stepped forward and spoke.

"And why should we trust you? Lowland Lords have lied to the clans before." Chella protested.

"You haven’t met a Stark, Chella." Benjen argued, determined to prove the trustworthiness of his word. "For when a Stark gives his word, he keeps it. You can be sure that we and my brother, the one who asked me to come here and take you to your new home are going to keep our word."

"And what about them? Why we shouldn’t assume that they will turn and stab us in the back now that we are all gathered here?" Ulf asked as he was pointing out at the Lords of the Vale who had joined the expedition.

Denys Arryn decided that was the best moment to intervene.

"The Lords of the Vale are just and honorable, Ulf, son of Umar, chieftain of the Moon Brothers." He said, not happy to have his region's honour being questioned by an "uncivilised barbarian."
"Our ancestors might have wronged you, but we are better than them. When we give promises, we keep them. My people are just as tired with the constant raids and the bloodshed as much as I know that your people are. Let us bury the hatchet of war. Let us end this perpetuated conflict peacefully. Eddard, son of Rickard of clan Stark shall treat you well and he’ll see to it that you are taken care of. Choose peace and the Lords of the Vale shall provide you with ships and food for the journey up North."

"Only if the Half-man and the Wolf Pup come with us. Until we have the lands, the steel and the animals they promised us, their lives are ours. But as a symbol of good faith, we shall return your messengers."

Shagga raised his battleaxe and slammed it on the ground. Upon that command, his men approached and threw at the ground some men of House Arryn. Tyrion and Benjen recognized these men: they were the remaining messengers that Ser Denys Arryn had sent a week ago to seek out the Mountain Clans and persuade them to join them here. The men seemed a little shocked and battered, but they were relatively unharmed and properly fed.

"We don’t kill messengers. They only serve their masters. And as such, they are respected, for as long as they respect us." Shagga elaborated in response to the shocked faces the Vale lords had shown.

"We shall meet on the same place in 10 suns time. I need to inform my brother that you agreed to come north, so that he can prepare for your arrival."

"Then we’ll need a hostage. To ensure that you will uphold your end of our bargain."

Benjen looked at Tyrion. He nodded at him.

"I will do it. I, Benjen, son of Rickard, of clan Stark, shall stay with you, Shagga, son of Dolf. Tyrion, inform my brother that I am unharmed and that I’ll see him soon with our new comrades."

Tyrion nodded. He had helped bring the Vale Mountain Clans together and make them listen to Lord Stark's proposal. And now that they've gotten their attention, Benjen will stay with the clans to prove their sincerity. Now, the real work can begin: After informing Lord Stark about his brother's status, Tyrion will need to prepare their departure. They are going to need two weeks to reach Gulltown and enter the ships. Then a month long voyage and two weeks riding to finally reach the lands of the New Gift. There, they would separate the clans and establish them into settlements.

"One step at the time, Tyrion. One step at the time. For now, you need to inform a wolf Lord about his brother's whereabouts."

Chapter Text

Maegor’s Holdfast, 15/6/283 AC

She was reaching the sixth month of her pregnancy. In three months time, she will be a mother.
Cersei had plenty of time to think during her pregnancy. Were it up to her, she would never marry nor have children.Then again, having such a controlling father like Tywin Lannister, the continuation of the Lannister bloodline becomes a priority.

Cersei liked to think that she conceived during her wedding night. Seven Hells that was a night Cersei will never forget! And the nights that followed? Incredible. Orys proved a virile and eager partner that always kept her on her toes. Bindings? Blindfolds? Sneaky "sessions" in places they weren't supposed to be? Name it, they’ve done it.

But the price was steep: Cersei didn’t sign up for sudden mood swings and strange cravings. And most certainly, she didn’t sign up for swollen ankles, back pains and a massive belly. Almost none of the dresses she so loved to wear couldn’t fit her anymore. It was so frustrating. At those times, she could really hate Orys. And her two brothers, Jaime and Tyrion, who don’t have to face the struggles of pregnancy. From whatever news she was receiving from home, Jaime’s wife was also pregnant, to his great relief. At least he would have one less concern with Father, who was adamant and clear about his demand for Lannister procreation. So, it would seem Tyrion was the most fortunate of the three siblings: he was freezing his arse up North, helping to integrate savages. Cersei was almost jealous of him.

Not all things were bad though. Westeros was prospering, now that peace had returned to the land. Argilac Baratheon may be a big airhead with his dreams of peace, unity and honour, but at least he’s neither stupid nor a coward. And having Orys as one of his principal advisors only helped things. The rebuilding of the capital was complete and income was coming in smoothly. In fact, things seemed so optimistic that Argilac had deemed it appropriate to begin funding some development projects: for starters, following Tyrion's instruction, Grand Maester Pycelle had began working on producing a new type of parchment, one made out of wet wood pulp pressed together into thin sheets. And alongside it, a press, similar to those used by winemakers, but with a bunch of blocks of letters onto it. Furthermore, Randyll Tarly, the Realm’s Master of War, had founded a war school, so that energetic, knowledgeable and competent officers can lead the Royal Army. A sister school to the one Lord Stannis Baratheon had opened at the docks of King's Landing, as a means to train suitable officers for the royal Navy.

As nobody could question Randyll’sand Stannis' paternity for the ideas of these military schools, nobody could question Tyrion’s paternity for the ideas of the new parchment and the press machine. Tyrion. Her bookworm brother. Cersei thought…fondly. She then recalled a talk they had wtih the King and Queen one night during dinner regarding this issue. When Tyrion suggested the invention of a mechanism that would make the copying of books much easier and far cheaper than the methods they were currently being using. This could mean that more books could be produced faster and that they could even fight illiteracy amongst the smallfolk.

Cersei had sneered at the idea. She couldn’t understand why common people should know how to read, write or count.

"We don’t need educated people as subjects." She had said. "The only things we need from them are their taxes, their swords and their obedience."

"Quite on the contrary, Cersei." Argilac countered. "A King’s/Queen’s duty is to provide the best for his/her people. If the people have a basic education, they can help us keep on improving the Realm. Now, Lord Tyrion, please tell me more about this new type of parchment. And that press of yours. How do you make them?"

"It’s still a basic chain of thoughts, Your Grace. But if you grand your approval, it can really be a revolutionary move. For starters, the parchment. You start by crushing some raw material, like linen, cotton, straw or wood in water and you use a manual grinder with wooden mallets to grind it. Then, you place the newly created pulp in a bucket, equipped with a mold. Think of it like a kind of wire mesh tray at its base. That mold shall determine the size and edges of the paper.

Immerse the mold in the pulp and then remove it with the surface facing up. Excess pulp was drained from the grid. You then shake the mold so that the pulp lay well on the grid, while the craftsman who was overseeing the process so far, shall remove the wooden frame and give the mold to another craftsman who shall put the paper with the mold on a stack of woolen cloths. Once the paper is dry enough, you can remove it from the mold and place it on the fabrics, putting another sheet on top and continue the same work until you have a stock of 100 sheets of paper, with each sheet being inserted between two sheets.

Then the stack of wet paper and cloth can be carried to the press. First, the paper must be dried. This can be arranged if it’s hanged on thin hair ropes. At the end, the sheets of paper shall be dipped one by one in a solution of jelly from hooves, horns and animal skins. After another drying round on the ropes, the paper shall possess a hard and waterproof surface, suitable for writing with a goose feather."

"And what about that press you’re speaking about? How can it be constructed?" Lysa asked. She clearly wasn’t as excited about the project like Tyrion was, but there was a glimmer of interest in her eyes.

"We’re talking about a press, similar to those used by winemakers, but with a bunch of blocks of letters onto it, Your Grace. The press and the block with letters shall be made out of metal. I believe that the best alloy for this task shall be an alloy made out lead, tin, antimony and copper. Unlike the woodblock printing used in Yi-Ti, the metal type pieces should prove sturdier and the lettering more uniform. This practice shall make the whole procedure faster and more durable."

"Hmmm. My sister, Catelyn, sent me a letter a few days ago. She was saying that lead, tin, antimony and copper ore were uncovered in abundance in the Northern Mountains. But neither she, nor her Lord husband were sure about where these metals could be of use. At least all of them together. Now, a good reason can be provided. Tyrion, since you are going to leave within the week for your diplomatic mission at the Vale, I want you to leave detailed directions and plans about these projects to Grand Maester Pycelle. Once he has created a prototype, he shall send it to the Citadel for testing. And once a note of approval comes, we can really begin the building and the distribution."

Tyrion was certainly making a name for himself. And after these funny ideas of his prove themselves profitable, he will begin amassing a good amount of money for them too. Some were even saying that the deal with the Mountain Clans was solely his accomplishment and that Benjen Stark was a mere assistant of him. Cersei would have to ask him herself, next time she would see him, but it sounded just about right. Tyrion always had a way with words. After all, he always boasts that he was made to scheme with everyone. Cersei chuckled at that thought. What wouldn't she do to be able to look at her father's face once he hears of these developments. Who would have thought that the person Lord Twin Lannister views as the family’s disgrace would end up so successful?

And that made Cersei think over her own plans. Her own ambition. Her father had commanded her to promote the Lannister interests in the government and mother the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Either of these things proved harder to accomplish than Cersei had anticipated. For starters, there weren’t lands in the Crownlands that could be given into nobles from the Westerlands. Lysa Tully proved smarter than Cersei had given her credit for and with some help from her older sister, Lady Catelyn Stark, she had made sure that all available lands and castles were given to families from the Stormlands and the Riverlands. Second sons, distant cousins, daughters and nieces from both regions made themselves at home in the Crownland castles and within the royal court, accompanied by nobles from the North and the Vale. As for the Westerlanders, aside from Melara Heatherspoon who ended up married to Ser Edric Fell, founder of House Silveraxe, few women from the Westerlands were selected as spouses for the newly founded Houses.

Lysa and her damn marriage instinct! These Tullys certainly know how to arrange beneficial marriages. She must have whispered into Argilac’s ear and persuaded him into keep the Lannister influence at minimum. As for the positions of state officials, Argilac was promoting a “climate of unity” as he was calling it and aside from the seat Cersei holds herself in the Royal Council as a Westerlander, she can’t rely upon any other of the King’s principal advisors. Except maybe Grand Maester Pycelle who is a secret Lannister supporter.

Even Orys can’t be trusted on that matter. For all their arguments regarding state policy, he loves and supports his twin brother in every way he can. And Argilac loves and trusts Orys more than anyone. Cersei simply can’t find an opening to start a rift between the twins.

And finally, there was the matter of her mothering the next Queen. There is no guarantee that Cersei will give birth to a daughter and even if she does, Lysa is never going to allow for a marriage between her son and her niece to take place. As a Tully, Lysa had always been afraid of the Lannister power on the Riverlands’ borders and there is no way she will offer them the Queenship just like that. Not that it matters to Cersei anyway. She and her husband are only third in line for the throne. After Argilac who is currently sitting it and his son, Steffon, who is his father’s prime heir. But… if some tragedy is to occur -after all, Kings and Princes die all the time under the most unfortunate circumstances- Orys gets to ascend the Iron Throne with Cersei as his Queen.

The only question is: how can Cersei get rid of her brother-in-law and his son without causing suspicion? Argilac is a popular and just King.
«The type of King almost everyone gets sick to follow. » Cersei thought in disgust.

She can’t rely on a peasant riot to remove him from power. Some of Argilac’s first acts as King were for their benefit and they know it. The reconstruction of King’s Landing and the establishment of a proper sewer system were a proper indication. And if that wasn’t enough, the improvements on the Realm’s road system and the construction of a standing trading fleet had landed a huge blow on whatever unemployment could be used against him.

Cersei can’t rely on armed support from her father either. Even if he were to join a war against the Iron Throne, Cersei could see that Argilac had formed a tight noose around the Westerlands. 45,000 men from the combined region of the Crownlands and the Stormlands joined by another 45,000 Riverlanders, 45,000 Valemen, 20,000 Northmen, 50,000 Dornishmen and 20,000 Ironborn. And if the Baratheons went through some kind of a special deal with the Reach, say a betrothal between Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon and the newborn Margaery Tyrell, then the Lannisters will have to fight an army of roughly 325,000 soldiers with only 55,000 men. There’s no way that the Lannisters can win this fight.

No! Cersei has to act alone and fast! For starters, she has to remove the Crown Prince from the game! After all, it’s easier to take out the competition, before the competition can fight back. Then, Cersei can figure a plan for sending Argilac to join his son. After all, it will not do to have her beloved nephew being separated from his beloved papa.

By nightfall, Cersei thought that she could set her plan in motion. She waited for Orys to sleep beside her. Then she rose from their bed and made her way to the door. She found Ser Lyn Corbray of the Kingsguard waiting outside.

"If I may to ask, Your Highness, where are you going at this time of the night?" The knight asked.

"I need to relieve myself, good Ser. There’s no need to trouble you with that. I can find myself around the castle just fine. You remain here and watch over the corridor."

"As you command, Your Highness." Ser Lyn replied before resuming his stance.

Not wanting to cause suspicion, in case Lyn decided to follow her, Cersei did visited the castle’s privy. After she had finished, she washed her hands with soap. Soap. Another thing that Tyrion had let his mark on. Washing hands with boiled water and soap made at and imported by the North. Who would have thought that these barbarians would learn how to produce something so small yet so precious? So luxurious even?

During his stay in the North, Tyrion reported that he had come across types of berries native to the Northern climate. He was particularly interested at Cloudberries, Sea Buckthorns and Rowanberries. Some local Maesters had told him that said berries were nutritious and had a pretty smell. So Tyrion came up with an idea: he gathered the ashes of some plants and added them in water. He then added to the mix some cow butter he had gathered, before placing the mix in hearths for heating. After several days, he removed the mix from the heated area and placed it into molds out in the cold weather for stabilization.

After this step was also completed, Tyrion had the bars be cut into various shapes and sizes and melted it again. Finally, he added to the melted mix jam from the berries he had gathered before, he stirred and poured the mix into larger molds, before cooling it off once more. The result was several soap bars with various appealing smells, depending on the plant that was used to give the aroma. He then brought his idea to Ned Stark and he approved the production, before striking a trading deal with the Crown. The North, House Stark in particular, became the sole provider of soap to the rest of Westeros. As for Tyrion, he would get 25% from the profits as a reward for the service he provided for the North, with House Stark receiving the other 25 %. And as for the Crown? The rest of the profits. Sounds about right in Cersei’s ears.

Now that she was clean and had built her cover, Cersei made her way to the nursery room. She found Ser Oswell Whent standing guard outside it.

"I couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a stroll. May I go inside for a while and see my nephew and niece?"

"The babies are sleeping right now. I don’t think that it’s wise to disturb them, Your Highness."

"I’ll be discreet. I promise." Cersei said in a manner she tried to make as innocent and friendly as possible.

"Very well. You are permitted to go inside, but let it be for a little. You know how hard it’s for them to sleep again if disturbed."

"Tell me..." Cersei exclaimed in frustration. Little Steffon was shapping up into a fine Baratheon if his thunderous cries were of any indication.

The Golden Lioness entered the room. It was a large room with large windows and lit torches hanging on the walls to provide light. Inside it, there were three cradles. The cradles of Steffon, Minisa and Bella Baratheon. Cersei couldn’t exactly understand how on Earth one of Robert’s bastards would get to have its own cradle beside her royal cousins. Had she been Queen, Cersei wouldn’t stand for it. If she were on a merciful mood, she would have kicked both the bastard and its whore of a mother back to the streets, where they came from. But Lysa was more soft-hearted. A trait that would be her undoing...

She approached the cradle in the center. Steffon’s cradle. The 7 month old baby was sleeping soundly when Cersei towered over it. It wasn’t going to be much of a problem. All Cersei had to do was press a small piece of cloth or a pillow into the baby’s face and keep it there, until whatever struggle it produces comes into a stop. Nobody was going to suspect her: babies die in their sleep. If Cersei could place Steffon to his stomach or his side after she was done, his grieving parents would assume that he had turned into that position on his own during his sleep. A move that made him unable to breathe.

Cersei proceeded with her plan. She took a pillow from one sofa that was inside the room. Lysa holds tea gatherings here with her guests and Ladies-in-waiting so the relevant furniture was gathered and placed properly. Who would have thought that a pillow that the Queen so often sat close to would be used to end her son’s life?

Cersei towered above the crib and raised the pillow to press it on Steffon’s face. And then… the baby opened its eyes. For a few long moments it stared at the tall, blonde woman with large, curious eyes. And then…Steffon yawned and gave Cersei a large, sweet smile.

Cersei was taken aback by that reaction. She mentally cursed. For a while, she feared that Steffon would start crying and that he would ruin everything. But watching this small bundle smiling and trying to sit up, while reaching out to her with his tiny hands…

«I suppose I can indulge him until he goes back to sleep. » Cersei thought. She let the pillow where she had found it and approached the baby. She lifted Steffon up from his armpits. The baby patted its aunt’s left cheek. He then grabbed a tuft of her hair. Cersei shook her head to make Steffon release her. That only brought her head closer to the baby. Steffon then grabbed a second tuft of Cersei hair with his left hand and attacked Cersei’s right cheek with his mouth. A clumsy attempt in kissing her.

Cersei wouldn’t deny that this move made her feel something. She felt…warmth with that kiss. She placed Steffon in a larger distance and… she kissed him as well. On his tiny forehead. She then rocked him a little. Steffon seemed to like this rocking for he smiled once more and patted his aunt’s right cheek.

Cersei wondered for a while if playing with her own child would cause her the same…joy. For deep down, she would admit that she liked seeing Steffon so happy. She sat him on her belly while holding him by the waist and started walking around the room. She made her way to one of the windows. She then held Steffon once more by the armpits and lifted him near her face. She let out a soft laugh, on which the baby made a happy face. Cersei then caressed Steffon’s tummy with her right hand. It was such a warm, precious moment. No ambition, no power grabbing, no scheming. Just an aunt and a nephew. Too bad this moment was short-lived.

"What do you think you’re doing?" A whispering growl sounded from the door. Cersei turned around and saw Lysa standing in the door. Barefooted, wearing only her nightgown, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms made her way to the window. Cersei bent her knees a little in a display of courtesy. Not that it mattered much it seems, for Lysa snatched Steffon from Cersei’s arms and pinned her eyes on Cersei’s. River blue eyes gloomed on emerald green ones.

"I was just spending some quality time with my beloved nephew, Your Grace, that's all." Cersei said in a tone she tried to make innocent. Lysa didn’t seem convinced. Without once breaking eye contact with the Golden Lioness, she placed Steffon back to his crib.

"Why are you here at this time of the night? What are you up to, Cersei?" The Queen asked her sister-in-law.

"I couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a stroll. I came here to calm myself down a bit by watching the babies sleeping. Then Steffon opened his eyes and wanted company. So I gave it to him."

"I heard my son’s giggles but I didn’t expect to find you here."

"Well, you better get used to it. For after my own child is born, he or she will have their own place here." Cersei said before making another bow in courtesy. She kept her stare clear on the Queen before leaving.

«Enjoy your time with your son, my Queen. And with your husband as well. For soon, I will give birth and have full movement around this castle. And then, Lysa Tully, you’ll know what it means to lose. Everything... »

Chapter Text

20/9/283 AC

Everything had gone wrong. Cersei could feel the baby not moving at all in there. It took Pycelle's best efforts to finally get it moving. And when it finally did, the pain was just... excruciating. As if the baby was tearing her apart from the inside out
The screams? Deafening. Not that Cersei could care less about it. Or that she almost crushed Orys fingers by clamping down his hand too hard.

Unfortunately, by the time it was over, it was discovered that the cord had been wrapped around the baby's throat. And suffocated it before they could get it out and cut it free. She was to be Joanna Baratheon. Cersei was devastated. Cries, screaming, curses. She demanded the Grand Maester and all of his assistants be beheaded for failing to save a Princess of the dynasty.

Even Orys wasn't spared Cersei's wrath. When he had tried to approach, Cersei tried to push him away.

"Don't get any closer!" The Golden Lioness roared, eyes blazing.
"My daughter is not dead! She's a Lannister and she's not dead. She is just stepping..." Cersei said, desperate to see any sign of life. Gently rocking the baby's lifeless body in her arms.
"She is going to wake up soon. Isn't that right, my little Joanna? Don't you want to neet your father? See? Papa is right here and he's waiting."
"Wake up. Please, wake up..."

"Cersei..." Orys approached carefully.
"Cersei, give her to me..."

"Don't take her away, Orys. Please, don't take her away..."

"I won't take her away, Cersei. I promise." Orys said as tears were running through his eyes
"I just want to take her in my arms. And kiss her forehead."

Orys took one more careful step towards his wife

"Come on..."

Reluctantly, Cersei handed over the stillborn to her father. Struggling to hold his sobs back, the Black Lion took his cub in his arms before hugging his wife and kiss her on the forehead

Then, he rose to his feet. He turned his back towards Cersei.

"Orys? What are you...?" And then, as Cersei saw Orys moving towards one of the handmaids, the realisation sank in. Desperate, the mother lunged towards the baby, only for her to bump into Orys. Immediately, the Lord of King's Landing grabbed his wife's arms, firmly holding her in place.

"NO! You can't take her away! Let go of me! You can't I will have all of your heads!!" Cersei screeched, only for her to realise that her threats were falling on deaf ears

Seeing that her threats are of no use, Cersei turned her wrath on Orys

"You son of a whore! You son of a whore!" She lunged at him and slapped him twice. She tried to do so again, only for Orys to grab a hold of her hands and render her still

"You promised me you wouldn't take her away! You promised me, you are a liar! You are a liar! You are a liar..." She yells as her voice becomes increasingly weaker, her wobbling knees giving away as she buries herself in her husband's arms

The next thing Cersei could remember was her coming back to consciousness. With the sensation of a gentle hand stroking her hair. She partily opened her eyes and saw...Lady Rhaella Targaryen sitting on her side, stroking her hair. As soon as she had heard of Cersei's plight, the former Queen of Westeros immediately sprung into action. She wasn't going to let the daughter of Lady Joanna Lannister, her year long friend, go through that kind of suffering alone.

Meanwhile, Lysa was sitting on Cersei's other side, holding her hand.

"Don't weep. Do not weep, dear child." The former Queen whispered to her. Unaware that Cersei was awake.

"How long I've been like that? And when did they get here?" Cersei thought to herself before moving. Cersei's movement stirred Lysa from her impase. Her blue eyes immediately shone with relief.

"Cersei, thank the Gods! Your Gr... Lady rhaella, Cersei's awake!" Lysa called out

"How long have I been here? The last thing I remember was screaming at Orys and then..."

“A few days, my dear.” Rhaella smiled. “Lord Orys thought we should let you have as much rest and quiet as you needed, while he took care of Joanna.”

The mention of her daughter's name was enough to make Cersei sneer.

"My daughter. He had her being taken away..."

“What else could he do, my dear?” Rhaella asked gently.

"She was mine and he took her from me!" Cersei clenched her fists.

“The Seven took your baby away, my child. She was too perfect for all the evils of this world, so they decided to keep her for themselves. Orys just made sure to send back the envelope she came in”.

"She'll be with your mother, Cersei. One lioness looking after another." Lysa offered. But Cersei was not convinced.

"Why? Why did she have to die?"

“I asked the same… every time a child was taken from me… but I couldn’t answer because there IS no answer. It just happens and, whatever the maesters and priests may tell you, the pain NEVER goes away.”

"Then what can be done?"

"You live. And you push on. For Joanna. For yourself. For you becoming the person that child would have been blessed to call a mother."

"We're all here for you, Cersei. You are family."

"For me? I'm a lioness, Tully! I don't need to be babied by anyone!" Cersei's arrogance got to show its ugly face once more.

“No one’s saying that you do…” Rhaella soothed, gesturing for Lysa to avoid arousing any further outrage.
"But it's okay for you not to fight. Just for today at least."

"Is that...is that what a mother and a sister feel like?" Cersei thought to herself before drifting off again.

24/9/283 AC Red Keep

The child was given a quick blessing and burial in the Great Sept of Baelor. The first scion of the Baratheon royal family to be buried there. Once it was over, Orys escorted his wife back home. She still wasn't entirely comfortable speaking to him, but things were improving. At least know she wasn't cursing him, nor was she trying to attack him on sight.

Once Cersei got settled back to her apartments, Orys found a quiet spot out on the battlements to clear his head. He sat there in silence, a deep scowl etched on his dark features.

“Fuck crying, why the fuck should I cry?!!” He thought as he sat there. “Didn’t even know the child, and Cersei and I will have more… It’s not as if we’ve lost a full-grown daughter, a daughter we grew to meet, to protect, to love…” Yes, that made sense, and the frown deepened…But unwittingly, he then started to think about his little Joanna, about how tiny she’d been. Whether a person or not, that was still something that had come from him. Didn’t that entitle her to at least a tear? Against all wishes and instincts, one disobedient drop spilled from his eyelid… His eyes widened in disbelief, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.

“No, fuck it…” he snarled. “Ours is the fury!!!” Orys thought but the more he thought about his little daughter’s lifeless body, the more tears came and before he knew what he was doing, his whole body was wracked by deep, shuddering sobs. In a fit of uncontrolled rage, he pounded his fists on the stone battlement until the skin cracked and the blood began to drip. It was all he could to keep himself from howling.

Suddenly, Orys felt a hand on his shoulder. Determined to confront whoever bothers him to such a private moment he turns. Only to find his elder twin, King Argilac standing in front of him Then, coming out of nowhere, 6 year old Renly bolted towards Orys and crushed onto him, hugging him as hard as he could.
Stannis? He was standingin the distance. One could see it in his face that he felt awful about what happened to Orys. That he wanted to get closer and offer whatever comfort he can. But there was something holding him back.

Argilac hugged Orys too.

"The gods delivered a terrible tragedy to you and your family, brother. But we will come stronger out of it. We'll weather this storm together."

"Please accept our condolences, Orys." Stannis said as he hesitantly approached.

"Sorry for your loss, Orys." Renly manages to get out, lifting his head from the place he had buried it to look at his big brother

Orys grunted in response. Smothering his sobs.

“Thank you, Stannis. You too, Argilac.”
"You too as well, Little One." He told Renly, before patting his little brother on the head.

"Ser Jaime sent word. Lysa informed him and Lord Tywin of what happened and they're on their way here, as we speak.

"That means that they'll be here in a month or so." Orys said. Anything to get his head away from the pain.
"It'll do Cersei some good to have her family around. They have a right to see her."

"Lysa and Lady Rhaella have virtually moved into her room, Orys. She'll be fine." Renly chirped in.

"Of that, Renly, I have no doubt. Anything to see her back in her old self..."

14/10/283 AC, King's Landing's battlements

The sight of horses trotting through the gates and the arrival of a courtier stops the brothers discussion

"Your grace, Lord Tywin Lannister and Ser Jaime have reached the city. They're heading towards the red keep."

Even though Argilac could have just ordered the gates open, he turned towards Orys. As if he's asking his permission to let his in-laws inside

"Shall we let them in? I'll understand if you or Cersei have changed your minds and want to turn them away."

“No,” Orys shrugged. “Like I had told you, they have a right to see Cersei”.

"Good." The King replied, before turning to the waiting courtier.

"Have the gates opened. And lead Lord Tywin and his son to Lady Cersei's chambers."

Meanwhile, Rhaella and Lysa informed Cersei of her arriving visitors.

“Now, Cersei, your father and brother have come from Casterly Rock to see you and Orys. Shall I tell them that you would remain in your chambers or do you wish to see them?”

"Let's...let's just get this over with." Cersei grumbled.

Jaime immediately bolted towards his sister and he hugged her.

"Tyrion sent word. He'll be here as soon as he can."
"I'm so sorry, Cersei."

"For what? You've got nothing to be sorry for. It wasn't you who lost your child."

"Of course not. Alysanne Lefford has been meticulous in following the instructions of our maester. Something you, daughter, apparently failed to do." Lord Tywin said, disappointment hardly concealed

"Lord Tywin, your daughter just suffered a terrible tragedy and I won't have you or anyone chastising her for things that were beyond her control." Lysa said, rising to her height. Not that it did much to dissuade Tywin, who wasn't at all intimidated by the Queen.

"With respect, your grace" Tywin said in a condescending tone "but Cersei Lannister is my daughter. Not yours."
"The good news is that this is but a minor setback. You're still young, and according to pycelle your fertility hasn't been damaged, so having another daughter to replace the one you've managed to lose won't be a problem."

"I am a princess of the seven kingdoms! I'm not a broodmare!"

"You're my daughter! You will do as I command and you will fall in line with the plans this family has."

"And what if I don't want to be a part of your plans anymore?" Cersei said in defiance. Fighting back against her father was probably a bad idea. But she had nothing left to lose.
"The days you could dictate anything about my life were over the moment your protege shoved himself inside of me! I will have another child when I decide to! Not when you command me to!"

"I want him out of here!" Cersei told Lysa and Rhaella

“Pardon the intrusion…” A familiar voice rumbled. It was Orys.
“I heard raised voices.”

"Just in time, dear husband, to escort my dear father to his chambers." Cersei sneered.

"Nothing I cannot solve, Lord Baratheon. For unlike you, I've spent decades reminding my daughter where she stands."

"Get out! Get out! Get out now!" Cersei rose up blazing.

“My Lord Lannister, I really must insist,” Orys demanded, gesturing towards the door. Raw fury blazed in the old lion's eyes at this act of defiance. But eventually, he leaves the room as if he owes it

"I've no children." He was heard saying through the corridor "The dwarf, the fool and the mother of incompetence"

"He was beyond furious after he heard of the incident." Jaime, who was standing between his sister and his father, said, finally relaxing the tight grip he had on his sword. "But I'm glad you didn't let him humiliate you."

Tywin left King's Landing the same day. But his response to his daughter's defiance was immediate and severe: he cut off the allowance he'd been sending her every three months and ordered all the personnel originated from the Westerlands to return home at once. These people, fearful of their Lord's retribution, should they refuse, they were fast to obey. That is until Lord Orys stepped in: he told them that he was going to talk to Lord Tywin and that he'd change his mind, ensuring them that they wouldn't have to abandon their jobs and that their families will not be endangered from Lannister retribution. With that being said, Orys Baratheon told Ser Kevan Lannister to look after the affairs of King's Landing in his absence and set off for Casterly Rock to face the Old Lion in his den. Defying the turning weather in his wake. Like a true Stormlander.

4/11/283 AC,

Lord Tywin didn't even bat an eye on his son-in-law's presence. In fact, judging by how devoted he was in his paperwork, one would think that he didn't even notice that Orys is in his solar. His signature display of dominance when it comes to dealing with people: we'll do things on my terms and my terms alone.

A display Orys had grown all too familiar with during his years of being Lord Tywin's ward. So, he sat silently on a chair opposite from Tywin, picked up a document and began reading it. An act that earned him a somewhat raised eyebrow and an almost unnoticeable tightening of the quill from his father-in-law

"Perhaps I taught you too well in these manners..." Tywin said, finally putting the quill down and stamping the paper in front of him
"I also heard that my courtiers were stopped from heeding their lord's call. A command I gave not." The Old Lion added ominously

“I did. Nobody means to undermine your commands, Lord Tywin." Orys was quick to reassure his father-in-law. "But they’ve all been with us such a long time that they’ve come to see King’s Landing as their new home. Cersei and I have no wish for them to go, but I’d be happy to reimburse you for the loss of so many skilled hands. After all, I know how important fair dealing is to you, Father. And a Lannister always pays his debts.”

"This isn't a matter of money, Lord Baratheon. You should know that better than others. This is a matter of pride. Your wife disrespected her Lord Father. I'm merely exercising my rights in disciplining her."

“I apologise for Cersei’s harsh words… she has suffered a great loss and does not know how bitter her tongue can be… but I assure you that we'll move past it and that there will be other babies”.

"For that, I am certain. It is her duty as a Lannister to contribute into serving our family and securing our legacy."

Orys nodded.

“Having said that, I also cannot condone the way you spoke to her when you last came to call on us… and I must ask you never to repeat such a step again. You are my father as well as Cersei’s, but I think you forget that I am her husband. I will drag your hands out King’s Landing and deliver them to Casterly Rock in chains if that will satisfy you, but it won’t change my stance on this matter. Ever.” Orys pressed on.

In response, Lord Tywin looked Orys in the eyes for several long moments. But the young Lord remained undeterred. No matter how much this glare used to unsettle him in his younger days

One ominous heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three

Finally, the fleeting look of a smirk seemed to emerge on Lord Tywin's face
"Keep the staff. But you will ensure that my daughter will behave herself from now on. And you will inform her that she will have to make due with the income of her new House, for I will not restore her allowance."

“I consider it a husband’s duty to provide for his family, my Lord. I shall see to it that the message is understood. I'm happy that we understand eachother.” Orys said before shaking hands with his father-in-law.

"This went better than expected. But we need to be on guard around him." The Black Lion thought to himself on his way home.

Chapter Text

Winterfell, 8/9/290 AC

The Northern banners had once again gathered around Winterfell. Catelyn could see them through the window in her chambers. Her eyes fell on the chained giant standing on the red field of House Umber, the clenched, dressed in chainmail fist of House Glover and the white sunburst of House Karstark. Even the banners od smaller Houses like the Ironwood tree of House Forrester of Ironrath, or banners of newly founded Houses, such as the Stone Crows and the Moon Brothers had come to their liege Lord’s home. It was time for another Harvest Feast.

This one was just the seventh Harvest Feast Catelyn was attending here in the North. And yet, so much had changed during these seven years. For starters, she now had three more children. Two daughters, 5 year old Sansa and 3 year old Arya. And a son, the 2 year old Brandon. Bran, as Ned was calling him.
From what Catelyn was seeing so far, Sansa was turning out just like her. Red hair, river blue eyes, porcelain like skin. She will be a real heart stealer when she grows up. As for Arya and Bran, they were closer to the traditional Stark characteristics: long faces, grey eyes and brown hair. Quite similar to their father, as well as their cousins, Helena and Jon.

Her nephew and niece. After learning Jon’s true parentage, Catelyn started treating him as if he was her own child. She provided him with the same love, acceptance and attention she was giving to the children that came out of her. As for Helena...Helena already had a mother. Lady Ashara Dayne. So, as much as she tried against it, Catelyn was a little distant to the girl, but still courteous and helpful. Like a proper aunt.

Not that Ashara was making things any easier. The two women seemed to disagree in almost everything. Sometimes, Catelyn caught herself thinking this was just a game born out of spite between them, rather than a genuine need for conflict. It came as a great relief when Orys Baratheon, having been informed for this situation, struck a deal with the Daynes: Lady Ashara would marry Lord Howland Reed and relocate to King's Landing. As for her children, Ser Arthur Dayne became their legal guardian and they'd remain in Winterfell asHouse Stark's wards. It wasn't the easiest decision to make, but it was the right one: Ned was adamant in not letting Jon resettle to King's Landing and all this bickering had to come to an end somehow. And it's not like that Ashara was barred from visiting Winterfell and her children. So, Catelyn had no reason to protest against that decision anyway: her biggest annoyance was now out of her hands and she had Winterfell all to herself.

Catelyn was happy to have Jon and his sister stay in her home, but they weren't weren’t the only children that were living here. Winterfell had taken many new wards under its care. Young heirs, like Domeric Bolton, Harrion Karstark , Smalljon Umber, or Daryn Hornwood, heirs to Houses Bolton, Karstark, Umber and Hornwood respectively. Or prominent scions, like Wynafryd Manderly from White Harbor, or Harrion's younger brother, Eddard. Even complete outsiders, like the 10 year old Theon Greyjoy from the Iron Islands. Winterfell was now full with children and Ned, Catelyn, as well as Maester Luwin, Septa Gwyn, Ser Rodrik Cassel and Ser Arthur Dayne had to see to their upbringing.

Speaking about upbringing, Catelyn was determined to make sure that the children under her care, especially those of her own blood, would have an education fit for their noble and even royal status. For Catelyn never failed to remind her children, niece and nephew about their blood ties to the Baratheon dynasty who rules the Seven Kingdoms. So, all the children started vigorous lessons in history, geography, mathematics, diplomacy, fighting/battle strategy and household management from as young as the age of 5. Arya and Bran were still too young to be included, but when the time comes, they will receive the training that will make them the best people they can be, just like their older siblings had.

On other matters, the situation in the North was constantly improving. Ned had uncovered some 12 million golden wolves into a secret room within the Crypts of the Starks the same night they said their goodbyes to Brandon, Lord Rickard and Lyanna. And that wasn’t all. Alongside the coinage, gems and other treasures were uncovered. On that thought, Catelyn’s right hand went to her neck. She caressed a diamond necklace she was wearing there. Ned had gifted it to her as soon as he had found it in the pile of trinkets. Even Valyrian steel weapons and arrowheads of dragonglass were uncovered there. Catelyn wasn’t sure about what kind of usefulness a material like that could have, but then again, it had to be amongst these valuable things for a reason.

Ned had the coins minted to the Old Mint at White Harbor, an operation owned by the Crown. It took a whole year for all the coins to be minted into golden dragons and be able to be used into the Westerosi economy. But after that matter was taken care of, the money was immediately put to good use. Ned paid off the debt the North owed to the Iron Throne for the dragonglass it had imported thus far. Now, the purchase and transportation of dragonglass was in Ned’s hands instead of having to depend on King Argilac and his brother, Orys, paying for it.

Afterwards, Ned personally funded one third of the development of a proper road system in the Northern Province. All the northern castles and settlements were to be connected with roads, so that transportation of both people and goods can become as quick and efficient as possible. The Crown, under the personal oversight of Lord Orys Baratheon, funded another third of the total cost and the rest was covered from the local Lord/Lady whose land was going to be benefited from the new road. And Tyrion Lannister oversaw the recruitment of able workers, the proper design of the roads and the sufficient construction of said roads personally. After 4 years of work, the project had finally reached completion and the benefits already had began to show.

Sea Dragon Point became the seat of House Seastark, the noble House that was founded after the marriage of Benjen Stark to Sarra Crowl of Skagos. Sea Dragon Point was quite a profitable seat, if Catelyn could say so. The region was abundant in pine forests for ship-building, otters, salmons, seals and clams. So, Benjen was quite fortunate: he was provided with a naturally gifted region that could really be a decisive factor for the North. For Sea Dragon Point was a place that the First Men held in high regard since the times of old. So, once word came out that a Stark was going to restore it to its former brilliance, the Northern Lords rushed to send the surplus of their smallfolk there, to aid in the restoration effort. Five years after Benjen was declared Lord of Sea Dragon Point, he had at least five neighbouring castles sworn to him, all rebuilt and manned by northern Houses. Second sons, younger brothers, cousins and nephews got land and people in that region to start their own branches. Beside these renewed strongholds, fishing villages and shipyards were also built. Benjen now commands the western squadron of the Northern Fleet. Thirty warships stationed at Sea Dragon Point, ready to defend the western coast of the North in case of aggressive signs form the West or the Iron Islands.

The union between Benjen and Sarra resulted in two children. 4 year old Marra and 1 year old William. It also brought Skagos to the Northern fold and under direct Stark vassalage. Before, Skagos was an unruly area to say at best. Its people isolated and harsh, hardly different from the Mountain Clans in the Vale or the Wildlings North of the Wall. But Ned insisted. They were the blood of the First Men as he had told her and as such, they will do their duty to their land and brethren. After their Stark overlords have proooven themselves worthy of such fealty.

The Skagosi brought to the fold fish from their rich fishing grounds, pelts, obsidian-another name for dragonglass- as well as the meat and tusks of a whale-like creature native to the Skagosi waters, narval they call it. In return for these generous additions to the Northern economy, Ned had built them new homes so that they can live outside their caves and gifted them armor, steel weapons and training in warfare and ship navigation, under the tutelage of Willam Dustin and Willys Manderly.

Stoney Shore became the North’s trading extension to the West. Tyrion and Benjen had worked hard but after 6 years of hard work, a proper city-port was standing oriudly, as the North's trading extension to the West, the Reach and the Iron Islands. And its governor, Jorah of House Fisher. The head of a House Catelyn had thought long gone. But apparently, some of its members had fled the North before Aegon the Conqueror lands his forces to Westeros and marches against the North. Together with spare members of other Northern Houses, they formed the Company of Rose, a sellsword company operating in Essos. 4,000 strong. All war-tested veterans.

And now, Ned had brought them back home. He gave them the opportunity to take their lives and -if possible- their lands back. He and the company’s captain, Derren Stark, had come to an agreement: the Houses that went extinct in the North since Aegon’s Conquest and onwards, would get their old lands and castles back. If that wasn’t possible, Ned would try to find them new ones, as it happened with Houses Frost, Ryder, Greystark and Greenwood. Their heads, Warne Frost, Carsen Ryder, Dorin Greystark and Tomas Greenwood took residence in the ancient strongholds of the area neighboring Sea Dragon Point and swore fealty to Benjen Seastark. As for the members of the Houses that already existed in the North, they were recruited into the newly established Houses, pledged themselves to their kinsmen, or joined the Northern Army. Another ambitious project that had started when Willam Dustin and Ser Arthur Dayne approached Ned and advised him that with the newfound roads and ports, banditry could become a real problem. An effective counterattack for that problem would be a standing army with regular patrols. Ned had given his consent and that army was formed. Willam Dustin was appointed its commander and immediately dealt with that threat. Now the North could raise 30,000 men at arms. 60,000 if someone counted the women who had received practice in the use of arms. Perhaps in 30 years, the North will be able to raise 45 or even 60,000 troops.
Finally, those who weren’t ready to abandon the life of the mercenary were permitted to continue doing it. The North, their homeland, would provide them with food, medicine and volunteers if necessity presented itself. For a 10% of the Company’s profits, that would be going to the Northern coffers. To be used on further improvements of the homeland.

Yes. Thanks to Ned’s dutiful service, Catelyn’s solid advice, Tyrion’s ingenuity and the people’s hard work, the once poorest of the Seven Kingdoms was well on its way to self-sufficiency. Thanks to Catelyn’s connections in the Riverlands, seeds and fertilizers fit for the Northern climate were imported. Now, the lands of the Gift and the New Gift were covered in fields for potatoes, carrots, apples and cabbages alongside wheat, rye, barley and clover. House Reed had even started clearing out some swampy areas for rice crops. The swamps begun to get drained and a proper irrigation system was established. Only the reconstruction of Moat Cailin would make things better. After all, Ned had promised Catelyn that the strongest castle in the North would be Bran’s seat when he would be old and experienced enough to manage it. So Catelyn was eager to see it back to its proper majesty.

Speaking of majesty…Winterfell too had started changing. After the founding of the treasure, but most importantly the establishment of stable sources of income, Catelyn and Ned begun the renovation of their home. The Broken Tower was restored almost immediately. An ideal watchtower was back at full height. Then, Ned started working on making the walls taller and thicker, as well as expanding the glass houses inside Winterfell. Finally, the Crypt. He began restoring the statues of the Stark forefathers and clearing out long lost areas. Making them once more, reachable. Still, there was a lot of work to be done, but Catelyn was sure that Robb would inherit a stronger and more beautiful home than his parents. And as for his siblings, they would live their lives in a safer and more prosperous North, than the one their father grew up in.

"Lady Stark." A whispering voice called out to the Lady of Winterfell.
Startled, Catelyn turned around to see the one who was asking of her. She saw Domeric Bolton. Her face almost soured at his sight. The 12 year Bolton had an unremarkable body. He had long straight hair reaching down to his shoulders. He had pasty skin, short but strong fingers and a plain face. Apart from the lush black hair and the brown laughing eyes he had inherited form his mother, Lady Bethany Bolton, the boy was the spitting image of his father. Lord Roose Bolton.

This made it harder for Catelyn to like the boy. And it’s a shame, for Domeric was trying so hard to be accepted and liked by his Stark hosts. The young Bolton was courteous and helpful. Cultured even. From what his aunt, Lady Barbery Dustin, had told Catelyn, Domeric likes to pay the harp, read history and he knows how to ride like the wind. Horses. Gods, the boy is mad for horses. He spends hours in the stables, helping the stable master, Hullen and his son, Harwin, groom the horses. Even experienced riders were amazed by Domeric’s skill in riding. Robb and Jon were running to him so that they can see how to best groom their horses, how to talk to them and for Domeric to show them how to ride better. Catelyn was a little hesitant in seeing this friendship between Robb, Jon and Domeric blossom. Especially, when she was thinking of Theon as well.

Theon, the 10 year old grandson of Lord Quellon Greyjoy. The boy had a healthier look than Domeric and it was lean, dark-haired and good looking. Theon was a promising archer and he had already arrived with a basic knowledge regarding the North and its customs. Apparently, his grandfather had been tutoring him, so that he can come to Winterfell prepared for his fostering. But he took many things less seriously than he should have and he was too confident for Catelyn’s liking. Hopefully, his time with the Starks would humble him, before his arrogance grows too far.

Theon likes Robb quite a lot and regards him a close friend of his. In fact, he treats him almost like a younger brother. He doesn’t extend that kind of courtesy to Jon though. While they train and study together, Theon ignores Jon for the most part. But at the rare times, Robb, Theon and Jon play together, Ned tells her that it’s like seeing Elbert Arryn, Robert Baratheon and himself when they were boys and were running around the Eyrie. Jon is brooding and calculating, like Ned. Theon is boisterous and confident, like Robert. And Robb is somewhere in between them, like Elbert had been. And for that reason, Ned treats Theon and Domeric as if they are his blood. He keeps them on a tight training schedule, he’s always there to advise or scold them when they do something wrong, but he always makes sure to remind them that they are members of the pack. Catelyn never understood why her husband goes to such personal extends in the care and education of his wards. But she dismisses the topic on the thought that he must have his reasons. After all, Ned's own foster father, Jon Arryn, was treating Ned and Robert as if they were his own...

"Yes, Domeric?" Catelyn asked. Polite but distant.

"Lord Stark wishes to see you at the yard. We’re ready to welcome the guests."

"Thank you, Domeric." Catelyn said as she was wrapping her right arm around his left one. Soon, the Lady of Winterfell and her ward were in the yard.

"Now, take position. You wouldn't want your Lord father's castellan, Maxar Bolton, to tell him that you're forgetting your courtesies, right?" She told her ward with a mischievous smirk on her face.

"Of course not, Lady." Domeric said politely, before taking his position, close to the Stark children. As it befits the heir of the second most powerful House in the North.

"Who knows? I might actually grow to like the boy after all."

The Great Hall was full with people. All the major Lords and Ladies of the North had gathered in tables to eat, drink and celebrate the fact that for one more year they were able to gather enough food to last themselves, their families and people for the long winter. Before that, they had gathered to the Goodswood, where they prayed before the heartree. Thanking the Gods for the warmth, the food and the safety that they were providing to their land, people and families. Now, the feast was at full swing. Plenty of food was served and ale was flowing like a river. Ned at times was receiving the company of a Lord or a Lady so that they can discuss in private the affairs of said Lord’s/Lady’s domain. What’s the situation in their lands? Are the people under their protection well-looked after and fairly treated? Where can Winterfell be of assistance?

All the children were close to Ned as he was making those discussions with his vassals. Always. So that they can learn what it’s like to be a ruler: fair, kind, decisive, pragmatic and dutiful. These things were what had made and still keep Ned so beloved among his vassals and people. Catelyn was sure that for as long as their children and wards follow these lessons, their lives and seats will be safe and their domains prosperous.

She, on the other hand, keeps on teaching them about the importance of family, duty and honor: family is what truly matters. When a family member is wronged, you must always help them. You must always make sure that your relatives are taken care of and brought up to their best of abilities. You must always do your duty to your family, liege, land and people. And you must always honor your commitments so that you can be respected.

"They sure get along. Won’t you agree, Lady Stark?" Lady Barbery Dustin asked the Lady of Winterfell as she was taking a seat next to her. She was tall, almost as tall as Catelyn and really good-looking. She had long brown hair that she seems to like wearing n a single knot.
Catelyn looked at where the Lady of Barrowtown was pointing at. She saw Robb and Domeric laughing at a joke Theon had made. The heir to Dreadfort was clapping Robb in the back while doing so, in a perfect moment of camaraderie.

"They sure do, Lady Dustin." Catelyn replied in a chilled courtesy, even though she left a small smile make its way to her face. Lady Dustin nodded along before turning more serious.

"I know you don’t like my nephew much, Lady Stark." Lady Dustin frowned as she was placing her back on the back of her chair, in an attempt to make herself look even taller. Clearly trying to intimidate Catelyn. Catelyn frowned in turn. She knew Barbery Dustin doesn’t hold House Stark and especially its Lady in high regard but never before she had the chance to speak to her so bluntly. One more reason for Catelyn to be mad at her deceased betrothed, Brandon. He and Barbery Dustin had developed an affair, during one of Brandon’s regular visits in the Rills, seat of House Ryswell, a Bolton bannerman and ancestral home of Barbery. He had promised that he’d marry her and she opened her legs for him. Then, Brandon’s betrothal to Catelyn was announced and Barbery was cast aside to be married off to Willam Dustin. A fairly good match, since House Dustin is one of the strongest, most prestigious and most prosperous Houses in the North, but it’s certainly not the same as being married to the heir of Winterfell. Only for Brandon to ride for King’s Landing and get himself killed when he found out about Lyanna’s disappearance with Rhaegar.

Overall, Barbery Dustin has some pretty good reasons to be angry at Catelyn Stark since she regards her as the person who stole Brandon and deprived her of the chance to become the Lady of Winterfell. The fact that so far Barbery had two miscarriages, while Catelyn delivered five healthy children, doesn’t help things between them either. Catelyn just didn’t want to think how thinks would have been if Ned had returned from the war without Lord Dustin or if he didn’t place him in such a prominent position as the Commander-in-chief of the Northern Army.

"How’s that come to pass?" Catelyn asked the Lady of Barrowtown with an icy voice.

"It’s not that difficult to see it. It’s not easy to like Roose Bolton or something related to him. But, my nephew isn’t like his father. Treat him well and your children won’t have anything to fear from him." Lady Dustin said with some warmth in her voice and her eyes as she was gazing upon Domeric. Lady Barbery’s love for her nephew was one of the few things that were humanizing her in Catelyn’s eyes. And it was something that she could definitely relate to.

Catelyn’s eyes fell upon her husband then. He was making his way towards them. He had just finished a discussion he was having with Willys Manderly regarding the transportation of lumber from the Wolfswood to Braavos through the White Knife River.

"Lord Stark." Lady Dustin said as she was bowing her head in courtesy.

"Lady Dustin." Ned replied in the same formal manner as she was making her way to her husband and their table. "Is everything all right?" The Lord of Winterfell asked his wife, after lady Barbara was out of earshot.

"Yes, my love. How about you?" Catelyn replied with a smile.

"So far, the feast has proven a success. I couldn’t have done it without you."

"Oh, now you flatter me, dear husband, but don't stop." Catelyn teased her husband, making him break a huff of a laughter. "In seriousness though, Ned, I didn’t do anything." Catelyn replied in modesty.

"Quite on the contrary, my Lady. The Northern Lords and Ladies have nothing but praises for their Lady's hospitality and fairness. When you had first come here, they were afraid that you’d try to enforce the southern ways into the heart of the North. You proved them wrong."

Catelyn took her husband’s right hand in her own.

"We proved them wrong, Ned. For you went through the same test. But you proved to them that you have only the well-being of the North at heart. The real North."

"All hail the Quiet Wolf! All hail the Southern She-Wolf!" A man roared suddenly. He was under the banners of the Stone Crows. Shagga, as Catelyn remembered the name Tyrion and Benjen had told her.

"All hail the Quiet Wolf! All hail the Southern She-Wolf!" Everyone shouted in unison.

"All hail the Sea Wolf!" Carsen Ryder said as he was pointing at Benjen.

"All hail the Sea Wolf!"

"All hail the Small Lion! A Northerner not by blood, but a Northerner by choice and merit!" Greatjon Umber roared as he was pointing at Tyrion!

"Small Lion! Small Lion! Small Lion!"

Tyrion, who was also sitting at the main table, as one of Lord Stark’s honored guests, rose from his seat clearly surprised. To see these people, the people his compatriots so wrongly accuse as barbarians and savages, welcoming him so openly, showing him such respect, such acceptance for who he was instead of what he looked like…it was the one thing Tyrion had ever wanted. He almost looked on the verge of tears.

Ned then rose from his seat to address his vassals.

"My friends, we keep on growing stronger. Our home keeps on becoming more prosperous. And it’s all thanks to you. Your devotion, loyalty and hard work are what made all these accomplishments feasible. And I thank you for that. My brothers and sisters. Both old and new."

"HAIL THE QUIET WOLF!" The Greatjon bellowed.

"QUIET WOLF! QUIET WOLF! QUIET WOLF!" The hall rumbled from the shouts.

It took a few minutes for the hall to be calm enough for Maester Luwin to make his way to his Lord’s table.

"My Lord, a message arrived from Castle Black." He said without trying to keep his voice low. By the way he was carrying himself, this was a matter of utmost importance.

"Castle Black? What it’s saying?"

"It’s saying that Mance Rayder, a man that has been proclaimed King Beyond-the-Wall, seeks for a parley between the Northern Lords, the Night’s Watch and the Free Folk he’s leading."

Chapter Text

It took a few minutes for order to be restored inside the Great Hall. For the Northern Lords rose up from their seats, utterly furious. They started speaking on top of one another at first. Then, they started quarreling amongst themselves. Then, it seemed like the room was transformed into an arena of screaming matches.

"QUIET! ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" Greatjon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth and father of Smalljon Umber roared, forcing everyone to calm down. Pleased with himself and the outcome of that roar, Greatjon patted his son on the head and turned towards his liege Lord.

"Ned, carry on. What do you think that we should do?"

"Your castle, Last Hearth, is the closest to the Wall, Jon. And your lands and people are those who often are at the receiving end of Free Folk raids. What are your thoughts on the matter?"

"Well…per your instructions, old friend, I’ve been interrogating the Wildling prisoners I am having before executing them. And there’s a strange story that they keep on telling.:

"And what kind of story is this?" Lord Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold and father of Harrion and Eddard Karstark asked. He was gaunt and tall with a thick grayish beard and hair loose past his shoulders. He wasn’t as large or boisterous as Jon Umber, but he too was carrying an imposing presence that commanded respect.

"They were rambling about…the Great Others. They’ve been spotted North of the Wall. And the dead have started walking again with blue eyes."

The hall was silent for a while. And then…the laughter and the mockery started.

"Looks like cold has finally gotten through your thick skull, Jon! Those things are bedtime stories for children! These things can’t be real!" Robett Glover, Galbart’s younger brother and Master of Deepwood Motte said.

"Don’t tell me what is true and what isn’t, Glover! I know that many of you think me stupid, but I am neither a fool nor a gullible child! Those fuckers are not to be trusted even if they tell you that the sky is blue! But the captives I questioned were all from different clans."

"And how’s that extraordinary?" Willys Manderly asked.

"Because the various wildling clans hate each other nearly as much as they hate the Night’s Watch. There’s no way they all came up with the same story, unless it’s true."

The giant of a man turned towards his liege Lord.

"Ned, for 30 years I’ve been making corpses out of these whoresons. I guarded Last Hearth and the whole North from them as did my father and his father before. But something smells really bad here. There’s no way all of them are telling the same fairy tale, unless it’s true. I suggest that you listen to what this Mance Rayder has to say."

Ned rubbed his chin in thought. He was content inside. Without knowing it, his old friend had laid much of the groundwork for him. Ned was already trying to find a good way to convince his vassals into reaching an agreement with the chieftains Free Folk. But he couldn’t come up with anything. Now, thanks to the will of the Gods or even thanks to a mere coincidence, he had a reason. And the fact that it was Jon Umber the man who said what he said was a secret bonus.

"I agree with you, Jon. If what your prisoners have said is true, we must take precautions. Come to an agreement with them if possible. The most logical scenario is that the various clans north of the Wall chose to band together for protection against their common enemy. If they feel cornered, they’ll attack the Wall. And if that happens, the Night’s Watch in its weakened state, will not be able to repel an attack. From what Lord Commander Jeor Mormont has told me, only three out of the Night’s Watch’s nineteen castles are still operational. Which means that large areas of the Wall are left unguarded. The ideal place for an attack.

"But for us to come to a deal with the Free Folk, the Night’s Watch should agree for them to cross through the Wall. Forgive me for being so bold, my Lord, but will they allow for such a thing to happen?" Domeric Bolton asked.

A proud smile lit Ned’s face. His eldest ward had shown that he’s attentive and dutiful. A promising Lord.

"What do you say, Robb?" Ned asked his oldest son.

Robb looked around him. He was surprised that he was so suddenly at the center of attention. He then looked at his father who nodded as he was smiling at him. Robb smiled as well and turned to Domeric.

"The Black Brothers are the shield that guards the Realms of Men. Their duty is to the Realm. They will agree to whatever deal we strike with the Free Folk, as long as they’re involved in what is about to happen."

The 7 year old then turned back to his father. As if he was looking to see his approval. Confirmation that he had told what needed to be said right. An approving smile and a pat on the head were signs that he had spoken well.

"In the meantime, we must strengthen the Watch. Contact your castellans and tell them to oversee the delivery of supplies, prisoners and if possible, volunteers to the Watch. I shall contact His Grace and ask for his help on the matter." Ned said. That proposal was meant with a unanimous agreement.

"When do we ride for Castle Black, my Lord?" Jorah Mormont, son of Jeor Mormont and Lord of Bear Island asked.

"Tomorrow at dawn. It will take us two weeks to reach Castle Black. And I hope that we’ll be able to contact Mance Rayder and his lieutenants before the end of the month. For now, send your messages to your castellans and get some rest. We're going to need it."

"You will be in charge of Winterfell. You are to make sure that things run smoothly until my return. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick Cassel will see to it that you won’t lack proper help." Ned told his wife as they were about to lie for the night.

"You honor me with your trust, my love. But isn’t that Robb’s responsibility? He’s the one who is going to become Lord of Winterfell after all."

"Robb, alongside Jon and our wards will ride for the Wall with us. They need to learn how to negotiate with others powers."

"No! It’s unsafe to take even one child with you, let alone eight!" Catelyn protested. Unwilling to even think that her son, her nephew and their friends would be left at the mercy of uncivilised barbarians.

But Ned would not be dettered.

"Catelyn, please try to understand. If all goes well, these people will be the last to join the North. They’re going to be our son’s latest vassals. The sooner he learns how to deal with them, the better. And the sooner our eldest daughter starts practicing her own skills, the better. And there’s no-one else I trust with this task more than you."

That claim caught Catelyn's attention. Admittedly, she hadn't thought of it that way.

"Really?"

"Yes. Keep our children safe. I’ll do the same for our son, nephew and wards. I promise."

Ned then hugged his wife tenderly and kissed her on her right cheek before dozing off. Catelyn looked at her husband as he was sleeping. He looked more vulnerable, but at the same time less troubled when asleep. He was working himself in almost overdrive. Like there was some threat that was slowly coming for them and he was trying with all of his might to keep it at bay.

"Perhaps one day, I’ll be able to convince him in sharing." Catelyn thought before lying on the bed.

She didn’t know what to make of the message that came earlier. It could be just a trick from the Wildlings to trap the Northern Lords and kill them under the banners of peacemaking. Anything to make their raids easier. But what Lord Umber said held merit. Sure, he is a boisterous brute, but he knows the Wildlings better than anyone.

"We’ll know in a few weeks. In the meantime, I shall make sure to keep things running. And my daughters and niece shall be close by to learn as much as they can." Catelyn vowed before sleeping herself.

The peace party was ready to depart at dawn. It consisted of forty-eight important Lords, armed to the teeth, accompanied by another twenty guards and Ser Arthur Dayne. They took the Kingsroad to Castle Black. During their journey, Ned could once again see the progress Tyrion, Benjen and himself had brought to the North. Villages, roads, keeps and towns, filled with hardworking people, happy to be alive and free, had replaced enormous sectors of a once barren wasteland. Ned did what a highborn should do: he worked to his best ability to bring peace and prosperity to his people. Something he will continue to do until his dying breath.

He was happy though. For he would have his good friend, Tyrion Lannister, by his side.

"If you think that I'm gonna miss the chance to see the infamous Wildlings up close and personal, Stark, you're very mistaken." The Small Lion had said, determined to be a part of the riding party. Despite strict warnings to stay away, since it was uncertain how the Wildlings would have reacted upon seeing a dwarf in front of them. But ultimately, Lords Stonecrows, Moonbrother and Burnedmen, as well as Lady Blackeyes vouched for Tyrion and Ned agreed to take him along.

"This will be the meeting of a lifetime! I can't wait to write it all down..." Tyrion had said, almost...giddily.

After two weeks of riding, Castle Black was finally within sight. And behind it, the Wall. A masterpiece of engineering. 213, 36 meters of ice and rock. And since they made it here at daybreak, it had a grey aura on it.

"Ned Stark. Welcome here, old friend." Jeor Mormont greeted Ned when he saw him at the head of the party. The two men shook hands warmly. Jeor then hugged his son, Jorah. "I trust that you’ve made a god job in running things at Bear Island, Jorah."

"Yes, Father. Aunt Maege helps a lot. And Lord Stark was always there to offer advice or help."

"Good. I also heard that you struck a deal with Quellon Greyjoy. Lumber in exchange for trading. And you solidified that deal with a marriage pact between your cousin, Alysanne and Rodrik Greyjoy."

"Yes. Quellon Greyjoy sought me out when we were at King’s Landing. It’s a beneficial deal and Quellon is an honest man. He’ll keep his people in check as long as he’s alive."

"And what when he’s not? Balon Greyjoy never bothered to hide is disdain for the mainlanders."

On that remark, Jorah's face became grim with determination.

"Then let him come. He’ll learn that nobody dares to disrespect the Bear without punishment. Here We Stand."

Jeor’s face lit up with a smile.

"Here We Stand indeed, my son." Jeor said as he was looking his son proudly.

"Did we have a new development regarding the upcoming meeting?" Ned Stark asked Jeor when they entered the Lord Commander’s solar. He got his men settled in and then sought out Jeor to speak about the imminent meeting.

"As a matter of fact, we did. Yesterday, a messenger came outside Castle Black. He left a note saying that Mance Rayder shall meet the northern party with his top lieutenants at the weirwood tree, a mile (1.6 kilometers) north of Castle Black. He says that the meeting shall take place in two days time by the time the messenger arrives at Castle Black. They’ll stay there from dawn to dusk. If night falls and nobody arrives, they’ll leave and every chance of negotiation will be gone."

"Then we shall leave tomorrow morning. Have your major officers arrived?"

"Yes. Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke, commanders of the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by- the- Sea are already here. They will ride with us alongside my First Ranger, Qhorine Halfhand and twenty men for additional protection. My First Steward, Bowen Marsh shall run things in my place with the help of Donal Noye."

"Donal Noye. Aye. A good man. A loyal man. I am sure he will help things here. Argilac and his brothers speak highly about this man."

"Yes." Jeor said.

"What are your thoughts on the matter, Jeor?"

"Ned…you helped the Night’s Watch. In more ways than I could ever hope for. Thanks to the people you settled in the lands of the Gift and the New Gift, we now have a stable source of food, as well as a second line of defense for whatever is Beyond the Wall. For these things alone, I will support you however I can. But I have my doubts regarding the Wildlings. They are not to be trusted."

"It’s only natural to mistrust them, old friend. We’ve been at war with them for centuries. For centuries they stole from us, raped and murdered our people. As we did with theirs. I am not planning to make a hasty decision, but if what they’ve told us is true, we must put our differences aside. If we’re not able to do so, then we are at risk for losing the Wall and the Night’s Watch. You’re going to have reinforcements soon enough, but even with them, the Free Folk still outnumbers us. If they decide to break through by force…we’ll not be able to stop them. Not yet."

"So you’re practically stalling."

"Yes. Until a permanent solution can be found."

The next morning, the party was ready to go.

"Raise the gate!" Jeor commanded his men.At once, the inner gate that was connecting Castle Black to the other side of the Wall through an icy tunnel was lifted. What greeted them outside was a sea of snow, ice, rocks and trees. A real marvel of wilderness. Robb, Jon, Theon and all the other children in their party, even Domeric were mesmerized by it.

"My Lord, I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here. This place is so…beautiful." Theon said.

Ned looked at the boy in front of him. In his previous life and despite his shown confidence, Theon Greyjoy was a very insecure person. A person who didn’t know who he was: a Greyjoy or a Stark? Ned couldn’t forget the fact that in his previous life, the boy in front of him betrayed Robb and took over Winterfell, the same castle that was his home for 9 years. But Ned had come to an even more important realization: much like the situation with Lyanna, the way Theon turned out was his fault.
In the visions the Lord of Winterfell had, Ned was able to see how he was treating Theon: sure, he never mistreated him and made him live like a guest rather than a hostage. But he was cold and distant to him. Theon needed a father who could love, accept and nourish him. Ned did nothing of the sort in his previous life. With his actions, Ned had always shown Theon that House Stark isn’t his House. And that the Starks aren’t his family. A fact that Robb made sure to remind Theon at every possible opportunity.

it's no wonder why Theon chose his blood family over his hosts. Well, not this time. Theon had a worthy father figure in his grandfather, Quellon. And another one in Ned himself. Ned recalled the moment he met Theon. Wanting to meet his ward firsthand, Ned had taken a ship form Stony Shore and sailed to Pyke. From there, he greeted Theon personally before taking him. After that, they rode from Stony Shore to Winterfell.

"Theon," Ned had told the boy when Winterfell was within their sights, "from the moment we pass through these gates, you are a member of the pack. I understand that a part of you will always be a kraken, but you’re a wolf now too."

"Indeed it is, Theon. But it’s also dangerous. Stay close to me and make sure that whatever you hear been said to you, me, Robb, Jon or any other, do not retaliate. We need to swallow our pride on that matter."

Theon frowned at that. Lord Stark was raising him among his own children and nephews. As one of them, to be exact. Theon ate with them, played with them and trained with them both in combat and ruling. Lord Stark had become something far deeper than just his host. He had become like a… a second father to him. Theon could now hardly remember his father, Balon Greyjoy. And what he could remember left him hardly eager to meet him. A cold, harsh, quarrelsome man. His grandfather, Lord Quellon was the one who practically raised Theon, his eldest brother, Rodrik and his sister, Yara.

Theon could not have been more grateful. Quellon was warm, kind and at the same time stern and passionate for his work. A work he expected -no!- demanded that his grandchildren will continue after him. Theon learned a lot from him. But he learned even more from Lord Stark, who never separated him from his own blood. He always made sure to emphasize that Theon, Domeric and the other wards are like six more sons to him.

"I won’t let you down, my Lord. I promise."

Ned broke a small smile and patted Theon on the back.

"I know you won’t. Make sure that you keep an eye on your brothers, will you?"

Theon then looked at Robb, Jon and Domeric who were standing a little further from them, since Harrion, Eddard, Smalljon and Daryn were currently in the company of their fathers. The boys who were growing up with him. The boys Theon had started to love as brothers. Yes, even the brooding Jon.

"I won’t let anything happen to them, my Lord."

"Good. Let us move now."

They rode straight for the weirwood tree. Even though nobody was spotted, Ned could sense that someone was constantly watching them. No doubt, Mance Rayder had dispatched scouts to keep an eye on the northern party. A useful precaution. The King Beyond-the-Wall definitely wanted to know how many his guests will be and how well armed they are. Finally, the weirwood tree was visible. And just outside it, there were standing four people. Three men and a woman.

One man stood at the center of the group. He had fiery red hair and beard as well as blue eyes. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was muscular and had massive arms. He was wearing heavy ring mail, covered by his furs and had a short, heavy sword tied to his waist. Thanks to his visions, Ned recognized him as Tormund Giantsbane, one of Mance Rayder’s most loyal and capable commanders. A great lover of food, drink and pretty women, but also a good warrior and a man who cared deeply about the well-being of his people. He was reminding Ned of Robert Baratheon. Of what Robert Baratheon used to be, at least.

The second man was tall and massive. He was bald and clean-shaved with grey eyes, a straight nose and scars all over his head. He too was dressed with furs and he was holding a massive double-edged battleaxe. Styr, Magnar of the Thenns.

The third man was short and had a knobby chin, thin mustache, brown eyes, joined eyebrows and pinched cheeks. He was wearing boiled skin for armor, decorated with…bones. And to the top of his head he was wearing a...humanoid skull. Could it be… a giant’s skull? Ned wasn’t sure. But he was sure about who this man was. The Lord of Bones, Rattleshirt as he was also known.

Finally, the woman. She was dressed in furs, she was of medium height and had brown hair, white skin and blue eyes. She was holding a spear in her left hand. That one was kind of difficult. She was…Karsi. One of the leaders at Hardhome.

With them, they were also several armed men and women. Nearly fifty in total. Armed with swords, spears, axes and bows.

Ned called for a stop at a close distant from the apparently receiving party. For a while, a tense silence took over. One spark. That was all it needed for a massacre to erupt.

Ned decided to break the silence. He reached out to his saddle bag and took out a loaf of bread and a skin of wine, before dismount from is horse and start approaching.

"Dad!" Robb moved to run after his father but Domeric held him back. Ned turned to look at his son. He smiled at him.

"It’s alright, Robb. It’s alright. I’ll be right back." He said before continue to approach.

"I didn’t know that we’ll playing the governess today." The Lord of Bones sneered when Ned came close enough.

"My son, like all the other children that are here today, have come to learn what it’s like to make peace, Lord of Bones. I am Eddard Stark. Son of Rickard Stark and Warden of the North. My people and I are here to speak with Mance Rayder, the King Beyond-the-Wall."

He then offered the bread and the wine.

"As a symbol of good faith," Ned added "I am offering you bread and wine. No harm or dishonor will come from me or my people as long as we are your guests."

"And why should we trust the word of a kneeler? You have no authority to make promises here, Eddard Stark, son of Rickard Stark and Warden of the North. You’re in our land now and your life is in our hands." The Lord of Bones growled. Trying to intimidate the Lord of Winterfell.

"Oh, shut your bear trap, you bone-fucker." Karsi interrupted. "Learn to appreciate a nice gesture. The man offers some respect. We should extend it back." She said as she was taking a chunk of bread and a gulp of wine.

"Nice wine." Karsi sighed in satisfaction. "And a handsome boy you have back there. My daughter is of similar age. Johnna her name is." Karsi said to Ned as she was giving the bread and the wine to Tormund.

"Do you love your boy, Eddard Stark?" She asked him.

"With all my heart." Ned answered without hesitation.

"No more than I love my girl. For their sake, let’s keep each other from doing anything stupid, okay?"

"You have my word. I’ll keep my people in check. And I know you’ll do the same with yours." In response, Karsi nodded.

The now united party made its way to the weirwood tree. There, Ned found a slender man of middling height, but with broader chest and taller than the Lord of Bones. He was roughly 40 years old. He had a sharp face, shrewd brown ryes and long brown hair. He was dressed in wool and leather, covering his ring mail armor. He was standing in front of a great tent, made out of the pelts of snow bears and topped with the antlers of a giant elk.

"Greetings, Mane Rayder. I am Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and I’ve come to speak with you. You asked for a parley so that we can settle our differences. So, here I am."

"And I welcome you, Warden of the North. Come, I had food and drink prepared for you. A small courtesy for the road you had to make in the cold." Rayder offered.
To their credit, none of the Northern Lords, or the Night’s Watch’s officers reacted to this discreet insult. They were told that the Free Folk will try to goad them into reaction. So, they aren’t going to give them the satisfaction.

They entered the tent. It was large and comforting. It had enough space for all those inside its furry walls. Hey sat in a circle as baked meat, salt and ale was given to them. They all ate in silence before Mance speak up again.

"I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Eddard Stark."

"Then it seems that my reputation precedes me."

"Indeed it does. Your people speak highly about a man who brought stability and prosperity from the Neck to the Wall. A man who serves his homeland and people well. Like a true leader."

"I do nothing but my duty to my people. As you do for yours."

"Aye. And soon you’ll know why I contacted you."

Mance then turned on two of his guards.

"Bring our finding inside, boys. And prepare yourselves for a good laugh. For I have a feeling that our new friends are defiantly going to shit themselves."

"Yes, Mance." One of the men said amused.

The two men returned a few minutes later with a tied and hooded body. The smell of decay immediately made the northern party frown in disgust.

"Wait for it. You’ve seen nothing yet. Unmask it." Mance commanded.

The guards immediately uncovered the body. What they revealed left everyone petrified and Robb, Jon and Theon covering themselves behind their father/uncle/host.
That wasn’t a person. Not anymore. It was a…a monster. Its face had decayed so much that the bones were visible. It had almost no hair at the top of its head. And finally its eyes. Dead blue eyes.

The creature screeched horribly and launched itself forward, trying to bite anyone near it. But its ties were strong. They held. Then it started screeching as it was pointing its head to the sky. Ned immediately launched himself forward and severed the creature’s head with a single swing of Ice.

"You fool! That was the only one we had!" Styr stood up axe in hand.

"You can always take another one, if you want to parade it to King’s Landing. We saw what it needed to be seen and I just saved us all." Ned said as he was putting Ice back to its scabbard.

"What do you mean when you say 'you saved us all,' you fucking cunt?" Rattleshirt asked.

"Did you hear its screeching? I read that that’s a wight’s way to contact its master, the White Walker who raised it from the dead. Pray to whatever god is out there its master was too far to hear it."

"But…how do you stop something that is already dead?" Jeor Mormont asked, still unable to believe what he just saw.

"You can destroy them by burning them. And also with these black knives." Mance Rayder said as he was showing to his guests one of the knives he was having on his belt.

"Can I see it?" Ned Stark asked.

"Here. Mance Rayder said as he was handing over the dagger ro the Lord of Winterfell. Ned examined it closely.

"It’s dragonglass." He said.

"So only fire, dragonglass and Valyrian steel can destroy these things?" Greatjon Umber asked.

"From what we know yes." Ned Stark concluded. He then turned towards Mance Rayder.

"Now I know why you want to lead your people South of the Wall. But where have they gathered?"

"To the Frostfang Mountains, northwest of the Shadow Tower. They’re waiting for my signal to mobilize."

"Good. Return to them, tell them that in a week’s time, ships will be waiting for them at Hardhome. They’ll transport them to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Once they cross the Wall and set foot on the undisputed lands of the Gift and New Gift, they’ll start building settlements."

"Aren’t these lands already occupied? I heard various Northern Houses and Mountain Clans already made themselves at home there." Mance Rayder countered.

"They are. To a considerable degree. But the land is so vast, that even with them, there’s still plenty of room for all the major tribes of the Free Folk."

Rattleshirt rose up furious.

"What makes you think that you can order us around, kneeler? These fools may don’t mind, but no southern fuck is going to tell me where I’ll go or where I’ll settle my tribe!" He roared as he charged with his bone club at hand. Ned just dodged the blow before grab Rattleshirt by the right arm and smash the pommel of his sword on Rattleshirt’s face. He then tossed his opponent to the ground. Rattleshirt didn’t move.

"Finish that cunt off, Stark!" Tormund roared while clapping amused.

"According to our laws, it is your right as the offended party." Karsi explained.
Ned looked at his unconscious opponent. He was truly tempted to kill him on the spot. But he decided against it.

"There’s no need for that. I have no need for a blood feud with his tribe. They’ll probably discard him on their own, once they found out that a kneeler defeated him so quickly and so easily."

"For a kneeler, you seem to know a lot about us, Eddard Stark. How’s that come to pass?" Styr asked.

Ned couldn’t of course tell them about the visions he was having. Those visions had shown him how Jon Snow was able to sway the Free Folk. But then again, he had Maester Luwin search for books regarding the various Free Folk tribes and their customs.

"My home’s library contains books that speak about your tribes and ways. So I studied them. And I have people who told me a lot about you, so I came prepared. On other things now, how many people do you have with you?"

"Nearly 100,000. Men, women and children, accompanied by giants and herds of aurochs, mammoths and muskoxen."

Ned thought of it. Giants. Aurochs, mammoths and muskoxen. He could transport the people with his ships but not the animals or their giant allies.

"Then I am afraid that you must send only the people to Hardhome. As for the giants and the animals, they’ll have to travel by land. Perhaps you and Tormund can take over that, while Karsi and Styr oversee the evacuation at Hardhome."

Mance nodded.

"How about your King? As far as I know, there’s a King Below the Wall. Is he going to accept us in his lands?" Mance asked as he was emphasizing with disgust the word 'his'.

"Argilac Baratheon is a diligent and just man. He knows what’s coming and he won’t let you become meat for the Night King’s army. As long as you don’t cause trouble and respect our laws, he will leave you be."

"The offer you’re speaking of is too good to be true. What do you seek in return, Eddard Stark?" Karsi asked.

"Only a few sensible things. First of all, no raiding, no unprovoked killing and no raping. You won’t have to kneel before the Iron Throne or swear fealty to our King, but since you’re going to live in the North, the laws of Westeros must be respected and obeyed."

"I see no reason to disagree with these terms. Raping is a heinous crime, committed by the lesser of us. We may steal our wives, but she has to give her consent to be stolen." Mance Rayder said. The other chieftains nodded their heads in agreement.

"And since we’re going to be living into the province you, Eddard Stark, manage and protect…it’s only sensible for you to expect from us to respect the laws. Keep your people from unnecessary provocation and harassment and I will make sure that my people respect and obey your laws."

"Secondly, until reinforcements come from the South to man the Night’s Watch’s castles, you will help in rebuilding and manning them."

"How amusing. Looks like we are going to be the Night’s Watch now." Tormund said in laughter.

"You’ll have us work together with the very people who kept on hunting us down and killing us for centuries? I would prefer to become a walking dead right now."

"Styr, if you don’t agree with what I am doing here, you are free to leave whenever you like. But your corpse will be the first I’ll kill once the Night King unleashes his horde on us. Not that I am going to meet up with a serious challenge. I’ve already bested you in combat three times in a row."

Styr clutched his great battleaxe tightly in his hands. But he lowered it in defeat. He knows that he can’t defeat Mance in personal combat. And he also knows what’s coming. The Thenns can’t stop it alone.

"What else, Eddard Stark?" Mance turned his attention to Ned once more.

"A trading deal. I recommend some of your best hunters to stay here. They will be able to travel back and forth the Wall at all times so that they can hunt and forage. What isn’t going for immediate use from your tribes shall be transported to Hardhome to be loaded onto ships and shipped of for selling. As for the profits, 90% of it shall be distributed to your tribes."

"I assume that the payment is going to be in coinage. I must warn you though, that we make our deals by exchanging goods. Not coin."

"I am aware of that. However, South of the Wall trading exchanges are conducted solely through coinage. Consider it a lesson on its usage. Fear not. I will make sure that you’ll have trustworthy people to teach you how it’s done. No brother or sister of mine is going to be swindled on my watch."

Mance and his lieutenants nodded satisfied. All goes well so far.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Two more things. Once the settlements South of the Wall are completed, Maesters are going to come to live with you. You will teach them how you treat your sick and wounded, as well as how to read and speak the Old Tongue. In return, they will teach you about Westerosi medical care and literacy, so that the Great Stories of the First Men can be forever remembered."

The Free Folk leaders looked at each other. Surely, they can do business with that man. He knows that the Free Folk has an oral tradition. An ineffective mean of passing down knowledge at best. And he now gives them the means to immortalize their traditions.

"And the last thing?"

"A person of importance must come with me to clear out the pieces of land on which your people are going to settle. I will not have innocent people from your tribes or the Northern citizens losing their lives due to blood feuds between squabbling tribes."

"A sensible argument. Tormund Giantsbane is the man you need, Eddard Stark. I would gladly assist you to this crucial task myself, but the giants will only listen to me. So I have to stay here. However, I will also need a person of your own to stay with us. A precaution for the risk of oathbreaking."

"Watch your tongue if you want to keep it, wildling! Our Lord is the most honorable man I know! When he gives an oath he keeps it at his peril!" Rickard Karstark growled as he made one threatening step forward. Ned stopped him with a firm hand on his right shoulder, before he could come any closer.

"And I don’t deny it." Mance answered, as he raised his hands in the air, ignoring the insult. "Your Warden strikes me as an honorable and just man. But my people don’t know that. They won’t see Tormund’s absence as a helping step, but an injustice. But if we level the playing field…that’s another story."

Ned breathed with relief. Rickard’s aggression didn’t ruin everything. Thank the Gods.

"Dad! Pick me! I am to be the next Warden of the North and you told me that a Warden must always shield his people from danger. And the Free Folk are our people!" Robb stepped forward. Earning himself looks of respect and admiration from the adults.

"No, Uncle Ned! Me! Pick me! Robb is more important than I’ll ever be!" Jon replied.

"The honor should be mine, my Lord! You’ve been more of a father to me than my blood father could ever be. Let me repay your generosity and kindness!" Theon pleaded.

Ned’s eyes watered at the sight. Three boys, so diligent, so eager to do what’s right for their people. Ned couldn’t be more proud than he was right now.

"My children…I have never been more proud to be your kin. But I can’t afford to risk your lives. Your mothers are going to have my pelt for a winter cloak if anything happens to you." Everyone laughed in camaraderie with that comment. Some even patted Karsi on the back. Everyone knew or at least had heard of a mother’s wrath when her child is in peril.

"Brother, let me do it. I already helped the North and the Vale Mountain Clans to adjust in living at the New Gift. The Free Folk shouldn’t be too difficult." Benjen said.

"Count me in then too, Benjen. It'll be just like the good old days." Tyrion said with a smirk.

"If that’s what you and Tyrion wish, Benjen, then I am trusting you." Ned said.

"Thank you, Ned." Benjen said in reply as he was clasping hands with his big brother.

Ned, Benjen and Tyrion then turned towards Mance.

"My brother, Benjen Seastark and my friend, Tyrion Lannister, shall stay with you as an assurance of our good behavior."

"It’s settled then." Mance said as he was clasping hands with Ned. He then lifted his drinking horn.

"Long live the Winter Alliance!"

"Long live the Winter Alliance!"

After the negotiations had ended, Ned was watching Robb, Jon and Theon running around and playing with some kids from the Free Folk party. Four boys and two girls. Tormund's three sons, Toregg, Torwynd and Dryn and another boy from their tribe. Ryk. As for the girls, the first one was Ygritte a 4 year old lass with a round face, crooked white teeth, small hands, and a pug nose. The most distinctive trait of her where her pretty blue-grey eyes and her thick, shaggy mop of curly bright red hair. The second girl was Johnna, Karsi's daughter. She was at Robb’s age and had long brown hair and blue eyes.

"Your boy seems to have an eye for picking friends, Stark." Ned sounded a female voice calling out from behind him. He turned around and saw Karsi looking at the children with the same affection he did.

"Yes. Your daughter seems like a gifted child."

"She is. She’ll make a fine chief one day." Karsi said as she was sitting beside the Lord of Winterfell.

"You raised him right, you know."

"It’s the least I owe him. To all my children. I know that your people view us as weak for following blood over merit. And they’re right. If a person is weak, coward or lazy, they have no right in leading, even if their parents ruled before them. That’s why someone must work to their best ability. To earn the respect and trust of their people."

Karsi looked impressed.

"I’ve met countless men in my life, Stark. But you seem like one of the best so far. I would gladly take you as my man. A father for my children."

Ned felt somewhat uncomfortable at this revelation.

"Well, I am flattered, Karsi but I already have a wife. And I love her."

Karsi roared in laughter and smacked the Lord of Winterfell on the back.

"Congratulations, Stark. You received the advances of a Free Folk woman and escaped with your manhood intact. Not many could claim such a feat." She said before bursting into laughter after seeing Ned’s embarrassed face.

"But seriously now. I lost my father, my uncle and two brothers to the damn crows. I’ll never trust them for that. But Mance Rayder seems to respect you. So I will do the same. If my King and you say that this is the way forward, that this is the best for all of us, then we’re with you." She rose up from her seat.

"I suppose that I’ll see you again at Hardhome. Mance decided to appoint me as its permanent chieftain."

'If my opinion counts on that matter, he did well. I can think of no better leader for that settlement than you. I know that your people and my people shall be treated fairly there." Ned said as he was extending his hand for a shake. Karsi obliged and clasped Ned’s forearm, just below the elbow. Some call it the Warrior Handshake. A sign of trust and respect.

"Children, come here." Ned gestured to the kids to approach. They obliged.

"We are about to head for Castle Black soon. This was your first touch with negotiations. What did you learn from it?"

All the children scratched their heads or turned their eyes away in thought. Robb was the first one to speak.

"Always say the truth to the other party. It’s essential for building trust."

Ned nodded in approval.

"And?" The Lord of Winterfell pressed on.

"Make sensible terms for both parties. This can ensure that the pact shall be followed quickly and willingly." Jon added. Earning himself an approving nod from his uncle.

"Theon?"

"Uhh…maybe don’t curse at the negotiation tables so much?"

Ned laughed at that.

"That can also be applied. Well done, my children. In the future, we’ll be having more meetings and negotiations. But today, you showed me that you care about our land and people. I am proud for all of you."

Chapter Text

Winterfell, 11/8/301 AC

Catelyn Stark was making her way to Winterfell’s Godswood. It wasn’t something she was doing happily. She never really liked that place. Too dark and primitive for her tastes. At least compared to the Godswood she grew up with at Riverrun. That one was a lighted, pleasant place where she could read or play with her little sister, Lysa Tully. Queen of Westeros for the last 19 years.
Almost two decades. It’s quite a long time. Catelyn never expected her life to change so much during that time. She never expected her home to change so much during that time. For Winterfell and the whole dominion of the North had grown both in population and development.

The cities-ports of Stony Shore and White Harbor were bringing in considerable coin and goods. At the same time, they were selling out the products of the North’s hard work and diligence: furs and wool from Houses Umber and Flint for clothing. Leather products from House Bolton. Lumber from Houses Karstark and Forrester for shipbuilding and furniture. Sugar made out of sugar beets from House Hornwood. Maple syrup from House Glover. Honey and honey mead from House Whitehill. Turkeys from House Dustin. Soap for cleaning from House Stark itself. The list went on and on. And after they had reached a trading agreement with Edmure, grain and other food products from both the North and the Riverlands were making their way to foreign markets.

Even ice was making itself to the south to be sold in Dorne and other hot places of Westeros. Ice cut from the ponds around Winterfell and from Bear Island, stored in crates full of straw and sawdust and transported through the White Knife River to White Harbor for export. The profits from this unique endeavor were spitted with Houses Manderly and Mormont getting 40% each and House Stark getting the rest. Dorne proved the most eager buyer and in return, it was more than happy to pay for such a valuable product with Dornish made glass for the construction of glasshouses. Glasshouses that guaranteed crop rising even during the harshest winters.

Furthermore, the North started exporting its own boozes, produced by its very own crops. By the Seven, that proven to be a great idea. Vodka from boiled, mashed potatoes and whiskey from barley. At first, that idea sounded ridiculous but it proved…ingenious. And quite profitable for House Tallhart, who came up with this idea. The people of the North were feeling warmer by consuming these drinks. However, since both boozes are far stronger than ale or wine, their consumption must be done with more caution. On the bright side, the people of the Iron Islands, the Stormlands, even the Northerners in the royal court proved themselves eager buyers.

Even mercenaries were exported via the Company of Rose, mostly at Lys to be used in its squabbles with Myr and Tyrosh over the Disputed Lands. And it is through the profits from such profitable trading, as well as from the taxes of prosperous, content vassals, that Catelyn is currently married to one of the wealthiest and most respected men in Westeros. Only three people can surpass him: Jaime Lannister, who succeeded Lord Tywin Lannister 12 years ago and controls the largest gold and silver mines in the realm. Mace Tyrell who controls the kingdom’s breadbasket. And of course King Argilac Baratheon.

Ned had accomplished a lot so far in his tenure as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. And he was far from over. Per his recommendation, all the Lords and Ladies of Westeros started sending their criminals to man the Wall. At first, such a proposal was scorned at. It took the King’s personal command and Ned starting paying for the journey, to make the Lords and Ladies of the South comply.

Now, all nineteen of the Night’s Watch castles are properly manned and their garrisons well provisioned, thanks to the plentiful harvests at the lands of Gift and the New Gift. Catelyn still couldn’t believe the story her husband, son, nephew and wards had told her when they returned from Beyond the Wall. But if it was indeed true, then Ned did well in his efforts to rebuild the Realm’s first line of defense.

The roads Tyrion Lannister had so diligently built 12 years ago had expanded and were paved with stone and cement, a compound the Small Lion himself had cooked up in collaboration with Houses Grafton and Arryn, during his stay in the Vale. Making the roads even more durable. And when needed, the roads were getting regular repairs and proper protection from bandits. Their main protector, the standing Northern Army. 60,000 strong and staffed by the sons of nobles, as well as prodigious commoners. Lord Willam Dustin is its Commander-in-chief at peacetime and always makes sure that the Northern Army patrols the roads regularly. He had also established camps in close proximity of the roads and inns, for quick mobilization at the outbreak of a threat.

In fact, the North’s morphology changed so much during the last two decades that Tyrion had to come back here and redesign the old maps that were describing this region. Where large, empty or sparsely populated spaces once dominated the field, now villages, towns and keeps had taken their place. All of them filled with hardworking people, all devoted to the Quiet Wolf of Winterfell who had given them a new life and saved them from the Great Others or from poverty.

As for her children, nephews and nieces, Catelyn was feeling nothing less but proud and grateful. All of them had grown or were growing into the ethical, diligent people, as well as the proper Lords and Ladies they should be. Robb is 19 years old and well on his way to become a promising Lord of Winterfell in his own right. Charming, honest, reliable, hard-working and a proven battle-tested commander. Trained in combat by Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Rodrik Cassel and schooled in the art of war by his own father, a renowned general during Robert’s Rebellion, he proved his own mettle during the annual war games Ned and Lord Dustin call and in hunts of bandits. Only his political insight, at least when compared to those living in the South, could use some work. But it’s nothing that time and proper tutelage can’t improve. At the beginning of this year, Robb also made his own contribution to the continuation of the Stark line. He married Lady Wynafryd Manderly, the girl he was betrothed to ever since he was 16. The ceremony took place on the sept of White Harbor the same day the Stark ward, Theon Greyjoy, married Wynafryd’s sister, Wylla and assumed duties as Consort of the Heiress to White Harbor. And as a further means of integration, both Manderly sisters joined their new husbands in marriage ceremonies in the eyes of the Old Gods and the Drowned God respectively. And what’s even better, both Wynafryd and Wylla are 2 months pregnant each. In 7 months, Catelyn will become a grandmother! And to be honest, she can’t wait for the rest of her children to become parents as well.

Leila. Robb’s twin. Catelyn’s first northern rose. Always friendly, helpful and dedicated to family, duty and honor. A girl gifted in the arts of healing. Where Catelyn was sewing for clothing, Leila was helping Maester Luwin and Septa Gwin in stitching wounds and mending broken bones. And all of that before she got to learn how to make medicines and start helping in surgeries. She had left Winterfell a year ago to settle at Dreadfort with her husband, Domeric Bolton. There, she made a name for herself, by helping her husband reorganize the medical care in his lands and establish three new fishing villages along the Weeping Water, the main river near Dreadfort, as well as managing their household. The main Bolton vassals, such as the Ryswells, the Whitehills and the Hornwoods, have nothing but praise to say for the hospitality, care and intelligence of Lady Bolton. And these news, the fact that her daughter is so successful, so useful, so happy with her life, are making Catelyn’s heart swell with love and pride.

Then, there was Sansa. Her 17 year old little Lady. Catelyn’s favorite child, if the Lady of Winterfell wanted to be honest with herself.
Of all the Stark children, Sansa ended up resembling her mother the most, in both looks and mannerisms. She loves every inch of looking and acting like a proper Lady and grace comes to her as easily as breathing. From a young age, she excelled at music, poetry, singing, dancing and embroidery. But most importantly, she has a keen mind and a passionate devotion to the North and its affairs. A perfect steward and an astute diplomat, schooled in the art of statecraft by her father. Always willing and able to settle disputes and find fair solutions that will benefit everyone. So good at managing things, so fiercely protective of her younger siblings and at the same time so firm at keeping them in line, that Arya, Bran and Rickon had made a habit of calling her “the Governess”.

Catelyn couldn’t have hoped for a better assistant in managing Winterfell, than Sansa. And while not a born warrior like her brothers and cousins, at the insistance of her father, Sansa received a solid training at the usage of bow and dagger. She has learnt how to hunt and how to protect herself. She will certainly grow up to be a woman of influence and distinction. And when the time and the proper husband come, she will also make a fine Lady and a great mother. Marriage proposals were already coming for her hand by the dozens.

Which brought Catelyn’s thoughts to Arya. Her 15 year old she-wolf. Arya is everything Sansa is not. Where Sansa is a spitting image of her mother, Arya resembles her father. Ned claims that Arya looks more like her late aunt, Lyanna, but everyone agrees is that of all the Stark children, the line’s features are at their most visible in Arya. Where Sansa blossoms in the spotlight, Arya avoids it like plague. Where Sansa is cautious and diplomatic, Arya is impulsive and blunt. Where Sansa keeps herself away from fights, unless absolute need, Arya acts as if she chases after them. Her desire to keep her family and friends safe always gets her into trouble. And where Sansa did struggle to learn the martial arts, Arya excelled at them. Queen Visenya Targaryen and Princess Nymeria were her role-models ever since childhood. Women-warriors and direct rulers of their regions.

Catelyn loves her youngest daughter. Of course she does. Arya is loyal, dutiful, protective and decisive. A she-wolf guarding her pack. But while these qualities serve her well as a Stark, her other traits, such as bluntness, impulsivity, dogmatism and heedlessness certainly do not. Somehow, Catelyn and Ned have to help Arya start thinking more rationally.

Thankfully, her 14 year old son, Bran, had taken after his father in looks and his uncle, Edmure in manners. Bran loves going in adventures and climbing, to his mother’s great dread. He is cheerful, but serious when the situation calls for it. From an early age, he was taken under priest Styr’s wing. He was taught by him everything there was to know about the Old Gods. Sadly for Catelyn, Bran will soon depart for Moat Cailin to start training as its future Lord. And to start spending more time with his betrothed. Meera Reed, the oldest child of Howland Reed. The two kids were getting along well when they were together during feasts and other formal occasions. With some luck, they won’t have any problems in the future.

Finally, Rickon. Her 10 year old son. A Wild Wolf. Just like his late uncle, Brandon. The short, red-haired boy is a ferocious little beast in the training yard. If he can learn how to utilize this energy, this drive properly, he can be dangerous. A better fighter than everyone Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Rodrick Cassel had ever tutored. With some proper training and more experience, Catelyn is sure that Rickon will grow to be a proper Lord. Ned is already planning on giving him lands and a castle at New Gift, and the general oversight of all the newly emerged settlements and keeps there. With Lyanna Mormont as a wife. Of course, the marriage shall be conducted in at least 8 years time. Plenty of time for both of them to grow, mature and get to know each other.

At first, Catelyn was hesitant at the mere thought that her son would be in the close company of the Free Folk. But after seeing just how attached Rickon had grown to these people, especially with a speawife from North of the Wall, Osha, volunteering to be his cartaker ever since he was born, she relented. If amongst her children, there's one who can help her husband and later on Robb look after the Free Folk better, it'd be Rickon.

As for Catelyn's nephew and niece, Helena had grown into a real beauty, both inside and out. Just like her mother, Lady Ashara Dayne who was currently at King’s Landing. Wed to the King’s Master of Whisperers, Howland Reed. Mother to two children: Meera and Jojen Reed.

The 19 year old had grown tall, had dark hair and haunting violet eyes. Whenever she dared to look her niece in the eyes, Catelyn was feeling Helena piercing her very soul with her stare. A year ago, she settled at Queenscrown with her husband, Torrhen Karstatk. She’s now the first Lady of House Queenscrown. A fitting position for her.
Jon. Her diligent, brooding nephew. Catelyn had always treated him as if he was her own child. And the lad had grown into a fine young man. He too had the Stark’s long face, dark brown hair and grey eyes. Thank the Gods that he took after his mother, Lyanna and not his father, Rhaegar. This lucky coincidence had made the story of Jon being Brandon Stark’s son believable.

Jon had always been guarded and solemn. Sullen and quick to realize a slight, directed towards either him or others. For what Catelyn had heard from Lysa, those were the dominant traits in the personality of Lord Stannis Baratheon. And as much as Catelyn would have preferred her children to have as little in common with that notoriously fierce and blunt man as possible, she couldn’t deny that the similarity between Jon and his distant uncle was visible. Jon had always been observant, intelligent and riding as well as fighting came to him naturally. In fact, he is Ser Arthur Dayne’s favorite pupil and his personal squire. And because of that, he is the best fighter in Winterfell of his generation, surpassing even the latest Stark ward and Ser Arthur's own nephew, Edric Dayne. Even though other younglings, like Robb, Theon, the Smalljon and Domeric pose a serious challenge to that title.

To Catelyn’s liking, Jon had always been more than happy to share his knowledge and experience with his cousins and friends, as well as the rest of Winterfell’s soldiers. Jon also acts as the group's moral guard. For example, he and Domeric always tried their best to keep Robb, Theon and the other male wards of Winterfell, away from inns and brothels. Catelyn was certain that such resolve had to do with Jon’s status. Even though showered with love, care and acceptance, even with serious aspects for a proper name, lands and titles of his own, Jon was still thinking of himself a bastard and the mere thought that he or one of his friends and family could sire a child out of wedlock and condemn it into a life of misery, was enough to make him steer away from interactions with women. Enough to make him try keep his friends away from them as well.
These thoughts were causing great sadness to Catelyn. She hated that they had to tell Jon lies about his parentage. But then again, what else could they do? Even though Argilac, for all his flaws, wouldn’t harm Jon, the Lannisters wouldn’t have been so inclined to leave him be. And if not for them, the Houses that supported the Targaryens during Robert’s Rebellion would jump at the opportunity to put one puppet-King on the Iron Throne. No. Nobody else must know Jon’s true identity. Not even him. Sure, he’s not an ambitious person, but if he finds out and confides it to someone he thinks close to him, who knows where this information is going to end up?

On other fronts, Jon had thrown himself in his studies of statecraft, strategy and history. Even more so in the art of blacksmith under the mentorship of Mikken. Winterfell’s soldiers and guards had nothing but praise for the swords, shields and daggers Jon makes. But the fact that it was through Orys Baratheon’s advice, that Jon decided to follow that path that was putting Catelyn in alert. 9 years ago, Lord Orys had visited the Wall, alongside His Grace, Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon and his own son, Aemon. After the inspection, they had stopped to Winterfell, before heading back to King’s Landing. Orys paid close attention to all of the Stark children, but it was like he had deliberately sought out Jon. Before suggesting to him about learning the ways of the smith as well as those of the lord and the warrior. Why would Orys want Jon to be a blacksmith? What does he plan?

Finally, the Lady of Winterfell made it to Winterfell’s Godswood, getting this chain of thoughts out of her head. She then saw Torrhen and Lyarra. More accurately, Torrhen and Lyarra felt her before she came into view. Torrhen and Lyarra were two of her husband’s oddities. Two years ago, Ned, Benjen, Robb, Jon, Theon and Bran went on a hunt in the Wolfswood. There, they found two pairs of direwolves. Ned kept one pair and gave the other one to his brother. That fact alone was history on the making. Direwolves haven’t been seen South of the Wall for two centuries. Much like cave lions, sabertooth-cats and short-faced bears, they were either hunted into extinction by hunters and farmers, or they were forced to flee north. But now, all of these magnificent beasts have reclaimed their lost home, following the Free Folk clans on their march south, attracted to the herds of reindeer, mammoths, mastodons, yaks, muskoxen and aurochs that these new settlers reintroduced to the Northern landscape.

The two wolves that made Winterfell their new home were named Torrhen and Lyarra. Ned wanted to honor the last Stark King and his late mother.
"They have the same eyes." Catelyn recalled Ned telling her, when she asked him about the name.
"They will give birth to at least six pups. Grey Wind, Ghost, Lady, Nymeria, Summer and Shaggy Dog. Each pup will be a companion and protector for each of our children."

Two weeks after their arrival to Winterfell, Ned's prediction came true: Lyarra gave birth to nine pups. One for each of the Stark children, Helena, Jon and Theon Greyjoy. Six of them received the names Ned had predicted. Robb named his wolf pup Grey Wind and Sansa named hers Lady. As for the pups of Arya, Bran, Rickon and Jon, they were named Nymeria, Summer, Shaggy Dog and Ghost. As for the pups Leila, Helena and Theon took, they were named Adalwolfa, Amaruq and Beowulf respectively. By the Seven, these pups became the family’s delight. They hunted together, they played together and the children simply enjoyed spending hours playing with them, grooming them, as well as training them in tracking and fighting.

Edric was a bit upset over the fact that he didn't get to have a direwolf pup of his own, but the constant inclusion the Stark children and their pups offered him in their games was enough to lift his spirits.

Ned and Torrhen had formed a close bond. The large grey direwolf was following the Warden of the North everywhere. He was heeding his every command and whenever a vassal was coming to Winterfell or was receiving Ned in his halls, Torrhen was pinning his large yellow eyes on him/her, as if he was reading him/her. Judging if this man/woman was trustworthy. As for Catelyn and Lyarra, they weren’t able to bond in such a fashion, but at least, they enjoy each other’s company and they both are the same thing: mothers who do their best to keep their families safe. Each of them could respect the other’s drive. Lyarra approached Catelyn and sniffed her hand. Catelyn allowed herself to be inspected, before scratching between the wolf’s ears. Torrhen gave her an approving look before reassume his place beside his friend. Here he was. Ned was right at the center of the Godswood. He was sitting in a large moss-covered stone in front of the heartree, cleaning his sword.

"Ned." The Lady of Winterfell called out to her husband. Ned lifted his head and smiled at her. All these years, he had done everything he could to make her love him. It was like…he had always known what she likes, what she dislikes, how she sees things and people. And it worked. Catelyn grew to love that man with all her heart. She just couldn’t imagine a different life for herself. Another home, another man…

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here."

Ned chuckled.

"You have five northern children, two northern nieces and two northern nephews. You worked for the betterment of the North as diligently as I did. Everyone sings praises for the hospitality, generosity, kindness and intelligence of the Southern She-Wolf. You’re not an outsider." The Lord of Winterfell reassured his wife.

"It’s your Gods who have all the rules." Ned said in an attempt to joke.
"Tell me. What is been troubling you, my love?"

That thing was another of her husband’s oddities. It was like he could read her like an open book. It’s like Catelyn can’t keep secrets from Ned. Sometimes that makes her feel like a child next to its parent.

"A raven came from King’s Landing. It’s from Lysa."
"Is she well? Did something happen to her, His Grace or their children?" Ned asked.

"They’re all healthy. The 17 year old Hoster is helping his parents in the state administration. Minisa is progressing well as the future Lady of the Eyrie and wife of Ser Jasper Arryn. Lord Arryn’s nephew and Ser Denys’ heir. They’re expecting their first child in 7 months. As for the 15 year old Cassana, 2 months ago she got engaged to the 17 year old Ser Dickon Tarly, second-born son of Randyll Tarly. Finally, Crown Prince Steffon and his cousin, Aemon, have sailed for the Wall a month ago. They’re to deliver supplies and men to the Night’s Watch. And Lord Tyrion is accompanying them."

"Are they going to leave by ship again?"

"No. After they deliver the cargo to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, they will ride for Winterfell. They want to see us and deliver a personal message from His Grace."

Ned frowned. Two of his nephews coming to Winterfell. One of them being the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Argilac must be putting a great amount of meaning into this gesture. After all, by the time Steffon and Aemon will make it to Winterfell, it will be time for the year’s Harvest Feast. A coincidence barely seemed plausible.

"Your father?"

On that question Catelyn’s eyes were saddened.

"He...he’s not well, Ned. Lysa is saying that he’s sick. For quite some time actually. Something has been torturing him for years, per what Lysa wrote me. He grows weaker and weaker. He doesn’t eat much and he has started confining himself in his chambers."

"Those are indeed troubling news. Lord Hoster is a good and fair man. I know that you must be upset right now." Ned said as he rose from his stone to hug his wife.
Catelyn sniffed at her husband’s embrace. Lyarra and Torrhen came by to rub their heads on her hands in an attempt to comfort her.
"Perhaps Steffon and Aemon will have more details to tell us. Perhaps there’s still time for a cure to be found." Ned told his wife in an attempt to comfort her.

Catelyn simply tightened the embrace as she nodded.
"We can go visit him if you like. Robb is old and experienced enough to run the North on his own and he has competent and loyal people to advise him. He’ll be fine."

Catelyn looked at Ned with watery eyes. She nodded her head. She then kissed him tenderly.

"Thank you. For being in my life."

Ned cupped her face in his hands. He mopped her tears away.

"No. Thank you for being in my life."

Chapter Text

Winterfell, 9/9/301 AC

Wynafryd and Sansa Stark were seen in the Great Hall, overseeing the last preparations for the impending visit of the royal party, whilst Lady Catelyn was standing in the distance, overseeing and evaluating their performance.

"We need to make sure to have placed enough candles in Lord Tyrion’s chamber. He tends to read all night." Wynafryd Stark said. The brown-haired young Lady was still a bit uncomfortable with stepping in Lady Catelyn’s shoes, but the Stark matriarch was only a few steps away in order to provide support. This was only a training exercise.

"We sure did, Wynafryd. I personally saw to it that Uncle Tyrion will have everything he needs." Sansa answered.

Catelyn frowned a little to her daughter’s remark. She didn’t like it much that her children view the Lannisters as kin. Then again, Tyrion lived at Winterfell for years and he was indeed a smart, kind and loyal person that all of the Starks grew very fond of. The North benefited a lot thanks to his ingenuity and proper council. And for Jaime Lannister, he proved his valor as a true knight and was serving his people well and loyally. Catelyn could respect that at least.

"Yes, Sansa. I know you would. You are his favorite pupil, after all." The Lady of Winterfell replied with a smile. Sansa smiled back. During his visits to Winterfell, Tyrion got to teach the Stark children about Court Intrigue and Politics. Sansa grew to be his most gifted pupil. The lessons her uncle, mother and father had given her taught her that the world isn’t the nice place the songs and fairytales were describing. Instead, the world is a place full off lies, treachery, ambition and selfishness. Either you learn to how to protect yourself and your loved ones or you just sit by and let your opponents trample you. And Sansa was determined to never let anyone trample the Starks or the North ever again.

At the same time Robb, Theon, Jon, Edric and Bran were getting themselves trimmed. Robb was really glad to see his best friend, Theon, once more, as the 22 year old Greyjoy had gotten himself firmly settled at White Harbor with his wife Wylla, after their marriage. Granted, Theon and Wylla would be paying Winterfell regular visits for the annual Harvest feast or for other important occasions. But Robb was still missing the old times, when he, Theon, Jon, Domeric and the others were just running around Winterfell without a single care in the world. Getting in Gods know what kind of mischief, riding, hunting, and fighting.

"Ouch!" Bran’s cry broke Robb from his memories. Time to focus on the present once more.
"Will shaving’s going to hurt so much from now on?" Bran asked. It was the first time he ever got to shave and he had just cut himself above the upper lip.

"If you had bothered to stay still, that wouldn’t have happened." Robb scolded his younger brother. He never had much of an issue on that matter. He had adopted a well-trimmed beard as his personal facial style, like his dad and uncle Benjen. Not even Theon and Jon could understand Bran’s predicament, since they had taken years of practice in clean-shaving.

"Why is Aunt Catelyn so adamant in getting us pretty for the Princes?" Jon asked.

"You know how Lady Stark is, Jon. She will follow protocol, even on death’s threat." Theon said. "You must be happy that you’ll get to see your cousins again." The young Greyjoy continued.

"Aye. It’s been 9 years since I last saw Steffon and Aemon. We kept correspondence, but it’s not the same." Robb said.

This, indeed wasn’t the first time Crown Prince Steffon and Prince Aemon had visited Winterfell. 9 years ago, they, King Argilac and Lord Orys Baratheon had come to the North, so that they can inspect the Wall and see to the Northerner’s issues. Robb had liked his cousins from the start. They were friendly, well-mannered and they knew how to wield a sword quite well for their age. Then again, they were training under Ser Barristan Selmy the Bold. A man who is considered the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps only second to Ser Arthur Dayne. Robb could hardly wait to see his cousin and get himself a rematch.

"Last I heard, Steffon and Aemon have made quite a name for themselves during these last 9 years. They truly sound like the kind of Princes people would love to follow." Jon said.

"Yes. I heard they were put into Council meetings ever since he was 10. Just like all of their siblings and cousins. Steffon also conducted the battle plans on which the conquest of the Stepstones was based upon." Edric Dayne said.

"That operation took place a year ago. And I remember that you had asked permission to join your father and uncles, Theon." Bran said.

"Aye. Good thing I did, it was a brutal fight. But the results speak for themselves. Now, the Stepstones are once again firm Westerosi property. Under the fit management of House Greyjoy of course." Theon said smugly, causing Jon to roll his eyes in amusement, before Robb smacks Theon’s right arm playfully.

"My only regret is that neither me nor Robb could be with our Princes and see them in action. Luckily for you, pups, I asked around. They were absolute beasts in combat. I don’t know what Selmy has taught them, but what I heard makes me wonder how they’ve turned out now that they have more experience." Theon concluded.

"We’ll have to see. I look forward in testing our cousins’ strength in the training yard." Robb said.

"We’ll have our chance. Friendly sparring is a common practice during the Harvest Feasts." Jon said, not less eager.

"Indeed, Jon. But for now…Tommy, go on. See to our Jon’s hair. He’s never met a girl he likes better than his own hair." Robb teased his cousin as he was turning him over to the barber.

By the Gods, Winterfell was indeed something to behold! Sure it may lack in grace, even after the renovation Lady Catelyn had oversaw, but only the Eyrie, Storm’s End and Casterly Rock could rival it in size and defenses. Two massive series of granite walls were protecting the Stark stronghold. And from up close, the walls seemed even taller and thicker when compared to what Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon had read in his history lessons. He could even see the Broken Tower restored to its former brilliance.

As for Winter Town, the city located at Winterfell’s main gatehouse, was bustling with traders, craftsmen and customers. Goods from all over the North were gathered here for selling or to be sent down the White Knife River to White Harbor for exporting. And as a testament to Uncle Ned’s reforms, Winter Town was now a city that was receiving visitors, traders and customers all year-round, instead of just during the summer.

"Gods, we’re finally here!" Prince Aemon Baratheon, son of Orys Baratheon and Cersei Lannister groaned.
"How do these fuckers even live here? How don’t get their ears or their balls frozen off?"

"Are you feeling cold during this sweet summer day, beloved nephew? Wait until winter comes." Tyrion Lannister said amused.

"I assume you know better than us, uncle. After all, you spent so much time in the North that you seem like a Northerner in the make." Aemon teased back.

"Yes. It’s been a remarkable duration here. 3 years so that I can update the maps of the North. I went to every corner of this region. I can say with certainty that apart from the most good looking and well educated, I am also the best-travelled dwarf in the world." Tyrion declared proudly.

Steffon and Aemon rolled their eyes amused. Their uncle, Tyrion, always had a way to boast about his accomplishments. But he had indeed some truly remarkable accomplishments under his belt: his sewers, his soap, his concrete, his negotiation skills. The very saddle he was sitting on was his own invention: one that was allowing the rider to command their horse without the usage of his/her legs. It’s a revolutionary invention: with it, even people who happened to born without the ability to use their legs, or happened to lose said ability, could now ride horses and even receive training in mounted warfare. Even dwarves could benefit from this saddle. Of course, for the trick to work, you need a horse that was never trained in heeding commands through its rider’s legs, but that’s something that can be arranged.

"You must feel quite proud for having to deal with these people, uncle. They do strike out as ferocious." Aemon said in reference to the Vale Mountain Clans, settled in the lands of the New Gift.

"Ferocious you say, nephew? Oh, I'll tell you ferocious: once we had them pilled on the boats to bring them here, a Moon Brother stabbed a Stone Crow over a sausage. Three Stone Crows seized the Moon Brother and opened his throat. Benjen managed to keep Shagga from chopping off the dead man’s cock, which was fortunate, but even still, Ulf demanded blood money which Shagga refused to pay. It was indeed a very…entertaining voyage."

"And sure you have many other stories just as exciting. But let us concentrate on the task at hand." Crown Prince Steffon said, bringing the group back to the present.

The gate of Winterfell was lifted so that the royal party consisting of the two royal cousins, their Lannister uncle, Ser Barristan Selmy the Bold and twenty guards to enter the castle. At the courtyard, Steffon could see the Stark family lined up to greet them. Behind them, their vassals and their courtiers. The two lads descended on the ground gracefully and helped their uncle dismount as well. Then, they approached the Starks who had knelt as a gesture of respect. Steffon stood above Lord Eddard Stark and gestured with his hand for him to get up.

"Your Highness." Lord Eddard greeted respectfully.

"Lord Stark. It’s an honor to be in your castle and a great joy to be among family." Steffon greeted his host and uncle with a handshake.
"I swear that for as long as my party stays at Winterfell, no dishonor shall befall House Stark."

Lord Eddard nodded satisfied to hear that his nephew remembers his manners. Steffon then proceeded to greet his aunt, Lady Catelyn, who stood at her husband’s left.

"Lady Catelyn. It’s been 9 years, but it seems that not a single day has passed over you. It’s a pleasure to see you again."

"And I am glad to see you too, my Prince. You’re looking well." Lady Catelyn said with a smile, before she hugs her nephew.

Steffon hugged back. Close contact with family was something that always brought him great joy and comfort. He was glad to see his relatives. He then left Aemon greet Lord and Lady Stark as he was making his way to the Stark children. His first stop was Robb on his father’s right.

"It’s been a while, Robb. But I am glad to see you again."

"Me too, Cousin. Me too." Robb replied as he was exchanging a handshake with the Crown Prince.

"Nice grip you’ve got there. I see you’ve been training. Is that right?"

"You bet I did."

"Then we must test that strength in the training yard. I believe a sparring match is in order..." The Crown Prince said pleased as he was letting go of Robb’s hand.

"I am sure you’ll have the opportunity to test your mettle during the tournament during the upcoming Harvest Feast. You and Cousin Aemon are of course more than welcome to participate."

Steffon nodded satisfied. He then moved to Sansa. He kissed her hand, as a gesture of respect.

"Lady Sansa. You’re looking more and more like your mother. I hope that you haven’t forgotten your Northern heritage though."

Sansa smiled, flattered at the Prince’s compliment. She looked at her mother and smiled again. She always considered it a compliment to be compared to her. And then she stared at her cousin with a burning passion.

"Never."

Glad with what he heard, Steffon made his way to Arya.

"Arya. Looks like you’re well on your way in becoming a proper She-Wolf. Just like Aunt Lyanna."

Instead of smiling at this casual and friendly remark, as Steffon was expecting, Arya’s face frowned with suspicion.

"How do you know about my aunt, Lyanna? And why do you call her 'Aunt Lyanna'? She wasn’t your aunt."

"Arya. Steffon was just trying to be friendly." Sansa tried to intervene, hoping that to calm her sister down, before the matter gets out of hand. But Arya was having none of it.

"Well nobody asked him to! He can throw his Southern fake smiles and friendly gestures to someone who actually buys that crap!"

Steffon frowned. He never liked being disrespected and he wasn't going to let that slight go unpunished.

"it’s something called correspondence, girl." He said in a more frigid tone. "Our parents have been writing to each other for years. Also, both my mother and uncle Orys had met Lyanna. So, stop laying charges at things you don’t understand."

Arya didn’t respond. She just stared at Steffon with a hostility she was barely trying to disguise. Steffon and Robert didn’t waste any more time on her. They greeted their other two cousins Bran and Rickon and then moved on back to Lord and Lady Stark. His friendly approach was gone from his features. Now, he was talking as a Prince.

"I bring a message from the King, Lord Stark." He said formally.

"Then let us go to my solar so that we can discuss it." Lord Eddard offered.

Steffon and Aemon sat on the opposite side of their uncle and aunt. Now, both Ned and Catelyn could see their nephews better. At the age of 19, Steffon was tall, clean-shaved, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. He had his father’s black hair and sky blue eyes. His Baratheon origin was also visible by the golden crowned stag that had been drew on the black breastplate of his armor. Catelyn, however, could also see her sister in her nephew. He had her courtly manners and her kind smile, who was reaching his eyes the exact same way it was reaching Lysa’s.

By the looks of it and from what she’s been hearing, Steffon has certainly grown into a fine man. Catelyn was still remembering the day a 10 year old Steffon, his father, Lord Orys and his son visited the North during one of their peregrinations. Much like Robb, Catelyn and Ned liked the boy almost instantly. Steffon knew his manners, he was getting along well with all of his cousins and he was fairly interested in the North and its issues. He and Robb were always close to their fathers whenever they were discussing something of the sort. Because of that, as well as the liking Steffon had taken specifically on Robb, the two boys had started a correspondence once Steffon and his family returned to King’s Landing. Now, as a man grown, Steffon was looking like an accomplished warrior. Years of fighting and drilling soldiers had made Ned keen on calculating a person’s martial prowess. Then again, Ser Barristan Selmy the Bold had been Steffon’s personal teacher and had knighted him, at the age of 18. After he had earned his spurs by proving his skill and valor in the conquest of the Stepstones.

As for Aemon, at 17, he was still far from the man the famous Targaryen Crown Prince had been. But he was handsome, fit and was carrying himself with confidence. While the Starks didn’t know him as well as they did Steffon and were more reserved around him, due to the uneasiness they had around his father, he did look like a good, promising lad. Of almost the same renown as the Crown Prince himself.

"My sister certainly made sure to keep us updated on your development and accomplishments, boys." Catelyn said to her nephews.

"Well, I certainly hope that Her Grace had only good things to say." Aemon said with a small laugh. Earning himself a chuckle from Catelyn.

"Certainly." The Stark matriarch said, now more at ease around the lad.
"She was delighted when you had started attending Council meetings when each of you and your siblings/cousins had turned 10. But certainly you gave her the scare of her life when His Grace took you in the Conquest of the Stepstones. I certainly had mine when Ned joined the war effort with 35,000 men, Robb and Jon."

"I won’t lie to you, Aunt Catelyn. It was a brutal fight." Steffon said. "But it was something that had to be done. The Tyroshi slavers were a real thorn to our side. Even though the Royal Navy under Uncle Stannis pushed them back time and time again, even after the clearings that were made there over the years, the pirates and the slavers just kept on returning. Well, the final straw had been spilled after Tyrosh refused to aid in the clearing. Seeing that Tyrosh is not going to help, His Grace decided to take matters into his own hands. Westeros would annex the Stepstones and set a permanent naval base there to act as a lookout for pirates and slavers. The pirates fought bravely. I’ll give them that. But they were unorganized, unfocused and outnumbered. Eventually, the Stepstones were clenched and the pirates, as well as the slavers who survived the battle and got captured, were sent to the Wall."

"And it was your plan based on which these operations were conducted." Ned said. He had seen the lad in action in the war council. How thoroughly and assertively he was explaining his plans, answering questions or offering solutions. King Argilac had indeed raise his heir well.

"Yes. His Grace honored me with his trust, by commanding me to conduct the battle plans. Taking inspiration from Uncle Stannis’ attack on Dragonstone 19 years ago, I had the fleet surround the islands during the night, while keeping the ships hidden from the watchmen on the shore. I waited until dawn and then I launched an attack that got the defenders completely by surprise. Tyrosh protested heavily against the annexation but the results speak for themselves.
Now, the Stepstones are firm Westerosi property. And as a reward for their contribution, the Stepstones were given to the Ironborn. Aeron Greyjoy was given Bloodstone as his own feud and he was appointed their liege lord. With Maron Greyjoy becoming the region’s head treasurer. Finally, a permanent base for the Royal Navy has been built there to ensure the safety of the various ships that come through that passage."

"You seem…proud for your accomplishments, lad." Ned said with a neutral voice.

"Content would be a more accurate word to describe my current emotional state, uncle. After all, His Grace honored me by asking me to arrange the status quo of the newly added domain. And afterwards, he didn’t deem it necessary to correct anything. That tells me that the lessons he and my other tutors were so generous to offer me were put to good use and in the service of the Realm and its people." Steffon replied in a humble tone.

Ned and Catelyn exchanged a glance. Both of them had a spark of pride in their eyes. They were now certain that the Crown Prince of Westeros was raised properly and that if he keeps walking this path, Westeros will be in good hands once he ascends to the Iron Throne.

"Well, that was indeed a fine display of the Westerosi might. But for now, as much as dwelling on past glories is good for the heart, I think it’s time we concentrate on the present. I’d like to ask you to forgive Arya. She’s a little too attached to whatever she thinks hers and views intruders with hostility." Catelyn said, regarding the incident in the yard.

Aemon snorted in laughter.

"Fear nothing of it, Aunt Catelyn. Your daughter is not that much different from my Lady Mother, Lady Cersei. She’s a real lioness guarding her pride. If she doesn’t feel like you belong here, she’ll kill you with nothing more than her staring."

"How did you find the situation at the Wall?" Ned asked.

"Supplies and men keep on coming regularly. From what Lord Commander Mormont has told us, the Wall is once more to its glory days. All of its nineteen castles stand in good shape, properly manned and well-supplied. He even told us about a method of training, you’ve started to employ ever since the Wall had sufficed workforce. Roughly 9 years ago."

"Yes, Prince Steffon. Since most of the people who join the Night’s Watch have never wielded a weapon before, I decided to tackle that problem. We now have the numbers, so we ought to invest in quality. Moat Cailin has become the training yard of the Night’s Watch. Before they get sent off to the Wall, the criminals and the volunteers who come from the South, stop by the Moat to attend training at arms. Derren Stark oversees the training, as the Moat’s castellan. And one day, that task will be passed on to your cousin, Bran."

"I am sure that he’ll do just fine, my Lord. The boy does have that spark in his eyes, saying that he wants to get out there and make a name for himself." Aemon said.
"But enough with the petty talk. My cousin pointed out that His Grace sent us here with a message."

Steffon brought out a scroll and gave it to his uncle. Lord Stark took it and read it.

«Ned,

If you’re reading this letter, it means that my son and nephew have made it to Winterfell safely. I hope that you and your family are in good health.
Things here at King’s Landing are going well. Order is well-kept, there’s hardly any unemployment and the renovation I started 7 years ago is now complete. The problem lies with our father-in-law, Lord Hoster Tully. His health has been in a long decline. He grows weaker and weaker. He doesn’t eat much and he has started confining himself more and more at his chambers. I am afraid that he won’t make it through the year.

I wouldn’t ask this from you, if it wasn’t necessary and if I knew that you can’t follow with it. But I need you here, Ned. I need competent people I can trust around me and you are one of these people. I know that your son, Robb, has received both theoretical and practical training in ruling the North. So, I am confident that you can leave him in charge and travel to King’s Landing. Lord Eddard Stark…I will name you Master of Laws in the Royal Council.

Signed by Argilac of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
Postscript: I also want you and your family here to join a festive occasion: my son, Hoster, is getting married to Daenerys Targaryen in three months.
Postscript 2: If feasible, I’d like for Theon Greyjoy to accompany you on your journey. His siblings, Maron and Yara, yearn for him. »

Ned handed over the script to his wife, Catelyn. She in return, read it before leaving it on the desk.

"Your brother is getting married?"

"Yes. Mother thought that would do him good, not to mention that it'd be beneficial for us to solidify the relationships between Houses Baratheon and Targaryen. Hoster and Daenerys shall receive Summerhall as their new home, it’s surrounding lands as source of income and Stormborn as their new name."

"And how about you, Steffon? I am pretty sure that such a handsome, hardworking and charming Crown Prince, such as you, should be betrothed at this point." Catelyn said. She was hoping that Steffon was still a bachelor. Perhaps she could arrange for a Northern girl to marry her nephew. Or maybe even her own daughter, Sansa. Sansa becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? It would be a dream-come-true.

"As a matter of fact, I am. His Grace thought it best to unite Houses Baratheon and Tyrell in marriage. So, he arranged for a betrothal between me and Lady Margaery Tyrell. We are to get married in six months." Steffon responded to his aunt.

Catelyn struggled to hide her disappointment upon hearing the news. Sansa is definitely going to be upset about hearing it.

"I… I’ve heard about Lady Margaery. Sansa used to be on a frequent correspondence with her. I hear she’s beautiful, intelligent, confident and sociable. And that she’s dedicated to the care of her people. I hope that you’ll be happy together. How about you, Aemon? Any girl that your uncle and I should know about?"

"Mother suggested I marry my cousin, Myrcella Lannister. She wanted to reinforce the ties between Houses Baratheon and Lannister. However, Ser Jaime Lannister, Myrcella’s father, rejected the match. So, I am currently betrothed to Lady Talisa Maegyr of Volantis. My parents are currently overseeing the betrothal's detail in Volantis as we speak." Aemon replied with a tone of relief. Not that Ned could blame him. Even though marriages between cousins are common amongst nobility, the thought of breeding amongst relatives was something that always made Ned’s stomach turn upside down.

"Volantis you say? How did that come to pass?" The Lord of Winterfell asked, genuinely curious about this development.

"Two years ago, Malaquo Maegyr, who’s one of Volantis’ dominant triarchs, visited King’s Landing in order to negotiate better trading deals between his city-state and Westeros. Among the other members of this embassy was his granddaughter, Lady Talisa. Her grandfather conducted his business with His Grace, he left for his homeland but asked Talisa to stay to King’s Landing as her city’s ambassador. Apart from advising His Grace and his Council about interactions with Volantis, Talisa has helped in organizing a standard network of hospitals in Westeros. After watching Talisa’s political insight in action and given her intelligence and connections, my Lord Father considered a betrothal between myself and her as a great political move to tie Westeros to the largest and wealthiest city-state of Essos."

"Talisa Maegyr you said? Then she’s the one we should be thanking about the ideas of medical reform in our lands." Lord Stark said, pleased. For he had set out hospitals for the entire population of the North in all of its major settlements. Leila’s expertise proved invaluable on the matter. Now, Maesters with their acolytes, trained nurses and midwives are ready to receive and care for the patients. These new hospitals get their funds from both the King and the Warden/Lord Paramount of each region, who share the expenses by half. The hospitals themselves are managed by the oldest and most experienced healer and his council of various experts. They, in return answer to the local Warden/ Lord Paramount. It’s truly a revolutionary act for the public health.
Ned decided to change the subject though.

"Tell us about your Grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully." Catelyn urged, eager to hear news for her father.

"Lord Hoster is been in physical decline for the last 3 years. First, he was growing more and more tired during our sparring matches. So after a time, he had them stopped all together. Then, he started losing his appetite. He’s hardly eating now. And finally, comes the fact that he grows weaker and weaker. He stopped joining the Royal Council meetings and for the most part confines himself in his chambers, working from there. The only time he gets out of his chambers is when the weather allows it. He likes to visit the palace’s gardens. They remind him of home."

"I am sorry for confirming the bad news my mother sent you, Aunt Catelyn." Prince Steffon said woth sympathy, seeing his aunt's distraught.

"Isn’t there anything to be done, to help him?"

"I am afraid no. Grand Maester Pycelle has come to the conclusion that whatever affects Lord Hoster is mental, not physical. Perhaps, a reunion between relatives can help him."

"Yes. Perhaps."

"Should I confirm that you’ll be joining us on our journey south, then?" Aemon asked.

Catelyn looked at her husband, hopefully. He gave a small nod.

"We’d like to discuss it first with our children. But most likely, we’ll come with you, except for Robb who’ll have to stay here as active Lord of Winterfell."

"Of course. Now, with your permission, Uncle Ned, I’ll seek out Maester Luwin and send a raven to King’s Landing. So that I can update His Grace regarding the situation."

"Of course. In the meantime, enjoy the upcoming festivities and the hospitality of Winterfell." Catelyn told to her nephews as she was leading them towards the door.

The training yard of Winterfell was shaking from cheers and claps. The Pair Tournament was well on its way for the finals. And for the first time in 3 years, the North’s champions, Robb Stark and Jon Snow were facing serious contenders for their place. Their cousins, Steffon and Aemon Baratheon.

The Tournament had started out as a tradition to include the clansmen and the Free Folk upon joining the Northern fold. Since these were people who respect strength and martial prowess above most things, the Northern Lords had to prove to them why they deserved to rule the lands they had under their name. Following these honorary duels, a tournament of some sorts was added to the annual festivities of the Harvest Feast. And over the years, the younger scions of both families joined in, giving birth to a new era of camaraderie, especially since Ned Stark was usually arranging pairs between people and families who were at odds with each other, causing them to work productively together. Then, Ned would take them aside and present them with the solution he and his advisors had come up with, in addressing their conflict. This proved to be one of the most effective ways Ned had ever used to resolve conflict in the North.

Robb and Jon worked their way to the finals without much of an issue. Their speed, strength and almost dancing grace were giving them a clear advantage over many opponents. Rodrik and Asher Forrester, Torrhen and Eddard Karstark were their toughest opponents so far, but they too yielded to the Wolves of Winterfell. Edric Dayne, William Seasterk didn't even stand a chance.

The Southern Stags were also on another league. They too worked their way to the top. Only Smalljon Umber and Daryn Hornwood, as well as Domeric Bolton and Theon Greyjoy were able to provide something resembling a worthy challenge for them.

"Robb. Let’s give our people a good show, shall we?" Jon said in an attempt to break off his anxiety. Robb turned to his cousin and nodded his head.

"It will be a match they won’t forget easily. Trust me."

The Baratheon cousins approached their Stark counterparts.

"First of, I want you both to know, that it’s an honor to meet you again in this yard. May the best man wins." Steffon said as he was standing on Robb’s opposite side.

'Same here, cousin. Good luck out there. You're gonna need it."

"We'd thank you for it. If we needed it." Aemon said jokingly, donning his helmet.

"Are you read to show these Northerners how we do things down in the South, Lyonel?" Aemon asked his cousin as he was sizing the Starks up. 'Lyonel' had been Steffon's childhood hero. And Aemon was always calling him that in their games.

"You bet I am, Aegon." The Crown Prince replied with a playful wink, as he was closing his helmet. Addressing Aemon with the name of his own childhood hero.

All four combatants turned towards Ned Stark, who was overseeing the matches from his balcony. He raised his right hand, as a display of a signal.

"Ready?" He asked. No answer was given. Only cold determination.

"Begin!" He shouted as he lowered his hand. Immediately, Steffon and Aemon charged at Robb and Jon. Robb and Steffon clashed swords and repelled with their shields. Jon and Aemon engaged in a lock with their swords, until Jon broke it off with a sudden move.

"GET HIM ROBB! SHOW THESE SOUTHERNS HOW WE DO THINGS AROUND HERE!" Arya screamed at the top of her lungs. She had nothing personal against her cousins, but her losing to them and therfore being forced to forfeit her chance of taking own her brother and cousin was something she wasn't going to forget right away.

"You are definetly a sore loser, Arya." Sansa said, teasing her sister.

"You know me all too well, Sansa." Arya said sarcastically.

"Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Rodrik Cassel have taught you well." Steffon's voice was heard, praising his opponents, earning himself a look of approval from the Northern spectators.

"As did Ser Barristan Selmy did for you. A shame that we'll have to humiliate the legend's star pupils in front of his old friend." Robb goaded.

The Young Wolf then went on the offensive. Steffon however, repelled steadily and calmly all of his cousin’s attacks. He then, used his sword to block Robb’s and his shield to make him drop it. He followed that move with an almost dancing turn before he slams his shield on Robb’s face. He then, took advantage of Robb’s stumble to trip him. Robb collapsed on the ground like a sack.

Seeing that Robb was temporally incapacitated, Steffon rushed in to help Aemon. Jon had taken advantage of Steffon’s engagement to Robb, in order to force Aemon to the edge of the ring. Since they were fighting inside a circling ring drawn on the yard, any combatant who was caught stepping outside it three times, was to be disqualified. Aemon knew that all too well: he, himself had used that trick to exploit Arya's impulsiveness and goad her into disqualifying herself, after all. Jon used his superior speed and agility to wear Aemon down and make him follow him in traps. The plan worked. While he was defending himself, Jon was able to force Aemon into stepping outside the ring twice already. All he needed to do was make him lose his footing once more. Then, he’d be able to help Robb.

"Growing tired already, cousin? I thought that a pupil of the great Ser Barristan Selmy would be more energetic." He said trying to goad Aemon into a heedless action.
The plan worked. Aemon, gulped down a large breath of air and charged in an attempt to force Jon out of the ring himself. If he could make him step outside for the first time, he could start causing him nervousness. An ideal place for a mistake.

As Aemon clashed swords with Jon he...stepped on the left, causing Aemon to meet the empty air. The third step was imminent.

"NO!" Aemon thought, as he desperately planted his feet on the ground. Aemon stopped dead on his tracks. Just in time. And then…a large force moved him outside the ring. Steffon had slammed onto him, before he could move aside.

Now that Aemon stepped outside the ring for a third time, he was disqualified, leaving Steffon to fend for himself. A Stag against two Direwolves. Not that he seemed discouraged by these odds. Jon was having a tough time in overwhelming his cousin’s defenses. However, Steffon didn’t calculate one thing …the second player. Jon parried Steffon’s attack and ducked so that Robb can swing at Steffon’s legs and cause him to lose his balance. Unbalanced, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms fell flat on his belly, giving Robb the chance to pounce at him and put his sword on Steffon’s throat.

"Yield, Black Prince." The Young Wolf asked coldly.

Steffon tried to swing, but Jon intercepted the blow and stepped on Steffon’s sword, making it impossible for him to move it.

The whole yard fell dead silent. Robb and Jon had just defeated two Princes! But it was only up to Steffon to accept defeat.

"Well fought. I know when I am beaten. A Prince surrenders with honor. I yield."

The yard erupted in cheers. And Arya was the loudest of them all. The Northern champions maintain their title for the fourth year in a row!
Robb removed his sword from Steffon’s throat and offered him a helping hand. Steffon hesitated for a while but eventually accepted it.

"Your Highness, you and Prince Aemon fought well…for two perfume-drunk Southerners." The heir to Winterfell spoke with a serious face.

"As did you…for two simple-minded fucks from the North." Steffon said in the same manner.

Dead silent fell on the yard. Catelyn had turned pale with what she had heard. Did her son just offend the Crown Prince? How could they make up for that insult?
And then…Robb and Steffon erupted in laughter and warmly hugged each other. Catelyn breathed in relief. Looks like it was just a joke.
Jon and Robert clasped hands.

"We'd better share drink. And balm wounded pride."

Jon nodded in agreement, before lead his southern cousins inside. It was time for the feast to begin.

Chapter Text

"We should accept His Grace’s proposal." Catelyn had told her husband, after they had retired to their bedchamber. Once again, he had opened the windows, to let the night air inside. Catelyn covered herself in her blankets. She never understood how in the world the cold wasn’t affecting her husband, even when he was standing at the window, unclothed as he was the day he had been born.

Of all the rooms in Winterfell, Catelyn’s was the warmest. And still, after 19 years of living in the North, she wasn’t able to fully adapt. She liked the heat in her bedchamber. It reminded her of Riverrun. The joyful days of childhood with Lysa, Edmure and Argilac. Even Petyr was coming in her mind. The small, innocent Petyr, not the sick monster who almost chocked a 6 year old child with his bare hands. Catelyn was happy that Stannis Baratheon beheaded Baelish the moment he had made him spill all of his wrongdoings. For she would have done it herself, had she got him in her hands. Ned on the other hand, couldn’t bear the heat.

'The Starks were made for the cold.' He would tell her. And then she would laugh and tell him that '...in that case, the Starks had built their castle in the wrong place.'

Catelyn placed her left hand on her belly. It’s been 10 years since their youngest, Rickon, was born. They aren’t too old. They can still have one more child if they want it.

"I am going to refuse him. You can of course attend the wedding with the children, but I can’t accept the position His Grace is offering me." Ned said. His eyes were haunted, his voice full of doubt.

Catelyn sat up in their bed. She had to make Ned understand that things weren’t as simple as he wanted them to be.

"Argilac may be using a tone of recommendation, but he discreetly commands you to replace my father as Master of Laws in the Royal Council. You can’t refuse. You mustn’t refuse."

"My duties are here in the North." Ned insisted.

"You said it yourself that Robb is old and experienced enough to manage the North on his own. We’ve been making sure of that, ever since he was a child. He needs to grow up in responsibility. He can’t do that with us sitting on his neck all the time."

"Winter is Coming. You know it does."

"Is it? If what you had told me is true, you took away their army."

"Still, men desert the Watch. The last deserter I executed 4 years ago, told me that he saw them."

"Then you must inform His Grace in person, about the new developments. Argilac had allowed us to handle this issue, since our region will be the first to be hit by the Great Others and their minions. Still though, he needs to be informed. After all, he is the one who makes sure that food, weapons and men are sent off to us with the pace and in the quantities that allowed us to restore the Night’s Watch.
The King’s oldest son and heir, as well as one of the King’s nephews came to see us, to present our family with these great honors. If you refuse to serve His Grace, he’ll wonder why you don’t. And if not him, then perhaps some of his advisors will make him think that you oppose him. We can’t afford that danger."

Ned shook his head, refusing to believe.

"Not Argilac. He knows what we’re up against. He knows that we are the best line of defense he has against that threat."

"The rest of the South does not though."

"Then we’ll have to make them understand. When the time is right, we’ll present the requiring evidence and a united Westeros shall ride against that threat."

Catelyn could see that her husband was unmovable with these arguments. She’d have to use another tactic.

"Then how about Sansa?"

"What about Sansa?"

"The next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms will be Margaery Tyrell. If you recall, one of the latest suitors that asked for our daughter’s hand was Willas Tyrell, Margaery’s eldest brother and heir to Highgarden. The journey to the South will be a great opportunity for her and us to meet him and deem if he’s worthy of her. Sansa can become one of Lady Margaery’s companions, if things go well enough. She always waited for a chance to travel to the South and meet it. A visit to King’s Landing will be like a dream coming true for her."

Ned thought about it. His daughter’s well-being and happiness were his top priority. For all of his children.

"That’s why you must go down there, then. You’re far better in these things than I am."

"Mace Tyrell is a boisterous oaf. Apart from the King, he will listen to nobody but another Warden. Only you have the authority to solidify a betrothal between our daughter and his son, if things go there."

Catelyn moved to the window to stand next to her husband.

"I know you don’t like it. But it is what it has to be done. Besides, King’s Landing is no longer the rat’s nest it used to be. Argilac saw to it that capable and honorable people are in positions of power."

She took Ned's in her arms.

"The South is no longer the place that haunted us 19 years ago. We can be safe down there. And we can keep on helping it change its scheming ways. Imagine how much help you can offer by making sure that the law is properly conducted and sent out to be enforced by the City Watch and the courts Argilac has founded."

Ned recalled that development. If carried out effectively, it can be one of the reforms that can really change the course of Westeros. Push it out of stagnant waters and into modern times. Everybody knew that delivering justice to the local population is one obligation every Lord/Lady has to his/her liege Lord and his/her subjects. But not all of them were fit for that crucial task. So Argilac decided to reform the legal system.

For starters, even landed knights were granted the right to deliver justice to their domains, instead of having to pass their cases through the feudal chain to the Lords they have sworn to. That means that much more of the commoners, instead of having to travel to the domain of their liege Lord, in the hopes that their case will be heard, could now appeal to the local landed knights and receive swift and impartial justice.

However, there were those who protested that the higher ranking Lords were losing their traditional rights by this change. Argilac’s reply was swift and decisive as always:

'I am not taking anything from anybody. The petty Lords and the major Lords will continue to dispense justice like they’ve always done. I am merely making the job much simpler and easier for them.'
And to prove that point, that he wasn’t meant to temper with the juridical duties of the higher nobility, Argilac had a major court built in every region of Westeros. Winterfell, Riverrun, Eyrie, Casterly Rock, Pyke, Highgarden, Storm’s End, Sunspear and of course King’s Landing got one. These courts were staffed with judges and lawyers assigned by King’s Landing, after recommendations by the Master of Laws. The newly appointed judges are tasked to take over the duty of delivering justice to the locals. The Lord/Lady of the region the court operates to, will have to advise the judge in regards to the local conditions and the people.

As for the villages and remote towns, local courts were built for them as well. The Lord/Lady of the region will have to intervene and deliver justice, only if the local court proves unable to provide a suitable solution, or in case the locals refuse to oblige by the verdict. However, his/her interference will have to take the court’s verdict under heavy consideration. Long service, regular rotations on the appointments, good pay and training in the legal system, plus a personal oath of loyalty to His Grace, make the judges and the lawyers of Westeros some of its most efficient and reliable officials.

Finally, the Quiet Wolf made his decision.

"Very well. You and I, Sansa, Arya, Edric and Theon will ride for White Harbor in a fortnight. From there, we sail for King’s Landing. If the winds and the tides help us, we’ll be at the capital by the next month. Robb, Jon and Rickon shall remain here to keep on managing the North in my stead. As for Bran, he’ll ride for us till White Harbor. After that, he’ll ride for Moat Cailin, so that he can start getting accustomed with the castle, lands and people he’s going to rule."

That decision made Catelyn's heart sink.

"Ned, 14 is too young to be forced into such responsibility."

"Derren Stark, the Moat’s castellan, is to rule alongside Bran until he’s capable of doing so on his own. Besides, he won’t be a boy forever. And Winter is Coming."

Catelyn had no choice but to relent. As much as she didn’t like it, the family would break apart. She, her husband and two daughters will travel to the capital with her royal nephews and two of their wards, one former and one current. One of her sons will travel to start his training in ruling and the other two will stay home. Hopefully, they’ll all be together again soon.

The journey went on without an issue. The roads were well-tended, available inns were a regular sight and the patrols of the Northern Army, as well as the guards the Stark party had taken along, ensured their safety. They reached White Harbor within a fortnight as planned. From there, after Theon had his wife, Wylla, properly settled in, they took a boat and set sail for the capital.

"Don't worry about a thing, my lady. I'll be back. And when I do, I might have a new dye for your hair. Maybe purple?" The young Greyjoy scion teased his wife, earning himself a playful swat on the shoulder from his wife and a round of chuckles from his travelling companions.

Arya was truly excited with the voyage on the royal galley. She loved everything about it: the gentle breeze on her face, the smell of the sea, the sight of fish and dolphins that came across their boat. They even got to see a few whales in open water away from White Harbor. But the one thing the young she-wold loved the most during her journey south was the sparring matches with her sister, cousins, Edric and Theon. Every dawn and every evening, before and after they were done with their daily routine, they sparred. At first, it was challenging to balance in a constantly rocking surface and with obstacles all around you. But Arya was truly at her element. Her small size, combined with her small, pointy sword, Needle, was giving her a considerable advantage over her larger cousins.

Now, she's on deck, gazing at the sea in front of her.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh? She suddenly heard Sansa’s voice calling out to her. Arya smiled at her older sister and scooted over at the deck she was sitting. Sansa sat beside Arya.

"According to the captain, they’ll make it to the capital by tomorrow morning. Look over there." The older Stark sister said, pointing in the distance. Arya followed the direction in which Sansa was pointed at and shesaw the fires of King's Landing streets in the distance. She then turned her sights towards the sky and gazed upon the stars.

"You’re not afraid that we’ll turn over?" She teased Sansa.

"No. We’re properly anchored." Sansa replied before turning her own gaze to the sky.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" She asked.

"Yes. It reminds me of home. The North’s vast, free sky." Arya agreed. It was moments like this that actually made the family bond between the two sisters count so much. And Arya had both her parentsand Leila to thank for making her bond with Sansa. The two sisters couldn't have been more different. At fisrt glance, apart from the name, they had nothing in common. But Leila taught them otherwise.

'You're sisters. We're sisters." She'd tell them. 'Each of us has her own unique gifts and skills to use for the sake of our family. And the pack cannot thhrive if its members bicker amongst themselves.'

Their mother saw to it that they were tasked with various issues and projects that they'd need to combine their different things together: Sansa's collective, thorought approach to things, as well as her intelligence and and tact combined pefectly well with Arya's sharp eye and her intuision. Arya even got to teach Sansa how to use weaponsand how to hunt. In turn, Sansa help Arya to learn how to sew. Granted, the young she-wold would never master the art of embrodiery, not that she needed to. But Arya is a person of practicality. So Sansa focuesed in teaching her sister how to stich up a wound or how to stich up clothes, like the her favourite breeches.

"One fortnight at sea and you already missing home, Arya?" Sansa said.

"The Starks aren’t made for the South, Sansa. Nymeria, Lady, Torrhen Lyarra and Beowulf definitely agree."

"The voyage was indeed hard for them. Spending almost the entirety of it inside the kennels with an hour or two on deck. But as of tomorrow, they’ll be free to roam solid ground once more. Tomorrow, we’ll be at the capital. We’ll meet properly our uncles and aunts."

"Our uncles are Benjen and Tyrion, Sansa. Our aunts are Ashara and Sarra. Everyone else is no kin to us. We don’t know them and they don’t know us." Arya argued.

"That didn’t seem to stop Uncle Robert from ditching his family for yours." Came a sudden reply from behind them. Startled, the Stark sisters turned to see who had called out to them. It was Aemon.

"May I join you, girls?" He asked.

"Knock yourself out." Arya told him as she and Sansa were making room. She didn’t mind having her cousin around. He and Steffon don’t seem so bad. They are courteous, Father, Mother and Sansa like them and they are helping her with her training at arms.

Aemon made himself comfortable and looked at the shinning sky.

"You know, Aemon, I’ve been meaning to ask: during the tournament at Winterfell, I’ve heard you calling His Highness “Lyonel”. As he called you “Aegon”. Care to entertain us about how these nicknames came to be?" Sansa asked.

"Funny you should ask, Sansa. You see, when we were children and we were playing knights, Steffon was always picking Ser Lyonel Baratheon."

"The Laughing Storm." Arya said instantly.

"Indeed, Arya. The name of our great-great-grandfather. I, on the other hand, was always choosing Prince Aemon the Dragonknight."

"The greatest knight in the history of the Kingsguard."

"Indeed."

"You mentioned earlier that Robert ditched his family for ours. What did you mean by that?" The youngest Stark daughter asked, clearly annoyed by the fact that someone had dared accuse her family for wrongdoing.

"I’ll tell you what I mean. Robert was never one of us."

"What do you mean he wasn’t one of you? He was one of the five Baratheon brothers, was he not?" Sansa asked.

"That didn’t stop him from turning his back on us. He cared only about himself. Eating, drinking, fighting, hunting and...sleeping around. And because my father and uncles were disagreeing with this lifestyle, he simply cut all ties with them. After all, he had found himself a new family. A better family: Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark. Your father."

Arya opened her mouth to her father’s defense, but Sansa stopped her by placing a hand in Arya’s shoulder. Arya could see the pain in Aemon’s face, so she kept her silence, for once.

"Your father became the brother my uncle chose, since he never loved his real brothers. And here comes the matter with your aunt, Lyanna. The woman he wanted to marry so that he can be even closer to your father. He couldn’t even see that the woman was making every attempt to avoid that. How could she not when she had ended up betrothed to Robert the Drunk Whoremonger? That’s how he should be known, not as the Demon of the Trident. Sometimes I feel ashamed whenever I hear people bragging about naming their sons after him."

Arya and Sansa were dumbfounded. Their father had told them that Robert Baratheon was a good person, who was willing to fight for what’s right but was led astray by his bodily desires. But seeing his own nephew denouncing him like that…

"If there’s anything good that came out of him, it’s Maya and Bella."

"Maya and Bella? The girls he fathered at the Vale and the Stoney Sept?"

"Yes, Sansa. Maya’s currently working on the security department at the docks with her betrothed, Ser Mychel Redfort. As for Bella, she’s an artist in the Red Keep. They’re good girls, both of them. I am sure you’re going to like them."

Aemon sighed heavily, before turning to face Arya.

"It’s no secret that you mistrust us, Baratheons. As well as the Lannisters, apart from uncle Tyrion. And I don’t blame you, Arya. Your aunt was wronged by my uncle and because of that, she, your other uncle and your grandfather ended up dead. And we are practically strangers to you. But we’re not bad people. And you’ll find that on your own, if you give us a chance."

Arya thought about it. Of course she was blaming Robert Baratheon for what happened to aunt Lyanna, uncle Brandon and grandfather Rickard. But Aemon wasn’t wrong. His father had helped hers restore peace, honor, justice and prosperity in the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps Sansa was right. Perhaps she shouldn’t be as biased to the whole Baratheon family, just because one member had wronged theirs.

"I’ll be the one judging that."

"Of course. It is your right after all."

"Now that’s out of the question, tells what should we await at the capital." Sansa said, hoping to change the subject and de-escalate whatever tension that might still exist between her sister and her cousin.

"I am not going to tell much. I want to keep it a surprise. Let’s just say that you’re going to love King’s Landing and that both the King and Queen have great plans about you two."

"I am not a Lady, so their plans will be wasted on me." Arya said bluntly. Aemon only laughed.

"Who said anything about the planning to turn you into a Lady, little cousin?" He said before ruffling Arya's hair.

"They’re not?"

"No. Why do you think we’ve been doing all this training on the ship? Be patient and you’ll see what you can do at the capital. I promise that you’ll like it. As for you, Sansa, Lady Catelyn and Her Grace would like for you to become a companion for Lady Margaery Tyrell."

"A companion for the future Queen? I…I don’t think I am worthy of the honor." Sansa said in modesty.

"Nonsense, Sansa. We all know your intelligence and diligence. If there's sanyone who can set a pomous Southern straight, it's you." Arya said. "After all, you have your way of putting others where they should."

Sansa smiled at that. Back at home, before Arya could gain more confidence in herself, some of Winterfell's household guards had the brilliant idead to think that they could get away with making fun of one of their Lord's daughters. Namely, by calling Arya names, like 'Arya Underfoot'. Let's just say that the name calling and the teasing stares stopped altogether, after Sansa got her teeth into those guards.

"What in the Seven Hells had you told them anyway?" Aemon asked. "I recall Jon telling me the story but even he was fussy on the details.

"Hmmm...let's see: 'Wow, look at these gallant guardsmen calling a child names.' Arya mimiced Sansa'svoice. 'How about this, gentlemen? You mind your own bloody buisness and leave me and my siblings alone. We wouldn't want this whole affair to reach Lord Stark's ears, would we? I'm sure you'd hate feeling Ice's kiss on your necks, correct?"

Arya laughed loudly at that remark. Even Sansa broke a small smile.

"You should have seen their faces, Aemon! They looked like they were about to wet themselves! Trust me, those Southern Ladies won't stand a chance!"

"Yeah. Plus, you’re a Princess of Westeros, Sansa. Margaery is the one who should feel honored being in your company." Aemon said.

Sansa nodded content.

"What about your parents? The other members of the family? We were only children when we first met you and your father. Tell us more about them."

And so Aemon told Sansa and Arya everything he could about his parents and the rest of their uncles, aunts and cousins. About Uncle Orys’ meticulous work. About Aunt Cersei’s fierce protection. About the King’s strength and integrity. About the Queen’s fairness and compassion. About how much of a headache Uncle Renly can be, when he wants for you to be well and happy. About Uncle Stannis being an ass at times, but also caring in his own way.

They were talking for hours. And by the time the discussion came to an end, Sansa and Arya were feeling like they knew their southern kin for years. It was only the rising sun that made them stop. For they took position to help wherever they could on the boat before begin their training.

Chapter Text

The boat made it to the dock before the sun was high on the sky. The sailors dropped the anchor, the put out the step and everyone started going down.

At the dock, eight people were waiting, flanked by thirty Baratheon, Arryn and Tully guards. Five men and three women. The man at the center of the welcoming party was dressed in a warrior’s armor. He was wearing black armor with a golden breastplate and the Baratheon stag painted on its center. On his head, he was wearing a middle-sized golden crown with stag antlers imagery intertwined with small silver trouts. To his left hip, a Valyrian sword was tied up. Stormbringer as Arya recalled its name. That must be Argilac Baratheon. The King of the Seven Kingdoms was standing in front of the Stark family, in all of his majesty.

The woman standing to his right was red-haired and blue-eyed. She was wearing a blue dress, with a white belt and red shoes. A leaping trout was stitched on the left side of her dress. On her head, she was wearing a golden crown similar to the one Arya saw before, but a little smaller and with larger trouts. She looked so much like her mother that Arya recognized her at once. Aunt Lysa.

To the King’s left, was standing a young woman. Roughly 19 years old. She had thick, softly curling brown hair and large brown eyes, shining with life, intelligence and ambition. She had a slender but womanly figure with smooth and unblemished pale skin and small breasts. She was wearing a green sleeveless dress, open to the back, as well as yellow shoes. Her head was decorated by a relatively small, yet finely detailed crown, incorporating stag antler imagery but with also prominent golden roses, sigil of House Tyrell. She must be Margaery Tyrell, cousin Steffon’s betrothed.

At a distance, were standing two young men, dressed in similar armors as the King. One 25 and the other 17 years old. Uncle Renly and Cousin Hoster.
Hoster looked very much like Aemon but with some key differences: where Aemon was supporting a lean, but powerful built, along with light brown hair and green eyes, Hoster had the typical looks of his family: a broad muscular frame, black hair and blue eyes. And he looked like every inch the Baratheon warrior in his armor. But instead of a sword, he was wielding a poleaxe. One of the most versatile weapons ever made, as Arya would say. On one side, an axe blade for slicing. On the other, a hammer head for bashing. And on its top, a spike. Perfect for a thrusting assault. Overall, a weapon perfectly designed to cut, pierce, or smash through armor.

His choice of weapon wasn’t the only thing that seemed to diverse Hoster form his older brother and his cousin. He was having a more…relaxed, a more casual aura around him as well. And when his eyes fell on Steffon, while Sansa could see a hint of jealousy. A jealousy Hoster seemed to try with all of his might to hide but it was still there.

Holding Hoster’s arm was a medium-sized 19 year old lady with violet eyes, pale skin and long, blond, almost silver-like hair. She had a slender frame and small breasts. She was wearing a black dress and red shoes as well as a tiara decorated with three small dragon heads at the top. This must be Hoster’s betrothed, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

In front of the King were standing two elderly men. One of them was wearing plate armor and a cloak decorated with the blue and white colors. In his breastplate he had inched a white crescent moon and a flying falcon. On his chest, the badge of the Hand was stitched proudly. He was Jon Arryn, Lord of Eyrie, Warden of the East and Hand of the King. He had white hair, blue eyes and an aquiline nose. On his left shoulder was sitting a falcon.

As for the other old man, he sure had seen better days. He had white hair and beard and he appeared that he was in a considerable amount of pain. But he was standing tall wearing his silver plate-and-mail armor and blue-red cloak, as if he was doing it by sheer power of will. Judging by Mother’s tears as well as Lysa’s concerned face, Sansa realized that he was Lord Hoster Tully. Her grandsire.

The Starks as well as the two Baratheon Princes made their way to the welcoming party. Steffon and Aemon were the first to approach the King.

"Your Grace, we have returned from the Wall. And with us, we bring the Starks of Winterfell." Steffon told his father respectfully. His Grace took a brief look at Sansa and her family and nodded with a small smile.

"You and you cousin did well, Steffon. Not that I expected anything less from you." The King said formally as he was gesturing to the Princes to take position among the royal party. Steffon took his place next to Margaery Tyrell, while Aemon stood next to his uncle Renly. The Starks then were gestured to approach. Ned was the first to bow his head in respect.

"Your Grace." He said.

"It’s a gesture of respect to acknowledge your King, Lord Stark. But now, how about you clasp hands with your brother-in-law?" The King asked amused. Ned laughed as well before shaking hands with his friend and King. He then kissed the Queen’s hand.

"My Queen."

"It’s good to see you too, Lord Stark. I see that you’ve been looking well after my sister and nieces. I am glad." Queen Lysa said smiling, before approaching the Lady of Winterfell. The two sisters warmly embraced each other. Then, Lysa turned her attention to her nieces. She stared at Sansa with disbelief. She then looked at Mother for confirmation. A confirmation she took.

"Sansa?"

"It’s me, Your Grace."

Lysa smiled and opened her arms.

"Come here, child." The Queen said before embracing her oldest niece. She then withdrew from Sansa, while still holding her hands.
"Let me take a look at you…look how beautiful you’ve become."

She then looked at Arya and smiled at her, before putting a gentle hand on her head.

"Sister. Your daughters have turned into fine young women."

"Time is running, Your Grace…"

"Indeed. Go greet your grandfather, girls."

Sansa and Arya approached Lord Hoster, as he was embracing his oldest daughter.

"Little Cat…my Little Cat." He whispered, weary but joyful.

"My daughters, Sansa and Arya have come with us, Father. They've been looking forward to meeeting you during the entire voyage."

Sansa and Arya took their grandfather’s hands in theirs. Mother had told them stories about a man who was tall and broad in his youth, but portly and jolly as he grew older. Nevertheless, Grandfather was a man who had fought bravely in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and during Robert’s Rebellion. A man who did all he could to lead his people with pride and honor and help his King rule Westeros to his best ability.

"Your eldest…she looks like a true Tully. And your youngest…a true Stark. Just like her father." Lord Hoster said pleased, as before he glances fondly at his son-in-law.

Arya forgave the lack of attention. She was used in not receiving it when she was beside her two older sisters. Besides, the man before her is dying and Ser Arthur was right. If she wouldn’t get to know him now and instead waste precious time on pointless squabbles, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

It was in that exact moment that Grandfather turned his attention to the wolves. Nymeria, Lady, Torrhen, Lyarra and Beowulf. Nymeria and Lady sniffed Grandfather’s hands and Nymeria gently nipped it.

"Such magnificent animals…and so well mannered. You’ve raised and trained them well."

"Of course we did. They’re family." Arya pointed out.

Grandfather laughed, but everyone could see that doing so was causing him pain. He then patted Arya’s head.

"Indeed they are, child." He said in a kind voice. As much as Arya didn’t want to admit it, Lord Hoster had managed to make himself quite dear to her. She was curious to see what the rest of the royal family had in store for the Starks.

Once all greetings came to an end, the royal party made its way to the Red Keep. As they were coursing through the city, the Starks had the opportunity to gaze upon the capital city of Westeros. Here at the port, Sansa and Arya could see two small temples. To Theon’s delight, one of these temples was built in accordance with the architecture used at the Iron Islands.

"Did you have a temple built in honor of the Drowned God?" Theon asked.

"Indeed we had, young Theon. Given the number of Ironborn that come to King’s Landing for trading, or stay at the Red Keep as members of the royal court, Lord Orys and His Grace thought it best to have a temple built for them, in order to practice their religious beliefs freely. You’ll also be pleased to know that the archpriest is your own uncle, Aeron." Lord Arryn said.

"A similar thing can also be said about the other temple, which is dedicated to the Lord of Light of Essos. Also known as R’hllor. Said temple’s existence is justified on the several people who come to King’s Landing from various cities of Essos, such as Lys and Volantis, as traders, diplomats or mere visitors. Much like the Ironborn, they too had a temple built for them, so that they can pray freely. As long as they keep their affairs to the temple and don’t attempt to convert anyone, the Crown won’t move against them." Prince Steffon stated.

"Who’s tending to that temple?" Mother asked.

"Ser Thoros of Myr and his lover, Lady Melisandrae." Steffon replied to his aunt. Upon hearing the word “lover” Catelyn's expression soured a little, but to her credit, she didn’t comment. A true Lady always hides her real thoughts after all.

As they were going deeper and deeper into King’s Landing, the Stark family had the opportunity to see firsthand how much it had changed: for starters it had expanded and it currently home to almost 1,000,000 people. Furthermore, the capital was divided between four different districts: the first two were the housing districts. Housing in King’s Landing was no longer based on streets of rank. After a fire destroyed Flea Bottom 5 years ago, Flea Bottom was replaced by houses fit for proper residence. Large, spacious, airy, with access to the sewer system, clean drinking water, public baths and medical care. As one moves towards the Red Keep, they'd gaze upon King’s Landing mansions, homes to merchants, bankers, investors and state officials. Homes that stood just above their owners’ stores. Finally, they'd see the Red Keep itself, seat of the King’s court.

The third district was the school district. Ever since his third year in power, King Argilac started dealing with the problem of illiteracy. While parchment is still the main material for documenting the royal decrees, the new writing material and the press machine Tyrion Lannister had created, were used for the printing of books. Mostly for the smallfolk, since the state had taken over the task of removing illiteracy from the people. A decision that took place in the name of efficiency and fairness, for after appointing Ser Davos Seaworth as Guardian of the port of King’s Landing and receiving the scorn of several nobles, Argilac Baratheon had envisioned a Westerosi nation where innovation and skill would be its prime means forward. Merit instead of name. Competence over blood. And that included having a population who is capable of reading, writing and doing math. A population who knows its history, who knows what the world around looks like.

Schools were built to all of Westerosi major towns and cities. White Harbor, Gulltown, Oldtown, Lannisport, Stoney Shore, Maidenpool and of course King’s Landing had the most. After that, schools were built in close proximity to villages as well. One major issue that had to be tackled was what was going to be taught to the Westerosi children. And how long this tutelage would last. Long discussions with the Citadel’s Conclave had to be made. But eventually, a balance was reached.

Education is a debt carried on half by the Crown, a quarter by the local Lord/Lady and another quarter by the respective Warden/Lord Paramount. The local communities that benefit from the newfound schools are obligated with help keeping them in decent state. This means that the smallfolk doesn’t have to pay, at least directly, for its education. The schooling period lasts from 5 to18 years. Children between the ages of 5 and 12, learn reading, writing, mathematics, geography, physical education, local history and the basic principles of the local religion. At the end of each year they have to present a successful job submission on every subject.

Between 12 and 15 and if they can afford the costs of their academic pursuits themselves or via a wealthy patron, they get a more advanced education. More advanced words and their merging. Financial and Household Management. Diplomacy. Botany and Animal Husbandry. Metallurgy. Principals of other Westerosi religions and those of the most known foreign ones. Finally, between 15 and 18 comes the final part. Lessons in Military Command. Architecture. Healthcare. Child Care and Teaching.

After this training is complete and based on the state’s needs of officials, the graduated students are sent off in various posts to work as military officers, traders, crop and animal experts, doctors, nurses, vets, businessmen and bureaucracy officials. But even those who are not selected, are treated with respect since they’re tasked with overseeing the current progress on their respective subject of expertise and propose improvements. After all, Uncle Tyrion was adamant and clear in saying that a nation’s future lies in a generally educated population and innovative, well-learn officials.

As for the schools themselves, their very architecture was a subject of careful planning: spacious, airy and with their own land in their disposal so that the children can practice without restrictions or trespassing in Botany and Animal Husbandry.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of the feudal state Westerosi society and administration operate on, Argilac Baratheon's government can’t enforce these educational reforms to the entirety of the Realm's lands. What can be done however, is convince the Lords and Ladies of the importance of such undertake and provide them with proper aid in these endeavours. And ot the credit of both the King and the Lords supporting him, these efforts, have born fruit: So far, the Lords of the Reach, with House Tyrell at the head, as well as the Lords of the North, the Riverlands and Dorne proved the most willing patrons of learning in their respective provinces. Which means that illiteracy starts to drop. From what the latest censors have revealed, the level of illiteracy had dropped from an 85% of the Westerosi population being unable to read or write, to a 68 % in 16 years. It doesn’t sound like much, but hopefully progress will continue once Steffon becomes King and so on.

Finally, the fourth district. The industrial district. When it comes to metallurgy, Orys Baratheon and Tyrion Lannister had gathered all the blacksmiths of the city in one factory. There, they and their apprentices begun working together at metal production, mostly when it comes to swords, armor and other metallic materials required by the Westerosi Army. Through trial and error, these blacksmiths were even able to recreate a new version of Valyrian Steel. Lighter and more durable than the steel produced in controversial manners. Armor and weapons made out of this new version of Valyrian Steel equip all the soldiers in the Westerosi Army. And selling said equipment across the Narrow Sea has proven quite a lucrative business.

To the outskirts of the city were placed four Royal Warehouses. There, a 10% of the annual production in the Crownlands is stored for a period of 10 years to cover the population’s needs in case of a famine.

The Starks were utterly impressed with the discipline, order and health displayed in the capital and by its people.

"Orys Baratheon and Tyrion Lannister created what you’re seeing, my children. They worked long and hard, but King’s Landing has truly become a city worthy of the Westerosi people." King Argilac told Sansa and Arya.

But what left the Starks and especially Arya truly impressed was the restored Dragonpit. The place where the Targaryens of the past used to house their dragons was standing once again in its full majesty.

"I’d say that you’ll get used to it. But it would be a lie." Tyrion said, watching his nieces standing mesmerized by the magnificence of Dragonpit. Its sheer size, its great decoration, the marble interacting so well with the steel and the bronze.

And that was not all. For Dragonpit was not only a relic of the past, finally restored to its former glory. But also a sign of Westeros’ bright new future. The first Westerosi University. A sister building of Oldtown’s Citadel, the Dragonpit currently stands as one of the greatest libraries in Westeros, as well as the seat of some of its most learnt and accomplished scholars. Linguistics, Literature, Theology, Philosophy, Astronomy, Mathematics, Geometry, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Engineering and History, all had a place in this university.

What makes Dragonpit even more fascinating is the fact that it inspired other cities and Houses to find their own universities, as a means to promote learning and gain prestige. The Velaryons of Driftmark, eager to display their financial robustness and promote Navigation, Seafaring and Trading, had already completed the construction of their own university and they’ll soon have it fully staffed with scholars and printing machines. Similar plans were made for Lannisport, Gulltown, White Harbor, Highgaren, Stoney Shore, Sunspear and even Maidenpool. Thinking about all of that, Sansa hoped that one day she’ll be able to visit these universities. But that’s a dream for another day.

Eventually, the royal party made it to the Red Keep where it was greeted by a courtier.

"Your Graces, my Lords and Ladies. Your rooms have been prepared and the Royal Council has been assembled as His Grace instructed."

Argilac turned to his relatives.

"Hoster, my son, get the women settled in. When you’re done, join us at the Council Chamber. Ned, follow Father, Renly, Aemon and Steffon. They’ll take you to the Council Chamber. I’ll be there shortly."

"Yes, Father."

The party started to dissemble. Arya went to follow her mother, sister and aunt but her royal uncle stopped her with a hand on the shoulder.

"Not you, Arya. Please, remain."

Catelyn turned concerned by the King’s interest in her youngest daughter. What business could the King want with Arya? But Lysa’s hand on her sister's shoulder made her resume her pace.

Soon enough, Arya was alone with her uncle. She looked at him warily.

"What is it that you want from me?"

Argilac sat on a bench near them and gestured Arya to come sit beside him. The 15 year old sat beside her uncle with narrowed eyes. She was studying him. Judging him. Not that Argilac could blame her. She was only 6 years old when she had first met him and that was only a brief meeting. It was only recently that Arya started to accept that she and the Baratheon King were family. Of course, she already knew that intellectually. But feeling it…it’s another story.

"I know that you don’t trust me. And that you don’t view my family as your own." The King said.

"At least you and Aunt Lysa were sending gifts from time to time and were asking about our well-being, through letters." Arya acknowledged.

"Yes. That’s what family does."

Uncle and niece sat there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes.

"Your father speaks highly about your martial drive in his letters. He says that you’re a true she-wolf." Argilac said in an attempt to strike a conversation.

"I only learn what I have to learn so that I can protect my family."

"Aye. So, what’s the essence of sword fighting?"

"Sticking the bad guys with the pointy end."

The King chuckled.

"I suppose that’s the essence to it. If you know who these so called bad guys are. Your sword…Needle, you made it?"

"No. My cousin Jon had it made for me on my last nameday."

"I guess it was a fine gift. And one made out by the hands of a very talented blacksmith from what I hear."

Arya smiled fondly. She was always close to Jon. For her, despite being Uncle Brandon's son, he is as much of a brother, as Robb, Bran and Rickon are. In fact, he’s her favorite person in the world. Second only to Father perhaps.

"Yeah. Jon is the best. Whether it’s fighting, advising or smithing, he rules! He couldn’t stop blessing the Gods for the sponsorship Lord Orys offered him, when he paid for his training as a blacksmith."

"Yes. Master Mikken must have been quite pleased with his dedication and diligence. But I am certain that your Lady Mother wasn’t exactly thrilled in you having a sword, right?"

"Oh, Mother went pale with horror. Having me train with bow and arrow, even knives, is one thing in her book. But sword fighting for a Lady…"

"Yeah, I can see her just now. She had that kind of reaction almost every time I was doing something better than her when I was your grandfather’s ward."

"You mean her going with eyes gurgled before she starts her lecture?" Arya chirped, trying to keep the laughter at bay.

"Exactly." Argilac said, bursting in laughs himself.
"Well, I hope she got used to it because she’ll have to face it for the remainder of her stay here." The King said after composing himself.

Arya’s face beamed with interest.

"Really, uncle? What do you mean?"

Argilac rose up from the bench and nodded to Arya to follow him.

"Come with me."

Arya followed her uncle to the Red Keep. They made their way to the Tower of the Hand. The tower on which the Hand of the King and his household live during their stay in King’s Landing.

"Where are we going?"

"Be patient, my little wolf. You’ll find out soon enough."

They entered the Tower and started taking its steps. They finally, made their way to the Tower’s Small Hall. A long room with a high-vaulted ceiling and bench space for two hundred trestle tables and great wooden doors.
Inside the room were four people. Two men, a woman of 24 years old and a girl of 15 years old. The woman and the girl were sparring, while the men were watching.
One of the men was slight, bald with an aquiline nose. He looked roughly on his 55, but he looked quite robust. The other man looked like 37 and was wearing a studded leather jerkin over quilted doublet, worn boots, breeches of brown roughspun and a belt studded with garnets and yellow topaz. He was tall, quite tall. He’d certainly tower over Robb and Jon and while not as muscular as the King, he had a sinewy frame and broad shoulders. He also had dark blue eyes, a fringe of black hair on his head, a huge jaw and a beard that seems to cling onto him.

The woman was tall, muscular, flat-chested, and ungainly, with long, shoulder-length brittle straw-colored hair and broad, coarse features that are covered in freckles. She had beautiful, large blue eyes and she was wearing the golden armor of the Kingsguard. The girl was wearing a doublet and breeches, suited for swift movement and training, similar to Arya’s uniform. She had black hair, blue eyes and a square, jutting jaw. But her most distinguishing feature was the scar she bears οn the left side of her face. A horizontal cut above the eye.

"What’s with your face? Slept on a razor?" Arya asked as soon as she laid gaze upon the scar.

Immediately, the girl bowed her head in shame, causing the tall man to march on Arya and lift her chin with his right hand rather roughly.

"It’s impolite to make such questions, child. Especially when it comes to my daughter’s scar." He said as he dropped Arya’s head with the same roughness he had lifted it.

"Stannis, there’s no need for you to be so rough. Our niece, Arya, didn’t mean to be rude. She didn’t know." Argilac said, hoping to calm his aggravated brother. So that's the infamous Stannis Baratheon, the Iron Stag, Arya thought amazed. The fearless and unyielding defender of Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion and the spearhead in the hunt of slavers across the westerosi seas.

"Still, she should have known better than asking. Looks like her parents failed to teach her proper manners." Stannis' tongued whipped harder than any rod.

"Hey! Watch how you’re talking about my parents, if you know what’s good for you!" Arya barked with her left hand at the hilt of her sword. In response, Stannis raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he put his right hand at the hilt of his own sword.

"That’s enough! Both of you!" Argilac said firmer, ending the argument.
"Arya made a mistake, because she couldn't hold her tongue before speaking. And you were making the exact same things in your youth, brother of mine." The King said, causing Stannis to scoff.

"Arya, please apologize to your cousin, Shireen." The King commanded.

Arya clenched her little fists and shook her head in denial.

"Just do it, Arya. You know that it wasn't a nice thing to say." Argilac insisted. Eventually, Arya relented.

"I am sorry." She murmured.

"It’s okay. Youd didn't know how I got that scar." Shireen said with a sweet smile. Stannis however, uninterested in small talk, started heading for the exit.

"You can take over from here. I’ll be waiting for you at the Council Chamber."

"Yes, Stannis. It’s already assembled. I’ll be there shortly."

Stannis then addressed Shireen.

"Come, Shireen. You’ve done with your training at arms for the day." Finally, he turned to Arya.

"You better watch your lip and start showing some respect, child. We’ll begin your training tomorrow. And I won’t tolerate laziness, incompetence or disobedience."

Shireen turned to her cousin before smiling.

"Don’t worry, cousin Arya. That’s how Father alwasys treats news recruits. No matter the relation or how promising they seem." She said in a sweet voice before running after her father.

Arya turned to Argilac.

"My brother, Stannis, is a good person at heart. He just likes to get things started. Now, let’s get back to your training. Arya, this is Syrio Forel, First Sword of Braavos for 9 years before he was employed into my household. And this is Brienne of Tarth, the latest member of the Kingsguard."

Arya was mesmerized. A woman as a member of the Kingsguard? Of the sacred order of prowess and chivalry? That was truly impressive. Arya always wanted to be a knight. And meeting a woman, who actually managed to become a knight herself, meant a lot to her.

"Brienne is currently seeking for a squire. And I would like you to become that squire, Arya. To be trained in Westerosi combat by her and in the art of the Water Dance by Syrio."

"Water Dance?"

"Yes, child. Since you’re small for your age, a style better suited for you is in order."

Arya bowed her head as a sign of respect to Syrio and Brienne. Argilac then had them leave the room with a gesture of his hand.

"And Stannis?" Arya asked when uncle and niece were alone.

"Lord Stannis to you. Uncle Stannis in private, if you prefer." The King corrected gently.

"Fine." Arya rolled her eyes. "Lord Stannis?"

"In a real war, no matter how tragic or inhumane, the soldiers’ discipline, organization, training and equipment are crucial. So are the competence, loyalty and innovation of the officers who command the army. My brother agreed to take over your training so that you can learn how to command an army properly."

"I don’t want him. Uncle or not, I don’t like him. My father would be a much better choice than him."

"Arya." Argilac said in a warning tone, making the young Stark give him her full attention.

"You wouldn’t have liked for me to insult your own siblings in such a manner. Isn’t that right?"

"No. I wouldn’t tolerate it. I will not tolerate it."

"Then, what makes you think that I will tolerate you insulting my own brothers? Besides, sometimes in real life, we’ll have to work with people we don’t like. Just make sure you keep yourself away from trouble, mind your tongue, and complete whatever tasks you’ll be given with diligence and competence. You’ll be fine."

"And Shireen?"

"Shireen is her father’s last pupil. And I also thought that it would do you good to have friends close to your age. After all, your sister will be far too busy with her own duties as Margaery’s Lady-in-waiting."

"Will I also have to indulge in courtesies?" Arya asked, clearly hoping she could avoid that part altogether.

"I am afraid so. It was the only way I could get your mother to agree with your lessons in warfare. You’ll attend the court sessions every morning, so that you can keep fresh your lessons in courtesy and also to observe how your aunt and I manage the Realm. Afterwards, you’ll be having your training at Water Dance with Syrio and Shireen. After lunch, you and Shireen will be joining Stannis to his solar for your lessons in battle strategy and finally, at evening you’ll train with Brienne. Apart from Westerosi combat moves, you’ll also be tasked with tending to her weapons and horse. I know that they sound quite a lot and I’ll understand if…"

"I’ll do it."

"You will?"

"Yes. You seem you went through quite a lot of trouble to arrange all of this, uncle." The Baratheon King only smiled and patted Arya on the shoulder.

"I only did what I thought best for my children, nephews and nieces. And this is what’s best for you, Arya: learning how to be a warrior and a commander as well as a Lady. One more thing now: in your court sessions and on meetings with guests, I’d recommend that you wear a dress. But on all other occasions, you can wear whatever you like."

He extended his hand to Arya.

"Do we have a deal?"

Arya looked at her uncle’s hand. She shook it. A struggling task, since her hand seemed almost tiny compared to his.

"We do, uncle. Thank you."
Argilac then reached down and ruffled his niece’s hair playfully, causing her to brush away his hand playfully.

"Now, run along. See your room and inform your mother about these developments. I’ll do the same at the first opportunity I’ll have. Now, if you excuse me, I have to meet your father and grandfather at the Council Chamber."

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, 20/2/302 AC

The marriage between Prince Hoster of House Baratheon and Lady Daenerys of House Targaryen, founders of House Stormborn of Summerhall, took place at the Great Sept of Baelor with all the necessary formalities. One week after, Hoster and Daenerys left for Summerhall. The castle, which had been rebuilt from scratch, nearly 5 years ago, had become less of a summer palace and turned into more like a proper stronghold. Perfectly fit for a militaristic family, like the Baratheons. A way to remove its curse, as King Argilac had said.

And the new castle was expecting new changes in the origins of its staff too: the new captain of the guard would be a man originating from the Summer islands, named Grey Worm, whilst the catle's new steward would be a woman from the Isle of Naath, called Missandei. It was during one of the many "buisness trips" Tyrion Lannister, Orys Baratheon, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen had made around the Free Cities of Essos, in search of Westerosi citizens that had found themselves in servitude. This time, the trio's destination had been the city of Astapor, the "breeding ground" of the Unsullied, the most disciplined and skilled infantry units in the world. It was Orys' idea: if they're to be dealing with the cities of Essos, they ought to have a firsthand experience in how to handle their armies. A hundred slaves and one were bought at Astapor that day. And they were freed outside the city, before being offered a choice: return home to Westeros or being given papers guaranteeing their newfound freedom and enough money and provisions to last them through a journey to the destination of their choosing. The Unsullied and the final slave, an interpreter called Missandei, chose to join their new benefactors in Essos. During their voyage home, both the commanding officer of the Unsullied, named Grey Worm and Missandei grew attached on Daenerys and in a moment of generosity towards his younger cousin, Lord Orys allowed Daenerys to keep Missandei in her personal service as her new handmaid and confidant, while Grey Worm would become one of her guards if no other use was found for him and his comrades.

The Unsullied in Westeros were treated with clear curiosity, both for the exotic looks many of them had, as well as for the military tactics they had to present. And Grey Worm's unit of a hundred didn't disappoint: they reminded of the Westerosi military leaders the importance of cohesive and disciplined infantry units, particularly against cavalry charges. In fact, Grey Worm and his comrades had performed so well in the war games that they had participated, that King Argilac Baratheon and Lord Randyll Tarly offered them a proposition: help train the infantry units of the Royal Army and in return, not only would they be paid in full for these services, but they'd also be given Westerosi citizenship upon completing their assignment. Grey Worm accepted and he and his Unsullied proved most brutal, yet efficient instructors. And both the King and Lord Orys kept their word: the Unsullied, not only were paid in full for the services they had offered the Iron Throne, not only they were given the Westerosi citizenship, but they were also assigned to Daenerys Targaryen's personal guard with Grey Worm as their leader.

Now, all that remained for Summerhall to be completely operational, was a Maester. A Maester that would arrive there to pledge himself to his new Lord and Lady, as soon as Hoster and Daenerys settle in and make that request to the Citadel.

Sansa loved every inch of that ceremony. It was an event that she wouldn’t forget soon. The beauty and majesty of the Great Sept of Baelor. The costumes. The decoration. Everything in this wedding was something to behold. Daenerys was looking absolutely marvelous in her white gown, decorated with a red three-headed dragon on the heart area. Just like Cousin Hoster looked every inch the Baratheon Prince he should be. Aunt Lysa was really moved as she was watching her youngest son getting married. Uncle Argilac seemed quite proud as well. And the Starks were sitting right in the middle of things. Like proper members of Westerosi royalty.
Sansa’s blood ties to the Baratheon dynasty, as well as her family’s successful management of the North, were things that were always causing great pride to her. They were reminding her how far her family had come. And they were making her think how much harder she, her siblings and cousins would have to work in order to maintain or even capitalize on these successes.

The royal court was everything Sansa loved in the stories she was reading as a child. Stories of chivalrous knights, kind ladies and fair, strong Kings. On the verge of adulthood, Sansa knows all too well that this world doesn’t exist. And it’s probably never going to exist, given the human nature remains the same. But Sansa couldn’t help herself but be grateful to her father, Lord Eddard Stark and her uncle, King Argilac Baratheon, for at least trying to make that dream a reality. By giving Westeros and its people the best they deserve.

Everything in the Red Keep was a display of the desire the Baratheons had to make sure that Westeros and its royal court will be a shining example of unity, prosperity, civilization and culture to the known world. While austere and functional in the name of necessity and practicality, Argilac Baratheon’s court was a pageant of light, beauty, music and learning. The members of the royal dynasty were surrounded by the most competent and reliable people Westeros has to offer and molded the Red Keep on the prestigious example of King Jahaerys I the Wise and Good Queen Alysanne. A true cult of realism, competency and chivalry. However, part of that cult is that the King would lead his people to stability, prosperity and glory. One more reason for the Baratheons to stay at the peak of their strength.

Sansa and Arya tested the Red Keep’s vigorous training regimen for themselves. Everyone rises at the crack of dawn. And spends two hours in the training yard, practicing various weapons, horse riding and hand to hand combat. And after the daily routine of lessons, administrative duties and chores has passed, another two hours of similar training commences, before finally there’s some free time before supper. Sansa was utterly impressed. Her father, a renowned warrior and commander from the years of Robert’s Rebellion was partaking in these training exercises daily. And yet, he was meeting a worthy adversary in the four Baratheon brothers, his three nephews and the members of the Kingsguard. A clear display that peacetime hasn’t softened the King of Westeros. That he and his family will always face the challenge head on and with sword in hand.

What’s more impressive is that the women were also obligated in following the same strict regimen. Like every lady living in the Red Keep, Sansa, Arya and their mother had to wake up at the crack of dawn and follow the same training sessions as the men. So that they know how to defend themselves in case of an emergency. These training sessions were one more thing for Arya to be exited, during her stay at the capital. And a great source of frustration for Mother. Back at home, Lady Catelyn did partake in lessons in self-defense. But she was doing it because she had to, not because she revelled in them. And that was evident in her performance: while able to repel basic attacks, she wasn’t going to last very long against very skilled adversaries. Lady Cersei for example, was living for these fighting sessions and was winning almost every time she was facing the Lady of Winterfell. Even aunt Lysa, who was a little smaller than Mother was winning more times than she was losing.

Other ladies on the other hand were excelling. Maya Baratheon and Brienne of Tarth, the latest person who joined the Kingsguard under Lord Renly’s personal recommendation, were two of the best female warriors in the Red Keep. And given the fact that Arya was being instructed in Westerosi combat by the Maiden of Tarth herself, Sansa could say that her sister was well on her way to claim a great grasp in this art.

Overall, the days and the weeks passed relatively quickly. Now 4 months had passed since the royal marriage. 4 months since the Starks had made themselves at home in King’s Landing. And all of them were very content with their new lives. Father was glad to see that the Realm is in a good state and that things seemingly go from good to better. And despite his introvert nature, he was glad to once again start spending time with some of his old friends, like Lords Howland Reed and Wyman Manderly. He also found that Grandfather Hoster had done an adequate job in managing the Westerosi legal system and as such, he didn’t have to struggle a lot in finding his footing on his new duties.

Mother was delighted to once more be in the company of her sister and father. Speaking of Grandfather Hoster, he was seemingly getting better now that he got to once again see his oldest daughter and her family. Arya too, had blossomed at King’s Landing. Even though she begrudgingly accepted wearing dresses during the court sessions and putting up with boys trying to court her, she was making up for it with her lessons in combat, strategy and chivalry under Lord Stannis, Syrio Forell and Brienne of Tarth, who had become the Kingsguard in charge of protecting the Stark family.

Arya was becoming more and more skilled. Faster, more precise, more agile and more able to think on her own. Becoming able to utilize her surroundings to her advantage. Perhaps soon she’d start thinking more rationally, instead of just making up conclusions and blindly charge in problems. In fact, Arya had now formed her own circle of friends, something she had struggled to do back at Winterfell with almost everyone paying attention to Leila and Sansa instead of her. For starters, Cousins Shireen and Maya were constant companions for Arya, in both lessons and strolls around the capital. Then you had the Sand Snakes, Prince Oberyn Martell’s five daughters. Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella and Elia Martell. Girls of 30, 26, 24, 20 and 15 year old respectively.

As a gesture of good will between the crown and House Martell, Uncle Argilac had legitimized Obara, Nymeria, Tyene and Sarella Sand when Prince Oberyn Martell joined the Royal Council. That was 19 years ago. After that, he even legitimized Lady Ellaria Sand, who was named Ellaria Uller, sole child of Lord Uller, a House right in the heart of the Dornish territory. And when this procedure ended, she married Oberyn. So, all the children that were produced from that union, like Elia and downward, were trueborn Martells. Regardless of the way they got their name and station though, these five girls/young women had proven themselves quite helpful in helping Arya practice her fighting skills, as well as navigate through the city.

And finally, Sansa herself. She loved every inch of King’s Landing, even though she would admit that the capital city of Westeros didn’t have the majesty of Winterfell. She wouldn’t lie and say that she didn’t find the weather quite pleasant, but Winterfell was home. It must be her inner Northerner, telling her not to forget her roots.
The capital had a remarkable way for managing its various animals: for starters, there were no stray animals within it. Form what Sansa had heard, Princess Cassana had conducted a very successful campaign on that regard: all the stray dogs and cats were gathered from the streets and placed in various sanctuaries, similar to orphanages. There, they were groomed back to health and castrated, before being offered to various families for adoption. Since the need to keep rats, lizards and other pests away from the houses is all-time present, many people were more than happy to adopt a pet or two. Depending on the family’s ability to take proper care of it/them. Furthermore, more feeders and watering cans were placed through the city to provide some comfort for the horses, donkeys and mules, who were roaming the city, while performing their various tasks. Finally, taking advantage of the large spacious roads the city could offer, various carts were always on the move, collecting dung and thus removing any source of stench.

To Sansa’s surprise, the Red Keep wasn’t that much different when compared to Winterfell. The royal seat didn’t have an endless amount of servants as Sansa would have imagined when she was a child. Instead, there were only those servants that were required to keep the castle well-maintained and properly managed. As for the representatives, they were only enough to provide an adequate image of their regions and issues. At first, Sansa thought that such small representation was occurring due to lack of funds. But after asking around and seeing things for herself, she realized that this wasn’t the case. After all, Argilac Baratheon is the richest man in Westeros.

Most people wouldn’t notice it by simply looking at him though. While looking every bit the magnificent warrior-King, Sansa’s uncle doesn’t spend gold unless it is necessary. His austerity doesn’t have anything to get jealous at, when compared to the famous Stark austerity. Sansa and her siblings grew up with stories of their uncle choosing to spend money on improving the Westerosi military and infrastructure, as well as promoting public health and education, instead of petty luxuries.

"Trust me, Sansa," Sansa recalled uncle Tyrion, telling her when she asked him about the capital’s development, "making your royal uncle agree on funding something other than granaries, roads, ports, ships, schools, hospitals, strongholds and other infrastructure parts was equal to giving a battle. And if there is something the Baratheons are good at, it’s warfare."

But she was glad that His Grace had also deemed it appropriate to patron artists and scholars. Or fund things, such as a ball once or twice per year, a theatrical performance then and there, even some shops neighboring the Red Keep, providing it with goldsmiths.

Sansa quickly adjusted living at the royal palace and acting as a member of the royal court. How could she not? Her Grace, Aunt, Lysa, was more than happy to show her the ropes. Every day during the court’s sessions, Sansa would be sitting in a prominent position, close to her mother, aunts and cousins as the King was delivering justice or making decisions. He was reminding her of Father. Whenever he was holding court in Winterfell, he looked focused, calm and comfortable as he was listening carefully and patiently to the various issues, before delivering judgment. Uncle Argilac seemed to have a similar approach to ruling. Despite his family’s fiery and wrathful reputation, the Stag King or the Great Storm, as Sansa’s uncle was known, always listens to the various parties patiently and after a small discussion with his advisors, delivers a solution that strives to benefit and please everyone.

Another thing that Sansa liked almost instantly during her stay at King’s Landing, was her employer and her cousin Steffon's betrothed, Lady Margaery Tyrell. Sansa was also quick to like the rest of Margaery’s Ladies-in-waiting: Meredyth Crane, Leonette Fossoway, Alla and Elinor Tyrell, Serra Durwell and Mira Forrester. Sansa fit in almost immediately. Having an old friend into the fold to help you avoiding shenanigans, like Mira Forrester, also helped a lot. Lady Margaery proved herself a friendly and kind employer. She was a tidy and attentive person. She was always interested in listening to their opinions, made sure to remember names and important dates and she was treating them more like friends, rather than employees. That was something Sansa liked a lot, for her mother and aunts although courteous and helpful with their own Ladies-in-waiting, were always more formal. More distant.

Nevertheless, Sansa quickly got used to her daily routine: from the previous night, she or some other Lady-in-waiting would have prepared Margaery’s attires for the day: one for her morning exercise to the training yard, one for the court session, one for the afternoon’s horse riding or falconing and a dress for the evening’s Lady gathering. She’d wake up at dawn, she’d train in the yard, eat breakfast, wash herself, help tidy Lady Margaery’s room and wardrobe, attend to her mail and escort her whenever she was out, doing charity work in orphanages and hospitals, or joining her in riding, falconing and social gatherings.

Sansa could also see that Margaery was actively trying to approach her more than she did with her other Ladies-in-waiting. Even though she was always friendly to all of them and made sure to treat each of them as if she was her dearest person in the world, Sansa could see that her employer was discreetly moving more towards her. Sansa was almost always among Margaery’s traveling party and was always the first to share an opinion on matters of importance. She had even more favor than Alla and Elinor Tyrell, who were Margaery’s own cousins.

"I want us to be friends. Good friends." Margaery had once told her when they were alone.

"That would make me very happy." Sansa rreplied.

"You must see Highgarden. You’d love it there. I know you would. We have a great masquerade the night at the Harvest Moon. You should see the costumes. People work on them for months."

"That sounds indeed wonderful, but I’d probably be off to the North by then. My mother wants us to be home in time to see the birth of her first grandchild."

"Of course. But I am sure that she’d love to leave, knowing that she has secured a good match for her Southern Pearl. And if you were to marry my brother, Willas…oh. Your place would be at Highgarden, wouldn’t it? We would be sisters you and I. Would you like that?"

Sansa would love to claim kinship with Margaery, even if that bond of kinship would be by law and not by blood. She was one person that Sansa knew she could talk to or confide in. However, she wasn’t as naïve as to think that Margaery was having this kind of attitude towards her, solely out of the goodness of her heart or out of respect for Sansa’s merits. After all, Sansa could see that her aunts and to some degree even her own mother, Lady Catelyn, didn’t like Margaery that much.

"Aunt Lysa, may I ask you a question?" Sansa had taken liberty to ask the Queen one evening when they were drinking some tea together.

"Of course, Sansa. What would you like to know?" The Queen replied with a smile.

"Why don’t you, Aunt Cersei and Mother like Lady Margaery? After all, she’s Steffon’s betrothed and both you and His Grace chose her for him."

Aunt Lysa put her cup of tea on the small table in front of her and sighed.

"Sansa, do you know how the Tyrells came to be in a position of power in Westerosi politics?"

"They were named Wardens of the South 300 years ago. After Aegon the Conqueror exterminated House Gardener, the original Kings of the Reach. The Tyrells surrendered the Reach to the Targaryens and in exchange, they were named Lords of Highgarden and Wardens of the South. Just like the Tullys became Lords Paramount of the Riverlands and the Baratheons Lords Paramount of the Stormlands."

"That’s true, Sansa. We, Tullys, as well as the Baratheons, received our titles as a reward for our faithful and able service to the Targaryens. The Tyrells, on the other hand, were the stewards of the Reach before Aegon elevate them into rulers of the Reach. Do you know why they chose to side with the Conqueror?"

"Because, they had heard what happened to the Field of Fire, the battle that exterminated the Gardeners and with them, most able bodied soldiers from both the Reach and the Westerlands. Knowing that they can’t take the Targaryens on and in order to prevent further bloodshed, they yielded the Reach to the Conqueror. In return, he named them Lords of Highgarden and Wardens of the South, bypassing families with stronger claims, such as the Florents.
A smart political move. By placing a family, which older and more renowned ones would scorn at, in such a prestigious position, Aegon secured the everlasting Tyrell support. By extension, the Iron Throne secured the Reach’s fertile lands and vast army. At the same time, Aegon condemned the Tyrells into a constant fight for dominance within the Reach. Which means that they can’t afford to get any funny ideas and stand against the Iron Throne."

Lysa nodded content. She smiled at Sansa before caress her on the left shoulder. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms took her niece’s hands in her own.

"You’re growing into a smart woman, my niece. All valid points. Now, you can see what the Tyrells are: they’re an up jumped, overly ambitious lot who will stop at nothing to obtain more power if it means that it’ll help them cement their position."

"And if that’s the case, why do we offer them the Queenship of Westeros?" Sansa asked.

"Believe me, where it up to me, it would be Steffon who would getting married off to Daenerys Targaryen instead of Hoster. With the Targaryens at least, you know where you stand. And where they stand with you. But just like the Lannisters make themselves useful with their gold, the Tyrells do it with their crops and livestock. You have seen King’s Landing for yourself: the city has expanded into housing a million people. All these mouths need to be fed and the Crownlands, although fertile, would have been stripped barren, if all of their food was to be gathered to feed the capital. And the Reach, with the North and Dorne being now able to feed their people on their own, has lost two of its best customers for exporting crops and livestock. So, His Grace had to make the tough call and offered a saving raft to the Tyrells. We buy half of our food from the Reach and we grow the rest of it on our own. And we solidified this agreement with a marriage proposal: their daughter, Margaery for our Steffon."

"It seems like a sensible proposal. And Margaery seems like a great candidate to be Queen."

"Yeah, she’s beautiful, smart and plays the part of the caring Lady just fine. Don’t let her fool you, Sansa! Margaery Tyrell is not to be trusted! She approached you and acts like the sweet, caring friend, because she wants to get points from you. You are a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms by blood, while she is just a smirking harlot! She’s all sweet smiles and witty remarks, but in reality she seeks a way to wrap my son around her little finger! Well, I won’t have it!"

Sansa had to admit that a marriage between the Crown Prince of Westeros and a Princess of HouseTargaryen would make a lot of sense. It would bring even greater legitimacy to the Baratheon dynasty. But since House Tyrell and by extension the whole dominion of the Reach were making themselves so needed to the Iron Throne, a marriage with Margaery Tyrell proved a better option.

But at the same time, Sansa had to admit that she had never seen her aunt acting with such…paranoia before. She couldn’t even understand why her aunt was regarding Margaery with such suspicion. Isn’t a future Queen supposed to win over the people she’ll rule over some day? Isn’t a future Queen supposed to spend time with her betrothed? She asked around and found out that Margaery was doing the exact same things her mother and aunts were doing: charity work in orphanages and hospitals, receiving important guests and partaking in important social events. However, Margaery had connected her name to something far more important than simple charity or diplomacy: she had linked it to innovation itself.

3 years ago, she and her eldest brother, Willas Tyrell, had presented two new inventions to the royal court: the iron plow and the seed drill. With them, came a new, more productive system for crop raising: the four-course crop rotation. Instead of having a fallow year, four different crops are grown in each year of a four-year cycle: wheat, turnips, barley, and clover or undergrass. The sequence of these four crops, includes a fodder crop and a grazing crop, allowing livestock to be bred year-round, thus providing the farmers with draft power, milk and meat for selling, as well as manure for replenishing crop nutrients on the fields. And if you can combine this diskovery with a plow that can actually accelerate crop raising in areas with a harder soil, such as the North and the Iron Islands, as well as a tool who ensures that seeds are sowed at the proper seeding rate and depth, while also ensuring that the seeds end up covered by soil …it’s no wonder why the Tyrells earned such favor. It’s no wonder why Margaery had become so popular so soon: in the eyes of the people, she is the soon-to-be Queen who has revolutionized crop rising and guaranteed their future by helping them keep themselves and their families fed.

Thinking about these things, led Sansa’s mind elsewhere. To Willas Tyrell. A young man of 25 years old. Tall, with brown hair, mustache and goatee and brown eyes, shinning with intelligence. He’d be a great knight, if it weren’t for his permanently injured left leg: Willas had entered his first tournament as a squire at the tender age of just 15, due to his father's wishes. He competed against Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne, who knocked him from his horse. Unfortunately, Willas' left foot was caught in his stirrup while falling and he pulled his horse on top of him. The animal crushed Willas’ leg under its weight and crippled him.

And yet, Sansa couldn’t help herself, but admire this young man for his resilience and determination. Though the jousting accident reignited the enmity between the Tyrells and the Martells, Willas bears no ill will to Prince Oberyn and the two remain firm friends to this day. And since the martial studies are no longer available to him, Willas has occupied himself with scholarly studies and he is renowned for breeding the finest hawks, hounds, and horses in the Seven Kingdoms.

Lady Margaery had described him as intelligent, studious, gentle, pious, and good-hearted. And Sansa had the opportunity to confirm these claims by herself, during her stay to King’s Landing. She just loved walking around the castle, reading in the library or looking at the stars with him. And if she could choose her suitor, it’d be him. She spoke about these feelings to her parents and to her surprise, both of them were positive on the matter. They too had taken their time to judge this lad. And he had managed to win them over with his intelligence, kind nature and respectful approach. And Mother was more than happy to secure such a prestigious match for Sansa. Just like Margaery had said she would. Father too seemed content at the idea that his daughter had chosen carefully her betrothed and he was willing to back up Sansa’s decision. Now the only thing that was to happen would be to get the Tyrells into agreeing to it and arrange the necessary details with them. Most accurately, Sansa has to pass the test of Lady Olenna Tyrell, the de facto ruler of the Reach and mentor of both Margaery and Willas.

A knock on her door distracted Sansa from her thoughts. Sansa opened the door and she found a young man waiting for her. He was 24 years old and looked a lot like Ser Loras Tyrell, but he was taller, more broadly built, and had a brown beard, while the Knight of the Flowers had a clean shaved face. He was wearing a grey armor, decorated with a green tunic and two golden roses to its center.

Sansa recognized the man. He was Garlan Tyrell, the middle-born Tyrell brother and Lady Leonette Fossoway’s husband.

"Yes, Ser Garlan?" The young Lady of Winterfell asked poilitely.

"Lady Sansa, I am here to escort you to my father and grandmother. Ser Garlan replied while offering his left arm. Sansa hooked it with her right and allowed herself to be led wherever the meeting is to take place. Ser Garlan took Sansa through the corridors of the Red Keep, until they made it to the gardens. There Sansa found her parents waiting for her. As well as Arya.

"For you to wear a dress, it must be a serious meeting." Sansa teased her sister.

"Never speak of it." Arya growled. But despite, the harsh words, Sansa could see the glimmer of amusement in her sister's eyes and the smirk on her face.

The arrival of Lady Margaery Tyrell prevented any further complains. She welcomed the Stark family in a particularly friendly manner.

"Lord and Lady Stark. Lady Sansa. Arya. I am really glad you could come." The Golden Rose of Highgarden said with a sweet voice.

"I didn’t expect you to be the one receiving us, but I am glad that you are." Lord Stark replied with a warm smile on his face. Gone was the cold, solemn face Sansa and Arya were so familiar with. At least when he was at public. Sansa knew firsthand that her father is not a man who likes to play the game of words. He prefers to be short and to the point, like a true Northerner. And yet now, not only he’s playing the game of words, but he’s doing it quite well.

Lady Margaery moved to Arya’s side and gently nudged her forward, as Father and Garlan were following her.

"Lord and Lady Stark. Lady Sansa. Arya. It is an honor to present my grandmother, Lady Olenna of House Tyrell. My father, Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South and his heir, Willas Tyrell." Margaery had told to the Stark family as they made themselves present before the Tyrells, who were waiting on some benches to the shade.

Lord Mace Tyrell was dressed up splendidly, as if some silken bolts of cloth would make him important. At 38, he must have been a powerful man in his youth. But after years of feasting, whatever muscle he had was turned into fat. Sansa was quite sure that Father, who was training daily with the Kingsguard and the Baratheon brothers, would easily beat him in the training yard. However, Lord Mace did maintain his good looks and his triangulate brown beard was flattering his face, as did his jovial personality. But he wasn’t made for political thinking . For any kind of thinking actually. He may be the head of House Tyrell, but he’s no threat.
Willas was among his family, like Margaery had said. Ever friendly and good-looking. His eyes were a silent encouragement to Sansa.

"Kiss me, child." Lady Olenna said as she brought her left hand forward. Both Sansa and Arya kissed it as a gesture of respect to their elder. She had soft, spotted hands with gaunt thin fingers. Arya really got to inspect the old Lady in front of them with curiosity. Lady Olenna was a small woman. Close to the size of a child. White-haired and wrinkled. Wizened and smelling of rosewater. At 73, she is older than Grandfather Hoster. And from what she had seen and heard, Sansa knew that it is Olenna who actually rules the Reach. She’s the one who the Starks must be paying attention to.

"So good for you to visit me. Such a great distraction for the foolish flock of hens that’s called royal court. Lady Stark. I am so glad you could make it to our soiree. And Lord Stark, I must say you’re looking quite ridiculous this afternoon." Lady Olenna had told Father softly the moment she gazed upon him.

Sansa couldn’t help herself but have a small smile crawl up on her lips. She and Mother were gorgeous in their grey and blue dresses respectively. Even Arya's body was flattered by the yellow dress and the open shoes she was convinced to wear after so much persistence from Cousin Cassana. Sansa knew that: she had made that dress for Arya herself, after all. But it was true that Father did look ridiculous at the moment. He was wearing a doublet made out of grey velvet, with padded shoulders and puffed sleeves to show the blue satin underneath. On his neck, he was wearing a small, golden chain with a scroll to its center, symbolizing his post as Master of Laws in the Royal Council. Aunt Lysa merely wanted her brother-in-law to look presentable for his meeting with the Tyrells, but she had apparently forgotten that the real beauty of the Starks lies in simplicity.

"Mother, that is not a way to speak to a fellow Warden. What will Lord Stark and his family think of us?" Lord Mace said aghast that his mother had addressed a fellow Warden with such disrespect.

:Unlike you, Mace, Lord Eddard actually is a sensible man. He might think we have some wits about us. One of us, at least." Lady Olenna said as she was sitting more comfortably on the chair that was brought out for her and gave Father a toothless smile.

At that moment, she was looking like a Queen sitting on her throne. One more good reason not to underestimate her.

"It’s all right, Mace. The fact is that I actually agree with your mother. However, I must add that not only I look rather ridiculous, but I am also feeling as such. So, I am afraid that this time you only knew the half of it, Lady Olenna." Father replied.

Arya, Sansa and Willas laughed. Even Lady Olenna, Margaery and Mother seemed amused by that witty remark.

"I knew your father, Lord Rickard, though not well, Lord Stark. Quite a smart man. For a Stark at least. Still, the way he was killed...rather gruesome. Nobody deserves it. But night comes for all of us and for some, rather early. You should know it all too well by now. I’ve heard that you lost your father, brother and sister in that bloody rebellion."

"I’ve done my grieving, my Lady. And I prefer to focus on what I’ve gained through the years. A loving wife. Strong and happy children, nephews and nieces. A safe and prosperous home. A unified people. I can never thank the Gods for all the good fortune they sent to me."

"Perhaps they felt remorse for pounding the Starks so hard in the arse in the previous generation. So now they decided to make it up to the current one." Lady Olenna shot back.

"If that’s the case, then it sounds only fair that they decided to pound some Tyrell arse for a change." Arya spat, earning herself the attention of the adults.
"You weren’t able to take Storm’s End and were forced to pay a proper compensation for starving our uncles Stannis and Renly. And now, you’re trying to reclaim your lost prestige with a royal marriage."

Lady Olenna looked Arya dead in the eye for several moments. She didn’t even flinch at Arya’s angry look.

"What was your name again, sweetie? Ara?"

"It’s Arya!"

"You look like an angry boy, Arya. Don’t presume to tell me what my House needs."

"Forgive my daughter, Lady Olenna. Apparently, her time with Lord Stannis…"

"Oh, shut up, dear." Lady Olenna cut Mother off before turning her attention to Sansa.

"Do you have anything to say?"

Sansa didn’t even get to respond.

"No? Smart girl. Let the grownups speak now. Lord Stark. I’ve seen first-hand the effect of your reforms. Within 19 years, you managed to make the North wealthier and more powerful than it was for the last 100. A remarkable feat indeed. Too bad, my own husband couldn’t claim similar successes. Oh, I loved him well enough, don't mistake me. A kind man. And not unskilled in the bedchamber, but an appalling oaf all the same. He managed to ride off a cliff, whilst hawKing. They say he was looking up in the sky, paying no mind to where his horse was taking him. And now, my son decided to do the same, only this time he tries to ride a stag instead of a horse."

"Securing a royal match for my daughter is my greatest accomplishment, Mother. Perhaps, now you will finally start paying me the respect I am entitled to."
Olenna paid her son as much notice as a horse does to the flies it swings away with its tail.

"At times like this I wish that I could have taken some moon tea when your father spilled you in my womb. Or at least, I wish I could have the chance of beating you up more often, when you were a child. Perhaps, I would have escaped all of this embarrassment."

"If you are to keep on exchanging family pleasantries, you don’t need us." Father rumbled rather annoyed and who could blame him? He came here looking forward to a productive conversation and instead he gets to see a mother chastising her immature son.

Lord Mace Tyrell rose from his seat red-faced.

"I will not sit here and swallow insults by you, Mother! If you think yourself so smart, deal with the Starks yourself." He said as he was storming off the garden.
Olenna just stood there with her eyes closed in annoyance. Sansa and Arya exchanged a glance of disappointment. Then, they both looked at their parents who had similar expressions on their faces. Finally, even the three Tyrell children looked rather disappointed with their father’s reaction. Rather as short-lived as it was, the feeling was visible. To be ashamed for your child is one thing. But to be ashamed for your parent…Sansa was thanking the Gods for giving her two so great people to call mother and father.

"Lady Olenna, we gathered here to discuss the possibility of a marriage between myself and your oldest grandson, Lord Willas Tyrell." Sansa said in an attempt to turn the climate back at the main subject. The Tyrell siblings looked at her with gratitude for distracting them for these saddening thoughts of their father's behaviour.

"And why would you want a cripple as your husband, dear? As bright as he is, my grandson will never be the gallant knight the likes of you wet their smallclothes when thinking about him."

That was a test. The infamous Queen of Thorns was testing the field to see if the Red She-Wolf was as promising as she was told.

"Martial prowess isn’t everything, Lady Olenna. A shrewd, decisive mind and a steady, kind heart are much more important for the perseverance of a House and the wellbeing of its people. Willas will make a fine Warden of the South when the time comes. He had a proper mentor after all."

"Ah, it was nothing. The lad proved gifted. More gifted than his father could ever be. But, let's say that we entertain this notion and actually arrange for a union between yourself and our Willas, what does House Tyrell gets to earn from it?"

Sansa looked at her father. He nodded content, urging her to continue.

"We know that House Tyrell lost an important client to the North, thanks to my father’s reforms. Same goes for Dorne. However, you proved yourselves able to cut your losses by exporting your surplus to King’s Landing and even as far as Asshai. Lord Renly’s current negotiations with the Pentoshi Council of Magisters also prove promising. However, there are some products that you weren’t able to sell off. At least not in enough quantities for such an endeavour to actually be profitable."

"And what these products may be?" Lady Olenna said curious. It’s been a while since she had a worthy opponent to verbally spar with. Willas and Margaery were funny to tease, but they were her gifted grandchildren. And almost nobody else could provide a fit challenge.

"The Northern Vodka and Whiskey. As well as wool from Northern yaks, muskoxen, bisons and mammoths. Providing foreigners with the opportunity to taste the products of the North’s hard work and diligence can never harm a trader." Sansa replied with confidence.
"And as for the profits…if a favorable arrangement can be made between the North and the Southern Free Cities of Essos, or even Asshai…will be distributed 50-50 between Houses Tyrell and Stark."

Olenna thought about it. Despite counting only 9 years in existence, the Northern Vodka and the Northern Whiskey, as well as the wool from the animals Lady Sansa had mentioned proved quite profitable assets for the North. She could see many people in the royal court drinking them with content. Sure, wines from the Reach, such as the Golden Arbor were still the dominant booze, but the rising popularity was evident. The North will eventually expand its trading routes to the South. And the Iron Throne won’t oppose such an expansion. Steffon Baratheon is a first cousin to the Stark children and by the looks of it, he’s quite bonded with them. He won’t stop his extended family’s enrichment, even with Margaery’s attempts.

"Make the Tyrell share ¾ and we’re in."

Sansa looked at her father. He shook his head in refusal.

"I am afraid that this is an offer House Stark can’t satisfy. We’re talking about my dowry after all. 50% of the profits sound quite reasonable."

Lady Olenna raised her eyebrows interested. She turned to her grandchildren. They all nodded smiling. The Queen of Thorns was then turned to Sansa once more. She inspected her with her stare from head to toe.

"Well played, little wolf. Perhaps a bit too rough pn the edges, but nothing some proper tutelage won’t fix. You will make a fine Lady of Highgarden."

Lady Olenna then turned to face Snsa's parents.

"I think ithat we've gotten ourselves a deal, Lord and Lady Stark. House Tyrell shall transport Northern Vodka and Whiskey, as well as wool from Northern yaks, muskoxen, bisons and mammothsto our southern endeavors in exchange of 50% of the profits. And, if both your Sansa and my Willas agree, a marriage shall be conducted between the two of them to cement this new trading deal."

"As long as the children agree, it’s settled." Lord Stark replied.

Sansa and Willas exchanged a glance. He nodded at her and looked at her with a questionable look. She nodded in return.

"I agree." Sansa said.

"As do I, Grandmother." Willas said as well.

"Terrific. We shall arrange the necessary details later. Now…do you plan to serve us some food or are you going to let us starve to death?" Lady Olenna said while addressing some Tyrell servants nearby.

As the servants were preparing the lunch table, Sansa looked at her sister fondly, before ruffling her hair a little. Things were looking well. She passed her test with the Queen of Thorns of all people, she found herself a good boy to marry as she always wanted and she got her family a profitable business opportunity. In other words, one more cloak for protection for when Winter Comes.

Chapter Text

Pentos, 11/12/301 AC

'War Hammer' made its way to the port of Pentos. Renly Baratheon and Viserys Targaryen descended on dry land for the first time in three days. Both could see the wealth that was presented in this city-state.

"Okay, we’re here. Now remind me again, why your brother wanted us here?" Viserys asked his friend.

The former Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and now Lord of Dragonstone had changed in the 19 years that passed since his family lost the Kingship of Westeros. At 26, Viserys was looking very much like his late brother, Rhaegar. At least what his brother was known for. Years of hunting and training at arms had left him tall, lean and muscular. Silver-haired and purple-eyed, he looked really regal in his black armor.

At 25, Renly also didn’t lack in physique. Going through the same training regimen Viserys had undertake, Renly had grown into a fit and good-looking young man. Brown-haired and eyed, with a face decorated with a well trimmed beard, the King’s youngest brother was wearing a black armor with a golden breastplate and the Baratheon stag painted on its center. After all, a Baratheon is nothing if not a warrior first, as his older brothers would always tell him.

"Argilac said that he wishes to negotiate further trading deals with Pentos. He wishes to strike a deal of provisions. We get to provide the people of Pentos with food and they in return make more lenient deals when it comes to spices and overall fees that Westerosi ships have to pay."

"A marvelous plan indeed, my Lord." Another youngster said as he made his way towards the two cousins. He was 19 years old and he was very handsome. His name was Loras Tyrell, third-born son of Lord Mace Tyrell and one of the latest membes r of the Kingsguard. Slender frame, gold-brown eyes and long, flowing brown hair were parts of this young knight. Dressed in the Kingsguard’s golden armor, he looked really formidable.

Renly was quite fond of this young knight, even though Stannis didn’t even want to look at him. That was one of the few things Stannis and Renly were disagreeing at. But it was the source of some very heated arguments.

«The war ended 19 years ago. Loras was just a baby when it was waged. You can’t blame him for his father’s bidding, a man who couldn’t act otherwise, even if he wanted to. For the love of Gods, our oldest nephew is getting married to a Tyrell, why can’t you just leave things be, Stannis? » Renly recalled himself yelling at his brother, before the latter storms out of the room they were, ending that particularly vicious argument. Renly knew better than to leave things that way with Stannis. He’d have to set things right with him when he returns home.

"What about the Flatlands? They’re just outside of Pentos to the east and are practically the feeding grounds of this city." Viserys said.

"True. But their production must be quite poor if they can’t feed themselves properly. So why don’t we do it, while we receive some coin in return?" Renly said.

"Yeah. With the North and Donre being self-sufficient when it comes to food, the Reach has lost its largest internal customers. We need new customers to export our harvest surplus." Loras said.

"The plan is simple: we are to seek an audience with one of the Magisters who rule this city-state." Renly said.

"Wouldn’t be better to seek out the Pentosi Prince? After all he’s the supreme official in Pentosi administration." Loras countered.

"His title is clearly decorative, Loras. I won’t waste precious time talking with someone who can’t aid Westeros." Renly dismissed.

"Looks like company with your brother, Stannis, has rubbed on you, cousin." Viserys teased Renly for his blunt comment. Only to receive a smack at the back of the right shoulder. Remarks like these were very common between the two cousins. They grew up together and were almostl ike brothers, after all.

"No! My Prince has nothing to do with that lobster of a man and whoever claims otherwirse than he's a fool!" Loras beamed passionately.

"Watch your lip, Loras. You might be my friend, but you’re speaking about my brother." Renly said sternly.

Loras bowed his head in shame.

"I stepped out of line, my Prince. Please, forgive me." The young knight said. Only for Renly to raise his left hand, as a gesture signaling that the matter has been put to a close.

"Who are we to seek out?" Viserys asked, returning the group’s focus on the matter at hand.

"I was thinking about Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He’s one of the traders-Magisters who do most business with Westeros." Renly answered to Viserys.

"Then let us move."

After clearing the purpose of their journey to the local authorities, Renly, Viserys and Loras started seeking Illyrio Mopatis’ residence. Eventually, they found it to the outskirts of the city: a manse with brick walls reaching 3.6 meters (12 feet) in height. The Westerosi trio made its way to the main gate.
There, they found three plump men, wearing plain grey outfits and helmets with one spike at the top. On top of the walls, Renly could see at least other ten men with similar outfits and built.

"Are these Unsullied? They certainly don’t look the part." Loras scoffed.

"Yet they are. So try not to steer up trouble." Viserys countered, clearly getting annoyed by the knight’s brashness. Frankly, Viserys couldn’t understand why Loras had to be the Kingsguard assigned to accompany him and Renly in such a delicate mission. With his impulsive, brash nature, he could easily screw things up big time. Having a more reasonable Kingsguard accompanying them, like Ser Barristan Selmy or even Brienne of Tarth would have been a ,ore sensible choice. But Renly just couldn’t see that. It was like in his eyes, Loras could do no wrong. And his persistence over the topic was so great, that eventually Viserys had no choice but to accept Loras into the group.

The three young men approached one of the guards at the main gate. Without a word, two of them raised their spears and blocked passage.

"Greetings. I am Renly Baratheon, brother of Argilac Baratheon, King of Westeros. And these are my companions. Viserys Targaryen and Ser Loras Tyrell. We come to speak with Magister Illyrio Mopatis about trade." Renly stated the purpose of his visit.

Without a single word, one of the Unsullied lowered his spear and made his way to the manse. He came back a minute later with a man. Well, something resembling a man at least.

He was considerably obese. He had a pig’s eyes and fat cheeks. Despite the strong perfume he was wearing, Renly could still smell the odor of sweat beneath his silken orange cloth. A smell that would cause him to frown, if he wasn’t trained to keep his reaction in check.

"Lords Renly Baratheon and Viserys Targaryen. Ser Loras Tyrell. Welcome to my humble residence. Please come in." He spoke with a honeyed voice. A voice that failed to comfort Renly.

"It’s an honor to finally meet you, Magister Mopatis. His Grace, King Argilac, looks forward to a more solid alliance between Westeros and the great city of Pentos." Renly said.

"A wonderful proposal, my Prince. And a quite beneficial one, I might add. I am sure that my fellow Magisters as well as the Prince of Pentos will love to hear more. But please, let’s talk more about it in more comfortable quarters."

The fat Magister led his three guests to his villa. Renly, Viserys and Loras followed him. As they were passing through the main garden, they stumbled upon a marble pool surrounded by six cherry trees. At the center of the pool, a statue of a naked youth was standing proudly. The statue was lithe and handsome, made of painted marble so that the hair can look blond and shoulder-length. It was poised to duel with a bravo's blade in hand.

"Quite impressive, Magister Mopatis. May I ask who this statue describes? A local deity perhaps?" The young Lord of Griffin’s Roost asked.

"Actually, this statue is one of myself, Lord Renly." Mopatis said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. " It was carved when I was 16 by Pytho Malanon, a renowned Essoi sculptor."

"Is this how you were in 16? Apparently, you had quite the decline later on in life." Loras said amused.

"Loras! I won’t tolerate insults to our host! You are a highborn knight! So, act like one, or I’ll send you to the ship right away." Renly finally snapped at the insolent knight. Loras paled. Getting yelled at by his dear Renly was one thing. But getting threatened to be separated from him? Unbearable!

"I apologize. I was totally out of line, Magister Mopatis." The young knight said with gritted teeth.

Illyrio Mopatis only laughed.

"It’s quite all right, my young friend. You see, unlike you, I had no highborn parents to give me everything I wanted on a whim. For several years, I was living as a common sellsword. But a good friend helped me rise. So much that I got to marry the daughter of a Magister who also happened to be the at the time’s Prince’s cousin. Afterwards, I couldn’t see why not enjoy the pleasures life has to offer."

They finally made it inside the manse. They sat on the living room, were they were offered three glasses of wine.

"That’s a good wine, Magister Mopatis. Arbor Gold?"

"You know your wines, Ser Loras."

"That I do."

"Well, I wouldn’t expect nothing less from a son of Mace Tyrell. Your grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell is a Redwyne by blood, after all. A family known for its fine wines. However, what I find truly amusing is seeing a Tyrell, a Baratheon and a Targaryen on the same diplomatic party. After all, 19 years ago, House Baratheon rebelled against House Targaryen and House Tyrell stood beside the dragon, not the stag."

Tension was up in the air. Illyrio looked like he was scratching old wounds. Renly decided to end this friskiness in the bud. He exchanged a glance with Viserys. He nodded.

"That was then and now is now, Magister Mopatis. Aerys needed to step down and there was no way that he’d do so peacefully. So my cousins stopped him. But, they proved themselves better than my father and gave House Targaryen a second chance. We are proud and grateful of their trust." Viserys said proudly.

"Now, on other matters. We came here to negotiate a trading deal with the city-state of Pentos. Westeros is willing to provide the people of Pentos with food harvested in the bountiful Reach. In return, we request more lenient deals when it comes to spices and overall fees that Westerosi ships have to pay." Renly cut to the chase, well used in the art of negotiating on these matters.

"Hmm…and why shouldn’t we just focus our efforts on the Flatlands to harvest our own food, instead of relying on foreign imports?" Illyrio asked in his honeyed voice. That voice was really starting to get on Renly’s nerves.

"And most importantly, why would the Magisters and the Prince of Pentos agree into allying their city-state to the Kingdom who has allied with Braavos? The city that stripped us from our war fleet and our army?"

That was indeed a solid argument. Once, slavery was heavily practiced on Pentos, but Braavos imposed its abolition after several wars. Due to its defeats, Pentos is no longer allowed to have more than twenty warships, hire sellswords, make contracts with free companies, or maintain an army. As a consequence, Pentoshi are less belligerent than their Lyseni, Myrmen, or Tyroshi neighbors. The Pentoshi are friendly with the other Free Cities and generous with Dothraki horselords.

It's on that, rather volatile mix that Westeros declared an alliance with Braavos. It started with the North’s exports of lumber, as well as wool, fur and food to Braavos, Lorath and Ib. These trading partnerships led to an agreements of mutual assistance in the abolition of slavery. Finally, it led to the sign of the Northern Pact, according to which both Westeros, Lorath, Ib and Braavos are committed into helping each other in writing down the location and quantities of resources of interest, collaborating on the observation of the migratory patterns of wildlife of interest. And most importantly, there has to be mutual assistance in case of an attack from another Free City. Finally, any escaped slaves from the Free Cities, are to be given sanctuary if they find themselves within the domain of either party.

"Because, the Flatlands were never a great place for your caste to invest into anyway. And the fear of Dothraki raids in the area prevented the conduct of any major developmental projects. A rational move. Only a fool would make serious investments in an area that can be turned into a ravaged warzone in any moment. However, with some proper alliances, you can get all the food you need for your people. Perhaps, if everything goes smoothly, martial assistance against the Dothraki can also be acquired for Pentos." Loras pointed out.

«Loras, you fool! Don’t make us bite more than we can chew! Even reorganized, greatly equipped and somewhat familiar with Essosi warfare, the Westerosi army can’t stand against the Dothraki alone. Not on these conditions. » Viserys mentally cursed.

But now, the damage was done. Mopatis seemed rather intrigued by these prospects.

"Those are indeed…fine promises, young man. Delivering on them however, remains to be seen. I’ll grand you access to the Council of Magisters tomorrow morning. There, you’ll present your case and agree the terms of our new partnership..." The Honeyed Walrus said, getting up to draw some papers.

Chapter Text

Pentos, 20/5/301 AC

Five months had passed since Renly Baratheon, Viserys Targaryen and Loras Tyrell arrived in Pentos. And these months passed rather smoothly. Renly presented the Westerosi case to the Council of the forty Magisters and the Pentosi Prince. The Westerosi proposal was approved by 25 Magisters against 15 and also got the Prince’s backing. Now, the Reach had an eager client to satisfy and it had to do so fast. Month per month, ships with wheat, preserved meat, wine, ale and fruits were anchoring in Pentos. Coin was flowing like a river to the Westerosi coffers.

Renly didn’t sit idle these months either. Once per month, he was sending a raven to his brother, updating him on the situation and getting his instructions in response. The King’s commands were clear: make sure that everything keeps going smoothly, secure the best deals possible and find if there are people of Westerosi origin in Pentos who are willing to return to the homeland. The young Baratheon performed these tasks without any major problems: He kept the selling products at affordable prices so that he can maintain both parties satisfied and he searched for people of Westerosi origin. Sadly, this quest proved less successful. There weren’t many people of Westerosi origin in Pentos. Renly could only find 50 people to send back to Westeros so that they can aid in the big projects Argilac had in mind, such as repopulating Dorne.

On other fronts, during his stay in Pentos, Renly was mingling with the Pentosi nobility quite often. He, Viserys and Loras were regularly invited in fine dinners, social gatherings and council meetings, so that they can offer their insight when it came to Pentos’ relationship with Westeros. In some ways, Renly and his companions weren’t doing a much different job than the one Talisa Maegyr is currently doing at King’s Landing.

Illyrio Mopatis insisted on housing the Westerosi envoys himself, rather than let them stay on their boat or rent their own manse. He proved a very generous host. Whatever Renly and his friends could desire, the Magister was more than eager to provide. Fine food, good wine, tours around the city. Even though the Baratheons were known for being a plain family and Renly was brought up with the principles of simplicity and modesty, the youngest Baratheon brother couldn’t help himself but be impressed with all of this luxury.

But for some reason, Renly was viewing all of these gestures as a mean to drive his attention elsewhere. For some reason, he could sense that something was...off. He didn’t trust Illyrio’s smile that never reached his ears or his honeyed voice. He was reminding him of Petyr Baelish, the scumbag who tried to steal provisions from Storm’s End during Robert’s Rebellion so the he can sell them to Mace Tyrell, before gain his trust and open the castel's gates to him. The bastard who tried to strangle him when Renly compromised him.

And that was only the beginning of odd behaviors Renly uncovered about his host over his stay in Pentos: Him spending long hours in his office in the middle of the night. Him abandoning his own home like a common thief. His efforts to keep Renly and his companions distracted with constant feasts and entertainment. He’s definitely up to something.

«I wonder what this blonde walrus could be possibly hiding. » the young Lord of Griffin’s Roost thought.

Eventually, this odd behavior reminded Renly of a conversation he had with his brother, Orys, when he came to the docks to bid him farewell. The Black Lion had told him that he and his comrades should be careful in Pentos. That it’d be most likely to come across Illyrio Mopatis. That this man was also a dear friend and benefactor of Lord Varys, Aerys’ former Master of Whisperers A person, who according to Orys, had taken refuge in Pentos, after Tywin Lannister sacked King’s Landing and put Aerys’ former advisors to the sword. Given their long, shared history, Mopatis would certainly have been the one to harbor the deposed eunuch.

Could this odd behavior mean that Mopatis is involved in anything nefarious? And if so, should Renly investigate? Perhaps Orys was right about being cautious. Not that Renly was going to admit that out loud. After all, he had his pride to maintain.

These findings however made Renly change his plans: he’d have to discuss this matter with Viserys and Loras. It’s not like he has something more interesting to do these days.

"Viserys. Loras." He called his companions in the city’s Red Temple. "I summoned you here, because there have been some developments we need to discuss." The youngest Baratheon brother said as he was gazing upon the temple’s fireplace.

"Well, what is it?" Viserys asked in a hushed tone. Who knows who could be hearing? Better take precautions.

"I think that Mopatis is up to something. I don’t know what exactly, but I can sense it. He disappears for long hours in his office at night, he leaves his own home like a common thief, he tries to keep us distracted with feasts and entertainment. There must be something that he hides."

"Maybe you’re just exaggerating, my Lord. I mean, he may just be rushing to take care of trading business. After all, the Magisters of Pentos are first and foremost traders and they must always keep on having profitable engagements to maintain their position in the hierarchy." Loras said.

"It’s not the place of a Kingsguard to question his Lord, Loras Tyrell." Viserys said. Perhaps a bit harsher than he had to."However, you might be right. It wouldn’t be foolish to seek some answers though." The former Prince of the Seven Kingdoms said, somewhat content that something interesting was finally happening. Not that Renly could hold it agains his friend. This might be the most interesting thing that has happened on this journey and the Targaryens are known for being active: when stuck to a routine in which they have no control or something productive to do, they get pretty bored.

"I suggest we wait until Mopatis sneaks out to do whatever the fuck he does before start searching." Renly said.

"I quite agree, my Lord." Loras said eagerly.

"I think that perhaps it’d be better to inform Lord Orys about the matter first. If things are indeed of such concern, then he should be aware of it." Viserys protested.

"Oh, Viserys, I think that you’re getting paranoid. You know that my brother doesn’t have patience for goose chasing. I won’t alarm him without reason. First we’ll investigate and only then, should we uncover something fishy, we’ll inform him of our findings." Renly said, ending the debate.

Renly was waiting in high alert in his room, with Loras guarding his door. A knock on it, made the youngest Baratheon to rise up from his bed. He was already dressed up and ready to move.

"It’s me, Renly. The coast is clear." Viserys whispered from outside.

"Good. Then we can begin."

The three Westerosi started roaming through the manse as stealthily as possible. Eventually, they made it to Mopatis’ solar. Renly pulled a small piece of metal in the lock and started moving it around until he had the door opened.

"Ser Davos taught me that trick. You never know when you have to pick a lock..." He told his friends.

They searched the solar swiftly and quietly. But they didn’t find anything suspicious. Price books, dates with the arrival or the departure of products, a seal for legitimizing trading deals. But then, something got Viserys’ eye. A piece of paper decorated with… a cluster of gold skulls hanging from a red spear on a burgundy field.

"The symbol of the Golden Company." Renly whispered as he was pulling out the paper to get a better look. "It says that the Elder and Young Griff arrived with 10,000 of the 'stuff'."

"What business could a Magister have with the largest and most powerful sellsword company in the world?" Loras asked before touching a small cup on one shelf of Illyrio’s library.

Before Renly who was at Loras’ left can move to stop him, the young Kingsguard had moved the cup in a straight line from left to right. And then…the whole library moved to the right, thus exposing a secret passage.

"Loras…"

"Yes. I see it, my Lord."

"Fetch a light torch. We’re going in. Viserys, put the paper right where you found it."

After Loras fetched the torch, Renly inspected the passage: the library can be moved from the inside as well. So they won’t be stuck, in case they have to retreat.
Renly and Viserys put the library back to its previous position and started descending the stairs ahead of them. Once at its end, Renly recognized the surroundings: they were in Illyrio Mopatis’ cellar. Long and dim, with barrel-vaulted ceilings and stone walls spotted with nitre. Placed with order were casks of ale and wine, including sweet blackberry, sweet reds from the Reach, sour reds from Dorne, pale ambers from Pentos, green nectars and fire wines from Myr and Arbor Gold. All around them, lit torches were illuminating the cellar. In the distance, the trio could hear murmuring. At least two people were near them discuss ing something that they didn’t want to be heard.

Viserys pointed out that they move towards it. They finally made it to the corner, where they could see who was talking , if they were careful.

Viserys with his heart beating almost out of his chest stretched his neck followed by Renly. What they saw left Viserys petrified:

They saw Illyrio Mopatis talking with two men. One of them looked like he was on his 40s and was tall with broad shoulders. He had dyed blue hair, though his eyebrows were red and his red roots were still visible. He also had a mostly red beard, with ash showing here and there. He was wearing chainmail covered with a red wolf skin cloak.

But his most defining characteristic was his hands: his right hand was badly mangled and his axe was tied to his right hip, clear indications that he favoured his left side, as the result of a crippling blow.

The second man was completely bald, plump and effeminate. He was wearing a silk yellow robe and a pair of slippers.

Viserys had recognized both men: despite the fact that he only a 6 year old boy during the last time he had seen them, he remembered that they were frequent presences in his father’s court. They were Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin’s Roost and Lord Varys.

'If these two are in correspondence with Mopatis, it means that something is up! We must go right now! We must return to Westeros and inform His Grace!' Viserys thought.

He moved for the exit and gestured for Renly to follow. But once they made it to the passage, they found Loras, who stayed there to guard it in case of emergency…lying unconscious on the floor.

"Quickly, help me carry him." Renly whispered.

They grabbed Loras by the armpits and started climbing the ladder…only to get the feeling of something hard colliding with their heads.

When Viserys opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was an itching feeling all around him. Lovely! Tied up to a chair with a rope all over his body.

He looked around him and saw Renly and Loras tied up onto two other chairs with ropes. They too looked like they had started coming back to their senses.

'Looks like whoever attacked Loras waited for us and under the cover of darkness knocked me and Renly out as well.' Viserys thought.

The door in the room they were in opened, stopping Viserys’ train of thoughts. Mopatis, Connington and Varys entered. With them was also a 19 year old man, who was tall, well-built, clean-shaved and had his hair dyed blue. However, Viserys could see…blond, silver-like roots. Something…familiar was onto this guy. But he couldn’t say what exactly.

On his right hand, he was holding a sword. A very unique sword. One that Viserys thought lost forever. It had a black pommel, with a large ruby to its center. If you were looking a little higher, right on the spot where the blade was joined up to the pommel. You’d see two small silver dragon heads. As for the blade itself…it was a wide, strong-built one.

It couldn’t be! This sword was…Blackfyre! The very sword that Aegon the Conqueror used in the war that turned Westeros from a total of squabbling Kingdoms, into a unified empire.

"You’ve always thought yourself clever, Lord Renly. You came to realize that something was off about your host. And you thought that you could find out what is going on, just like you did with Lord Baelish at Storm’s End. Sadly for you, luck wasn’t on your side this time." Varys said in a tone full of sympathy, but everyone could realise that he wasn't at all genuine.

"Varys here isn’t my Master of Whisperers for nothing. He informed me of your plotting the moment you started it." The 19 year old said, placing a hand on Varys’ shoulder.

"Master of Whisperers?" Loras asked.

"You flatter me, Your Grace. I merely do my part for the Realm and its rightful rulers."Varys said as he bowed to the lad.

"Your Grace?" Renly asked.

"Yes. You are standing in the presence of Aegon of House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Sixth of His Name, Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. So make sure you pay the proper respect, okay?" Jon Connington growled as he was making his way in front of Renly.

Renly stood there for a while, contemplating what he had just heard. And then, he…started laughing. He laughed as if he had just heard the best joke in quite a long time.

"Damn it, Connington. That was a good one. And here I thought I had missed your humor after my brother, Robert, messed you up at the Battle of the Bells.
I am afraid I’ll have to disagree though. Last time I checked, Aegon was killed alongside Elia Martell and Princess Rhaenys during the Sack of King’s Landing. Also, when I left for Pentos, it was my brother, Argilac Baratheon, who was sitting the Iron Throne as King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, yada, yada, yada."

"A usurper! A traitor to the true royalty of Westeros! That's what your brother is, Lord Renly. And it's time for him to return the throne he had stolen to House Targaryen and face his due punishemnt!" The boy that was addressed as Aegon shouted as he made his way to Renly.

"I am not going to make this pointless discussion about who usurped and betrayed who, pal. What I do want to know is what you are going to do to us. And most importantly, what are your plans about your so called Aegon."

Varys stepped forward.

"Aegon was groomed to rule before he could even walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes. He has studied history, law, poetry and speaks several tongues. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisher folk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers, mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry. What it’s like to be hunted. What it’s like to be afraid. Argilac’s son, Steffon, was taught that Kingship is his right. Aegon knows that Kingship is his duty, that a King must put his people first, live and rule for them. What we intend to do is to simply give the people of Westeros the King they deserve. Restore the greatest dynasty the world has ever seen to its proper place."

"Looks like you’re losing your touch, Varys. If you were as a great spymaster as it is said you are, you’d have known that my brother, Argilac, has been giving nothing but stability and prosperity to the people of Westeros for nearly 20 years. And that all of my nieces and nephews were raised on the principles of simplicity, modesty and devotion to family, duty, honor and justice. The Targaryens lost their royal status because they grew corrupt and in several cases, incompetent. The Baratheons instead brought stability, innovation and above all, prosperity for everyone. Guess who the people are going to follow, especially with the memory of Aerys the Mad King still so fresh on their memory." Renly spat.

"My grandsire..."

"Your grandsire, boy..." Renly interrupted Aegon "...was a reaving madman who was getting himself off by raping maidens, beating up his wife and executing people even if they had given him no grievances. I say good riddance to him!"

Viserys then decided that it was a good time to intervene, before Renly angers their captors more.

"You claim that you are my brother’s son. My nephew. But I was told that the remains of an infant boy were amongst the bodies of Princess Elia Martell and Rhaenys. So, if you are who you claim to be, how did you escape?" He asked, hoping to delay the discussion until they could think a way out of this mess.

"When the Lannisters took King’s Landing, Lord Varys fled the city. Staying would have been the equivalent of death sentence, since Tywin Lannister sought out and killed any of my grandsire’s advisors he could catch, as retribution to them siding with the Crown over him. But before he left, Varys took me from the nursery room and replaced me with a whore’s bastard. Sadly, he didn’t manage to rescue my mother and sister as well." He said. For a moment, a glimpse of pain revealed itself on young Aegon's face. In that moment, all that Viserys could see was a grieving boy, still mourning the unjust death of his mother and sister. But that moment was short-lived as Aegon pressed on with this story.

"We fled Westeros, we took refuge at Pentos, where Magister Mopatis, one of Lord Varys’ oldest and dearest friends, took us in. From there, Lord Varys made contact with Jon Connington, my grandfather’s Hand at the time of the Rebellion and he agreed to help me retake my rightful Kingdom. These three men raised me as if I were their own son. And for their long, loyal and competent service, they shall reap their proper reward. Connington is my Hand, Mopatis my Master of Coin and Varys my Master of Whisperers." Aegon finished his story before turning once more to Renly.

"Your family betrayed mine. My father, in his infinite generosity and unprecedented kindness, offered peace to your brothers. A peace they spat on. For the crime of raising banners and arms against the one true dynasty of Westeros, let alone usurping its rightful throne, your three older brothers, as well as their children will be executed."

"However, I am not a man without mercy or reason. You, Renly Baratheon, were only a child when your brothers committed their hideous crime and you had no choice but to follow them. So I am offering you a choice: bend the knee to me, swear me your allegiance, give me information that can end the incoming war swiftly and after I take the Iron Throne, you’ll be known as Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

"Ser Loras Tyrell, swear me your sword and you’ll be a renowned member of my own Kingsguard. And as for you, Viserys Targaryen, my uncle, side with me and not only you’ll keep your position as Lord of Dragonstone, but I’ll even name you my heir. Until a son is born to me."

The three captives looked at eachother. They nodded to one another: they needed some breating room.

"We’d like for some time to think about it, my Lord." Renly said.

"Your Grace, Renly Baratheon. And you will be wise to remember that..." Jon Connington leaned in, threatingly.

"It's quite alright, Lord Connington. Very well. Lord Renly. Lord Varys. Magister Mopatis. Come with me. Lord Connington, remain with our prisoners."

"As you command, Your Grace." Jon Connington growled as he moved to stand in front of Renly. He bore his eyes on the youngest Baratheon brother with such malice, such hatred that if looks could kill, Renly would be dead ten times over by now.

"Am I supposed to be intimidated by your glaring, Connington? I'd always been praised for my incredibly good looks, but I ddin't know that you were into men..." Renly asked indifferently, before he mocks his captor.

"You should be scared, boy. I still remember when you were quivering behind that lobster, Stannis, whenever your brother was summoning me to Storm’s End."

"Sure, feel proud that you were able to scare a 5 year old boy. What a big, tough man you are."Renly jested. "In seriousness now, though, I never understood why you hold our family in such a low regard. You were always loyal and obedient to our Lord Father, Steffon Baratheon."

"Lord Steffon was a true Stormlander! His sons shame him! Especially Argilac with his plans of trading and peace! Do you think it was diplomacy what gave the Stormlanders the Riverlands? Do you think that it was trading what filled our coffers? It was fear! Fear, might and plunder!"

"Then we’re no better than the Ironborn or the Dothraki!"

"Careful, boy! Careful now! Your brother took everything from me! My life ended when Robert’s hammer smashed Rhaegar’s breastplate. But I’ll do right for his son, Aegon."

"You have that much faith on that child? What if he’s an impostor and you are simply played for a fool in another's person's schemes, Connington?" Viserys asked.

"Aegon is Rhaegar’s son! For his sake, I killed my own cousin, Ser Ronald Connington, for his failure to stall the Baratheons long enough to make a difference and after he refused to support our one true King whole heartedly. Winning is the only outcome when it comes to Aegon! He can’t lose this war! 10,000 men of the Golden Company, plus 40,000 from Myr and Tyrosh are under his command. He was even able to win over some of the savage Dothraki and bring them under his banner. Khal Drogo, the strongest Khal of them all provides a horde of 20,000 men. Soon, Pentos will be under Mopatis’ control and Westeros will follow. But you, Renly Baratheon, unless you decide to be smarter than your brothers, you won’t live long enough to see this marvelous day. I will personally carve your belly open with my battleaxe and hang your intestines by the Red Keep’s battlements!"

A knock stopped Connington from rambling any longer.

"My Lord Hand, his Grace has summoned you." A servant came in and bowed.

"I’ll be tending to His Grace right away. In the meantime, bring food to the prisoners." Connington said. But before he left, he leaned closer to Renly. One final threat:
"Better hurry and decide, boys. Because my axe is yearning for blood. And I always get my due." He then left, leaving his three prisoners alone.

"We must escape right now. Argilac must know what s going on." Renly whispered to Loras and Viserys after they were left alone.

"Come closer to me."Loras said on the same tone. "Both of you need to stick your chairs on mine. I’ll cut your ropes with a knife I have tied up on the back of my left leg. Lord Renly, I’ll give you then the knife, you’ll cut the rope on your legs and when the food arrives, you’ll incapacitate him and release us."

"On it." Renly said as he brought his chair next to his Kingsguard as quietly as possible. Viserys imitated him. Once both of them were touching Ser Loras, he started cutting the rope. Soon, Renly was free and had also let his legs loose as well. He then passed the knife on Loras, who did the same and finally Viserys. However, they didn’t throw the ropes off them. If you didn’t pay attention you’d think that they’re still tied up. Exactly what they wanted their captors to think, until they could be on striking distance and act.

As soon as Renly had hid the knife in his clothes, a servant entered with their food. He was carrying it on a table, placed on a small cart.

"I appreciate that you brought us food, but how are we’re going to eat with our hands tied up?" Renly asked the servant amicably.

The servant seemed a little thoughtful about what the captive had just told him. And in the end…he was making a point.

"You’re right. I am going to untie you for a while, but I don’t want any trouble." The servant said in broken Westerosi.

"I swear it on my honour that you'll find no trouble from us." Renly promised. A shame that this was a promise that he couldn't keep: that cart had knives and the three Westerosi would need them to try and make their way to the docks.

The servant approached Renly to untie him.

"I am sorry."

"For what?"

Renly didn't even reply. He moved his hands upwards and stabbed the servant on the throat, while he shut his mouth with his left hand. Once the servant ceased moving, Renly cut the ropes tying his legs, threw his ropes away freed his comrades.

"Knives, quickly. Arm yourselves." He commanded silently. Immediately, Loras and Viserys grabbed one steak knife each.

"Viserys, in case I don’t make it out alive, take my ring. If you need to send something at Argilac, it will help you legitimize it."

In response, Viserys took his friend’s ring and hid it on his pocket. After checking out that nobody was coming towards them, they started moving for the manse’s exit. Eventually, they made it to a corridor close to the exit, where three guards were standing. The three Westerosi sneaked up on them and shut their mouths while they opened their throats with their knives.

"Quickly, leave them quietly on the corners and grab their swords and shields. We’re going out." Viserys said.

They hid away their latest victims and armed themselves. Only a few steps were standing between themselves and freedom. Soon, they’d be on their boat and out of this death trap.

And then…a bolt struck Renly on the back of his right knee. A screech came from the Baratheon’s lips as he tried to remove an arrow from his body.

"You are all so predictable. I knew that you’d try to escape the moment I sent Connington away. Nice try through.' Said Aegon as he was approaching flanked by his advisors. Holding a crossbow in his hands. He was the one who fired the shot that crippled Renly. Not that he held on to it for long: Aegon handed over his crossbow to Mopatis and unsheathed his sword, pointing it towards Renly. Renly, who at that moment managed to remove the bolt from his leg and patch the wound up with some clothing.

"Come, Renly. Let’s see what challenge your family can truly offer." Aegon said as he attacked. Renly parried the swing with his sword and tried an attack of his own. He wasn’t a born warrior like his brothers, but at least he’d give this pretender a fight he’d never forget.

Aegon parried Renly’s attack easily and charged again. A swing aiming for his neck. Renly jumped backwards and dodged before slamming his shield on Aegon’s face. He then ducked and attacked at the legs. A small cut made itself visible on Aegon’s right calf. Renly then attacked again and blocked Aegon’s attempt to hit him with his right elbow on the belly, before make a whole turn and hit him with his shield once more on the face. He then pressed on and tried to slam Aegon on a nearby wall. Aegon was able to avoid coming crashing on it but he placed his back onto it and tried to keep his and Renly’s swords in a lock.

"If this man represents the entire Baratheon family, perhaps our declaration was premature." Mopatis said obviously concerned. Jon Connigotn only shot a death glare on the Pentosi Magister, before returning his gaze on the battle in front of him.

Renly gave a punch on Aegon with his armed hand, but in doing so, he left his right flank exposed. Aegon took advantage of it and with a quick swing sliced Renly to his right side. Now, the so called Dragon had tasted the Stag’s blood. And he wanted more.

Aegon kept on attacking and Renly found dodging and blocking harder and harder. In one instance, Aegon kicked him on his wound, further opening it. With another swing, he cut the strap that was keeping Renly’s shield attached to his left arm. So when Renly tried to block the next attack, the impact was so big that it forced him to drop his shield.

Aegon attacked again and Renly…grabbed the blade with his left hand! The pain was excruciating, but the Baratheon dragged Aegon closer to him and attempted to take him by surprise. However, Aegon moved to his right and dodged Renly’s swing. He then used his right foot to kick the sword off Renly’s hand. With his newly free right hand, Renly grabbed Aegon by the throat, while he was keeping his opponent’s sword at bay with his left one.

Renly put all of his strength and weight on that attack. But Aegon didn’t seem deteriorated. He grabbed Renly’s left hand and used his own strength against him. But as soon as it was obvious that Renly was going to be impaled on Aegon’s sword…a spear pierced Renly on the back and came out from his chest. It went right through his heart! With blood gushing out from his mouth, Renly Baratheon collapsed dead on the floor. The spear was at the hands of Jon Connington.

"RENLY! NOOOO!!" Loras Tyrell let out a feral cry and pounced at Connington, only to be intercepted by Aegon. He delivered swing after swing to the so called son of Rhaegar Targaryen. In fact, he was able to cut him right between his purple eyes and with an upward swing to the external side of his left shoulder. But in doing so, he left his chest area exposed. So, after recovering from the initial shock, Aegon ducked, avoiding an attack that would have beheaded him and pierced the Kingsguard’s heart. When the third-born son of Mace Tyrell fell dead on the floor, twelve armed guards surrounded Viserys, who dropped his sword and shield.

"I yield. I know when I am beaten."

Aegon then turned his attention to Connington.

"By what right do you steal my victory? I had Renly Baratheon right where I wanted him! If word comes out about it, I’ll be known as a cowardly King who can’t even win his own duels!" He said passionately.

"That matters little, boy!" Connington thundered, like afather scolding his son. "The Baratheons are mine! ALL of them are going to pay for making me leave Westeros and taking Rhaegar away from me!"

"Prince Viserys, I believe that you now can see that resistance is futile. A shame your two friends couldn't realise that eariler." Varys said to the former Targaryen Prince.

"Due to the blood ties that bind us, uncle, I’ll give you one last chance to save your neck. You have one hour at your disposal to decide if you want to live as a Prince…or die as a traitor."

"Storm! See Prince Viserys to his chambers!" Connington ordered one servant who was watching from a distance. Roughly on his 30s, he was husky, with sky blue eyes, a fiery red beard and a piece of cloth around his head. He grabbed Viserys by the left arm and shoved him towards his chambers. Viserys didn’t try to resist.
Once, inside the so called Storm pointed out at the desk.

"There’s quill, paper and melted wax. I suggest you write your report. Fast." Storm said, catching Viserys completely off guard.

"Who are you? And why are you telling me this?"

Storm pulled the cloth off his head. Fiery red hair was immediately visible.

"You’re a…"

"Yes. I am Ronald Storm, natural son of Ronald Connington. That obsessed freak you saw back there killed my father and condemned our family into a life of treachery and plotting. All in the name of his so called beloved Rhaegar or some shit."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I am not helping you. I don’t give a fuck about who sits the Iron Throne. Targaryen, Baratheon, Blackfyre. It matters nothing to me, they can all burn in the pits of Hell, for all I care.. The only thing I want is to see Westeros again. And either dead or alive, you’re going to help me with that. Now, you can choose to either use what I left for you and warn your so called King…or sit idle to die while we attack and ravish Westeros. I get to see my country either way, so I don’t care about what you choose."

After saying his piece, Storm moved to the sidelines, leaving Viserys to think about his predicament.

Could Viserys trust this man? Who was telling him that he wasn’t messing with him so that Mopatis and his associates can kill him off as well? On the other hand, did he have the right to pass on an opportunity of warning Argilac?

Should Viserys even warn Argilac in the first place? He may have been his cousin and King, and Viserys would always be grateful to him for giving a second chance to him and his family. But he couldn’t deny that the relationship between him and Argilac had taken a blow in the recent years. The reason behind it was the engagement of Crown Prince Steffon to Lady Margaery Tyrell. A move that denied Daenerys her shot at the title of Queen.

It was a match making sense from every aspect. By marrying Daenerys to his son and heir, Argilac would have cemented the support of all Targaryen loyalists and he would have brought greater legitimacy to his dynasty. But instead, he decided to throw his weight behind the Tyrells, feeling that they were taught their lesson in obedience after seeing how well he had promoted some of their most competent and ambitious bannermen. The Tarlys and the Florents in particular.

Viserys wasn’t going to stand for this. For the first time in his life, he and Argilac had a fight. Viserys thought that he had every reason to be angry. For almost two decades, he, his mother and sister had done everything in their power to prove that they were better than Aerys and Rhaegar. That they were worthy of that second chance they were given. And now Argilac was pulling the carpet off their feet. And all of that because of what? Because they cannot offer vast hectares of land or tens of thousands of soldiers for a royal dowry?! In response, Argilac married Viserys off to Princess Arianne Martell and sent them off to Dragonstone.
No. Argilac Baratheon doesn’t stand as Viserys’ friend anymore. But his wife and children do. Renly Baratheon did. And he deserved better than to be killed like a stray dog. Stannis? Viserys had neutral feelings for this man. He didn’t like him but he didn’t hate him either.

But what about Lord Orys? Orys was the Baratheon Viserys had the most complicated relationship with. On one hand, due to his fostering and his marriage, Orys was a person linked to the Lannisters, the family who ruined Viserys’ family. But on the other hand, Orys was the Baratheon brother who invested the most on Viserys and Daenerys. If Argilac taught Viserys how to fight, how to rule and how to be a man, if Viserys’ stepfather, Lord Hoster Tully, taught him how to value family, duty and honor above all else, Lord Orys taught Viserys his ties to his past. He taught him and Daenerys how to speak, read and write in High Valyrian. He vigorously tested their knowledge in the history of their family and the management of Dragonstone. Not to mention that he was the strongest supporter of the added legitimacy to the Baratheon dynasty, through Daenerys’ marriage to Prince Steffon.

Viserys couldn’t ignore these facts. Nor could he override the strong possibility that Daenerys would probably “cleansed” of whatever Baratheon influence she might have, before being married off to this so called Aegon. Something that Viserys couldn’t allow to take place. Finally, the former Targaryen Prince made his decision. He sat on the desk took the quill, he soaked it on ink and started writing:

«Argilac,

I pray that this letter gets to you. I don’t know if I will still draw breath, by the time it does. Renly and Loras are dead. They were killed by Jon Connington, the exiled Lord of Griffon’s Roost on the orders of a pretender. A man who claims he’s Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and that he was shipped off King’s Landing, during its Sack by Varys, thus evading the Lannister purge. He and Varys took shelter under Varys’ old friend, the Pentosi Magister Illyrio Mopatis. 10,000 men of the Golden Company, plus 40,000 from Myr and Tyrosh and a horde of 100,000 Dothraki under Khal Drogo are under his command. Soon, a coup will be staged at Pentos and its government will be placed under Mopatis’ control. Then, a campaign to put Aegon on the Iron Throne will commence.

Cousin, you must win this battle. I’ll be rooting for you…from wherever I’ll be.

Viserys.

Postscript: Please tell my sister, Daenerys that I love her. And that I want only the best for her. »

Viserys folded the note, inserted Renly's ring, poured some melted wax and sealed it with his ring. After that, he took a second piece of paper and wrote a few words on it. He then proceeded to fold it, pour some melted wax and seal it with his ring. He then gave these papers to Roland Storm waiting nearby.

"You’ll go the docks. There, you’ll find 'War Hammer', a boat with yellow sails and a black stag on the center. You’ll deliver this note at the hands of the ship’s captain. You’ll tell him that you are to sail for King’s Landing at once. At worst, leave the disembarked crewmembers behind." Ronald Storm took the papers and started heading for the exit.

"I suggest you do the same with the raven." He said before disappearing.

"What raven?: Viserys asked, only to be pointed at the window, by Storm. He saw a raven. He knew this bird: it was the bird Renly used in sending and receiving news from King’s Landing. Quickly, he pulled another piece of paper and wrote:

«Cousin,

Renly and Loras were killed at the orders of a pretender, claiming to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. He will attempt to seize the Iron Throne. He has 10,000 men of the Golden Company, 40,000 from Myr and Tyrosh and a horde of 100,000 Dothraki under Khal Drogo. Varys provides him with information, Mopatis with funds and Jon Connington with martial expertise. Prepare for battle. I’ll be rooting for you…from wherever I’ll be.

Viserys. »

Viserys folded the note, poured some melted wax and sealed it with his ring, before tying it up to the bird’s leg and sending it off. And then…a sword came out of his throat, taking his life almost instantly. Its wielder was a handsome man with a clean-shaven face, an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, dark purple eyes and a strong jaw. He had collar-length thick silver hair, divided by a streak of midnight black and angry eyes. He was wearing a purple doublet.

Immediately after killing the Targaryen, he moved aside and Connington jumped inside. He had a bow and an arrow in his hands. He shot at the raven, but due to the darkness outside, he couldn’t see if he had hit his mark.

"I knew he couldn’t be trusted. Once a traitor, always a traitor. The silver-haired man said in disgust.

"Your words speak the truth, Gerold Dayne." Connington said, before decapitate Viserys’ body with a single swing of his axe. "His head will be sent to Westeros with those of his companions. His Grace wants to let the Usurper know his doom approaches. Storm! Get over here and clean this mess!"

No answer came.

"Storm! Get your worthless ass here right now or I’ll send you to find your father and grandfather!"

Still, no reply.

"You think…"

"Yes!"

Connington rounded up all the servants in the Mopatis manse. Ronald was nowhere to be seen. The former Lord of Griffon Roost headed for the port in all haste.

'That bastard proved its kind’s nature. But I won’t let him jeopardize Rhaegar’s legacy.'

It took Connington, Dayne and ten soldiers that were following them to reach the port. And by that time, 'War Hammer' had already made it to open water. A feral cry escaped Connington’s lips, as he was dropping on his knees.

"I’ll kill them all. Every single one of them. I’ll kill them all!"

The man Jon Connington had named Gerold Dayne rolled his eyes and turned towards one of the soldiers.

"Leave that temperamental fool wallow in his feral rage." He whispered in the soldier's ear. "Go find Varys. Inform him that everything goes according to plan. And that he's free to send word to our friends in Westeros. It's time for them to begin their work..."

"Yes, Ser Gerold."

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, 20/4/302 AC

He ducked, avoiding his brother’s swing of the battleaxe before he makes a sharp turn to his right and parries his sister’s sword. Theon Greyjoy loved being able to hold his own against his 29 year old brother, Maron and his 23 year old sister, Yara. Back at Pyke, Yara was always mopping the training yard with his arse. Now, the youngest Greyjoy sibling was more than happy to repay his older siblings with some of the tricks he learnt under the Starks, Ser Rodrik Cassel and Ser Arthur Dayne.

Theon made a whole turn before strike Yara with the back of his left hand. He then placed his left leg at the back of Yara’s right knee and lifted. The third-born Greyjoy fell on the ground. Without losing momentum, Theon turned and charged to his brother. But Maron seemed to be prepared for him. He stepped to the left and tripped Theon, before grab him midair and slam him to the ground. He then put his battleaxe on his little brother’s throat.

"Yield." He asked him with a mirtful spark in his eyes. Theon rolled his eys in amusement and said:

"Fine, you high and mighty warrior, you got me. This time."

Maron removed his axe from Theon’s throat and moved aside to let him get up.

"Don’t be sad, little Theon. You’re getting better." Yara said.

"Yeah. At this rate, you’ll be able to defeat both of us when we’ll be too old and senile to pick up a sword or a battleaxe." Maron joked.

Theon laughed along. While settling in the Red Keep practically returned him to the position he had within the Greyjoy household as the youngest child, he was glad spending time with his siblings. Back at Winterfell, whenever Theon was to recall Maron in his memory, he could only bring back a harsh boy with cruel japes and compulsive lies. A boy almost nobody was taking seriously. But after spending so much time as Lord Stannis’ ward, Maron had changed. For starters, he wasn’t japing nearly as much as he did before. Looks like Stannis’ joyless, serious nature had rubbed Maron real good. Secondly, Maron was always telling what was going through his mind, much like his benefactor does. And he had become so good with numbers and managing, that when the Ironborn took over the Stepstones, Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon appointed Maron Greyjoy as the Stepstones’ Head Treasurer.

Yara too had changed. When they were little, Theon could only recall a skinny girl with knobby knees and a face full of pimples. But now, at 23, Yara is lean and long legged, with the distinguished Greyjoy black eyes and short black hair. A thin face with a big hawk-like nose and wind-chafed skin. On her neck, a faded pink scar. A sword’s wound. A reminder of her first taste of war at the Stepstones. Perhaps her hawk-like nose is too big and sharp for her small face, but her wicked smile makes up for it. And the best part? Yara had proved her skill as a warrior and a captain of her own ship, the Black Wind. But that wasn’t even the end of it. Much like Margaery Tyrell, Yara Greyjoy too had connected herself with innovation. She provided Westeros with designs for new ships while working alongside her betrothed, Ser Boremund Baratheon. Lord Stannis’ second son.

This union, made in order to reinforce the Crown’s relationship with the Iron Islands, had opened even more possibilities and Lord Stannis was proud to call his son, as well as his future daughter-in-law the designers of the newest ships used by the Royal Fleet: the clipper and the galleon. The first one, small, easy to build and fast. Very fast. In fact, when navigated properly, the clipper could cut voyages perfectly in half. And when it was discovered that the clipper’s sail pattern and more streamlined shape could be combined with the oars and the open deck plan of the Ironborn longships…the resulting vessel was even faster. The perfect raider and chaser for both the shores and the open sea.

Galleon was...a floating castle. Lord Monford Velaryon, as well as Lords Wyman Manderly, Paxter Redwyne, Benjen Seastark, Rodrik Greyjoy and Jaime Lannister had paid each a fortune to acquire building plans for these ships. Now, Westerosi trading fleet was even more secure.

For these successes, King Argilac now only declared that Boremund and Yara would keep the sum each of these great Lords had paid for these ships, but he also rewarded Boremund with a knighthood and offered him and Yara Duskendale as their own seat. Boremund accepted this new title and restored the port to his best ability. Now, half of the Royal War Fleet is stationed at Duskendale, while the other half remains firmly at Dragonstone.

Theon couldn’t be happier for his siblings. He looked upwards to see if there were any spectators there, willing to see the Greyjoy scions sparring. To his surprise, he saw Lord Stark, Lord Stannis and his own father, Lord Balon Greyjoy. The Lord of Winterfell gave Theon a look of pride and affection, on which the youngest Greyjoy replied with a smile. Stannis was wearing his usual stern face, but looking upon Maron and Yara, he gave a small nod, perhaps content with their prowess.
But the moment Theon’s eyes fell upon his father…he saw nothing but contempt. Nothing but disgust. Balon was looking at him as if Theon was something…cursed. Something he should dispose of.

"What in the Seven Hells are you glaring at with such hatred?" Stannis asked the heir to Pyke.

Balon turned to face Stannis. Unmoved by the fact that the Baratheon towered over him, the Greyjoy refused to budge.

"What am I looking at? I am looking at the disgrace you’ve turned my children into! They’ve forgotten the true ways of their people because of you! Cursed be the day my bastard of a father arranged their fostering!"

"If by 'cursed' you mean 'blessed', Greyjoy then we might actually agree on something." Stannis growled back.

"Gentlemen, please. These children have reached their best potential. That is something you should be proud of, Lord Balon." Lord Stark said while getting in between the two quarreling men. In response, Balon spat at Lord Stark’s feet and stormed away.

Theon spent the next three days contemplating what happened at the training yard. And he came to realize that his father simply…hated them. He hated their links to the mainland families. He hated the lands and titles they got by the mainlanders. And most importantly, he hated the ‘betrayal” the whole nation of the Ironborn showed to the Old Way of looting and pillaging. As if they weren’t getting enough plunder by protecting merchant ships against pirates or through the spoils of war whenever they were working as mercenaries of the Iron Company in Essos. To Theon, it was like every person in the Iron Islands had grown to accept the respect, the riches and the power Quellon Greyjoy's New Way had brought them, except for Balon Greyjoy.

"Theon! Your King has been killed. You lost the game." Maron’s voice brought Theon back to reality. He remembered that he was in his brother’s room playing a game of Cyvasse with him. And he lost. Again.
"I knew you’ve always had a tendency to lose whenever compared to your awesome big brother, but this is ridiculous."

"Looks like he’s still troubled about the fiasco at the training yard. Don’t pay much attention to the old gasbag that happened to fuck us into our mother’s womb, Theon. That’s what all Balon Greyjoy is: a quarrelsome idiot without a foresight. Grandfather provided us with ways to make our people great once again. But he did so, while respecting our traditions. And Balon merely scorns at everything just to spill his poison out." Yara growled from the book she was reading.

"What was it like? Living here with him, I mean?" Theon asked his siblings. Maron and Yara exchanged a glance.

"He and Euron are always together. Always training or talking together. Balon is always on edge. As if he expects an opportunity to start bitching about the fact that he is practically banished from the Iron Islands." Yara said.
"He never misses a single opportunity to berate us for 'mingling with the filthy mainlanders and disrespecting the true ways of the Ironborn'. ”

"As you can understand, there’s no wonder why we prefer Stannis’ company over Balon’s. Stannis may have the personality of a lobster, but at least he’s fair and collected." Maron added.
"But tell us little brother, what was it like to live with the Starks?"

Theon thought a little about it. Then, he delivered his answer.

"The weather was shitty for the most part, Maron. I swear, that during the first months of my settling to Winterfell, I wanted nothing more but to go to King’s Landing, buy as much wildfire as I could, take it back North and use it to melt every snowy surface I could see. But the Northerners more than make up for it: strong, fierce, plain, resourceful, honorable and loyal to a fault. They were reminding me a lot of our own people. I was quite surprised when Maester Luwin told me that the Northerners and the Iron Islanders actually have a common descend from the First Men.

Lord and Lady Stark welcomed me into their family since day one. His Lordship never excluded me from anything: he had me eat at his family’s table and made sure that I wasn’t lacking in either physical or mental education. However, I got to say something about Eddard Stark: I love the man. He’s like a second father to me. But, by the Drowned God, he can be so boring at times. No trips to brothels, a strict training schedule in combat, ruling and diplomacy and scolding whenever I made a jab or a joke that could be seem too bold."

"Don’t feel sad, Theon. He’s not that much different from Stannis." Maron pointed out.

"What is it like to White Harbor? We heard that it’s the wealthiest city in the North." Yara asked.

"It’s definitely not as large or populous as King’s Landing or Oldtown. But, even with Stony Shore restored, White Harbor remains the largest settlement in the North. Located on the eastern shore of the White Knife River, it has a very prominent position when it comes to trading. Nothing goes out of the North or further into northern territory without going through White Harbor.

The harbor-city is clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that make it easy to walk around. The houses are built of whitewashed stone, with steeply-pitched roofs of dark grey slate. It’s one of the few places that followers of the Old Gods, as well as followers of the Seven and even the Drowned God coexist. In fact, the last part with the Drowned God was all my idea. I had a small temple of our protective deity built at Seal Rock, a massive rock that dominates the approaches to the Outer Harbor. Seals often come to rest on it. So I thought that it makes the perfect symbol for the worshippers of the Drowned God."

"Good to hear that you haven’t forgotten your roots, little brother."

"Regardless of what Father thinks, Yara, my blood is still of iron and salt. So, I have to act accordingly."

"How is your wife? I heard that she's a beuaty of rare up North."

"I’ll tell you, Maron. Wylla Manderly may believe in the Seven but she’s a true Northerner. Fierce, brave and shrewd. Normally, she’s blond, but she likes to dye her hair green. Not that I bother. With that tall, voluptuous body of hers, I would be content even if she was bald. Her father, Ser Wylis Manderly had us married the same day with Robb Stark and Wylla’s sister, Wynafryd. Sure it happened in White Harbor’s sept, but we also did a marriage ceremony in the eyes of the Drowned God. We spend our days managing the ships, taxes and goods that come in and out of White Harbor. And the nights, oh the nights…"

A knock at the door stopped Theon from going any further.

"Yes?" Maron asked, annoyed that someone was to interrupt his leisure time with his siblings.

"Lord Stark to see you, my Lord." A guard replied.

"Send him in, Qarl." Yara said.

The door opened and Lord Stark entered the room. He was wearing the same plain clothes Theon got so used to. With a thorax of boiled leather covering his torso and a direwolf’s badge at the place of the heart. To his neck his was wearing a small chain with a golden open scroll at the center, symbolizing his status as Master of Laws in the Royal Council.

The three Greyjoy siblings got up from the bed they were sitting and nodded their heads in respect.

"Lord Stark." Theon said.

"I apologize for bothering you, but your Lord Father requested a meeting." The Lord of Winterfell told them.

Theon looked at Maron and Yara. He wasn’t in any mood to hear Balon’s insufferable ranting. And neither were his older siblings. But as Lord Stannis likes to say: «Great or small we must do our duty. »

"Okay. Let’s get this over with."

Ned smiled. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Very well then." He said, before opening the door to let the young Greyjoys pass.

The Greyjoys followed the Warden of the North through the Red Keep’s corridors. Finally, they made it to their father’s chambers. Just that moment, their uncle, Euron was coming out. He was calm, amicable.

"Lord Stark. Niece. Nephews. Little Theon." He said before approaching the party. He gave Theon a friendly slap on the left cheek. Theon had to restrain himself not to flinch upon his uncle’s touch. Something about him always brought Theon the creeps. Euron Greyjoy is pale and handsome with black hair and dark beard. Relatively tall for Greyjoy standards, but not as tall or bulky as Uncle Victarion. Still though, Euron is a wild, unpredictable man, known for his delight in playing vicious mind games and waging psychological warfare on anyone around him. A skilled warrior, commander and manipulator. Cunning, shrewd, and ruthless.

Once more, he was wearing his black patch over his left eye. Theon had never seen what’s beneath that patch, but from what he had heard… the patch was hiding a black eye shining with malice. Not that Theon was eager to find out if these stories hold merit or not. He was more than happy to satisfy his curiosity by gazing upon Euron’s right eye. His “smiling eye” as he calls it. Blue like the summer sky.

Speaking of blue, Euron’s lips also have a pale blue coloring. A side effect of his propensity to drink Shade of the Evening.

"I assume you came to see, my brother, right?"

"Aye." Lord Stark replied seriously.

Euron’s smile disappeared.

"Then, I must get going. I would hate to keep you away from the fun."

And with these words, Euron stepped aside and left the Greyjoy/Stark party to enter. But unbeknownst to them, Euron didn’t go far. Instead, he stopped a servant he saw coming his way. He was holding a disk with a jug of wine and five glasses.

"Is this going for my brother and his guests, my friend?" Euron asked the servant friendly.

"Yes, milord. This is my final task for the day." The servant replied with a sound of relief.

Euron chuckled. He gave a small pouch of coins to the servant.

"Here, let me take those to my brother. Take those and have a pleasant evening. You’ve more than earned it."

The servant eagerly handed over the disk.

"Why, thank you for your generosity, milord!" He said as before bowing. He made his leave right after. Euron was left to look at the disk. He then turned his gaze on his brother’s chambers.

«Strange. No yelling yet. Better get moving, before things get…too hot. »

Balon Greyjoy was standing with his back facing the door. He was gazing outside his window.
He isn’t that much impressive at first sight. Compared to his tall, robust father, Balon is short, he has hard black eyes and long grey hair flecked with white that hangs past the small of his back. He’s gaunt and he has a hard face. But he is still dangerous. Even though he’s not as tall or as strong as his father, Lord Quellon Greyjoy, Balon inherited his speed, his skill at arms and his bravery. But this is where the similarities between father and son come to an end. While Quellon is far-sighted and wise, Balon is stubborn, short-sighted and quarrelsome. He’s still bitter for the fact that his children grew up without his influence and that he spent 19 years away from his home.

Maron decided to greet first.
"Father, we came and…"

"19 years ago, a son of mine was taken from me. By you, Stark. What do I get back?"

Lord Stark’s eyes hardened upon hearing this. But Theon answered before Ned could have the chance to.

"A son worthy of managing a city-port, sailing ships and paying the Iron Price when needs to fend off pirates and protect what’s his." Theon replied with confidence.
Balon clenched his fists and for a moment, Ned feared that father and son will clash hands. Fortunately, a knock on the door stopped them.

Euron went inside while holding a disk with a jug of wine and five glasses.

"Don't mind me, friends. I found the servant on his way here, bringing those. Thought to help out the poor lad." He said, friendly. Euron left the disk on the table, he set up the glasses and poured some win in them.

"Brother, I’ll leave you to your children and your guest. We’ll continue our talk later."

"Yeah, yeah. Just go now."

Euron gave a theatrical bow and left. Balon didn’t even bother to hide his disdain as he was seeing the wine in Ned’s and Theon’s glasses. He emptied his glass in one go and poured himself another one. He then realized that none of his children touched their own glasses.

"What are you waiting for? A special invitation? Drink what I gave you!" He ordered

Theon hesitantly reached out to take his own but one glance from Lord Stark stopped him. Seeing their brother’s reluctance, Maron and Yara imitated him and left their glasses to the table as well.

"Is this what you’ve become, boy? A wolf’s bitch?" Balon spat. He drank his second glass and laughed. A humorless, mocking laughter.
"Just look at you. A complete failure. A disgrace to the Greyjoy name. A disgrace to all true men."

That insult was too much for Theon to swallow. He stood up and ignored Lord Stark’s attempt to make him sit down once more.

"I’m already more of a man than you, sorry old man, will ever be! Which of us has sat idly by on his arse, bitching about everything, while the world is changing around him? There’s only one disgrace to all true men here, Balon Greyjoy, and it’s you! Raiding and pillaging and raping don’t make you a man! Shouldering your responsibilities, looking after your family and serving your people do! You act as if I volunteered to go to Winterfell. Your father sent me to the Starks, if you are so kind to pull your head out of your arse and remember. And I am glad he did. Because he gave me a far better father than youwould have been."

Balon’s sour face twitched before kicking his chair backwards and standing up. His hand immediately grabbed his battleaxe. But he was followed by all three of his children and Lord Stark. Each of them, sword in hand.

"Lord Balon, perhaps we’ve started on the wrong foot here." Lord Stark said in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"You’re the one who’s on the wrong foot, Stark! Think you can take MY son and make him your…"

He never got to finish what he was telling. He started coughing mercilessly.

"Your…" Balon tried to say but then he started coughing even harder.

Blood started gushing out from his mouth and nostrils. He collapsed on the floor and took the entire table with him.

"Guards! Help!" Maron shouted as he was trying to help his father, who vomited a ball of blood and fume. His face had taken a purple color. He had grabbed his own throat and he looked like he was on the verge of tearing it out so that he could get air. With whatever strength he had left, he looked around and saw Theon, who by then had reached down and took his father’s hand in his own.

"You…you did this. You are…you are no son of mine..." Balon spat hatefully.

Whatever sympathy Theon had in his eyes for his dying father, it vanished.

"I am your son. Whether you like it or not." He told him coldly.

Then, the door burst in and Euron stormed inside followed by ten Baratheon guards. Upon seeing his brother lying lifeless on the floor with Lord Stark, Maron, Yara and Theon all around him, his face twitched.

"What have you done?" He asked.

"Lord Euron..." Lord Stark tried to take charge of the situation, "...I swear on my honour, we..."

"You killed him! You killed my brother! Guards! Seize those murderers!" Euron immediately ordered the guards. The guards hesitated for a moment. They are Baratheon soldiers who answer only to Ser Vardis Egen, the Red Keep’s captain of the Guard. How can they listen to Euron Greyjoy and seize the King’s brother-in-law? Or Balon Greyjoy’s three children?

Yara was livid. If these cunts think that they can arrest her and her brothers on false charges, they’re going to regret this mistake for the rest of their very short lives.

But it was Lord Stark who offered resolution to this mess. He lowered his sword and beseeched the Greykoys to do the same.

"It’s all right. It’s all right, children. Lower your weapons. We’ve done nothing wrong and will gladly prove our innocence to His Grace. Send over Grand Maester Pycelle to investigate your brother’s death and have your men escort us to the dungeons, Lord Euron. Only then, we will surrender our weapons."

Euron looked at Lord Stark with pure contempt. His right hand clenched the pommel of his battleaxe, itching to soak it in Stark blood. But seeing the Warden of the North holding his ancestral greatsword, made him rethink this. He had heard of Eddard Stark’s prowess in battle and wasn’t too inclined in tarnishing his perfect record by risking a defeat. Or even his life. Trusting in Lord Stark's renowned sense of honesty and honour, Euron seemed to be content with turning over to the guards and issuing his commands.

"Escort these four to the dungeons. And don’t leave until you see that they have surrendered their weapons."

Chapter Text

Catelyn was running as fast as her legs could carry her. Her daughters, Sansa and Arya were only a step behind. When a courtier had come to their chambers, revealing news about Balon Greyjoy's death and Ned’s arrest as he was charged by Euron Greyjoy as a murderer, alongside Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy.

What seized that person’s wits? There’s no way Ned could have done such a thing. And most certainly not the Greyjoy children. Kill their own father? Being cursed as kinslayers? Catelyn was getting sick at the mere thought. And that’s not even the biggest problem. This misunderstanding, if it’s not resolved quickly, can lead to an all-out war between the North and the Iron Islands. And now, the Ironborn had many more reasons to be taken seriously, even with the North’s empowerment. The reforms Quellon Greyjoy had begun nearly 30 years ago were finally bearing fruit. And they were combined with the projects that he had completed for improving the infrastructure of the Iron Islands. The iron production had been accelerated and trading with the North and the Westerlands brings in coin and lumber necessary for shipbuilding. Which means that the Ironborn have everything they need for shipbuilding and arm making. In abundance.

And if you were to consider that the Ironborn get constant martial experience through the fights they have with pirates or as mercenaries, the conclusion is that the inhabitants of the Iron Islands are now a dangerous foe to face. No! This matter has to be resolved now.

The Stark women finally made it to the King’s solar, where two Baratheon guards blocked their path.

"His and Her Grace don’t wish to be disturbed, Lady Catelyn. Step aside or I’ll have to…"

"…cast me aside by force? Or are you going to throw me and my children in the dugeons too?" Catelyn hissed as her river blue eyes were dangerously narrowed while she was gazing down on the soldier. Attempting to scare him.
"Have you forgotten who you’re talking to, ser? I am the wife of the King’s Master of Laws, Lord Eddard Stark. I am the sister of your Queen!"

She shoved the soldier aside and burst inside. In the solar, she found Argilac and Lysa discussing.

"Argilac!" She addressed as she was approaching. Argilac stood from his seat clearly annoyed by this unexpected and rude invasion to his office. Lysa had a similar expression on her face.

"What is it, Catelyn? I told the guards we were not to be disturbed."

"Why is Ned under arrest for a crime he hasn’t committed? I demand my husband's release! At once!"

"You are in no position to make demands, sister! Not when we’re in a middle of a diplomatic crisis!" Lysa hissed.

"I am well aware of Ned’s innocence. But you need to be patient." Argilac said in turn.

"Patient? Our father is rotting in a dungeon and you’re speaking of patience? Is this how much you, Baratheons, value family?" Arya yelled furious.

Argilac slammed his fists on the table in front of him. All of the women in the solar, including his own wife, jumped backwards in fright.

"Family means everything to me, girl. More than you could ever know. But this isn’t about family. It’s about objectivity. It’s about rationality. It’s about justice. But I suppose asking you of all people, to understand these things is like asking a bear to eat with fork and spoon."

Argilac took a deep breath to calm himself, ignoring the daggers Arya was throwing at him with her stare.

"We all know that Ned didn’t kill Balon Greyjoy. Why would he? There’s absolute no motive for Ned or the Greyjoy children to kill Balon."

"However…just think about it. Don’t you find it…suspicious that Euron Greyjoy accuses Ned and his nephews/niece for that crime?" Lysa asked, making the Stark women exchange glances.

"Of course it does. If I didn’t know any better, this could be some kind of a scheme to remove Balon and three of his four children from the Greyjoy line of succession. And Ned Stark is a perfect bonus. A powerful, respected Warden lost in a scheme." Argilac said.

"But that means that a diplomatic crisis would be upon us. Rodrik Greyjoy will demand justice for his dead father and he’ll accuse the North for breaKing the King’s Peace. And if he doesn’t deem proper the justice the Iron Throne will provide him, he’ll have the perfect excuse to seek it himself." Sansa said.

"Exactly, Sansa. Just imagine the kind of impression we would give if we simply released Ned from the dungeon and declare him innocent. The Ironborn would accuse us for favoritism and wouldn’t believe Ned’s innocence. A cut of diplomatic ties between the North and the Iron Islands would be upon us. Perhaps even war."

"So what? The army of the mainland is larger and better equipped than the Ironborn. If they dare to take up arms against us, we will hunt them down and slay them all." Arya said, perhaps too eager to voice such bloodthirsty remarks. Perhaps too blind to the horrors of war. In any case, she ended up earning herself a sigh from both the King and Queen.

"Not every problem can be solved through violence, Arya. And if you knew the ruin war leaves in its wake, you’d have kept your tongue." Lysa said.

"You never saw war in your life, Arya. And believe me, child, you don’t want to see it. Your father wouldn’t accept the blood of all these innocent people on his hands." The King added.

"I am certain that Euron is behind this mess. Getting rid of four people ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming it on Ned to cover his tracks. I don’t know the full extent of this plot and what I am sharing with you right know is a mere speculation that has to stay between us. But for now, he mustn’t suspect that we know of what he did. A trial needs to be held and Ned has to go through it as defendant, alongside Maron, Yara and Theon. Argilac said, tiring the discussion back to the previous topic."

Catelyn and her daughters exchanged a few glances. A silent conversation between mother and daughters was on. Eventually, the Stark matriarch made her decision.

"My husband followed you into war. In peace too. Without doubts. Without second thoughts. I’ll do the same now. But let me inform Robb of the situation."

"There’s no need for that. Robb should be here in a month’s turn. He must represent the North in the court that is going to judge Ned. I was preparing the note that was going to be sent to him when you came in."

"Can we see our father?" Sansa asked hopefully.

Both Argilac’s and Lysa’s faces saddened.

"I am afraid no, child. Not yet at least. If you were seen in the dungeons, you could be accused of plotting with him. I promise you that as soon as the situation is settled, visits can be arranged." Lysa replied more softly.

Catelyn’s, Sansa’s and Arya’s faces soured upon hearing this.

"Then with your leave, Your Grace, we’ll return to our chamber." Catelyn said.

"Yes. You are dismissed."

A couple of hours passed and the Starks sisters were on their mother’s chambers. Sansa and Arya were sitting on a sofa, while their mother was walking frantically in front of them.

"Mother, please calm yourself. Everything is going to be okay. Since the King believes Father is innocent, all it that it has to be done is for the typical procedure to be completed. Then, Father’s name will be cleaned without giving ground for charging His Grace for favoritism." Sansa said in an attempt to calm her mother down.
Mother stopped her walking. She looked at her daughter and formed a small, stiff smile on her face.

"Perhaps you’re right, sweetheart. Still though, I am worried for not letting us visit your father. I dread at the mere imagine of him being caged like some feral animal instead of a dignified man."

"What I don’t get is why Euron did what he did." Arya said from her seat. "How could he be sure that only those people he wanted to die would die?"

"Arya, proper ground for blaming would be found, regardless of who died. If Father ended up dead, we’d blame the Greyjoys for killing him. If one or more of the Greyjoy children were killed, Euron could perfectly blame Father by taking advantage of his brother’s grief. And now, Father, as well as Maron, Yara and Theon end up charged as murderers. The ideal spot for Euron, if you ask me." Sansa explained.

"Yeah, but why did he do it? What Father has done to Euron for him to set him up like this?"

"Arya, this is how the world works. Some people aren’t content with what they have and always want more. Euron acted in such a way that would allow him to remove four people that were ahead of him in the line of succession. And if we say that he would be in a position to whisper in the ear of Rodrik during the following crisis, or even set up his death too, then the seat of the Iron Islands is his for the taking."

"So, all of this…for a stupid chair?" Arya whispered in disbelief.

Lady Catelyn approached and hugged her youngest daughter.

"Sweetheart, for some people a “stupid chair” means everything. And they’ll do whatever it takes to get it. No matter who or how many will have to suffer for it. But we’ll take your father back. Fear not."

For a while, Arya stood there, in her mother’s arms, thinking . But after a while, she hugged back. Soon enough, Sansa too joined in the embrace. It was peaceful. Precious. Just a mother and two sisters. And then…a knock on their door spoiled it all.

"Come in." Catelyn almost barked, clearly annoyed that someone interrupted her bonding time with her children.

The door opened and Prince Steffon came in. Catelyn and Sansa bowed their heads a little, in a gesture of respect. But Arya stood firm, defiant. Nymeria, who was standing beside her mistress even growled at Steffon.

The smile that was planted on the Crown Prince’s face, disappeared upon hearing the growl and seeing Arya glaring at him.

"I am starting to think that I am not welcome here." He sad clearly displeased by the welcoming he got.

"You better get used to it. Your father imprisoned ours. So, if you are looking for someone to kiss your arse, then you came to the wrong chambers."

"Arya, it’s not his fault…" Sansa said.

"Well, since you are so willing to condemn someone based on his parent’s actions, perhaps I should order your imprisonment as well."

The three Stark women froze.

"What? That’s absurd! We didn't do anyting!" Catelyn called out.

"Nobody knows that, Lady Catelyn. As far as I am concerned, you could be involved in this plot."

The Stark matriarch once again opened her mouth to protest, but she stopped when she saw her oldest nephew winking at her. Steffon once again turned his attention to Arya.

"Now, that was a demonstration of how unfair is to accuse someone based on what his kin had done. I thought that after what you and Aemon had talked aout on that boat that we’ve been over this, Arya. Your parents, as well as your uncles and aunts have raised you better than this. So quit acting like a child if you don’t want to be treated as such!"

The last part made Arya feel like her cousin had just slapped her. She frowned and clenched her fists.

"Now are you going to just stand there and skulk like a baby or are you going to follow me?" Steffon said as he was moving towards the door.

Even though reluctantly, the three Starks followed the Baratheon Prince. They moved from corridor to corridor, until the twisting turnpike stairs they were walking on, started going below ground. To the dungeons as Arya and Sansa knew from what they had read.

Nymeria once more growled, only for her mother to chastise her with a bark and an exposure of teeth.

They went pass the first floor: the one where criminals are held. They were moving even lower. Towards the second floor. Where the highborn are held. Once they reached said floor they found a pathway full of lit torches. Several Baratheon men were standing there as guards. Ser Andrew Estermont, Lord Commander of the City Watch chief among them.

"Prince Steffon." He greeted the Prince with respect before noticing the Stark women. He scowled at the sight.

"My Prince, the King had ordered…"

"I know what my father commanded, Ser Estermont. I don’t need you to remind me. I am going to visit my uncle in his cell and receive his testimony for the upcoming trial. You will reassume your posts and in case His Grace finds out about this, I’ll handle it."

Ser Andrew didn’t look very pleased with the way things were turning out. But eventually, he nodded.

"It’s not my place to question Princes." He said as he was handing over a key to the Prince and moving aside for the royal party to continue its way.

"He’s in the middle cell. The Greyjoys are on the three cells to its right." He called out.

Steffon followed Ser Andrew’s instructions and found his uncle’s cell. He unlocked the door and entered. What he saw, left him somewhat content. The Lord of Winterfell wasn’t either chained or battered. The Baratheon men didn’t allow Euron and his guards to have their way, despite the Greyjoy’s strong protests. He was relatively clean and he seemed properly fed and hydrated. The same could be said for Lord Stark’s direwolf, Torrhen, who pinned his yellow eyes at the Baratheon heir before growling from the spot he was chained on.

"It’s all right, Torrhen. It’s all right. Steffon doesn’t mean any harm." Ned reassured his companion, by placing a hand on his head. Torrhen, hearing Lord Stark’s command, once again sat in his haunches and started observing his master’s visitor.

Ned’s grey eyes turned once more to the Crown Prince.

"Lord Stark." Steffon greeted his uncle formally.

"Nephew. What are you doing here? If your father finds out that you disobeyed his orders…"

"My father’s commands are exactly why I am here, Uncle Ned." Prince Steffon reassured his uncle. "I must take your testimony for the upcoming trial. However, that can wait." He said as he was moving aside to make space for the Stark women who immediately rushed in and embraced their husband/father.

"Ned…my sweet Ned." Lady Catelyn sobbed as she was tightening her grip around her husband.

"Father…father…" Sansa cried as she was rubbing her cheek against her father’s.

Arya said nothing at all. She was content with just feeling her father’s touch and smell. At one point, she turned towards Steffon with watery eyes and whispered him: “thank you.”

Steffon merely smiled and nodded from the corner he was sitting. He wanted to allow the Stark family some privacy. When the emotional tension had died out, the Starks turned towards Steffon and nodded him to approach.

"My Prince, you defied your father’s commands and gave me back my husband. You gave my daughters their father back. We’ll never forget this act of kindness."

"How can we ever repay you?" Sansa asked.

:By making sure that you will never speak about this. To anyone. I will not have us being chastised for disobeying orders."

"And the guards? Can they be trusted?" Sansa asked.

"Yes. They can relate to not being able to see your family at times. But let’s keep this to ourselves. Now, I’d like for you to return to your chambers. I must have words with Uncle Ned and the Greyjoys about what happened."

The ravens flew hard and fast until they made it to all seats of the Wardens and Lords Paramount of Westeros. All of the carried an identical message:
«To all the Wardens and Lords Paramount in the Realm of Westeros,
Your King requests for you to represent your region as judges in a trial. Eddard of House Stark, as well as Maron, Yara and Theon of House Greyjoy stand as defendants for the murder of Balon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands.
The trial shall take place in a month’s time. In case you cannot represent your region yourselves, do so by sending a chosen representative with a letter of confirmation.
That is the will of Argilac of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. »

Winterfell, 23/4/302 AC

Robb and Jon Stark, as well as Domeric Bolton were in Maester Luwin’s tower when they received the raven carrying the royal command. Things so far were going as smoothly as they did with Father and Mother at the head of the Stark family. So, this message seemed to be a refreshing change. Until its content was thoroughly read.

"Trial for murder?" Robb asked in disbelief as he was reading.

"It appears that something nefarious has happened to King’s Landing. And your lord Father ended up right in the middle, my Lord." Maester Luwin said.

"This has to be a big misunderstanding. His Grace would never imprison an innocent person." Domeric said, confident in Argilac Baratheon’s firm belief in justice.

"It matters not, Domeric. This incident can lead us to a full-out war with the Ironborn, if handled wrongly." Jon said. He then turned to his cousin.

"Robb, allow me to represent the North in Uncle Ned's trial. I’ll do anything that needs to prove his innocence and apprehend the real villain." He declared.

"Thanks for the offer Jon, but no. His Grace is summoning me to King’s Landing, so I shall go to King’s Landing. You need to help Rickon run the North in my absence and keep our forces ready to repel any retribution attempts from the Ironborn. But I won’t go alone."

Robb then turned to Maester Luwin.

"Call the banners." He ordered.

Winterfell’s Maester smirked.

"All of them, my Lord?"

"They swore to defend my family’s honor, did they not?"

"Aye."

"Now we’ll see what worth their word has. Each family shall send a representative to accompany me to their Warden’s trial."

Maester Luwin bowed slightly and sat down. He started writing the notes, helped by the youngsters next to him. As they were writing, Domeric noticed a slight tremor in Rob's right hand.

"Are you nervous, Stark?" The heir to the Dreadfort asked his friend.

Robb gazed down to his hand and noticed the tremor.

"I must be."

"Good." Domeric nodded.

"Why is that good?"

"Because it means that you are no stupid." Domeric said darkly.

Pyke, 23/4/302 AC

The ancestral seat of House Greyjoy to the Iron Islands had definitely seen quieter days. Rodrik Greyjoy, eldest son of the now late Balon Greyjoy, had just received the news about his father’s murder and the charges made against his younger siblings. He didn’t react well upon coming to grasp with what had happened.

"That’s absurd! Maron, Yara and Theon would never do anything against our family! That mainlander fuck, Stark, has to be behind it!"

He turned to his uncle, Victarion, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet and Lord Quellon’s second-in command.

"This slight won’t go unpunished, uncle! I want the Iron Fleet prepared to scale a retribution campaign and…"

"For what purpose, boy?" Came a strong voice from the solar’s door. When the two men looked towards the direction the voice had come from, they saw Lord Quellon coming inside the room. Both Victarion and Rodrik stood from their seats and bowed their heads in respect to their respective father and grandfather.

"But to retaliate against the slight the Northerners inflicted on us by killing your firstborn son, grandfather. Your heir." Rodrik said as if it was the most natural thing to say.

"There’s no evidence that they did it. And for the record, I’ll remind you that you are married to a Northerner, so I won’t have you fucking right in the arse whatever we have been building for all these years. If you want to be of help on the matter, you can go to King’s Landing and prove your siblings’ innocence."

"Father is right." Victarion said. "In the meantime, I’ll keep the Iron Fleet ready. Just in case any Northern fanatic gets any funny ideas for us blaming their beloved Lord."

"Yes, Victarion. But make sure that this mobilization occurs only for defensive purposes. I won’t have a single vessel leaving our ports as part of an unprovoked attack. Am I clear?"

Victarion only nodded. His father was still stalwart and fit. And what he has been doing for all these years has transformed the Iron Islands into a productive archipelago. And the Ironborn from simple-minded barbarians, a well-trained fighting force. A true, prosperous nation of seafarers, respected and even admired by everyone. And for that, he’ll obey his father’s every bidding for as long as he can.

Chapter Text

Riverrun

"You know what is has to be done, uncle. I’ll travel to King’s Landing to represent the Riverlands in the upcoming trial. I’ll make sure that this whole mess is shorted out, but I need you to stay here and help my son, Elmar, in managing the homeland." Edmure Tully said, sitting in his solar, studying a map of the Riverlands with his uncle and commander-in chief, Ser Brynden Tully, by his side.

The Blackfish only nodded.

"I am sure that Lord Quellon has commanded his forces to be on guard but not to engage in offensive operations. Respectively, Robb Stark should have given a similar command."

"One man can never be too cautious, Edmure." THe elderly knight corrected his nephew. "The Mallisters must be informed of the current facts. They must be on constant alert."

Edmure knew that the Riverlands don’t have much to worry about when it comes to an attack from the Ironborn. Even if a more belligerent Lord was ruling the Iron Islands, the Tullys and their vassals hadn’t sit on their collective butt all these years. Perhaps, for the first time in their long history, the Riverlands were standing as a unified land.

Ser Brynden Tully had handled matters of security as diligently as Edmure had handled the diplomatic and administrative duties. Under the Blackfish’s command, the Riverlands Army had risen up to 55,000 strong and was staffed by competent officers. As a result, the Riverlands Army was a well-drilled fighting force.

However, the Blackfish’s real contribution, his greatest accomplishment, lies on the defensive infrastructure. He convinced the Riverlands vassals to build fortifications on the defensive side of the fords coursing through their domain and man them with their male surplus, staff them with second sons and cousins and equip them with a beacon system for a quick warning/mobilization. One step further, a River Fleet of sixty shallow-draft ships, equipped with sails and oars, was constructed 4 years ago. That fleet was stationed at Seaguard, seat of House Mallister and was capable in both fighting enemy watercraft and carrying troops swiftly up and down the rivers.

On land, defended booms across key portions of the river above the mouths to deny access to waterborne invasion were also built. Despite the fact that the current generations of Greyjoys and Lannisters weren’t interest in expansionist wars, one can never be too prepared. These booms were presented as tolling and navigation control stations to avoid arousing undue tensions with neighboring regions.

When it comes to internal affairs, Edmure managed to end the centuries-long hostility between Houses Blackwood and Bracken, by splitting the dividing lands between the two Houses equally and by offering them as a dowry for the marriage between Lucas Blackwood and Jayne Bracken. Furthermore, Edmure took Hoster Blackwood as his personal squire and arranged for Bess Bracken to be betrothed to his second son, Brynden, who is to inherit Harrenhal, once he comes of age, in roughly 4 years time. Speaking of Harrenhal, Edmure had the needless stone buildings demolished and used the stone of these buildings for a smaller, more manageable castle, as well as to repair the roads that were going through his domain. He went even further and conscripted Tyrion Lannister’s aid, in order to formally chart the rivers, shoals and navigable waters alike, for use in both commerce and defense. He even started building a cotton industry, stationed at Maidenpool.

Speaking of Maidenpool, it and other major settlements of the Riverlands were developed and expanded after some much needed legal elevation: town and city charters were written and granted over the years with Maidnepool, Seagard, Fairmarket, Stoney Sept, Lord Harroway's Town and Saltpans being some of the most prominent of those settlements that benefited from such a move. Larger settlements, like Seagard and Maidenpool got full city charters, while smaller settlements, like Stoney Sept, Fairmarket, Lord Harroway's Town and Saltpans got town charters. The first step in the development that one day would lead to them being named cities in their own right.

These charters unlocked the full economic potential of the local settlements, ensuring they and the Riverlands as a whole, would thrive for years to come, increasing the taxes paid to both the local Lords, House Tully and the Crown. But to ensure that the increased prosperity of their fiefs would not dangerously strengthen the nobles, the charters were also empowering merchants, administrative officials, artisans, guilds, and burghers in the newfound towns and cities. They were giving them leave to form powerful councils to represent themselves and their citizens, councils that would have the right to appeal directly to Riverrun's court, should their Lord abuses his power and the authority to fund and create town watches that were tasked to protect their towns and cities, answerable only nominally to the local Lords and their feudal retinues before the councils and the Crown.

Edmure was also quick to note that the military projects, particularly the ford defenses and river booms, were also prime locations for tax and toll collectors to work, providing a steady revenue source to offset the costs of maintenance. Combine that with the profits the Riverlands have by exporting their surplus through the northern trading routes and Edmure Tully manages considerable profits for the betterment of the Riverlands, while also offering a good chunk of the Realm’s taxes.

"Now, what about the Lannisters?" Ser Brynden asked.

"If it comes down to it, Ser Jaime Lannister will be itching for a fight. He’ll probably have his own forces ready for every eventuality, until this crisis is dealt with. Plus, his daughter, Myrcella, is my heir’s, Elmar’s betrothed, so at worst case scenario, we can count on the Westerlands’ support. The whole region from the North to the Westerlands stands as a unified front and has the King’s backing. And the Ironborn know it."

The Blackfish nodded, pleased by the points his nephew was.

"Make sure that this matter is dissolved quickly and decisively."

"I will, uncle. War is bad for crop raising and trading after all."

Casterly Rock

The Westerlands had to face some difficulties during Argilac Baratheon’s reign. After thousands of years, the goldmines under Lannister control had started drying out. So, Jaime and Tyrion Lannister had to work on finding a solution to this. While Lannister miners keep on looking for new gold veins, Tyrion had begun overseeing the clearage of Castamere and Tarbeck Hall. The seats of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck. Two Houses Tywin Lannister exterminated 41 years ago for rebelling against their Lannister overlords. The scavenging proved somewhat useful since both the Reynes and Tarbecks had hidden gold within their castles. Gold more likely from the loans Tytos Lannister had greated these defiant Houses in the form of loans. Gold the Raynes and Tarbecks never bothered with repaying. Gold that Tywin Lannister either didn’t find or didn’t bother to collect as a display of contempt to the traitorous Houses who didn’t even get to use his family’s fortune.

This scavenging missions however weren’t the only thing Jaime and Tyrion had done to prevent their decline of their family and region. After some benefits that the Lannisters were inclined to provide to various traders and businessmen, Lannisport was full with goods and coin. It was truly honoring its reputation as Westeros’ third greatest city-port.

Like Ser Brynden Tully, Jaime Lannister had devoted most of his time in dealing with martial matters, while leaving Tyrion in charge of diplomatic and administrative duties. Due to the cutting of expanses, the Westerlands didn’t receive a rise in their army’s size. It stayed on its previous size of 50,000 men. But Jaime Lannister made damn sure that these men are well-trained and used in quelling down bandits.

The Lannister family had also made some interesting political moves. Myrcella Lannister, Jaime’s daughter, was sent to King’s Landing to be fostered with her aunt, Cersei, when she was 15 years old. 3 years ago. At 18, she got betrothed to Ser Elmar Tully, Edmure Tully’s firstborn son and heir. In such a move, the Westerlands got tied onto the Riverlands and their economic/developmental growth. Ser Trajan Lannister, Jaime’s oldest son and heir, got betrothed to Talla Tarly, while his second-born brother, Ser Hadrian Lannister was appointed Lord of Golden Tooth and got married to Jayne Westerling, thus tying House Lannister to the bountiful Reach and reinforcing its control over the Westerlands. Another astute move. Tyrion truly did a remarkable job in preserving his family’s position.

Speaking of Tyrion, the last message from the capital seems to give one more important thing to do.

"Tyrion, I have another job for you..." Ser Jaime Lannister said as he was walking in his brother’s room, holding the message that came from King’s Landing. And what saw made him stop dead in his tracks.

As he was getting inside the bedchamber, he caught his little brother getting…busy with one of the local whores. This one happened to be Tyrion’s favorite. She was slim, pretty, black of hair and brown of eyes. She was going by the name Shae and from what Jaime had heard from time to time, she was coming from the land of Lorath, one of the nine Free Cities of Essos. Located east of Braavos and at a group of islands of the Shivering Sea, to the northern coast of Essos.

«No wonder why she decided to flee that strange place. Lorath is considered the poorest, the most isolated and most backward of the Free Cities. The savages don’t even refer to themselves in first person. » Jaime thought.

"Should I explain you the concept behind a closed door, brother?" Tyrion questioned his older brother amused.

Jaime gave a lazy grin as he turned around to allow his brother and his mistress the chance to dress up.

"You most certainly have many things to teach me. But for now, you are to pack your things and start riding for King’s Landing. Or purchase a ship. Whichever you prefer."

"Oh. And I suppose that you have very particular reasons for this gracious command."

-Yes. Apparently, Balon Greyjoy has finally kicked the bucket. But for some pissing reason, Ned Stark ended up being accused for the cunt’s death. So, a trial is going to be conducted to determine if he’s innocent or guilty. And Argilac asks for all the Wardens to attend it themselves or send a representative. So, pack your things and start riding."

Tyrion gave it some thought. But eventually, he moved negatively his head.

"Sorry, Jaime, but this time, you’re on your own."

"What?" Jaime exclaimed, hoping that Tyrion was just joking.

"Look, if you prefer supervising the clearage of Castamere and Tarbeck Hall for spare gold or overseeing the logistical books of Lannisport, by any means I’ll leave you to it. I don’t mind."

Jaime’s eyes, although flickered with some anger at Tyrion’s remark, lit with amusement.

"You really are a whoreson, you know that?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shame, Jaime. Shame. Is this really a way to speak for our dear mother? Gods, Father would have been so upset over it..."

Chapter Text

Eyrie

Unlike the struggling Westerlands, the Vale was on a rising rote. Ser Denys Arryn, as well as his son, Ser Jasper, took advantage of the migration of the Mountain Clans to the North and established new villages and fields for the Vale smallfolk in the areas, once inhabited by the Clans. Second sons, younger brothers, nephews and cousins of the Vale nobility were granted stewardship and oversight of these new villages. Furthermore, Jasper got to build, repair or expand the road network in the mountainous region of the Vale. A difficult, yet a much needed task. Now, after nearly 5 years of work had paid off: the transportation of goods, people and troops was much more bearable and the agragairian production within the Vale had increased by almost a quarter, thanks to the adoption of terrancing and contour farming.
As for Princess Minisa Baratheon, Ser Jasper’s wife, she had taken charge of the Vale smallfolk. Snakewood, Runestone, Wickenden, Strong Song, Longbow Hall, Ironoaks, and Longsister, all of them had schools and hospitals built and staffed in their lands. Overall, a good start for an heir and his future Lady, when it comes to proving your mettle, gainining popularity and building trust.

"My Lord, the provisions and the men are all gathered up and counted for. We are ready to leave as soon as you command it." Ser Hugh said to Lord Denys Arryn.

"Good." The active lord of the Eyrie said in response. "Your orders are clear, Ser Hugh: you are to escort my son, Jasper, to the capital and ensure that the trial is conducted safely and honestly. Like true Valemen."

"Aye, my Lord. We shall not dissapoint you, or the Lord Hand who's going to receive us..." Ser Hugh said, before leaving. After all, he had been Jon Arryn's latest squire and he owed both his knighthood and the current poisiotn he occupied to the Eyrie court to the elderly Hand of the King. He wasn't going to mess it up.

"Jasper! Come here, my son." Ser Hugh had heard Ser Denys calling out his son.

Upon hearing his father’s command, Ser Jasper Arryn approached. The heir to the Eyrie is by all means a true Arryn: tall, muscular, with broad shoulders, sky blue eyes, blonde hair, aquiline nose and straight as a lance. He looks every inch the embodiment of knighthood. But most importantly, he feels and acts like it. He’s honorable, loyal, brave and just. An astute administrator and -surprisingly for a Valeman- a flexible negotiator. No wonder His Grace, King Argilac Baratheon, honored House Arryn by offering his firstborn daughter, Princess Minisa, to its heir.

"Are you ready for the journey to King’s Landing, son?"

"Yes, Father. Princess Minisa has also prepared her belongings and is waiting with the departing party."

"Good. I am still against the thought of my daughter-in-law going to travel in such an advanced stage of her pregnancy though."

"Same here, Father. But no matter what I said, she was unmoved. She’d be a witness in this trial no matter what."

"Make sure she doesn’t get too involved. For all her great qualities and her aid in placing hospitals and schools in our lands, she still has the emotional mindset of a woman." Ser Denys said condescendingly.

"What this trial needs for its proper conduction is a man’s stability, rationality and professionalism. Do you understand what I am saying, Jasper?"

Jasper, to his credit, didn't respond right away. He never liked the idea that men ought to be considered better than women. How could he support such things when recent history had to show tales of unsuccessful male leaders and successful female ones? When he finally spoke to his father, he did so as diplomatically as possible.

"Please, make sure Minisa is not close enough to hear you saying these things, Father. You know how passionate my wife can get regarding the subject."

"Tell me…" Ser Denys said. Princess Minisa had always been willing to show that her gender is by no means a limitation to her merits and accomplishments. And whoever unfortunate enough to say otherwise, was practically asking to see that the infamous Baratheon Rage in action. A Rage that wasn't at all limited to the male members of that family, as Minisa was too happy to demonstrate.

"But rest assured, Father. I will not disappoint you. As High As Honor."

"As High As Honor, my son." Ser Denys said, before hugging his son, sending him away.

Storm’s End

Another barrage of lightning lit the sky bright as day. Once more the thunder rumbles. But once again, Storm’s End, true to its name, stays strong. Defiant to the ire of the Storm God. Large, hard and mighty. Just like its people.

Lady Jayne Baratheon was making her way to the Lord’s solar. She was followed by Maester Cressen, the man who had practically raised the five Baratheon brothers when Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana Baratheon drowned at Shipwrecker Bay. The years hadn’t been kind to the aging Maester. At nearly eighty years old, the wrinkly Cressen is frail and has a bad hip, as well as trembling hands. These issues cause him difficulty in walking and sending out messages. In fact, he can no longer climb to the rookery to send out his messages with the ravens.

This is where Lady Jayne comes in. She had seen from the early stages in her marriage how close her Lord husband, Stannis Baratheon, is to Cressen and she tried to be on good terms with him. Her dedication to the affairs of the Stormlands, her firm belief in justice and competence, as well as a genuine attempt to refine her husband’s roughest edges (mostly his dour and blunt nature) gained her many points with the Maester who considers Stannis his “dearest son”. And now that her soon to be daughter-in-law, Olivia Errol, has completed her training and can manage the duties as Lady of Storm’s End, Jayne can help Cressen more actively. Her main job is to receive the messages sent by the ravens and send back the replies.

"The latest message is from the capital. Stannis commands his son and heir, Ormund, to come to King’s Landing and represent the Stormlands in the trial of Eddard Stark, Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy for the murder of Balon Greyjoy."

"My Lady, you must be really proud for Lord Stannis’ decision to ask for young Lord Ormund specifically." Maester Cressen said with a pleased smile on his wrinkled face.

"Indeed I am, Maester Cressen. But on the other hand, who will get to manage the Stormlands, when Ormund leaves? His brother, Boremund, is at Duskendale as its Lord. And Stannis makes no clarifications that he shall act as regent in his brother’s name anyway."

"That’s because he doesn’t regard it as a necessity, my Lady. He leaves Storm’s End…in your capable hands."

Jayne’s chest swelled with pride. Stannis always respected her skills and dedication. He showed her trust from quite early. The epitome of that? He had sent her back home along with Ormund, when the lad had come of age, to show him the ropes until he’s comfortable enough in his new duties to manage things himself.

Finally, they made it to the Lord’s solar and Cressen knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Ormund's warm, but strong voice was heard from the inside.

"It’s Maester Cressen, my Lord."

"Come in."

Once inside, both Maester Cressen and Lady Jayne couldn’t help but smile. Ormund Baratheon, heir to Storm’s End and de facto Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, was sitting on his desk, overseeing some paperwork. He has the typical Baratheon looks and traits: black hair, blue eyes, a large muscular build and a tendency to the martial arts. However, his time at King’s Landing, where he spent his childhood and puberty with less militaristic figures, like his uncles Orys and Renly Baratheon, as well as Tyrion Lannister, opened Ormund to a more administrative lifestyle. To his mother’s delight and to his father’s tolerance.

Certainly, Stannis would have preferred his heir to have followed a military career like him. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons he had always been more drawn to his second-born son, Boremund, who chose to follow a career in the Navy. But, the fact that Ormund was so good at his job, made Stannis willing to accept this development.

At first glance, by the time Ormund practically took over the Stormlands, his ancestral region didn’t seem too changed. Stannis may be a loyal and competent person, but an innovator is not a thing he can be described as. He maintained the reforms his eldest brother, Argilac, had issued when he was still the Lord of Storm’s End, but he didn’t expand much on them afterwards. However, when convinced that reforms need to be done, he’ll support them all the way. As such, competent, visionary people in Stannis’ court could thrive. Under Lady Jayne’s work and with Stannis’ support, Stonehelm, seat of House Swann, became a trading extension of the Stormlands to the east, located to a far safer place than Shipwrecker Bay. A truly thriving trading hub with its own town charter. Tarth however, maintained its important place though, since it remained the anchoring place for the Storm Fleet, the war fleet of the Stormlands.

With a permanent trading station being established by his maternal family and a martial one by one of his family’s most loyal vassals, Ormund could turn his attention to other matters. He established glasshouses to all of the major keeps and settlements in the Stormlands. He introduced the cultivation of rice, by taking advantage of the regular rain seasons. He built sawmills in major areas, such as Storm’s End and Stonehelm so that the logs who are to be sent out for selling get to be modified into cut boards, easier and cheaper to transport and more profitable in selling.

Ormund looked at his mother and Maester and smiled. That was one more thing that separated him from his father, no matter how much respect or even affection they have for each other. For unlike his joyless father, Ormund isn’t afraid to express mirth.

"Ormund, your father sent a raven from the capital."

"I hope that nothing bad has happened to him or my siblings.: The lad said.

"They’re as hale as always. It is a matter of administration. Balon Greyjoy is dead. Murdered to be exact. And his brother, Euron, accuses Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy as well as Lord Eddard Stark for killing the heir to the Iron Islands."

Ormund frowned. Yes. Stannis’ usual scowl was at full display on his son’s face. On that regard, Ormund is really his father’s son.

"And Father’s commands?"

"His Grace is preparing a trial to determine the defendants’ innocence or guilt. And your father is asking you to attend said trial as the representative of the Stormlands, while he himself will be one of the judges. He expects you to be at King’s Landing in a month’s turn."

Ormund sat once again at his desk. He once again gazed at the paperwork in front of him. Things so far are relatively quiet in the Stormlands. His father wouldn’t’ have asked him to abandon his domestic duties and responsibilities unless it was needed. And with Maester Cressen’s aid, his mother can manage their home region just fine on her own. Plus, once at King’s Landing, he’ll get to see his siblings again. He hadn’t seen Boremund and Shireen for almost three years. As well as Father.

Finally, the Baratheon heir made up his mind:

"I’ll give your love to Boremund and Shireen. As well as your regards to aunts Lysa, Catelyn and Cersei. What about Father?"

Lady Jayne’s face stiffened a bit. She and Lord Stannis are married for almost 19 years. Despite his discomfort around women, Stannis had always tried his best to be a devoted and caring husband for her. Probably, he was somewhat willing to follow in his older brothers’ footsteps, since both of them had very successful and happy marital lives. And her compromising, competent nature, her astute upbringing, as well as the arrival of three strong, healthy children certainly helped keeping their relationship on a positive level. However, Stannis is far from the affectionate husband Jayne would have liked. He writes to her, but infrequently. And his visits are even fewer, usually with the excuse of attending a local issue. And finally, he ceased performing his marital duties in the bedchamber, ever since Shireen was born. And that was 15 years ago. Not that before he was doing it more often than once or twice per month, but still.

Jayne was getting more and more frustrated by her husband’s negligence. But the final straw came nearly three years ago. With the…accident. Shireen was only 12 years old then. She, as well as Boremund, visited Storm’s End to attend the local Harvest Feast. Stannis too was convinced into attending, so that the Stormlords don’t forget that it’s still the Iron Stag who has the final say in the region.

During their stay at Storm’s End, Shireen was enchanted with one of the new stallions that her brother had recently purchased from House Ryswell. He was a magnificent animal: Large, strong, covered in black hair and even had a white lightning sign on his forehead. Shireen wanted to ride him, but both her parents, as well as Ormund, insisted that the stallion was still unfamiliar with humans and thus shouldn’t be approached. At least, until his training, which Ormund was overseeing personally, was completed.

It was a rational advice, but Shireen, being a child who inherited the Baratheon stubbornness, paid no heed to it. That same night, when the castle fell asleep, she made her way into the stables, took one of the saddles, put it on the stallion and tried to mount him. Startled, the horse bounced, threw Shireen of its back and kicked with its hind legs. Its left rear hoof found Shireen on the left side of her face. The collision with the animal’s hoof gifted Shireen with a horizontal cut above her eye. A permanent reminder of her foolish defiance. It seemed like a miracle that Shireen didn’t lose her eye or didn’t end up with her skull smashed in two.

It was one of the few times that the usually calm and collected Stannis was utterly furious. It is said that during that particular night, even the thunder stopped to pay its respects to the enraged Baratheon father. After he was sure that his daughter’s life wasn’t in jeopardy, he made her watch as he put down the stallion personally. Then, he took Shireen and Boremund back to the capital with him. He and Lady Jayne hadn’t spoken since.

"Tell him…that I bid him well and I hope that he and our children take care." Lady Jayne ultimately said

"It will be done, mother." Ormund said, before getting up to hug his mother. He then kissed her on the cheeks and her forehead and left to collect his things for the journey ahead.

Chapter Text

Sunspear

"Father, Uncle Oberyn sent a message from King’s Landing." Prince Quentyn Martell said as he was entering his father’s solar. He had already read it, so he knew the issue on which his uncle had written them.

At 21, Prince Doran’s second child and heir to Sunspear is short-legged, stocky, thickly built, with a plain face and brown hair. He has a high forehead, broad nose, and square jaw. He’s a reserved young person, who by Dornish standards isn’t considered handsome. Earnest, well-behaved, sensible and dutiful, but filled with doubts, fears, and insecurities. Quentyn does not want to be remembered as a failure and cannot bear the thought of his father's disappointment.
He found his father, Prince Doran in his solar, talking with his daughter, Arianne. Upon seeing her brother coming in, Arianne’s face frowned to form the contemptuous mask Quentyn was all too well familiar with.

"She never wanted me getting involved in matters of importance. I try my best to be a dutiful son and not get in her way. But she still treats me like I am an outcast. It’s not my fault that I was born a son into a society that favors boys over girls!" Quentyn thought, clearly upset by the estranged relationship he has with his older sister. A lifetime of dismissals, put-downs, resentment and mockery.

Then again, how else was Arianne supposed to smother her competition? Dorne was the region that changed the most during the last 19 years and with his father's backing, as well as aid from his uncle Oberyn, Lord Orys Baratheon and Tyrion Lannister Quentyn contributed quite a lot to that. After all, since he'd never make a good warrior, like his famous uncle, he had decided to use his head instead.

Quentyn had been the one who went to their father and suggested Dorne to increase its resources and cultivate more permanent trading bonds with the Free Cities of Essos, primarily Volantis and Lys. To that end, Dorne embraked on a vigorous effort to improve its infrastructure and to increase its trading surplus. Not just to display its unique economic traits, but to actually enrich the kingdom and its people. They begun with the increase of the available water supply. Water is worth diamonds in Dorne, which means that a massive desert-greening campaign was needed. And in order to do that, Dornish Lords, led by House Martell, saw to the construction of artificial wadis protected by the most durable trees the Dornish landscape could provide. Oil trees, acacias, eucalyptus, cacias, conifers, cedars, etc. The wadis worked as a means to store water from rain, while the trees prevented evaporation through shade. Finally, construct irrigation canals out from the wadis.

And that was not all: previously untapped water sources were discovered in daring scouting expeditions through the desert. New wells were being dug. Existing canals, centered on the existing seasonal rivers, like Greenblood, were expanded. Dams and reservoirs were built. Even acquadets and rudimentary desalination for coastal communities were added to the existing infrastructure.

The Torrentine river was diverted eastward, for the amount of potable water that was getting wasted by the river’s straight plunge into the sea was just absurd. So, under the assumption that it was possible to divert some, if not all of that water to spill down into that valley between Sandstone and Hellholt, and in an orderly manner through canals to prevent flooding, that was one of the greatest endeavours House Martell had taken in its recent history. But the gamble paid off. And now, a third of Dorne is blooming, without absurd, ineffective ideas, like King Aerys’ tunnels, hindering efforts or wasting precious time and money.

Now, that lack of water was no longer such an immediate concern, it was time to begin improving the soil and bring it under cultivation. Starting with the eastern half of Dorne, which is a largely barren scrub. Dry, stony soil with little yielding even when irrigated by the Greenblood. The first step was to improve the quality of the soil through the planting of hardy plants. Such as lyme grass, sea couch grass, marram grass, olives, figs, potato plantations and other anti-erosion plants that thrive on sand and salty soil, as well as the hardy trees already used to provide shade and prevent evaporation.

Efforts were also been made to make previously useless territory productive. To begin with: salt. Dorne’s got tons of it, it was historically immensely valuable, and there’s no reason why House Martell couldn’t encourage House Gargalen to turn Salt Shore into a center of salt-production. Especially after the Iron Throne gave its direct support to that endeavour and said endeavour was combined with evaporation processes to produce fresh water at the same time. Then you had glass: the Dornishmen took their immense supply of sand and through trial and error managed to turn it into pure glass. Glass that was worth is weight in gold, since the North, the Iron Islands and the Stormlands were buying it in bulk, in order to build enough glasshouses to ensure the survival of their people in the event of a famine. Granted, such a move brought Myr's animosity, but even these Essoi trade mongers knew better than to aggravate House Martell and Dorne too much. Especially since Argilac Baratheon had made it clear that no foul play was being made. Even more so when it became clear that the ships carrying the Dornish-made glass will be manned by Ironborn sailors. Quentyn couldn't be there to watch it but he had recalled that his compatriots had found the very lively description of the Myrish delegators almost pissing themselves upon hearing these news, very funny.

Equally if not more importantly, scouting expeditions were founded in the Red Mountains. Scouts and geologists went there in search of mineral veins. Mostly iron and copper. Significant deposits were discovered and some large-scale mining operations were being set, along with smelting mills, foundries, and workshops in close proximity to produce ironwork and copperwork for export.

Therefore, the traditional luxury goods, like exotic fruit, wines, textiles and sand steeds Dorne used to sell were added to an enormous production of other goods, such as glass, salt, ironwork and copperwork. Dorne truly flourished by trading its unique recourses to the Free Cities and to the rest of Westeros. In exchange, lumber of shipbuilding was bought from the North and the Stormlands and camels were brought from Qarth. Thus, providing Dorne with the means to build its own navy, as well as supplying the Dornish merchants and troops with the perfect animal for moving through the deserts. Now, Dorne is the proud owner of a fishing fleet consisting of 50 ships as well as a war fleet of another 30 were built out of the lumber its northern allies provided.

And with all that money flowing through its coffers, House Martell was able to invest in other projects: new roads were being dug and paved. Shipyards in Planky Town were built. The city, as well as Sunspear even got their own city charters and making them ready to receive new population.
Speaking of population, after more land could be cultivated for crop rising, more people could settle in Dorne. And since the Dornish Lords couldn’t provide the necessary manpower to cultivate the Dornish land properly, King Argilac Baratheon stepped in. He ordered all the Lords of Westeros send their surplus of smallfolk, as well as their beggars to Dorne. A command that all members of the Westerosi nobility were more than happy to oblige with. But even that wasn’t enough. So, His Grace did something that shocked everyone.

He contacted the Good Masters in Mereen and asked them to gather all the slaves whose Westerosi origins could trace back two generations. Then, he sent there Tyrion Lannister, Lord Orys Baratheon, Quentyn Martell and Daenerys Targaryen to purchase them. But since Westeros doesn’t work based on servitude, these people got degrees signed and sealed by Argilac, announcing their newly acquired freedom.

Those who wanted to return to Westeros, they’d do so as free men and women. Those who didn’t want to come to Westeros, they’d be provided with food and coin for their journey to the closest city-state. But that didn’t prove necessary. Almost all of them agreed with returning to the motherland, if not at the prospect of seeing the land of their forebears, at least out of gratitude to their liberators. Their first stop was King’s Landing, where they were presented before the King and Queen to swear them fealty and so that they can display what they can do. After that clearance was made, these people were sent to Dorne, to start a new life.

Overall, with Prince Doran’s backing, Quentyn’s diligence, Tyrion’s ingenuity and the Crown’s support, Dorne transformed from a once desolated landscape to a prosperous province.

Sadly, the sudden arrival of so many foreign people brought another matter into play: the matter of coexistence between people of different religions and culture. Dorne became the Westerosi province who had the populace with the most diverse religious background: followers of the Faith of the Seven, the Gods of the Rhoynar and the Lord of Light had to coexist. A task that certainly brought Prince Doran and his administration at their wit's end. The hardcore followers of the Faith of the Seven certainly didn’t help things at all. But eventually a compromise was reached: the followers of the Lord of Light mostly got settled in the coastline. Such a choice made sense for both economical as well as strategic reasons: since people from Essos were engaging in trading with the settlements close to the Dornish coastline, they’d certainly feel more at ease with people of similar faith, as well as proper temples greeting them. As for the followers of the Seven, they chose to settle inland among their like-minded brethren.

And what has Arianne done all these years in comparison to these accomplishments? The main thing she did was to protest nearly in almost everything Quentyn had suggested or proposed. She was seen regularly associating with the likes of Gerold Dayne and other disgruntled members of Dornish society. People who weren't too happy with the status quo being so abruptly changed or with King Argilac Baratheon getting himself too involved in Dornish affairs. To distract her from potentially dangerous undertakes and in an attempt to isolate her from her like-minded friends and allies, Prince Doran Martell married his daughter off to Viserys Targaryen. It was a seemingly great match that would serve well in meding relations between Houses Martell and Targaryen, following the disastrous marriage between Arianne's aunt and Viserys' brother.

Alas, it was not meant to be like that. Viserys was quite repulsed by the overly ambitious, scheming, embittered person he grew to meet beneath the beautiful exterior. And Arianne refused to regard Viserys as anything but a Baratheon puppet. She wasn’t happy with Viserys and she was blaming him for his brother’s actions against aunt Elia, despite knowing full well that he had nothing to do with his older brother's dishonourable actions. She also wasn’t happy that she was forced to abandon the now vibrant Dorne, whom she felt was her rightful inheritance, for Dragonstone. A, for the most part at least barren island. Granted, even with the dragonglass selling industry Stannis Baratheon had set up and running, even with the renovated castle, even with the mew port that had opened and the greater amounts of land being given to the smallfolk for cultivation, Dragonstone was still not the most prosperous island in the Realm. Certainly not on the same level Arbor or Fair Isle stand.

Quentyn doesn’t know how his brother-in-law fares in Pentos with Lord Renly and Ser Loras, but he hopes that he’ll return to Sunspear soon. He likes him a lot and his presence here will mean that he’ll take Arianne back to Dragonstone with him.

"And what does your uncle say on his letter?" The Prince of Dorne asked with a warm, kind voice.

With Father, things had always been different for Quentyn. Of all his family members, Quentyn had always felt closer to him. He could always understand what it means to be alone. Ignored and forgotten. His words of wisdom, his private tutelage and the games they always played together were a great source of comfort for Quentyn. And Quentyn was one of the few people that could take care of his practically crippled father.

At his early fifties, Prince Doran has a bad case of gout which has recently left him unable to walk, instead having to rely on his wheeled chair to move around. The physical struggles he has forced to go through made him look much older than he really is. His body is soft and shapeless, and the gout has swollen and reddened the joints of his knees, his toes and hands. He covers his legs with a blanket, blocking the sight of his gout and he barely makes himself visible in public, so that he can avoid appearing weak at the eyes of his enemies. And for a good reason. Because Doran Martell, although diligent and competent, is a generally unpopular ruler in Dorne.

Unlike his hotheaded, hedonistic people, Doran Martell is subtle, patient, quiet, cautious and pensive. He is prone to think long on the matters before him, weighing every word and every action. He has seen war and was deeply affected by the suffering it causes. As a result, he always tries to find a solution that doesn’t include martial action. Even if the honor of House Martell had been offended. This refusal to retaliate with violence, along with his physical weakness, gave some people the impression that Doran is weak-willed and easily dominated. But this is all a misleading approach, meant to disorientate opposition. For Prince Doran is just as ruthless and decisive as any other Martell. He is simply better at hiding this side of him.

This attitude however, doesn’t however gain him many points with his daughter. For Arianne is calculating, adventurous, and fierce-tempered. When she sees something she desires, she strives to obtain it at all cost. She does not shy away from using her looks to get what she wants, or from seducing men and even women to make them do her bidding. As a matter of fact, her personality matches more that of her uncle Oberyn rather than that of her father.

"Balon Greyjoy, heir to Pyke is dead. He was poisoned at the Red Keep and His Grace is summoning all the Realm’s Wardens and Lords Paramount to King’s Landing. He wants them to judge the people that are accused for Lord Greyjoy’s murder: Lord Eddard Stark as well as Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy."

A harsh laughter went through Arianne’s lips.

"Really? You call a Baratheon 'His Grace?' A family who alongside the Starks, Arryns and Tullys was responsible for Aunt Elia’s death at the hands of the Lannisters? You'd better be careful with those sentiments, little brother, for they might get you killed one day."

"The rebellion was justified and House Stark was slighted by the Targaryens as much as ours was, Arianne."

"As much? Rhaegar dumped our aunt for the Stark whore, Quentyn! Or have you forgotten your history? Then again, what should I expect from a person who ended up being heir to a Dornish House thanks to the Usurping Stag?" Arianne sneered. As if she was making a tremendous effort to not spit on her brother's face for the crime of stating that the rebels had any kind of justification in their actions.

"Enough, you two!" Prince Doran said sharply. Both Arianne and Quentyn stopped their squabble in an instant.
"Those petty squabbles of yours lead us nowhere. There is a trial that requires the representation of House Martell. So one of you shall attend it."

"Why don’t we just leave Uncle Oberyn handle it? After all, he’s Dorne’s representative in the Royal Council and has a better understanding of the local balance of power than any of us." Quentyn asked.

"My brother has already done enough for Dorne as a member of the Royal Council. This matter has to be addressed by you. And besides, your uncle is many things, but not the Lord Paramount of Dorne."

"Give me your leave, Father and I shall see to it that the matter is closed." Arianne said with confidence.

"Why should you go? I am Dorne’s heir. If there’s a person that has to represent our homeland in a matter that Father can’t do so himself, it’s me." Quentyn protested.

"The only reason you’re heir instead of me, it’s the fact that thanks to your beloved King, I was removed from my rightful place in the line of succession for not having a cock. And besides, we all got sick and tired of you getting everything. Consider my visit to King’s Landing a sibling trade." Arianne replied with a contemptuous smile.

Both siblings turned towards their father. After all, he is the one who’s going to make the decision. He seemed to be in deep thought for several minutes. Obviously considering the ups and downs of every choice. With Quentyn to King’s Landing, Doran knew that they’d send a strong message of continuity to the rest of Westeros. But on the other hand, having him once again on the spotlight could be interpreted as one more step in dissolving ties with Drone’s past. A past that the emerging circle around Arianne struggles to preserve by any means. Despite her fierce nature, she knows how to present herself at court, she has studied law and carries herself with a confidence Quentyn can only dream of.

Finally, the aging Prince of Dorne made his decision.

"Arianne, you are to prepare your things at once. In the meantime, I shall contact a ship to take you to King’s Landing. Should the currents and the winds help you, you must be there in a month’s turn."

Arianne rose from her seat while looking at her brother. She didn’t even bother to hide her smug satisfied expression on her face.

"Then I shall start packing at once, Father."

Chapter Text

King's Landing, 20/5/302 AC

King Argilac Baratheon was once again dressed in his war armor. He was wearing black armor with a golden breastplate and the Baratheon stag painted on its center. On his head, he was wearing his crown and on his left hip was tied his Valyrian sword Stormbringer.

In the late hours of the afternoon, he was sitting on the Iron Throne, waiting for his Wardens or their representatives to arrive and take positions so that they can begin the trial.

On the thrones to his left and right, two more officials were sitting. On his right, his Hand and temporary Master of Laws, Jon Arryn. On his left, his own brother, Stannis. Together, these three men are to act as the judges in the trial.

At the footsteps of the Iron Throne, a table was placed. There, the Grand Maester Pycelle is to seat so that he can deliver his verdict for Balon Greyjoy’s death as well as overseeing the proper conducting of the procedure. Next to him, was sitting Samwell Tarly, tasked with keeping the trial’s records, as the royal secretary.

Seeing the lad sitting in front of him, Argilac allowed himself a few moments of recall. Even though it wasn’t right, the King couldn’t help himself but pity the boy. Pity him for having a father who cannot pull his head out of his own arse and appreciate his son for the talented person he is. Argilac had taken the now 18 year old, Samwell, or Sam as he prefers, as his personal page and squire 12 years ago. He wanted to reinforce the ties between himself and his Master of War, Sam's father, Lord Randyll Tarly. His children benefited a lot by having such an intelligent, good-natured, loyal and helpful friend like Sam. Notto mention that after seeing how much of a dick Randyll was capable to be to his oldest son for being “a disgrace to the Tarly name”, Argilac wanted to stop this friskiness in the bud.

He oversaw Sam’s education himself. And although he doesn’t want to overly flatter himself, the King of the Seven Kingdoms thinks that he did pretty well on the matter. Unlike the fat, cowardly bookworm boy that he had met, Argilac had molded Sam into the best of both sides. At 18 years old, Sam stands tall and large, but his mass is composed of muscle instead of fat. Where he was once a timid boy, afraid of the heights and the dark, who couldn’t swim and couldn’t even bear to look another person in the eye if he was spoken to too harshly, now stands a young, confident man with eyes shining of intelligence. For Argilac and his family never dissuaded Sam’s thirst for knowledge.

After all, 'the mind is a far better warrior than the sword' as Tyrion Lannister likes to point out. Sam devoured books of history, geography, medicine, economics, battle strategy and engineering. A passion he had passed on to the Baratheon children as well. However, he had to supplement these hours of vigorous study with as relentless hours of exercise in the training yard, as well as joining Argilac in hunts, administrative meetings and royal tours. But instead of being harsh and lashing out at mistakes, like Lord Randyll was, Argilac was as patient and kind to Sam as he was to any of his children. Some would even claim that in Sam found another father in Argilac. And that Argilac found one more son in Sam.

Because of the King’s thoughtful education, Sam learnt to swing a sword with enough skill to hold his own in battle, shoot arrows with precision, follow animal and human trails when hunting, oversee logistics, conduct war tactics and strategy, even swim and ride. A really complete individual. And Lysa made him even happier, by betrothing him to his childhood crush. One of her latest handmaidens. Lady Desmera Redwyne. Daughter of Lord Paxter Redwyne and Mina Tyrell. Quite a prestigious match. So, once more, Sam did his duty to his House, no matter how much Lord Randyll despises him for it.

On the other hand though, as much as Sam was now a much better warrior and a more confident person than he was probably going to be without the King’s tutelage, he is never going to be a master swordsman. And he’ll never learn to revel in battle. Or lead from the front line. It’s okay. As long as he has capable and loyal officers to oversee the fighting, as long as he can conduct effective war plans and as long as his men respect and trust him, he’ll be no less formidable. Still though, this particular shortcoming had given Lord Tarly enough excuse to blame him for being “too soft and craven to fight like a proper man”.

"With all due respect, Your Grace," Argilac recalled Randyll Tarly telling him, "but Samwell is my son. And I say that no matter how far you think he has come, he’s still a craven! A soft fool who taints the Tarly name. Unworthy of ruling Horn Hill. Unworthy of wielding our ancestral sword, Heartsbane. I will not have such a person taking over my lands. No. I will burn my House to the ground, before I let that happen."

"And what do you suggest, Lord Randyll? Samwell has completed all aspects of his training with diligence and competence. My children, as well as his siblings adore him. He brought great prestige to House Tarly by earning the respect and likeness of the Lady you had chosen for him. By the Gods, what else do you want from that child?"

"To not shame me with every breath he draws!" Randyll Tarly barked as he banged his fist on the King’s desk. He collected himself right the next moment, after seeing the King getting angry at his disrespectful tone.

"Forgive me for overstepping, Your Grace." Randyll murmured in a calmer voice. "But before you took him in, I wasn’t even thinking that I have a son. Because he was plumped and soft like a daughter. I’d catch him in the kitchen, stuffing cakes into his ever-growing mouth. Or reading in the garden when he was supposed to be training. I brought masters-at-arms from all over Westeros to make a man of him. He slept in chainmail. Bathed in bull’s blood. He was dressed in his mother’s clothes and paraded through the castle to shame him into valor. Nothing worked. I had started to despair as I was thinking the disgrace that was awaiting our House, until my wife gave me another boy. Dickon. A real son. And a worthy heir to my lands and titles. You deemed him so yourself, by betrothing him to your youngest daughter, Princess Cassana."

"But my gifted boy is never going to become the great Lord he was meant to be with Samwell squatting in his way. I was going to get rid of that useless piece of fat, by sending it to freeze off at the Wall. But you stopped it. And forced me to look at said disgrace day in and day out, while my son is denied his proper seat. Some may call me cruel for what was about to do. I don’t care. I am responsible for House Tarly as were my father and his father before. If the hunter returns empty-handed, his family starves. If the warrior carries an empty scabbard, his home burns. House Tarly stood for thousands of years. It will not fall on my watch. No matter how many tears my family sheds."

Argilac had listened to his Master of War carefully. Without interrupting him. He closed his eyes, pondering in thought before finally opening his mouth to respond.

"I’ve listened to everything you had to say, Lord Randyll. And to some degree, I agree with you. The lad is never going to live up to his House’s reputation as a warrior. In fact, I sincerely doubt that he’ll even make it out alive from his first battle. Sparring matches are one thing. But battle…And quite frankly I too would be abhorred at the thought that my most unqualified son was to inherit my throne, because of biology’s caprices."

On that notion, Randyll nodded in understanding. He knew that Argilac was speaking about his second son, Hoster. The second-born Prince, even though had received diligent lessons in diplomacy, warfare, administration and law, even though he was fairly competent, was far more interested in having fun and joking around with his friends, instead of taking his duties seriously. He never had the spark that was defining his older brother, Steffon. Westeros would certainly struggle with Hoster on the Iron Throne.

"However" Argilac had said, "the law of succession is clear: the seat of a noble House, as well as its lands, sources of income and ancestral weapons pass from father to the oldest son. The only chance a second-born is to take over his father’s estates, is if his older brother is either dead or deemed unqualified to rule. Can you imagine what is going to happen if I oblige to your request and denounce Sam, a fit heir, in favor of his younger brother? Other Lords who dislike their heirs will begin swarming here, demanding from me to change the succession. And even if I do, the wronged people will most certainly demand the restoration of their rights once my son comes to power, thus condemning Westeros into needless infighting."

"So, I am suggesting a compromise: Sam will be set aside in favor of Dickon, but it’ll happen in a manner that won’t leave cause for protest. A honoring position perhaps. Or a new seat that’ll require for Sam to relinquish his claim to Horn Hill. But due to the current circumstances, I am asking for your patience, Lord Randyll. Let’s sort this mess and then I’ll think more thoroughly for a solution to this situation."

Randyll and Argilac just stood there. Glaring at each other. Sizing each other up. Their very nature had never been more visible than on that moment. Randyll is the huntsman. And a huntsman is used to get his way. To command, instead of debating. But Argilac is the stag. The King of the forest. If his adversary doesn’t back down, he’ll make sure that he teaches him a proper lesson with his antlers. Randyll knows firsthand that the King of the Seven Kingdoms always delivers on his promises and that he is not a pushover. For years, he has seen the man in action. Both in the council chamber, the throne room, the training yard and the battlefield. He had tasted his might himself at Ashford and he had escaped with his life only by sheer luck.

Eventually, Randyll nodded and stood up.

"If that’s all, Your Grace..."

"It is, Lord Tarly. You may go now."

To buisness at hand, another two tables were placed right opposite from the Iron Throne. The seats of the defendants to the right and the seat of the prosecutor to the left. Next to these two tables, two series of benches and seats were placed. The one to the King’s left, was the seat of the women. The female members of the royal family had already taken position at the head of the formation. On the King’s right, were the seats of the spectators. And Argilac could see the Northerner who had accompanied Robb Stark to King's Landing, taking a good chunk of these seats. All of them glaring daggers at the King that dared to imprison their beloved liege Lord.

«Robb Stark, you really have some balls. I’ll give you that much. » Argilac thought amused. Robb did pull a good move: he came to King’s Landing with some of his strongest retinues as a display of strength on the North’s part. To ensure that no more “mistakes” are to occur as long as this trial takes place.

The atmosphere was already full with murmurs and comments about the upcoming trial. Argilac slammed his gauntleted right hand on the throne to enforce silence.

"The trial of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell as well as that of Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy shall begin now. Let the juries present themselves and take their vows."
Ser Harbert, who was acting as the King’s enforcer of silence during trials, bellowed for everyone to hear.

"Members of the jury! Present yourselves!"

The throne room’s gates were opened and the body of the jury immediately started assembling. At the head of the group, was Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon. Beside him was a servant who was holding the royal banner: the crowned golden stag standing on its hind legs on a black field.
Steffon was followed by his two cousins, Aemon and Ormund Baratheon, each holding his family's respective banner in hand. Behind Ormund, was Robb Stark and close to him, Ser Jaime Lannister who had seemingly uniwwtingly taken position behind his distant nephew. As if to provide some cover from unwanted attention Rodrik Greyjoy, was showering Robb with. Even though the juries weren’t allowed to carry arms within the courtroom, one muse be cautious.

Edmure Tully, Mace Tyrell and Princess Arianne Martell came next and too position. All members of the jury sat on their seats by the order they had entered the room.

Ser Harbert then went to call for the defendants.

"May the defendants come forward!"

Ned Stark, as well as Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy came forward, flanked by two Gold Cloaks, Ser Barristan Selmy, Torrhen and Beowulf. The defendants were moving freely, without shackles. They were bathed and were wearing clean clothes, painted in the colors of their Houses. They sat on the table assigned for them, on the right of the thrones. Torrhen, to everyone’s surprise walked casually beside his master and sat beside Ned’s seat. Same with Beowulf and Theon Greyjoy.

Finally, Ser Harbert called for Euron Greyjoy who is to act as the trial’s prosecutor. He arrived, casually. He was looking certain that he’d win this case quickly and easily.

«We’ll see about that, Euron. I know you had something to do with this mess. And I’ll prove that before the whole Realm. » Argilac thought.

The High Septon, who so far was watching the arrival of the court officials alongside other important guests, turned his attention to Argilac when he saw that everyone was in place. Once His Grace nodded, the head of the Faith stood up and spoke:

"Members of this court, let me offer my blessings to this trial. May the Father let the judges and the jury to judge the defendants with justice. May the Mother grant them mercy if the defendants are found guilty. And may the Crone offer her wisdom to the judges and the jury. So that they can make the right choice."

After finishing with his oral blessing, the High Septon soaked his hands in a bowl of water he had in front of him and approached. He touched the judges, the members of the jury, the defendants and the prosecutor with two fingers on the forehead and the chest. At the heart area.

With the blessing being carried out, Argilac rose from his throne to address the jury, the defendants and the spectators.

"People of Westeros, the Royal Court has officially come to order. We have gathered here today to determine the innocence or guilt of Eddard Stark, Maron Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy, for the murder of Balon Greyjoy."

He sat once again and turned towards Sam.

"Sam, is the list ready?"

"It is, Your Grace." The heir to Horn Hill replied, before he stands up and start approaching the jury. Once, he had reached their table he put a bowl filled with pieces of paper in front of them.

"For the duration of this trial, " Sam said, "a head for the jury body has to be appointed. And this is going to be achieved by a random choosing."

After finishing his short speech, Sam shoved his left hand inside the bowl and started shaking the pieces of paper. Once he had deemed that they were shaken enough, he put his right hand without looking and took one out. With a loud, clear voice he read the name of the person who was going to ensure that the rest of the juries will remain in order and conduct their duties properly for the duration of the trial: Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.

The room erupted in laughter and clapping. Some of the bolder juries, like Edmure Tully and Aemon Baratheon offered Jaime a comforting pat in the back as a gesture of sympathy for his new predicament. Jaime himself didn’t seem particularly pleased or honored by this choice though. Those who were standing closest to him could hear him murmuring:

"I knew I should have shoved Tyrion on a ship and order its captain to take him to King’s Landing..."

With the appointment of a head for the juries, all the initiating procedures have been conducted and the main part of the trial can take place. Argilac silenced everyone with a move of his left hand.

"Grand Maester Pycelle. Your verdict regarding the victim’s death."

"At once, Your Grace." Said Pycelle with his usual, obnoxiously trembling voice.

"After a full examination of Balon Greyjoy’s body, I’ve determined that the cause of death is consumption of poison. And judging by the victim’s swollen throat, burned pharynx and the testimonies of fuming, I say that the poison it was used was the Strangler."

The people in the crowd immediately started murmuring amongst themselves. The Strangler. That is just horrible. Many people had heard of this poison. Once dissolved in liquid and consumed, the poison makes the victim’s throat muscles clench tighter than a fist, causing an agonizing death of asphyxia. It’s said that only the alchemists of Lys, the Faceless Men of Braavos, the city’s elite assassins and the Maesters of the Citadel know the secrets for its production

"Do you have to report any missing of the poisons you hold in your chambers?"

|But, what an absurd thing to be told, Your Grace, of course not!" Pycelle was quick to dismiss the idea. "The cabinet in which I store my healing portions, as well as the poisons with whom I familiarise my accolytes and fellow maesters is firmly locked and I hold the key on my person at all times. Nothing was amiss and I never parted with that key. The Strangler that claimed Lord Balon's life was imported from outside. Quite crafty on the part of whoever performed the deed." Pycelle said as he was sitting again.

"The prosecutor may speak now." Argilac said, as he was turning towards Euron.

Euron Greyjoy stood casually and started his own speech:

"Your Grace, members of the jury, people of Westeros. I don’t come to you simply as the prosecutor in this trial, but also as a grieving man who wants justice for his dead brother. A man who left his brother in a discussion with his nephews and niece and found him dead with his very nephews and niece holding blades around him. Same goes for the proud and honorable Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark."

He then turned towards the defendants and gazed upon them as if they were his most hated enemies.

"I know who killed my brother, Eddard Stark. You did. You knew that my brother would very much shake the work my father and oldest grandson have done over the years. So, you removed my family’s wild card, so that neither you, nor your son will ever have to deal with the problem Balon represented."

Euron made two more threatening steps towards the Warden of the North, seemingly unafraid of him. But it took only one snarl from Torrhen to make him stop. The direwolf stood up and glared at Euron with such ferocity that everyone, even Argilac himself, felt the temperature in the throne room dropping rapidly. Torrhen’s yellow eyes seemed that had taken a red coloring. He drew his lips back exposing his large teeth, ready to tear that vile human apart. Despite him being chained to the table of the defendants, all Torrhen would need was one more step. That’s all he’d need to get Euron in his jaws. But Euron knew better than to make that step. He didn’t wish to try his luck with this terrifying beast when unarmed. So, he turned his attention towards the crowd instead.

"I admit it, good people of Westeros. My brother was a man that some people can and will call stubborn, quarrelsome and shortsighted. And they have every right to such an opinion. Balon couldn’t see the benefits of the peaceful integration of the Iron Islands into the Westerosi fold and yearned for the glorious days of the Old Way. When the Ironborn used to be nothing more but glorified pirates. But the fact that the defendant relied on such dishonorable means to remove a person he regarded a threat without even giving him a chance to prove that he’s worthy of the Seastone Chair is unforgivable. Especially since he dared to use the victim’s own children for his despicable acts. Corrupt them enough to make them turn against their own blood and ruin their own lives in the process."

Euron relished at the booing a portion of the crowd started sending towards Eddard Stark. He pressed on.

"So much of the Stark honor." He spat contemptuously. "Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, would be ashamed to see how low his line has fallen."

"Liar! LIAR!" Arya Stark screeched from her seat and tried to pounce on the man that dared to insult her father in such a manner. But her mother and sister proved stronger and kept her put. Arya shook viciously at the hands restraining her before turning towards the jury. Her eyes found Steffon in an instant.

"Speak, Steffon! Are you going to allow that liar disrespect your uncle in such a manner? You promised us that you’ll look after our own in this trial! You promised, Steffon Baratheon! You promised!"

Chapter Text

The throne room erupted in shouting. The people in the crowd started discussing what they had just heard. The Northerners were trying to diffuse the situation. Ser Harbert was trying his best to enforce silence to no avail. Argilac tried to enforce silence as well, but it almost seemed like nobody was listening to him.

"Order. Order!"

Eventually, the King slammed both his fists on his throne, stood up and roared:

"SILENCE!"

Everybody froze at that roar. Only Euron Greyjoy smirked, clearly pleased with the chaos he had just caused.

«You will pay for this, Euron. » Argilac thought. "Lady Stark. Take your pup to her room and make sure she’s locked there for the remainder of the trial." The King then told his sister-in-law with closed eyes and an almost whispering tone. Catelyn nodded eagerly and nudged Arya into following her. But Arya, ever defiant, jerked her hand free off her mother’s grip and stayed put.

"I am not going anywhere!" She yelled, "And if you think that…"

"JUST FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, DO AS YOU WERE TOLD, YOU FOOLISH CHILD!" Argilac roared purple-faced and with his fists clenched. And for once in her life, even Arya looked petrified. No one had ever yelled at her like that. Especially a family member.

Pale with fear and barely restraining her own fury at her daughter’s stupidity, Lady Stark grabbed Arya’s right wrist and almost dragged her away from the throne room. Sansa was right at her mother’s tail with a frigid expression on her face. Shocked by her mother’s rough manner, Arya turned towards her father, expecting his support. The only thing she saw in his grey eyes was cold disapproval. Ned even shook his head and with closed eyes, before turning to face the King once more.

The moment Arya was far away and Argilac seemed composed enough, he addressed the jury and the crowd.

"The trial shall be put to a halt. I need to discuss these new developments with my two councilors." He said, before moving towards the Council Chamber, followed by Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis.

Catelyn went inside Arya’s room and threw her youngest daughter on her bed like a sack of potatoes.

"What were you thinking?" Ahe asked her daughter.

"Euron dared insult Father and…" Arya replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if going ballistic in front of the entire court, as if revealing their secret and their connection to Steffon was something she should be congratulated over. It was too much for Sansa to handle.

"And what? You thought that you could simply pounce at him and slit his throat open with your Needle? In front of the entire royal court?" Sansa growled.

Arya’s face turned red at her sister’s rebuke.

"And what would you have me do? Stand idly by while that scumbag insults my father and…"

"HE’S MY FATHER TOO!" Sansa roared. The veins at her forehead had at least doubled in size by that outburst and her face was almost as red as her hair.
That display of fury was enough to shock both Arya and Catelyn. Sansa had always been a quiet, friendly individual. She had never shouted like that. Not even once. And once Nymeria dared to growl at Sansa for upsetting her mistress in such a manner, some puffing up and a growl from Lady was enough to make her sister crawl in submission.

"He’s my father too." Sansa repeated more calmly. "And I wouldn’t let anyone insult him or any other innocent of our family. But this isn’t our fight, Arya. Steffon would have helped Robb to get Father and Theon out of this mess without causing suspicion."

"And what stops him now?"

"You."

"Me? What did I do?"

"You couldn’t keep your bloody mouth shut, Arya! Now, Steffon may lose his position as a jury member. What makes you think that His Grace will keep in his jury a person, whose objectivity can’t be trusted?" Sansa pressed on.

"But Steffon is Uncle Argilac’s son and heir! Certainly, he won’t…" Arya insisted, unable or unwilling to understand that she might have damaged the family's standing.

"What? He won’t what? Ensure that all of his subjects remember that he’s a King first and a father second? No, Arya. His Grace shall treat his son and heir as befits his wrongdoing. As Father would have treated us. Sadly, you’ve abdicated the right to witness this."

"What? Are you kidding me? Who do you think you are?" Arya growled, furious. And after seeing Sansa refusing to budge, Arya turend towards their mother.

"Mother, come on! Are you going to allow Sansa bossing me around like this?"

Lady Stark shut her eyes and moved her head from side to side in disapproval. Then she exchanged a glance with Sansa.

"I think that your sister is right." The Lady of Winterfell told her youngest daughter.

"You need to control your impulsivity and temper, Arya. Until you do so, I don’t think you can’t be trusted." Sansa said as she took Needle and started heading towards the door, followed by their mother. Catelyn passed through the opening without saying a word. Seeing that their mother is moving away, Arya tried to run outside the room, but Lady proved faster. She pounced between her mistress and Arya and growled warningly. Arya backed away nervously.

"Lady, that’s enough." Sansa commanded her companion. Lady obeyed her mistress and came outside, leaving Sansa enough space to close the door. Before she does though, the Red She-Wolf allowed two Stark guards to come inside and sighed heavily. She looked at her little sister more empathetically, despite the angry glare she received in return.

"For all it’s worth, I am sorry, Arya. But this is for your own good in the long run."

Sansa shut the door behind her and locked it. Afterwards, she turned towards Jory Cassel, nephew of Ser Rodrik Cassel and head of the Stark guardsmen who followed Sansa and her family to the capital.

"Place two trustworthy men outside the door. My sister and her direwolf are to remain there at all times. The window is too far from the ground, so they can’t jump out of it. They’ll be eating only when I and my mother are present and they're not to go outside, unless under the direst circumstances. If either of them tries to escape, you are permitted to even tie her on her bed. Have I made myself clear, Jory Cassel?"

Jory gave Sansa a wry smile and nodded his head.

"Transparently, Lady Stark."

Sansa gave him a friendly smile and a departing pat on the right shoulder, before she heads back to the throne room. By the time she made it there, her mother had already taken her seat and Sansa could see that the sun had begun to set and soon the moon will take its place. There’s not much time before the trial's first day is completed. And Father is not any closer to freedom than he was when the trial had started...

Chapter Text

"What did I miss, Mother?" Sansa asked Lady Stark as she was retaking her seat.

"You’ll see now. Here comes your uncle."

His Grace returned to the throne room flanked, by Lords Arryn and Stannis. But there was a major change in the throne order: apart from the three thrones on the left and right of the Iron Throne, there was also fourth one to the right.

"Member of the jury, after a long and collected thought and with the latest developments thoroughly considered, I withdraw my right to vote in this trial. And to prevent the eventuality of a tie between the rest, I call forward my son and heir, Prince Steffon, to take his place besdie his father as an observer alone. For his disobedience has cost him the right to have a vote on this trial."

Steffon bowed his head in obedience and stood from his seat. He took his place beside his father, without protest or complains. But Sansa could see the brewing storm in her uncle’s eyes as he was gazing upon his oldest son. Now the Lords who could vote were reduced to only nine. Eleven if someone was to consider Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon.

"However, with all of the issues that came to our attention, I am afraid that I have to put the trial to halt for today. We’ll continue tomorrow afternoon, after the court session. Lord Greyjoy, I suggest that you have gathered your witnesses and prepare them for testifying by the time we start tomorrow. It’ll save a lot of time."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Good, The case is closed for the day."

Argilac then turned towards his son. With an almost whispering voice, he told him:

"I’d like to have a word with you, son. I suggest you get up and join me in the Council Chamber."

Upon seeing the brewing storm in his father’s eyes, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms couldn’t help but feel some nervousness. Especially since neither Lord Arryn, nor uncle Stannis were looking particularly inclined to stand by his side on the matter. Eventually, Steffon stood up and followed his father, so that he can receive his scolding away from the indiscreet eyes and ears of the royal court.

The next day went by uneventfully. If there wasn’t her father’s trial in the middle, the thought that something is out of order wouldn't have even crossed Sansa's mind. But then, there was Steffon to remind her otherwise. Her cousin was looking at her as if she had insulted him in such a manner that he couldn’t forgive. And whenever he was seeing Arya, who as punishment for her impulsivity was forbidden to participate in any martial lessons with Brienne, Syrio or Lord Stannis…he was looking at her as if he wanted to speak to her in such a manner that a Prince of the fairytales would be ashamed to hear, let alone use.

To make matters worse, Arya didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed for her actions. She was trying to help Father and that’s all she needed to understand. She didn’t mean for Steffon to get in trouble with his dad. So the fallout between father and son is hardly her fault. But Steffon didn’t seem to be listening to her apologies at all. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at her. Sansa would definitely need to try and mend the relationship between her sister and cousin, once this whole mess is settled.

On the bright side though, this trial was a great opportunity for Westeros’ Wardens and Lords Paramount to gather in the same room and exchange opinions about regional management. Or even for distant kin to come together. During the court’s session or during lunchtime, Sansa had the opportunity to catch up with Robb. The North was developing as steadily as it did when Father had left it and their family is safe, under Jon’s watchful eye. Good. At least something was going right back home. And Sansa heard of similar image of stability and prosperity was visible on other regions of Westeros as well. That’s also good. Let’s hope that the Wardens and Lords Paramount, who came here, had left behind suitable replacements. After all, not everyone can be as great as Uncle Tyrion or Jon.

Now, back to the trial. Euron had questioned the ten Baratheon guards that had entered Balon Greyjoy’s room the day he was killed. All of them had reported that they had seen Father, as well as the three Greyjoy siblings armed but none of the weapons had been bloodied and neither of them had resisted at the time of their arrest. However, Euron with his way of handling the discussion, was leading the courtroom into believing that the defendants had drew blades to kill the victim, in order to cover their tracks. Father had endured these filthy accusations with freezing stoicism. His grey eyes were gloomed on Euron as he was ranting. He was looking at him like a wolf ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey and tear out its throat. Finally, after Euron had decided that he had heard enough from the guards, he turned his attention to the defendants.

"Eddard Stark, was it your idea to visit my late brother to his chambers the day he was killed?" Lord Euron called out.

"I merely responded to an invitation, sent by your brother, Lord Euron." The Lord of Winterfell responded coldly.

"It was your idea to bring my nephews and niece along?"

"No. Balon Greyjoy had requested his children to be present at the meeting."

"And you don’t happen to know why my late brother had summoned you, do you?"

"Your brother was a man who had a habit of blaming others for his mistakes and failures. He probably wanted to belittle his children for how non-Ironborn they are after they were brought up by mainlanders and their principles. Especially Theon, whom I raised myself."

"How did things come to you drawing blades? How did the meeting proceed until that moment?"

"Lord Balon cut to the chase right away. He was displeased that his children and especially Theon grew up without the principles he was considering invaluable for a proper Ironborn. He questioned Theon’s ability and Theon retorted that he became more complete than Balon could ever expect. Then you came in and offered a disk with glasses and wine. Balon poured himself a glass after he had emptied his first. He demanded his children follow in his example but I stopped them. Afterwards…"

"Why did you prevent my nephews and niece from drinking the wine? What was so special about it?" Euron interrupted. A move to throw him off balance no doubt.

"Objection!" Lord Arryn called out in frustration. "With respect, Your Gracem but Lord Greyjoy doesn’t even let the defendant finish his sentences!"

"Lord Stark opened the door." Stannis replied coldly from his throne. His Grace simply nodded to his brother’s comment.

'Could you please answer the question, Lord Stark?' The King asked the Lord of Winterfell.

"I have it as a principle never to partake in alcohol during official meetings. And I thought it as an opportunity to demonstrate said lesson to the Greyjoy children. The outcome of this meeting shows that I was right into applying that lesson."

"Or you simply prevented your partners-in crime from getting themselves killed." Euron accused.

"What reason could I possibly have for killing Balon Greyjoy, Lord Euron? The man was no enemy of mine. Granted, I disapproved many of the views he had about the world, but that doesn’t mean that I’d try to kill him. Not without getting attacked myself that is."

"So you admit that you were regarding my brother with hostility during your stay in the capital."

His Grace knocked his gauntleted left hand on the throne.

"Remain to the point, Lord Greyjoy. Lord Stark, proceed with the story."

"As you command, Your Grace." Ned Stark said respectfully. "Lord Balon didn’t appreciate it. He turned towards Theon and mocked him for deciding to listen to me instead of him. He called him “a complete failure. A disgrace to the Greyjoy name. And a disgrace to all 'true men.'"

"And how did Theon react to that verbal attack?"

"He got angry. He stood up and ignored my attempts to make him sit back down and deescalate the situation. He expressed his disapproval of the Old Way and attainted his father for acting as if he had come to Winterfell willingly instead of being sent there by his grandsire, Lord Quellon Greyjoy.

Lord Balon didn’t look kindly on this act of defiance. He kicked his chair backwards and stood up, battleaxe in hand. Fearing that he’d attack Theon with a purpose to injure or even kill him, his siblings, I and even Theon himself drew our own blades in self-defense. I tried to reason with Lord Balon but by that time the poison already had taken affect."

Euron looked at Father from head to toe. Father resumed his cold, dignified stance and bore a freezing glare at Euron. For a while the Kraken and the Direwolf engaged in what seemed like a staring contest. Sea blue eyes versus stone grey ones. Eventually, Euron gave a stiff nod.

"No further questions for Lord Stark."

Euron proceeded to question Maron and Yara Greyjoy, but they didn’t say anything different compared to what Father had said. Finally, Euron called forward Theon and asked him about his father’s passing.

"He said: 'You…you did this. You are…you are no son of mine...'”

"And how did you respond, Theon?" Euron asked his nephew. Considerably softer compared to the way he had addressed Father, Sansa had observed.

"I replied: 'I am your son. Whether you like it or not.'”

"That’ll be enough, Theon. I have no more questions." Euron said as he was sending Theon to sit once more. He then turned towards the table where the jury was placed. For a moment, he looked as he was staring Robb dead in the eye, before address him and his comrades.

"Members of the jury. I have finished my examination. And the results seem to reinforce my original hypothesis: Lord Eddard Stark certainly heard and saw for himself that my late brother was going to ruin the relationship that the North and the Iron Islands have cultivated under my lord father, Quellon Greyjoy. Not wanting to face Balon’s blunder himself, or even worse condemn his son into such a fate, he took care of said problem in advance. For that, I suggest for him to be sentenced for life as a member of the Night’s Watch. After all, it’s been quite a while since a Stark has manned the Wall. As for my nephews and niece, who were clearly manipulated into this situation, I suggest to be released, but to be removed from the Greyjoy line of succession."

The jury, as well as the King and the two judges remained silent. Contemplating whether should they consider Euron’s suggestion. Suddenly, Stannis stood up and approached Euron. The Lord of Storm’s End kept a steady pace and his sky blue eyes were pinned on Euorn’s sea blue one. Without even a warning, he leaned forward to Euron’s table and cut to the chase.

"I find it rather convenient for you to make such suggestions, Lord Euron. You are suggesting a penalty that removes a powerful Lord, who also happens to be a capable administrator and a renowned commander from his seat of power and places him in a position where he can no longer intervene in state affairs. After all, the Night’s Watch can’t partake in the conflicts of the Realm. And when Lord Eddard is removed what’s to be left behind? A pup who hasn’t yet earned the respect of the Northern bannermen, the North, who now stands as a rather wealthy province and the Iron Islands who can’t wait to retaliate for the insult of having lost their heir to Stark treachery. Especially if Rodrik Greyjoy decides to pay heed to a relative who just happen to find himself four steps ahead in the line of succession."

"I thought that you were a man who says what he thinks, exactly how he thinks it, Lord Stannis. So, cease talking in riddles and tell me what you’re accusing me of."

"I am accusing you for making things too easy for you to rise above your rightful station, Euron Greyjoy." Stannis pressed on. "You remove Lord Eddard and you leave the North right open for Ironborn retribution. A retribution that you can easily be a part of, since your nephew Rodrik will probably turn to you for help and guidance. Perhaps we shouldn’t look on Lord Eddard or the Greyjoy children to find Balon’s murderer, but rather right in front of us."

In response, Euron slammed his fists on the table in front of him and stood hastily up. Stannis didn’t even blink at this display of anger.

"Kinslayer and traitor that is?" He roared at the accusations of indignity. "I will not sit here and swallow insults from a lobster of a man, weak enough to sire a freak of a daugter! Know that if I wanted a person to be dead, said person would be dead. Including you, Stannis Baratheon!"

To everyone’s shock and horror, Lord Stannis…smirked. Without replying, he turned his back on Euron and returned to his throne.

"Pardon me, Lord Euron, but did you just threaten a member of the royal dynasty? And right in front of the King?" The Lord of Storm’s End asked Euron, while sitting once more on his throne.

Whatever aggression was in Euron’s face during his confrontation with Stannis, died instantly. Especially since the King himself was glaring down at him. Even though Lord Stannis is not his favorite brother, His Grace doesn’t take threats to his family well. Judging by the glaring he was receiving, Euron must have realized it as well.

"Your Grace, I was…"

"You were kindly handing over your turn to Lord Stark, Euron Greyjoy." Argilac growled in a manner that didn’t give much space for arguing.

Ned Stark stood up and calmly presented his evidence to the court. Like he had said during his interrogation, he and the Greyjoys visited Lord Balon, because the latter requested it. The wine that the victim consumed was brought to the room by Lord Euron himself and the blades that were drawn were only visible for self-defense. Said testimony was confirmed by Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy as well as the ten Baratheon guardians who arrested them. Finally, the Stag King rose from his throne and started descending the stairs to the main floor.

"Tomorrow the verdict shall be announced. For now, the court is adjourned."

Chapter Text

The following afternoon, Sansa once again took her place beside her mother and aunts. Unsurprisingly, Arya too was present at the courtroom and she could hardly wait for the verdict to be announced. This time, both of the Stark sisters were in close proximity of their mother, their aunt Lysa and the two Baratheon Princesses. Minisa in particular seemed fairly unrest today. Her swollen belly made her look like she was only a few days at best from giving birth. However, she was adamant and clear: she’d bear witness to the verdict in her uncle’s trial with her own eyes.

Sansa however, couldn’t see anywhere Euron Greyjoy. That’s strange. As the prosecutor, he should be present to hear the verdict. King Argilac waited roughly ten minutes for the Greyjoy to arrive, until finally, he lost his patience.

"I am not going to wait here all day. Not with my brother Orys' return so imminent." He growled, banging the right arm of the Iron Throne with his gauntleted fist. Referring to the news he had received during luncheon about the ship of Lord Orys being spotted en route for King's Landing from Volantis.

"Members of the jury, have you reached your verdict?"

"We did, Your Grace." Jaime Lannister replied.

"And what your verdict is?"

"We find the defendants…"

"Wait, my Lords! I have something to say!"

The unexpected voice came from the audience. He was a young, blond man with green eyes and slouched shoulders, roughly in his middle twenties. He looked like a rather unremarkable individual. If he hadn’t called out, Sansa wouldn’t even notice him.

"Approach." Lord Arryn called out to the blond man. Once the lad was in close proximity of the King and the two judges, the Hand talked again:

"Who are you, lad?" Jon Arryn asked in a kind tone.

"Walder, milord."

"And what is your occupation, Walder?"

"I am a member of the working staff stationed at the Red Keep, milord."

"And what is so important that you interrupted an entire trial for it?" Lord Stannis asked gruffly. Walder clearly flinched at the rebuke. Judging by Arya’s contemptous face, he didn’t seem like a very brave person.

"I…I have something to say about Euron Greyjoy."

"Carry on." King Argilac said. Eager for this story to come to a close.

"I was ordered to bring some wine for Lord Balon Greyjoy and his visitors at the day of his death. But, by the time I had brought it on Lord Balon’s door, Lord Euron Greyjoy stopped me. He proved willing to relieve me of my burden and paid me for my trouble. Afterwards, I left to continue my day, pleased that I impressed a Lord with my performance." Walder said timidly.

"And you didn’t trouble yourself with telling us sooner because…" Lord Stannis growled.

"I…I was afraid, milord. When I heard of Lord Balon’s passing, I knew that it was the wine I had brought him that did the job. I feared that I’d be hold responsible for it."

"And you’re not?"

"No, milord. And there’s something else…"

Lord Jaime Lannister’s laughter stopped Walder from continuing.

"You’re making it better and better, lad. I am starting to think that coming all the way here actually worth it." The Lannister clapped his hands, rather amused.
The King however wasn’t in a particularly jovial mood.

"We don’t have all day, Walder. If you have something of import to say, say it now."

"Aye, Your Grace! Of course, Your Grace! " Walder said, stuttering. "You see, Lord Euron came to visit me in my room the night of his brother’s passing. He told me that it’d be better for me to stay away from the trial that was to take place and keep my mouth shut. That it’d be a shame if I ended up accused for his Lord Brother’s murder. Or if my family was to be met with…some great misfortune."

Having heard enough, the King turned towards his Captain of the guard.

"Ser Vardis, search the Red Keep for Euron Greyjoy. Have some men search his chambers for leads determining where he might have gone. And send men to search the docks. Perhaps Euron has taken refuge on his ship, «Silence».

"At once, Your Grace." The knight replied.

"Members of the jury, I ask you now to reconsider your thoughts. Euron Greyjoy is no longer the prosecutor in this trial but a prime suspect in Balon Greyjoy’s murder."

Half an hour later, Ser Vardis returned to the throne room.

"Your Grace, Euron Greyjoy is nowhere to be found. And from what the guards at the port have told me, 'Silence' is been missing since daybreak."

"And his room? Did you find anything of use there?" Lord Arryn asked.

"I'm afraid not so, my Lord Hand. Whatever thoughts or documents the kinslayer had with hi,, are probably either on his person or destroyed." Ser Vardies replied.

"What do you suggest, Your Grace? What do you have to say on the matter?" Lord Arryn turned to the King.

The eldest Baratheon brother seemed skeptical for a while. But then, he stood up, a look of determination on his face.

"Members of the jury. People of Westeros, I think that this case is now closed. All testimonies and evidence indicate that Euron Greyjoy is a liar and a kinslayer. In order to further himself into the Greyjoy line of succession, he murdered his own brother. And to cover his tracks, he went as far as to frame his own nephews, niece and a Lord Paramount who had nothing to do with this hideous crime. I am asking you now to take your time to put this matter to its proper base."

The members of the jury started whispering amongst themselves for a while. Finally, they all nodded their heads in agreement and Jaime Lannister turned to face the King:

"We have reached a unanimous verdict, Your Grace. We find the defendants Lord Eddard Stark, as well as Maron, Yara and Theon Greyjoy for the crime of first-degree murder, non-guilty."

"Then by all means I release them from the Iron Throne’s custody and I reappoint Lord Eddard Stark as Master of Laws in the Royal Council. As for the real villain, in the name of Justice and the People of Westeros, I Argilac of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, denounce and attaint Euron Greyjoy. I strip him of all ranks, titles, lands and incomes. And sentence him to death."

"Your Grace, this is a drastic action. It would be better to wait for Lord Quellon’s reply." Grand Maester Pycelle said, feebly rising from his seat.

"Grand Maester Pycelle."

"Your Grace." The old maester wheezed.

"We have a representative of the Iron Islands right in front of us, tasked with speaking with Lord Quellon’s voice and act in his name. Send a raven to every holdfast and settlement of Westeros. Inform the nobles and the people of the Realm that Euron Greyjoy’s capture will be rewarded with 5,000 golden dragons. 2,500 to anyone who will be able to provide sufficient intelligence for his arrest. And if it’s not money what they want, tell them that the Crown is willing to offer the worth of said reward in animals, tools and seeds. However, anyone who dares to harbor Euron Greyjoy, shall be executed as an enemy of the Crown and a traitor to the Realm."

The sound of the King’s gauntleted right fist banging the arm of the Iron Throne brought the trial to a close. To Sansa’s her mother’s and sister’s great relief. Uncle Argilac and Aunt Lysa had delivered on their promise and restored Father’s freedom, without giving ground for accusations of favoritism. And now, she could embrace her father and friends without fear.

Chapter Text

King's Landing, 22/5/302 AC

'Lord Steffon', Orys Baratheon's ship, finally docked at King's Landing, bringing the Lord and Lady of the Crownlands home. Close to the temple of R'hllor Orys had personally seen constructed a few years back to help Essoi ambassadors, merchants and visitors feel more at home whenever they were to visit the capital city of Westeros.

And Orys and Cersei were not alone. They had brought the Maegyr family with them, eager to bind their two families in marriage as soon as possible. Minaly Talisa's father, Lord Maryn Maegyr and her two brothers, Vereld, the elder and Hollistor, the younger. Unfortunately, Talisa's grandfather, Triarch Malaquo, could not make the trip, due to a combination of his advanced age and urgent affairs at home. He was however compensating his dear granddaughter for his absence with the heartfelt note he had written her and the gifts he was sending her: some fine new gowns, three brand new sets with the latest medical tools and medicine developed in Essos and a brand new set of cyvasse. In memory of the games they used to play together when she was a child.

Now, one could wonder: Why on earth would House Baratheon, the royal house of Westeros, want to intermarry with one of the most prominent families in Volantis, a city known for its massive slave population and the disdain that the Volantene aristocracy is known for harbouring for Westeros and its people? Ultimately, it all comes down to shifting economic needs and strategic alliances. Seeing the closer ties Westeros had formed with Braavos, the Volentene leaders knew that a firmer stance against slavery would be adopted across the Narrow Sea. Something that wouldn't stand well at all with the slave trade Volantis was so heavily engaged in for centuries. Then, you had the constant deteriorating of relations between Westeros, Myr and Tyrosh. If Westeros was in bad terms with two of the Three Daughters, it means that it wouldn't move to defend tthem, should Volantis finally moves to subjugate them and solidify her place as Valyria's true daughter.
And with the deposition of House Targaryen, a House many Volentene nobles saw as a blight to the history and legacy of Valyria, after Aegon the Conqueror had hindered Volantene plans of expansion during the Cnetury of Blood, the door to negotiations was opened.

And these developments couldn't have come on a better time for Volantis as it had reached the point where slavery, to the dismay of many slave traders and slave owning nobility, had began becoming...obsolete. For starters, you had the growing sentiment amongst the younger generations that slavery was morally wrong and the institution practicing it, atrocious. Talisa herself owed her new position in Westeros to these sentiments: For when she was 12 years old, she and her family had attended a wedding. On the second day of the festivities, she, her siblings and many other kids went to the Rhoyne for a swim. And it was when the youngest Maegyr sibling, Hollistor, escaped the attention of Vereld and Talisa. The next time his two elder siblings noticed him, he was floating facedown in the water. They dragged him to shore, they screamed at him, they shoved him, but it was no good. Hollistor would have died on that very day, had a slave working on a fishing boat hadn't rushed to his aid: he pushed Talisa out of the way and pressed down on Hollistor's chest until the lad coughed out the water trapped in his lungs and started breathing again. Talisa was so inspired by the slave's selfless act, that she decided two things: first, not waste her years merely dancing and giggling with other nobles, when she could be dedicating herself to a good cause. And second, after coming of age, she'd never again live in a place where slavery was legal. To this end, she obtained medical training and following her family's growing ties to Westeros, she relocated to the Sunset Kingdom, becoming her city's ambassador.

Talisa's successfull career in Westeros, as well as the growing trading with Westeros and most importantly the voyages King Argilac Baratheon funded and organised for the finding, purchasing and freeing of slaves of Westerosi origins across Essos, altered how younger people in Volantis were seeing slavery forever. The only way the goverment could stop the brewing unrest and prevent problems caused by potentially emboldened slaves, was to actually work in remeding this anomaly: the Volentene goverment halted the acquisition of new slaves and began tampering with the idea of introducing free labour. They started with certain fields that require economic, linguistic and administrative duties. Same for the core of the infamous tiger soldiers of Volantis. For the rest, a minimal wage and other necessitates were beggining to be introduced. A practical demonstration to the world about the goodness of the Volentene masters.

And if that goodwill could translate on having Westeros and Braavos supporting Volantis conquering Myr and Tyrosh and possibly vassalising Lys too, three "unrepentant " slaver-cities? All the better.

The soon to be bride and groom, the royal family of Westeros and prominent figures of the Westerosi court, such as the members of the Royal Council, were waiting at the docks to greet their compatriots and their esteemed guests.

"Welcome home, brother. You too, sister." King Argilac greeted Orys and Cersei with his booming voice, before turning his attention to the Maegyrs.

"It is with great pleasure that I welcome esteemed members of the Maegyr family to my kingdom. Talisa has been telling us all about you since Orys sent word about your impending arrival." The eldest Baratheon brother said before gesturing to one of the servants to come forth with wine, bread and salt.

"Per Westerosi traditions, I offer you bread and salt and I swear on my honour, both as a Westerosi and a King, that no harm will come to you or your people as long as you honor my land and respect my people. Will you swear the same?"

Dressed in his battle armour, equally mirroing the one Argilac was wearing, Talisa's father, Lord Maryn Maegyr, stepped forward.

"We do, Argilac Baratheon, High King of the Sunset Kingdom. We swear on our honour that no harm or dishonour will come to either you, your family or your kingdom as long as we live under your hospitality." He said in a deep, resolute voice, from a man who had seen and directed war many times in his youth. He then tore a chunck of the bread, scooped up some salt and ate it before taking a sip of wine and urging his sons and crewmembers to do the same. The two lads, aged 20 and 17 respectively, approached and dipped their heads in respect.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the great King Argilac Baratheon in the flesh. Word has spread as far as Mereen about the Great Stag and his achievements." Hollistor said respectfully.

"Then by all means, my young friend, I do hope that this meeting is living up to your expectations." The King said with a friendly smile on his face, before shaking the lad's hand. He then turned to Aemon and Talisa.

"But I'm becoming rude: the families of the groom and the bride are finally here and I'm occupying their time. Please, children, feel free to welcome your families." He said as he stepped to the side. Immediatelly, Aemon and Talisa hugged their parents and siblings.

"My son. Your father and I missed you terribly." Cersei said, stroking Aemon's head.

"I missed you too, mother. But you and father are back home with us. That's all that matters."

After the reunion was over, Argilac called everyone's attention with a small cough.

"Our footmen will take your belongings to the Red Keep. But for now, unless you're tired and would prefer to rest and refresh yourselves in your chambers first, I believe that a tour of the city is in order. Talisa was looking rather forward to it, from ever since she learnt you're coming."

"Most definetly. She has always been observant that one. She probably knows the city like the palm of her hand by now." Vereld teased in good nature. Earning himself a playful swat on the arm by his sister.

"Looking forward to it. Lead the way, my daughter." Lord Maryn Maegyr said, happily.

King's Landing, 29/5/302 AC

The Maegyrs spent a week in King's Landing before the wedding. And in that time, they quickly grew to love the city like their own. They praised the architecture and the art. They admired the discipline, order and skill of the Royal Army and the Royal Navy during training sessions and war games, they even visited the hospitals and orhanages Talisa was overseeing under her direct stewardship. It had become clear that the only granddaughter of the great Triarch Malaquo Maegyr, the Old Tiger, had embraced the Kingdom and the people of Westeros like her own. And to a family that seeks the happiness of its scions as well as the optimal gains, there could hardly be a better combination.

Hollistor Maegyr, leaning closer to the arts, languages and scholary activities than warfare, became a quick patron of both the library of the Red Keep, as well as the University of King's Landing at the Dragonpit. He also became fast friends with Samwell Tarly, whom he invited personally to visit Volantis. Respectively, Sam invited his new friend to visit the famous Citadel of Oltown with him during his next visit.

Vereld Maegyr, heir to this great family and a staunch military man in the making, quickly found himself a new home in the training yard of the Red Keep and the barracks of the City Watch and the Royal Army. And his mastery of over a dozen different fighting styles, as well as his dexterity with any melee weapon, quickly earned him points with the likes of Rnadyll and Dickon Tarly and even King Argilac and his sons. He was happy to be named captain of the hundred Volantene guards that would remain stationed in King's Landing to serve as Talisa's and Aemon's personal guard. A gift from Lord Maryn to his daughter and his new son-in-law.

But it was Talisa's father that found himself in the greatest position yet. For he had the honour to be officially named Volantis' new ambassador, now that Talisa would become the future Lady of King's Landing and therefore would have to focus on her new duties. Lord Maryn took full advantage of his newfound appointment to test the waters for the possibility of military action against Myr and Tyrosh. And as he had suspected, the Westerosi sentiments were highly favourable towards the prospect of Volantene expansion and the removal of two slaver-cities from the global politics.

It was decided that next time either Myr or Tyrosh would do something to break the peace, it'd be war. And in the wake of victory, Volantis would be free to do with Myr and Tyrosh what she wills. As long as slavery was abolished and all slaves found in these cities of Westerosi origins are handed over to their compatriors as soon as they're seized.

Finally, the day of the wedding came. The Maegyrs were escorted to the Great Sept of Baelor, where the wedding would take place. Holding her father's arm across her own, Talisa was wearing a white, silken dress, matching her olive skin just perfectly, while her own hair was tied to a braid. Over her shoulders was the Maegyr cloak: a quartered field, switching between white and black with a red dragon head.

Aemon's parents and the rest of his family were at the Sept's feet, waiting for them.

"Talisa! I'm really glad that you made it!" Sansa Stark called out to her friend before hugging her.

"Indeed I am. There's no way I'd be running off from my own wedding." Talisa said.

"Not that we'd blame you if you would. Aemon is amazing but there are times when he can be a monumental pain in the backside." Arya chirped in, earning herself a good laugh from the future bride.

"From what I see, the greens suit you very well, Sansa. I hope that you’ll get used to them." The Maegyr heiress said, looking at the grern gown Sansa was wearing. A testament to her impending marriage to Willas Tyrell.

"Oh, trust me, I intend to." Sansa winked. Margaery, who was stnading next to Sansa, laughed heartily.

"Allow me to properly welcome you into the family, Talisa. Or should I say cousin now?" Margaery turned towards the Maegyr party.

"It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Margaery. As I recall, we didn't get the chance to talk properly during my family's stay here." Talisa’s father said, before he respectfully kisses the young Tyrell’s right hand.

"Mine as well, Lord Maegyr."

"I hope that Prince Steffon will make a good husband, my Lady. Cause if he’s not, I’ll be more than happy to be the daring knight coming to a maid’s aid."Vereld Maegyr winked, earning himself a chuckle from the group.

"Vereld, my friend, tomorrow morning, I'm gonna pound you half to death in the yard." Crown Prince Steffon said between laughs.

This jovial mood was indeed nice and good to build connections and forge alliances. But, all things must come to an end eventually.

"Shall we head inside?" Lord Stark, the reinstated Master of Laws, suggested.

"Of course, Lord Stark. Thank you for pointing that out." Lady Margaery smiled once more as she was taking her place beside her betrothed. The bride and groom entered the Sept, followed by their respective parents and siblings, then the King, Queen and the other prominent guests.

Talisa was led by her father to the center of the Sept, where her future husband, Prince Aemon, was awaiting. Holding a cloak of his House.
Behind the groom, Inside the Sept, the High Septon was waiting. And, to his apparent discomfort, two more people were standing next to him as well. Thorros of Myr and Melisandre, the Red Priests at the temple of R'hllor at King's Landing. For it had been decided that out of respect for the religion the Maegyrs follow, while also making it clear that Talisa offically joins the royal family of Westeros, therefore accepting their faith, the marriage ceremony would include elements from both religions. And the High Septon, as well as Thorros and Melisandre were to see to it that this would be the case.

As soon as the bride had taken place to her intended’s right, the High Septon declared:

"Now the groom can cloak his bride and bring her under his protection."

Upon hearing this command, Lord Maryn proceeded to uncloak his daughter and step aside, leaving Aemon room to place and tie his own cloaks to his new wife. Then, Aemon took Talisa's right hand to his own left, intertwining their fingers.

"Your Graces. My Lords and Ladies of Westeros. Esteemed friends from Volantis. We stand here today, before the eyes of Gods and men to witness the union between a man and a woman." The High Septon declared, as he was tying a ribbon in a knot around the joined hands of each couple, symbolizing the union.

"Let it be known that Talisa of House Maegyr and Aemon of House Baratheon are now one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed by the one who would seek to tear them asunder."

The groom and bride turned to face the crowd. Talisa could see the joy and pride in her father's and brothers’ smiling faces. Same for Aemon's parents, uncles, aunts and cousins who were smiling, nodding and clapping in approval.

"In the sight of the Seven Who Are One, I seal these souls, binding them as one for eternity. Now look at each other and say the words."

Aemon and Talisa faced eachother.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my Lady and wife."

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my Lord and husband."

Aemon cupped Talisa’s face with his hands, leaned in and kissed her. Not bad. Not bad at all. He had soft lips, a plesant breath and he seemed to know what he was doing. Talisa could certainly make kissing her new husband quite a pleasant habit.

That kiss was like opening a pit inside her stomach. She wanted more. She wanted to have more. But she needed to follow the more restrained Westerosi traditions and be patient.

Aemon then rested his cheek on hers. He whispered in her ear:

"Hold on until the evening and I promise that I will give you as many kisses you want and more."

"I will hold you to your word, my Lord." Talisa whispered back.

Finally, the couple faced the crowd, raising together their unwrapped hands high in the air.

"Your Graces, my Lords and Ladies, I present to you the future Lord and Lady of King’s Landing!"

These words signaled the end of the wedding ceremony in the creed of the Faith. Now, it was time for R'hllor to bless this young couple. Thorros and Melisandre took the two youngsters outsdie, where Melisandre had seen to it that a fire had been set. At the feet of King Baelor the Blessed. Thorros stepped behind the fire, gesturing Aemon and Talisa to come closer, as the guests, curious to watch were swarming outside.

"Lord of Light, guide us! Lord of Light, protect us! Bless with your warmth and kindness this young couple! Talisa of House Maegyr and Aemon of House Baratheon." Thorros said, as Melisandre was lighting the fire, inviting its warmth and light into the mist.

"The night is dark and full of terrors, Talisa and you, Aemon. Will you share your fire with eachother for the rest of your days?" Melisadre asked, her fierry eyes locked onto those of the newlyweds.

"We do." The couple said in unison. Pleased, Melisandre took Thorros' hand and stepped aside.

"Then there's one thing left for you to do, before the Lord of Light blesses your union: leap over that fire as one and show him that you put your trust in Him, same as He trusts in you."

Talisa looked at Aemon. Aemon looked at Talisa, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Without warning, Orys' son scooped up his new wife, bridal style and leapt through the fire. Earning himself a round of applause from the crowd and a playful swat at the shoulder from his wife, followed by a passionate kiss on the lips.

"Someone hasn't been able to help herself I see. Looks like I'm gonna have to punish you..." Aemon whispered at her, resting his forehead in hers.

"I'd love to see you trying..." Talisa whispered back, lust laced in her voice.

Following the completion of the wedding ceremony, King Argilac hosted a feast at the Red Keep to celebrate his nephew's wedding and this new alliance with Volantis. Toasts were exchanged., wishes and gists were exchanged. excellent food and drink was offered in abundance, followed by singing and dancing.

The newlyweds dominated the dance floor. 5 dances in a row and they seemed determined to keep going, unable to keep their hands off of eachother. But at that point, in accordance with traditions, the couples changed partners: Orys was the first to initiate this switch, by taking Talisa, while Cersei took her place in her son’s arms.

"Well, it has finally happened. You’re officially one of us, Talisa. I believe congratulations are in order. Lord Orys said amicably as he was dancing with his daughter-in-law."

"I am honored, Lord Orys."

"Oh, honey, 'Lord Orys' sounds so formal. Call me Orys. 'Father' is probably going to be too soon. For both of us."

Talisa nodded with a smile. Him being so understanding was one of the things she liked the most about her father-in-law.

"Thank you…Orys."

"Much better. It wasn’t so difficult now, was it?" The Black Lion smiled.

"No, it was not." Talisa smiled back.

"Good. Now, do you remember what we talked about before Lady Cersei and I traveled to Volantis to bring your family here?"

"Uh…sure. That I am already on a promising spot, thanks to my positive tenure as Volantis’ ambassador. A position I can only reinforce from now on."

"Exactly. And your brother and father will be of great help to that. As long as they stay in line and behave themselves in Westeros, that is. I know that you, Maegyrs, are an old family of clear Valyrian origin, which rules one of the largest and wealthiest city-states in Essos. One more reason for them to think that they outrank the 'Westerosi barbarians' who they are now related to."

"I assure you, Orys, my father and brother are not like many of our Volentene peers and they won’t cause problems." Talisa was quick to defend her family.

"They better. For my brother won’t stand for disrespect to his people. And frankly, neither will I."

"I understand." Tlisa said. She could definetly relate to leaders loving their people. And, if she was to be honest with herself, she too had grown to love Westeros and its people like her own. She too would rise to defend them as a trueborn daughter would.

"I knew you would..." Orys winked. "I taught you well. Now, about my wife and son. I couldn’t be happier for you and Aemon. I knew you liked each other for a long time. To see that both of you are happy with your marriage…it brings me great joy. I wish nothing but happiness for the both of you."

"Thank you…father."

"You’re welcome…daughter. However, there’s the matter of my wife. I understand that Lady Cersei isn’t exactly the…easiest person to get along with. But let me tell you that she kind of likes you."

"I’ll take your word to that, father. After all, she only insulted me once over the last two years." Talisa said, joking.

The duo exchanged a discreet laugh.

"Yeah, this is a great sign. But seriously now, Cersei’s liking tends to be a little…fickle. Keep on doing what you’re doing, make sure that you pay attention to what Cersei is teaching you on your new role, keep your relatives out of trouble-after all, Cersei doesn’t like trouble in "her" house- and you’ll get along just fine."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Anytime, child."

Taslia then danced with Corwn Prince Steffon, her brother, Vereld, her father, Lord Maryn, Lord Jaime Lannister and even with King Argilac himself. Aemon repsectively, danced with his mother, Lady Cersei, his cousins, Sansa and Arya, Lady Margaery Tyrell and finally, Queen Lysa herself. Shortly after, the newlyweds were retired to their chambers for the bedding, leaving the party to continue. It was only a few hours later that a courtier came to the room, approaching with haste.

"Your Grace." He said. "An ambassador has arrived from Pentos as he claims. He’s saying that he has important things to say to you and that he was tasked with handing you three chests as soon as he has disembarked from his ship."

"Hand me over three chests? But I'm not even the person who should be honoured today. Anyway, tell him to come in. I’ll grant him an audience. And please fetch some wine, bread and salt. We must offer our guest proper hospitality."

The courtier returned a few minutes later with five men. The one at the head of the group must be the ambassador, Sansa thought as she was studying him. He was richly dressed with clothes at the color of oil. He had dark skin and short black hair. The other members of his group were more poorly dressed but you wouldn’t call them dressed with rags or anything. It’s just that fact that the ambassador was making a more direct display of his wealth.

King Argilac stood up andapproached the ambassador.

"I greet you, ambassador of Pentos. Eat my bread and salt and drink my wine. Know that for as long as you are within the Realm of Westeros and for as long as you respect our laws, no harm will come to you."

The ambassador ate a chunk of the loaf of bread that was brought to him after he had gotten some salt on it and drank a sip of wine. He then handed them over to his companions who had left the heavy chest they were carrying to the floor.

"I thank you, Your Grace. Know that I, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, a member of the Thirteen rulers of the great city-state of Qarth, do swear that no harm or dishonor shall befall you or your people as long as I and my companions live in your realm."

"You’re coming from Qarth you say. So how is it that you’re an ambassador of Pentos?"

"A reasonable question, Your Grace. You see, I began my journey hoping to make it to the renowned Realm of Westeros. Allow me to tell you that it is indeed an honor to be among such fine examples of chivalry and honor as the Westerosi nobility and that…"

"To the point, if you don’t mind, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. We had a long day." The Stag King said, struggling to hide his impatience.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos, as the ambassador became known, didn’t seem to be bothered by it though.

"Before I arrive here, I stopped to Pentos. There, Magister Illyrio Mopatis approached me and asked me to deliver a note, as well as a gift to Your Excellency."

"That’s indeed quite thoughtful of him. I hope the note has news regarding the whereabouts of my brother, Lord Renly Baratheon. I had sent him to Pentos for a diplomatic mission a few months back, but we haven’t heard of him as of late."

"Then allow me to illuminate you, Your Grace. For Magister Mopatis said that this gift would answer all of your questions..." Xaro Xhoan Daxos said enigmatically, as he was handing over the note. The Storm King took it, opened it and sat on his throne to read it. And almost immediately, Sansa could see her uncle’s fist starting clenching around the letter. Granted, his facial expression wasn’t revealing anything but Sansa could sense her uncle’s brewing wrath.

"Open the chests." The King of Westeros gave the command.

Obeying the King’s command, a courtier opened the boxes. Lord Arryn approached and had a look inside. And whatever the elderly Hand of the King had seen in there, had left him utterly speechless.

"Well, what is it, Lord Arryn?" The King asked.

"I…I think that it’d be better for Your Grace to see for Himself." Lord Arryn said in reply.

Argilac stood up and approached the chest Lord Arryn was directly above. He lowered his head and gave a look. And whatever he saw made him absolutely furious. For he unsheathed Stormbringer and pounced at the ambassador only to be restrained by Father, who happened to be sitting near the King and Lord Stannis.

"LET GO OF ME! YOUR KING COMMANDS IT! YOU DARE TO DISGRACE MY COURT AND PEOPLE, YOU SICK CUNT?! I SHALL HAVE YOUR HEAD!" He bellowed as he was struggling to free himself.

"Calm yourself! This man is under the guest right you’ve given him!" Lord Arryn shouted, while he too was struggling to restrain the enraged King. But that didn’t seem to deter the King. With a mighty shake, he broke free and swung. Only for the ambassador to duck in a desperate attempt to avoid losing his head. The swing hit the chest and knocked it over, spilling its contents on the floor. It was honey. And then the…head of RENLY BARATHEON rolled outside the box.

"AHHHH!!!" Princess Minisa who happened to be sitting on Sansa’s right let out a terrifying yell and fainted.

"MINISA!!" Lysa yelled frantically from her throne, before she rans towards her daughter.

"Get the Princess to her chambers and prepare it for the childbirth! Following that fall, the baby could arrive at any moment." Lady Catelyn said, quick to take charge.

"What should we do with the ambassador, Your Grace?" Ser Vardis asked.

"Place him into custody alongside all of his companions. And have Lord Bolton interrogate them..."

Chapter Text

"JASPER!! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU SWORD-SWALLOWING CUNT?" Minisa let out an excruciating screech, while pushing with all of her might. Gods, it was horrible.

"Minisa, this is not a way for a Princess to express herself. " Said Minisa's aunt, Catelyn, clearly abhorred by the fact that her niece could swear like that.

"Note to self: never let children hanging out with soldiers and Sandor Clegane, the Foulmouthed Hound." Minisa's mother, Queen Lysa, murmured. "Keep, pushing, Minisa! Everything will be all right!" Lysa urged, holding her daughter’s right hand. Minisa then turned towards her left to see her aunt nodding in agreement, while she was holding her left hand.

"AHHH!" The Lady of the Eyrie pushed once more. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she had heard her aunt groaning in pain. She must have clenched Lady Catelyn’s hand too tightly. But at this point, Minisa didn’t seem to care.

"Wait! No! The Princess shouldn’t push any further! There’s no sign of the baby’s head yet!" One of the midwives said while checking Minisa’s dilation. She was Flora, the same midwife she had delivered Steffon, Minisa, Robb and Leila at Riverrun, 19 years ago. A person of skill and trust in matters of childbirth.

"That means that the infant has been changed position while still in the womb! It doesn’t come with the head first, but with the feet. We have to open Her Highness now. Have some milk of the poppy handed over to the Princess to dull the pain. But not too much. We cannot endanger the baby." Talisa Maegyr, having been recalled from her wedding chamber, said while getting a sterilized knife in hand. The brown-haired, olive-skilled girl seemed quite dexterous with these tools. Not that Catelyn was surprised anymore. During her time at court, she had found out that Aemon's 17 year old wife had amputated a man’s leg agter it had grown sceptic from an arrow wound. Not to mention the countless childbirths she had helped.

"NOBODY TOUCHES MY DAUGHTER WITH A KNIFE!" Queen Lysa roared frantically, after seeing the blade. Getting herself between her daughter and her new niece.

"Lysa, please listen be reasonableto Talisa. This can be the only chance of saving both Minisa and her child." Catelyn said in an attempt to make her younger sister see sense.

"No! Stay away from my daughter, you foreign harlot! Your strange, foreign ways have no place among Westerosi royalty! My child is going to deliver through the natural way and the discussion is over!" Lysa insisted.

"And if we're to do anything, we'll just have an experienced midwife change the baby's position, that's all..."

Lysa wouldn't change her mind. At least not fast enough to make a difference. Catelyn knew that. So, taking advantage over Lysa fussing over her daughter, the Stark matriarch turned towards Flora.

"Have one of Grand Maester’s acolytes go and fetch him. I know he’s preoccupied with His Grace and the assembled war council, but this childbirth requires his expertise. And while you’re at it…please take care of my sister. She seems a bit…tired." The Lady of Winterfell whispered.

The aging midwife could see the Queen turning frantically to anyone who dared to approach Minisa. Finally, she relented.

"At once, Lady Stark."

Flora discreetly approached the table, took a cup of water and put some leaves inside. Once the mixture was ready, she approached Lysa, who turned towards her, like she was about to attack her.

"At ease, Your Grace. I just want to help." Flora said, making Lysa calm down a bit. "Please drink this."

Lysa took the cup and took two good sips. She placed the cup on the table and retook her place in her daughter’s side.

"Where’s this old gasbag, Pycelle?"

"One of his acolytes is on his way to fetch him, Your Grace.

"Good. Certainly he…" Lysa was saying when suddenly her eyes started becoming heavier. "Certainly he…he can…"

Lysa’s eyes grew larger at the realization: someone had messed with her drink. Her eyes immeidately fell onto Catelyn.

"You! You did this…you…"

She never got to finish that sentence. She dropped the knife from her hand and almost collapsed to the floor.

"Don’t you worry, Minisa. Your mother is just sleeping." Catelyn reassured her niece, caressing her forehead and cheek.

"How long is she going to stay asleep?"

"Six to seven hours."

"Good. Please, have Cassana and Sansa escort my mother to her chambers. Talisa, do what you need to do." The Princess said. giving her consent to the operation.

"Yes, Your Highness." The Volantee replied, before approaching Minisa, who was struggling not to push. "I know that it hurts, Minisa," Talisa said, before giving her some milk of the poppy to drink "but you must not push. If you push and the baby's feet get stuck in the canal, then it's all over for both of you. I have to open your belly so that I can pull the child out. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Yes, yes! Just get 'em out already!" Minisa growled.

"Okay. Everyone, I need towels, needle and thread! As soon as I cut, we take the baby out and we stich her back in. It's paramount that she doesn't lose too much blood."

Chapter Text

As Talisa was operating on Princess Minisa, King Argilac Baratheon had his own troubles to deal with. He, his brothers, Orys and Stannis, his sons, Steffon and Hoster, as well as Westeros’ Wardens and Lords Paramount, Ned Stark, Edmure Tully, Jaime Lannister, Jasper Arryn, Mace Tyrell, Rodrik Greyjoy and Arianne Martell have been gathered in the Council chamber to discuss the situation that was presented to them a few minutes ago. Alongside these people, other important officials were also present, such as the Master of War, Randyll Tarly and Prince Oberyn Martell.

All of these people have set their eyes on a large, detailed map of Westeros and Essos. And while they’re doing that, they are preparing to discuss the upcoming crisis. But they’d have to do so without Grand Maester Pycelle, who was called to Minisa’s room by one of his acolytes, in order to aid her in childbirth.

Argilac would want nothing more but to be close to his daughter, even though he is not physically able to help her. And he knows that his son-in law has similar feelings. But when you’re a King, duty comes first. Even family comes second to it.

"The chests have been opened. Each one of them contains a decapitated head. Renly Baratheon, Viserys Targaryen and Loras Tyrell. A funeral in their honor shall be conducted tomorrow. Now, I am going to read you the letter that Xaro Xhoan Daxos brought us. The King said as he reopened the note:

«Usurper,

Soon, you’ll be joining your brother in death. Nothing you send in my way is going to stop me. And when our blades meet, victory will be mine. I will take back my grandfather's throne and I’ll bring Fire and Blood to all those who dared defy my House.

I am coming for you, Usurper.
Signed by Aegon of House Targaryen Sixth of His Name, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. »

"We are at war." Argilac stated.

The other officials nodded their heads in agreement.

"Is there a chance that this can be the real Aegon Targaryen?" Randyll Tarly asked.

"No. It’s impossible. I was among those who saw the aftermath of the Gregor Clegane’s rampage. There’s no way Aegon could have escaped." Ned Stark replied.

"Aerys had Princess Elia and her two children under close watch. Nobody could enter their chambers without his explicit orders and without the presence of at least one Kingsguard. I was the one who had to guard that sick fuck whenever he was feeling the need to gloat about his imminent victory. Or how much of a pleasure he’ll have from having the Princess and her ill-bred bastards killed the moment the Dornishmen were to show that they’re nothing more but treacherous dogs. No offense, Prince Oberyn." Jaime Lannister added.

"None taken, Ser Jaime. You more than made up for it when you had that whoreson skewered like the pig he was." The Prince of Dorne replied, hatred in his face evident even at the mere memory of the Mad King.

"Gentlemen, we’re losing the point here. Regardless of the assumptions, until we can be certain about this so called Aegon’s identity, we must treat him as a potential usurper who exploits the name of the Targaryen family." Argilac said.
"For starters, we need to strike at his legitimacy. Orys, I want you to print the marriage annulment Rhaegar and Elia Martell had, as well as one of Aerys’ uncovered decrees. The one in which he was denouncing Rhaegar for his loss at the Trident and was removing him and his offspring from the Targaryen line of succession. And after the funeral we’ll be hosing tomorrow, I want this document sent over to every corner of Westeros. So that no person can claim ignorance as an excuse."

"It will be done, brother."

"Good. Reed, I want you to focus your investigation to Illyrio Mopatis and his associates. Even if he is not backing this would-be King, he’s the individual we know the most about when it comes to Pentos."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

"Stannis, the Westerosi Navy is our first line of defense against an attack from Essos. Thus, a naval battle is almost certainly at hand."

"We have 250 warships at our disposal, Your Grace. And their captains and crews are well-trained in naval warfare."

"Good. Combine those numbers with the fleets of the other regions and we have a total of over 600 warships at our disposal to protect our coastline. Vastly outnumbering anything Aegon and his allies could potentially throw at us and we don't even count the navies of allied nations, like Volantis and Braavos. I want you to focus your patrols mostly on the area between Gulltown and King’s Landing. Princess Arianne, send a raven to Sunspear. Inform Prince Doran that he’s to mobilize the Dornish fleet and put it on guard duty. These ships, alongside the Ironborn in the Stepstones are going to protect Westeros’ underbelly. Lord Tyrell. Lord Rodrik. Send word to your regions. Your warships are going to assume garrison duties as well. Same goes for both squadrons of the Northern fleet, at White Harbor and Sea Dragon Point, as well as the Grafton fleet at Gulltown."

"Do you think that this Aegon will be able to get pass the Stepstones and the Royal Fleet, before attacking the west coast, Your Grace?" Jasper Arryn asked, somewhat confused with this strategy.

"No. But if Aegon is somehow in correspondence with Euron Greyjoy, or if the latter, in his opportunistic nature, seeks this would be King out, then we’re dealing with a person who knows our naval defenses very well. And Euron is a wildcard. Better be safe than sorry."

"I don’t expect Aegon being able to transport his followers in less than two months time. Lord Tarly, start preparations. I want the Royal Army ready for war within a month and a half."

"As you command, Your Grace. All 40,000 of them shall be gathered outside the city in one month. 30,000 will accompany us to the front, while the rest will assume garrison duties for the capital."

"Good. Orys, I want a status report regarding the royal granaries."

"All of them have enough provisions to sustain the populous as well as supporting the war effort. Given the fact that each of the army’s corps that will gather at the capital shall be carrying its own supplies, the pressure to the citizens shall remain at its minimal."

"Good. Now, when it comes to the units that are about to be deployed…Lord Stark, I want you to send a raven to Winterfell. Tell your nephew, Jon, that he is to call the banners and gather 25,000 men. By the time he’s ready, Robb Stark will be there to assume command of the Northern forces and march them down the Kingsroad."

Ned Stark frowned a little, but nodded his head.

"As you command, Your Grace."

"Edmure, your son, Ser Elmar and the Blackfish are expected within a month with a host of 20,000 men to be placed under your command."

"Aye."

"Jasper, your father shall mobilize 15,000 Valemen."

"We’ll be honored to heed the Crown’s call, Your Grace."

"Ser Jaime, 30,000 of your Western men are to join you, alongside Trajan. It looks like you’ll have a chance to have your fun after all."

Ser Jaime only smiled, clearly happy at the thought that he’d be tasting battle once more.

"Lord Mace, send Garlan home. He’s to raise the Reach banners and return with 50,000 men under his command."

"Yes, Your Grace. My boy shall carry out your command at once."

"Stannis, you will be in command of the fleet. Land operations, I assign to your lad, Ormund. Tell him to bring the might of the Stormlands. 20,000 strong. But tell him to keep a close eye on Lord Myles Toyne. He may have proved his loyalty over the years he returned to Westeros, but his background as a former captain-general of the Golden Company, means that Aegon’s supporters might try to contact him. We can't afford to deal with a turncloak."

Stannis only nodded.

"Arianne Martell, 10,000 Dornishmen shall join the war effort to be placed under Prince Oberyn’s command."

The former Lady of Dragonstone looked at the Baratheon King with barely contained contempt. It was like she was hardly holding herself back from saying that not even a single Dornishman is going to lay down his blood for the Baratheons. But Argilac’s next words got her by surprise.

"You can of course say no and refuse to obey my command. But think that it’s going to be you who’ll have to explain to her compatriots why they were denied an opportunity to prove their mantle on the foreign invaders. I am certain they’ll be delighted to hear that."

Arianne clenched her fists. You don’t have to be a Maester in order to understand that Argilac was openly mocking her. And Arianne Martell is not a woman who lets that kind of disrespect go unanswered. But she’s not stupid enough to challenge Argilac’s authority. Not in front of his strongest supporters and certainly not in front of her uncle, who is one of Argilac’s firmest friends.

"Very well, Your Grace. I shall inform my father at once."

"Bravo, Arianne. Rodrik, send a message to the Iron Company and its captain, Lord Ironhide. If the Iron Company is currently under contract, is to return to Westeros as soon as said contract has been fulfilled. But if they’re not, they’re to be recruited to our cause for 250,000 golden dragons."

"I’ll send the message, Your Grace." The heir to the Iron Islands replied. The King of the Seven Kingdoms gave the Ironborn justice for their dead heir and exposed the real villain. To aid him in this war is a debt that must be dealt with immediately.

Before more could be said, a knock on the door interrupted the meeting.

"What is it?" Argilac growled at the door.

"Lord Bolton and his son are here to report Xaro Xhoan Daxos’ testimony, as you commanded, Your Grace. They also have some evidence that they claim can aid in the matter at hand."

"Fine. Send them in."

Lord Roose Bolton hadn’t changed much since the last time Ned Stark had gazed upon him. His skin still had that pasty, pale color that was giving Roose a somewhat creepy appearance. He had kept his now graying hair cut short and his face clean-shaved as always. But his most defining trait was still his stare. Cold, plain, blue eyes staring lifelessly at you. Analyzing Roose’s surroundings and calculating his next move.

It had been 19 years since Ned had last seen Lord Bolton. When he was forced to shake hands with him and bid him good fortune in his new duties as the City Watch’s second in command. This isn’t a pleasant reunion by any means. Ned hasn’t forgotten, nor forgiven Roose’s betrayal during the original timeline. When he sold Robb to the Lannisters so that House Bolton can finally usurp House Stark as Wardens of the North.

Thankfully, after the rebellion that toppled the Targaryens was over, Orys had come to Ned and suggested he hands over Roose to him so that he can remove him from his hands, without creating suspicions or discontent. Ned had eagerly agreed: through this suggestion, Ned was able to remove Roose from his seat of power and his allies in the North, without having to compromise his code of honor.

Roose Bolton proved himself a capable officer in the City Watch and his efforts contributed a lot in reducing the criminal activities in King’s Landing and the Crownlands. Even though torturing during interrogations has been outlawed, Roose’s mere presence was usually enough to terrify anyone stupid enough to consider breaking King Argilac’s law. Furthermore, Roose Bolton, Galbart Glover and Wyman Manderly are the heads of the Northern lobby within the royal court. Essential in ensuring that the Crown stays updated in the affairs and needs of their home region. Honestly, absolutely nothing seemed off about Roose. If Ned hadn’t seen him in action in Howland’s visions, he would have believed that Roose is nothing but a loyal vassal doing his best for the Realm.

Ned’s mistrust was even greater towards Roose’s second son, Ramsay Bolton. The lad was born in King’s Landing, roughly the same time with Orys’ son, Aemon.17 years ago. He had adopted the typical Bolton look: pale skin, blue eyes and clean-shaved face. And just like he had done with his father, Orys had taken a personal interest in the boy. Ramsay studied extensively the healing arts, especially those cases requiring the surgical need of a knife. However, he was even more eager in his lessons in battle strategy and hunting and thus he didn’t join the Citadel, to become a Maester. Instead, he chose to join the City Watch, in which he rose to the rank of a training sergeant and an investigator. He too looked completely composed and loyal to his new duties. One more reason for Ned to be wary.

"Brrr…is it just me or did the temperature just dropped?" Mace Tyrell said, rubbing his arms with his hands in an attempt to warm himself.

In response Roose approached the Lord of Highgarden and pinned his lifeless eyes on Mace’s brown ones. After a few moments, Mace turned his stare away, clearly not daring to engage in a staring contest with the Lord of Dreadfort.

"We have no time for your intimidation games, Bolton. Tell us why you are here!" Stannis growled, clearly not amused and most certainly not intimidated by Roose.
The Lord of Dreadfort after giving an indifferent glance at the Lord of Storm’s End, approached the head of the table. He stood in front of Argilac.

"Your Grace, I have completed my task." He said in a whispering voice.

"And?"

"Xaro Xhoan Daxos keeps on repeating the story he had told us before his arrest."

"A story his crew confirmed." Ramsay added.

"Good. At least we know that he was telling the truth. And how about this evidence you claim to possess?" Ned Stark asked.

"Lord Stark, during the questioning, 'Robert’s War Hammer' arrived at the docks. Maya Baratheon who welcomed the crew handed over two people. One of them claims that had seen the last moments of Lord Renly Baratheon and Ser Loras Tyrell. He also claims that he was tasked to come here by the late Prince Viserys Targaryen himself. As for the other, he was employed by Lord Renly to come before His Grace and offer him services." Roose replied.

"Then bring them before me. Right now." Argilac commanded.

"At once, Your Grace." Ramsay said, before he heads for the exit. He came back a minute later with two young men. Orys and Stannis too stood with even more attention on their seats. Clearly they too wanted to hear every detail of what had happened to their youngest brother.

The first man was roughly in his 30s. He was husky, with sky blue eyes, a fiery red beard and a piece of cloth around his head. The second one was roughly 35. Tall, lean, with brown hair, a small, well-trimmed beard and eyes. He was wearing chainmail armor, striped pantaloons, high boots of purple leather, a white silk shirt, and a vest of golden rings. He was wearing a Dothraki blade, an arakh on his left hip and a Myrish stiletto on his right. Their golden hilts were a matched pair of naked women who appeared wanton. Finally, on his chest a badge portraying a broken sword on a field between a sandy upper part and a red bottom was pinched. The symbol of the sellsword company known as the Second Sons. But that wasn’t the strangest fact.

"Daario Naharis. I wasn’t expecting to see your ugly muck again." Oberyn exclaimed in joy before standing up to greet his acquaintance.

"Do you know this man, Prince Oberyn?" Argilac asked.

"Aye. We fought together, when I was serving in the Second Sons. How long was that, old friend?"

"19 years ago, you Dornish bastard." Daario replied in amusement.

"Well, looks like Renly was able to find a strong lead in Westerosi citizens." Orys said.

"Indeed, my Lord. Lord Renly found me in Pentos when I visited it to seek recruits. He spoke to me about your grand plans of repopulating Dorne. And for some bizarre reason, many of my men are beginning to find the prospect of a peaceful life surrounded by Dornish wine and women, quite…appealing. So, I signed a contract with Renly, got myself comfortable in 'Robert’s War Hammer' and waited for us to leave for Westeros, where we’d discuss the matter at hand. The ship left with me that same night and brought me here. So, as the new commander of the sellsword company, known as the Second Sons, I am here to offer you my services to the upcoming war and discuss the terms of a potential settlement of my men in the available lands."

"And what makes you think the likes of you are useful to us, sellsword?" Randyll Tarly sneered contemptuously. "We have built a professional force of 40,000 men under the Crown’s command. And 190,000 more shall reinforce its number soon enough. And you? You are a mere band of 500 mercenaries. We don’t need you for anything."

"I think that’s for me to decide, Lord Tarly." Argilac said quietly.

"Your Grace, you certainly don’t mean that…"

"Thank you for your input, Tarly, but do not ever question my authority again." The King said coldly. "Now, Naharis. What can you tell us about the situation in Essos?"

"The Golden Company has made itself at home in Pentos. Furthermore, they helped Mopatis topple the local government and establish himself as Archon of Pentos. Ever since, he sent word to every sellsword company to come to Pentos and sign a contract with Aegon Targaryen, the so called one true King of Westeros."

Almost everybody tried to rise from their seats, clearly outraged by the sellsword’s claims.

"Relax, you lot. I never said that I believe that crap." Daario said, raising his hands in the air, feining surrender.

"And you made that decision on your own? As far as I know you were just a lieutenant, under the command of Mero, the Titan’s Bastard." Stannis growled.

"I was. Let’s say that he and I had some sort of a…disagreement about to where the Second Sons should pledge themselves. By the end of it, Mero ended up without arguments…and without a head." Daario winked casually, to Oberyn’s amusement.

"And I assume that now you are the sole commander of the Seconds Sons, you’re here to pledge your company to me." Argilac stated.

"Well, yeah."

"How many heeded the pretender’s call?" Argilac asked.

"The Iron Company refused to heed the call and is currently making its way towards Westeros. But the Long Lances and the Brave Companions pledged themselves to Aegon."

"So, 11,000 sellswords took the pretender’s employment. Hmpf. That seems like an easy victory for us." Mace Tyrell said.

"Oh, that’s far from it, my Lord." Daario replied. "I don’t know how, but this Mopatis character was able to convince 10,000 Dothraki under Khal Drogo to fight on Aegon’s side. Plus 40,000 men from Tyrosh and Myr."

"And how do I know that the information you brought us is legit?" Argilac asked. A most valid question.

"Oh, this is where my friend, Roland Storm, comes in. Daario said while pointing out at the husky red-haired man.

"Storm? Are you a natural born child from the Stormlands?" Orys asked.

"Aye."

"And who was your father?"

"Ronnet Connington. Exiled knight of the Stormlands, cousin and heir of Jon Connington. Former Lord of Griffin’s Roost and Hand of the King to Aerys Targaryen Second of His Name."

The entire room turned towards King Argilac. The King looked a bit surprised to see a Connington in front of him but he composed himself rather quickly.

"Your uncle clashed swords with my brothers at the Stoney Sept during the Rebellion. He survived the battle, only for Aerys to strip him off his lands and titles and exile him. I thought he drank himself to death after that act of disgrace."

"Oh, I assure you, Your Grace, that whoreson is alive and well. At first, he tried to look after my father and me when we joined him in exile. In order to survive, we joined the Golden Company and after 10 years of loyal and competent service, Jon Connington became the Golden Company’s Captain-General. These were relatively good years. Sure, they were risky, but we finally had decent food and good pay."

"It was then when word that Aerys’ former Spymaster, Lord Varys, had managed to take Rhaegar’s son, Aegon, away from King’s Landing during the Sack, reached Connington. That said child is being raised in Pentos under the protection and tutelage of Magister Illyrio Mopatis and Lord Varys. And that they were asking of him to honor his past friendship with Prince Rhaegar and help Rhaegar’s son take over his rightful throne. Jon was immediately in. My father tried to reason with him. He tried to tell him that it could easily be a fairytale. But it was no use. During one particularly vicious argument, Jon Connington…killed his cousin and forced me into a life of servitude."

"You stood witness in my brother’s death?" Argilac asked.

"I did. Lord Renly took notice that something was off with his host, Mopatis. He and his companions took to investigate. Eventually, they discovered that Mopatis was gathering an army in Pentos and found a secret passage on which Mopatis hosts his important meetings with his fellow conspirators. This is when they were captured. They were offered generous terms to support Aegon in the upcoming war. Renly was offered lordship of Storm’s End, Viserys was promised restoration of his title as heir to the Iron Throne and Loras a position in Aegon’s Kingsguard. Under the command of Ser Gerold Dayne, the Blackstar."

"They tried to escape. They killed the servant who brought them food and armed themselves with steak knives before killing three guards and get some proper weapons. This is when Aegon intercepted their escape attempt and took on Renly in single combat. Renly fought well, but eventually Aegon overpowered him. He was about to finish him off, when Jon Connington struck him from behind, killing him. In a feral rage, Loras attacked Aegon, only to get himself exposed and killed."

"And Viserys?" Orys asked.

"He surrendered. I was tasked to escort him to his chambers, where I provided him with quill and paper to prepare a message for you. He sent it by raven, as well as by a messenger. I am that messenger."

"And what proof you have for us to believe this tale of yours?" Stannis growled. He didn’t seem particularly upset about his brother’s death, but he seemed content knowing that he fought and died like a true Baratheon. Mighty and loyal.

Storm took a folded paper from his pocket and gave it to Argilac.

"It’s Viserys’ seal." He said confirming Storm’s tale. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper, revealing Renly’s ring and the content:

«Argilac,

I pray that this letter gets to you. I don’t know if I will still draw breath, by the time it does. Renly and Loras are dead. They were killed by Jon Connington, the exiled Lord of Griffon’s Roost on the orders of a pretender. A man who claims he’s Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and that he was shipped off King’s Landing, during its Sack by Varys, thus evading the Lannister purge. He and Varys took shelter under Varys’ old friend, the Pentosi Magister Illyrio Mopatis. 10,000 men of the Golden Company, plus 40,000 from Myr and Tyrosh and a horde of 100,000 Dothraki under Khal Drogo are under his command. Soon, a coup will be staged at Pentos and its government will be placed under Mopatis’ control. Then, a campaign to put Aegon on the Iron Throne will commence.

Cousin, you must win this battle. I’ll be rooting for you…from wherever I’ll be.

Viserys.
Postscript: Please tell my sister, Daenerys that I love her. And that I want only the best for her. »

Argilac read both notes carefully. Viserys had just confirmed what Naharis had told him. At least on the facts he knew by the time of his death. His cousin passed away like a true Westerosi patriot. And Argilac would let the whole Realm know that Viserys’ sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

"Why is Viserys mentioning 100,000 Dothraki are currently employed when you said that Aegon is bringing only 10,000, Storm? And where are your men stationed, Naharis?"

"Mopatis had suspected that Renly was onto him. So he altered the numbers to confuse him and by extension you." Storm explained.

"My men are stationed at Braavos. They were there so that they can gather supplies and recruit men. I was to meet them there after I had completed my mission in Pentos."

"Good. They’re recruited. And once the war is over, we’ll discuss their settlement in Dorne." Argilac said.
"In the meantime, we need to change our war plans. Orys, you are to travel to Braavos in two days time. You are to take 100,000 golden dragons with you. You will deliver it to the Second Sons and tell them that this is half of their payment for fighting on our side of this war. You will also meet the Sealord of Braavos and inform him of the situation. Tell him that Westeros calls upon the aid of Braavos in this war against forces of slavers. Also tell him that Westeros won’t mind of Braavos conducting the peace terms regarding Pentos after Mopatis is deposed, or even annex this city if its Sealord and council so wish. In the meantime, Lord Maryn Maegyr, shall send a raven to Volantis, telling Triach Malaquo that Westeros will be at war with Myr and Tyrosh. And that as an exchange for its aid, Volantis shall be able to decide the fate of these two cities, once the war is over."

"As you command, Your Grace."

"Good. You’re taking Robb, Theon and Naharis with you."

"What?" Robb, who up until then was attending the meeting as an observer alone, asked surprised.

"Last I checked, lad, since your father is a member of the Royal Council, you’re the de facto Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Isn’t that right?"

"It is, Your Grace." Robb said stoically.

"Then before gets to Braavos, your uncle Orys shall give you and Theon a 'ride' to White Harbor, so that he can mobilize the Manderly Fleet and you can ride to Winterfell and call your banners. Don’t forget that our battle plans involve the Northerners."

The King then turned towards Storm.

"I have no reason to question the legitimacy of the information you brought me. Not after what you brought me. However, I’ll have my spymaster, Howland Reed, check on it as a precaution. In the meantime, you’ll stay in the Red Keep as our guest."

"I appreciate your hospitality…Your Grace." Storm said with a small nod of his head.

"Perfect. Gentlemen, see to the issues that were presented on this meeting. For we’re done here. Steffon, Hoster, you’re with me. Jasper, come find us, once you have send your raven to your father."

Chapter Text

Six hours had passed since Minisa had entered the process of childbirth. And her sister, cousins, even aunt Cersei were getting more and more anxious. The fact that Grand Maester Pycelle had to be summoned from the Council meeting in order to help, wasn’t a good sign.

For hour, hardly a single word was exchanged between the anxious relatives. Only Minisa’s screams and curses, as well as the occasionally loud instructions she was receiving, were what they were hearing for the last hours.

"This is not going well. Cersei said. As the only adult in this group, the responsibility of keeping the girls calm was on her shoulders.

"Why?" Arya asked almost immediately. "My cousin is tough. That’s what it takes to be a Baratheon. She’ll be fine."

Cersei’s eyes shone with anger, because of this rude interruption. But a moment later, a flash of respect for this girl’s courage replaced that anger.

"There’s no doubt about that. However, not all births end successfully. For the mother, the baby and even both of them sometimes."

"But that’s awful." Sansa said.

"It sure is, child. As my own mother, as well as your grandmother, Lady Minisa Tully so tragically discovered. Let’s just hope that your cousin is made out of stronger steel than they were."

The opening of the chamber’s door stopped the conversation. Catelyn Stark emerged outside. She had lifted her sleeves for her hands were soaked in blood. Her forehead was sweaty and a look of utter weariness and sadness was visible on her face.

"Mother…how’s Minisa?" Sansa asked timidly, after inspecting her mother’s appearance.

Catelyn left out a long sigh. She then clenched her jaw strongly and shook her head a few times. As if she was trying to wake up from something.

"Her Highness has…"

"WHERE IS SHE?!" A sudden screech stopped the frightened Catelyn dead on her tracks.

And when everybody turned their attention to the voice’s direction, they saw Lysa coming at them at full speed. She was almost running at her sister. Her eyes had turned almost red with bloodlust. She seemed only one step before she starts fuming too.

"YOU WHORE! YOU’RE DEAD! YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!" Lysa roared before pounce at her sister and clench her hands around her throat.
"YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO REMOVE ME FROM MY DAUGHTER’S SIDE, YOU FUCKING BITCH!" The Queen screeched with every inch of her being as she was shaking her older sister like a ragdoll.

Sansa and Arya immediately moved to help their mother, only to be stopped by her.

"It’s all right, girls. I can handle my sister." She replied with a raised left hand.
With her composure regained, Catelyn grabbed her younger sister firmly by the hands and made her release her.

"Get a grip of yourself, Lysa." Catelyn replied coldly. "Your panic was affecting Minisa too. You were preventing the midwives from doing their job. You were more of a liability rather than assistance in there. You need to calm down."

"And how am I supposed to be calm, Catelyn? My daughter is fighting for hers and her child’s life and I can’t do nothing. I haven’t felt so powerless ever since Mother…"

Lysa stopped with a pained expression on her face. She looked Catelyn in the eyes and she saw the same pain in her eyes as well. As if nothing happened between them earlier, Lysa reached out and caressed Catelyn’s cheeks with her hands. Catelyn tenderly took Lysa’s hands in hers that moment, both comforting each other over the memory of their dead mother.

Only then did Lysa notice the blood in Catelyn’s hands.

"Ca…Catelyn? Why are your hands so bloody? What…what happened?"

Before Catelyn could reply, a deafening scream was heard from the room. It was Minisa. And by the sound of it, she must be going through horrible pain.

"Minisa! I’M COMING, MINISA!" Lysa immediately tried to run inside, only to be restrained by Catelyn and Cersei.

"Let me go! Let me go! Your Queen commands you!"

"What is going on here?" A male voice was heard from the other side of the corridor. A moment later, King Argilac, Lord Stark, Ser Jasper as well as Princes Steffon and Hoster arrived. Before Catelyn could reply though, a small cry was heard from the inside of the room. A minute later, Talisa and Pycelle were out. The old Grand Maester was holding a baby in his hands. Clean and with its umbilical cord cut.

"Your Graces. My Lords and Ladies, it is my honor to announce that Princess Minisa has given birth. A boy. Red cheeked and healthy."

Pycelle then handed over the baby to the King. Argilac gently took the newborn in his hands. He smiled upon seeing him. His first grandson. Lysa immediately took her place beside her husband. She was beaming with joy at the sight of her grandson.

"Hello, little one. I am your grandfather, Argilac. This is your grandmother, Lysa and we’re glad to meet you." Argilac said with voice he was struggling to keep stable.
He stayed silent for a few moments. Just processing this feeling. It had been several years since he had held a baby in his hands. 15 to be precise. When his youngest daughter, Cassana had been born. How swiftly years pass.

"Now, receive your name from your father and take your proper place as a worthy member of the Baratheon dynasty. That is the will of your King and grandfather." He said as he was handing over the newborn to Ser Jasper. He took his son in his arms. And clutched him as if he would never let go. A moving sight.

"Your name will be Elbert. From now on, you’ll be known as Elbert of House Arryn."

"How about my daughter, Pycelle? We’d like to see her." Argilac asked the Grand Maester, while Elbert was passed around his various relatives. Aunts, uncles, great aunts and a great uncle, all of them wanted to meet him. Even Arya cracked a small smile and held him in her embrace for a little, to everyone’s surprise.
Upon hearing the King’s request, the joyful expression on Pycelle’s face vanished. Sam with Catelyn

"I’d…like to speak with Your Graces, as well as Ser Arryn about Her Highness. Alone."

Lysa and Argilac exchanged a glance in alarm. Pycelle’s tone couldn’t mean anything good.

«Let’s keep the newborn away from this mess. » Lysa thought.

"Sansa, see to it that Elbert…"

"Actually, Your Grace, the Princess would like to be with her baby..." Talisa said.

Everyone started to understand what was going on: something certainly wasn’t right with Minisa.

"Children, I suggest we pay our respect to our fallen kinsmen. It’s indeed a joy that Prince Elbert is born healthy, but we must now oversee the preparations for our relatives’ final journey." Cersei said. She then turned towards Ned and bore him a cold, calculating glance.

"I don’t know if you’d like to join us, Stark. After all, it is known that you, Starks, are renowned tree huggers…"

"I stick with my family, my Lady. Thank you for your concern." The Warden of the North replied frigidly as he was starting heading towards the palace’s exit.

"Hoster, see to it that Robb and Theon, as well as Lords Orys and Stannis meet us, once they have completed their assignments."

"As you command, brother." Hoster replied.

Chapter Text

"WHAT!?" Argilac roared upon hearing Pycelle’s input.

"Father, please." Minisa, with her husband at her side and her newborn in her arms tried to calm the enraged King.

"No, Pycelle. You\re wrong. There’s no way Minisa is going to die." Argilac stated in conviction to the old Maester.

"The Princess’s condition is not to be taken lightly, Your Grace. The surgery Lady Talisa perfromed was next to flawless. And the midwives were wuick to stitch her up before too much blood can be lost. But the risk of an infection remains. The mild fever she's having is a clear sign that Her Highness has a battle being fought inside her own body. The next few hours will determine wether or nor Her Highness will survive."

"No. I refuse to accept that my daughter stands even the slimest chance that she'll die." Lysa said upon hearing that. The Lady of Eyrie, her oldest daughter had always stood tall and proud. Always a comforting, nurturing presence like her mother, as well as an assertive and powerful one like her father. And yet now, as she was feeding her son, secure in rhe arms of Ser Jasper, she looked so…tired. So…small. So...frail.

"How could you let this happen, Pycelle?" Argilac growled. Someone had to take the blame for this situation. And as the physician who oversaw Minisa’s delivery, the fault should lie with him.

"Your Grace, I…"

"SPEAK, OR I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF WITH MY BARE HANDS!" Argilac roared as he grabbed the Grand Maester by the throat and slammed him against the closest wall he could find.

"Father, stop! It's not Pycelle's fault what happened! And I can promise you that it's not Tlisa's either!" Minisa said, some of her old strength resurfacing.

"Minisa." Argilac replied softly. He let go of the Grand Maester like he had just dropped a sack of wheat, before kneeling beside his daughter.

"Elbert…he came with his legs first. Talisa and Pycelle did all they could…they saved my son. Your grandson."

"At the cost of your life?" Lysa spat. "There has to be something else they could have done."

"If it wasn’t for that, both of us would have died. It’s all right. I made that choice myself."

"Your choice? How can that be?" Lysa said in utter disbelief.

"I saved my son’s life, mother. I did the most sacred thing a mother could ever do: choose to save her child, even if that means risking her own life. If what I did today means that I am going to die, then I leave knowing that I did my duty to my House, by providing a strong continuation for House Arryn. And that I brought honor to the Baratheon dynasty, by serving my people to my best ability. By seeing to the Vale’s betterment. I am leaving…content. My only regret is that I leaving without getting the opportunity to ensure that Elbert will grow up to be the man he can and should be."

Minisa turned towards her husband. A person she met 5 years ago, when Lord Jon Arryn had summoned him to the capital, to present his ideas of exploiting the vacuum left in the Vale after the migration of the Mountain Clans to the North. A person who impressed her with his good looks, his intellect and his dedication to honor, duty and justice. Minisa almost pleaded her father to let her accompany Jasper back to the Vale and oversee the project alongside him. As a means of supervision by the Crown. The moment her father granted this request was one of the happiest in Minisa’s life.

Minisa and Jasper got to work as soon as they set foot in the Vale. And after some time, it was common knowledge that the Baratheon Princess and the young heir of House Arryn were making a pretty good team. A relationship that over some years grew from mutual liking and respect into affection. An affection that became dread 2.5 years ago, when Ser Denys Arryn, Jasper’s father, suggested a betrothal between his son and Minisa. Minisa for a moment was afraid of her parents’ reaction. Both of them and her father in particular had great love for her. They could easily refuse to entertain such an idea. Her father could even interpret such a suggestion as a slight. He wouldn’t have been the first King to refuse such a match.

But Minisa’s fears proved invalid. She found out later that both of her parents were seriously considering the idea of a marriage between her and Jasper Arryn. After all, the Arryns are one of the oldest, most powerful and most prestigious families in Westeros. Lord Jon Arryn was serving as Hand of the King faithfully and competently for almost 20 years. And the Vale was one of the few regions the newly established Baratheon dynasty had no blood ties to.

The only reason that her parents didn’t say anything sooner was the fact that they wanted to see if Minisa would be happy in the Vale. In other words, they gave her the opportunity to decide for herself whether she wanted to stay in the Vale as Jasper’s wife. The respect Minisa had for her parents grew even more that day.

Minisa and Jasper married 1.5 year ago. When he earned his knighthood. The marriage took place in the Eyries’ sept and the entire Baratheon family attended it. Even some Starks, Tullys and Lannisters were present that day.

It was the happiest day of Minisa’s life. Only the moment she found out she’s pregnant can surpass it.

Jasper’s worrying face broke brought her back to reality. With a sigh, she reached out and caressed his face with her left hand, while still clinging on to her son with her right.

"That is a task you will have to carry on, my love. Show our son what it means to be a man with the blood of the Arryns and the Baratheons in his veins. Make sure that he remembers his mother. And never, ever blame him for what happened. It wasn’t his fault."

With shaking hands, Jasper took his wife's hand in his own and he kissed it tenderly.

"I promise. But there will be no need for me to do these things. We'll be by our son's side together as he grows up."

Smiling at ehr husband, Minisa took a long look at her parents. She had so much affection for these two people who showed her love ever since she could remember. Who raised her to their best ability and made her a worthy daughter of House Baratheon. A worthy daughter of Westeros.

"You heard me as well. If anything happens to me, nobody is to blame Elbert for what happened to me. Am I clear?"

The storm, previously dormant in Argilac's eyes, returned at full force.

"Yes, my child. If anyone even thinks of accusing your son for your fate, he will face the King’s justice."

"Good. Now, how about we speak about more…pleasant things? I'm still in the fight after all."

Parents and child spent the next hour or so sitting close to each other. Sharing stories of the past. Stories of the good old days. Jasper could only stay there, holding his son in one hand and Minisa’s hand in the other, while smiling at the joy in his wife’s face, despite her growing weariness.

A few hours later, Minisa got hungry and asked to eat. A light meal was brought to her, only for the Princess to start geting sleepy during her husband feeding her.

"Minisa…I can see that you’re getting tired." Lysa said softly

"I…I am fine, mother. Honestly..." Minisa said with a yawn. Only to earn a light chuckle from her mother.

"Just like you were a child and you were trying to stay awake for me to finish the beditime stories I was reading to you." The Queen said, smiling. "Perhaps instead of the Baratheon fury, we should be talking about the Baratheon stubbornness you’ve inherited. It’s okay, darling. We’re here for you."

Reassured by her mother’s words, Minisa finally drifted off to sleep. Not wanting to leave her alone, both her parents as well as Jasper made themselves comfortable beside her, after handing over Elbert to the midwives so that they can get him to the nursery room.

Another couple of hours passed. At last the sun begun rising. Lysa was the first to wake up and immediately noticed a difference in her daughter’s temperature.

"You seem to be doing better, Minisa. You’re a lot cooler now…"

This hopeful demeanor got off with a single glance upwards. Minisa had kept her eyes close. As if she was still asleep. But her chest…wasn’t moving.
Lysa’s eyes lost their light. She reached out to Minisa with trembling hands and shook her a bit.

"Minisa…this isn’t funny. Come on, wake up."

No response. For the eldest Princess of House Baratheon…is dead.

"Minisa…Minisa! MINISA!!" Lysa screeched, causing both Argilac and Elbert to wake up as well. One glance at Lysa and Minisa was enough to make them understand what happened. Jasper immediately stood up and burst outside of the room, but Argilac stayed put. With a face he struggled to maintain calm, the King made his way to the door and opened it. Two Baratheon soldiers were standing guard outside.

"Fetch the Silent Sisters. They are to prepare my daughter for her final journey. And inform the High Septon that today’s funeral will include four people instead of just three." Argilac said with a solemn voice.

The two soldiers bowed their heads and left. Argilac returned to his wife’s side. She had buried her face in Minisa’s chest and was sobbing.

"Lysa…" He told her with a hand to her left shoulder.

Lysa didn’t even seem to notice her husband’s voice or touch. Argilac took a more drastic measure then. He hugged Lysa from behind.

"My love…Minisa is in a better place now. She’ll be watching over us from the Seven Heavens."

That really broke Lysa. She clutched her husband in a hug and sobbed against his shoulder. Suddenly, she let go of Argilac and dropped on the floor.

"AHHHH!! AHHHH!!" She screamed to the top of her lungs, before burring her face in her palms. Breaking down in uncontrollable sobs.

"Please, Lysa. It’s time for Minisa to be prepared. We should leave the Silent Sisters do their job." Argilac said before nudging his wife to follow him outside, while barely being able to keep his composure.

Lysa raised her head and saw three women shrouded in grey robes enter the room. They had their faces covered in total except from the eyes. They were holding various items: a sponge, a bucket of warm water and a black dress with golden sleeves. A clear display of Minisa’s Baratheon origins.
Lysa closed her eyes tightly, before finally nodding and start following her husband outside. After all, there’s a royal funeral to attend. And Minisa just became a part of the ceremony.

Chapter Text

A room near the entrance of the Red Keep was hastily cleared so that the coffins can be prepared until the funeral. This where the members of the royal family, as well as the most important courtiers had gathered to pay their respects. 200 individuals in total. Among them were Princes Steffon and Hoster Baratheon, alongside Princess Cassana. Lord Stannis Baratheon and his three children. Lord and Lady Stark with their two daughters, Sansa and Arya, as well as their son and heir, Robb. Orys and Cersei Baratheon with their son, Aemon, their daughter-in-law, Talisa and her family. Hoster and Edmure Tully. Jaime and Kevan Lannister, Rodrik, Maron, Theon and Yara Greyjoy. Lord Mace Tyrell, his wife, Alerie Tyrell, his mother Olenna Tyrell and his three remaining children. Willas, Garlan and Margaery. All dressed in black clothes as a symbol of mourning.

Daenerys Stormborn had plenty of time to gather her thoughts as she was overseeing the preparations for the funeral. It was one of the things she was doing in order to keep her mind occupied. To distract her grief.

Three open coffins were in front of the Lady of Summerhall. And above them, three different banners. To the far left, the white banner with the golden crown and the seven white swords on the perimeter. The banner of the Kingsguard. Right above the coffin containing the covered head of Ser Loras Tyrell, the knight of the Flowers. To the far right, a banner of a red bottom with a black stag, rising to its hind legs. And a white sky with a red griffin, ready to attack the stag. The banner of the newly formed House Baratheon of Griffin’s Roost. Right above the coffin containing the remains of Renly Baratheon. And right in the middle, the banner with the black field and the red three-headed dragon. The banner of House Targaryen. Right above the coffin containing what's left of Prince Viserys Targaryen. Daenerys’ older brother. The last member of Daenerys’ immediate family after their mother’s death 2 years ago.

Daenerys had grown with these young men. Loras had always been arrogant and impulsive, but his heart was always in the right place. He was always around his friends and he was always willing to help them. He was always fascinated with knights, tourneys and the whole code of chivalry. Through constant practice, he built his skill at arms to the point where he was known as one of the best warriors of his generation. He even managed to join the order of the Kingsguard when he was only 18 years old. Only a year before his untimely death. And now…watching a 19 year old lad so young and handsome, lying cold and stiff in an open coffin was a source of sorrow for everyone. Daenerys didn’t even want to think herself in place of Loras’ parents. Especially his mother’s, who was a grieving wreck.

Renly…he was prepared for his funeral as befitted a warrior. Below his covered head was lying his battle armor with a sword pointing downwards. Yet, Renly never had a particular taste for combat, unlike his older brothers, who had earned their spurs during Robert’s Rebellion. Not that it stopped Renly from being just as respected and competent as any of them. He was Viserys’ best friend. Both learned how to hunt, how to fight, how to command armies and how to be men from Argilac Baratheon himself. And for all his flaws and shortcomings, for all his boisterous and self-righteous personality, the King of Westeros did a great job on that regard. For Renly had turned out friendly, kind, willing to listen. He respected the commoners and their place in the Realm. He knew how to read people, how to talk to them, how to see what they need, how their interests align with his. His skills as a Westerosi ambassador were quite known and evident in the diplomatic missions that were entrusted to him by Argilac. To Braavos where he negotiated the infamous Northern Pact, alongside Robb Stark. To Lys, where Westeros placed its support over Myr and Tyrosh. To Volantis, on which he paid an honorary visit, as a response to Lady Talisa Maegyr’s appointment as her city’s ambassador. And Pentos, where he secured a profitable trading deal. Before he meet his end, gutted like he was some kind of a criminal.

Daenerys could just close her eyes and remember all the times Renly and her got into mischievous acts together. How he always liked playing with his young nephews and nieces, whom he was treating more like his younger siblings.

And finally, Viserys. The Last Dragon as Daenerys had heard courtiers calling her brother. Daenerys’ childhood hero. For as long as the Stormborn could remember her brother, he was always busy. Either practicing his skill at arms in the training yard, studying in the library, or on Argilac’s and Hoster Tully’s side, trying to learn as much as he could about ruling, battle strategy and proper behavior from them. He always acted as if the responsibility of restoring the prestige and honor of House Targaryen was his. Yet at the same time, Viserys had always been a supportive, caring brother for her. He personally taught her how to defend herself, before she joins the other ladies in their training sessions. Alongside Orys Baratheon, Viserys had helped her learn how to speak, read and write High Valyrian. He always tested her on various subjects, claiming that her being a woman was no excuse for her to be ignorant at the wonders of the world and their importance.

Daenerys approached her brother’s coffin. She reached out with her left hand and caressed his cold right cheek.
'Now, I am the Last Dragon. But I promise that I’ll make you proud, Viserys. Mother too.' Daenerys vowed.

Did she have what it takes to live up to that promise? One look at herself, made Daenerys confirm that she did. Ever since she was born, she was groomed with the same attention that was expected and demanded from a royal Princess of House Targaryen instead of just as a guest under the protection of House Baratheon. With the help of her personal Lady-in-waiting, Missandei, as well as that of Viserys and Lord Orys, Daenerys learned how to speak, read and write flawlessly in the Common and Old Tongues, the High Valyrian and its bastardised version spoken in Braavos. She joined hunts and learned how to fight with various weapons, as well as commanding armies. She partook in Royal Council meetings as all of her cousins and she was drilled in the arts of administration and diplomacy.
She even joined Queen Lysa’s personal service for almost 10 years, learning about courtesy. It was almost like everyone was grooming her to assume the role of the Queen one day.

And to Daenerys’ joy, 2 years ago, some time after their mother's death, Viserys told her that there were some talks between him and Argilac Baratheon about considering a betrothal between her and a Baratheon Prince. Daenerys was certain that said Baratheon Prince would be Crown Prince Steffon. It had to be him. Even fools would recognise that such a move would be just what House Baratheon needs to gain more legitimacy and placate diehard Targaryen loyalists. Daenerys received this news with great joy. Only for reality to force her on a rather harsh landing.

Because as months passed, the rumours started to spread. That Daenerys was caught bein promiscuous. At first, Daenerys just tried to ignore them. After all, she hadn't done anything wrong. She had done nothing to deserve such hideous gossip being spread about her. But eventually, whoever was spreading these rumours grew bolder and bolder. In fact, the most absurd rumours were speaking of her having an affair with Prince Hoster Baratheon. Enraged, Argilac Baratheon finally demanded this matter brought forth to be resolved.

Daenerys went through the most humiliating day of her life, when she had to face the female physicians of the palace and prove to them that she actually was a virgin as it was expected of her. And yet at the end of the day, her proving her innocence wasn't even enough, for Argilac demanded that Daenerys is married off to Hoster anyway. For after systemic pressure from his parents, it was revealed that it was him that helped spreading the rumours, as a means to make trouble for his older brother and his "so perfect life."

Daenerys and Viserys were livid. Why in the Seven Hells was their family scorned at?, instead of having the King disciplining his spiteful son? Didn’t they try their best to prove themselves better than Aerys and Rhaegar? Didn’t they uphold their end of the bargain they had made with Argilac Baratheon when they bent the knee to him? Argilac wouldn't be moved. Enraged by his son's dishonourable actions, he declared that his punishment would be to restore Daenerys' honour after he had seen to her name been dragged through the mud.

'You took my family's birthright away from me.' Daenerys though as she gave her husband a frigid glance. Because of that, 'I'll hate you, until the day I die.'

And as for Margaery Tyrell? The woman who practically snatched the position of Queen right from her fingertips? There’s no way she’s going to put up with her.
There she is the smirking harlot. Paying her respects to her own brother, Loras. As if she can compare the pain of losing one of her three brothers to the one Daenerys is feeling over losing the only brother she got to know.

And right at that moment, as if she had read her thoughts, Lady Margaery raised her head. Brown eyes were staring back to violet ones, earning Daenerys’ ire. The flames in the nearby candles seem to have risen up, following Daenerys’ mood swing. But Margaery too seemed unwilling to retreat. Her eyes were connected firmly on Daenerys’. Her usually shyly smiling face was wearing a scowl that could rival one of Cersei Baratheon’s whenever she was displeased.

"Princess Daenerys." A soft, feminine voice called to Daenerys’ rear, distracting the Stormborn from her thoughts. Upon turning around to see who called her, Daenerys saw Sansa Stark. Daenerys didn’t like Sansa. Her being a daughter of one of the people who toppled her family from its royal status was one reason. While Daenerys was regarding some of the Baratheons and Hoster Tully as her family, that didn’t mean that she was extending such courtesy to the Starks and the Lannisters. And Sansa being a close friend and confidant of Margaery Tyrell wasn’t helping things between them either.

"What do you want?" The last Targaryen almost growled.

"Please accept my condolences for your loss." The daughter of Eddard Stark said to the Lady of Summerhall without flinching.

"Thank you for your concern, Lady Sansa. You have my thanks." Daenerys replied frostily, hoping that she’ll take the message of her dismissal and leave before things escalate. It ddin't happen that way.

"I didn’t have the chance to meet him that well, but from what I heard Prince Viserys was a good man." Sansa pressed on.

Although she couldn’t find malice in Sansa’s comment, what she just heard, only made Daenerys angrier.

"You don’t get to say that. You didn’t know my brother. The one thing he was known for was his efforts to restore the honor and dignity of our House. Which is more than your brothers ever did for theirs."

Sansa scowled in turn.

"I don't look kindly at people insulting my family, my Princess." The Red She-wolf bit back frostily, frigid glare, fists clenched. "I understand your pain but that doesn’t give you the right to insult my House. I meant no disrespect. I was only trying to help…"

"I don’t need your help. I don't want your help. So, if you know what’s good for you, leave me alone."

Daenerys then turned her attention back to Viserys’ body.

"Now run back to your mistress and let me mourn my brother in peace." The Lady of Summerhall said while dismissing Sansa.

Sansa didn’t get the chance to counter Daenerys’ disrespect. Four servants came to the room carrying one more coffin. This one contained a young woman. She was wearing a black dress with a golden stag sewed in the heart area. And in front of the coffin, a fifth servant was walking. He was carrying the banner of the royal House Baratheon: a golden, crowned stag in a black field.

"No…" She murmured. For she understood what that meant: her cousin, Minisa, didn’t survive the complications of her labor.

Ser Jasper Arryn was following the servants carrying his wife’s coffin. The King and the Queen were right behind him. All three of them seemed utterly devastated by this blow. But all of them were trying their best to keep their composure.

"MINISA!!" Cassana yelled, upon seeing Minisa lying motionless inside the coffin. She ran towards it, as soon as the servants placed Minisa’s coffin next to the other three. The youngest Baratheon Princess immediately collapsed on it and burst in tears.

"Minisa? Minisa. Minisa!" Hoster roared and ran towards the coffin as well. Steffon right behind him. Both the Baratheon brothers knelt next to Cassana.

"Minisa, it’s not funny. Come on, wake up." Hoster said, desperately trying to wake Minisa up. Desperately trying to convince himself that this was nothing more but a cruel jape.

"Hoster…Minisa can’t hear us anymore. She’s somewhere better." Steffon said, even though he too couldn’t control his own tears.

Hoster instead, let out a throaty scream before crushing his sister's body in a tight hug. Their sister, as well as their parents soon joined them.

But not everybody seemed particularly moved by this gesture of family closeness. Stannis, who was standing in front of Renly’s coffin, decided to say his piece.

"It’s a good thing that they get to express their sorrow here among family. We can ill ford to show weakness in front of the subjects in times like these." The Lord of Storm’s End said.

"Stannis, do us all a favor and go fuck yourself, alright?" The King growled as he raised his head to stare down his brother.

Lord Stannis didn’t even flinch at the King’s wrathful stare. He only shrugged in indifference.

"Deny it all you want, Argilac, but you know I am right. Venting your anger on me is not going to change the truth." Stannis said.

His Grace was at his brother’s face within moments. He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him at the closest wall he could find.

"Listen here, asshole! I just lost my daughter. My wife and children are a mess and I can barely put two and two together. So stop pissing me off! Or things are going to get nasty.."

The Lord of Storm’s End certainly didn’t appreciate this threat. He hit Argilac’s hands, forcing him to release him. He then shoved him away. But the King too seemed to pick up on his brother’s building anger and clenched his own fists as well.

Lord Orys’ interference was the only thing that prevented his two brothers from coming to blows. With a steady pace, he placed himself between them and gently, but firmly forced them aside.

"That’s enough. Both of you. We are on the brink of a war, we just lost three members of our family, as well as one of our Kingsguard and you squabble like children." The Lord of King’s Landing said sternly, causing both of his brothers to turn their full attention to him. Obviously, neither of them liked being seen as if he is some petulant child waiting to be scolded by its father.

"Stay out of this, got it? You have no say in this after your daughter-in-law got my daughter killed." Argilac called out. Talisa's father and brother were quick to stand close to her, ready to defend her. But Orys' rebuke made such an intervention needless.

"Argilac," The Black Lion said in the very calm tone that had made him so feared through the Realm "I know that you are in pain right now. I know that things couldn’t have been worse now. We all mourn for Minisa as well as Renly. Believe me when I say that I felt your pain when Cersei and I lost our first child, Joanna. But taking it out on Talisa won't change anything. You heard what Pycelle said: the surgery was perfect. There was nothing wrong about it. Such things, as much as we hate it just...happen."

Argilac tried to protest but Orys cut him off.

"And besides, Stannis does have a point. Once we’re out there, the people must see nothing less than strength. If they don’t, they might start questioning our ability to lead them through this crisis."

Orys then turned towards Stannis.

"And as for you, Stannis, at this point I'll remind you that grieving for a close family member isn’t “weakness” You made that pretty clear when we lost Mother and Father to the tides of Shipwrecker Bay."

Stannis certainly didn’t appreciate being scolded. And he expressed this frustration by narrowing his eyes and snorting. But Orys refused to budge. Eventually, Stannis seemed to understand that it’d be pointless to keep antagonizing his older brother and returned to his position near Renly’s coffin.

"If that’s all, I think that we can begin the ceremony."

"Yes. We shall proceed, as soon as Septa Mordane is here." Argilac said.

"I am here, Your Grace." A female voice filled the room. A woman dressed in plain grey clothes entered the room. She had a bony face, sharp blue eyes and a thin, lipless mouth. She had her hair covered by a blue handkerchief and she was holding a bell, ready to start ringing it to indicate the start of the funeral march.

"I am ready to begin by your leave, Your Grace. I merely request a moment to pay my respects to the Princess."

"You may proceed, Septa." The King said, nodding in understanding. At 76 years old, Mordane was the Septa who had raised Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure. And she had followed Lord Hoster Tully and his household to King's Landing when the latter got settled there to serve as Master of Laws. She may have been strict, but she raised the royal children with the same love and care as if they were her own grandchildren.

Mordane approached Minisa’s coffin. She gave a tender kiss to the Princess’ forehead, before covering her eyes with two funeral stones. Each painted to resemble open eyes, clear message to the faithful that they should not fear death for it is not the end. She then did the same with Renly, Viserys and Loras.

"Now I am ready, Your Grace."

"Then let us begin."

Mordane walked towards the palace’s exit, as she had started ringing her bell. As the Septa started her march towards the Great Sept of Baelor, Lord Orys started walking behind her. As Lord of King’s Landing, the organization of this funeral fell on him. So he would be the one to ensure that everything is conducted according to the protocol. Upon seeing, Mordane and Orys start walking, the servants took the coffins and begun following her: first was the servant who had the Baratheon banner in hand and he was followed by his four colleagues, who were shouldering Minisa’s coffin. Behind him, a servant who held the banner of the Baratheons of Griffin’s Roost and four servants who were carrying Renly’s coffin. Alongside Renly’s coffin were walking the servants carrying that of Viserys. That was one detail Orys had specifically arranged for: usually, the coffins are carried according to the rank of the deceased. So, normally, as the King’s second cousin, Viserys’ coffin would be following that of Renly’s, the King’s brother. However, wanting to emphasize the closeness the late Prince Viserys had with the Baratheon dynasty, Orys had his coffin be carried to the Sept of Baelor alongside Renly’s.

Finally, the servants carrying Ser Loras’ coffin. Behind the coffins, the men: King Argilac, followed by his sons, Steffon and Hoster as well as his son in law, Jasper Arryn. His brother Stannis, his nephews, Aemon, Ormund and Boremund and the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn. Ned and Robb Stark. Hoster and Edmure Tully. Jaime and Kevan Lannister. Rodrik, Maron and Theon Greyjoy. Mace, Willas and Garlan Tyrell. And finally, Oberyn Martell. Behind him, all the other male members of the Royal Council and the noblemen.
Following the male relatives of the fallen and the important officials, the Kingsguard: Lord Commander Ser Barristan Selmy, with Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Willam Darry at his rear. Behind them, Brienne of Tarth.

Behind the men, the women had formed a similar line: Queen Lysa. Her daughter, Cassana and her sister, Catelyn right behind her. Arianne Martell and Daenerys Stormborn. Cersei Baratheon. Shireen Baratheon. Sansa and Arya Stark. Margaery, Alerie and Olenna Tyrell.

The citizens of King’s Landing, having been informed of the event had took position on the road the funeral march would take place. All of them were dressed in black as a gesture of grief and respect to the fallen. For all of them were dear faces in the city of King’s Landing. None of them seemed armed, but Orys, had armed soldiers standing between the citizens and the funeral march as a means of percussion. There will be no accidents. No assassination attempts. Not on the Black Lion’s watch.
As they were hearing Mordane’s ring, the people of King’s Landing stood silent. Watching as the royal party was making its way towards the Great Sept of Baelor.

Some even started throwing flowers to the road ahead of the coffins as a gesture of love. After all, all of the fallen were respected and loved members of the ruling dynasty. All of them had distinguished themselves with their accomplishments and characters. Things that the commoners were more than happy to remember.
Then, the large bells in the Great Sept of Baelor started rigging. Just as Orys had arranged. Signaling the death of three members of the royal family and a Kingsguard. As the coffins were moving forward, so did the people, who started following them from the flanks. After an hour long march, the coffins and the people who were accompanying them, made it to the Great Sept of Baelor. This is where the departing ceremony shall be conducted and the honoring speeches will be delivered.
The coffins and their escorts made their way inside the Great Sept of Baelor. A natural choice to host a royal funeral, just like it is for hosting a royal wedding. It is after all one more part of the Targaryen legacy. So…beautiful. So…majestic. So…royal. Like the dragon rulers who made it. It was built out of white marble of the finest quality. Import from the Vale’s best quarries. Only the best for the Faith’s center of worship and seat of its High Septon.

On the inside, the sept was just as impressive as it was outside. The main sanctum chamber could house comfortably seven hundred people. The sanctum chamber was decorated with paintings of the Seven-Pointed Star on the floor and each point was showing a sculpture of the different aspects of the godhead. Lit candles were placed at the feet of the statutes.

One circling look could reveal the identity of each statute. From left to right, you could see the Crone, a statue representing an elderly woman, covered in almost every part of her body (her eyes included) holding a lantern, the Warrior, a statue representing a young man with a head covered by a helmet, wielding dual swords and the Mother, a statue representing a middle-aged woman with open arms, as a display of love and mercy.

Move even further and you’ll see the Father, a statue representing a middle-aged man, with a thick beard, holding scales of justice, the Maiden, a statue representing a nude young woman, symbol of purity and beauty, the Smith a statue representing a bald man holding a blacksmith's hammer on top of a blacksmith’s anvil. And finally…the Stranger, the aspect of death and the unknown, so his statue faces away from the room, towards the wall. It represented a statue of a man who had his back turned on the audience, holding a script which he apparently used to lead the souls into the afterlife.

This is where the four coffins were placed. With the same order as they were brought. Loras’ to the far left, Minisa’s right in the middle and Renly’s and Viserys’ right and left of Minisa’s.

Once the coffins were placed properly, so did the escorts. Argilac, Lysa, Steffon, Hoster and Cassana took place right behind Minisa’s coffin. Argilac at the head, Lysa to his left, Steffon to his right. Hoster to Steffon’s right, Jasper to Hoster’s right and Cassana to Lysa’s left. Arianne at the head of Viserys’ coffin and Daenerys to her right. Stannis at the head of Renly’s coffin, Alynne Baratheon, Renly’s wife, stood to his left, tall and proud, despite her swollen belly, a clear sign of her advancing pregnancy. As for Stannis' three children, they took position at the rear and flank. Finally, Ser Barristan took place at the head of Loras’ coffin, flanked by Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Willam Darry, while Brienne of Tarth stood close to the Starks and the Tyrells to protect them, in case of emergency.

As for the spectators they too took place according to hierarchy: Aemon Baratheon, Jon Arryn, Ned and Robb Stark. Hoster and Edmure Tully. Jaime and Kevan Lannister. Rodrik, Maron and Theon Greyjoy. Mace, Willas and Garlan Tyrell. And finally, Oberyn Martell. All of them were standing the closest to the coffins at groups of two or three people. Afterwards, the members of the Royal Council and other important officials or guests: Lords Wyman Manderly, Galbart Glover and Howland Reed. Randyll Tarly with his son, Dickon. Andrew Estermont, alongside Roose and Ramsay Bolton.

The women took place to the men’s left: Catelyn, Sansa and Arya. Cersei, Margaery, Alerie and Olenna Tyrell. Meredyth Crane, Leonette Fossoway, Alla and Elinor Tyrell, Serra Durwell and Mira Forrester.

After making sure that everyone was in place, Orys Baratheon started making his way towards the center of the room. One of his last duties as today’s master of ceremonies, would be to give the initial speech, before handling over the position to Argilac, who would give an honoring speech to every one of the fallen, before lilting the bodies aflame.

"My Lords and Ladies. Good people of Westeros. We have gathered here today to say our last goodbyes to Minisa Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and Lady of the Eyrie. Renly Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord of Griffin’s Roost. Viserys Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord of Dragonstone. And Loras Tyrell, anointed knight of the Seven Kingdoms and sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Four people well-known for their loyalty and dedication to the Realm of Westeros and its affairs. Four people who were taken away from this world to the peak of their youth and potential. A crime the Baratheon dynasty will see severely punished."

Orys stayed form a few moments silent, waiting for Samwell Tarly to finish copying the speech and giving the audience the opportunity to take in what he just said. Once certain that he had managed to create the proper emotional stimulation, he made room for Argilac.

"With that being said, I give room to my brother and sovereign, King Argilac Baratheon, to honor the fallen."

Argilac approached and stood tall and proud before his Lords and Ladies. He had repeated his speech in his mind over and over again. He had discussed it quite extensively with both Orys and Stannis: he needed to find a good balance between respecting the fallen and stimulating the audience’s will to fight in the upcoming war. Nothing in his stance or face could betray a grieving father or brother. Whoever was looking at him was looking at a King who was standing ready to face an oncoming crisis and was ready to bring down the storm to those he thought responsible for this tragedy.

After checking that Samwell Tarly was in close proximity to him so that he can write down the speech, the King turned his gaze to Minisa.

"Minisa….she grew up determined to play her part in ensuring Westeros’ continued prosperity. And she had the chance to prove her mantle when she represented the Crown in House Arryn’s efforts in repopulating the mountains of the Vale. She served the Realm with Honor, by seeing to the betterment of the Vale. By placing hospitals and schools in Snakewood, Runestone, Wickenden, Strong Song, Longbow Hall, Ironoaks, and Longsister. She did her Duty to her House, by bringing a healthy son to the world. And she made the ultimate sacrifice for her Family, by saving her son’s life, even at the cost of her own. A worthy daughter of House Baratheon. A worthy daughter of Westeros."

His eyes fell on that moment on his wife, Lysa. He took her by the hand and she squeezed, as if to encourage him to continue. Argilac turned his gaze towards Renly.

"Renly…over the years I’ve heard quite a few rumors regarding him. For unlike Orys, Robert, Stannis and me, Renly was too young to prove himself on the battlefield during Robert’s Rebellion. But that doesn’t make him less Baratheon than us. I saw to it when I raised him, like he was my own son. I personally taught him, alongside Viserys Targaryen how to hunt, how to fight, how to command armies and how to be a man.

And Renly served the Realm well, when he showed his prowess in diplomacy. He knew how to read people, how to talk to them, how to see what they need, how their interests align with his. His skills as a Westerosi ambassador were quite known and evident in the diplomatic missions that I entrusted him with. To Braavos where he negotiated the infamous Northern Pact, alongside Robb Stark. To Lys, on whom Westeros placed its support over Myr and Tyrosh. To Volantis, whom he visited in response to Lady Talisa Maegyr’s appointment as her city’s ambassador. And Pentos, where he secured a profitable trading deal. Before swindlers and traitors stumble on him and cut him down as if he was some animal to the slaughter."

Argilac closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his fists. He then turned towards Viserys.

"Viserys…my cousin. When I first met him at the day of my coronation, I only saw a frightened and wounded boy. A boy who grew into a man thirsty for knowledge and adventure. A man that when he was offered the opportunity to betray his people in exchanges of empty promises, he chose to stay loyal to his homeland and King. Only to be killed for it…"

"And last, but not least, Ser Loras Tyrell. A man who although brash and too eager for glory at times, was always with his heart in the right place. Always ready to offer aid to those who needed it and punish those who were guilty of wrongdoings. His unquestionable skill at arms as well as his dedication to the code of chivalry, earned him a position in the sacred order of the Kingsguard when he was only 18 years old. Only a year before his untimely death. He was killed, while protecting his royal charges. A worthy brother of the Kingsguard."

Argilac let the words sink in before continuing.

"The death of these people is a terrible tragedy. They were taken at the peak of their youth and strength. And those responsible for that? Sycophants and traitors!"

Now Argilac knew that he had the crowd’s unyielding attention.

"Across the Narrow Sea, Magister Illyrio Mopatis fell victim to lust. He bought himself a woman, who ended up being a member of House Blackfyre!"

Gasps and boos erupted among the crowd.

"A House full of would-be usurpers and traitors! He had a son by that harlot. A son that was born roughly the same time Robert’s Rebellion was at its end. A son that after his wife’s pestering, this indecisive and weak man vowed to make King of Westeros, the moment the opportunity was in front of him."

The boos were now becoming stronger and stronger. A child who is the product of a union between an Essoi merchant and a prostitute becoming King of Westeros? Unacceptable!

"When King’s Landing fell to the Lannister army, Varys, King Aerys’ Master of Whisperers, fled Westeros and sought refuge to his old friend and employer, Mopatis. Where he showed that alongside his manhood, he had lost his good sense as well as his personal honor. For he and Mopatis told the boy that he’s Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen. And that Varys had taken him with him, thus saving him from the Lannister purge."

"These cravens, these traitors, dared to exploit the name of one of the oldest and most prestigious Houses in the world to further their own selfish goals. And the worst part? There are people who believed that story. Jon Connigton, the former Lord of Griffin’s Roost, believed it and pledged the support of the Golden Company to the pretender. And Euron Greyjoy, undoubtedly has pledged his own service to the pretender in hopes that he’ll be able to return to Westeros without having to face immediate death for kinslaying and treason."

Whispers started becoming noticeable among the crowd. Argilac could almost feel what they were thinking. The Golden Company? How in the world would they be able to stand against the strongest military force in the world? And how does their King know all of this?

"I am sure that you wonder how I know all these things. The answer is simple: Renly, Viserys and Ser Loras found out about this conspiracy, when they visited Pentos. They were all offered rather lucrative positions to the pretender’s administration, should they turn their cloaks on their people: Renly was promised Storm’s End, Viserys was to be acknowledged as Aegon’s heir until he has offspring of his own. And Loras, was to be given a position in Aegon’s Kingsguard. They refused and they tried to fight their way out of Pentos. They were able to send me a raven, as well as a messenger regarding their findings, but they were captured and killed. And this band of traitors, these dogs, had the nerve to send them to us dismantled, as if they were animals to the slaughter!"

Argilac could see that both Orys and Stannis lifted their gaze on him, clearly angry. After all, the word «dogs» wasn’t included in the speech they had practiced. Argilac didn’t care. Roars of anger erupted across the hall, while Viserys’ message was carried out from hand to hand. Courtesy of Orys who had it printed and distributed to the crowd. Argilac let the attendants express their outrage for a few moments before enforcing silence once more.

"These people come here, claiming that the Iron Throne belongs to them. Should they succeed, the first thing they’ll do is to let the sellswords and the Dothraki whom they have recruited to their cause, loot, burn, rape and kill to their hearts’ content. Then, the slavers from Myr and Tyrosh will come to take our strongest men to make them work to death for their profit. And as for our women and children? Use them to warm their beds at nights. After that, they’ll see to it that all the work we all have put into this Kingdom is systematically and permanently removed from existence."

"I admit that we faced plenty of challenges and changes during the almost 20 year long rule of the Baratheon dynasty. And I know that many of you did not always agree with the reforms my councilors and I conducted. But it was all worth it. For with our efforts and accomplishments we stand in par with even the greatest Targaryen Kings. If we haven’t surpassed them already: the North, the Iron Islands and Dorne had been some of the poorest and most underdeveloped regions in Westeros. They now stand as three of the wealthiest and most powerful. And their people have their own voice in the Royal Council. Just as it befits Westerosi citizens.
The Vale Mountain Clansmen and the Free Folk North of the Wall? Tales of their cruelty and savagery used to terrify even the bravest of knights. Now, they stand proud and prosperous among their Northern brethren."

"The Essoi? They used to look down on us as nothing more but savages and barbarians, far too divided to be any real challenge for them. Now, they have learnt to respect us. And after we win this war, they’ll learn to fear us to."

"So, I'm asking you all: shall we take arms and fight this fake dragon?"

Roars of applause were heard.

"Shall we push the Golden Company and its Dothraki lovers back to the sea they came from?"

"YEAAH!"

"SHALL WE BRING THE FURY ON THE FOOLS WHO DARED TO CHALLENGE THE WESTEROSI MIGHT?"

The Sept erupted with cheers and roars. The challenge of the claimant shall be answered: with war.

Chapter Text

As the crowd had erupted in cheers, overwhelmed by bloodlust, Argilac and Orys exchanged a glance. The King nodded to his twin brother. A nod the Lord of King’s Landing returned. Oh, well…nobody had to know that Orys “fixed” Viserys’ report a bit, claiming Aegon’s plans of letting his soldiers loot, burn, rape and kill at will, before handing them over to the slavers to pick their new workforce and bed warmers. Better keep this little secret between brothers, right?

After the belligerent estrus had died out, Argilac stepped aside to let other members of the royal family to give their farewells to the fallen. Queen Lysa spoke highly of all the dead but she focused more on their desire to see a better Westeros than the one their predecessors met. Princes Steffon and Hoster, as well as Lord Stannis spoke of the sense of duty and loyalty each of the fallen had. Finally, Princess Daenerys spoke of their desire to rectify the mistakes of the past. After the farewell speeches had been delivered, Argilac had to set the coffins on fire. The stench that befell the Sept when he lit the corpses aflame was something that Argilac was certain that he won’t forget as long as he lives. Once the burning was completed, the Septons in attendance put out the fire with wine, went the bones through olive and transported them in four pots so that they can be put to rest. With the ritual complete, the pots were placed to their tombs, at the base of the Sept. As for the statutes who will indicate the dead person’s identity, they will be completed by the month’s end.

With the funeral out of the way, the Baratheons had to host the funeral meal. A small banquet, taking place in the Red Keep in honor of the fallen. Several tables were set in the Red Keep’s main hall. Everyone made their way there as soon as the ceremony was completed in the Great Sept of Baelor. The attendants sat as befits their station: the royal family at the larger table in the middle and all others in the periphery, according to the relation they had to the fallen and the individual’s rank.
This meal would also serve as an ideal opportunity for relatives and friends to distract themselves from the sad occasion with some talking. But not every exchange was pleasant even in these circumstances. Mace Tyrell and Jaime Lannister, who took seat in one of the tables close to the royal family couldn’t avoid but commenting on Lady Alynne’s swollen belly. They didn’t have the opportunity to do so during the funeral but at 6 months, the redhead’s pregnancy was something that couldn’t be ignored.

"Who would have thought that Renly Baratheon actually had it in him to perform his marital duty with a Stormlands girl?" The Warden of the South said while Jaime struggled to suppress a laugh.

"Beats me. Knowing Renly, he was probably too afraid she’d mess up his hair. If he was even able to get it up in the first place." Jaime sneered with his signature arrogant smirk.

Now the two men were clearly on the verge of bursting in laughter. But all of a sudden, Mace Tyrell stopped as if he was about to have a heart attack. He shut his mouth, he almost sank on his chair and went pale. As if had just seen a ghost. Curious on what it might have caused such a reaction, Jaime turned his eyes on the direction Mace was looking at. He saw Orys, who apparently was making his way to the table saved for the royal family, staring down Mace as if he was about to thunder strike him.

Watching the exchange between the Lord of Highgarden and his old friend, Jaime couldn’t help himself but remember his father, Lord Tywin. He too was able to make almost everyone flinch with a single stare.

«Gods, apparently Orys adopted Father’s chilling stare as well. Better calm him down quickly. » Jaime thought.

"Orys, you know we were just joking and…"

"And you were about to eat and drink in honor of Renly and the other fallen, Lord Jaime. So, you’d better keep your friends in line, before I do it for you." Orys growled quietly as he turned to leave.

Jaime was about to rise from his site and try to apologize to Orys but then he saw the King and his family approaching. Jaime would have to wait until the meal had finished in order to make peace with Orys. If the latter was in a talking mood at all.

Argilac, Lysa and their children, as well as their spouses and betrothals sat at the table right in the middle. Once certain that everyone was in position, Argilac stood up and took his glass of wine in his right hand.

Lysa had overseen the preparation of a three-course meal: They started with a glass of wine and a slice of black bread accompanied with salt. This appetizer served both as a gesture of mourning, as well as an indication that the attendants are under the protection of the Crown. Then, a plate of fish soup and some apple for desert.

Once all the dishes had been served, Argilac rose from his seat, with his glass of wine at hand. Immediately, everyone imitated him.

"We said our goodbyes to our loved us and put them to rest. Now, let’s honor them with carrying on. To Minisa. To Renly. To Viserys. And to Loras. May they rest in peace."

"Amen." Everyone said in unison.

The King nodded in content and sat back down. Immediately, he took a piece of his slice of bread and passed it on the salt before eating it. The other attendants imitated him. Then, the fish soup. A dish that was met with various reactions. Most people from the Iron Islands and the Riverlands who are well-accustomed in eating dishes with fish, ate it with pleasure. Others, such as the Northerners and the Dornishmen with relative tolerance. But Stannis’ discomfort, while he was eating, was clearly visible. Something that strikes out as odd: after all, Stannis has been the Realm’s Master of Ships and Lord Admiral for almost 20 years. Furthermore, he has spent several of these years at sea, chasing down slavers and partaking in naval exercises. So for him to show dislike towards eating fish is kind of weird. But then again, Stannis never liked fish, so neither Argilac nor Orys expressed any sort of frustration towards their brother’s discomfort.

And finally, the apple. With the meal out of the way, the guests could now have some talk. But their attention was glued on the table of the royal family.

"Your Grace, I believe that I speak on everyone’s behalf when I say that this tragedy couldn’t have come at a worst time. But we need to discuss the mourning period and whether it’ll interfere with the preparations for the upcoming campaign." Jon Arryn said.

"There’s nothing to discuss on that subject, Lord Arryn. The preparations for the upcoming campaign shall proceed as it was discussed in the last Council meeting." Argilac said bluntly. "As for the mourning period, it will last for a month."

"Perhaps we need to discuss the upcoming marriage as well, Your Grace. Given that this is a succession war, we need to ensure the future of the Baratheon dynasty." Mace Tyrell blurted.

The King turned his gaze to Mace. His face grew so red that it almost turned purple. How was this prancing fool daring to speak to him about marriage and procreation after he had just buried his daughter, brother and cousin? After he himself had just buried a son of his own!?

Argilac clutched his glass with such force that it was making ominous creaking noises. But with a swift inhale, he composed himself.

"I am aware of the risks that involve my dynasty, Lord Tyrell." Argilac said coldly. "Because of this, the marriage between Crown Prince Steffon and Lady Margaery will be celebrated after the mourning period expires, in a month’s time. Alongside the marriages between Willas Tyrell and Sansa Stark."

The crowd seemed to have various reactions to this news: the Tyrells seemed fairly pleased at this double marriage. As did the Greyjoys and Stannis’ children. Stannis himself seemed indifferent: as long as the marriage is conducted and the royal line is secured, he has no reason to protest. As did Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully.
The Starks though were taken by surprise. Certainly they didn’t expect to be included so abruptly in a royal marriage.

Queen Lysa however was less than inclined to show such a restraint.

"We just lost our daughter and you’re talking about marriages and children? Your audacity has no limits, Lord Tyrell." She growled.

"Your Grace, I just thought…"

"I didn’t know that you’re capable of such a complicated task, Lord Tyrell. But know this: as long as I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, no marriage is going to be conducted without my leave."

"Then it’s a good thing that it’s not up to you to decide." Argilac told his wife coldly, clearly not in the mood to accept challenges to his authority.
Lysa’s expression couldn’t be interpreted as anything less but utter betrayal.

"Argilac, we just lost our child…"

"And those who took her from us shall pay that crime with their lives. But, as much as I hate to admit it, Mace actually has a point. Should anything happens to me, Steffon or Hoster, the dynasty must live on."

Lysa’s expression hardened.

"If you think that I am going to arrange…"

"You are going to perform your duties as it is expected of you, Queen Lysa. And if you are not inclined to cooperate, I am pretty sure that your sister, Catelyn or Lady Cersei will be able to fill the void just fine."

"But…"

A simple wave of the hand was enough for Lysa to understand that her husband was dismissing her protests. There’s no way he was going to back down. Not after he had made such an announcement in front of so many people. But that doesn’t mean that she has to stand there and take it.

"As my husband and King commands. By your leave, I shall begin seeing to the arrangements."

Without even waiting to hear her husband’s dismissal, Lysa stood up from her seat and left the room, followed by her father and siblings.

Following a silent plead from his wife, Ned Stark tried to intervene.

"Your Grace, perhaps this is not the time to invest so heavily…"

"The future of my dynasty has been put into question and I am going to smother these doubts right away, Lord Stark. Do you want your family to be an assist on that?"

"Of course I do, Your Grace, our families has been friends and aliies for years, but…

"Then, it’s settled. You shall start preparations for Sansa’s wedding. You might as well begin considering finding Arya a betrothed too."

"No, he won’t! I will not become a docile broodmare, even if the Gods themselves order it!" Arya screeched all of a sudden and ran off the room.

"Arya!" Her father tried to stop her, but Arya proved too fast for him. Lord Stark sighed in defeat.

"And you better install some discipline to your daughter, as well, Lord Stark. For I will no longer tolerate that kind of behavior in my castle." Argilac finished coldly before lifting his glass to finish his drink.

Her uncle’s calmness and coldness put Sansa on edge almost instantly. At other times, he’d been furious over Arya ruining a royal procedure with her tantrums. The fact that he’s now facing the issue with coldness means that His Grace has given up on Arya and that he will not tolerate her rebellious behavior any longer. Shutting down her studies in fighting and battle tactics and sending her back to Winterfell, seems like the lightest punishment he could be having in store for Arya.

No. Sansa has to talk to Arya and warn her about this imminent danger. She stood up and attempted to make her way towards the exit. But before that, she stopped before the King and bowed before him.

"And where do you think you’re going?" The Storm King asked.

"If it pleases Your Grace, I am feeling quite tired. These recent events have been very draining to us all. I humbly request permission to retire for the day."

For a moment, sympathy shone in the King’s eyes. In that moment, he was simply Sansa’s uncle. A man she had grown to respect and even like.

"Go, Sansa. This day has indeed been utterly exhausting for all of us. But you are to assume your regular duties as soon as your Lady calls for you. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Your Grace. I thank you, Your Grace." Sansa bowed once more and left.

She made her way out of the main hall, determined to find Arya. She decided that the first place she’d search would be the castle’s training yard. Venting her raw emotions on a training dummy or an opponent unfortunate enough to find himself in her way, is what helps Arya calm herself.

Sansa’s instincts served her well. As she was approaching the yard, she could hear grunts and slashes. A few steps closer and Sansa had visual contact with Arya as she was stabbing a training dummy again and again with Needle. Close the distance some more and Sansa could see tears running down her sister’s face through her puffy red eyes.

"I believe the man is dead." Sansa called out to Arya.

The youngest Stark sister turned to face Sansa.

"And your form is terrible." The older Stark sister said plainly, crossing her arms.

Sansa was expecting Arya start screaming at her to go away and leave her alone. Or throw her the sword and tell her that she knows shit about warfare. What she didn’t expect was Arya to drop Needle to the ground and charge at her. Arya clutched her older sister in a tight hug, buried her face in Sansa’s shoulder and started crying.

"It was me. It was me. It was me." She cried again and again while trying to bury herself as deep as she could in her sister’s arms.

Sansa was caught completely off guard. She awkwardly hugged Arya and patted her on the back, but she just didn’t know what else to do. A spectacle like that was something she was completely unaccustomed to. The only time she had seen Arya in such distress was when she was 5 years old and her favorite hound had to be put down because it got rabies.

"I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry." Arya kept on mumbling.

"For what, Arya? What are you trying to say?"

Arya lifted her head and looked Sansa dead in the eye.

"I…I killed Minisa and Renly, Sansa." She whispered.

Sansa was shocked. Where did that idea come from?

"Arya…Renly was killed because he was captured by some people who want to take revenge for losing the Iron Throne to the Baratheons. As for Minisa, she died because of complications during her labor. You had nothing to do with this."

Arya shook her head in denial.

"No. I did it. I killed them, Sansa. The Gods heeded my prayers and took them away."

"The…Gods? What are you talking about?"

"When Father was arrested and Uncle Argilac refused to release him, I prayed to the Gods. I asked them to hurt Argilac Baratheon as much as he had just hurt our family. And they listened. They took away Minisa and Renly, Sansa. They took them because I asked it. I am responsible for that pain."

And Arya buried her face on her sister’s shoulder once again. Sansa was just speechless. This is far worse than she had thought. She had assumed that she’d take Arya to the side and give her a proper warning about the King’s patience growing thin with her. But this?

"Arya, what happened to Minisa and Renly is truly tragic. They didn’t deserve to die like that. But you had nothing to do with it."

"And the fact that it happened after I asked for it?"

"Oh, please. It’s not like the Gods are caring enough to bother themselves with a child’s whims." A third voice called out. Both of the Stark sisters turned to the voice’s direction. Only to find Lady Cersei approaching.

"I thought you were at the banquet with the other nobles, Lady Cersei." Sansa said politely, hoping to make the Golden Lioness lose interest in them and return to her own business before she notices anything suspicious.

"I was. Until I got bored." Cersei replied as she kept on approaching with her characteristic arrogant smirk on her face. She was moving through the yard as if she owned it. In typical Lannister fashion.

"What exactly do you find funny?" Arya growled, clearly annoyed by Cersei’s presence and smug expression.

Cersei’s smile faded away almost instantly.

"A pup’s foolish beliefs that the Gods take people away, just because she asks them to. I knew your mother claims to be a pious Lady Perfect, but this is ridiculous."

"How would you know?" Arya barked.

"Arya, that’s enough. Lady Cersei overstepped, but that’s no excuse for you to talk back like that."

"You’ll be quite surprised of how far I can “overstep”, little dove." Cersei spat as she sat close to the Starks. "But that is beside the point. Here’s the real truth about the Gods: if they do exist, they have no mercy. That’s why they’re Gods."

"How would you know?" Arya barked again. She just couldn’t help herself but do so. Cersei Baratheon was rubbing her completely the wrong way. Proud, vain, sarcastic, blunt, ambitious. She never seemed inclined to accept the Starks into the fold. As members of the family. And Arya hated it. No one in his right mind gets to exclude her from anything. It’s a dangerous thing to do.

"My father told me so when he caught me praying once. My mother just died, you see. After she had just given birth to my brother, Tyrion. The Wretched Imp of Casterly Rock as some fools dared to call him."

Arya went to open her mouth to defend her uncle, but Sansa stopped her by placing her hand on her shoulder.

"I didn’t really understand the concept of death back then. The finality of it. I thought that if I pray very, very hard, the Gods will return my mother to me. I was a fool."

"Your father didn’t believe in the Gods, Lady Cersei?" Sansa asked.

"Oh, he did believe. He just didn’t like them very much. Your dear uncle, Stannis, is not that much different either. He was once unfortunate enough to be pestered by one Septa regarding donations from the Stormlands to the Faith. About how that money Stannis was to provide would allow the Gods to keep on blessing the people under his care with justice and kindness."

"And how did he react? Sansa asked." To her surprise, as well as that of Arya’s, Cersei laughed.

"He looked at the Septa’s eyes with such coldness that the poor hen almost fainted. He then rolled his eyes, gritted his teeth and said:
'I stopped believing in gods the day I saw the Windproud break up across Shipbreaker Bay. Any gods so monstrous as to drown my mother and father would never have my worship, I vowed. Here, in King’s Landing, the High Septon would prattle at me of how all justice and goodness flowed from the Seven, but all I ever saw of either was made by men.'"

Cersei laughed once more.

"If it were anyone else, that Septa could have some luck after a private audience, but we’re talking about Stannis Baratheon. A woman would have had better luck if she was trying to seduce his horse."

The older woman regained her composure soon enough.

"Gods take whoever they want, whenever they want. That’s why they’re Gods. Renly and his friends stumbled across some would-be usurpers and they got themselves killed like a bunch of idiots. As for Minisa, women die because of childbirth all the time. Fewer and fewer, thanks to the improvements in medication, but it still happens. It’s a reality every woman must face at the chance of her becoming a mother."

Seeing that Arya was still not convinced, Cersei switched tactics.

"Believe me, if the Gods were to take whoever was asked from them, this wretched world would have been devoid of humans long before you were born."

The Goldedn Lioness then got up and started heading towards the castle. But she suddenly stopped and turned towards Arya once again.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Silly me. His Grace’s patience with you is running thin, child. If I were you, I’d avoid pulling another stunt for a while. Because I wouldn’t want to end up flogged, packed over to Winterfell or…well, Argilac is smart enough to figure something out."

Smirking, Cersei left to continue her stroll, leaving the Stark sisters to process what had just transpired.

"Seven Hells." Arya murmured.

"That’s what I wanted to tell you, Arya. You see… "

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, 23/06/302 AC

The month that followed Minisa’s death was a true nightmare for Lysa. She didn’t get the chance to mourn her daughter properly. Under normal circumstances, the mourning period lasts for up to three months. Yet, they were forced to cut it to just one. And not only Lysa had to accept that her darling daughter, her favorite child, is dead, but she also had to embrace the possibility that her husband and at least one of her sons might end up killed in the war that it soon going to engulf Westeros.

Argilac and his damned sense of commitment. He always said that "all the Princes and Princesses of the Baratheon dynasty shall learn the importance of ruling. As long as I rule the Seven Kingdoms, no son of mine will quiver behind walls. He will face his opponents head on and with sword in hand."

And to topple all of that, Lysa had to also organize a triple royal wedding. Her niece, Sansa, with Willas Tyrell. Her other daughter Cassana with Dickon Tarly. And most importantly, her son, Steffon, with Margaery Tyrell. A marriage that will take place this very afternoon.

Gods help! The day Lysa dreaded was finally here. From now, she’d have to call that smirking harlot from Highgarden her “daughter”. And she’d have to put up with her calling her “mother”. As if that little bitch shall ever be good enough to replace Minisa! Her perfect Minisa. Her fair, beautiful, kind Minisa. What an audacity!

Thankfully, Lysa had her grandson, Elbert, to cheer her up a little. She devoted all of her free time and energy to the care of that boy. The only thing she couldn’t do herself was breastfeed him. But thankfully, she had a wet-nurse to do that for her. As for the boy’s father, Jasper Arryn, at first he was reluctant to spend time with his son. Perhaps, he was finding it difficult to connect with the baby he thought had killed his wife, no matter the promise he had made to Minisa. But after Lysa cornered him and practically demanded of him to sort his feelings, put himself together and step in to start looking after his son himself, the lad seemed to accept his parental role and duties.

And when it comes to the wedding, thankfully Catelyn and Cersei were more than willing to step in and oversee the preparations for the whole affair. It saved Lysa quite a lot of trouble. Especially having to deal with the Queen of Thorns.

And where was Argilac during this whole affair? Buried in his work. Either working on a mountain of notes or spending day and night in the council chamber playing the general with his advisors. King’s Landing had already started becoming the meeting ground for soldiers from all over the country and everyone was kept on their toes. So far, men from the Riverlands, the Westerlands, the Reach and the Stormlands had started arriving at the capital, with the forces from the North and Dorne being on their way.

And boy, there was always room for complaints and fights. The citizens were frustrated with the soldiers and their insatiable appetite, as well as their quarrelsome attitude. The soldiers were frustrated with the officers for drafting them at the beginning of the harvest session and for not sending them immediately to the field for some action. The officers were frustrated with the Wardens and the Lords-Paramount for leaving them for the most part to deal with this shit. And the Wardens and the Lords-Paramount were frustrated with the King and his brothers, sons and nephews for incubating this whole clusterfuck.

And what’s worse? Argilac has to deal with this entire mess, without having to rely on Orys’ assistance. For, in his “infinite wisdom”, Argilac wanted to take advantage of the favorable wind and sent Orys to Braavos the very day after the royal funeral. Orys needed to make it there, so that he can meet representatives from both Braavos and Volantis and design the way the campaign in Essos is going to be conducted. Plus, Orys needed to drop Robb Stark and the bannermen who had followed him to the capital following Ned Stark's trial to White Harbor before he gets to do anything else, so his time was limited...

"Your Grace." A male voice broke Lysa from her thoughts, making her to open her eyes and address her visitor. He was a man in his early to middle 20s. He was big across the chest, with arms thick with muscle. He was wearing golden plate armor and a white cloak, clasped by a silver brooch, decorated with ivory and onyx swans. Clear signs of his Swann origins. Lysa recognized him. He was Ser Balon Swann, Ser Vardis’ right hand for many years. The latest addition to the Kingsguard, after Ser Loras Tyrrell’ death. Courtly, valiant, obedient and modest. Good with a lance, better with a morningstar, and exceptional with a bow.

"I was not to be disturbed, while I am with my grandson, Ser Balon. You better have a good reason for breaking that rule." Lysa said sternly to the young knight before she returns her attention to little Elbert she was holding in her arms. The baby mumbled a little and shook his hands.

"Lady Margaery is outside. She has requested an audience with Your Grace." The young knight replied politely.

'Speaking of clusterfucks…' The Queen of Westeros thought as she was rolling her eyes briefly in frustration.

Lysa had never been particularly fond of her soon to be daughter-in-law. Some claim that’s due to Lysa’s reluctance to be separated from her children. Others claim that it’s due to jealousy of Margaery connecting herself to innovation while Lysa Tully, Cersei Baratheon and Catelyn Stark connected themselves to more traditional aspects of power. But neither of these assumptions is true. For Lysa, her glamorous, vivacious, very sociable daughters-in-law are a constant reminder of everything she’s not.

At least with Daenerys, Lysa could always be certain about what she thinks and how she feels. With Margaery, Lysa doesn’t have that luxury. She always covers her true feelings and thoughts. Always wearing a poker face. But, she has to put up with her for the Realm’s sake. And perhaps, for Steffon’s as well.

"Bring her in.: Lysa said, while dismissing Ser Balon, who went to fetch the Queen’s unexpected guest.

"Mother." Margaery Tyrell said with the distinctive smile of hers when she came to view. "It’s always so nice to see you." She said as kissed Lysa in the forehead before turning her attention to little Elbert.

"How is my little nephew? I hope you’re not too much trouble for your royal grandmother, right?" She spoke to the baby with a sweet, soothing voice as she was caressing his chubby little hands. Elbert once again mumbled a little and shook his head with something resembling a grin on his face.

'Even babies are not safe from her spells…' Lysa thought in annoyance.

"Make it fast, Margaery. I am certain you have a lot of preparing to do for your wedding." The Queen said, hoping to get Margaery to say her piece and go her way soon.

"That’s true, Your Grace. I’ll make sure to be brief. I wouldn’t want to be unable to live up to the expectations of the Crown Prince."

'What a ridiculous display…' Lysa’s annoyance only grew worse.

"Lord Orys’ boat has been spotted in the entrance of Blackwater. It’s going to dock in half an hour."

"Good. Steffon wouldn’t have liked it if his uncle couldn’t attend the wedding. Lady Cersei was livid at this possibility."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Anything else I should know?"

"It is, but I am certain you are not going to like it."

"Just tell me."

"I must assure you, Your Grace, I just found out and…"

"Off with it, girl!, or I’ll vent my anger onto you!" Lysa snapped, finally losing her patience.

"His Grace just dismissed the Royal Council. My brother, Ser Garlan, came to find me and informed me that the King will take both of his sons to the battlefield."

These words fell on Lysa like an avalanche. Argilac is planning to take BOTH of their sons on the battlefield? Especially since Daenerys and most certainly Margaery have not yet conceive? What kind of an idea is this?

"What did you say?"

"That His Grace is planning to take both Princes to the field with him. He says he wants the whole Realm to see the Baratheon dynasty crushing the Targaryen impostor and his supporters in a unified effort."

"Like hell he will!" Lysa roared before rising from her seat. "Hold your nephew. His wet-nurse should be here in any minute now. Then return to your chambers. You need to prepare for your wedding." Lysa passed Elbert to Margaery and made her way to the door but then she stopped, remembering all of a sudden to ask Margaery something.

"And where do you stand in such regard?" The Queen asked her soon to be daughter-in-law. Margaery’s smile vanished and was replaced by a serious expression.

"Your Grace, I know that we don’t see eye to eye very often. But I think that this move is utterly…risky. Having both of the Princes exposed to danger, while neither of them has fathered sons. In worst case scenario, the throne passes to Lord Orys and by extension to his son, Aemon. Assuming that His Grace doesn’t order them to follow him into battle and give Lord Stannis a fair chance to claim the throne for himself, that is."

"Not if I have something to say about it, Lady Margaery. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." Lysa said while making her way out of the nursery room, followed by Ser Balon.

'Margaery said that Argilac has dismissed the Council. This means that most likely, he has returned to his solar to finish up with the daily paperwork…' Lysa thought as she was moving through corridor after corridor until she made it to the King’s solar.

She found Ser Barristan Selmy standing guard outside. The elderly Lord Commander of the Kingsguard saw the Queen as well and bowed his head in respect. A gesture Lysa returned with a nod of acknowledgment.

"Your Grace." He said respectfully. Under normal circumstances, Lysa would have appreciated the old knight’s politeness. But she couldn’t afford to do that now. Right now, she needs her anger in order to deal with Argilac.

"I want to see my husband, Ser Barristan. So please, step aside."

"Of course, Your Grace. Although, I’d strongly recommend you are brief. His Grace wishes to be done as soon as possible so that there won’t be any pending matters for the afternoon."

"I can handle my husband, Ser Barristan. Thank you." Lysa said with a stiff smile as the knight was knocking at the door.

"Yes, Barristan?"

"Her Grace, Queen Lysa is here to see you, Your Grace."

"Send her in."

Upon hearing the King’s command, ever dutiful Ser Barristan, stepped aside and left Lysa enter the room. She found her husband sitting on his desk, reading and signing papers. Busy as always.

This was the first time Argilac and Lysa had the opportunity to have a proper talk since the funeral. Lysa was almost feeling bad that the topic they had to discuss was anything but pleasant.

"Lysa, welcome." Argilac greeted his wife with a smile. The same loving smile he has been giving her for the last 20 years. It almost made Lysa lose her grip on her anger. But if she was to tackle the matter at hand, Lysa knew that she needed to hold on to it. So, she did.

"When you were going to tell me that you’re taking both of our sons to the field?" Lysa asked Argilac.

"Lysa, please calm…"

"Do not tell me to calm down! How can you ask me to calm down? I want to know how in the world Hoster got this idea in his head and why I wasn’t informed sooner! For the love of Gods, I just heard of it from Margaery Tyrell of all people, Argilac! You’d better have some answers."

Argilac sighed heavily.

"Lysa…it happened during the last meeting. I announced to the Wardens and the Lords-Paramount that Steffon and I will lead the army into battle in two days, while Hoster will stay behind to rule in my stead. Then, Hoster proclaimed that he’s not going to be left out of the action in favor of his older brother again."

Lysa sighed heavily. Of course Hoster was going to protest in such a decision. Fighting is one of the few things that really excite him. Not to mention that he had this feeling of frustration building as of late. Because his father, thought it best to take Dragonstone from him and Daenerys and give it to Steffon, as a means to uphold the tradition of having the heir to the throne tending to that island.

"Then take Hoster and leave Steffon here. After all, since he’s the Crown Prince and he’s going to marry, it is paramount he sires an heir."

Argilac stood and considered this alternative for a moment. For one brief moment, Lysa thought that she had managed to get through to her husband. Only for these hopes to be promptly shut down.

"No. Everyone was already aware that Steffon is going to join this campaign. I am not going to change these plans at the last moment."

Lysa was devastated. Her husband was always taking her opinion into consideration when he was making important decisions. Especially in matters of family. But now? He was openly disregarding her concerns, as if they were unimportant.

"Argilac, you can’t take both of our sons to the field! I won’t let you make them face the person who killed their sister!"

Argilac slammed his fist on his desk and stood up.

"This is exactly why both of our sons will be standing beside me as I apprehend the whoreson who took our Minisa away from us. Before I drag him to King’s Landing for his execution."

The King followed up this outburst with a deep breath to calm himself.

"Lysa…that man and his supporters took too much from me. From us. And I will see them all punished. But I need our sons to stand beside me when I meet them. Have faith in them, Lysa. They were trained in combat and battle strategy from the best people Westeros has to offer and they’ll be protected by an entire army. Nothing is going to happen to our children. I won’t allow it."

"But…"

"Please, Lysa. I’ve been honest with you every step of the way. Now, I need you to trust me."

Lysa wasn’t convinced. Even the best warriors might end up dead on the battlefield. But, she could see the determination in her husband’s eyes. She knew that when he was in this state, it’s impossible for anyone to make him change his mind.

Finally, she relented.

"I better not have to mourn another child when this bloody war ends..."

The door to the King’s solar then opened.

"Is everything alright, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked.

"Aye, Selmy. Please, escort the Queen to her chambers. She’s to be prepared for the wedding ceremony."

"As you command, Your Grace..." Ser Barristan said, taking Lysa outside.

Chapter Text

Margaery Tyrell closed her eyes in relaxation as her Ladies-in-waiting Meredyth Crane, Leonette Fossoway and Elinor Tyrell, were tending to her hair and attire in front of a full length mirror. She had spent the last few hours preparing. Right after luncheon, Margaery was bathed, rubbed and had her hair combed down to the last, minute details. The afternoon was approaching and soon she’d be on the Great Sept of Baelor, so that the marital ceremony can begin.

The girls in her employment had outdone themselves yet again. Margaery was wearing white shoes and a light blue dress with golden embellishments and an open back. Her cousin, Elinor, was the one who picked it. Margaery was right to put her trust on her. Not only does she rule over the younger Tyrell cousins by the right of womanhood, but she also displays the charm, the ambition and the wits of a true Tyrell.

But the most distinguishing trait in Margaery’s appearance was her hair: curled, moisture by argan oil, with three lines lying towards their respective side of the head, secured by crossed bobby pins. Finally, a small untwist section of hair along the hairline below the ear was pinned up below the waterfall of hair Meredyth had created.

As for the head decorative, Margaery’s small, yet finely detailed crown, with the incorporated stag antler imagery and the prominent golden roses, was proudly visible on the top of its owner’s head.

"Please, make a turn, my Lady. See if everything is to your liking." Margaery's sister-in-law, Lady Leonette, urged Margaery. She obliged and found everything perfect. Just as it had to be.

"Congratulations to all of you. I won’t forget your long and dutiful service, my friends." Margaery said to her three Ladies with a smile.

"My Lady, serving a bright and kind employer such as you, is its own reward." Meredyth said.

'Ever the sweet talker, Meredyth. ' Margaery thought with an amusing shake of her head before turning to look through her window. Her eyes fell on the city below her.

At long last, Margaery was exactly where she wanted to be. Where she was always meant to be. She was groomed for the position of Queen ever since she could walk and talk. Her father spared no expense in hiring the best tutors to have her master every academic field she could need for this position: diplomacy, economics, history, languages and even gymnastics. After all, she was to marry a Baratheon. And Baratheons respect physical fitness quite a lot. Her mother spent endless hours teaching her the traditional pursuits of a noblewoman: embroidery, music, singing, dancing and horse riding. She was the one who initiated her in the art and the benefits of charity work. And finally, her grandmother. Olenna Tyrell. The infamous Queen of Thorns who taught Margaery everything that there was to know about court intrigue and politics.

'The women of the dynasty certainly didn’t make things easy over the last two years. Lysa and Cersei were always willing to make it clear that they don’t appreciate having the heir to the Iron Throne getting married to a woman from the Reach. The region who sided with the Targaryens, during Robert’s Rebellion. '

'They were always willing to show me that they’d prefer Daenerys as the Crown Princess and they only tolerate me because of the backing I have. Then, I guess it’s a good thing that His Grace is more pragmatic. After all, his vigorous reforming program had created a great amount of friction. And he’s going to need the funds, lands and armies House Tyrell can provide, if he’s to ensure that not everything will be put into question after he passes away and leaves his son to collect the pieces.'

'No matter. Let the Mad Fish and the Sour Lioness brood all they want now. This is MY palace. This is MY city. And these will be MY Kingdoms when my husband sits the Iron Throne and certain…rearrangements will have to be made among the state officials.' Margaery thought with a spark in her eyes.

The orders Margaery had from her family, her grandmother in particular, were clear: she’s to wrap Prince Steffon around her finger and nudge him to a course of action away from that of his father’s. One that in due time will restore the rights of the nobility to the full.

Of course the lowest members of the society are no different from the highborn. They all deserve to be treated fairly and be given the opportunity to raise their families properly. But not to the point where they can demand changes from their betters. After all, they're sheep, not rams. Their job is to follow, not to lead, as Grandmother would always say.

He might be unaware of it. Or perhaps he doesn’t care about it. But King Argilac’s reforms in the way justice is delivered, as well as the advancement of public education and health will eventually create room for the social hierarchy to be questioned. The main issue that occurs from the reformist program, the main reason that the nobility of the Reach in particular, is discontent is the fact that the commoners own land now. It was at least to some extend expected that such measures will take place in desolate, uncultivated provinces such as the North, the Iron Islands, the Stormlands, Dorne and to some extend even the Vale. Since agricultural production had always been…moderate there, due to either having too few people available to work the land, unfit soil, or being hazarded by raids, the Lords in these areas had always maintained a more…relaxed relationship with their smallfolk. In exchange for an income tax, determined by the profits that occur out of the sale of the farm’s material, or in exchange of provisions the Lord might ask in times of a famine or for contribution to the war effort, the commoners had their own land vested in their name. Their own land to cultivate and pass on to their children.

Since Argilac Baratheon became King, not only did he allow this situation to remain in place, but he empowered the commoners even more. By either making more land available for cultivation, by offering more people to work on it, or by providing better tools for the job. He even sought to expand the status of the free, independent farmer to the Crownlands. Since most of the Lords in this province and their Houses perished during Robert’s Rebellion, Argilac saw to it that they were replaced by sons of the Stormlands, married to daughters of the Riverlands. This decision served three purposes: Argilac was creating a sphere of loyal followers to surround himself and his family, he practically unified the military might of the Riverlands, the Crownlands and the Stormlands under the King’s direct oversight and surrounded himself with people who weren’t going to question his reforms, due to them having similar origins. So, the free, independent farmers started becoming more and more common to the Crownlands as well.

But with these concessions, farmers in the Westerlands, the Riverlands and especially the Reach started demanding similar changes. The only problem was that these provinces weren’t filled with massive tracts of untapped land and starving people. Instead they were crawled with people working on the fields and full bellies. If the agricultural production was to be halted or affected in any way, until this new state was to be conducted and enforced, there would be anarchy in the streets within the year. Farmers would start riots and eventually leave the Reach in search of work, causing Margaery’s natal Kingdom to lose its numerical advantage. So, no. The Westerlands, the Riverlands and the Reach will not be hosting an agricultural revolution anytime soon.

Perhaps Margaery and Willas played a part in this situation when they presented the iron plow, the seed drill and the four-course crop rotation to the royal court. But then again, they only meant it as a means to maximize their family’s production and profits, while at the same time cutting the cost of having so many smallfolk working on the Tyrell farms. But, even if it was a mistake, they’d have to live with it. In any case, in order to preserve the integrity of the regions that simply couldn’t provide their smallfolk with the same liberties others could, Argilac and his counselors met with the Lords of the Westerlands, the Riverlands and the Reach, as well as representatives of the local smallfolk. Together they reached a compromise: until a better solution could be found, there will be no change in the legal status of the smallfolk or its ability to hold land in their name.

But in exchange, the members of the gentry, as well as the clergy, had to accept two new conditions: from here on out, they’d have to pay the income tax as any other Westerosi citizen. And they’d also have to pay the solidarity. From now on, the rich were obliged to pay the taxes of their poor neighbors. Thus, those poor neighbors who were unable to meet their tax obligations were left protected from arbitrariness and exploitation. These were two laws that were passed on to the entirety of Westeros. Without exceptions. There was a great deal of protest. The nobles and the high priests were less than inclined to tolerate taxation by the Crown. But nothing could make His Grace to change his mind. Under his rule, removing these achievements from the political canvas is next to impossible. It’d mean war. Plus, Steffon’s vision when it comes to Kingship is not different from his father's. And he’s also his own man. Which means that he can’t be so easily influenced to just do things asked of him. So it’s very unlikely that he’ll revoke his father’s decrees, simply if he's asked to. So perhaps, the point Margaery should aim for is not the removal of Argilac’s decrees, but instead ensure that the liberties they promote won’t expand during Steffon’s rule. A job best suited for Margaery’s eldest brother, Willas, who will make a fine Hand of the King in due time. Certainly better than the likes of Aemon Baratheon and Robb Stark, candidates Ladies Cersei and Catelyn would have been more than happy to promote.

'All in good time. All in good time. They’ll be quite surprised with the amount of patience a Tyrell learns to develop over the years. For now, I solely need to concentrate on getting to Steffon’s good side. And I am going to do that by making this day truly…unforgotten.'

Steffon…the mere thought of the Crown Prince made Margaery feel a hint of moisture in her underclothes. It’s not like she’s an airheaded maiden that looks for the Prince Charming from the fairytales, but Steffon certainly looks and acts the part quite well. Young, handsome, strong, smart, kind, driven, brave, rich. What’s not to like on him? What else could a young Lady ask for in a husband?

Margaery still remembered the day her betrothal to Prince Steffon was officially announced. She had to work long and hard, but she had done it:It all started after catching a glimpse of the jealousy Prince Hoster Baratheon, a potential suitor her father was considering for her, harbours for his more accomplished sibling. Margaery wasn't going to content herself with a second-born Prince when she could have the heir. And Hoster, wasn't going to let Targaryen blood find itself on the Iron Throne...

Together, Margaery and Hoster worked to ruin Daenerys reputation. Servants just so happened to hear of gossip regarding Daenerys' promiscious naure. About her willigness to expose herself, even about her being "too close" to her brother for comfort. And when the gossip reached the King's ears, whatever prospects Daenerys had of marrying the heir to the throne were gone from the window, leaving the position to somoeone more worthy for the job. Granted, in his rage, after finding out that it was Hoster the one who had started these rumours, Argilac made him marry Danaerys himself, but that wasn't of a concern to Margaery. Hoster kept his mouth shot and never revelaed her involvement in this plot. And most importantly, the position of a future bride to the Corwn Prince was oficially open.

The betrothal took place during a tourney in King’s Landing. King Argilac had arranged it as part of the celebrations for the Harvest Feast. And it was quite the event. The epitome of Westerosi chivalry fought in that tourney with skill and distinction. Eventually, it was down to Prince Steffon Baratheon and Ser Loras Tyrell to determine who would be the winner of the jousting competition. The melee had already gone to Prince Oberyn Martell and his skillful use of the spear, while the archery competition went to Maron Greyjoy. Eventually, Steffon managed to unhorse Margaery’s brother and he was proclaimed the joust’s champion. As a reward, apart from 50,000 golden dragons, Steffon was given a crown of yellow roses. A crown Steffon bestowed on Margaery.

Later that evening, at the ball organized by Queen Lysa, Steffon asked for Margaery’s hand in marriage. A proposal she agreed to almost immediately. After all, all the necessary details for the betrothal had already been hammered between their parents a few hours earlier, so nothing was coming out of turn. Yes. This was a story everyone would remember for many years. Gods, the look on Daenerys’ face the moment Steffon rode past her on his way to the Tyrell party and later on when he proposed to Margaery, was certainly an image worth remembering. On both cases, Margaery’s rival looked like she was forced to swallow an entire lemon in one go.

"Girls, I am ready. Time to show the Realm what it means to have a Tyrell for a future Queen." Margaery said as she was turning to face her Ladies with pride. Then, a knock on the door stopped this casual conversation.

"Margaery, are you ready?" This was Father’s voice. Elinor opened the door, revealing Lord Mace Tyrell. He was dressed up splendidly. A bright green ensemble, decorated with golden roses. Close to Margaery’s father, were her mother, Lady Alerie, her grandmother, Lady Olenna and her brother, Garlan. All of them dressed up in clothes fit for their House, with the exception of Garlan who was wearing his chainmail armor, shined to the smallest detail and decorated with the green and golden colors of House Tyrell.

"Always the gallant knight, aren’t you, Garlan?" Margaery teased her older brother.

|I am not taking any chances, little sister. Nobody is going to ruin your day if I have anything to say about it." Garlan replied before giving Margaery a hug. Then, he went to embrace his wife, Leonette.

"Father. I am ready." Margaery said confidently, while her father covered her with the family’s cloak.

"Darling, you look fabulous." Margaery’s mother, Lady Alerie Tyrell, said as she was hugging her daughter, barely being able to hold her tears.
Loras would have been so happy to see you like this. Mother said in between her sobs.

"Oh, enough with the tears already, Alerie. Our Margaery is just on her natural skin." Grandmother Olenna said, dismissing Lady Alerie’s outburst. She then approached her granddaughter and offered her left hand for her granddaughter to kiss.

"Dear, are you ready to show the stags how we, Tyrells, do things?"

"Yes, Grandmother. I am more than ready..."Margaery said as she was wrapping her father’s right around her own left.

Chapter Text

The Tyrell party made it to the Great Sept of Baelor within the hour. In its entrance, they found Sansa Stark and Cssana Baratheon waiting, surrounded by their own families. After some polite greetings and small talk, the group went inside the sept, where the grooms, Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon, Willas Tyrell and Ser Dickon Tarly were waiting.

As per usual, the nobles who were attending the wedding were sitting according to hierarchy and the relation they had to the royal family, with Lord Orys and Prince Hoster at the top. But what really caught Margaery’s attention was the mood of the royal couple: Margaery could see the pride and joy in the King’s face. Queen Lysa on the other hand, was looking like she didn’t even want to be here. Not in this occasion and most certainly she didn’t seem inclined to play along. The black dress she was wearing was a clear indication of that. A move that Margaery could see that was the cause of great discomfort for Steffon and great frustration for His Grace, even though father and son were desperately trying not to let these emotions become visible.

Another think that Margaery had noticed was Lord Stannis’ absence. Margaery knew that Steffon would be dissapointed. He was hoping that his uncle would have stayed to attend the wedding. But, after the proclamation of war was released, Lord Stannis was tasked with guarding the east coastline. A duty he thought best to oversee personally, instead of letting it at the hands of a subordinate. So, he said his farewells and left.

'Steffon will certainly be upset. Never understood how is it possible for someone to actually love the likes of Stannis Baratheon, but I suppose after growing up with him, you learn to appreciate, or even become fond of certain aspects of his character. In any case, looks like our dear Prince shall need some cheering up tonight.' Margaery though as she took position and knelt before the High Septon. It was then, when her father removed the Tyrell cloak Margaery was wearing and soon enough Steffon had it replaced with his own.

After the cloaking took place, each of the grooms took his bride’s right hand in his own left, making their fingers intertwine. The High Septon blessed the union and tied a ribbon in a knot around the joined hands of each couple, symbolizing the union. After that, the grooms and brides turned to face the crowd. Margaery could see the joy and pride in her parents’, grandmother’s and brother’s smiling faces. As for the Baratheons, the Tarlys and the Starks, they too were smiling, nodding and clasping in approval.

But the moment Margaery’s eyes landed on Lysa, Cersei and Daenerys, the young Lady Tyrell could see only…hatred.

'Let them brood all they want. There’s nothing they can do against you. Not if they want to guarantee their political, social and even literal survival. They are not married to the Crown Prince. You are. You are to bear and raise the next King. You have all the power, not them.' Margaery thought, as she steeled her stare. Not wanting to give her rivals any further notice, she turned her attention to the High Septon once more.

"In the sight of the Seven Who Are One, I seal these souls, binding them as one for eternity. Now looked at each other and say the words." The High Septon’s words broke Margaery from her negative thoughts.

Steffon, Dickon and Willas turned to face their wives.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days." The three men said for everyone to hear.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days." The three women replied.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my Princess and wife." Steffon and Dickon said to Margaery and Cassana.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my Lady and wife." Willas said to Sansa.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my Prince and husband." Margaery told Steffon.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you as my Lord and husband." Cassana and Sansa told Dickon and Willas.

Steffon cupped Margaery’s face with his hands, leaned in and kissed her. Not bad. Not bad at all. He had soft lips and he seemed to know what he was doing. Margaery could certainly make kissing her new husband quite a pleasant habit. With the corner of her eye, the new Crown Princess saw that Dickon did the same to Cassana and Willas to Sansa.

'Good. Things seem to be looking up. Sansa is my friend and as Lady of Highgarden, she and I are going to bind the North to our side. And Cassana will help keep the Tarlys content and away from oggling Highgarden. As for Talisa, I will have to work a little harder to bring her into the fold, but it’s nothing I can’t do. This should be enough to keep Cersei out of my business. I almost feel bad that the poor girl will have the Lioness breathing down her neck. Almost.'

Finally, the three couples faced the crowd, raising together their unwrapped hands high in the air.

"Your Graces, my Lords and Ladies, I present to you the Crown Prince and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms! The Princess of Westeros and her noble consort! And the heirs to Highgarden!"

The crowd cheered and clasped in applause. Margaery was very pleased with these developments. She earned herself a great reputation as a patroness of schools, hospitals and orphanages, she linked her name to innovation, her rivals are seemingly powerless and she’s now married to the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. The first step is conducted. Now it was time for the second one: the continuation of the Baratheon/Tyrell bloodline. A step Margaery was determined to see through at the end of the night.

The wedding feast inside Maegor’s Holdfast was at full swing by nightfall. Granted, the upcoming war, as well as Princess Minisa’s death was still looming in the atmosphere. So the whole affair was a…modest one. For royal wedding standards at least.

To be fair, Margaery liked Minisa. She was one of the first people she tried to get close to when she made herself at home in King’s Landing. In fact, Margaery had valid reasons to believe that Minisa got betrothed roughly at the same time, as a means of Lysa to stop them from getting too friendly with each other. Nonetheless, Margaery could understand how much Steffon was hurt that his twin sister couldn’t be here with them and she had done everything in her power to comfort him, after Minisa’s death.

No matter the initial heavy mood, this banquet was turning out as a success: It was providing a rare opportunity for everyone to forget their concerns and fears. Even for a little while. Everyone was helping themselves to the food or the drink, having a good time with the music and the dancing or by simply talking with some friends.

'I guess I have to thank Lady Catelyn for arranging for such good festivities. They’re indeed the perfect balance between mirth and modesty. Ideal for the current circumstances.'

The only person, who didn’t look like enjoying themselves, was Lysa, who appeared to be sipping through her fourth glass of wine. She was alone on her table, since Argilac thought it better to go and talk to the Maegyrs with Orys. Good riddance. It’s not like Lysa wanted her husband’s company at this point anyway.
Lysa was against hasting the marriage in the first place. If things were up to her, the marriage would have waited until the war was over and a proper mourning period for Minisa was served. But now, not only Lysa’s wishes and pleads had been ignored, but she had to put up with watching Margaery and Steffon laughing, feeding each other treats, gossiping and dancing. Seemingly without a single care in the world.

The mere sight of watching her son acting like the smitten fool next to this smirking harlot was enough to make Lysa want to crush her glass with her bare hands. This filthy wannabe managed to worm her way into striking distance from the throne. And what’s worse? There was absolutely nothing Lysa could do about it.

"Lysa."Catelyn and Edmure approached, wanting to keep their sister some company. But Lysa’s response took them completely by surprise.

"What do you want?" The Queen curtly murmured.

Edmure seemed like he was taken more aback by his sister’s rudeness.

"I…I thought that you would be happy."

"And why in the Seven Hells should I be happy?" Lysa sneered.

"Lysa, he is your son! Not to mention Catelyn’s daughter." The heir to Riverrun hushed, trying to avoid attracting attention to himself and his sister.

"Oh, yeah? I had a daughter too, Edmure. And she was ten times the woman and the lady this…thing will ever be! And yet I now have to put up with her calling me 'Mother', while my son will be spending his nights breeding it!" Lysa whispered back.

Lysa turned her eyes away from her siblings.

"Now leave me. Both of you. If you want to bother someone, go bother Sansa, who willingly partakes in this farce." Lysa spat venomously.

"Lysa…" Catelyn almost growled, not pleased to hear her daughter being insulted by her own aunt.

"Your Queen gave you a direct order, Lady Stark. Both of you. Leave me…" Lysa repeated menacingly, as she was gripping her glass tighter with her hand.

Seeing that they won’t be able to get through their sister at this point, Catelyn and Edmure left her to her own devices.

"Her time with Cersei has made her spiteful and arrogant." Edmure murmured in frustration.

"That thing started ever since she became the Lady of Storm’s End, Edmure. The moment serious power got into Lysa’s hands, she became insolent. I knew her betrothal to Argilac Baratheon would have been a bad idea, ever since Father decided in favor of it." Catelyn spat.

"Careful now, Cat. His Grace has nothing to do with Lysa choosing to be a bitch at the wedding of her own son." Edmure bit back.

As Catelyn and Edmure put some distance between themselves and Lysa, Daenerys took the opportunity to sit beside her mother-in-law.

"Look at her…acting like she owes the damn place. It should have been you over there, Daenerys."

Daenerys only nodded, clearly in agreement with the direction this discussion was taking.

"It would have the perfect match. The most logical outcome of this situation: after House Baratheon became the new royal House in Westeros, it would earn some much needed legitimacy by marrying its heir to a Targaryen Princess. I knew that, your mother knew that and Orys knew that." Lysa pressed on, making Daenerys nod. It was nice to know that she had such powerful allies to support her case.

"But unfortunately, it didn't come to be. Hoster...sometimes, I just can't understand what goes through that boy's mind. He had to go and ruin everything..."

"Argilac was furious when he found out about what happened."

"Is that why I end up in this position?" Daenerys pressed on, recalling the slight on her family's honour. In response, Lysa turned her head and glared at her.

"Don’t get me wrong, Your Grace, Prince Hoster is...striving to be a good husband and I am sure that I'll be fairly happy in Summerhall. But you said it yourself that you wanted me as Prince Steffon’s wife."

"Yes." Lysa said, quickly returning to the previous discussion. Apparently, she didn’t consider what Daenerys had said disrespectful. Just a genuine question.

"Orys insisted that while the additional lands and troops House Tyrell would be happy to provide, following Margaery's confirmed engagement to the Corown Prince, would indeed be beneficial, what House Baratheon really needed at this point was legitimacy. A legitimacy that could be given only through a marriage between a Baratheon Prince and a Targaryen Princess. Having Prince Viserys as the King’s own page and squire, as well as the marriage between my father and your mother, were good moves. But not good enough."

"But Argilac was adamant: Hoster ruined the match that was arranged, he'd be the one to set things right. And then, he got allies. Mainly Stannis and Renly."

"I am not surprised to hear about Renly siding with the Tyrells. Renly always had a soft spot for them. It must have been a side effect of his…close friendship with Ser Loras. What surprises me however is Stannis. Did he actually agree to it? I thought he hated the Tyrells." Daenerys added incredulously. She never had the opportunity to learn of the debate regarding hers and Steffon’s future. Until now. And she was going to extract every bit of information she could get from the drunken Queen.

"Oh, he does. More than you can ever imagine. In fact, I have valid reasons to believe that he instructed his children to represent the Stormlands in this event, instead of attending himself, because he wants nothing with the Tyrells." Plus, the war effort was a fine opportunity for him to steer clear from his wife. Not that she’d be thrilled of having him here anyway.

"Then why did he agree to Renly’s suggestion?" Daenerys asked, wanting for the discussion to stay in topic.

"Because he said that “House Baratheon didn’t just remove the Targaryens from their royal status, only to restore them in their previous status. If they want to reclaim that position, they’re going to work for it, like everyone else.”

"Besides, he added, House Baratheon would benefit more by adding new blood to its ranks. And stronger alliances wouldn’t hurt either. At this point, the only House who could provide both of these things was House Tyrell. After all, the Arryns didn’t have a suitable bride, the Greyjoys weren’t exactly the most appealing suggestion and the Martells already got a shot at the position of Queen through Elia Martell."

"You understand, my dearm that these developments were bonding well enough with Argilac’s grand plans about a secure Iron Throne and a new Westeros. A better Westeros as he fancies calling it." Daenerys nodded along, urging the drunk Queen to continue.

"This had to be one of the few times I ever saw Argilac and Orys butting heads this fiercely. Orys even suggested having you married off to his own son and heir, Aemon. A suggestion blocked by the King however. He insisted on punishing Hoster."

Daenerys only sneered in cold anger. Punishing Hoster was one thing. But indirectly punishing herself too? That wasn't fair.

"Instead, Cersei suggested that perhaps it would have been better if you were married off to the second-born Prince, Hoster and be given Summerhall as your own seat. That way House Baratheon was getting a marriage to the Targaryen Princess and was appeasing the Targaryen loyalists by restoring an ancient Targaryen relic.
As for the further…implications, Orys suggested that since this is the course of action that would be followed, perhaps we could consider the possibility of bringing the bloodlines of the two Baratheon Princes together through their children."

"You meant that once I have a daughter, we can arrange for her to get betrothed to Steffon’s son and thus link the Targaryen bloodline to the Iron Throne once more?" Daenerys asked Lysa with renewed interest.

"Yes. After all, as Orys said to my dear husband: 'It’s your job to think one move ahead. Mine is to think three.' I am not exactly sure of what did he mean by that, but then again, Orys had always been one strange person."

Unaware of the topic of discussion between their sister and Princess Daenerys, Catelyn and Edmure made it back to their table, where they were sitting with the rest of the Starks. It wasn’t like it was particularly far. Given that the Starks and the Tullys were blood relatives of the royal family, their table was next to the one occupied by the Baratheons and the Tyrells.

Only the newlywed couples were missing. Instead, they were sitting at the head of the table in the center, among the royal family.
Catelyn sat next to Ned and kissed him on the left cheek.

"How’s aunt Lysa, Mother?" Arya asked in concern. Next to her was sitting a 15 year old boy. He had olive skin, pale blond hair and dark blue eyes that appeared almost purple. He was Edric Dayne, nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

Perhaps this distinctive relation to the famous knight the Stark children grew up with, as well as the fact that Edric was Renly’s last squire, were what was making Arya a little more tolerant to him, than the other boys that trying to get close to her.

"I noticed that Her Grace was in a sour mood ever since the marriage ceremony. I hope it wasn’t about something we did." The young Dayne said.

Catelyn soothed her daughter’s friend.

"Oh, it’s nothing dear. She’s just…trying to deal with this whole situation. That’s all."

"Oh, quit being such a pussy, Ned. Aunt Lysa is in a bad mood all day. She’s spent the last month, making clear that she didn’t agree on having the marriage now, at every possible opportunity. I told you that when we had finally finished with Sansa’s preparations, she came in, gave her a long look from head to toe and then stared at her eyes, as if she had offended her."

"Certainly she’s not thinking that you have somehow offended her, right?" Young Edric insisted.

"No, child. Her Grace will return to her old self shortly. Personally, I can’t blame her for being upset. She has been through a lot lately, hasn’t she?" Lord Stark said, wanting to calm Edric’s concerns.

"Yeah. And besides, what’s done is done. It’s not like she can do anything about it." Arya said.

The young Stark then got up.

"I am tired of all this sitting. I want to dance."

She turned to her friend, Edric.

"Ned, are you going to take me to the dance floor or what?" She asked him impatiently.

Edric had been eager to comply. He took Arya by the hand and led her to the dance floor, the same time the newlyweds and several other partners were arriving too.

"Arya?!?" Sansa exclaimed surprised and at the same time amused.

"What? Just because I don’t like acting like the average Lady, it doesn’t mean that I can’t have some fun from time to time." Arya replied to her older sister with a wink.

The song then ended, signaling that the couples would have to switch once more. Arya after finishing dancing with Edric, found herself in Willas’ arms.

"Nice to see you again, Arya. Or should I start calling you sister now?" He said amicably.

"Let’s get one thing straight, pal. I already have more than enough brothers of my own. And you are not among them." Arya said bluntly.

"Oh, I am very sorry about…"

"I am not finished, Tyrell. My sister though…she likes you a lot. She respects who you are and what you’re doing. So, make sure that you treat her right. And you best not hurt her. Because if you do…I’ll take great pleasure in hurting you."

The dancing was finished soon after. The couples took their respective seats on their tables once more. Immediately, Margaery’s Ladies-in-waiting swarmed around her to praise her. How graceful she was dancing, how regal she was looking, how marvelous this marriage had been. Everything was fine and well until Lady Olenna decided to speak.

"Yes. This was indeed a great marriage. The current generation of House Baratheon does have a great love for arranging multiple marriages. I only hope that they have more…solitary habits in the bedroom."

That comment drew Lysa’s attention.

"What do you mean by that, you old hen? " he Queen growled. But, to her credit, Lady Olenna didn’t respond. In fact, she didn’t even flinch. She just stood there and stared in Lysa’s eyes with amusement.

"You think that I’d permit…orgies to take place in my palace? I raised my children to be devout followers of the Seven and that’s the only assurance you need."

Still, no response. It was almost as if Olenna was goading Lysa into this outburst. And everyone could see that. Except Lysa who was either too drunk, or too angry to pay heed to these signs. Instead, she slammed her right palm on the table and stood up red-faced.

"DON’T MAKE A FOOL OUT OF ME, YOU FUCKING HAG! I AM THE QUEEN AND I WILL BE RESPECTED! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?"

This was the last straw for King Argilac, who promptly stood up from his own seat and grabbed Lysa by the right arm.

"That’s enough, Lysa."

"I am not finished!" The Queen growled as she jerked her arm loose. Only for her husband to grab it once again.

"Yes, you are. Now, come with me."The King said firmly as he was escorting his wife out of the feast hall, followed by Ser Barristan.

The royal couple made it to their chambers and entered them.

"Barristan, you are to remain outside. Make sure nobody interrupts us. I need to have a talk with my wife. Things might get a bit heated, so I charge you to step in if you deem that the situation is spiraling out of control."

"As you command, Your Grace."

With that being said, Argilac led Lysa inside their bedroom.

"You were unbelievable. You know that? What kind of behavior was that?"

"Don’t think that you are in position to chastise me for my behavior, Argilac! Not after you are about to risk the lives of both of my sons on the battlefield! Not after you took Minisa and Renly away from me!"

"What did you say!?"

"You heard me! You sent Renly to his own death! And because of that, my Minisa was torn apart!"

Lysa slapped her husband on his left cheek and then she started hitting him on the chest with her fists.

"You did this! You did this!"

"Lysa, I know you’re in pain, but…"

"But nothing! Ever since I met you, Argilac Baratheon, I am in war! War against your vassals! Against your expectations! Even against my very self! I wasn’t made for the position of Queen and yet you forced me into it regardless!"

Lysa shoved Argilac.

"And I hate it! I hate you! Cursed be the day I met you, Argilac Baratheon!"

SLAP!

The first thing Lysa felt was a blazing fire on her left cheek. Then, her body being lifted by the shoulders and colliding with a hard surface. This collision, combined with the blazing pain was enough to remove the drunkenness out of Lysa’s system, because when she looked up to see her husband she was petrified.
Argilac’s face had turned red with fury. His blue eyes were shining as if he was about to unleash a thunder on her.

"If you weren’t my wife, I’d have had your life for that! You dare accuse me for killing our daughter?! My brother?! I’d have died for either of them and you know it!" The King roared.

Before Argilac could say anything else, Ser Barristan burst inside the room and pried him off Lysa.

"Your Grace, I must ask you to step away from the Queen. I’ll remind you that you charged me Yourself to stop this argument if things get out of control. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard said as he was getting between the King and Queen."

Argilac looked at Ser Barristan with unprecedented fury. But even in his fury, he knows better than to challenge the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy the Bold unarmed. He took a couple of steps backwards.

"I’ll go for a walk, Barristan. Nobody is to disturb me."

Argilac left behind his wife and the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard and started walking. Eventually, his steps led him to the throne room.
He stepped closer to the Iron Throne and sat on it, before closing his eyes in thought. Things seemed so simple, when he earned that throne on the battlefield, almost 20 years ago. The whole idea was quite straightforward: take the Iron Throne, make sure Westeros stands as unified and prosperous as possible and prepare for the Long Night Robert had shown him.

With his brothers, his advisors and Lysa by his side, Argilac felt like he could take on anything and anyone. To leave behind a better world than the one he was born to. But now, now that his dearest child is gone and his wife wants nothing to do with him? With a claimant coming knocking on his door? Argilac couldn’t be so sure. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

"I thought I’d find you here." A voice brought the King back to reality. Argilac opened his eyes. It was Orys.

"Orys. Good old Orys. Always there. You never give up on me." Argilac said with a sad smile.

"Brother. How did it go with Lysa?"

"Things got out of hand as soon as we went to our chambers. She accused me for endangering both of our sons. For sending Renly to his own death, like a lamb to the slaughter. For having Minisa killed."

"She…she cursed me for making her going through all this. For making her being in constant war against my vassals, my expectations and even her own self. That she was never made to be Queen and yet I forced that kind of life on her regardless."

"I am sorry about that, Argilac."

"Thanks, Orys. Honestly, I don’t know where she and I are standing now. Not after all this. I…I slapped her, Orys. And I wish that my hand was cut off that very moment."

Orys didn’t reply. Instead, the only thing he let out was a murmur: “ 'And to think that I went away for only a month.'

"Argilac, this is indeed awful. You shouldn’t have done that."

"I know. That was...that was no kingly." The King replied with a solemn tone.

"And that’s not all. Your overall behavior lately has been questionable at best. Taking Dragonstone from Daenerys and giving it to Steffon? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re planting the seeds for civil war deliberately. I know that things haven’t been great lately, but you really need to pull yourself back together and lead us through this crisis."

"As for Lysa, I think that the best you can do right now is to stay away from her. And talk things through after this Aegon is dealt with."

Argilac listened to what his brother had to say without interrupting him. He always relied to Orys’ input. After all, he had always been a person willing to tell him what he needs to hear, exactly how he must hear it.

"You’re right. I haven’t been myself lately. For now, we must focus on dealing with this pretender and his lackeys."

The arrival of a young courtier stopped the discussion between the two brothers.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but we’re ready for the bedding. We’re waiting for you to tell us to proceed."

"Yes, thank you, Walder. I’ll be right there." Argilac cut the courtier off and dismissed him, before returning his gaze to his twin.

"Please, Orys…don’t tell anyone about this. If anyone finds out, or thinks that I am no longer fit to be King…then it’s all over. Everything I’ve worked for…gone."

"There’s no need for you to be so dramatic, Argilac." Orys reassured his brother. "If a King was deposed every time he happened to argue with his wife, then monarchy would have been abolished in Westeros long before the Targaryens land on Dragonstone. But, if it makes you feel better, your secret is safe with me."

Argilac sighed, clearly relieved with what he’d heard.

"Thanks, Orys. I owe you. Again, again and again…" Argilac said, contemplating the various times Orys came forth to help him, as he left a mirthless laugh. He then stood up and headed for the banquet.

"See you around, brother…"

Chapter Text

Out of habit, Margaery's eyes opened at the crack of dawn. It was a habit strictly enforced into all residents of the red keep since day one.

For a while, the Golden Rose of Highgarden, still sleepy, couldn't understand where she was.

'And why am I naked?' she thought after inspecting herself and the rather... modest state she was into. Then, the realisation kicked in: yesterday she was married to Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon, heir apparent to the Iron Throne of Westeros. No longer Lady Margaery of House Tyrrell she was, but Margaery Tyrell, Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

To Margaery's dismay however, the husband in question is nowhere to be found. But there's a note on his pillow, that Margaery, curious picks up to read:

"There was trouble in the barracks outside the city. Headed there when I was informed of it. Meet you for luncheon.
Steffon."

Smirking at her husband's attempts to romance, Margaery got up from her bed and wore her training attire. It was time to head to the training yard for the morning exercise with the other ladies of the court. Navigating the corridors of the Red Keep, flanked by two Baratheon guards, Margaery made it to the training yard where she found the other female residents of the red keep waiting, ready to begin their morning workout under the supervision of Brienne of Tarth and her squire, Arya Stark.

Weapons practice, running, wrestling, archery, practice in unarmed combat, that was quite a diverse and broad exercise regiment. And it was expected to be followed by all able-bodied residents of the red keep: House Baratheon was actively ensuring that no woman coming from its stock or living under its roof shall suffer the same fate as Princess Elia Martell: to be raped and murdered because she was unable to defend herself without a man to protect her.

"Swing to the left! More solid footwork when blocking! Come on, ladies, you need to do better than that!" Brienne's voice bellowed across the yard. The Maiden of Tarth proved herself a strict and demanding taskmaster that wasn't taking anyone's status to consideration when it came to disciplining flaws in form, break up fights or ensuring that the yard was being ran smoothly during practice. She had strict orders from the King himself on that matter and the authority to speak with his voice when the womenfolk was training. Outranking even the Queen herself if needed be.

Speaking of the Queen, Lysa Tully wasn't anywhere to be seen during the entirety of the training session.

'Probably sulking somewhere in her chambers, following the fallout with the King yesterday. Good. One less erratic person to deal with this morning.' Margaery thought as she was tidying up her gear after such a thorough workout. Now, a nice warm, relaxing bath was in order.

Margaery returned to her chambers to find the bath prepared by the servants. After she had cleaned herself up and changed in a fresh attire, today selected and prepared by Margaery's own cousin, Elinor Tyrell, she had some breakfast. Now, she was finally ready to join the other ladies of the court for the embroidery session.

Normally, this session was used to produce embroidery artwork that would be donated or sold to philanthropic auctions with the funds being used to support the Faith in its quest to help as many people in need as possible. Now, with the upcoming war upon them, on Lady Catelyn Stark's initiative, production was altered on more practical terms: now and for the duration of the war, the Red Keep will be among the establishments to produce clothes, socks, gloves, bandages, pieces of cloth that can be sewn together to form tents, banners to raise the soldiers spirits and other things useful to the war effort.

And of course during that time, this was the perfect opportunity for the women, particularly the younger ones to gossip.

"And then, I said: darling, I'm sure five times are enough, are you trying to break a new record?

And then he asked: 'well, my dear, what is the record? I'm sure we can break it.'" Margaery laughed with her cousins and friends after she was asked how was her wedding night to the Prince.

This is when the more senior ladies of the court joined in: the doors were opened revealing Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell, Lady Cersei Baratheon of King's Landing and Lady Olenna Tyrell from Highgarden. Immediately, the new blood took a more serious stance.

"Grandmother." Margaery beamed before approaching to hug Lady Olenna. Then, she exchanged a nod with ladies Catelyn and Cersei. The senior ladies were quick to respond with a curt nod before taking their respective seats. The lesser they'd have to deal with this insolent upstart the better.

“Good morning, “Your Royal Highness”,” the Queen of Thorns smiled. “Slept well?” she whispered with a wink.

“Very well, thank you, Gangan”.

“Ah, but not TOO well, I hope? If I bride sleeps well on her wedding night, it only means one thing- that her husband’s a bore in bed!”

"Nonsense, Grandmother. His Highness proved himself as attentive and virile as it's expected from a Baratheon. Remember we're talking about a young man who has the blood of Robert Baratheon, Brandon Stark and Tyrion Lannister running through his veins."

Looking around for a second, Margaery leaned closer to her grandmother.

"Haven't seen the Mad Fish all day. Has it anything come to your attention?" She asked with a whisper, careful not to get caught, especially not by Sansa or Catelyn.

“None, my petal. I heard about some trouble near Flea Bottom, though…”

"Some of the guards were speaking about it too." Talisa Baratheon joined the conversation.

"Something about three drunken soldiers getting into a fight over a prostitute and killing a comrade who tried to break things up and help the girl out. Only to rape and kill her afterwards."

"The Crown Prince, as the commander in chief of the army rode down there this morning with Prince Aemon to deal with this matter personally." Sansa added.

"He was not pleased..."

"That's horrible." Margaery said. "What those monsters did to that girl and the soldier who tried to protect her was a terrible crime. I'm sure that His Highness will deliver proper justice."

“Eh, young fool. Should’ve stayed well out of it… or sent one of his men to tend to it”. Olenna dismissed the issue.

"There's no reason for you to worry about their Highness's safety, Lady Olenna." Talisa said. "Both of them are perfectly capable of looking after themselves."

“But why take the risk, on today of all days?”

"Grandmother, I'm sure that everything is under control." Margaery said. She then took Olenna's arm in her hand.

"And besides, if my dear husband was to be doing everything right all the time, he wouldn't be having the opportunity for some bonding time with the legendary Queen of thorns, would he?" She japed.

"I suppose that's true. After all, these Baratheons are known for being quite thickheaded." Olenna laughed and the rest of the ladies were quick to join.

Soon, came the time for the court's session to begin and the ladies started disbanding, with Olenna staying behind. Something about these "stubborn old bones being more feisty than they used to be."
She took the opportunity to have Margaery along too.

Soon, grandmother and granddaughter entered the antechamber.

“It’s beneath the boy’s dignity”.

“What is?”

“This business with the whore”.

“Grandmother… A young girl has been violated and murdered on the streets of the royal capital. How on Earth can you say that that is beneath Steffon’s dignity?”

“Street scuffles at a brothel in Flea Bottom should be beneath the dignity of the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms… and a bride groom! Instead of securing his dynasty, where is he? Crossing swords with cutthroats in Flea Bottom over some dead trollop and a foolish boy who wanted to play the hero!”

"You know how fixed these Baratheons are when it comes to justice, grandmother. Lord Stannis teachings run strong in them. Though from what I understand, the culprits were already arrested and Steffon just went to deliver the punishment. It is his duty as the commander in chief of this army, after all."

“His duty first and foremost, as the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, is to secure his line! Argilac taking both of his sons with him to the field, when neither of them has fathered heirs! Madness! Madness and stupidity!”

"And he will, grandmother. He will. We still have the one more day ahead of us before he rides off to battle."

“Just make sure you do,” Olenna frowned, sliding a small bag across the table.

"What are these?" Margaery asked.

“I’ve spoken to my maester about them. They’re special herbs which will… help the process along. Lord Renly's wife still thanks me for giving those to her because without them, she'd still be as untouched as the day she was born. Make yourself some tea with them before you go to bed tonight."

"Shall I prepare some for him too?" Margaery asked, understanding the assignment.

“Certainly. Very prudent, my dear,” Olenna smiled.

"I've learnt from the best..."

"Now, let's get to the throne room. I'm looking rather forward to hearing what your new father-in-law has to say..."

"Between him and Father, I'm sure you'll be having the time of your life, grandmother." Margaery laughed as she helped Olenna to the throne room.

Chapter Text

"Your Highness, please!" A single swing of the sword was enough to cut the rope, open the gallow's floor and leave the three rapists and murderers that were caught this morning to hang until death in full view of the gathered army.

Then, Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon addressed his troops:

"If I were speaking to men going to war for the first time, I might struggle to persuade you that justice can be our greatest ally in obtaining victory."

"For those who don't understand the fortunes of war, think the outcome depends on strength alone..."

"But you, I think, know that while it is men who do the fighting, it is the Gods who judge the contest."

This is how the Young Stag was warning the troops that he'll never turn a blind eye to the crimes committed by any footman or officer of this army. And he concluded:

"I shall not embrace any of you as my comrade, no matter how fierce to the enemy or loyal to the dynasty, unless his or her hands and soul are clean."

"This should probably keep them quiet until we march off tomorrow. What do you think?" Steffon asked his cousin as they were riding back to the Red Keep.

“Fine,” Aemon smiled.

"To be totally honest, I'd much rather to be with my wife than dealing with these curs, but it had to be done this way."

"You did well, Stef. And the soldiers won't stoon forget what happened this morning. As for Lady Margaery, or should I say Princess Margaery now," Aemon said with a theatrical bow ", I think that you got thoroughly acquainted yesterday. Five times from what I understand?" He teased, only to earn himself a playful shove by his cousin.

"It's not my fault that the lady is totally smitten." Steffon teased back. "Maybe you should have Talisa to ask Margaery her secret. I heard that you slowed down to just two times per day. Sounds like trouble in heaven."

Smiling embarrassed, Aemon shoved Steffon.

"If you survive this war, I'm going to kill you."

"I accept those terms."

At the gate of the Red Keep, the two cousins found Lord Orys awaiting for them.

"Father." Aemon greeted, smiling.

"Aemon." Orys greeted back. “We should be getting back to the palace, Your Highness.” The Black Lion grunted. “Your father is expecting us”.

On that remark, Steffon scowled.

"Best get on with it then. I'm sure that he'll want an explanation for why I was nowhere to be found this morning..."

"How has he been this morning, uncle?"

Orys didn't respond right away.

"He's been... better." That's all he said.

The three Baratheons soon found themselves in the council chamber where the King was awaiting with his advisors.

"Well, look at that. My heir has finally decided to join us."

"Forgive me for missing out the morning report, Father, but there was an incident this morning and I had to deal with it."

"I know, I know. Lord Reed isn't my Master of Whisperers for nothing! Good riddance to these rapists. And a nice speech too. Huh! You see, gentlemen? The boy knows how to play the commander and the judge." The King let out a mirthless laugh, making the other councilors to nod. Some more nervously than others.

Steffon didn't rise to the jab. He could see that his father is not in the mood for jokes. And...was that wine in his cup? Father never drinks that early in the morning. Especially with important matters at hand.

"Father, you think that...?"

"Lord Tarly. Your final report. Is the amassed army ready to march tomorrow?" Argilac interrupted Steffon, never even bothering to look at him.

"Very much so, Your Grace. The northern armies shall be joining us upon reaching the randevou point but the army's core is ready to mobilise."

"Good. The lads have been growing restless lately. Stannis fleet patrols the eastern coast. His latest report indicates that he's caught wind of Aegon's navy close to the Stepstones. The sooner he crushes the bulking of the landing force and we pick off what lands, the sooner this foolishness shall come to an end." The King declared. Bravado instead of caution. A bravado increasing with each sip.

Argilac finally downed his entire cup and gestured it to his squire, demanding he refills it. The lad hesitated for a moment but after seeing the King's thunderous expression, he was quick to obey.

"Father, with respect, I don't believe that..."

Argilac slammed his cup on the table, shattering upon impact.

"When you sit on that bloody throne, boy, you get to do what you believe is right! Until then, your job is to shut your mouth and do as you were told!" The King roared as he got up from his seat.

“Brother, this isn’t---“

“Your Grace!” Argilac stated back.

“Your Grace…" Orys said, raising his hands, showing Argilac that he poses no threat. "...might we speak with you in private?”

Swallowing his fury, Argilac turned to his advisors.

"We're done here. Get out, all of you." Soon, the brothers are left on their own.

“Being a little hard on the lad, don’t you think?”

In response, Argilac inhaled sharply, trying to keep himself in cheek.

"I'm as hard with him as I should. I appointed Steffon in the office he has in order to redeem himself from the trial fiasco. Never to question me."

“He’s your son, Argilac. Give the boy a rest from all your bloody orders,” Orys smiled, punching his older brother on the shoulder playfully.

To Orys dismay however, Argilac swatted his brother's arm off.

"The boy will do well to remember where he stands. You know I'm starting to think that perhaps I made a poor choice when it comes to his childhood companions."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Orys growled, not liking the implications his brothers was making.

"It's not supposed to have a secret meaning, Orys! I'm telling you clearly, right in your face, that your son is a bad influence for mine!"

“You’d do well to watch that mouth of yours when you talk about my son!" Orys thundered. "All this “Your Grace” tripe doesn’t prevent me from remembering who you are and where you come from, and I’m still big enough and strong enough to put you on your arse. You understand that, Your Grace?"

"Huh! I'd love to see you try..." Argilac sneered.
"I won't stick to the matter for long: from now on, you will keep your son away from mine."

“I hate to burst your bubble, sweet brother, but Steffon isn’t just another one of your bloody Gold Cloaks! He’s your son! He’s supposed to do more than just march to your tune!"

“The boy will do well to remember where he stands”.Seven Hells, Argilac, do you even hear yourself? How proud and stupid you sound? You’re the son of an old stormlands house, not Aerys the mad king come again! Who are you to be giving anybody orders? Hoster, making him feel even more worthless than his worthless father. The boy is the lost cause he is, basically a reincarnation of our late brother, because he was made to believe that no matter what he does, he'll never live up to the example, much less the expectations you place on him, so why even bother trying to begin with?

Steffon? Chastising him like some whipping boy, when all the lad wants is to please you. Minisa…”

“DON’T YOU SAY HER NAME!!!” Argilac roared, rising up from his chair, clutching his sword firmly in hand. For a moment the King looked like he was about to slaughter his own brother on the spot.

Orys got quiet for a moment and then it dawned on his brother.

“That’s it… That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Your guilt for what you did to Minisa. The way you got that sweet child into a marriage that killed her… that’s why you’re lashing out at all those who love you best, because you can’t live with yourself for being the reason that girl is dead. That her husband mourns over the love of his life being in an early grave. That their son will grow up without a mother. You can't live with the fact that it was your ambition that killed your daughter!”

"Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!!!"

"Say what you want about Aemon, Argilac, but I didn't smother him. I didn't make him think that in order to be successful, he needs me to hold his hand or him crossing things with me every five bloody minutes! He is the way he is because I learnt to trust him! Something you were never able to earn! You didn't trust me at the battle of Trident not to support Rhaegar over you, just like you refuse to trust your own son now!"

"And of course everything comes back to the high and mighty Rhaegar, doesn't it?" Argilac found the nerve to strike back.

"I am your blood, Orys! Father asked you to support me, to support your King!"

"Rhaegar was blood too back then, Argilac. You weren't our King at the time and roaring it to the Heavens won't make you so. Father asked me to help you so you can be worthy of leading the stormlands alone and that was it!"

"And how can I keep on proving my worth when you keep on undermining every decision I make?"

"Because you make bad decisions, Argilac!"

"That's rich coming from you. You who wanted to befriend the Targeryens even though they were responsible for our parents death, you who wanted to have a Great Council for your precious Rhaegar to have a chance not to lose his throne, you who got two of our brothers killed!"

The accusation hit Orys like an avalanche. When he opened his mouth to speak, he almost sounded like a lion growling.

"Robert and Renly..." Orys said ominously quiet, "would never have been in danger in the first place, if you hadn't INSISTED ON PUTTING THEM THERE!"

"And now I'm leaving before I say or do something that I'll regret!" Orys declared before getting up to leave.

"Where do you think you're going? Your King didn't give you permission to leave!"

"I'm taking it myself! Find someone else to call your dog! For over 20 years I've played this game. I'm done!"

Chapter Text

"Fucking hell, Father certainly did go overboard this time." Steffon said, standing next to Aemon as they hear their respective fathers arguing.

"OUT, DAMN YOU! I'M DONE WITH YOU! GO, RUN BACK TO VOLANTIS! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A SPIKE!" The King's voice was heard, thundering across the corridor.

"I'LL PUT IT THERE MYSELF, YOU FOOL! YOU THINK YOU'RE TOO GOOD FOR US, TOO SMART AND CUNNING! THIS IS A WAR!"

Following that particularly vicious scream, the doors opened, revealing Lord Orys storming outside the council chamber, utterly furious. He just bypassed Steffon and Aemon without even noticing them. Immediately the two younglings ran after him.

"Uncle!" Steffon called out, almost having to run to catch up to the Black Lion as he marched through the keep.

“Why did I have to be the one to come out AFTER that dumb cunt?” the Black Lion growled, before he turns to notice his son and nephew trying to keep up with him.

"A question that tormented many bright minds over the centuries, father. I'm sure of it." Aemon said, trying to lighten the mood. Earning an unexpected huff of laugh from his father.

"Father certainly overstepped, uncle. I'm sorry that you had to take the beating because of me." Steffon said.

“I’ve taken worse, lad. Don't mind your good ol' uncle, he can take care of himself..." Orys smiled, mussing his nephew’s hair. “I only wish it had ended the same way it did when we were children… with his arse on the floor and my knee on his chest!”

"Well, Father, I suppose that you could always get your chance after we return from the war and Uncle Argilac has blown off some steam on whoever poor bastard this so called Aegon sends in front of him."

"In the meantime, I suppose that you'll stay here in King's Landing while we're be gone, right, uncle?"

“Stay here with this prick?!! Not bloody likely, boy! I’m off to Casterly Rock and then I’m heading straight home to Storm’s End! Maybe even return to Volantis, as your father so eagerly urged me too." Orys declared.

Inwardly panicking, Steffon turned to Aemon. Now his eyes are screaming:
"Uncle Orys is fucking leaving!" Regaining his nerve, the Crown Prince said:

"Uncle, you remember that Father is riding off to battle with me and Hoster, right? You won't get to see him at all during the entire campaign. Right, Aemon?"

"Yes, Kepa." Aemon added. "And besides, aunt Lysa could certainly use some family around from the men of the family. With the King, us and uncles Ned and Edmure marching off with us and Uncle Stannis off to the sea, that only leaves you."

“What happened at that banquet with the Tyrells, anyway?” Steffon asked. “I haven’t see them together since…”

At that remark, Orys’s face darkened.

'Maybe the boys are right.' The Lord of King's Landing thought. 'My brother had committed a terrible sin against his wife and now he is leaving before they could put it behind them. And who knows if he'd get to return… Perhaps it would be a kindness to stay around and hold Lysa's hand through this. She would have done the same for me and Cersei after all.'

“I don’t want to talk about it, boy." Orys told his nephew. "But…mind your mother! Make sure you go see her before you leave King’s Landing."

"Certainly. With the prospect of all three of us leaving, her nerves lie in tatters. I had once heard her saying that it's a good thing that Father decided against taking you and Aemon along, because at this rate she'd think that he's simply positioning Uncle Stannis for the throne."

“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint your father, lad, but Stannis has got enough on his plate at the moment with these sellsails, pirates and slave traders he's tasked with hunting down… but, if it makes you feel better, once your mummer of a father’s left, I’ll stick around to keep an eye on things."

"Thank you, uncle." Steffon beamed happily.

“Just look after yourself and make sure that you and your brother stick close to your father, alright? He may be a cantankerous old bastard but he knows his way around a battlefield”.

"Will do. And this imposter who defiles the name of Aegon shall meet his due."

Soon after, Lord Orys leaves. Considerably calmer than before. But not before he left a warning lingering in the air.

"This will be the last time I let my fury die out. Let the King know that. And I'm doing it solely for your sake and your mother's, Steffon."

"Phew, one problem solved..." Steffon told his cousin.

"I know, right? Father can certainly be quite terrified when his blood is high." Aemon said.

Just as their eye caught the figure of Arya Stark coming towards them.

"On to the next disaster now..." Aemon murmured.

Chapter Text

"Is it official? The army is leaving tomorrow?" Arya asked as she stopped her trotting.

"At the crack of dawn." Steffon replied flatly. The sooner the defiant pup was out of his way, the better.

"Good. I'm going to go prepare my things..." Arya said before turning to leave. Only for Steffon to stop her by catching her arm.

"Woah, woah. Things? What things?"

"My gear, Steffon. I'm coming to fight with you." Arya stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Is Brienne of Tarth among the Kingsguard escorting the king and his sons to war?" Aemon asked.

"No, she's not. I'm coming regardless." Arya said.

"Sorry, Arya, but if Brienne's not coming, you're not going anywhere." Steffon said flatly. "In case you've forgotten, Arya , you're her squire. And a squire doesn't abandon their sworn knight."

Arya didn't take kindly at being told no. With a yank, she released her arm from her cousin's grip.

"I wasn't asking your permission."

"Nor was I debating, Arya." Steffon countered, trying to imitate his father's imposing style. "I'm this army's commander-in-chief in case you've forgotten. And I say you're staying put. You've put me in enough trouble already, after the stunt you had pulled at the trial..."

"Trouble? If you had bothered to actually help my father and Theon at the trial, like you had promised, there wouldn't have been any trouble!"

"It's not like I could have helped anyone, after your tantrum had me suspended from the jury!"

"Alright, alright here, children, now the grown-up is gonna clean up." Aemon said, getting between the two cousins before they could keep on screaming at eachother.

"Steff, we get it, you got screwed over. But you should have known that when you decided to get overboard."

"But I was just trying to help!"

"And we're all grateful for that. You're a good man. But goodness alone doesn't fix messes."
"And as for you, Arya..." Orys's son said as he turned towards his Stark cousin “... this isn’t the time, place or way to be proving your family’s honour. Lord Stark’s honour requires no proof and this is to be a hard, desperate campaign. You want to join this campaign? You should either petition His Grace to allow you to join the expedition… or return to your family and await new instructions."

"No, I will not! My father is riding off to war and Robb and Jon will soon join him. Bran too. And I'll ride with them too, wether you like it or not!"

“Unless you want to be thrown in a dungeon, Arya, you will not do anything of the sort,” Aemon growls, finally losing his patience.
"In case you've forgotten, His Grace's patience with you is running very thin. Do you really need to aggravate him more?"

“You say you want to be of service to your House and to your King? Fine! Then learn the first lesson of the soldier: follow orders, like we learnt how to!”

Arya pouted. Seeing his cousin in distress, Aemon gave her a hug.

"Arya, I know you wish to go with the King and us. To watch your father's back, your brothers' back, your cousin's back."

"Yours too."

"Ours too." Steffon chuckled, patting his cousin on the head, before Arya swats his hand off her hair. "You want to protect us. And that sentiment honors you . But we will have Grey Wind and Ghost and Summer with us too. Not to mention the likes of Ser Barristan Selmy fighting beside us. Trust me, we have all the protection we need."

Arya opened her mouth to protest but Steffon interrupted her smoothly, "but your mother doesn't. Sansa doesn't. Neither does Margaery or Talisa. Use what you have learned to protect your mother and your sister, for they have no one here as fierce as you to guard them."

Arya's eyes watered, and she nodded before quickly rushing to hug him fiercely.

"I'll try."

Steffon held her closely and whispered quietly in her ear. "That is all I can ask..."

Arya soon left, leaving the two cousins alone.

"You think that she's finally got it?" Steffon asked his cousin.

"Unless someone goads her into doing something utterly foolish, I think that she does."

"I sure hope so. For everyone's sake." Steffon said ominously.

"Quite. Now, if you don't mind, I have a rather vivacious wife waiting for me and I have every intention of spending the rest of my day with her. You should see to it that you do the same with yours..."

"Spoken like you're not planning on coming back, cousin." Steffon teased Aemon as they were parting.

"Who knows? I might be. I'd certainly get less troubles to deal without you lot busting my balls." Aemon called back laughing

"Fewer, Aemon. Fewer. You want Uncle Stannis to come all the way from whatever sea he has found himself into to get you that lesson in grammar?"

"Nah, keep wherever he is!"

Chapter Text

Deciding to pay heed on his cousin's recommendation, Steffon finished with his remaining tasks swiftly. After inspecting the armory to make sure that the equipment set for transportation was packed and ready to move at dawn, as well as having some brief talks with some officers about tomorrow's deployment, he found a courtier of his household and requested informs Princess Margaery that he's heading to their chambers. Luncheon was finally upon them and he was looking forward to it...

The girl found Margaery as she had just finished with her visits to various orphanages around the city. Inspecting the quality of the care and education provided to these children, donating money and other necessities and even trying their food.

"Your highness. Crown Prince Steffon has sent word. He's on his way to have lunch with you."

"Perfect, Lisa." Margaery beamed. "Please, inform the servants that they can start setting up the table."

Soon enough, the table was ready. A three course meal, consisting of a plate of lentil soup as an appetizer, roasted boar for the main course and figs for desert, accompanied by boiled water and watered wine. Courtesy of the healthy lifestyle the Baratheon family is currently practising.

Margaery was quick to supervise the preparation of the table and thank the servants in earnest before dismissing them. Not having servants in private meals was something Margaery was still trying to get used to, but Steffon always preferred to serve himself during such meals. Courtesy of the humble upbringing he and his siblings were brought up in.

'Isolating perhaps, but it certainly helps protect someone from prying eyes and ears.' Margaery thought before preparing a portion of the herbs her grandmother had given her: adding them to the goblets with the still warm boiled water before stirring the potion with a small spoon. Lady Olenna was very clear about the dosage and the usage: small doses dissolved in drink or spread in food. Anything more and there's the risk of side affects such as dizziness, fatigue, sleepiness, insomnia, agitation, and confusion. 

And Margaery was fast to follow these instructions to the letter. Once she deemed that this new tea had been prepared, she collected the leaves and disposed of them.

'Now, everything is ready.' The Golden Rose of Highgarden thought. And just in time, for another courtier arrived to inform her that her husband had arrived.

"Margaery..." Steffon greeted his wife with a hug before kissing her tenderly on the lips

"Good to see you too, my love. I hope that your day has been favourable to you."

"Now that I see you, it definitely is..." Steffon said with a smirk, before taking a seat by the table.

The newlywed couple had its lunch in good fashion and exchanged news about how their respective day has been. But it would seem that Margaery's plans to ensure the conception of the next heir to the Baratheon dynasty were to be thwarted all over again. For when she had confirmed that the herbs had taken affect, just as she and Steffon were about to get busy (on top of the very table no less) a knock on the door came to interrupt them.

"I was not to be disturbed." Steffon called out, refocusing on his wife. But the knock came back more insistent.

"I was NOT to be disturbed!" Steffon roared in fury that his "bonding time" with his wife was interrupted. In response, a letter was thrown through the door, sliding at Steffon's feet.

Growling in frustration, the Prince untangled himself from Margaery, took the letter and read it. Upon finishing it, he started getting dressed.

"Wait, where are you going?" Margaery asked, trying to hide her own frustration and even her emerging lust. For the herbs had been just as effective to her as they had been to Steffon.

"I'm sorry but I need to leave. Something has come up and I need to address it quickly." He said before kissing his wife farewell and leaving.

Once alone, growling in frustration, Margaery threw the standing dishes off of the table. The sound brought Lady Mira Forrester and Margaery's sister-in-law, Lady Leonette Fossoway into the room.

"Your Highness are you alright? We heard commotion and..."

"It's fine! I'm fine!" Margaery said. Perhaps more sharply than she was going for because she changed her tune soon.

"Apologies, I don't know what came over me, please let me help you with the clean-up." She said before settling down to help the two girls clean up the room. Regardless of what happened, it must have been serious for Steffon to leave like that. No matter. This issue would be resolved. And then, Margaery would get the Baratheon heir her family needs to secure Tyrell dominion over Westeros

Chapter Text

Marching in hastiness, still holding the letter he had received in hand, Steffon went straight for Aemon's chambers, whom he entered, without even bothering to either knock or address the guards stationed outside. Only to come across Aemon and Talisa being "busy" just like he and Margaery had been but a few minutes ago.

The welcoming the Crown Prince got to receive?

"Steff, what the fuck!?" Lord Orys's son shouted before throwing a pillow straight onto his cousin's face. Guess that what happens when you get inside a room uninvited and catch a recently wed couple in the...act.

"Sorry, sorry.. shall I wait outside, until you... finish your job." Steffon said

"Yeah, we'd appreciate it. Thank you." Aemon said.

A few minutes later Steffon was summoned in the chambers. He took a seat where Talisa gestured, exchanging an awkward nod with her. Aemon soon joined them. After smacking his cousin at the back of the head for ruining their moment

"For being an idiot." He told his cousin, before sitting by his wife. "You interrupted us, Steffon. I hope you have a good reason."

"Indeed, I do." Steffon said, handing over the note he had brought with him to his cousin. Aemon took the note and began reading with Talisa. The note sent to Steffon by the Sparrows was indeed a matter of concern. Lord Orys has been mentioning them and their leader, the High Sparrow fairly often in the recent council meetings. Word was that these were religious people, faithful followers of the Seven, and low ranking officials of the clergy, initially formed to offer relief to those who were affected by the demands of the war effort.

But in more recent times, word was that they were getting increasingly restless. Even going as far as to seek audiences with the King, demanding the restoration of the old traditions, prerogatives and privileges the Faith was enjoying and whose traditions, prerogatives and privileges Argilac Baratheon had limited, altered or abolished during his reign. Even going as far as to demand the restoration of the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows. Argilac refused to grant these requests.

"Lord Orys has been speaking about these sparrows quite frequently lately, hasn't he?"Talisa asked her husband after Aemon put the note on the desk.

“Yes, they’re fanatics… His Grace put the majority of their like-minded patrons to the shadows when he came to the throne, but people like that, come back like weeds."

"And now, they're after me." Steffon said. "What could they possibly hope to achieve?"

“Try and get at the King through you, I suppose." Aemon suggested. “You’re not going to agree to the meeting, are you?”

Steffon pondered over Aemon's question. Should he meet with these sparrows or should he ignore their invitation? Sure , it is dangerous, but isn't a king's duty to listen to his people even if what they say displeases him? Couldn't it be that at least some of their grievances are justified and worth consideration? And in any case, isn't an heir's duty to show a unified front with his King?

For all his flaws, King Argilac Baratheon always listened to what others had to tell him, even if he at times disagreed with the proposed ideas and offered solutions of his own instead. So how could Steffon behave any differently?

"I think that we should at least hear them out before settling this matter. They must understand that the heir to the Iron Throne, indrrsbdsyhjo stands by the King." Steffon said.

"Even if that's the case, you're not seriously going to go alone there, aren't you?" Talisa asked.

"Of course not." Steffon said. "We will take precautions as needed. But I'd like you Aemon to come with me. You've always been better at these things than me."

“I would be honoured, Your Highness… but strongly advise against it! These lunatics might very well be trying to lure us into the open in order to take you hostage and use you as leverage to force the King’s hand!”

"Then these fools would have doomed themselves for Father would hunt them down and kill them all. It's not in their interest to harm me, because they are obsessed with purity and virtue. Who are they going to have to expect on the throne in the case I get hurt by them? Hoster who is little better than a drunken man whore? Uncle Orys who they despise as a 'heretic?' This meeting needs to go on smoothly and they know it."

"And in any case, a Baratheon doesn't cower behind walls. He meets his rivals."

Chapter Text

It was in the hour of ghosts (midnight) where the two Baratheon Princes and a group of fifteen guards from the Red Keep were seen approaching the Great Sept of Baelor, to meet with the sparrows. Both Steffon and Aemon were left completely unimpressed by the welcoming committee: dark, dusted, dirty robes, the Seven-Pointed-Star carved onto the foreheads of most of them, brandishing weapons. Mostly clubs that'd probably do little damage against well armoured knights like those escorting the two Princes but the hostile gesture was evident...

“Tight grip on those swords, Your Highness,” Aemon Baratheon whispered to his cousin as they approached the Sparrow sentries, earning himself a nod.

“Your swords, please,” the lead sentry grunted, “This is a place of worship, not violence. A place where even Princes bow as humbly as their very subjects."

“You tell your High Sparrow that either we keep our swords or he can forget about his meeting with the Crown Prince. Unless you'd like to hand over your weapons too." Aemon growled. Steffon nodded, in gratitude for his cousin's intervention. The lead sentry and his cohorts didn't take kindly to this act of defiance and the mood between the two parties quickly began to sour. But then, everything changed: A figure emerged from the sparrow "flock." He was a small man with a lean, sharp face that was heavily lined. Scrawny and thin as a broom handle, he looked half-starved.

He was wearing a threadbare septon's robe and crystal on a thong about his neck and he was barefooted. But you could see an iron will behind those eyes. Indicating a man used in getting his way.

"You stand before the High Sparrow, the One on who the Gods speak." One of the sparrows declared with reverence.

"And you stand in the presence of the Crown Prince Steffon Baratheon, son of kings Argilac Baratheon and heir apparent to the Iron Throne." One of the guards said on the same tone, making the ĺ clutch the weapons they were holding in hand more tightly. Only for both sides to stand down when their respective leaders raised a hand, forcing the belligerent followers to behave themselves.

“Speak your piece, septon. And speak it quickly, for His Highness departs the capital on the morrow to defend the Seven Kingdoms from the traitors and villains that wish to do them harm." Aemon declared to the room.

"And this is exactly why we need him now, child." The high sparrow said in a manner he was making it sound so... paternal.
"Normally, it is the father who shows the path to his son. But sometimes it is the son who needs to remind the father of the ways of the gods."

"And what could I possibly remind my father that he doesn't know already? After all, he's been ruling these kingdoms well and faithfully for almost two decades, when I was but a babe or a child in the meantime." Steffon said.

"I imagine this is strange for you, my Prince. Everyone you meet has a hidden motive and your uncle prides himself on sniffing it out. But I'm telling you a simple truth: I serve the Gods. And the Gods demand justice."

“The asylums, poorhouses and orphanages around the city are full of men and women who claim to serve the Gods. So I still struggle to see what exactly makes you and your pack any more pious than these people are." Aemon smirks, provoking a united growl from the surrounding Sparrows.

“Why should we believe you?”

"You will speak to the High Sparrow with the proper respect, Prince Aemon." A septa approached, point her index accusingly at the young man

"He's been travelling throughout Westeros preaching about the Seven and believing in us when nobody else did. He spoke out against overindulgence and cruelty! He..."

"It's alright, Unella." The High Sparrow said, ending that ranting. "You can forgive Prince Aemon any lapses in decorum. He is a stranger to the right ways since his parents lacked to teach them to him."

“How about I teach you what the inside of the Black Cells look like, old man?" Aemon barked back.

"That's alright, Aemon. I'm sure that the High Sparrow didn't mean any offence as he was kindly presenting his case." Steffon said, evidently losing his patience.

"Very well, Your Highness. His Grace, King Argilac Baratheon, well-meaning as he was, has wronged the Gods." The High Sparrow said with conviction. "The day he chose to defy the Faith's sacred number and accepted nonbelievers in his council. The Gods have deemed it so that the recent tragedies that have befallen House Baratheon and the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros come from these hideous offences.

Steffon's fist clenches...

"But what truly offended, what continues to offend the Gods, was the King's willingness to allow his lord brother have temples of heathens and barbarians built in this sacred city..."

What was the High Sparrow was saying was a clear reference of disapproval for the temples built in honour of the Drowned God and the Lord of the Light. Lord Orys, ever seeing the bigger picture , had thought that having these temples built would have been a good way to show the Crown's respect for other faiths in its domain, as well as the respect for the religion of their foreign neighbours. For the same purpose, the Godswood in the Red Keep was also being tended to.

Granted, the priests of these temples weren't allowed to preach outside their temples. And in case of fights over religious breaking out, both sides would be met with punishment, but this was a good way to build up on the foundation Argilac had set in his coronation, when he appointed Galbart Glover and Rodrik Harlaw to the Royal Council. Not to mention that the mixing of these different faith was an excellent breeding ground for debates in philosophy and mortality. Lord Orys Baratheon was known for hosting such gatherings. Things that the High Sparrow was clearly deeming as "heresy."

"My father is not Baelor the Blessed. He has allowed all of his subjects to practice the faith they are comfortable with. And he'll continue to provide them that freedom, as long as they follow the laws of the land," Steffon answered easily. Earning himself a scowl of disappointment from the sparrows.

Seffon wanted to give the old man a way out. He refused to take it.

"There is only one faith, Your Highness, and it is not a fire demon from across the Narrow Sea nor is it a nymph of the forest or a God of the sea." The High Septon declared with conviction. "We cannot and will not tolerate any more injustices inflicted upon the Gods and their faithful followers."

"And since Argilac Baratheon has proven himself unwilling to see the error in his ways, the Gods have deemed it that it is you who should right your father's errors. By removing him from power. We are ready to help you sit on the throne that you deserve, if you promise to make amends for the damage your father, in his blissful ignorance, has caused on the Faith: close the heathen temples, kill their priests and their followers as heretics, return to the Faith the land Argilac Baratheon took from us and allow the rebirth of the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows."

Finally, Steffon lost his patience. A gauntlet slap found the closest sparrow square in the jaw knocking him down. Immediately, the sparrows brandished their weapons only for the Baratheon guards to do the same.

"How dare you? Who are you to make that kind of an offer to the son of Argilac Baratheon? Have you no shame!?" The Crown Prince of Westeros thundered.

"How could you think that I'd turn against my king and father?"

"I'd rather the Gods strike me down right now and leave this world a man of honour than to take the throne with treason and deceit!"

"And let it be known that if anyone, ANYONE, ever again comes to me with such an offer in mind, they will suffer the price for it!"

"Round up these traitors!" He gave the order. Immediately, Aemon and the knights they had with them began rounding up the sparrows.

"Are you going to spill blood on these sacred grounds?" The High Sparrow asked. Eerily calm.

"Not if you hand over yourselves willingly. Hand over yourselves willingly and no force shall be used. So the Gods won't get angry and we can go on with our lives. Everyone wins." Aemon said.

"No matter. It's already been done. We'll pray for you, my children. For the Gods have truly cast their displeasure on House Baratheon. And they'll have their justice..."

"Not before the King has his with you lot. So keep your condescending prayers to yourself. His Grace will soon be delighted to hear that you tried to pit his own son against him. Have fun with it." Steffon said.

Chapter Text

"Good hunt today." Steffon told his cousin as their company were leading the high sparrow and his followers to the city's dungeons.

"I shall inform His Grace about the recent developments. He'll see to the fate of these curs..."

"You think he'll be more... approachable since morning?"

“If bringing him a whole nest of agitators as a parting gift isn’t enough to cheer him up, I don’t what is,” Aemon smiled at his cousin.

"Sounds about right. He's a Baratheon after all." Steffon smiled back.

"Remember the hunts in the Kingswood? Uncle Renly once flushed out a particularly sturdy boar when we were around 10. Never thought I'd see him climbing up trees as quickly as he did but Father got a really good laugh out of it. Not to mention that said boar made a real delicacy around the fire that night..."

“We should go back there
after the campaign’s settled,” Aemon smiled fondly at the memory, “Show those wolves that used to terrify us when we were boys that the party’s over!”

"Certainly..." Steffon agreed.

The duo eventually reached the city's prison where they released the prisoners into the care of the Gold Cloaks manning the establishment.

"See to it that they kept separately from eachother and other prisoners and that they don't cause trouble. His Grace will deal with them shortly." Steffon instructed the officer in charge of the prison. The guards immediately got to work. But as they began separating the prisoners, the High Sparrow lingered back for a while...

"What do you want?" Steffon asked sharply.

"The Gods have cursed House Baratheon, Your Highness. And since you and your father failed to do your duty as defenders of the Faith, I'll do it myself..."

The blood in Steffon's veins went cold and his eyes narrowed as one hand was laid lightly on the hilt of his sword.

"Careful, High Sparrow. I was willing to overlook your blatant disrespect of my faith. And I've restrained myself of letting you keep your life until you face trial, despite having every right to have your head for suggesting I depose my father. But I will not accept threats to the peace of the Kingdom."

The two men once again glared at each other. The High Sparrow had a will of iron, which gave him the courage to speak as boldly as he did.

But Steffon was the blood of the storm. He had faced down pirates and bandits and came out victorious each time.

Even if the High Sparrow had followers still on the loose within and around the city, planing to bring back the Faith Militant, Steffon was confident that they could put that nonsense out quicker than a breeze would put out a lit candle.

The Crown Prince of Westeros was not afraid to fight and he knew that the royalists would win against any ragtag army the zealot in front of him could raise.

"Let's go, Aemon. We're done here." Steffon said, leaving the guards do their job.

"The audacity of that vermin..." Steffon growled in frustration after he and Aemon had put some distance between them and the prison.

“Should’ve spilled his treacherous blood when we had the chance,” Aemon growled.

"We probably should. But what's done is done. If having Father taking care of this matter puts an end to it, so be it."

Finally, the two cousins made it to the Red Keep.

"I'll go see Father. What will you do?"

“My father wants me to visit the quartermaster's department before tomorrow, and I still have some packing to do before we leave."

"Then I guess that I'll see you tomorrow morning on our marching positions." Steffon said before the two cousins exchange the warrior's handshake.

“Thank you, cousin,” Aemon smiled, embracing the Crown Prince, “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

"I wouldn't have anyone else fighting beside me. We got this, Aemon..." Steffon said before leaving.

"Ah, and see to it that you attended to your wife once your done with uncle Orys errands. I still feel like you two need to make up for the interruption I gave you this evening." Steffon called out to his cousin, laughing off as Aemon threw a rock at him.

Steffon navigated the corridors until he reached his parents' chambers. Tonight, Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was standing in attendance.

"Good evening, Your Highness. Anything I can help you with?" The old knight greeted the young Prince with a fond smile. A smile Steffon was quick to reciprocate. He always liked Ser Barristan. He stood a great teacher and a true friend.

“I need to speak with His Majesty, Ser Barristan." Steffon replied respectfully.

"Of course. I shall inform His Grace at once." The old knight said before knocking on the King's door.

"Yes, Barristan?" Argilac's voice was heard from within

"Prince Steffon is here to see you, Your Grace."

"Send him in."

Ser Barristan opened the door and stepped aside for the Crown Prince to enter. But before the lad went in, the Lord Commander stopped him with a hand on the arm.

"I know that His Grace might have his reasons to be displeased with how things were handled this morning. But if you ask me, you acted like a true knight. That is what the realm needs in a ruler, my boy. Never forget that."

Having said his piece, Ser Barristan let go of Steffon, resuming his guard on the door.

Steffon entered his father's chambers. But the King was nowhere to be seen.

"Back here, Steffon." Argilac's voice was heard from the balcony. It looked like the King's anger had subsided quite a lot since morning, though Steffon was still on his guard.

“Father, I have some… dark tidings to impart”.

"I'm listening, boy. What is it?"

“Today, was summoned to a sept in Flea Bottom for an audience with a faith militant known as “The Sparrows”. They told me to come alone, but I took Aemon with me and didn’t tell you because I thought they were just another religious deputation… but they offered me the Crown. They told me they wanted to unseat you for allowing other faiths to infiltrate the capital and that that they wanted to seat me on the throne. Naturally, I placed them under arrest immediately. Cousin Aemon and the gold cloaks helped me to bring them in. They’re awaiting your judgement in the cells as we speak”.

As Argilac was hearing his son's report, his face grew increasingly stormy.

"Sparrows..." He said. "Orys was speaking regularly about that lot lately. Turns out that they were a bigger problem than we had initially thought..."

"And their leader? Was the infamous 'High Sparrow' still in control of that lot? Or had they decided to change leadership along with the preferred king?"

“No, he is still leading them. The bastard actually tried to curse me as they were leading him to the cells…”

"Did he now?" Argilac said, his earlier frustration replaced with mirth. "Something to do with the gods having cursed House Baratheon and everything?"

“Something like that…”

"Fucking lunatic... don't worry. Stormbringer will see to a stop of this foolishness. Once the campaign is done."

"But for now, he and his lackeys will enjoy of the dungeon's... hospitality."

"Commendable job, Steffon." The King said, turning his gaze on the city below them.

“Thank you, Your Grace”.

“Enough of that. It’s “father”, boy, remember?”

No response.

"Listen, son, perhaps I was too hasty to cast blame for this morning's incident in the council chamber. The recent days have been... difficult for all of us."

“It’s just that… I don’t even know why everyone is so wrathful."

“Are Uncle Orys and Mother alright, now?”

"Your uncle and I will definitely need to have a rather long discussion after all of this is over. There were many things that were brewing over the last few decades for us to reach the fight we had this morning."

"As for your mother... I'm not sure if I can face her. Not now at least..." Argilac said, bowing his head in shame. "See to it that you treat your wife better than that lad. That was not kingly..."

“Why? What happened?” The lad insisted.

"It was a rather...nasty argument. Words were said that were shouldn't be said..."

"The pain of losing your sister...was too much to handle. Sometimes I look to the sky and ask the Gods why they didn't take me instead Minisa..."

Steffon did not respond but one could see him struggling to keep the tears back.

Seeing his son's distress, the King put a comforting hand on Steffon's shoulder.

"Those animals are at fault, Steffon. If that cocksucker, Euron Greyjoy hadn't murdered his own brother, if varys and his so called Aegon hadn't slaughtered your uncle Renly, along with with ser Loras and Viserys, your sister would never have been in danger to begin with..."

Now, Argilac put both his hands on his heir's shoulders. Making Steffon to look him in the eye.

"We will kill them all, Steffon. Every... single...one of them. Do you understand?"

“Yes, Father. I understand and I’m with you. My sword is yours”.

"Ours is the Fury, my son."

"Ours is the Fury, father."

"Good. I've been itching to kill something lately. Traitors and villains will do just fine..."

"But that's a matter of tomorrow. For now, return to your chambers, Steffon. Have a bath, drink some wine, spend time with your wife, and tomorrow we'll have our war."

On his way to his chambers, Steffon recalled the first time he and his father had fought side by side in a major war: when they took the Stepstones from the pirates and corsairs that were helping themselves to them.

At the end of the final battle, the one that had cemented firm Westerosi control of the islands in all but name, the King had walked to him and greeted with these words:

"You are indeed my son. Today you've proven yourself worthy to rule these lands..."

'I shall play my part. And bring those who had a hand in my sister's, my uncle's and my friends' deaths to justice...' The Crown Prince of Westeros vowed to himself.