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Wearing Robert's Crown by drakensis

 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: T, English, Fantasy, Eddard S./Ned, Stannis B., Tywin L., Jon A., Words: 186k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Mar 26, 2016 Updated: Dec 3, 2016956Chapter 4

Jon IV

King's Landing was quieter than he remembered it. The goldcloaks were no longer in evidence but there were men on the walls and he could see that several of the siege weapons had been removed, a few replaced with newer catapults, scorpions and other devices.

At the docks and on the streets men in tabards of undyed cloth were in evidence. A small party of them greeted Jon's ship and he saw that each wore a bronze batch on their shoulder: a circle around a tower, which he guessed was supposed to represent the city.

Once he identified himself a runner was sent to the nearest gatehouse and two more of the men fell in with his own party while the others inspected the ship for contraband - or jars of wildfire.

"It's not that we suspect you of anything, your grace," the leader of the party said apologetically. "But Lord Bolton ordered every ship inspected and that the King said that if even a Prince's ship was inspected then no lord or foreign merchant would have cause to complain."

"A shrewd move. And truly, we should take no chances of wildfire in the docks." Jon shuddered at the thought. King's Landing was the greatest port on the eastern shores, larger than Gulltown or White Harbour. One jar of wildfire in the right place could start an inferno all long this bank of the Blackwater Rush.

At the gate there were more guards, hardbitten men armed with poleaxes. The city inside the wall appeared to be recovering well from the sack, although the area between the docks and the Red Keep hadn't been particularly hard hit so Jon supposed it might be less so in the western districts of King's Landing.

Robert was waiting for him at the gates of the Red Keep and greeted him with a fierce embrace that made Jon's ribs creak and cut him off in mid "Your grace."

"None of that formality between us, Jon. You've brought peace to the Seven Kingdoms - even if you weren't like a second father to me I'd owe you for that."

Jon coughed and caught his breath. "It was my pleasure, Robert. I see you've been busy here."

"Gods, yes. The records are a mess. I've had to go through the army for anyone who can read and write and draft them as clerks to get things under control." He gestured to the Maidenvault, from which a stream of men were coming and going carrying stacks of paper. "I did have a clever idea though. I want you to see this."

With a small prayer to the Gods that Robert hadn't hit on something catastrophic with an excess of enthusiasm, Jon followed him and saw that the main room of the building was now taken up with several complicated devices tended by at least a dozen men with ink-stained fingers.

"Here." Robert snapped his fingers and then snatched a sheet of paper from the top of a stack, handing it to Jon. The sheet was marked out with lines and words, although most of it was blank. "It's for our records, Jon. I wanted to know just how much all the lords of the Crownlands had, but the Targaryen's records are mostly stack of letters with each Lord reporting what they think the King should know about their lands... and probably undervaluing some things to keep their taxes low."

"Ah." Jon realised that each section of the paper was for filling in one detail about a lord's holdings. "So you want them all to fill these out?"

"Exactly! And then with one quick look I can compare any two lords from Duskendale down to Greenstone and know exactly how many villages there are in their lands - or how many mills or how many armsmen they can call on. Tywin thought it was a great idea."

"He said so, did he?"

Robert grinned and tugged on his hair. "Well, he said it 'might be useful' and changed the subject, but that's just his way."

"And these devices..." Jon studied them. "Ah, like a seal. They stamp the form on the paper so it's the same every time."

"Precisely. I could lay two of these forms on top of each other and every field would be precisely aligned so we'll always know where to look for a piece of information. If we have the lords fill these out once a year - or every winter at least - then we'll have a good idea not just of what state the lands are in but of whether a lord is doing better or worse than usual."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd need this many forms though. Or so many clerks."

"Ah." Robert clapped his hands. "I've got them going back through the records too. We might not have a complete picture for the past but we can record what we do have and at least get some idea of what's happened before."

Jon scratched his chin. "Lord Tywin is right. That could be useful. It's going to take a while to be useful though, and your lords may not be happy about such an accounting."

"Well I have to be fair, Jon. I need the crownlanders to fill these out so I know what I rule now - personally, not just as King. And it just makes sense to do the same for Storm's End." He put his hands on his hips. "And if I have to do the bloody paperwork then so does every lord in the Easterlands."

"Easterlands?"

"It's easier than saying Crownlands and Stormlands."

"That won't make the lords happy either."

"Nothing will make them all happy, Jon. But it's better than calling them all Stormlanders or Crownlanders..."

Ned IV

The inn was around a day's ride from King's Landing. There had been a rich trade in catering to travellers along the major roads and now that order was returning it was flourishing once more.

The evening of the day after he sent William Dustin and Martyn Cassell ahead, Ned kept an eye on the common room of the inn to see who came back. He hoped that Lyanna would be alright up in the room he was paying for alone, but few things would draw attention more than whoever Robert sent having to ask for him.

The sellswords who swaggered in shortly almost didn't catch his eye. Only a familiar line of face told him that the smaller of the two was Jorah Mormont. Then, looking closer at Jorah's companion he saw that it was Robert: beard shaven, hair drawn back and apparently greying. Rather than his famous hammer, he carried a pole-axe and Jorah had the same. Bronze badges on their chests had what could be a seven-pointed star or could be a tree, depending on how one looked at it.

"Spare us this end of the table," Jorah more ordered than asked Ned – it was a little bit of a shock not being addressed like a lord, much less Lord Paramount or now Prince of the North. Still, he wasn't exactly dressed the part of a lord himself. Stripped of the dire wolf badges on his shirt and wearing an older cloak over his mail he looked like a sellsword.

Robert himself carried over a platter with two large mugs of ale and a platter of bread, fruit and cheese. He swung one chair around and leant forwards over its back. "Glad to see you made it north again. Southlands aren't always healthy."

"I lost some good friends there."

"Aye, haven't we all the last few years?" Robert tilted back the mug but for all the loud slurping noise, when he lowered it the level of the ale had barely charged. "Are you not going to King's Landing?" He tapped the badge on his chest. "The King has a place for good men. It's a safer birth than drifting the roads."

"I've my sister with me," Ned said and saw Robert's eyes light up. He raised his own hand. "She's not well, Rob. I'm taking her home with me. There'll be a company going north, I hear."

"The Northern army is marching home in a few days. It'll be safe enough," agreed Robert slowly. "I'd heard though, she was to wed..."

"That's not going to happen, she says."

Blue eyes met grey, bright southern to intractable north.

"The scoundrel probably wasn't worthy of her. A fine woman, your sister." Robert took another apparently large gulp out of his ale. "D' you think she'd mind if I paid my respects? Just my respects, you understand."

Ned thought a moment and then nodded. "I think that she wouldn't mind."

Robert came to his feet and when Jorah started to do the same he planted one hand on the Mormont's shoulder. "Mind my ale and don't drink any yourself," he joked.

The room Ned was renting wasn't the largest but it was the nearest to the chimney and thus the warmest. Ned paused at the door. "Robert," he said in a low voice. "You're like a brother to me, but I want your promise you won't do anything rash."

"I'd think you should ask me that because we're like brothers, not in spite of it. I knew Brandon, after all." He saw that Ned wasn't amused and sighed. "My best behaviour, I promise."

Ned knocked gently. "Lya, it's Ned. Rob wants to speak to you."

The door opened a crack and he saw a wide grey eye. Lyanna's. She saw Robert and the eye widened more. "You look old."

Robert rubbed at one of the grey streaks with his fingers and they came away stained. "That's the idea."

Slowly the door opened wider. "Come in." She stepped back, keeping the door between her and Robert. Ned gestured for his friend to enter. This could be bad, if Robert reacted poorly...

His foster brother entered the room confidently but as he went past the arc of the door and it couldn't mask Lyanna any further, he froze. "Oh Lyanna," he said sadly. There was none of the fury that Ned had feared. Instead he half-turned and beckoned for Ned to enter the chamber.

Lyanna closed the door and stood before them, her eyes fixed now on the floor – or as much as she could see of it past her belly.

Robert reached out to her chin and raised it so that she met his eyes. "You don't have to fear me," he promised. "Nor does your child."

"Even if he's a dragonspawn?"

Robert winced but he didn't look away. "Even so."

"I can't marry you, Robert. Not now."

"You could." He reached out and took her hand. "But I don't insist on it. You've had enough, I think, of being told what you must do. Let it be your choice, and his or hers."

"Then I choose the North."

Robert sighed heavily. "Thus, then." He raised her hand slightly and then released it, drawing Lyanna against him in a careful hug. She squeaked in indignation as he kissed her noisily on the cheek. "Then at least call on me if you need me. As you would a brother."

The moment was broken by a wail from the corner of the room. Robert's eyes snapped to the small crib. "Ned!" he exclaimed.

Ned was sure his ears had gone entirely crimson.

Tywin IV

Tywin found the King in the same chamber, indeed the same chair, that he'd been in when he offered the post of Hand. The room was darker though, no light except for that cast by the fire. Robert was more shadow than man, looming and brooding with legs thrust out and his hand wrapped around a tankard.

"Your grace."

Robert turned his head. "Aye. Lord Lannister. Pray take a seat."

Tywin obeyed. "Is there some reason that the King of Seven Kingdoms sits in the dark?"

"My mood is dark. Is that not cause enough."

"Ill news of the Lady Lyanna?"

His head turned back towards the flames. "Some good, some ill. She lives but will not wed."

"House Stark has broken off the betrothal?" A strange choice, but they were a strange folk in the North. Still, with a Stark as queen they would have been a powerful threat.

"I have consented, of course. I do not believe rape is the mark of a good man, still less a good king."

"That is wise, although I understand your sorrow." Would it be too soon to raise the matter of alternate brides. If he was Hand, no, but since Jon Arryn now bore that office...

"And yet a king must wed for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms. Duty. It is a heavy word, Lord Tywin. May I have your counsel?"

Tywin nodded. "Of course, your grace."

"I should not marry into the household of a Lord Paramount, I think. On the one hand it would leave them the impression they were second-best to the Starks. One does not tread lightly upon the pride of princes, in my limited experience. On the other, it would give the impression that the House I wed would have undue influence upon my judgements - and a king who is too obviously partial is a king who breeds discontent."

Damn. "Those are reasonable arguements, although it may also be said that wedding a House would also secure that House's support for the future. Aerys' grandfather understood that and had his children not undermined him..."

"We would not be here, no. And I would likely not have been born. My brothers may wed into princely Houses, perhaps. But I am surrounded by Crownlanders who fought for the Targaryens and to heal those wounds I should wed near to this city."

"I see your mind is made up, your grace."

"I suppose that it is." He leant forwards, face now lit by the fire. "You know these Houses well, do you not? I should prefer to wed a woman whose house is known for some fecundity, but I do not wish to have too many goodbrothers - we have enough factions."

"The Rykker's are a small house, but they were recently raised to Duskendale and lack stature. The Stokeworths have two daughters of suitable age but one is a shrew and the other dull. I do not commend them as queens." He frowned. "They have considerable lands near to the city though. Adding them to the crown estates would be of value."

"As do the... Rosbys, do they not? Not known to be robust, I don't think Lord Gyles has an heir."

"Not of his body. The Stokeworths would have a claim on those, they have interwed often. And the Freys are kin by marriage."

"Walder's sixth wife?"

"Aye."

"Gods. We should all be so vigorous at his years."

"I would not commend the Crackclaw Point houses, they are all too small and their loyalty to Prince Rhaegar too close. The Celtigars are wealthy but would want you to confirm them as overlords of Crackclaw Point and you would need to fight another war to enforce that. And the other houses sworn to Dragonstone have not yet bowed the knee so I cannot commend the Velaryons or House Sunglass."

"Aye, Velaryon blood would count for much but they have missed that chance."

Tywin shook his head. "There are few candidates in fact. The Farrings have a daughter of suitable age although I gather the Freys..."

"Again? I might be doing the girl a favour."

Tywin paused. "There is... you may recall that Lord Qarlton Chelsted was among King Aerys' Hands during the war."

"Aye. Burned to death, was he not?"

"Quite. There would be some merit to a match with the Chelsteds - they have no cause to love the Targaryens now but they were loyal until then."

"Had he a daughter?"

"Lord Qarlton was not wed, but there is a sister. Much courted now. I confess I do not recall her nature."

Robert nodded. "Aye. Well, I shall have Jon find out. And see about the Stokeworth girls and this Farring too. It is a place to start, and I thank you."

Tywin nodded silently.

"On the matter of marriages..." Robert hesitated and rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Well, I know not how well your daugter and my brother would get on. They are both strong-willed. Have you considered that Prince Eddard has a younger brother? He can certainly grant young Benjen broad lands and a Lannister bride would presumably dower him suitably to establish himself."

"Would you support such a match?"

"I would not dictate it, but it seems to me that it would be better for all the great lords of the realm to have both heirs and spares."

Tywin rose. "It is a prospect to consider, your grace." And it would give the Lannisters a route into the marital alliances between Stark, Tully and Arryns. Hmm. And Jon Arryn had nieces and as yet no son by any wife including the latest. Something to consider for Jaime.

Stannis IV

"Damn Lyonel Corbray!" shouted Stannis as he took in what was left of the royal fleet. His brother's royal fleet, that was.

The Master of Ships had insisted on taking charge of the fleet and in launching the assault before Stannis was ready. A week longer and there would have been four more wargalleys and ten more transports.

Then again, as it worked out that would have meant fourteen more ships caught in the night storm that had scattered the fleet and sunk at least three ships. One of them had been a three hundred oar galley mich like his flagship the Fury.

"No one could have expected a storm like last night, my lord." Davos Seaworth stood on the poop deck of the Fury alongside Stannis.

"You should always expect a storm at sea," Stannis chided the older man. "One like it killed my parents. I watched it from the towers of Storm's End."

The former smuggler shifted uneasily. "Well it's passed now. Should we assemble the ships we can see and make for King's Landing?"

"No." He gripped the rail and stared out. Four other ships in sight, out of more than forty. Probably not all the others were sunk. "We came here to take Dragonstone and that's what we'll do!"

"With five ships!?"

Davos reached up for the small bag hung around his neck. "Get back to work, Gregor," he ordered the ship's sailing master. "The storm hit us from the north. It likely did the same to Dragonstone and while we could run south ahead of it, ships in harbour couldn't. There's a good chance that they're even worse off than we are."

"That's my thinking. You kept us at the head of the fleet so most of the others afloat will be north of us anyway - we've a good chance of finding them as we sweep up on Dragonstone."

It was a long, slow day as they slogged north. The end of the storm had left little or no wind behind it and so the Fury and her little squadron made what sail they could and the men rowed in shifts. By the time the sun set there were seven ships in total, but others had been seen upon the northern horizon.

They didn't include Lord Corbray's flagship.

"The Valorous broached!" called across the captain of the cog Windraker. Her captain was known to Davos for reasons Stannis was assured were entirely honest. "I saw it myself. There couldn't have been a survivor."

"It seems that you're in command of the fleet now, my lord."

Stannis nodded grimly. "Aye. And we'll see Dragonstone on the morrow."

They saw the island, as well as five more of their ships. Five of theirs and one cog that flew the blazon of the Targaryens from its mast.

"Take them," Stannis ordered sharply and under Davos direct the ships of House Baratheon spread out and took the stiffening wind in their sails. Had it only been the seven with Stannis they might have made it but two of those seen at night were to their east and the wind forced the fugitive vessel towards them.

One, two and then a third of the ships grappled.

Davos stared through an eyeglass and then passed it to Stannis. "See their poop deck, my lord. I know not the colours but there's a lad there with hair pale enough to be Targaryen."

It took the young lord but a moment to make his assessment. "Aye, and those are Darry colours on the man with him."

"Darry?"

"Ser Willem Darry was master-at-arms for the Red Keep. He went to Dragonstone with Queen Rhaella." Stannis swore without heat. "That must be Viserys. And we have him!"

They were close enough to no longer need the eye-glass to watch as sailors and men swarmed across the ship. The boy with white hair drew a long knife, but one of the Baratheon men had brought a fishing net across from his ship and flung it across the boy. Tangled and kicking, he was borne down and a moment later the knight in brown and black fell at his side, crimson now joining his colours.

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Wearing Robert's Crown by drakensis

 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: T, English, Fantasy, Eddard S./Ned, Stannis B., Tywin L., Jon A., Words: 186k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Mar 26, 2016 Updated: Dec 3, 2016956Chapter 5

Jon V

Lomas Estermont had probably expected a meeting with Robert about the laws of the land to be more drinking session than a serious discussion. Jon had to remind himself that this was most likely the reason the man seemed unprepared.

"I couldn't tell you exactly," he responded to Robert's question. "I wouldn't anticipate many changes, however. King Jaeherys was famously wise, after all, so who would presume to amend his laws?"

"Practically everyone," observed the King. "And the codified laws aren't necessarily on hand in every keep."

"Well, books are expensive and I'd imagine you know how hard it is to get a boy to learn his letters."

"I recall, yes." The king sighed and pushed the wine flagon across the table to Lomas. "One of the lads printing off forms for our records had a bright idea. Instead of a single stamp he thinks we can assemble a page out of letters locked into a tray of some kind... well, I don't quite follow, but in any case, with a little time and not needing to make a new stamp we can print different pages and eventually entire books."

Jon hissed. "Oh the septons will hate that. Their copyists make them a great deal of money and if books can be made easily and cheaply..."

"And do they pay taxes on that?" asked Robert mildly. "No, I didn't think so. A tax on these page stampers or whatever they get called should reduce the margin they get undercut on and it'll add a nice little trickle of revenue to the treasury."

"I see your mind's made up?"

"As I recall, the Smith is one of the Seven-That-Are-One. That sounds to me as if being creative and industrious is down-right pious."

Lomas rolled his eyes. "I suppose then, that you'll be circulating this updated laws of the realm as widely as you can?"

"There's no point in there being laws if the men of Westeros don't know of them so they can abide by them - and their lords know to enforce them." Robert grinned at his Master of Laws. "If we do a good job of this, your name may be revered as much as King Jaeherys' was."

"I hardly think that that's likely."

There was a knock at the door and a servant opened it. "Your grace, Lord Bolton requests an audience."

Robert pushed his chair back. "Send him in."

The northerner entered and bowed coolly before sweeping the room with those pale eyes of his. "Your grace, I see I have arrived before the Spider."

"Varys? Why would he be coming here?"

"I would assume the Master of Whispers would think you ought be informed that one of Lord Corbray's fleet has returned to King's Landing. I have placed guards around the dock but no doubt rumours are already sweeping the city."

The king's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What news do you have, Lord Bolton?"

"It seems the fleet was scattered by a ferocious storm some nights ago. Quite a number of the ships were sunk and others took damage that forced them to ports along the south of Blackwater Bay."

Lomas gasped. "Lord Stannis? Lord Lyonel?"

"They have not been heard from, Lord Estermont."

"Your grace, this is -"

Robert raised his hand calmly. "This is merely the first news. I will not be panicked by the report of one captain. Lord Bolton, I take it you will have no difficulty bringing him here to report in person?"

"None, your grace. He is currently in one of the antechambers, under guard."

"If the fleet has been smashed, then..."

"Then we have faced a reverse, but no more than that." Robert rose. "King's Landing is well defended and since not all the ships being prepared were taken by Lord Corbray, we have the seeds of a second fleet if need be. I will inform Renly - no doubt some courtier will want to drop hints to scare him so it is best he know the truth now - and then the two of us will meet with the captain."

He turned to Bolton. "I believe King's Landing has a Seneschal who can keep the smallfolk quiet whatever rumours circulate the inns. Am I wrong."

Bolton bowed again. "My men have been suitably instructed."

"Admirable. We will continue this conversation later, uncle Lomas, once you have had time to consider the proposal more fully."

Stannis V

The crowds that flocked to the docks and cheered the royal fleet on its return from Dragonstone was unbelievable. Stannis had heard that there were half a million people in King's Landing (and according to Robert, about half that many actual souls). At first glance he thought that every last one of them was on the docks or the walls above.

On second glance, it was only about the size of the Reach army that had besieged Storm's End, which was probably about one tenth of the city's population.

"What do they think they're doing?" he snarled. "We can't dock like this!"

"I think they're hailing you as a hero," Ser Davos replied cheerfully. "We can anchor off the docks until things calm down. Why not give them wave?"

Stannis shot him an infuriated look.

"Oh, there's the King."

"What?" He scanned the docks but could see nothing but small folk, barely kept in check by the combined efforts of the City Watch and the King's Men.

Davos took him by the elbow and turned him to look up the Blackwater Rush where a ferryboat, evidently hastily decked out with Baratheon banners. Then, while Stannis stared at his brother standing - posed heroically in fact - upon the foredeck of the ferry, Davos pulled Stannis' hand up into a wave to the crowd.

A wall of sound hammered the ships. Stannis was surprised they weren't pushed against the opposite shore. "Dammit, Seaworth."

"I'm terribly sorry, my lord. My hand slipped."

Stannis ground his teeth.

A few minutes later and Robert's ferry was alongside the Fury. The first head above the side of the galley was Renly's though - the boy was perched on Robert's broadshoulders. "Stannis!" he shouted as he saw his brother. "Stannis, look at me, I'm the tallest man in the world!"

Stannis snatched Renly before Robert was on deck. "Don't do that!" he hissed. "If you slipped you'd be caught between the boats."

"Did you want me to have him climb on his own?" asked Robert. He offered his hand to Stannis and the man reluctantly took it.

There were more cheers from the shore at the sight of the brothers reunited.

"Did you win?" asked Renly, seizing hold of Stannis' other hand. From the looks of it he wasn't planning to let go any time soon.

"Of course I did."

Robert nodded. "I won't deny I was a little worried when I heard about the storm. Not that I doubted you particularly but... you know."

For a moment Stannis was taken back to another moment, he and Robert watching a ship founder in sight of the shore, caught in one of the storms their home was named for and sinking along with two people infinitely precious to them. "Yes. How many made it back?"

"Between those here and those scattered across the southern side of the bay and making repairs? Fifteen."

"Then unless some of them are halfway to Essos we lost a third of the fleet."

Robert nodded grimly. A dozen ships and more than two thousand men dead. The Battle of the Trident had been barely more bloody. "How the Ironborn worship drowning I shall never know. No sign of the Valorous?"

"It sank."

"Gods. I shouldn't have let Corbray overrule you."

Stannis grimaced. "He wasn't entirely wrong. We caught the Targaryens on a ship leaving Dragonstone. A day later and they'd have escaped."

"Rhaella and Viserys? Good work." Robert beamed, good mood apparently restored by this news, and smacked Stannis so hard on the shoulder he almost staggered. "Did the rest give you a problem?"

"After the same storm dashed their ships apart they couldn't surrender fast enough. And Rhaella died in child birth that night. She bore Aerys a last daughter so it's she and Viserys we have."

Robert paused. "Poor woman. Some of the stories about how Aerys treated her... there seems to be more truth to the worst of them than most of us believed."

"Like what?" asked Renly.

The two older brothers exchanged looks. "When you're older," Robert said firmly. "Much older."

Barristan I

The Great Hall looked entirely different to Barristan as he stood in it. It was hard to believe that the vast, echoing chamber had once been heaped in dragon bones. The new replacement of the Iron Throne was another startling change.

Viserys Targaryen obviously felt the same way. The boy was dressed in the same finery he'd worn as a prince and he'd the gossip Barristan had heard said he'd tried to wear his mother's crown on his head. Prince Stannis had forbidden that, of course. Now he seemed close to tears as he stood on the long carpet between the door and the throne, files of King's Men to either side of him.

"Where is it?" he cried out, his young voice shrill and cutting across the herald's announcement of him.

Ashara gripped Barristan's arm. "He's just a boy," she murmured.

"Aye. But he was a prince. This may go ill for him."

"Where is my throne!?"

Robert Baratheon had chosen a royal blue tunic, embroidered with golden stags, for this occasion. His warhammer was leant against the throne and Aegon's Crown was a glitter of gold against his black hair. "Your father's throne? Ser Jorah is wearing part of it."

All eyes went to the Royal Guardsman, stood to the King's left where Barristan had spent so many hours on duty. In addition to his mail he now wore a breastplate etched with a mighty stag, supported by a wolf and a bear, trampling upon a fallen dragon.

"You have no right!" the boy declared boldly. "I am the king!"

Robert favoured him with an amused look and then glanced at Stannis. "His sister?"

Looking grim and uncomfortable with the duty, Stannis walked up to the throne. Robert leant forwards and accepted the baby girl, holding her in front of him. "Well met, cousin," he greeted her as if she would understand.

"Take your hands off her, you usurper!" Viserys made to rush the throne but two of the King's Men stepped in and firmly caught hold of his shoulders.

Very deliberately, Robert placed Daenerys in his lap, head supported by his knees. Then he turned a grim stare upon Viserys. "Very well, cousin. My hands, as you can see, are not upon your sister. Do not imagine I will grant every demand you make, however."

"You say that I am an usurper. That is one point of view. In that view I would be wise to safeguard my throne by having you stabbed to death like your niece Rhaenys and dash your sister's skull against a wall, as Gregor Clegane did to your nephew."

"Another view would be that I am the nearest adult male in kinship to your father upon his death and that the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms have acknowledge me as their King. In that view your claim has no more substance than that of Vaella daughter of Daeron or Maegor son of Aerion after the death of King Maekar Targaryen, fifty two years ago."

"My mother crowned me as the King!"

"Your mother, the Seven bless her soul, gave you the crown she wore as consort. I doubt she desired you be consort to the new king..."

Barristan winced at the look on Viserys' face as a titter went up from the observing nobles.

"...so I must conclude that your mother, after years of abuse from your father, was not of sound mind. Had she been, she would have known that the rule of Westeros wasn't hers to bestow." Robert shook his head. "Now, I don't expect you to like me - I killed your brother after all - but in two days your mother will be laid to rest beneath the Great Sept. If you give me your word to behave as my guest until I'm done with that then you can attend those ceremonies."

Pale-faced, Viserys looked at the king and then the floor. The king. The floor. Then at Jorah Mormont. "I... I will attend my mother's funeral. Until then... I accept your hospitality."

Robert nodded and bread was brought out on a platter, along with a dish of salt. Viserys sprinkled salt on the bread and choked down a mouthful. While he did so, the king poked at Daenery's cheeks gently and made paternal noises. It was not a side of the Demon of the Trident that Barristan had expected to see. He wondered if he would feel the same way when he and Ashara had children.

Turning to his wife he saw her looking at the king. "Not quite what I expected to happen."

"Nor I," she admitted quietly. "This is not the court I remember."

"That's a good thing, surely?"

She didn't have an opportunity to reply for Viserys was firmly ushered off to the side and the herald announced: "Ser Barristan Selmy and Lady Ashara Selmy!"

Walking down the same carpet (with no escort of King's Men), they both knelt before the dais.

"It gives me great joy to learn that we live in a Westeros where the greatest of our knights may win the hand of the most beautiful of our ladies," Robert greeted them. "I understand that Prince Eddard has offered you lands in the North?"

"Aye, your grace. A goodly demesne between the Rills and the Wolfswood, if somewhat neglected in recent years."

The King nodded. "To establish yourselves in your new home, I pray you will not be offended if I bestow upon you a small token? Five hundred gold dragons, spent carefully, should allow you to furnish a keep and attract smallfolk to farm for your house."

"We are most grateful for your generosity, your grace," Ashara said quickly - perhaps fearing he would refuse the gift? He was not quite so selfless, for all that Robert owed him nothing at all.

Robert nodded approvingly. "Then please join my brothers and I at the high table for tonight's feast in honour of Stannis' victory at Dragonstone and his appointment as my Master of Ships." His smile grew a little sly. "Rest assured, Lady Ashara, you will have plenty of ladies to converse with, for Prince Jon's nieces Jeyne, Sharra and Aemma have joined us here at court..."

Ned V

The ride north from Riverrun had been chilly, although winter was well receding now. This was the North that Ned remembered, the North he would now rule.

He only hoped that the frost might pass from his household given time.

Catelyn rode further back in the column, next to the wet-nurse who carried their son Robb. Lyanna though, rode up beside Ned and exclaimed at every familiar landmark, pointing it out to the other two babes. I was right to agree she should come home. She's too much the direwolf ever to be at home in King's Landing.

"Prince Eddard!" Cheers went up from the men and women of Wintertown as they rode through it. "Lady Lyanna!" Only a few remembered to add: "Lady Catelyn!" or "Prince Robb!" to that but Ned was careful to nod to those who did. This must be a place for them too or it would be a cold hearth and a cold bed for him in the future. That... bothered him more than he had thought it would.

Rodrik Cassel had the remaining men and women of Winterfell in the yard by the time the horses walked through the gates. "My prince, Winterfell is yours."

"Aye." He dismounted and then walked back to Catelyn' horse and helped her dismount while Lyanna received her own welcome home. "My princess," he said quietly. "Welcome to your home."

Catelyn gave him a thoughtful look. "My prince," she said quietly.

They came out from amid the mounts together, with Robb carried in Ned's arms. "Rodrik, here are two Starks you have not met before. My wife Catelyn and our heir, Robb."

Rodrik, who had been embracing his brother, turned and then dropped to one knee on the cobbles. The others matched him until only the Starks stood. Even Lyanna tossed her hair and dropped to one knee, heedless of her skirts.

The moment held until another horse cantered into the yard, lathered with sweat. It's rider wore dark leathers. "Ned, Lyanna!"

"Benjen!" Lyanna shrieks and embraces their brother as soon as he has dismounted. When they last met, he was more boy than man but the war has aged him, even here and far from the fighting.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. The herds needed some attention and..."

Ned silences him with his own embrace. "You've done well here, Benjen. Meet my wife and -"

A wail went up from where Lyanna had left the other children to a wetnurse.

"- and the children."

"Children? I know you have a son now, but..."

"Aye. This is Robb. Your surety of not inheriting Winterfell yourself."

Benjen bowed over the infant, studying his face. "A handsome boy." When he looked up he turned automatically to the babes, one a small bundle in Lyanna's arms and the other of about Robb's size, arms free and waving about at any movement that the child spotted. He looked at his brother questioningly.

"Longstarks," Ned said quietly.

"Longstarks?"

"Aye. Lyanna has been granted that name and we will prepare a holdfast for her up by the lakes. Rickard and Brandon will be her heirs."

Catelyn and Benjen's heads both snapped up at that news, one because of the names and the other because he had not told her of that plan thus far - the opportunity had not arisen.

"It was my fault they went south," Lyanna said softly. "Ned was the one who reclaimed their bones but I thought I should -" Breath whooped out of her as Benjen hugged her again. After a moment she rested her head against his, their hair the exact same shade, blending into one.

A/N: Just going to answer a few reviews. If I don't mention you specifically, please be assured that I read all reviews (positive and negative), those I'm replying to were those that had questions.

Balthanon: there's no way the SI (Drakebert, hereafter) could function as king without having some of Robert's memories and skills. For one thing, he wouldn't even speak Westerosi.

ayleid: a fair bit of metaknowledge, yes. As for a fix fic, well, Drakebert is trying to make things better. However, there's no way he can see all consequences of his actions.

G27pazhuka: I might write something from Drakebert's perspective, but thus far it seems that the story works better through the eyes of others. The reasons to elevate the Starks and Arryns are: 1) precisely the honour, something that both houses value greatly. 2) it's a carrot to dangle before Tywin Lannister, something that might convince him to be useful in hope of a similar elevation for the Lannisters.

Faraway-R: the R+L=J theory is quite widespread. I find it plausible from the timing but prefer to keep an open mind.

Lionhead Bookends: I'd like to think I'm smarter than Robert Baratheon (admittedly not the highest bar) but better is rather a subjective judgement.

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Wearing Robert's Crown by drakensis

 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: T, English, Fantasy, Eddard S./Ned, Stannis B., Tywin L., Jon A., Words: 186k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Mar 26, 2016 Updated: Dec 3, 2016956Chapter 6

Varys I

Robert did not like the Black Cells, it seemed. Or perhaps he simply did not trust them.

Instead, when the King's Men detained Varys they escorted him to a tower-chamber and the guards were placed under the direction of Ser Brynden Tully. The Blackfish's breastplate showed the same fallen dragon and triumphant stag as Jorah Mormont's, but on his there were fish nibbling at the corpse of the dragon.

"I admire the view from here," Varys said, "But I don't think that that's why you brought me here, your grace."

Robert sat on the bed and gestured for Varys to take the chair. As cells went - and it was definitely a cell - the room wasn't too bad. "Do you know what they say about your loyalty, Varys?"

"They say many things, your grace. But I imagine," he sat himself facing the king, "That you mean the joke about my name."

"That's the one." Robert shrugged. "Let's be fair. You served Aerys, loyally and well, right up to the end. I admit that freely. And so far as I can tell, you've served me loyally and well, thus far."

Varys leant forwards. "Then may I ask why am I confined?"

"Because you'd serve another king, just as loyally and just as ably."

The eunuch opened his eyes as if in comprehension. "You think that I would serve the Lord Visenys, your grace?"

"It's a concern," agreed Robert. "But still, I'm loathe to punish a man for he may or may not do in the future. So I'm removing you from the temptation."

"I see your keen sense of mercy has not deserted you."

"It's a temporary measure. Unless you do something foolish like trying to leave without permission, you'll walk out a free man." He smiled thinly. "I've heard it said that no one should enter politics if they're concerned they might wind up locked away for a while."

"It is something of an occupational hazard," Varys admitted.

"I'd advise you to retire but who am I to tell a man to give up the trade he so clearly loves?" Robert rose to his feet. "Stannis found dozens of stone eggs on Dragonstone. Dragons who never hatched. I'm told that collectors would pay a fortune for one but the Targaryens would never have sold them, of course."

"Naturally."

Robert nodded. "Once Rhaella has been buried, I'll give you one of the eggs and passage to Pentos. A letter of recommendation for your abilities as well."

"You no longer desire my services then?"

"I need someone with your skills, Varys. Unfortunately I can't afford to keep you." He went to the door, pointedly not turning his back. "I wish you well in future endeavours, as long as they aren't to my detriment of course."

Varys watched the door close resignedly. The key turning had a certain finality to it. Then he sighed, went to the small table and pinched a scrap of bread from that on the plate he'd been left for an evening meal. Placing it on the sill of the window he retreated to the chair and watched to see if a bird came to accept it.

Jon VI

"I'd have hoped we would have more time between securing Dragonstone and causing further conflicts, your grace."

Robert smiled at Jon's mild reprimand. "Better to strike before our enemies have time to get to work. Most likely we'll see a winter upon us in a year or two and at that point our opportunites to act will be limited."

"Perhaps you're right. I take it then that you've ruled out any expediant action regarding Aerys' younger children."

"I have. You disapprove?"

"Not entirely, but I must ask your reasoning? If nothing else, some lords will take it for weakness on your part."

Robert shrugged. "I will always have enemies. That's the price of being a king. If Viserys and his sister aren't available as figureheads then someone will resurrect the Blackfyre claim, or that of some other branch of the House. Not all of the Targaryens were so convenient as to wed siblings and breed themselves back into the royal line. I may as well keep the most obvious candidates on hand."

"We could at least send Viserys to the Wall. Five or six years from now he'd be a plausible candidate whereas his sister won't be a concern for twice that long at least."

Coal black eyebrows arched. "You want me to send him to his - our, in fact - great-great-uncle Aemon? The idea might have merit if we hadn't allowed near a hundred Crownland lords and knights join the Night Watch in lieu of bending the knee to me as King."

Jon paused, feeling foolish. It wasn't often that Robert managed to so convincingly put him on the backfoot. "You're right, that would be unwise. My apologies, your grace. Perhaps sending him to the Citadel to become a Maester..."

"That has potential for the future. Right now, that would put him neatly into the hands of the Tyrells - who are probably feeling quite resentful for now." Robert shrugged. "For now, Viserys can stay at court and keep company with Renly. They're about of an age."

"And the same for Daenerys."

Robert nodded. "A shrewd choice by Rhaella. That name would find favour in Dorne. She will remain here as well. And I should look into bringing Mya her as well."

"Your daughter?"

"Aye. And... hells. Any other daughters or sons I may have sired. I was a bloody fool, wasn't I?" He covered his eyes with his hands. "That would be a fine legacy to leave my heirs, their own Blackfyres to deal with."

"They'd have been little concern if Aegon IV hadn't legitimised them."

"Well I'm not proposing that. But keeping Viserys locked away from everyone won't do him or us any good. Nor Renly, for that matter, I gather half the children in the Keep are afraid to play with him lest they bring down royal wrath on their heads. Let them remember they're boys first and royal can wait until they're older."

Jon shook his head. "Do you want to invite Lord Tywin's younger son too? He's a little older though."

"I wouldn't object to that but I think Lord Tywin might have ill memories of his children being summoned away to King's Landing. Perhaps once he's old enough for responsibility, he can be groomed for an eventual seat on the Small Council?"

"That might please Tywin almost as much as the prospect of his son being Prince of the Rock. You had a good idea in making sure that suitable successors to each seat are prepared, but unfortunately we don't anyone prepared for Varys' seat yet."

"I've a thought or two, at least for now." Robert frowned. "It's unusual but how would you feel about calling Olenna Tyrell to court as Varys' replacement?"

Jon felt his jaw drop. "Have you lost your mind? You want the Queen of Thorns as your Master of Whispers?"

"She does have one telling advantage over Varys: her family. Since any betrayal would reflect very poorly on the Tyrells, she would be more controllable. And she's no fool - notoriously, in fact. Throw in the way women gossip..."

"You seem confident you can outsmart the woman."

"That's a concern, yes. But I don't insist on being the smartest person in the Court. And I'd being doing the Tyrells - and Mace Tyrell himself - a great favour."

Jon grimaced. "You think they'll see it like that?"

"From what I hear, Lord Tyrell would probably kiss my arse for the privilege of having his mother on the other side of Westeros from Highgarden."

Tywin V

"Father!? The North? What can those barbarians offer us?"

Tywin stared at Cersei for a moment, long enough for her to swallow and then moderate her tone.

"I don't understand this, father. Please could you explain it to me so that I don't inadvertantly spoil your plans?"

Better. That was the peril of daughters with strong wills. Hopefully Cersei's future husband would be as accomodating as Genna's husband - and without the unfortunate kinship to the lustful Lord of the Twins. "Besides the King, Cersei there are only a handful of men of suitable rank and age to be offered your hand."

"Then why not the King? He isn't to marry the Stark chit, so what other lady can he court?"

"He intends to marry a Crownlander, a decision which isn't without some merit from his perspective."

"And I suppose he felt that if he married me he'd have to render us a princely house, the way he did the Starks and Arryns."

"Possibly." Tywin personally doubted that it would have been the result. Jaime would reap the benefits, which was, on balance acceptable. "The decision is made however. That leaves Prince Stannis and Lord Benjen... unless you think there would be any point in pursuing a marriage to Oberyn Martell?"

"A degenerate of a degenerate House that rule the most degenerate of the Kingdoms. But at least they aren't savages."

"The Starks are hardly as savage as some of their bannermen. Whatever our part, the key alliance for the next generation will be based around Hoster Tully's grandchildren, the heirs to three Kingdoms and at least two branches inheriting a close bond with our current King, something he is hardly foolish enough to neglect. Marrying a Stark brings you into that."

"Wedding Stannis Baratheon would be as good. At least he's now of royal blood."

"True. And as a close counsellor to his brother, marrying him would put you in a significant position at court. But he's also stubborn and exceedingly jealous of his authority. As his bride you would have little latitude or influence over him. In contrast, Benjen Stark has been shielded from the war and is hardly noted for lordly ambitions."

"More malleable then."

Tywin nodded, glad the girl was finally using her wits. "The Baratheon brothers are hardly close, in comparison to the way the King views Prince Stark, and he is even closer to Lyanna Stark. It's reasonable to believe that Benjen Stark may could receive a similarly high degree of favour."

"From some god-forsaken hold in a far corner of the North?"

"A small holdfast in and of itself, but the lands proposed are extremely large and Lord Stark has agreed that to develop them his brother will have full authority to grant lands to a knightly house should they be willing to endow a younger son with sufficient smallfolk to make use of it. That's an opportunity that even Stannis Baratheon won't have in taking control of his new march: the chance to shape the demesne to his own pattern."

"Ah." Cersei nodded. "And there will be Westerland knights well placed to take advantage of this?"

"Naturally. Much better that they be enriching their houses in the North than cluttering taverns and brothels across half of Westeros."

His daughter smiled in understanding. "So what lands is Lord Benjen to be offered?"

Tywin drew out one of the maps he kept rolled on the desk for immediate reference. "With the King's permission? All of this."

Cersei stared. "Truly?"

"I would expect that he will take the name of this settlement for his demesne. Lady of Queenscrown has a suitable ring to it, does it not?"

Olenna I

Her son was plotting again. She could tell by the way he was glancing sideways at her when he thought she wasn't watching.

"Out with it, you oaf," she called down the table. "The Florents and Hightowers probably already know what you're up to so you might as well share it with your family."

The Lord Paramount of the Reach frowned into his beard. "The Stag has sent a letter."

"Ah, still sore are you? You should have taken his first offer, Mace, not pressed on and hoped you could use his brothers as leverage against him."

"Storm's End was about to fall!"

"Almost, but not quite."

Mace's jaw snapped shut and he glowered.

"What did the new king write to you about, dear?" asked Alerie. "A marriage, perhaps? It's said that Lyanna Stark returned to the North rather than wed him."

"I would have thought mother was too old for him, but then again the man is rapacious."

Olenna tilted her head. "I'm a little deaf in this ear, boy, but I'm called to court I take it?"

Mace nodded. "Perhaps he misses his own mother. It seems he wants you to be his Master of Whispers. Mistress, I should say."

"I've always thought that the Seven Kingdoms would do better if the Lords heeded their mothers better. It's the first time though that I've come across one of them putting that into practise."

"There's never been a woman on the Small Council," grumbled Mace. "It's unnatural."

"Well we know balls aren't a requirement or Aerys wouldn't have appointed Varys."

"What happened to Lord Varys?" asked Willas from the far side of his father.

"He wasn't a lord, dear," his mother corrected the boy.

"It's a good question though. The Spider won't stop spinning his webs for something as small as dismissal."

"He didn't say."

"I didn't expect you to know," she told Mace. "Still, Corbray dead and replaced with the middle Baratheon, Varys replaced and Hoster Tully off home in a huff. Judging by the fuss at the Citadel, Pycelle might find himself out of his place as Grand Maester too. That's more than half the Small Council changed and the Stag hasn't been on the throne for a year yet."

"I hadn't heard that!" exclaimed her son. "The King can't dismiss the Grand Maester!"

Olenna gave a illutrative sigh at the boy's slowness. "He can write to the Conclave though, and Pycelle's never been discreet. I'd wager all he'd have to ask them was whether they'd rather appoint a new Grand Maester or have no Maester on the Small Council at all. "

"Pycelle's been good enough for three Targaryen kings."

"That's likely the point. Out with the old and in with the new."

"Does that mean you'll decline the post, mother?" asked Alerie.

Olenna took her stick and tapped it on the floor to signal Left to pull her chair back from the table. "Don't be silly, girl. And don't call me mother, I'm only at fault for one fool at this table."

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Wearing Robert's Crown by drakensis

 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: T, English, Fantasy, Eddard S./Ned, Stannis B., Tywin L., Jon A., Words: 186k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Mar 26, 2016 Updated: Dec 3, 2016956Chapter 7

Stannis VI

Stannis sat at the high table and watched as Robert danced with Jeyne Waynwood. There was always something vaguely dissonant about Robert dancing with a girl he wasn't trying to bed. Not that Jeyne wasn't sufficiently pretty (in the bareboned Arryn way of her mother's kin) but even Robert, it seemed, was willing to draw the line at bedding his Hand's niece.

For one thing he'd have to wed her, and that would rather undermine his strategy for the Crownlands. For another...

He frowned. It wasn't as if he kept close track of his brother's wenching but how long had it been since Robert had a girl in his bed? Not since Stannis returned from Dragonstone.

That went beyond dissonant and right to the implausible. Probably he was simply keeping it out of sight.

"I see that hope springs eternal into my sister's breast."

"Hope that they'll fall out of the dress?" asked Stannis and then realised he'd said that in hearing of Alys Arryn, who had to force a smile over the snarl that was probably more natural.

Sharra Waynwood laughed. "No, but she's young enough to think she can ignore uncle and mother's instructions to concentrate on courting you not your brother."

He grunted. "Robert might remember not to take advantage of that."

The girl rolled her eyes. "I've heard the stories and even met the daughter he left at the Eyrie. Mya's a sweet child but I don't want think she's what my sister wants."

"And what do you want?"

"Right now, Prince Stannis, I would like you to dance with me. That's terribly forward, but you are the hero of the hour. And then, if you'd be so good as to dance with Aemma before she manages to slip away."

The third sister, who had been edging towards the end of the table, shot an innocent look at her mother and then a sour one at Sharra and Stannis.

Tightening his jaw, Stannis pushed back his own chair. It was expected of him, he supposed. "Lady Sharra, would you like to dance?"

She accepted his hand, stood and gracefully half-guided him into the dance. "More than you like it, I would guess. Don't worry, once you've danced with Aemma you'll have fulfilled your obligations and can go back to scowling at everyone from the high table." The smile she directed at him was conspiratorial. "Father doesn't care much for dancing either."

He grunted and concentrated on the steps of the dance for a while as they passed Robert. His brother nodded, having somehow handed Jeyne off to someone else. His new dance partner was a rail thin girl from one of the Crownland houses. She was simpering at Robert in an insincere fashion.

"Poor girl is trying too hard," Sharra noted. "One of the Stokesworth girls?"

"I don't know." He waited until they were at the far end of the hall. "So you've been told to snare me. You aren't trying hard."

"Why Prince Stannis, what a thing to say." She leant against him precisely as far as decorum allowed. "While I would have a hard time saying no, if you wanted me, I'd rather a lord who would be with me in our keep. I don't think a Prince who rules a strategic marchland as well as serving his brother as Master of Ships and who knows what else could do that."

"True enough."

"And I have an understanding with father that if this doesn't work out, he'll look into an arrangement with one of my cousins in Gulltown. Lord... sorry, Prince Jon, isn't on the best of terms with them but they're very rich and after the town was the centre of the loyalists during the war he needs to mend fences."

"And your sisters?" he asked tightly as they spun and started working their way up the hall again.

Sharra shook her hair. "Jeyne has time, unless she does something remarkably stupid. Aemma though... Father's considering a Frey match. You might like her though. She likes helping to run the keep, it's just feasts like this she doesn't like. She thinks they're a waste of time, money and effort."

Stannis ground his teeth. "So you think we'll hit it off."

"I don't see it costs anything to try." Sharra released his hand as they reached the high table. "I think I should sit down again, Lord Stannis." She picked up a fan she'd left there and began waving it. Her eyes flicked towards Aemma.

Not marrying that one if I can avoid it, Stannis thought, picking up his mug and sipping from it. Too bossy. He saw Robert coming back to the table though, trying to brush off Jeyne again without being too obvious. Hah. He deserves that, but I don't want to put up with it.

"Lady Aemma," he offered bluntly. "Would you care for a walk outside in the fresher air?"

Aemma, who was meatier than her sisters, nodded quickly and rose to take his arm. "I would be glad to."

To Stannis' relief, the girl then said not a single word as they exited the hall and crossed the courtyard. Well she's not a chatterbox, that's something, he admitted grudgingly to himself.

Barristan II

Having seen the changes to the throneroom, Barristan had left Ashara with the other ladies of the court (he was old enough and wise enough to know that there were some conversations no man should be privy too) while he went to see what else had been changed.

The Maidenvault being taken over by some devices the King had inspired was a surprise but it wasn't as if the building had been in use since Aerys' mother had passed away.

Barristan roamed back towards more familiar haunts. The White Sword Tower still stood, guarded now by King's Men. It could hardly be their headquarters though, after all - there were far more than seven of them. Perhaps the Royal Guard resided there? There were only seven of them so far...

The doors opened as he pondered, revealing King Robert followed by Lord Bolton and Ser Brynden Tully in the garb of the Royal Guard. "Ser... no, Lord Selmy now." The King raised his hand as well as his voice in greeting. "What brings you back here?"

"Making myself scarce while the women discuss whatever it is they talk of when their men are elsewhere." He tilted his head towards the tower. "I admit I was wondering what use is made now of the place that was my home for so long."

Robert blinked and then shrugged. "Actually it's my residence for now."

"You aren't using the royal apartments in Maegor's Holdfast?"

"I think Gregor Clegane showed exactly how secure they are and to be honest, all the dragons in the stonework creeped me out." Robert pretended to shudder. "I had trouble sleeping. There's enough room for me the old quarters of the Lord Commander and they're certainly comfortable enough."

"A little spartan for a King?"

"Well I wasn't born royal and we Stormlanders aren't as... haughty as Targaryens." He grinned. "Besides, being associated with what was for so long the most honourable and noble of Knights in all the land is something of a benefit."

"Ah, but those days are past. Our name is tarnished and most of us are dead."

"You, Lannister and Arthur Dayne."

"Yes..." Barristan shook his head. "I should send a raven to Jaime. Arthur remains quite... irate regarding what he views as our betrayal."

"And yet he let you marry his sister?"

"Ah..." Barristan sighed. "Not as such, your grace."

"Oh." Robert shook his head. "Well, I pardoned all the Kingsguard. If he chooses not to make a fresh start then it will be on his own head."

"He would be a dangerous opponent," warned Barristan. "He was the best of us, and greatly respected by many. Yet the man I parted from at Starfall was not the one I had called brother."

Lord Bolton nodded. "It would be wise to pay attention to any whispers that might come from Starfall, your grace."

"I'll add it to the list for my new Master of Whispers," the king said drily. "It's not a short list as it is. Anyway, Lord Selmy. Lord Bolton and I are going to watch the City Watch training. As I recall, you know a thing or two about such matters, would you care to join us?"

"I would be delighted." He thought back to the rumours he'd heard before his departure with Ned. "Is it true that they are forbidden from carrying swords?"

Bolton nodded.

"May I ask why?"

The northerner inclined his head quietly. "Swords are for soldiers. The Watch are to keep the peace, not to slaughter those they police."

"Clubs and quaterstaffs are more than enough to keep order. A sword might make a bravo bold," the King pointed out, "But against a well-trained man with a staff I know where my money would lie."

"Then I suppose that their training is of concern." Barristan nodded in understanding.

"All watchmen must be proficient with staff, club and crossbow." Bolton glanced at the King and bowed his head slightly. "Also his grace insisted on lessons on deportment. It's surprisingly useful."

"Deportment?"

The king shrugged. "A soft word, with a big stick in reserve, can avoid breaking heads better than half the time in my experience. Probably better for them to learn by example and not just by trial and error."

Ned VI

The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch slammed his fist down on his desk. "How can you approve of this?" Qorgyle demanded.

Ned kept his face impassive, as nearly as he could manage his father's mask of command.

After a long moment of silence, Qorgyle leant back into his chair. "We aren't subordinate to the Iron Throne. Jeor's son is said to be close to the King too. If we write to him and appeal the decision..."

"Queen Alysanne granted the New Gift to the Night's Watch to help fund their work in protecting Westeros from threats north of the wall. I rode through the New Gift and the Gift on the way here. It's hard to argue that they're being used for that purpose. Or at all."

"And I supose that granting your brother a lordly demesne has nothing to do with it?"

Jeor cleared his throat. "There are many lands Prince Stark could grant to his brother, even after his generosity to Lady Lyanna and to Lord Selmy."

"In truth, Lord Commander, King Robert is very concerned about the maintenance of the Wall and the defense of the northern border. He even asked me how severely the North would hate him if he disbanded the Night Watch and formed a replacement."

"I hope you told him to go to the netherhells!"

"I told the King that no one who hadn't visited the Wall should make that decision. So we invited Lord Umber."

"And?"

"He told Robert to go to the netherhells," Ned said coolly. "And then they got drunk and Robert got quite a list of better ideas out of Greatjon. This is one of them."

"Giving up the New Gift is hardly helping us!"

"You aren't doing anything with the New Gift. Even with the Targaryen loyalists who chose the Wall over bending their knees to Robert, you've barely a thousand men. Not even one farm in ten on the Old Gift is being worked. Robert's plan will bring hundreds of smallfolk north to farm the lands, food you can use to feed your men and concentrate more of them on the wall."

"Southerners won't last two months in the North, not even in summer much less in winter." Qorgyle shook his head. "And what then? We'll be weaker than ever."

"Losing something you don't use for the chance of something better is weaker?" asked Benjen, speaking for the first time. "I was considering joining the Night's Watch myself - it's a grand tradition for we Starks. But this is something better that I can do for you. You'll get all the taxes a lord would normally send to Winterfell, and first call on my banners if we're needed."

"You know that the Night's Watch stands their watch alone!"

Ned met the glare evenly. "My great-grandsire died at Long Lake because the Night's Watch failed in that charge. "

Qorgyle paled. "I am no Sleepy Jack!"

"Perhaps not, but you have only half the men he had."

Jeor shifted. "Lord Commander, it's said that the Wall is a world apart even from the rest of the North. Closing that gap could be of benefit to us, and perhaps get us some recruits of better quality."

The 996th Commander of the Night's Watch threw up his hands. "Don't blame me if Wildlings drive them all off and take your new bride as a spear-wife."

Who else would be to blame, it's your wall that should guard the lands? Ned chose to accept the victory, however grudging it was. "In addition, the King's established a force of men to handle the defenses of King's Landing. If you consent, he's offered to send a company north in a year or two to help clear out some of the other castles. We might not be able to put them back in service but at least they'll be in a better state for that if it becomes necessary."

"You can't think that they'll choose to stay here."

"I rather doubt it," said Benjen. "They'll be southerners after all, and you've told me what a warm welcome southerners get here."

"Once again, some help is more than you've had here in generations. Why not see how it goes?"

"I don't suppose I have much choice. Not with that veiled threat you made. Now you've been to the wall, you can tell Robert that you know all about us. The New Gift now, the Gift for one of your sons... And so ends a tradition that's lasted eighty centuries."

"When Robert asks - and he will - I'll tell him that the Night's Watch still stands for those traditions and that he can count on them to do so."

"Except for the tradition of our independence, it seems." Qorgyle slumped. "I suppose I must accommodate your King or find myself replaced."

"I don't think that that's very likely. But he might visit himself," Ned told him. "He'd probably prefer the wall to being King, given the choice."

Varys II

"You've put on weight."

Varys smiled at his old friend's gibe as he was escorted into Illyrio's receiving chamber, but didn't return the comment, although the former bravo was two or perhaps three times the man he had been in the youth - in weight at least. In wealth the difference was vastly greater. "There isn't much room for exercise aboard a sailing vessel, I fear."

"I'd imagine so. The new King threw you out then?"

"I was shocked."

"That he didn't trust you?"

Varys laughed. "No, it was quickly clear he wasn't so foolish as that. But sending me away with a handsome reward... now that was a surprise. He seems to know the edge of mercy."

"Ah, that's quite surprising. I had heard he was something of a brute."

"Oh he is more nuanced than that." Varys shook his head. "I wouldn't be entirely surprised if I didn't feature in his plans even now."

Illyrio shrugged his vast shoulders. "Well, be my guest and see what song your little birds sing."

On balance, Varys decided it wouldn't be prudent to admit that he hadn't managed to make contact with any of his sources before boarding the ship for Pentos. Not for want of trying, it must be said, but at least three had fallen into the hands of Lord Bolton and he had the distinct impression that the northerner would get information out of them somehow, which boded ill for his network.

"I will gladly accept your hospitality, my friend, but I have an idea or two to keep myself busy."

"Back to our old games? Alas, but I am not the one people come to any more, seeking the recovery of that which has been stolen from them."

Varys smiled broadly. "Oh a new game, Illyrio - or rather, a new spin upon an old one. Tell me, is it best to sell a hundred secrets for a hundred silvers or twenty thousand secrets for a silver apiece?"

"Why the latter, but once circulated such a secret would surely lose its currency long before you have whispered into twenty thousand ears."

"Well, King Robert may have rewarded me, but I am not certain he knows that I also walked away with something that may be more valuable."

"Wine for my friend and I!" called Illyrio, clapping his hands together. "Please, Varys, you know my curiosity is my greatest weakness."

Second only to your avarice, old friend. "Why I shall keep you on tenterhooks no longer then." He leant forwards. "I shall place all my resources into gathering the most timely and titillating of secrets and for the merest token of payment anyone at all will be enlightened to them."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone." Varys beamed. "For I shall place all this information on display in the marketplace, upon a single sheet of the cheapest parchment or paper, reprinted hundreds or thousands times. How much do the merchant houses spend to stay abreast of events, how much interest do the wives of even the humblest craftsmen have on the affairs and..." he chortled, "Affairs, of the wealthy and notable?"

"Truly I can see how you will tickle their fancy," confessed the merchant. "But to reproduce such sheets would cost a fortune unless..."

Varys winked. "And that is King Robert's unwitting gift to me, besides the - too be fair - quite handsome reward."

"My friend, you will be as rich as me if you can pull this off."

"Oh it isn't about the money."

Illyrio accepted a goblet from his servant and directed a wry smile over it to Varys.

The eunuch raised his own goblet in salute at the point. "Oh very well, it isn't entirely about the money." He paused. This couldn't be what Robert wanted me to do, could it? he thought. No, I will grant that he's an excellent improviser, but he couldn't imagine that I would take his little toy and make this out of it...

No, nonsense. Still, it'll be a terrible shame that I have to watch him from a distance. He really is a very remarkable young man...

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Wearing Robert's Crown by drakensis

 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: T, English, Fantasy, Eddard S./Ned, Stannis B., Tywin L., Jon A., Words: 186k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Mar 26, 2016 Updated: Dec 3, 2016956Chapter 8

Olenna II

The tourney at King's Landing wasn't as grand as the one held at Harrenhal two years before, Olenna noted. This wasn't to say that gold hadn't been spent but to her eye it seemed to have been spent differently. Rather than splendid stands and banners, the new King had focused on durable flags and almost everything used had the look of something that might very well be cleaned, folded up and stored away for another occasion.

Five feasts marked the occasion and while the first and last were entirely at the expense of the King, he'd cannily invited Lord Tully, Prince Arryn and Lord Lannister to each host one banquet, bringing with them delicacies from their Kingdoms to spice up the food on offer. Once again this moderated the expense and Tully hadn't been able to resist the temptation to show off.

Olenna was sure that when Mace learned of the extravagance shown, he'd leap at the chance to seek to surpass it at the next opportunity. At least Prince Arryn and Gerion Lannister - representing his brother - were showing more restraint.

"You don't say that these rumours are true?" Gerion asked as he escorted Olenna to the high table of the Westerland feast.

"That depends which rumours you mean. There's enough that if you recite them all I'll be dead before you're done."

"That might indeed be true, but the one I mean is that it is said you will be replacing Lord Varys on the Small Council."

"Well it's not as if he needs a Master of Ships, with his brother in the role."

"Ha, very true," Gerion conceded. "Alas, my own experience with the Westerlands fleet has not been enough to catch the King's eye when set against the glorious victor of Dragonstone. Why I hear he lost almost half his fleet before laying eyes on the place."

"It can hardly compare to your glorious victories... whatever they were." Her nephew's Redwyne fleet had at least successfully blockaded Storm's End, even if that had left the Reach's coast open to Ironborn depredations.

The Lannister laughed out loud. "The Seven forbid that you and my nephew Tyrion ever meet. His tongue is already sharp enough he could cut himself on it."

"And his father specialises in cutting men down to size, which probably explains the dwarf's height." Olenna tapped the chair Gerion led her to with her stick and Right pulled it back for her. "Go tend your other guests, Ser. I can sit down without help, it's just getting up that is harder with age."

"You're looking well," Lord Estermont observed from his own seat - one place closer to where the King would be sitting once he arrived.

She snorted. "By what standard?"

"At our age the fact we aren't buried is a good start."

"That requires intelligent decision-making, not something I expected from your nephews."

"Well Robert's named you as his new Mistress, which makes your point for you." He'd timed the remark right as the youngest Waynwood girl entered and Olenna saw the girl paling in shock.

Fortunately for the girl's sensibilities, she was placed at a lower table so Olenna wouldn't have to deal with her no doubt insipid whimperings. Instead the seat on her other side was occupied by a quiet Northerner. It took her some time to realise that the man was the by now infamous Lord Bolton, partly because he volunteered no information

"So why did the King appoint you his Senechal?" she demanded of him, after reminding Estermont that he should take Renly Baratheon in hand before the boy's brothers spoiled him rotten.

The pale-eyed lord chewed quietly on a mouthful of pheasent and then swallowed. "We have never discussed that matter."

"No, I don't suppose that you have."

"It may be," he said judiciously, "That you and I have much in common with Tywin Lannister."

Estermont leant forwards to look past Olenna. "Oh, what is that?"

Bolton smiled thinly and refilled his goblet. "Counsellors that can be dismissed, taking the blame for less popular policies."

"I hardly think that Robert is that calculating."

Olenna drew her lips back from her teeth. "I would agree with half of that, Lord Lomas. Are you married, Lord Roose?"

"A widower."

"And likely to remain that way until the King weds - every maid in Westeros is setting her cap at him, and a good many widows who should know better."

Bolton made a non-committal noise that was lost as Gerion finished a rambling set of remarks that were probably intended to be witty and possibly impressed the more inebriated.

The King rose to his feet. "Thank you, Lord Gerion, for hosting this banquet on behalf of your brother. I'm, particularly pleased with the wine, which is well suited both to those such as yourself who have been doing very well in the jousting, and also to certain whose fortunes have been less beneficial - or who waged upon those in that state."

There was a mutter from some of the slower thinkers trying to work out if Robert was complimenting the wine or not.

"One of Lord Tywin's last duties as my Hand was to assist me in considering whom I ought marry. As such it's fitting that it be today, at this feast, that I can announce that Prince Arryn and I have concluded the negotiations for my marriage to Lady Alysanne Chelsted."

The King went around the table and walked down to one of the side tables to where a solidly-built young woman rose from her own seat to greet him. Robert kissed her on the cheek and then ushered her back to her chair before lifting woman and chair together and carrying them back to the high table.

There was a certain amount of shuffling of chairs to make room, Left and Right together lifting Olenna's chair for her without her needing to stand. And following this everyone had to move their platters.

"Qarlton Chelsted's sister, isn't she?"

Lomas nodded. "Twelve years younger than him and this should also settle the succession of those lands."

"A good match, although she'll need a thick skin and possibly a food-taster. She's just made an enemy of every unmarried lady this side of the Narrow Sea."

Lomas nodded. "With seven new Royal Guards to be chosen at the tourney she'll have two assigned to her. I'll mention a food-taster to Robert."

Olenna looked at the tables mostly occupied by Crownlanders. The marriage might win over some of the men - at least enough to push any active rebellion back until after the next winter. Well... if it was a short summer. Maybe.

Tywin VI

Tywin read the message carefully and set it aside. So Robert Baratheon would wed. The Chelsted girl wouldn't have been his preference but allowing for the requirement that the new queen should be a Crownlander she was acceptable. Cersei would no doubt throw a childish tantrum again, really she needed to grow up. It was unlikely the young Stark would be impressed by such behaviour.

"It took him long enough," he said out loud.

"A year isn't such a long time," his next oldest brother observed mildly. "And for much of that it seemed he would be wedding Lyanna Stark."

"I would almost rather that he had. At least Cersei would be less shrill."

"If you say so, Tywin. So Jaime?"

Tywin nodded. "There are three options. Firstly wed him to a daughter of a Lannister bannerman."

"It avoids entanglements."

"But it also leaves us with only a Stark alliance to rely on. The Waynwood girls would have potential - one is to wed Robert's brother, which makes them of acceptable rank."

"A second tie into the more northerly kingdoms," agreed Kevan. "Then the alternative is to find a more southerly alliance."

"Robert punished Mace Tyrell for his defiance, but now he's offering the Reach a chance to redeem themselves. Randyll Tarly as Warden of the South and Olenna Tyrell as putative Master of Whispers are examples." The real master of whispers, whoever it was, must be remaining in the shadows - however canny the Queen of Thorns was said to be, only a mad man would trust a woman with such an important position, even if she wasn't verging on senility.

"The Martells don't trust us at all and the Stormlands all think King Robert only refrains from walking on water because it would get his boots wet. But there's no Tyrell I can think of who's the right age."

Tywin shook his head. "The Tyrells are the heirs of stewards. Upstarts not worthy of my son. I've written to Leyton Hightower and now that a royal wedding is impossible for them, I expect there will be a reply."

"A fair portion of our southern trade goes to Oldtown, I think he'll see the benefits." Kevan scratched his chin. "And if he wants support in ousting the Tyrells from Highgarden?"

"Mace's heirs are Leyton's grandsons. It's unlikely he'd move so directly, but Tyrell influence in the upper Reach took a blow when they surrendered lands to the Baratheons. They can't afford to lose the support of the Hightowers so they'd have no choice but to permit any agreements Leyton and I negotiate."

His brother went to the window and looked south. "You're thinking beyond this generation."

"My son will be Prince of the Rock. If the Tyrells continue to weaken, the northern reach may look more towards a more powerful lord - particularly one with a wealthy and influential goodbrother in Oldtown."

"If that opportunity arises."

"If it does not then he still has a wealthy bride and a valuable alliance. More importantly our House will have alliances north and south."

"So when will Gerion return from King's Landing?"

"Seven years or so," Tywin snorted. "He boasts he made a fine showing in the tourney and King Robert invited him to join the Royal Guards."

Kevan shook his head "Couldn't he have refused?"

"Could have, should have, didn't. I can only hope he will find a bride in the east while he's there."

"I would have thought that Robert would be wary of a Lannister behind him after... well, you know."

"Our King seems fond of grand gestures... and with a Tyrell and an Arryn already on the Small Council, he had to offer something to our House. Master of Coin would have been more useful."

Jon VII

Robert's fist hit the arm of of the throne like his hammer. On the Iron Throne he'd likely have done himself an injury. As it was the new throne, being wooden, was probably in more danger. Fortunately it was still covered by the cloak Robert had draped it with more than a year ago so no one should notice if it was replaced with another one of the set (or by a copy in ironwood, just to be on the safe side).

"I've tried being concilatory and clearly some of you have forgotten you're not dealing with a Targaryen who'll forget about a project after a month or two." The king glared down at the leaders of the Tanner's Guild. "Those of your guild who've accepted my offer of loans and land grants to relocate outside of the walls will be reaping the rewards over the rest of you, because those offers are now closed and the trade of tanning is hereby banned within the walls of King's Landing. Lord Bolton!"

"Sire?"

Jon had almost forgotten the Seneschal was present since it was the first word he'd said so far.

"The tanners have until the end of the month. After that, if their workshops haven't been removed the City Watch is to remove them, and the tanners with them." Robert stood, towering over the guildsmen. "You don't have to relocate to Tannerstown but your trade does too much to the water the city depends on for me to allow it within the walls."

"But your grace..."

Jon stepped forwards as he saw Robert's hand going to the shaft of his hammer. "Guildmaster, do you have any other protest other than those you've been making for the last three months?"

The tanners grudgingly retreated out of the throneroom and Robert glared at them until the doors closed behind them. Only then did he relax back into the throne. "My thanks, Jon. I was on the verge of losing my temper."

"I noticed, your grace."

That got a grin from the King. "I suppose breaking their skulls wouldn't be much better than the Mad King."

At least, Jon thought, he's usually easy to get out of dark moods. "The tanneries are one of the few trades in Fleabottom," he warned. "Lord Bolton, you may need to reinforce your patrols in that part of the city."

"It seems, your grace, that you have something of a goal of ruining Fleabottom, between forcing the tanners out and the removal of so many of the landlords."

"What's this?" asked Jon.

Robert gave Bolton a mildly reproving look. "Oh alright. I'm trying to get as many people to leave that district as I can so I can demolish it. Virtually all of King's Landing drains through that part of the city so sorting out decent sewers more or less hinges on tearing most of Fleabottom apart to build the main drains there."

Jon groaned. "There are going to be riots."

The king winced. "I hope not. I'm offering bounties to those who volunteer to travel north to settle on the lands of Lord Selmy, Lyanna or her brother. And I doubt most of the residents really care for their landlords."

"Yes, what exactly are you doing to them?" The Hand of the King turned his eyes to the Seneschal.

The Northerner's face didn't change at all. "There are ancient and largely disregarded laws about the maintenance of buildings in King's Landing to reduce the chances of fires spreading. I have ordered those laws enforced... rigorously."

"All through the city, or just in Fleabottom?"

"Uniformly." He looked at Robert. "However, since Fleabottom's streets are narrower and buildings made of poorer materials the hazards of fire are greater there and violations of the law more common."

Jon thought back to the days Robert had been passing sentence on crimes in the city and judgement on disputes. For the most part, the Hand had been busy enough to leave those occasions to Robert and to Lomas Estermont. "And what sentences have been passed?"

"I gave the landlords brought before me the choice between heavy fines or surrendering their property in the district. Oh, and if they take the fines they have to make good the deficiencies too. So far, all of them gave up the land. After Aery's plan to burn the city down were revealed, no one wants to be a landlord known for carelessness on that matter."

"All this for a sewer?"

"A sewer and a considerable amount of work being done to reduce the chances of a fire spreading across the city - which isn't costing us a penny."

"Which is a good thing since I gather the roadworks are costing more than expected."

"More than Lord Rogers expected. Jerrard seems to be a decent sailor but a poor coin-counter. I had him set aside a reserve of coin in expectation that he was being optimistic about the costs. We have enough of a reserve to handle to expenses for now."

"I know Jaeharys the Wise was known for codifying the laws and building the roads but don't you think that you're taking emulation of him too far?"

"Better roads don't just let us move armies more easily, Jon. It makes it easier to move goods by cart and wagon, which should mean more trade and thus more tax revenue. Compiling all the old records makes it clear that Jaeharys income was two or three times as high by the end of his reign as it was at the beginning."

"That would be a prodigous boost to the treasury."

"We're not building them from scratch, so I don't know that we'll see quite such a return but even an increase of one-tenth the revenue from the Lords along the Rosby Road and Kingsroad will repay the investment in a summer or two." He shook his head. "Anyway. Hopefully most of the tanners will go to Tannerstown. It's much closer than the alternatives."

"And you're sure about allocating all revenues there to your new Queen?"

"Just for her lifetime." Robert's lips curved in a wry smile. "If I know aught of a lady, tis that they desire more in jewels and silks than all but the most dashing young Reachman. I don't say that Lady Alysanne would wish to bankrupt me for her wardrobe but if she must bear at least part of the costs from her own revenues, perhaps pride will reduce requests that I settle the bills of her tailors."

Stannis VII

Robert locked elbows with Stannis and the two men tilted their cups back, eyes locked on each other as they drained the contents. There were loud cheers from Stormland lords as the two bridegrooms finished their cups, unentangled their arms and slammed the mugs down, up-ended, on the table.

Stannis recalled practising this when they were boys and his brother had thought it rather jolly to accidentally belt Stannis in the face while doing this. Of course then they had been but boys and drinking filched ale, not strong apple-brandy. If it had happened this time it might have been a genuine accident.

"Good stuff," the King approved, returning to his chair between Stannis and Queen Alysanne. Taking his own seat, Stannis touched the wine flagon and gave his wife a questioning look. At her nod he refilled her goblet with the watered wine.

"Were the Rose Road in better repair we could have brought a second wagonload, your grace," Aemma said quietly.

Robert threw his head back and laughed. "To the point, are you not, my dear good-sister? I promise you that when the men and the dragons are available, the Roseroad and the Gold Road will get the same treatment as the Rosby Road and the Kingsroad. Next year should be possible unless winter comes."

"According to Prince Stark's house, winter is always coming," Alysanne reminded her new husband.

"Aye, it's a randy devil, winter." Stannis suspected Robert was winking but couldn't say with the king turned away. "While the weather permits, I shall build roads, will that be well enough for you? Now enough business, is there no music? This is a wedding feast!"

The minstrels struck up another tune, one good for the guests to pound the tables too.

"Come hear the song that the hammer sings on the armour of our enemies ,

A gift from the gods to the valiant king, what a glorious song the hammer sings."

Stannis noted Robert's foot tapping to the tune, no surprise with a song so blatantly calculated to pander to the King's ego. However, a glance away from his bride showed that Robert's smile was a trifle forced.

"Aren't you enjoying the feast?"

Robert set his jaw. "I find the prospect of the bedding custom a trifle less amusing now it's my lady, my queen, who will be the one stripped and carried by the men."

Beside him, Queen Alysanne studied her goblet. "My lord, no lady I know is pleased by the custom, but it is our duty and if we do not do ours..."

"Even a king cannot change custom?"

"Only very carefully and by small degrees," she agreed in a low voice. "As the Targaryens discovered more than once."

"And what do you think of the custom, brother?"

Stannis closed his eyes for a moment. And his fingers, possessively, upon Aemma's hand. "It is not my taste."

"Hmm." Robert sighed and shook his head. "Well, what a King may not, his brother may dare. My lady, shall we do our duty and... allow discretion by my brother and our good-sister?"

Stannis felt Aemma's hand close around his grip.

Robert pushed back his chair and then moved Alysanne's back so she could stand. The royal couple walked around the high table and the hall fell silent as they came to stand in the centre of the great chamber. The king used his free hand to signal to the King's Men at the doors to open them wide.

"My lords, knights and ladies, I thank you all for joining me on this very happy day!" he called out. "But the hour draws on and I have a lovely bride with whom I am eager to share the marriage bed." The pair carefully moved apart from each other, as if rehearsed, until only by stretching out their arms could they remain hand in hand. "And so I bid you all a good night and merry feasting."

Then there was a crude whoop from one of the younger knights and the feasters surged around the royal couple, men converging on the queen and women on Robert.

Stannis quietly moved his own chair back and then Aemma's. The attention of those remaining at the high table - Jon Arryn, Lomas Estermont and Olenna Tyrell along with others of their mature years - was largely upon the display in the centre of the hall. Only Olenna glanced aside at the two of them and then she sniffed disparagingly before looking back towards the king.

There was a small door to the rear of the great hall, leading to a stair that could be used to discreetly reach Maegor's Holdfast and Stannis' chamber, conveniently in the other direction from Robert's chambers in the White Sword Tower. As Stannis opened it, Ser Brynden Tully quietly moved up along with them and stood to screen them from view.

Looking back a moment, Stannis could see Gerion Lannister, Jorah Mormont and two other members of the Royal Guard pushing through the crowd around Robert and Alysanne, keeping grim and purposeful watch over them.

There was a familiar laugh, a startled cry from Alysanne and then Stannis saw the naked queen raised up above the crowd as an equally unclad Robert threw her over his shoulder and bounded away towards the door. "Aha!" he crowed. "She's mine, all mine!"

Stannis shook his head and went through the door, leaving it to Ser Brynden to close it behind them. Aemma touched his elbow and he automatically took her arm. Somehow he thought that the night to follow, while generally in the same purpose as his brother's, would also be very different. And perhaps that was not such a bad thing?

"My lady," he said to her quietly. "Mine."

Aemma reached up and took his chin with her free hand. "My lord. Mine."

They descended the stairway away from the noise and fuss of the hall on quick, some might say eager, feet.Terms of Service