The Old Knight looked out from the walls of Harrenhal over the God's Eye. He could see the reflection of the Isle of Faces in the water, the Weirwood groves casting a bloody wound onto the lake. Bonifer Hasty had never liked Weirwoods - foreign idols of demonic gods. He always felt as if he was being watched around them, as if the protection of the Mother had deserted him and that the eyes could pierce right through him. Now he lived in their shadow. Hasty never liked turning his back on that island, but his men were assembled below him, and so, reluctantly, he turned to them.
The Holy Hundred, reduced slightly from that number, were assembled in rank below him. Surrounding them, in less than perfect discipline, was a collection of camp followers, household staff, and the remaining peasants from Harrentown. Some of his lieutenants knew what he was going to say, but many were left in confusion. That would soon be dispelled.
"My brothers, my Holy Hundred, hear my words." Hasty's words rang out across the courtyard. "Once, long ago, Westeros was ruled by just kings, by Godly kings. I was proud to be a subject of the Iron Throne. Knights were virtuous, ladies fair, and kings were just. This ideal was shattered right here, at Harrenhal. I was there, and now I pledge I shall restore it. A bastard rules in King's Landing, a bastard I say! An abomination in the sight of the Mother! That is why war has swamped the land. That is why famine snaps at our heels. Punishment! It is punishment from the Seven! We need a Godly king in Westeros once more, to cleanse the land of evil.
As he spoke, banners were unfurled upon the walls. A gasp went up from the crowd, as the smallfolk recognized the red, roaring three headed dragon on a midnight black field. A banner not seen in Westeros for over ten years.
"Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen, trueborn son of Aerys Targaryen, has returned to Westeros! Down with the ungodly usurpers! Down with those who defile the will of the Seven! The Warrior will guide Aegon to Kings Landing, the Smith has restored his ancient sword Blackfyre, the Crone and the Father will guide his rule, the Maiden will bless his family, and the Stranger will take his enemies. Long live Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name! Let the ravens fly! Let the riders spread the news to every village - Harrenhal declares for the Dragon."
Stannis had never been to Winterfell before. Why should he have gone? There was never a reason before to visit the home of the man Robert loved as a brother more than his own kin. The old stones and burning thatch doubtless had many stories to tell, but few among them were anything that the King of Westeros felt he needed to hear. Not right now at least. Right now he could only sit and think about the situation that now faced him as he sat high upon one of the few undamaged battlements.
Ramsey Snow had burned this place once. But now the Bastard of Bolton was dead and the Walls of Winterfell still stood. Inside those walls were Northern Lords and Ladies all waiting to hear the pronouncements of their King. Stannis ground his teeth as he thought of it all. These Northmen bowed and fought alongside him, but he was not the King they had chosen first. These lords and ladies rose first for the Starks, and then for their memory. They had crowned Eddard Stark's son king, but now the Young Wolf was dead. The Northern Houses were decidedly diminished from war and from betrayal. From within their own ranks did House Bolton strike, and from without did Old Walder Frey cut down hundreds in a brutal violation of Guest Right.
For the memory of that vengeance and for the memory of that bloodline did they rise. Not for their duty to the rightful king. The northmen waited for him in the barely covered Great Hall. Many waiting for the first proclamations of their King in the aftermath of the victory.
This was not even considering the confusing rumors that flew from the Wall. Stannis had been surprisingly relieved when he heard first word from Lord Snow. A strange tightness he couldn't quite understand lifted from him, as if he was releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. Lord Snow had proven among the key factors in rallying the Northmen to his side, to lose him to mutiny and treachery would be most unfortunate. If Lord Snow was not in command, Stannis did not know if he could be assured of the safety of his daughter and wife. What Queen's Men were there would a small lot of ambitious wranglers. Axell Florent and his followers never struck the King as the most competent or clear minded of his vassals.
Regardless, there were things to attend to, matters of the Kingdom and the Crown. Ravens to be sent, appointments to arrange. In this, there had to be no doubt of what was to take place. The North had to be reordered, and made ready for the coming storm. War from the south, and the more terrible war in the North. But first, order. That had to be achieved.
The Boltons have been laid low, and the Freys in the North humbled. With that matter secured, we must now turn to reorganization, preparation, and the settling of accounts.
With the information provided by Lord Wyman Manderly, it is the pronouncement that we seek the retrieval of the rightful Lord of Winterfell, Rickon Stark from the Island of Skaagos. Upon his arrival he shall need steadfast support and tutelage, that honor shall go to one of you.
The decision has been made, and Alysanne Mormont shall serve as Regent of Winterfell for the Lord Stark.
In the matter of inheritances of the castles of Hornwood and Dreadfort, decisions have also been reached.
The Castle and Lordship of Hornwood shall be granted to the legitimized natural son of the Late Lord Hornwood. Lawrence Hornwood shall take up the seat of his father and assume the duties and responsibilities of said house.
The Castle of the Dreadfort and the Lordship of all entitled rents and vassals shall pass to Jeyne Poole, under her lawful claim as widow of the Bolton Household.
A small message would be quietly slipped to Lady Jeyne also with the details of a marriage proposal between herself and Ser Richard Horpe.
In matters of the Small Council, the appointments have been made for Lord Wyman Manderly to be made Master of Coin
Stannis prepared for a great deal of consternation at his next set of words
And the appointment of Lady Asha Greyjoy as Master of Ships.
In a matter of finance, herein also is a major pronouncement.
The Iron Throne and the House Baratheon decrees that any house that swears loyalty to this cause shall have the right to send authenticated records of their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos to the offices of the Master of Coin. From there, the debts of said houses will be purchased by the Iron Throne and House Baratheon on the understanding that they can and shall be bundled together in a combined loan for a collective renegotiation with the Iron Bank of Braavos. A deal of this sort has been agreed on with House Manderly, for reference.
In the Matter of Grain, know that I do not intend to allow my people to starve. A king who abandons his subjects to starvation is no king at all. The renegotiated loans of the Iron Bank shall see matters resolved in this affair.
Ours is the Fury, and ours is the cause of law, justice, and order. This is not the end of all that must be amended, this is only the beginning. There must be one King, One realm.
To Victaria Tyrell, Dowager Lady of Blackcrown, and Tommen Costayne, Lord of the Three Towers
I have thought it prudent to make my will apparent. The hope of the Reach to humble me has ended in failure. In a mere day the Redwyne Straits are now a misnomer. Much like the Shield Islands I have found them wanting as adversaries. The trinkets I attach are proof of my claim. In awe of them, assuredly, you must realize your precarious situation. Bereft of both fleet and natural protection, you must think that hiding in your castles will allow you to weather the storm, as the ironborn lack the means to take them.
Such assumptions will be the death of you.
Like the Conqueror of old I am in possession of a dragon. Like him I will turn your wood to pyre, your flesh to cinders, and your stones to obsidian. To avoid this fate, I can see three options before you: one, you can surrender to me and enjoy my coronation very much alive; two, you can run away from your citadels and find safety where the rivers do not touch; three, you can kill yourselves. Time is short and I will come to hear your response soon.
You hear no response from Blackcrown or Three Towers, but your longships report increased activity from both, and there are groups leaving them.
However, you do intercept a letter sent from Blackcrown with its destination seeming to be the Arbor, though some other ravens are able to make it.
From: Victaria of House Tyrell, Dowager Lady of Blackcrown
To: Paxtor of House Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor
To Cousin Paxter,
Your eldest has married my daughter, and your younger, my niece. I have agreed to proceed with your enterprise, with the knowledge that what will come next was inevitable, that I either would either follow your new order or be left by the wayside.
Now I am bound to your folly, to the hulks and corpses of your ships and men as they float on the straits that bear your name. You failed to stop the Ironborn, and are left with only your life, and your island.
You must dispatch aid to us, or you shall never have what you most desire.
Signed,
Victaria of House Tyrell, Dowager Lady of Blackcrown.
I have the Conqueror's Name, I have the Conqueror's Sword, I have the Conqueror's Claim. But I am not here to conquer. I am here to bring back peace, prosperity and justice to a deeply divided realm.
Kingship is a duty. A duty to my lords, to my people, to my blood. A duty to the rule of law, to ensure peace, to ensure good governance. I must ask you my lords, is Cersei Lannister's Rule good governance ? Was Robert Baratheon's rule good governance ?
I am fully aware of my grandfather rule, and it's consequence on my people and I must apologize on behalf of House Targaryen. But I must also reminds you of all the good my dynasty bought. King Jaehaerys being the foremost exemple.
I have been taught for all my life by a septa, by the best teachers possible, and with the help of my Hand, Lord Jon Connington, and yours, We shall leave this era of warfare behind and focus, as King Jaehaerys did, on Good Governance, Stability and a return to prosperity.
Signed,
Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm
From: Lord Ralph of House Buckler, Lord Sebastion of House Errol, Lord Hugh of House Grandison, Lord Arstan of House Selmy, and Lord Jon of House Cafferen.
To: King Aegon of House Targaryen
We first bowed to Stags and then were forced to bow to Lions. The first abandoned us to the North, after failing at the Blackwater, the second leave us no choice. We only ask that those of our House that continue to serve them, shall be pardoned when your victory comes.
We declare for the Dragon, we declare for the one true king!
From: Lord Ronnel of House Penrose
To: King Aegon of House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm.
My son was murdered by Lord Stannis, they claim he fell from the walls of Storm's End, but I know they lie. House Penrose has always served House Targaryen well, we lost three sons in the Blackfyre Rebellion. I am not soon for this world, and I have served many a king, most that I did not choose, and those that I did, failed me.
I pray you to prove different.
I declare for the Dragon, I declare for the one true king.
From: Lord Casper of House Wylde, Ser Richard of House Morrigen, Lady Mary of House Mertyns, Lord Eldon of House Estermont
To: King Aegon of House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm.
Each of our lands has been taken by force, and each of us has men who serve other kings. We ask of you for mercy for them all, and should that be granted, we shall happily bend our knees to you.
We shall declare for the Dragon, we shall declare for the one true king!
From: Lord Thurgood "Silveraxe" of House Fell
To: Aegon
My father once served your kind. He was defeated by the killer of your so-called father. Perhaps we should feel as kin, for my father was also killed by the Demon of the Trident.
But I do not find myself akin to bastards and forgers.
Although I could not be with my nephew as he served with the one true king, I could not be with him when he died.
I shall hold Felwood, from Lannister or Targaryen alike, until the King relieves me, just as he was relieved long ago at Storm's End.
House Fell remains loyal to House Baratheon.
From: the Castellan of Broad Arch, the Castellan of Poddingfield, and the Castellan of Blackhaven.
To: King Aegon of House Targaryen
It is unfortunate that with our lords away, we are unable to do as you so demand. Lord Staedmon is held at King's Landing, while Lord Peasebury is in the North, all the while Lord Dondarrion is still within the Riverlands, and considered an outlaw by the Crown.
We cannot bend the knee as you require, but neither shall we impede your progress, as long as you remain far from our lands.
From: Lord Nigel of House Trant, and Lord Gulian of House Swann
To: King Aegon of House Targaryen
We are sworn to King's Landing, and our honour demands that we remain as so. Our sons are part of the Kingsguard, and that shall not seem to change.
From: Lord Philip of House Foote
To: Aegon
As the Lord of Nightsong, the Lord of the Marches, I spit on your words, as that of a fake Dragon. My loyalty is to House Baratheon, to King Tommen, and as I slayed the Carons at the Blackwater, I shall soon slay you when your time comes.
From the Desk of the Lord of Waters @The_Red_Baron Letter delivered to the independant captains and smaller despots of the Stepstones You likely know who I am, you likely have seen my ships and know their strength, just as I know your strength.
Your strength and competence is why I she contacted you. In the chaos of the current time there is opportunity for the ambitious to win fabulous prizes. The stepstones is the artery of trade and if husbanded correctly is the source of limitless wealth.
For us to access this wealth though we will need to work together, to cooperate to ensure we do not destroy all trade through the stepstones; thus robbing us of all incomes.
I would ask you to join me; together we can secure the stepstones for ourselves, my war drommons can support your operations and your vessels can avail of my anchorages and stores.
If this offer I attractive to you I'd like to meet you, come to Torturers deep and we can hash out the details.
Aided by the success you have so far, your gigantic ships, and the recent Golden Company landings, various small-level pirates make their way to Torturer's Deep to join up with you. However the great pirate lords of Last Refuge, Shame Isle, the Skulls, and Dark Den are not receptive and even view you as an upstart. Rumours even fly that the notorious Salladhor Saan laughs at your proclamation.
My name is Aurane Waters, formerly Grand Admiral of the seven kingdoms. I say formerly as with the capture of the government by religious fanatics and squabbling duplicitous lords I find myself unable to remain attached to the Iron Throne. It is in this predicament in which I have contacted you, hoping for the Iron banks' wisdom and advice so as to generate mutual profit.
With my retainers, who have remained with me, following my resignation from the post of Grand Admiral I have relocated to the Stepstones. I fell it is my duty to ensure some laws are still enforced in this chaotic world and it is my intention to ensure that the stepstones are swept free of pirates. I have the means to do this with my current fleet but you are no doubt all to aware of the costs of keeping a fleet in fighting shape at sea.
I have contacted the Iron bank in the hopes of seeking your direction as to how to act with respect to the chaos in the seven kingdoms, your sources of intelligence and wisdom are renowned, and to secure a rolling credit facility. With this credit I hope to commission new ships from the arsenal of bravoss, purchase stores and recruit more seamen. I expect to be able to service this credit through the tolls charged to ships transiting the stepstones; it is only fair after all that they should contribute to keeping the trade routes free. As an additional incentive I would like to offer that such fees be waved for all ships the Iron Bank has a pecuniary interest in. Should you feel this offer acceptable I would be great full to receive an advisor from the bank, so that the returns on your investment can be maximised.
While I appreciate my current stocks of collateral are limited, I feel the continuous supporting nature of the above venture will ensure the safety of the Bank's investment. The ability of the bank to recover its due is widely known.
It is our understanding that it was by your orchestration that the government in King's Landing rather than taking the prudent action of repaying its debt, began building the war fleet you have so recently commandeered. Knowing that we have now recently ceased our support for this government, you must realise that being a former member of it, a destructive member at that, shall win you no support here. Even if you now claim to be desiring to do good in the Stepstones.
However, the Iron Bank does not shy away from profitable ventures, even if they are risky, even if history has taught us that ventures in the Stepstones are a poison for gold. Still, it is much apparent to us, and those above us, that for the days that come, an outpost in the south shall be extremely useful. Thus these are our terms, you shall serve as our secret subordinate, to do as we command, you shall open your ports to Braavosi vessels, be they for trade or war, you shall wave any fees as offered, you shall provide us with a fair share of the tolls collected, and you shall keep as your foremost advisors a representative of the Iron Bank and the Sealord. In exchange, you shall have your credit and the right to commission ships from the Arsenal.
The Stormlands has suffered in the tumult of the past 20 years more than any save the Riverlands, which always is the land where the wars of the Great Houses are fought. First Robert Baratheon led our armies far from home first to defeat and then at last victory while Stannis held Storm's End and the Targaryen loyalists held sway in the countryside. Then as the War of the Five Kings began the Stormlords rallied to their liege, Renly Baratheon. Alas, he was murdered and many swore to Stannis, his brother. Others fled with the Reachmen and swore to Joffrey and then Tommen after him. On Tarth however, the House of Tarth's forces returned home and swore their banners neither to Stannis or King's Landing.
Lord Selwyn Tarth had little hope and less desire to fight in the twisting maelstrom that consumed Westeros. On his island, with his ships, he was somewhat secure. There were after all bigger fish to fry for the rival claimants and factions than the loyalties of Tarth and Estermont. Lord Selwyn cared only to find and return his daughter who had gone missing following the death of Renly. That is until golden sails appeared on the eastern horizon.
The Golden Company had returned to the shores of Westeros and bore a red dragon, rather than a black. Jon Connington, an honorable man in his day, declared his return and at his side Aegon Targaryen, the long-thought dead son of Prince Rhaegar. Selwyn recalled Rhaegar as a man of promise, a true Targaryen in the sense of his nobility, chivalry, and personage. If it were not for the affair of Lyanna Stark and the grudge of Robert then Rhaegar might have become a great king. Selwyn Tarth had spent much in his loyalty to Robert and Renly but it had brought him nothing but sorrow, fear, and regret. Now would he spend the last of his strength in a thankless effort to resist the return of somebody who might rally the minor lords and great houses alike, bring the vast array of landed knights and smallfolk to the banners of the dragons, and restore order to the realm? No, with Aegon there might be a restoration of good governance, an end to the Lannister corruption, and the ceaseless wars. After all, the Targaryens in days gone by ruled first by the might of their dragons and then by their position at the head of the social order. Perhaps all these wars were because it was not fit that any of the great houses, with their regional might and competition, should rule over the others.
And perhaps the Dragon could return his precious daughter to him.
So the Lord of Tarth bent the knee to Aegon VI and hailed him the returning King. His new lord and master set him a task. Retrieve the Golden Company who had been lost in the Stepstones and bring them to the Stormlands where they might prove useful in the consolidation of the King's position and ultimate victory. Therefore, Lord Selwyn sent forth his ships and many men south with orders from the new king, to gather the lost armies of the dragon.
Mathis found himself kneeling in the Sept of Storm's End, before the visages of the Seven. He beseeches the Father for the wisdom to see his people safely through the countless pitfalls that undoubtedly lay ahead. He begs for forgiveness. And most of all, he prays for the safety of his family, left behind in fair Goldengrove.
It was the fateful decision made outside the walls of the great fortress of Storm Kings that had brought him here, at the house of gods. Words had come to him, brought on winds of winter, sent by those he considered trusted allies and peers, telling him of the boy who should be dead. Of the golden clad heirs of bittersteel, led by a Griffon.
A grand conspiracy. A fanciful tale. Yet, one many dearly wished to believe in. The Seven Kingdoms bleed, ravaged by krakens and boundless greed of lions. Famine and war stalked the lands, even as winter prepared to unleash its pitiless breath on those that yet lived. Ancient and sacred laws lay broken at the hands of men. So, Mathis Rowan had turned his cloak, in hopes of a true king, who can bring peace to the sundered land and perhaps heal it in time.
And soon after, the young dragon had won a grand victory that would reverberate through history and all of Westeros. Conquered Storm's End for all to witness through strength and guile. Accomplished what the entire chivalry of the South and he himself had not. It was as if the Seven themselves approved of the bold dragon, who wielded the long lost sword of kings and vowed to right all that was wrong in the realm.
Pangs of guilt still stabbed at Mathis for betraying his liege lord, for dishonoring his oaths and vows, no matter the righteousness of the cause he may have chosen. Am I truly any better than the treacherous swines that infest this realm? The Lord of Goldengrove wondered grimly. But, perhaps, there was some remote hope still that his old friend would realise the folly of the union with the Lannisters, those butchers of children.
But no matter, he had made his choice and all that was left was to follow through, to ensure that peace and justice reigned once more in the Seven Kingdoms. That the wicked were finally punished and the weak protected. He vowed before the gods to carry out this war with restraint, to not let foul deeds, darken and besmirch the reign of the young king as it had the Usurper's.
The Boltons have been laid low, and the Freys in the North humbled. With that matter secured, we must now turn to reorganization, preparation, and the settling of accounts.
With the information provided by Lord Wyman Manderly, it is the pronouncement that we seek the retrieval of the rightful Lord of Winterfell, Rickon Stark from the Island of Skaagos. Upon his arrival he shall need steadfast support and tutelage, that honor shall go to one of you.
The decision has been made, and Alysanne Mormont shall serve as Regent of Winterfell for the Lord Stark.
In the matter of inheritances of the castles of Hornwood and Dreadfort, decisions have also been reached.
The Castle and Lordship of Hornwood shall be granted to the legitimized natural son of the Late Lord Hornwood. Lawrence Hornwood shall take up the seat of his father and assume the duties and responsibilities of said house.
The Castle of the Dreadfort and the Lordship of all entitled rents and vassals shall pass to Jeyne Poole, under her lawful claim as widow of the Bolton Household.
A small message would be quietly slipped to Lady Jeyne also with the details of a marriage proposal between herself and Ser Richard Horpe.
In matters of the Small Council, the appointments have been made for Lord Wyman Manderly to be made Master of Coin
Stannis prepared for a great deal of consternation at his next set of words
And the appointment of Lady Asha Greyjoy as Master of Ships.
In a matter of finance, herein also is a major pronouncement.
The Iron Throne and the House Baratheon decrees that any house that swears loyalty to this cause shall have the right to send authenticated records of their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos to the offices of the Master of Coin. From there, the debts of said houses will be purchased by the Iron Throne and House Baratheon on the understanding that they can and shall be bundled together in a combined loan for a collective renegotiation with the Iron Bank of Braavos. A deal of this sort has been agreed on with House Manderly, for reference.
In the Matter of Grain, know that I do not intend to allow my people to starve. A king who abandons his subjects to starvation is no king at all. The renegotiated loans of the Iron Bank shall see matters resolved in this affair.
Ours is the Fury, and ours is the cause of law, justice, and order. This is not the end of all that must be amended, this is only the beginning. There must be one King, One realm.
Most lords seem overjoyed at the idea that Rickon Stark lives, and they all seem receptive to the notion of his placement as Lord of Winterfell.
There is of course almost immediate consternation when the decisions for the Regency, the Hornwood and the Dreadfort are given.
No fuss is made over the fact that Lord Wyman Manderly is made Master of Coin, though there are some dissenting voices that a Northerner should stand as Hand of the King.
However, that is almost immediately drowned out by the announcement of a Greyjoy as Master of Ships. In fact, such was the outrage, that most likely did not hear the offer regarding the Iron Bank, even less would internalise it. Yet days after the event, those that did have debts to the Iron Bank would accept the offer, though, in the North, not many apart from the Manderlys had such debts.
From: Lady Barbrey of House Dustin, Lady of Barrowton
To: King Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone.
Your Grace,
I am glad that there is enough sense among you to know that women can indeed rule, though I have proven that already. No doubt Lady Alysanne Mormont shall serve as a fine regent for young Lord Stark, whenever he should be found. However, would she make a great regent? I do not believe so, and I would not be alone in my belief I would wager.
Make me Regent of Winterfell, Your Grace, I may not have been among the first to join your cause, but I remain one of your greatest supporters. Barrowton was spared most of the suffering born of the Young Wolf's folly in the south, and thus we would open our coffers and our men for Your Grace's efforts, wherever they are.
To sweeten my offer, I would offer my hand, to any southerner you desire take it. I am still young enough to bear children, and Barrowton needs an heir after all.
From: Lord Rodrik of House Ryswell, Lord of the Rills To: King Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone.
Your Grace,
You have heard our petition before, and though not directly answering it, an answer seems to have been plainly given, must to our dismay.
Though we sympathise with the plight of Lady Jeyne Poole, she has no right to the Dreadfort. Yes, as a widow of the son of Roose Bolton, she might have some claim with the destruction of their house, but that son was not trueborn. He was a bastard, who was only made legitimate by the word of a bastard, an abomination, born of incest, who himself claims your throne. In no way can the murderer of my nephew, Domeric Bolton, Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton, be considered a legitimate Bolton, nor even a legitimate Lord of the Dreadfort.
Thus we ask you to rescind your proclamation of her as Lady of the Dreadfort, an action which I believe many would agree with, and reconsider my petition. My daughter bore the only trueborn son of Roose Bolton, it was a tragedy, an outrage that the Bastard of Bolton killed him, by rights of restitution, House Ryswell should have the rights to the Dreadfort, such that I ask of you to name my second son, Rickard as Lord.
If this cannot be granted, then at the very least I ask that you would have the Lady Jeyne Poole wed my Rickard. House Ryswell would consider this an amenable enough compromise.
We may have not been the first of your supporters, but we do remain among your strongest, we experienced raids along our lands by the Ironborn but held firm, and our strength was not lost in the southern folly, we only seek to make our strength yours.
From: Brandon of House Tallhart, self-styled Lord of the Hornwood
To: King Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone.
Your Grace,
I sympathise with your position, of desiring to reward the loyalty of House Glover to yourself, but you must see that House Tallhart was as loyal, we simply were not allowed to show so until your arrival near Winterfell. Just like the Glovers, our seat was occupied by the Ironborn, only unlike the Glovers, we did not have the good fortune of having your presence to liberate it. If only we did, for then you would see our loyalty is beyond question.
However, that leaves me only to argue the points of legalism. After the death of Lord Halys Hornwood, my uncle at the Green Fork, and his son Daryn Hornwood, my cousin at the Whispering Wood, it only left his widow, Lady Donella Hornwood as the ruler of the Hornwood, yet even then, it can be argued that it should have passed to Lord Halys' sister, my mother, Lady Berena Hornwood. Yet even after Lady Donella's unfortunate death, it is clear that the heir to the Hornwood was my mother. I recognise Larence as my cousin, but the fact remains he is a bastard, and he was a bastard at the time of Lady Donella's death, by all the laws of Westeros, the Hornwood would pass to my mother and me.
Yet, I recognise too, the position this leaves you in, Your Grace. So I provide an offer, should my cousin's legitimisation be rescinded, and I proclaimed as Lord of the Hornwood, then my cousin, Lady Eddara Tallhart, shall offer her hand to Larence, they shall rule at Torrhen's Square, while I rule at the Hornwood, satisfying all parties.
From: Lady Lyanna of House Mormont, Castellan of Bear Island, and Robett Glover, Castellan of Deepwood Motte
To: King Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone
Your Grace,
We are glad for the honours you have granted us...
...However, we must express doubt at the making of a Greyjoy as Master of Ships, whether she bent the knee or not. The Ironborn began this war by betraying the trust that the Young Wolf put in them, they began this war with the raids of the Rills and of Bear Island, of the taking of Moat Cailin, of Torrhen's Square, of Deepwood Motte, and even Winterfell. The killing of Bran Stark, and as we then believed, of Rickon Stark. The Turncloak may have burned for his crimes, but his sister is little better.
We would ask that you find a more suitable, Northern candidate for the position. From: Lady Jeyne Poole
To: King Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone
Your Grace,
While... while, I am thankful for the honour you have bestowed upon me.
I fear I am in little position to take it. I am the daughter of a steward, nothing more, I do not have the training or knowledge to rule.
Nor will I admit, am I eager to rule the Dreadfort, nor am I even... even... eager to marry.
I am sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot marry, not after what... Ra- Ram- Ramsay, did to me.
I beg that this all be given to someone else.
From: Lord Timotty of House Flint, Lord of Flint's Finger
To: King Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone
Your Grace,
The dead shall need to have risen, the Wall will have had to have melted, and dragons the size seen only in the Dance will have to have returned before I follow a Greyjoy out to sea.
A raven is sent to Winterfell, with a message addressed to the eyes of Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of all Westeros, the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, and Azor Ahai Reborn @jankmaster98
Your Grace,
You, above all, must understand the difficult situation in which I am in. The North needs a Stark in Winterfell, but for me to take that cloak would be to resign my duties in the Wall as the Watch's chosen commander. To resign said duties would be to prove Slynt, Marsh, Lady Catelyn, and Thorne right. It would be to prove myself a traitor who broke every vow he has sworn. I am not sure mine honor could take even another blow
And yet, my honor does not matter, not when the whole world spirals into destruction as the dead agitate beyond the Wall. The North needs unity, a regent, and a Warden. I can offer you all three as long as you promise to allow me to return to Castle Black once all of this is over; this is the last bit of honor I will indulge in.
Signed,
Jon Snow. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: Jeyne Poole, Lady of the Dreadfort @The_Red_Baron@Skrevski@Pax Americana
From: Jon Snow
King Stannis has designs for both of us--you will be made his Lady of the Dreadfort and I his Warden of the North. Both positions will guarantee that we will have many suitors.
Just as you do not desire a husband after what happened with Bolton, I also do not wish for a wife. A marriage of convenience will mean we will both be left alone. What do you say?
From: Stannis Baratheon
To: Assembled Lords and Ladies
The positions of the Small Council are for the King to decide, that is law, and that is order.
Lawrence Hornwood shall serve as Lord of Hornwood. If one wishes to create ties of marriage, kinship, or formality with him that is the business between yourselves and him.
The Dreadfort matter is also settled, if any wish to speak further of the matter, The Reigning Lady and her staff, which shall be arranged with her shall be matters to be decided.
You, above all, must understand the difficult situation in which I am in. The North needs a Stark in Winterfell, but for me to take that cloak would be to resign my duties in the Wall as the Watch's chosen commander. To resign said duties would be to prove Slynt, Marsh, Lady Catelyn, and Thorne right. It would be to prove myself a traitor who broke every vow he has sworn. I am not sure mine honor could take even another blow
And yet, my honor does not matter, not when the whole world spirals into destruction as the dead agitate beyond the Wall. The North needs unity, a regent, and a Warden. I can offer you all three as long as you promise to allow me to return to Castle Black once all of this is over; this is the last bit of honor I will indulge in.
Stannis clutches the new letter in his hands, for the first time in a long time unsure of the weight of his words and what this might unleash.
There is one matter that was not decided on, which I shall reveal to you now. The appointment of Warden of the North. The Wardenship's duties of military command shall pass to a soldier of duty and a commander of ability.
We hearby appoint Jon Snow, henceforth to be legitimized as Jon Stark, as Warden of the North and given co-authority over affairs of the North with the Regent Alysanne Mormont. He is also appointed the legal guardian of his kin by his father Eddard Stark. If you look for another Stark to lead, here one has appeared.
Also From King Stannis Baratheon
To: Jon Snow (to be named Stark)
To and from the private offices of said individuals
*Grinds teeth
I see you still make terms when speaking to your king, as many of these northerners do. They are accepted, to help bring greater unity to the cause of defending the world against the monsters that march out of the snow.
To his holiness, High Septon of the true faith, @Aura
I like to consider myself a pious woman and was shocked and saddened to hear of your predecessor's passing. May he rest in the light of the Seven. I am pleased by the news of your appointment, as I have heard tales of your piety and devotion, and I know that the Seven smile upon your ascendence. Furthermore, I wish to someday hear your wisdom and receive your teachings.
In my position as the Lady of the Golden Tooth, I plan to assist the Faith, as is the duty of any devout ruler in our kingdom, by establishing chapterhouses for the Faith Militant within my lands. Seven bless King Tommen for reversing the ungodly policies of the Targaryen kings.
If there is any other way to aid the faith which you, the avatar of the Seven in our world, would see fit to order me, then it shall be done.
I pray for your health and for the salvation of our lands and people.
Praise the Seven Who Are One,
Lady Alysanne Lefford.
Hail and well met, Aegon, son of Rhaegar! Your House is known to me. The Targaryens, the last dragonlords, the throne forgers, your line is the line of Old Valyria and your words are Fire and Blood.
I am Kedrick, son of Gabryl, of the House of the Black Bar. Holders of haunted Bandallon, sworn to Oldtown and Highgarden. We have no words, only a sin that must never be named. I tell you this so that you may know me and know my House, for plainly much of your education has been sorely lacking.
I know your House, son of Rhaegar. My House spilled our blood for it, for the True King Aegon II, for Good King Daeron, and for the second Jahaerys, when we followed the banner of Tyrell and the banner of Hightower. As I am sworn to do, as my father was sworn before me and his father before him.
And I know the Golden Company that follows at your heels. I know them for traitors and rebels, thieves and murderers, Maelys Blackfyre's lackeys and Aegor River's hellspawned brood, Maiden bless the Lord of my House that sought to scabbard his lance in that bastard's heart and Stranger damn him that the thrice damned Redtusk knocked it astray ere it struck home. We do not forget our sins and we do not forget those who sinned against us, well do we know the Golden Company.
For my oaths and my honor, I deny you.
For the crimes I must punish and the vengeance I am owed, I defy you.
Kedrick Blackbar, Lord of Bandallon, Bearer of the Sin Forgotten and Keeper of the Coast, leal retainer to Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, true King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men
Lord of Harrenhal. Lord Paramount of the Trident. Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn. He had risen so far from the son of a backwater lord and from being a disgraced ward at Riverrun. It had not been easy, nor simple, and there had been many close brushes with destruction. Without an army or a famous name, he could not hope to impose his will through brute force, and so he still depended on events outside his direct control and the manipulation or stupidity of his "betters" to advance his interests. He had manipulated Jon Arryn, Lysa, Robert Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, Ned Stark, even the mighty Lord Tywin, all those great lords and ladies who had seen him as nothing more than a clever coin counter they could use for their own ends that could not possibly threaten their exalted position, to gradually rise to become one of the most powerful men in the realm, and watched as all they destroyed themselves with their own faults and follies.
Baelish had certainly helped speed their demises along. He had helped sow chaos in the realm and used it to his advantage as he cultivated his own network and hoarded power. He had mastered chaos it was his ladder to power. No one could conquer and channel that dark force of chaos like he could, not even Varys. He did not even start with some great plan, but instead had been a master of improvisation and exploiting this chaos he thrived in.
But to what end was Littlefinger climbing this ladder and amassing this power? It was not even something he could totally answer himself. Power was its own end. Power would right the wrongs of his life and make him triumph over the great nobles of Westeros who thought themselves above him and who had taken what was his.
Triumph was in sight, though the path and means were not yet secure or even totally transparent. One thing he was sure of was this triumph was intimately tied together with the person of Sansa Stark. He would not Catelyn, perhaps he never could have, but Sansa was a better and more appropriate prize. Littlefinger had known it the first time he laid eyes on her, and she soon proved to be worthy even as a young and naive girl. He would place her in her rightful seat of power in Winterfell with the aid of the Knights of the Vale and her soon-to-be-husband. He would rule through her and groom her. Perhaps they could reach for the ultimate prize of the Iron Throne.
He was aged enough to have served two kings in his life, considering his age that was not too surprising, he was not a young man by any means, but he could not be considered old either. The reason he had only served two kings then, was simply due to the matter of his loyalty. He had marched south twice in his life as well, first under the command of Ned, he was meant to have been a bannerman to Brandon when old Rickard died, but they were both dead and only Ned was left to lead them. He was there at the Bells, at the Trident, he was there when they crowned Robert. He was there when he heard that his cousin, was killed in Dorne. A sweet and young lad who had survived where Brandon's companions had not, was killed somewhere in Dorne.
He had mourned, he had peace then for a short amount of time, he fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion, but that was a blip in his life, a period of time filled with longing, longing to return home, he had his niece and nephew born by then, and he had little desire but to be a great uncle.
Then he had peace again. All up until Ned was executed in the south, when his son Robb, led him southwards. He was a strapping young lad, capable, unproven at the beginning.
But then he proved himself all at once, didn't he?
He captured the Kingslayer, he broke the Siege of Riverrun, he invaded the West.
He without a word, without a desire, convinced them all to declare him, as their King.
The Young Wolf, where they declared for Robert because of Ned, because the Dragons had failed. With Robb, they chose him to be their king, they believed, they believed that this boy, this man, would finally achieve that collective dream that had simmered and burned ever since Torrhen had first knelt to the Conqueror.
It only took a year for such good feelings to change. He heard that his seat was taken by the Ironborn, that his brother so filled with grief had launched himself at the enemy and was captured, that he himself was thrown into the waters as he made his way to the Twins, and then instead was sent to Seagard.
For in his hand, held knowledge that could break kingdoms.
He and Maege Mormont had found themselves at Greywater Watch, all of them, all of them had mourned when news from the south had arrived. Their king, the one they chose, the one which they served without disloyalty or dishonour... was murdered by both.
And held in his hand, was knowledge that could break kingdoms.
The Boltons captured the Turncloak, they retook Moat Cailin, they made their stand against Stannis.
Howland gave them all he could, Maege conspired with her daughters, and he himself infiltrated Winterfell. He conspired and prepared, he learned and considered, and he watched as his fellow lords and ladies of the North gave up their loyalty to their true king. He watched as they squabbled and schemed between themselves, between Baratheon and Bolton, between invader and betrayer. He met the Turncloak, he called him Kinslayer and felt some sick joy when he saw his mutilations, his subservience to the Bastard of Bolton, he knew Bran and Rickon lived, and the Kinslayer knew too, but two boys did die.
His heart fell when news from the Wall came, his heart rose when news from the Wall came.
When Stannis took Winterfell, when the Lords and Ladies of the North bent the knee, he felt sicker.
Especially, when his own brother, was among the greatest of his loyalists.
He watched as Stannis attempted to rule, he watched as Stannis gave out Northern castles as if they were his to give. He watched as he named a Greyjoy, the one that took his home, as one of his closest councillors. He watched as he named Jon Snow, Jon Stark, named him, Warden of the North. As if either were boons for him to give.
He could not stand it any longer.
He rose, hooded, among the Lords and Ladies of the North, bickering as they were from the recent proclamations from their King. When their true King had his body mutilated.
He reached down to his boot, the place which he had held the knowledge that could break the kingdoms.
The other hand removed his hood, for the first time he could feel the wind at his hair, brown hair flowed freely.
For he was Galbart of House Glover, Master of Deepwood Motte, and with him, standing beside, was Lady Maege of House Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, gathered with two of her daughters.
All knew it as soon as they saw them.
"I hold in my hand, the will of Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, the King in the North and the Trident! Jon Snow, is to be legitimised as Jon Stark, and recognised by all his bannermen, to be his heir! Hail Jon Stark, the King in the North!"
And the hall erupted into a cacophony of shouting.
She had hidden herself, the little Stark prince, and his much larger direwolf in one of the many caves on Skagos. The Skagosi though seperated by sea, were more kin to the Freefolk than they were to the Southerners, they still spoke the Old Tongue, and she already had to toss aside three men who had attempted to steal her.
In some way, it was nice to be back to a place similar to home.
She would miss the warmth of Winterfell though.
Skagos in many ways however was quite different to the lands beyond the Wall, it was much warmer for one, and the Skagosi had seemed to adopt some Southern ideas, they had recognised lords, which was an oddity. They called themselves Magnar, Stane, and Crowl, and the Skagosi kneeled to them... like how kneelers would kneel. Rather strange indeed.
She had idly wondered if she just delivered the Stark princeling to the Skagosi lords, if they would not just simply protect them, they were obligated to do so, were they no, with their stranger kneeler customs?
Yet, she not done so, so far. From her ventures into the the settlements on the islands, a certain anti-Southerner view was prevalent, and she had already heard rumours that the Starks had fallen from power, and some other kneelers ruled now. There was also the other reason, the one which she admitted to no one, not even herself.
She had grown fond of the wild boy.
A son, a Freefolk son, that she had never had.
That was why he must be protected, against all. Which is why she found herself so earnestly packing up their things, their hides, their blankets, their food, her weapons.
She had sighted the banners earlier. To whom they belonged, she had no idea, but for what their purpose, she was very sure.
Traders did not fly flaming hearts.
It would be many days later, that she and her cub, and the direwolf that protected them both, would be cornered. Though strangely enough, their pursuer was not hostile in his acts, indeed he seemed far more cautious, and dare she say it... friendly, than he had any right to be.
When their paths were near enough, he would shout out to her, claim to be a friend. Claim to be serving some Stannis, who desired nothing more than to protect her cub. For some reason, Shaggydog did not simply bite his throat out, indeed, Shaggydog was strangely far more docile around the man than he was... well with anyone, bare them.
By the late phase of this chase, she herself could admit to some curiousity, this was not the chase she had expected, he was far better, and far more amiable than anyone had any right to be. Thus, she laid an ambush for him instead.
And with a spear to his neck, he revealed himself, Davos, an Onion Knight, and he desired to bring her cub home, to make him Lord of Winterfell.
Atop the icy Wall of the North, long feared and hated by the habitants of the True North, stod the Wildling known as Tormund with his gaze set upon the skies upon the lands he had previously lived. A man of a broad stature and even a broader belly, beard and hair white as the purest of snow. Throughout his long life, Tormund had always gazed upon the Wall and its skies from a distance within the True North, with lust and a fire in his heart. Now as he had finally reached it, he felt hollow and angry. Things had only gotten complicated now that he and his had passed the Wall, with the damned Kneelers all around. Demanding loyalty here and there while sitting comfortably in the warmth. Still, it was better than being dead and mindless. His right hand tightens around the hilt of a broken bone-knife as he moves his gaze to the east, towards Hardhome.
"Oh Torwynd…"
He mutters to himself, recalling the events from when he and his people lived just beyond these walls. Starving and freezing, awaiting the Blood Price of the Kneelers. One of his sons, Torwynd, had risen as one of the Others from either starvation or frozen to death. A mindless husk, eager only for the blood of his loved ones. That boy had always been sickly and ill, never amounted to much of a fighter. But that didn't matter to Tormund, for Torwynd was his little boy. There was no roar of battle, of anger or grief when Tormund had slain the risen Torwynd. It was merely inevitable, only a matter of time.
The Giantsbane coughed awkwardly as a single tear fell upon his cheek, quickly erasing it with his left arm and stashes the broken knife within his person. Tormund departs from the look-out point and barks merry laughter as he tours the battlements, encountering both friendly and strange faces.
It didn't take long before he met up with his "second-in-command", Soren Shieldbreaker. Tormund couldn't have asked for a better second, and the two headbutt as they met. The two depart the battlements of the Wall and venture down to the base, Castle Black, intending to meet with a certain Lord Snow.
Greetings from Riverrun Ser Daven; we in House Frey wish you the best in your role as Warden of the West. As you would recall, our families have previously agreed that you will be wed to a woman of House Frey - my family has discussed this and we have decided to present you with two potential options, both great women and great brides for as great a man as yourself.
Firstly, my half-sister Tyta Frey. As the daughter of Alyssa Blackwood - my father's fourth wife - she has ties to one of the more powerful houses of the Riverlands and is a fully grown woman more or less of an age with yourself.
Secondly, another of my half-sisters - Arwyn Frey. Her mother is Annara Farring, my father's seventh wife, and she is of a younger generation than Tyta - born in 285 AC, and therefore rather younger than yourself.
Please inform me whether either of my sisters would make a suitable bride, and I will begin to make the arrangements for you to be wed at Riverrun as agreed. Your wedding will truly be a day for celebration for the people of the Westerlands and the Riverlands alike, and together may our families bring peace and prosperity to the realm.
Stannis ground his teeth harder than he had done so in weeks, a great feat considering all that had happened previously. The chaos of the room threatened to overwhelm the entire chamber. With a nod he looked to Ser Richard Horpe who pounded the table 4 times with a heavy gauntlet to call for order. The crowd briefly took heed of Ser Richard's actions and then looked back to Stannis, who rose from his chair.
"Master Glover," Stannis rumbled with his deep and brooding voice, "You were looked for with great effort these past weeks. But none could find you."
"My house fought to liberate the North alongside you, Your Grace, all the while, I endeavoured to complete the task assigned by my King." Master Galbart Glover answered, his brown hair was in a mess, while he himself looked rather emaciated. He offered a nod of his head in respect, and a glance towards his brother, Robett Glover, whom in his brother's absence had led the Glover forces in the march to Winterfell.
Robett himself was oddly silent in the proceedings, though the reasoning for said silence was hard to discern.
"And by revealing the Will of Robb Stark, do you believe you have fulfilled your orders in full?" Stannis was calm in the moment, his dark feelings expressed in the thinness of his molars' enamel.
Stannis noted that Glover did use the style of "your grace" but as to wether or not that extended anything at all toward authority here... That was another question. Even foreign rulers were addressed properly, and Stannis was certainly a foreigner here. His speech, his name, even his god was foreign to these people. All the same, these were his people, and he was their king. Even if it was going to take all eternity to get them to acknowledge it.
"King Robb Stark, Your Grace," Glover enunciated, "who commanded me alongside Lady Maege Mormont, Lord Jason Mallister, Lord Greatjon Umber, his uncle, Lord Paramount Edmure Tully, and his mother, Lady Catelyn Tully to make his will and desires known to his bannermen should he die. Lord Mallister has betrayed his vows, Lord Umber and Lord Tully are imprisoned, and Lady Tully is dead, such it is that only I and Lady Mormont were able to fulfill our late King's desires." He spoke long, but he spoke passionately, the Northern tongue was evident in his words, and he did not waver in the sight of one so accomplished as Stannis Baratheon.
Robb Stark.... Eddard's son. The Young Wolf. And also the King who Lost the North. Though hardly any here would dare speak that particular title aloud. Stannis was no great expert on the affairs of men's hearts, but even he could feel the tensions between all that he had just decreed and all that Glover was saying. Those that hated or disparaged the Young Wolf were dead, by Stannis' hand or by the hands of the Northmen that rose up in the memory of the Starks.
The mean and hard look in Glover's eyes, Stannis recognized it. Past the gaunt features of a food deprived lord was the resolve of a fighting man. It was the same resolve Stannis held when Storm's End was surrounded all throughout the War of the Rebellion. This man would not be broken by words or decrees. Time had taught Stannis many things. Time... and failure. Davos had tried to teach him, so had Lord Snow in his way. In that moment Stannis cursed the absence of both, for if Davos knew what stirred the smallfolk and the soldiers, Lord Snow understood what moved these cold men and women of the North. All Stannis had to go on now was their lessons, and his own iron will.
"That will names Jon Snow a Stark, and it names him to a throne that many say died in the night of treachery at the Twins. What do you say of that throne?" Stannis asked Glover.
The question evidently gave Glover some pause, it was as if the wind had been taken out of his sails. A beat passed between them, as Glover seemed to consider the question at length in his mind.
"As much as I wish it were not so, as much as I wish something else could be done, independence for the North is no longer possible," The words seemed to physically pain the man, it seemed to visibly age him, his eyes broke away from Stannis', "I shall not make my house, nor any house here betray their oaths, for I know all have bent the knee to you. The man who defended the Wall, who liberated the North from Bolton and Frey rule when no other Southern cur made the attempt." The grimace was clear on his features, alongside the simmering rage.
Yet then his eyes sharply looked forward, directly at the King once again, "But I cannot rest, until the will of the King that I chose is followed. Jon Stark must sit as Lord of Winterfell, Jon Stark must lead us all, for it was the wish of the Young Wolf, that the White Wolf would be his successor, that it would be the White Wolf… that would avenge us all." There was a glint of madness in those eyes, a fervour, perhaps even delusion, but it was plainly evident he spoke those words without a hint of deceit.
"Once that comes, I, Lady Mormont, and Lord Reed shall bend our knees to the only King who cared for the North, without restraint, and with full loyalty."
Again not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Stannis cursed what upbringing Eddard Stark had given his natural born son. For all of this would have been simple if Jon had made this choice before Stannis had marched from the Wall. The ghost of Robert's chosen brother would likely continue to haunt him for the rest of his life at this current pace.
Great or small, high or low, mad eyed or clear hearted, all must do their duty. Such were men as Eddard Stark that his memory alone stirred the Mountain Clans, that Robb Stark earned the loyalty of these old soldiers despite being a boy of less than seventeen years. Men did not love Stannis Baratheon so easily, they never would. That was something he had accepted a long time ago, but to be reminded of such again and again was no small grudge to nurse.
"I have met Lord Stark," He used the name Stark now, the word airing strangely on the wind as if it was some special thing to invoke that name here, "I have tried many times to bring him here, and yet it was only at greatest need he dared leave behind the Wall for any stretch of time."
"What news he brings is news that will soon spread all across the Seven Kingdoms, whether they want to believe it or not. Yet as for the Will.... You shall present it to him when he arrives, you shall see your duties upheld to the last, and you shall see if you can convince him to uphold the Will of one Brother or the Inheritance of his other." Stannis let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in with those words.
"And If you do not trust my word that Rickon Stark lives, then you might trust Lord Wyman Manderly. Whose loyalty to the Starks cannot be counted so far less than your own," Damnation upon them all if they could not settle squabbles clearly, not while enemies gathered both north and south.
It seemed for another moment that Master Glover was brought to pause, perhaps he did not expect that Stannis would be so forthcoming, that indeed, he seemed to be offering to change his decision, if only Jon could be convinced. Of course, for said Glover, the idea of convincing Jon to take up his rightful place was simple.
"I am filled with joy that Rickon Stark lives, and Lady Tully would no doubt be even more overjoyed, if only she lived. But Rickon Stark is but a babe, and though we all feared him dead, it remains that one so young cannot lead the North, especially in these difficult times. Jon is the elder, Jon is the brother that the Young Wolf desired to succeed him, Jon is a son of the North, a son of Eddard Stark, a Stark in blood and name, he will do his duty to his people, all lords and ladies here know." Galbart's voice seemed to gain in confidence and ardor with every word, until by the end, his words seemed to ricochet off the roof.
His words were indeed filled with rich conviction. Stannis had to admit that much. Yet there was one person Stannis remembered speaking with conviction just as firm and no less obstinate in that dour northern way. Jon Stark was such a man. Jon Stark, who even at this late hour only accepted the Wardenship on the condition that he be sent back to that bitter and cold wasteland. Such was his way, such was the conditions Stannis kept from the Lords when he announced Jon's consent. Stannis almost smiled, but thought better of it. For all that this Lord spoke of Jon Stark, likely he had never had more than a passing look at a boy that hid at Winterfell's Hall. Stannis had met a steward, soldier, and Lord Commander who could say what was a better frame of reference for the man Galbert wanted to become Lord?
Would it matter if they all were bitter wights next to the Others? Perhaps not, but the dangerous games that lords and ladies played with their words was one Stannis was slowly learning to play. For if he could not manage these lords, they would all die when the cold winds howled.
"A new raven will be sent to the Wall. It will bear both your seal and mine. It will summon Jon Stark to Winterfell. Then he must hear you, and then he must decide. In the meantime, I have confidence that his brother will come back home to Winterfell. And when he arrives, he shall not find a North divided," The King from the South looked gaunt himself from the long march on Winterfell, his strength and color only barely returning after some time indoors and with food.
"It is not just you who has grown thinner Master Glover, your people have as well," Stannis thought of the messages he meant to send to Justin Massey and Tycho Nestoris, "With the matter of Winterfell in the hands of Lord Jon, can we move to how we might see that there is still a North for the Starks to protect?"
Glover did not seem happy, though he had not looked happy for all of the discussion, yet now there seemed to be an ease about him, a contentment. A man who looked to carry the weight of the entire world on his back, now feeling freed from the burdens that he may have perhaps put on himself.
But now, he stood taller, colour flushed to his cheeks, and he looked… simply, alive.
"I can agree to those terms, you shall not face any dissension from us, Your Grace." He simply said, as he nodded his head again, Lady Mormont following close behind, "We shall do as you require, but as you said, our people have suffered, and it would be good to see home again."
What would Cressen say if he saw him now, negotiating with Northmen and allowing them to second guess his spoken word. Would the old man say that he had grown to listen, or that he had grown to cower? It was too late to ask any of those things of the man who had very nearly raised him. Stannis had to wonder if he had made the correct judgment of Jon Sn- Jon Stark in playing this word game with Glover. What he did know was that if he had handled it the way he had handled Renly's old bannermen initially... Perhaps things would not have gone this smoothly. Either way, with the tempers of Glover cooled now was time for some far more mundane but equally important matters.
"Now... to prepare for winter we are going to need an account of grain supplies, available coin, shipping volume, and the number of carts in-"
Yes, the work of a King never quite ended with just the dramatic bits, did it?
Kedrick Blackbar, Lord of Bandallon, Bearer of the Sin Forgotten and Keeper of the Coast, leal retainer to Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, true King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men
"We were always going to get such opposition your grace. The Golden Company has a reputation as you well know."
Aegon rolled his eyes "As if the Golden Company had been the one raping its way across the Riverlands. Yet it seems Lord Blackbar is quite fine with it."
DECLARATIONS IN THE NAME OF KING TOMMEN, KING OF THE ANDALS, THE RHOYNAR, AND THE FIRST MEN, LORD OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
-Following the Queen Mother's victory in the false accusations that have been aimed that the royal family. I, Lord Hand, on request from the Queen Mother declare the slander of the Royal Family to be outlawed. Those who are found guilty shall be punished @Mortis Nuntius
-To increase the security of our citizens in the city of King's Landing and the country side, my men at arms will be assisting the City Watch in patrolling the city and the surrounding area.
-To aid our loyal subjects in the Riverlands to combat the vile rebels and pretenders, I will send a portion of the Lannister and Tyrell forces currently at the capital to march to the Riverlands and aid Lord Commander Jaime Lannister in defeating these vile rebels and pretenders. @Andre Massena@Hyvelic@specialzendos @EmuEmperor
It had been a rather inspired solution to move the corpse from the Lord's Chamber to the privy, though it in itself was a temporary solution, but it had bought him a week. Though that Erenford brat had almost given it all away when she had woken up screaming, not expecting to awake with his father's lifeless body atop her.
It had only been good fortune that he was near, he had organised the guards to shut her up and send her off to Erenford, where she would birth the last son or daughter of the now-dead, Walder Frey. Still, it left him with the duty of making sure, none, especially not the ambitious, knew what had occurred. He had been Steward of the Twins for twelve years, he had seen the petty feuding and factionalism that gripped his family. It would only grow worse, he knew, many had armies, many had seats of their own, others were across Westeros making powerful friends. Many could claim to be a son of Walder Frey, and many would desire the Twins to be theirs.
If only he was more than the twelfth son, all knew that it was truly him that ruled here. Still, he had to tread carefully, for whoever would become Lord Frey, would need to see the benefit of him remaining in power here. He was the architect of the Red Wedding, he had fooled the Trout and Wolf alike, and even if the alliance with the Boltons fell through, he would be necessary for holding the Frey grip in the Riverlands. Whoever ruled the Twins would need to recognise that, or they simply could not be the ruler of the Twins.
Thus it was that he mobilised the garrison, he placed them at active readiness, he made it so not a single member of his family at the Twins could leave, that not a single raven could fly. He cajoled, convinced, and threatened anyone who heard the brat's screaming, she had simply slipped, or father was being rougher that morning, or they had better forget they heard anything. Whatever solution worked for each of his family, and he certainly knew how to work his family, it was rather difficult to convince one to break Guest Right after all.
Any who wished to speak to their patriarch was simply waylaid, he was far too sick to meet with anyone he was afraid, though as Steward of the Twins, he was more than willing to hear their concerns.
Sometimes it was far too easy.
Oh if only he was the heir.
Rather it would fall to Edmyn and Black Walder, and if they somehow killed each other, then... well, it would become much more difficult, for all of them.
Still, as time passed, he wrote his letters, instructing all of his family to go out to the bridge if they desired to attend to "personal business" with the privy out of commission. But as a week passed, and the smell from the privy truly began to grow so foul that excuses of excess shit were no longer believable, the truth came out.
Luckily, the truth would come out to the entire realm at the same time, as ravens flew from the twin towers.
To the Lords and Ladies of Westeros,
It is to my great dismay to write, but Lord Walder Frey, my father, the Lord of the Crossing and the defeater of the traitorous Robb Stark, has passed away, peacefully in his bed at the age of two-and-ninety.
House Frey shall enter into a period of mourning as we grieve the death of our beloved patriarch, who loved us all with all his heart. We shall prepare for the funeral of such a great lord, and offer invitations to any and all loyal and honourable lords to attend.
House Frey moreover is forevermore pledged in our fealty to His Grace, Tommen of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Lord of Storm's End, which the next Lord of the Crossing shall confirm when he formally bends the knee.
House Frey remains united and strong, dedicated to preserving peace in the Riverlands in these trying times.
It began as a trickle, then a stream, then a flood. Tumbleton was the greatest town between King's Landing and Oldtown, though Mark had never been to either, he was a simple farmer, he toiled away on his fields for most of the year, but visited Tumbleton whenever he could. It was where the good mead was sold, and also where Martha worked. After a long week on the fields, the tavern and her provided great relief both to his aching bones, and his eyes.
Though in recent days, he had been able to take his eyes away from Martha's doe eyes, and her... assets, for there was something far more interesting to admire.
Great hulking men, armoured and readied for war, had taken over the tavern, more and more of them each passing day. Well, that was not all of them admittedly, there were smallfolk like him too, there with a spear and barely anything else, others held bows, some were clad in plate, while most were in chain and boiled leather. It was not an uncommon sight to a degree, Lord Footly and his knights and men at arms were a common enough sight, especially since godsforsaken war had started. But these men did not wear the silver caltrops of House Footly, instead, they wore other banners.
One yellow with a horn and fruits, another also yellow with green leaves, another white but with red surrounding three balls, another with chalices and roses, and another blue with yellow flowers. There were many more of course, but he had not made a habit of memorising the banners of all the lords and ladies, or their retinues who came to Tumbleton.
Still, even he found it odd that so many were here, was not the war at the Shields? In the Stormlands? Even the North? Of course, they had an answer for that too. Half of them said they had come from King's Landing, planning to go to Oldtown to fight the Ironborn, all the while the other half claimed to come from Highgarden, planning to go fight the Dragon in the Stormlands. It made some sense to him he supposed, though even if he was no commander he would have thought that the men from King's Landing would have gone to the Stormlands, while men from Highgarden to Oldtown. Still, who was he to doubt the wisdom of Lord Tyrell?
They spoke sweetly and convincingly, down in their cups. That they were King's men, they cheered, the true king, of course. It was enough for him to be charmed by their words, he would readily admit. So what if his farms went untoiled for a few moons, perhaps he might get cousin Alan to take over while he was gone, and they did whisper, Martha would be far more interested in a man who had scars on his chest, than a simple farmer.
Having achieved victory in Winterfell and made more aware of the situation in the North. The following instructions are to be entailed to you for journey to Braavos.
1. Maintain the agreement with the Iron Bank, that I Stannis Baratheon First of hIs Name do hearby assume the debts of The Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. This includes debts accrued by my Brother Robert Baratheon, and debts and interests unpaid by the Lannister Usurpers of King's Landing during such times as the Iron Bank lent to them under the mistaken apprehension that they were the legal inheritors of the debts.
2. The purchase of the debts of Northern and Stormlands Houses loyal to House Baratheon. The debts will be renegotiated into a single sovereign fund with one interest rate based on the totality of debt owed.
3. The New Funds negotiated with the representative Tycho Nestoris must have a portion set aside for the payment of the interest on the bundled loan, unless interest exceeds total principle of the New Fund negotiated. This is to establish the credibility of the debt measures in the short term, to open the way for new loans if necessary.
4. Money raised by the New Funds is not to be used to obtain a mercenary army, as was previously discussed. Instead, capital is to be used for the purpose of fulfilling the requisition orders of grain and other essentials that will be sent to you shortly. Enclosed are details on bushels of grain, tools for farming, carts for transportation, artisans to be hired, construction equipment and material, and other necessities to be purchased to ensure the survival of the North through the winter.
5. Another portion of the wealth is to have its purpose set aside for the hiring of mercenary drillmasters and instructors for the mustering of the levies. If such are unavailable or do not exist, disregard this proviso.
6. Finally your own reward for the substantive work you are doing on my behalf in this Matter is a new position of Master of Laws, that you might negotiate with the Iron Bank of Braavos and others with the authority of one that sits on the Small Council. On the successs or partial success of these stated aims, you might expect more long term rewards in the future.
Signed,
Stannis Baratheon First of His Name, King of Westeros
