Amos Casseria. Brandon Vellene. Artur Messelos. Gwenhefar Carnel. Four grenadiers dead. Amos and Brandon to Mandon Moore's sword, the only effective resistance the night of the coup. Artur in the final clash they were calling the Battle of Four Armies, hit in his unprotected face by a spear thrust. Gwenhefar dead to dysentery on the march to Casterly Rock.
Another six or so had been crippled by wounds at some point, unlikely to be fit to return to service, mostly due to damaged tendons and nerves in their sword arms. A dozen silvercloaks under her command had also died, taking the brunt of the fighting and armoured only in cheap, crude butted mail. More were wounded, including several with missing fingers and burned faces from their cheap, low quality calivers bursting.
Only 65 or so enlisted left fit for combat, and her officers and staff. They'd seen things the Westerosi wouldn't believe. Rockets glittering in the night above the Hendiot range. Great flights of wyverns, migrating over the border marches, but in a century, there would be no one alive on this planet who'd seen those things, utterly mundane to her but wondrous to the Westerosi. They'd be just as lost as the great northern wall or the seven wonders.
Their only option was to become part of this new world, or conquer it and impose themselves as rulers over it like Arthur had.
"Ma'am, the king is going to be sentencing the prisoners tomorrow morning." Boudace said, sticking her head into Tane's room. They'd occupied one of the outlying villages, while Stannis was holding court in the now that the siege was over. Most had surrendered, but some had held out in the depths and heights of the rock. They'd been forced to surrender, overrun, often by former Lannister bannermen, or killed while trying to break out in the days following the betrayal, and now virtually all resistance had vanished. There was still resistance in the north; Eddard's troops would be cleaning that up.
"Aye." Tane said, finishing up her check of the company muster rolls and the lists of pay and equipment. Stannis's sentencing of the surviving rebels was likely to be a hair raising experience. The man chopped off fingers for saving his life, and had seriously considered burning children alive. How he dealt with actual traitors… well, it wouldn't be pretty.
*
The sentencing was to be held in Casterly Rock's Golden Hall, surrounded by the evidence of House Lannister's ancient glory. Suits of armour hung on the walls: Ironborn, Northern, Reachmen, Riverlanders, Reynes and Tarbecks, testament to thousands of years of probably fabricated glory. All of it destroyed because a knight couldn't keep it in his breeches.
Stannis had moved as much of his army as possible into the citadel, while the Westermen had been forced to camp out on the plans, to stop any reversal of the surrender. The hall was unpleasantly damp feeling, neither warm nor cold. Like a cave. Mostly because Casterly Rock, was, when you got down to it, a man-made cave network inside a mountain. If not for Sarsfield's treachery, they could have been sieging it for years.
A hundred or so nobles and near a thousand knights had been stuffed into the cramped space, while the Westermen prisoners were held in a second, nearby hall, ready to plead for mercy.
Eddard Stark had ridden south, taking his prisoners with him, for this. Renly had been unable to attend due to his injuries, and was recovering at Crakehall, alongside his sworn shield Brienne.
Stannis had quietly set out his plan for her future: an advisory position on the small council for matters military. She'd agreed. Becoming a general was beyond her immediate skills, but she would learn, and royal favour was never something to be thrown aside. It was clear the idea of having loyal, professional troops with powerful weapons at his beck and call appealed to him.
There were hundreds of others in there with her. Squires and common soldiers set to receive knighthoods for some deed or another; nobles waiting to snap up empty holdfasts for their second sons and bastards.
Banners hung from lines strung across the wall, hundreds of houses of the Stormlands and Reach and a few from the North. Her own cornet hung amongst them, cleaned and stitched up after being trampled at the Battle of Four Armies, the flaming grenade above the three spoked wheel of the Commonwealth on a green field, the slogan of the 3rd Horse Guards flying proudly above it-No Greater Fury.
Stannis marched out into the middle of the hall, it's ceiling lost in shadow. His right arm was stiff, too stiff; probably from his wound, a mace blow to the inside of the elbow. He was dressed in a stiff red doublet and black breeches, with his hastily repaired crown on his head. The mere fact that his clothes weren't crumpled or dirty made him better dressed than almost every lord in the room.
"Firstly, the sentencing of all those who rose with Lord Tywin Lannister in his western rebellion. I will spare many, those who only served who they falsely believed to be their rightful king faithfully. Others, those responsible for Tywin's cruel sack of the riverlands and the spawning of the abomination Joffrey Baratheon, will be shown no mercy."
A golden haired man in a sweat stained shirt was led out into the hall, alongside a dwarf, both chained hand and foot. His face was a ruin, split by an angry red line and a mass of stitches, his nose and right eye gone. Jaime Lannister. He made his misshapen, dwarf brother-look outright charming in comparison, and Tyrion made your typical Woose look beautiful in comparison.
"You are guilty of the attempted murder of Brandon Stark, twice over, the killing of Lord Eddard Stark's men, abandoning your duties as a kingsguard, incest and rebellion. The punishment for all of those is death. You will be beheaded tomorrow. So will Tyrion Lannister for his role in the rape of the riverlands."
And for being a potential leader for the Lannisters. Can't have that.
They were lead off, Jaime's shouted demands for trial by combat ignored.
Other prisoners were lead out. Those who had betrayed Tywin were only pardoned for treason, not rewarded. Harwyn Sarsfield, the man who had organized the scheme, was given an empty holdfast when he pleaded that he had believed in the truth of Joffrey's claims, but had immediately defected when he discovered the truth. For those who had stayed with Tywin to the last…
Wall, off with his head, Silent Sisters, Wall, off with his head summarized it well enough.
Finally, the King who had started all of this was led out. He was not the boy she had known in King's Landing, seemingly courteous, prone to fits of rage, who had once gutted a cat out of curiosity. He was broken, his eyes downcast, red from crying.
"I shall not suffer the spawn of incest to live, nor usurpers." Stannis droned. "You shall be beheaded on the morrow."
This is butchery, not justice. Killing him to stop another war would be all well and good, if they didn't have a perfectly sensible way to dispose of him without killing…
He was led off, and then the knightings and granting's of boons began.
There were dozens of them. Devan Seaworth and Bryen Farring were knighted for staying by their king's side even as Tywin's cavalry crashed in amongst them. Many other squires were knighted for the same. An archer received his pick of the captured horses and armour as a reward for felling some Western lord with a single shot through the visor. Brienne of Tarth was offered three strong warhorses for saving his brother's life. The lords were given boons, obviously planned out ahead of time. Western Lord's lands, cuts of the loot, children as wards and hostages. A position as Master of Coin for Guncer Sunglass. A new position, as Master of Armies, for Randyll Tarly.
Casterly Rock, and the lord paramountcy of the West, went to some Frey who'd married a Lannister(though said Lannister was off to the silent sisters), though the Rock itself was to be bricked up and abandoned, leaving only the outer walls and courtyards to be inhabited-little more than a fortress around a mountain, rather than a mountain that was a fortress. She had her doubts about how well that would work, but it was better than having to siege the bloody thing all over again.
Tarbeck Hall and Castamere, too, and funds to repair them, were granted to Ser Rolland Storm, alongside the wardenship of the west and legitimacy. He'd apparently led the force that had outflanked and destroyed Tywin's tiny rearguard in the passes, letting Stannis move fast enough to nearly catch them at the battle of the oceanroad.
Eddard Stark was called up, too.
"Your Grace" he said, taking his knee, "As your favour, I beg mercy for Joffrey Waters. Though an abomination born of incest, it is the crime of his parents, not himself, that you condemn him for. By your leave, I would have him sent to the wall instead, no threat to the realm."
She'd had Eddard Stark's word that if she fought in trial by battle, the children would be spared. Cersei had died, and good riddance, and the younger children vanished.
Back him. Force Stannis's hand.
Stannis's jaw twitched. "He is too dangerous."
And risk having royal disfavour?
"Bryden Rivers caused no trouble once he took the black. Neither did Aemon."
You've killed dozens of people. At least save someone from this bloody mess.
"Spare him, Your Grace. That was the condition I agreed to in return for killing Trant." Tane said.
Stannis glared at her wordlessly.
"That too is the boon I would ask of you. Enough blood has been spilt on the Queen's account." A small man said. Davos Seaworth, freshly ashore from the blockade.
Back down, back down god damn you.
Stannis said only one word.
"No."
*
The next morning, she stood amongst those assembled to watch the beheadings in Casterly Rock's courtyard. She'd started this by carrying out the coup; the least she could do was carry it out to the bloody end.
Stannis stood upon the stage, Illyn Payne at his side. The king looked as grim as ever, but there was something off about him.
The first captive was dragged across the stage, Ser Addam Marbrand, freshly missing an arm. He placed his head upon the block without being forced.
Dying bravely. She approved of that, although she approved of living bravely more.
Illyn hefted his greatsword.
At the last moment, Stannis called out "You are hereby commuted from a sentence of death, to a sentence of serving the Night's Watch. Your crimes against the realm are many, but you fought bravely for a false cause. Therefore, you must fight bravely for a true cause, for the Night's Watch needs brave men for what is coming."
Addam stood up, bewildered. He looked so resigned to death that he seemed to be almost disappointed to not be martyred in the name of the West.
The next lord, a huge Crakehall who looked like the rather more athletic twin of the man she'd duelled storming their castle, was dragged forth, forced to the block, then spared.
The procedure was repeated endlessly, thirty odd lords and knights, mostly those who had refused to surrender or participated in the Riverlands sack, had their sentences commuted. By the end, they abandoned the song and dance of forcing their heads to the block.
She could scarcely believe that Stannis had actually listened. He, of all people…
Has he been possessed?
She saw Eddard nodding approval, even as the soldiers grumbled; the more intellectual about why the nobles where spared while the commons where cut down on the field, the less intellectual about the lack of blood.
Tyrion was pardoned too, sent to the wall for his part in the pillaging of the riverlands and treason, but otherwise no more to blame for the rising than any other petty lord, and then Jaime was brought forth.
His head was forced to the block. Illyn raised his blade. Stannis repeated his spiel about brave men and "what is coming".
"For the crime of incest, however, there can be no forgiveness, no second chances. Ser Illyn Payne, bring me his head."
The sword crashed down three times; one to kill, two more to remove the head. Illyn lifted his head, once handsome, now ruined, for all the crowd to see. The soldiers cheered, baying in approval. They had come to see blood; they'd finally gotten it after being cheated half a hundred times. The corpse, still twitching, was dragged off the stage.
Then Joffrey was lead forth towards the block, now blood spattered. He was struggling, screaming. "You killed Uncle! You had Father murdered! Usurper! Traitor!"
"Many have counselled me to spare you. People wise and brave. That would be the merciful thing. But mercy and justice are not the same thing. As long as I am King, crimes against nature shall never go unpunished. Ser Illyn Payne, bring me his head."
Joffrey fell to his knees, pleading, begging. Eddard was striding towards the stage, yelling that Stannis should do it himself. Ser Illyn grabbed him by the hair and dragged him towards the block. She started pushing forwards herself, irrationally. Even with her pistols, there was nothing she could do. She would not throw away her life to save some boy, even if she'd promised his monster of a mother to try and have him spared and spoken in his favour.
She'd signed their death warrant when she'd shot Ser Preston Greenfield, when she'd rammed her backsword up through Trant's voiders, when they'd punched through the shieldwall covering Tywin's flanks, and she'd carried it out when she'd watched Cersei beheaded and helped to try and recapture the younger children.
If I'd not wanted to see him killed, I should never have taken part in the coup.
"Your Grace! I passed the verdict, I should pass the sentence. I beg of you, he is only a bo-" Eddard called out, his voice ringing above the cheering and jeering.
"Do it." Stannis said, cutting him off.
Illyn took the boy's head with a single cut.
