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.