Reading Time: 84 Minutes

Title: Back in the Saddle
Series: From Experience
Series Order: 1
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: ASOIAF/GoT
Genre: Time Travel
Relationship(s): Eddard Stark/Ashara Dayne, pre-Eddard Stark/Rhaella Targaryen, pre-Eddard Stark/Janna Tyrell, past-Eddard Stark/Catelyn Tully
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: *No Mandatory Warnings Apply, Canon-level Violence, Dark Themes, Discussion of Child Loss, Discussion—Violence against Women, Familial Betrayal (Benjen)
Beta: Claire Watson
Word Count: 43,290
Summary: Eddard goes back in time to the last moment he could have stopped Robert from becoming king and does it.
Artist: Mizu Sage

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Part Four

Eddard woke to Myrsden calling his name.

For a moment, he was back in the Vale, long before the entire world had lost its mind. All there was to his days was lessons with Lord Jon and arms practice with his knights.

Then Eddard opened his eyes.

Myrsden was wearing a tabard over his usual shirts but instead of the falcon on blue of House Arryn, he wore the white of House Stark, complete with the running gray direwolf. Eddard sat up and looked again. Floating over the running direwolf was the crown of the King of Winter, rendered faithfully in bronze and black.

“What?” Eddard asked. It was the best he could articulate so soon after waking.

Myrsden pressed a steaming cup of herbal stimulant into his hands. Eddard took the silent suggestion and drank quietly.

“Where did you get that?” he asked when he was feeling more awake.

“Lady Whent,” Myrsden smiled. “She has organized every lady present that can either weave or hold a needle to provide your House with the heraldry necessary for etiquette.”

What was there to say to that? “Remind them that I will need three marriage cloaks.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

There was already a white cloak complete with wolf and crown laid out for him. He did not have much in the way of clothing, seeing as he had originally packed for war. Fortunately, armor was acceptable formal wear for men even in the South.

“I suppose I will need a meeting with Lady Whent to expand my kingly wardrobe,” Eddard mused.

“She is on the schedule for the morrow.” Myrsden grinned at his surprise. “She wanted a full sennight to work on your wardrobe before presenting her work to you.”

“I have no idea what positions are available in my Household, but I need Lady Shella in one.” Eddard shook his head. Competence on Lady Whent’s level had to be kept close and happy for the benefit of his rule. “Master of Coin? Can she be my Master of Coin?”

“I fail to see how anyone could argue against it. Once her son is healed, at least,” Myrsden allowed.

“Then we best get out there to see them off.” Eddard swung his new, heavy cloak over his Stark-embossed gorget and latched the facing silver direwolves already attached to the cloak to keep it on.

House Dayne had beaten him to the courtyard. Fortunately, his family was focused on fussing over Ser Arthur.

Eddard counted heads. Master Tranis, four Kingsguard in white cloaks, his sister laying on a stretcher in a padded wagon looking half a corpse.

“I did not realize she was still so weak,” Eddard offered as Lord Howland approached him.

“Lya is in the Gods’ hands, Eddard,” Howland said softly. “And our Gods are good.”

“How long has she been suffering from birthing fever? It is birthing fever, is it not?”

“That is what the maester called it. He seemed surprised she was still alive.”

“Troubled?” Eddard asked.

“No, merely surprised.”

Eddard nodded. Mayhaps the septas and maester attending Lya the last time had not been responsible for her death. Mayhaps it had been Ser Gerold’s and Prince Rhaegar’s abuse of his sister all along.

Eddard shook his head.

“This is not a punishment,” he called to all of the gathered Kingsguard when they focused on him. “This is healing. You have all been in the service of a mad man. Even if you do not realize it, he has damaged you mentally and morally. None of you are in a position to choose your own futures. You are not healthy enough for such responsibility.

“We will meet when you return to discuss your futures.”

All four Kingsguard bowed to him and offered some variation of, “As you will, Your Grace.”

“Ride safe and return soon.”

Four men mounted horses. Ser Oswell and Lord Howland climbed onto the front bench of the wagon holding his sister. Eddard watched until they were out of sight before turning toward his tower.

His first stop was the godswood. He needed to clear his head, and the Winterfell heart tree had always served him well in that regard. Maester Luwin followed him from the courtyard, where he had just seen his sister off.

Without Eddard having to ask, the maester proved his First Man roots by bleeding upon the closest weirwood and then freely making his oath of fealty.

Robert was there, too, frowning.

“What is it?” Eddard asked once the Maester was gone.

“I went under the tree with you and Stannis,” Robert said. “Your gods showed me the future you are saving me from—a fat, sad, drunk of a king surrounded by enemies. Some of my enemies were my own blood.”

That was awful. Why would the gods show Robert the future Eddard had lived? Had they shown Robert the future Eddard had lived, or was there a worse possible future They showed him?

“You know what I realized?” Robert asked. “Every time I professed my love for Lyanna—who I met once in that life, it should be noted, and whom I did not even look at in the courtyard just now—I meant that I loved—”

“Do not say it,” Eddard ordered sharply. “The last time you said those words to me, I lost everything.

“I was born second. Born to nothing, no inheritance, no future but being Brandon’s general.” Eddard glared at Robert. “But I was fostered by Lord Arryn. When I went back to Winterfell at ten, my father told me that Lord Arryn had asked for me as his heir. Me. That I would take the Arryn name and marry one of his sister’s many daughters to carry forth the Arryn line.

“I was so happy. Here was something for me.

“And then, at six-and-ten, you told me you loved me. That you wanted nothing more than you wanted me. That we would marry. You never took me, aye, but you taught me the pleasure of touching someone else. I told Lord Jon thank you, but no, I had another future waiting for me that I wanted. I wrote to my father and gained his permission to follow an ancient custom that the North has not allowed since the Andal Invasion as a means to protect ourselves from them.

“Do you know why this war seemed so easy for me? As you mentioned more than once over the course of Robert’s Rebellion? Because I have been running it in my head for four years,” Eddard snarled. “In my dreams, I was waging war with the Faith to protect our marriage. I ran all the possible scenarios. Iron Throne with us, Iron Throne against us. Vale with us or against us. I have burned Highgarden in my dreams more times than I can count.

“We were at war for nearly two years. Half a dozen major battles. The only one we lost was the one I was not there for because I had planned. For us.

“And then you changed your mind.” Eddard shook his head. “You did not bother to tell me yourself, you craven. You wrote my father, negotiated directly to marry Lya instead of contracting her to provide our line with children, and you ran off to bed whores.

“You fathered not one, but two Stones to prove you were a man or whatever your justification was and left my father to tell me that you had changed our plans.

“I gave up everything for you, and you left me with nothing. Without even extending me the courtesy of saying it to my face. You are not doing that again. I have lost Winterfell so that you will not become that sad, drunk king. I could have lost the one woman I have ever loved because her House was forced to stand by House Targaryen.” House Dayne had actually stood with Rhaegar, not Aerys, but that was a distinction that would be lost on Robert. “Do not take any more from me.”

“I—”

Eddard shook his head. “I love you, Robert, and I probably always will. But I do not like you very much, currently.

“I find your exile to Essos will be a relief.”

Eddard needed some time for himself, so he ordered Robert to guard the doorway and wandered deep into the wood where he knew Robert would never dare to follow. It was said Harrenhal had a twenty-acre godswood, and that may physically be true, but godswoods were special places. Both sacred and secret, with magic woven through every leaf, branch, and tree. Every drop of water was special. Every stone.

Time only passed in a godswood if the believer wanted it to and, currently, Eddard did not. He needed days to sort himself out after dying, watching his family be slaughtered from the afterlife, and then being dropped without so much as a by your leave back into his old body.

Still, eventually he had to leave and be king.

He entered his solar to find Maester Luwin waiting for him.

“Your plan, maester?” he asked as he removed Lord Howland’s Legal Pouch from one of the larger pouches on his belt.

“I have collected ten maesters of different ranks that I feel can be trusted with a royal project,” Maester Luwin reported. “I will make loose-leaf copies of the book you desire copied, then I will pass individual pages to the scribes I have collected for them to copy. We will start with five copies of each page. When we have a completed copy of all pages, I will have Lady Whent’s artisans bind and cover the loose pages.”

“Leave room at the bottom of each page for each maester to sign their name apart from the original text. If there are mistakes or miscopies, I want to know exactly who did it.” Mostly so he could find out why.

“Very well, Your Grace.”

Eddard handed the maester Lord Howland’s copy of The Nature of War. Maester Luwin took a moment to review the title before frowning up at him.

“I have found a disturbing number of lords in the south to be completely ignorant of the Laws of War,” Eddard offered in answer to the unspoken question. “That failure must be corrected for peace to be attained.”

“Be sure to ask the Conclave why they are keeping required knowledge out of the hands of the lords we serve, Your Grace.”

“It is already on my list for after I am crowned,” Eddard admitted.

“Very good.” Maester Luwin bowed to him. “If there is nothing else, My King, I will get started.”

“Go.”

Maester Luwin straightened and left.

“Lord Benjen is here, Your Grace,” Myrsden offered.

“Send him in.”

Benjen threw himself roughly into the chair in front of Eddard’s desk. He looked surly and more than a little hungover.

“Get on with it,” Benjen ordered, forcing Ned’s eyebrows to find his hairline. “I already know you have given my birthright to a man that is not even a Stark.”

“Do you have a reason to justify not notifying me that you were sheltering Lya in the Crypts of Winterfell while I fought a war in the south to see her returned to House Stark?”

Benjen’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Your victim narrative does not hold up under the facts, does it?” he asked his brother. “The Warden of the North has to be a man of iron will and uncompromising integrity to lead the North. Especially to lead the North to war. That is clearly not you.

“Do you have one single excuse for your craven behavior?”

Benjen pressed his lips together and pushed his chin forward stubbornly.

“Give me something, Ben.”

“I obeyed my Crown Prince,” was what Benjen landed on.

“The Crown Prince of a dynasty our House was in open rebellion against,” Eddard countered. “Try again.”

“He was my good-brother, and he outranked me!”

“Open. Rebellion,” Eddard reminded his younger brother. “And do not think to use Lya as an excuse.”

“Prince Rhaegar was working to save Westeros from the Long Night. His goals were greater and more important than your war.”

“And yet, I know for a fact the prince’s party had expected you to call me back from the war.”

Eddard waited. Benjen was young and brash. He had not pushed the matter this hard the first time, but at that time, Lya’s death had been a massive burden on them both that Benjen had practically run for the Wall.

This time, they did not carry that burden.

This time, he needed to understand.

“The war was supposed to kill you!” Benjen finally shouted. “You grew up in the Vale. You were going to be an Arryn! You are practically an Andal! Winterfell should be mine!”

Benjen might as well have stabbed him. It certainly would have hurt less.

Myrsden and Robert slipped through the door without a word.

“I was sent to the Vale by our father, so that when war came for House Stark, I could lead us to victory. Not Brandon. Not you. Me. I have warred against the Mountain Clans of the Vale for a decade as training for this war you had thought to let kill me. I have fought them since I was ten. I won those fights. As I won this war. Every other lord and lady in the Eight Kingdoms has recognized that. That is why they call me king, even now, before I have been crowned.

“Your ambitions were never going to happen. Winterfell was never going to be yours.” Eddard nodded to Robert, who pulled Ben forcefully out of his chair. “Take him to his rooms,” Eddard ordered. “He is not to leave until the Night’s Watch comes to claim him.”

He would have to write to the Night’s Watch to send a recruitment wagon and plenty of guards. Mayhaps he could convince them to bring him Maester Aemon. It would please him to see the eldest dragon spend his final days in the comfort of Queen Rhaella’s household; after all, he had sacrificed so much of himself for the Peace of the Realm.

After all he had done for Jon. Eddard felt he had a debt to pay there, even if the man holding the marker did not know it.

Myrsden came around the desk. “Are you alright, Sire?”

“I called myself prepared for that conversation.” Eddard laughed ruefully. “I had gathered all the information I could. I knew he was going to the Night’s Watch; I just had to know why.” Eddard shook his head. “Ah, well. When will food arrive?”

“Now, if you are prepared. It will come with a side of Lady Olenna Tyrell,” his valet warned.

Eddard snorted. “Breakfast with a side of thorns. Let it begin.”

Myrsden led him over to the dining area he had not even registered the night before, which he decided was fair. This so-called solar was enormous.

Myrsden opened the door and called, “Lady Olenna of House Tyrell!”

The rose matriarch was followed into the room by a swarm of servitors carrying trays. Servants sampled everything as they laid it out, proving their burdens were not poisoned. Every time Eddard saw something he wanted to try, he nodded. When the servants cleared, Myrsden presented him with a plate composed of his choices and left.

When he focused on the senior rose, he saw her well equipped with a plate of her own.

“Was Lord Tyrell ill?” he asked.

Lady Olenna sent him a suspicious look. “My son died two days ago. Choked on his lunch, according to the maester. Just hours after he insulted Elia of Dorne within the Red Viper’s hearing, though I am sure these events are unrelated.”

Eddard snorted. “My apologies, no one mentioned it to me. I had assumed he was fine. He seemed in excellent spirits when we met at Storm’s End.”

“I am certain he was,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“He leaves behind three sons?”

“Three sons and a Hightower wife about to pop out a fourth,” she confirmed.

Eddard was fairly certain the fourth was a daughter, actually. “You will be Lord Willas’s regent?”

“It is my plan that I will stand for my grandson, yes.”

“I had hoped to place you on my Small Council, but we both know House Hightower cannot be trusted with control of the Reach. I will provide you a writ confirming your placement as my regent over Highgarden until Lord Willas is eight-and-ten and wed.”

“House Hightower is going to hate that.”

“House Hightower has long needed to be taken down several steps from where they see themselves. House Targaryen may have seen things differently, but that is hardly my fault. Nor will I indulge their blindness to a… tower full of schemers and backstabbers.”

“A tower?” Lady Olenna asked archly. “Or a city.”

“Six of one, half a dozen the other,” he said dismissively.

Lady Olenna snorted. “Speaking of your Small Council.” She laid down two raven scrolls. One he could see had a golden rose on the end of it; the other had a Redwyne-purple rose on the end cap. “Mine and my son’s suggestions.”

He was tempted to throw Lord Mace’s into the fire without reading it but decided against it. Destroying any list from one of his vassals without reading it would be discarding intelligence captured from the hands of his enemies. Particularly when he found the vassal in question to be distasteful.

Eddard was smarter than that.

“Have you read The Nature of War by Waryck Devonson?”

“I have,” she admitted, “though I had to wrestle a copy from young Lord Randyll of House Tarly’s iron grasp.”

“Oh?” he prompted

“You would think it was the Seven-Pointed Star and him a septa of the Maiden with how he clings to it,” she grumped. “Not to mention how he carried on and on the entire time I had it in my keeping.”

“As he is the second southron lord I have spoken to or heard tell knows what the book is, I cannot say I find his dedication displeasing.” Lady Olenna shot him a dark look. “In the North, every single noble over the age of ten and regardless of gender has a Legal Pouch on their belt. Inside this Legal Pouch is a copy of the Nature of War, the Charter for the Iron Throne, the Treaty of Dragon and Direwolf, the Pact of Ice and Fire, and an up-to-date copy of the Laws of Westeros.”

“Those pouches must be extremely large, or the books must be written extremely small.”

“Something of both,” he admitted. “And the books are written without all of the fancy scrollwork the Citadel prefers to place in the margins. The pages are almost entirely without margins, truth be told, but that is hardly the point.

“The point is that every Lord or Lady in the North takes with them every legal reference they need to make a just decision everywhere they go. In this way, regardless of where or when they find themselves having to make a decision, they are ready to do their duty.

“It is a tradition I would see the South take up.”

“If I walked up to any Northern Lord and asked for their Legal Pouch, they would give it to me?”

“They would not give it to you, my lady,” he denied, “but they could show it to you.

“Except for Lord Howland of House Reed. I have his pouch currently,” Eddard admitted.

“Where is yours?”

“Being studied by Tywin Lannister, if he knows what is good for his House.”

She smiled, and they both turned to their food.

“A siege is a lawful method of making war,” she offered.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But making sure the people you are starving are forced to watch every aspect of your feasting, including the eating of it while they cannot partake and watching it go to rot, goes beyond the scope of a reasonable response.”

Lady Olenna viciously stabbed one of the roasted vegetables on her plate. “That exact scenario is listed in the Nature of War, specifically.” Which proved that she had, in fact, read the book.

“Yes.”

“What are the consequences for breaking the Laws of War?”

“Traditionally, the offending House must pay wergild to their surviving victims. House Tyrell technically stands a rank above House Baratheon, being Wardens rather than Lords Paramount, which is another factor to consider. The inclusion and participation of lesser Houses on either side is a factor. Severity of the torture is a factor, as well as the number of consecutive days.”

“That sounds entirely complicated, Your Grace.”

“It is,” Eddard said. “Some parts can be mitigated. For example, giving up House Tyrell’s Wardenship of the South would be seen as a punishment and reduce the monetary burden your son’s crimes have levied against your House.”

“Anyone who can read a map should know that House Nymeros-Martell should be the Wardens of the South.” The vegetable slaughter started again.

“Agreed.” Eddard paused to consider his options. “You have one unwed daughter?”

“Janna,” Lady Olenna nodded. “Something of a fluff-for-brains, but at least she knows it. Do you intend to wed her to Lord Baratheon?”

“I do not believe he would accept such a match,” Eddard admitted. “But it is traditional for the King of Winter to take three brides from his conquered enemies after making war upon them. As long as she can support my other two wives and love all of my children, which—again, by tradition—will be raised communally by my queens, I think Lady Janna would be a fine third queen.

“Once we have settled the wergild between House Tyrell and House Baratheon, of course,” he added as though an afterthought.

“Of course,” she agreed wryly. “You will be our arbitrator?”

Eddard almost agreed, but he knew he had a very full schedule. And he had yet to receive any new ravens, which had to mean there was a problem somewhere, just waiting to land on him and that it would land hard once it did.

Probably by way of a messenger on a dying horse.

“House Selwyn handles most of these disputes in the North,” he admitted. “I had thought to have Lady Selwyn stand as your neutral arbiter. Her father mainly guarded supply lines during the war—” a position of great trust because that made it Lord Selwyn job to guarantee that the army ate “—and she did not participate in the war at all, making her our most unbiased option.”

Lady Olenna nodded, focusing again on her meal.

This was not a retreat, Eddard was sure. No, the Queen of Thorns was luring him into an ambush. Eddard forced his own shoulders to relax in a signal to her that he had fallen for her trap and focused on his food.

“And if we refuse to pay the wergild Lady Selwyn deems necessary?”

Eddard kept his focus on his food. “That has only been done twice in the North since the Laws of War were written and ratified. Both settlements were shunned and left to starve during winter.”

In the periphery, he saw Lady Olenna look up sharply. He ignored her.

“Not likely to work this far south with your mild winters and the Reach’s abundance.

“Economic sanctions would be the next best thing. The Reach’s abundance would eventually become a burden when your people needed anything other than food. But. The rest of Westeros would suffer from the loss of access to your abundance, and I hardly have dragons to enforce my will.

“Which leaves attainment.” He looked up and captured Lady Olenna in his gaze. “You and Lady Janna would be captured.

“It would not just be you this punishment would extend to, of course, because nearly all of the Reach participated in the Siege. Your men here would be slaughtered. Then, I would take this army that surrounds us and march on the Reach. As I took each and every seat, I would gift it to the care of younger sons from the North, the Vale, the Stormlands.” He waved a hand to indicate that the list continued.

“The Reach itself would be cut down, physically. Eastern Reach would join the Stormlands. Northern Reach, the West. Southern Reach, Dorne. Shield Islands to the Ironborn. The Arbor to House Velaryon.

“And Highgarden? Well, your grandsons would be delegitimized and sent to the Wall or the Citadel, depending on their aptitudes. Rule of the Reach would fall to mayhaps House Tarly, who waged legal war during the Rebellion and is well acquainted with justice. Or mayhaps House Manderly, who have been good, loyal vassals in the North since they were forced out of the Reach by a High Septon. Mayhaps I will arrange a match between the two and allow them to revive their mutual ancestors’ name, House Gardner.”

The Rose thought to stare him down, but he was a Direwolf. He held her gaze placidly. He would not back down.

It took long enough to be impressive, but back down, Lady Olenna eventually did.

“Or,” he offered, “you can pay a wergild on behalf of the Reach. One assigned by a neutral party and approved by your king.”

“And my daughter will become queen,” she added.

“And your daughter will become a queen,” he corrected. “And a random lottery will determine which portion of the men who participated in the siege will be sent to the Wall, rather than all of them losing their heads.” He had a full list of the Reach men that had held Storm’s End so harshly. He had gained it from the Green Seers on the Isle, who were deeply invested in the success of the Night’s Watch.

Lady Olenna took an unnecessarily violent bite of some toast as she considered. What she was considering, he did not know. The right answer seemed obvious to him.

Mayhaps her silence was a show of strength or some sort? Eddard had no idea.

“Highgarden accepts Lady Selwyn as our arbiter in the matter of the unjust Siege of Storm’s End, if Storm’s End will accept her,” was Lady Olenna’s final decision.

“Very well. And the issue of House Tyrell’s warden status?”

“My dead son’s pride is not worth my living grandson’s suffering,” she waved dismissively. “Take it.”

Good enough.

“I assume my Janna will not be married by a Septon.”

There were many ways he could have answered that, but what he settled for was, “The vows of the Faith include swearing to love. Love has no place in a royal or noble marriage. Our marriages are chosen by our elders for the best possible service to our Houses.”

“You feel your First Man oaths are better?” she asked, probing his defense.

“The marriage oaths of the First Men focus on identity, origin, and consent of both parties. What more do noble marriages require?”

Lady Olenna conceded that with a nod. “Then I suppose my Janna will be meeting you beneath the tree, as I have heard your lords say.”

Once Lady Olenna had left, Eddard made for his desk. Before he could be seated, Myrsden came in, followed immediately by Stannis Baratheon.

“Your ravens and your schedule, Your Grace.” Myrsden laid down a full-sized scroll and an oiled-canvas bag. There was a string loosely knotted across the handle. Eddard pulled a string out of the bag. And pulled. And pulled. It was almost comedic, except that every inch or so a raven scroll was tied into the string. Multiple strings had even been tied onto the original string to keep the line going.

“They are tied in the order they were received,” Myrsden offered almost apologetically.

Eddard shook his head. “At least I do not have to worry that some fool is foundering a horse to get me a message.”

Myrsden cracked and barked a laugh.

“Go fetch me Lady Ana of House Selwyn,” he ordered his valet in the tone of a threat.

Myrsden laughed his way out of Eddard’s solar to find a page, no doubt.

“Lord Baratheon,” he greeted as he started trying to untangle the first raven scroll.

“A knife would fix that mess faster than anything,” Stannis Baratheon offered.

Eddard sighed and pulled his belt knife because Lord Stannis was entirely correct. “Did you need something?”

“Merely to let you know that all of the lords of the Stormlands have sworn to me, My King. My place as their Lord Paramount is official.”

“Well done.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lord Stannis stood up a little straighter at the praise. “I understand you broke your fast with Lady Olenna of House Tyrell.”

It was a gentle probe, and Eddard was feeling generous toward the Storm Lord in a way he felt with few others currently. “I am unsure if anyone has told you, but Lord Mace Tyrell has passed beyond the Vale of Tears.” Considering the speed with which she threw the accusation upon Prince Oberyn, Eddard would not be surprised to learn that Lady Olenna had done the deed herself. “From reports, he seems to have choked on his own lunch.”

“That explains the large party my people found tracks of heading west along the Rose Road the very day we left the Isle of Faces.”

Eddard wished someone had mentioned that to him before he stuck his foot in it with Lady Olenna, but he was just one man. He had to delegate some things if he were to get any one thing done, and giving their road security over to the most vigilant lord of rank he had in his company had been his best option at the time.

He waved Lord Baratheon to a chair and was immediately obeyed.

“I have stripped House Tyrell of its place as Warden of the South. I intend to give that honor to House Nymeros-Martell.”

“I understand, Your Grace.”

“Lady Olenna offered you the hand of her daughter, Lady Janna.”

Fury began to flood Lord Stannis’ face in a wave of deep red, starting at his neck and racing for his hairline.

“I have denied the match.”

Lord Stannis nearly melted in his seat in relief. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You will have to accept Cersei Lannister as your bride, but I will take Jana Tyrell for you.”

“Why not your sister, Your Grace?” Lord Stannis asked. “The Lady Lyanna still lives, and she was already promised to House Baratheon.”

“Because I have to give Tywin Lannister something to get my city back.”

“And that is your sister?”

“That is his son,” Eddard corrected. “My much-abused sister marrying Lord Lannister’s son is to show all of Westeros that Lord Jaime has my trust, so the West will not rebel against him after his father inevitably passes.”

“Lord Jaime should be headed straight for the Wall,” Lord Stannis snarled. “He is an oathbreaker and a kingslayer.”

“I cannot deny that,” Eddard admitted, “but there are mitigating circumstances.”

Lord Stannis shot him a look of disbelief.

“Do you have any idea how many reports I have received of wildfire being found within the foundations of King’s Landing?” he asked.

The honest answer was none.

Technically, he had not learned of the wildfire in King’s Landing from a report. He had learned of it from watching over his sweet Sansa from the Grove of the Gods after he had died. It was the same way that he had learned of the coming Long Night, from watching Jon at the Wall. But Eddard would eat Robert’s nasty boots if anything less than King Aerys’s wildfire had sent a man as cool, calm, and collected as Vanyon Poole scrambling to send every available raven to Eddard’s known destination. As evidenced by the extreme amount of blue or blue-painted sealing wax present on the raven scrolls awaiting his attention.

“I do not, Your Grace.”

“Imagine why Aerys the Mad would have hidden thousands of barrels of wildfire around and under his city,” Eddard urged. “Imagine you were in Ser Jaime’s place when your father breached that city’s walls with everyone you loved at his back. What would King Aerys do? What would you?”

“King Aerys would have given the command to light the wildfire,” Lord Stannis admitted slowly, clearly thinking. “And I would have cut off King Aerys’s head before I let that order be heard outside of the Red Keep. And I would go to the headsman as a kinslayer and a kingslayer with a smile upon my face.”

Eddard nodded. “I could be wrong about Lord Jaime, but we did find the bodies of all of King Aerys’s pyromancers slain just inside the gates of the Red Keep. With their torches kicked from their hands.” And they had the previous time, too. He just never made the connection and condemned Ser Jaime to a life of shame for what should have been an act of the highest honor.

“Lord Jaime is an oathbreaker; there is no arguing that, but I think he broke his oath for the best possible reason—to save the half a million souls of the people of King’s Landing.

“And you will remember, Lord Jaime was a hostage with a job. A slave, in truth, because House Targaryen did not pay their Kingsguard and after Duskendale, King Aerys forbade his Kingsguard from having any contact with their families, so they received no means from there, either.”

“He was fifteen when Aerys raised him up to the Kingsguard.” Lord Stannis hunched forward in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Right. The Law would send Lord Jaime to the Wall, but following the Law would not be Justice in this circumstance.”

“Justice would be returning him to the father he never should have been stolen from in the first place.” Lord Stannis sighed. “And, if we are to re-instate him as his father’s heir, Your Grace, you have to do whatever you can to gain him the trust of the West. Like give him your sister.”

“Right.” Eddard sat back. “I cannot force people to trust anyone. All I can do is publicly inquire about his actions and show my own trust once he has given me the answer I expect. I have no daughters, and he needs a bride now to secure the succession of the West.”

“Which means he gets your sister and I get his,” Lord Stannis nodded.

“And I take the Rose no one wants.”

“A king does what he must for his people,” Lord Stannis intoned over-seriously.

“I will throw one of your brother’s nasty boots at you,” he warned, making Lord Stannis laugh. “Do not think yourself safe. He has not begun his exile yet.”

A knock on his office door prevented Eddard from exacting justice.

“Saved by the knock,” Eddard said darkly.

Lord Baratheon stood and bowed, still smirking. “With your leave, My King.”

Eddard waved him out as the knock sounded again.

Part Five

As Stannis left, Myrsden entered. “Lady Ana of House Selwyn has arrived at your request.”

“Send her in.”

Myrsden bowed, and Lady Selwyn was in Lord Baratheon’s old chair practically the moment he waved her toward it.

“This is the matter of the Reach’s illegal actions during their Siege of Storm’s End,” she guessed.

“Exactly so.”

“Excellent, Your Grace. I can get started immediately. I brought House Selwyn’s War Trunk south with me.”

That was a relief. House Selwyn’s War Trunk held all of the legal records and precedents for post-war settlements from the Kingdom of the North when it was ruled by the Kings of Winter.

“In that case, have your father start writing the legal complaint for House Stark and the North against House Targaryen. He will need to reference both the Treaty of the Dragon and the Direwolf—” also known as Aegon I and Torrhen Stark’s agreement that brought the North under the authority of the Iron Throne “—and the Pact of Ice and Fire,” the treaty that had secured the Iron Throne for Queen Rhaenyra’s line after the Dance of the Dragons.

“It will be quite the complaint,” Lady Selwyn said, excited.

Eddard thought the entire idea of drafting legal documents was dreadfully boring, but at least House Selwyn would be happy.

“Also have him draft up several variations of House Targaryen acknowledging their crimes and failures and accepting the consequences as laid out for them by Aegon the Dragon. Every single version must require Queen Rhaella’s marriage to me to seal the breach due to the loss of House Targaryen’s entire male line before they could face justice.”

He knew it sounded harsh of him to demand such a thing, but Queen Rhaella was a victim of her brother-husband just as much, if not more than, the rest of them. Eddard did not trust a single other man in all of Westeros to protect Queen Rhaella or the unborn Lady Daenerys as they deserved.

“Mayhaps an official pardon for young Lord Jaime as well?” Lady Selwyn asked. “If he returns from the Green Wood of the Gods, it will surely be proof of his innocence of the foul accusations currently being laid upon his name.”

“Innocent might be overselling it,” he warned her. “I found him myself, sitting on the Iron Throne with the bloody sword in hand and a dead king at his feet, but I believe there will be mitigating circumstances so, yes, I will need variations on a pardon for me to sign for Lord Jaime.

“Will you or your father be willing to stand as my Master of Laws?”

“I would be honored to be Westeros’s first female Master of Laws, Your Grace,” Lady Ana said immediately. “But I will speak with my father and abide his choice. He will let you know our decision.”

It was the exact answer he would expect from a dutiful daughter of the North.

“I will need your estimated wergilds for Lord Lannister’s actions against House Reyne and House Tarbeck, as well as an estimate for the Sacking of King’s Landing by luncheon today.”

“And the murder of Princess Elia of Dorne?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Lord Lannister declared that the men involved wildly exceeded the mandate they were given. Thanks to Lord Lannister, all perpetrators are in secure cells—” and sedated in the case of the Mountain “—and they will be given to House Nymeros-Martell for justice after I am crowned.”

“Very good, My king.”

“That will be all.” He waved her out.

Lady Selwyn curtsied and left.

A quick glance at his schedule told him that he had at least half an hour before his next meeting. He started on the string of ravens he had been given.

The first, as he should have expected, was simply a note from Vanyon Poole explaining how he and Lord Marbrand had agreed to divide the security and control of the Red Keep and King’s Landing in their leaders’ absences.

The next raven from Vanyon—dated a fortnight after the first—detailed Marbrand’s people finding a trio of wildfire barrels under the Lion’s Gate. At that point, Eddard decided to focus on the raven scrolls with blue or blue-painted sealing wax exclusively.

A week later came an updated number of wildfire caches and word of a Lion Guard being whipped for telling the smallfolk about the wildfire in his cups, but the situation was contained. Vanyon and Marbrand were consulting with the Alchemists Guild to neutralize the caches they had located.

The day after that, a riot over the wildfire. Six had been killed in the violence.

The next day, the riots had multiplied but had ended without intervention due to sinkholes the weight of so many people created in three different roads. Sinkholes that revealed tunnels under the city that no one had any record of—not anywhere in the Red Keep. Tunnels with their own supply of wildfire that, again, no one had records of.

Not even the Pyromancers’ Guild.

Another day and Eddard read that the Dragonpit had collapsed thanks to another sinkhole. Evacuations were in progress to get all civilians out of King’s Landing as well as explorations of the tunnels, beginning with a complete census of the wildfire as the goal.

The next raven assured him that none of the newly discovered tunnels breached the walls of the Red Keep.

Then came news that all of the tunnels seemed to meet at, or, mayhaps, to come from the Sept of Baelor.

A knock stopped Eddard’s reading.

A quick glance at his schedule showed Balon Greyjoy was next on his list.

Well, the Great Squid was going to have to leave him unsatisfied. Not so unsatisfied that he ran back to the sea before Eddard could nail his people to a weirwood, but unsatisfied.

“Lord Balon of House Greyjoy!” Myrsden called formally, as he stood in the open door to Eddard’s solar. “Captain of the Great Kraken. Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands. Lord Reaper of Pyke!”

Myrsden stepped aside and let the Squid through.

It said a lot to Eddard that Myrsden was a level of formal with the Greyjoy that he had not been with even Lady Olenna. Myrsden clearly did not like or trust Greyjoy. Myrsden was, in his own way, trying to warn Eddard against what he saw as inevitable treachery.

It was a good thing that Eddard was well aware of what Balon Greyjoy was capable of.

Eddard stood as Lord Greyjoy entered the room and stayed across his desk from the Squid. Greyjoy gave him a deeper nod that he held for a few heartbeats before straightening out. Not a proper bow, but the closest he had seen from an Ironborn outside of Theon at Lady Catelyn’s etiquette lessons.

Eddard held his arm out over the desk, and Greyjoy clasped his forearm too tightly for good manners.

“Sit,” Eddard ordered as he did the same. “What do you need to speak with me about?”

“I want to be Master of Ships.”

Eddard blinked. Once. Slowly. That was blunt even for First Men. “Master of Ships,” he repeated.

“You want my Ironborn acting like Greenlanders,” Lord Greyjoy growled. “I want Master of Ships.”

But Eddard saw the trap for what it was.

If he were to name Lord Greyjoy Master of Ships, Greyjoy would use Eddard’s authority to seize control of every ship in Westerosi waters and give them to his Reavers. No doubt killing all of those ships’ current captains and first mates and terrorizing any of the crewmen that survived into compliance. Then Greyjoy would turn that fleet on the world and set all of the world’s coasts ablaze just because he could.

No. Eddard would not be making an Ironborn his Master of Ships. Not any Ironborn. Not of Balon’s generation, anyway.

“If you have spoken with any of the other Lords, you know I have banned Lords Paramount from sitting on my Small Council so that they will focus on their territories’ recovery from the War.”

“The Ironborn were made for war,” Greyjoy said dismissively. “We need no recovery.”

Clearly, Eddard needed to speak Squid, or he was going to be arguing with Greyjoy all damn day. He had neither the time nor the patience for that nonsense.

“I will not be like those sister-fucking Targaryens and start off playing favorites,” Eddard snarled. “The rule for one, stands for all.”

“My brother, Euron, then.”

Eddard snorted. “Might as well kill you now if I am going to give Euron Greyjoy that kind of power.”

“Euron is mine,” Greyjoy snarled right back at him.

“Sure,” Eddard agreed in a way that really was not agreement at all. If only Balon knew what he knew. “Make the fucking list I requested in my raven. No Ironborn will join my Small Council or my Kingsguard if you do not make that fucking list and have it in my hand before I am crowned.”

Greyjoy threw himself out of his seat and stomped out of his solar. But he did not break anything, so he was being Ironborn-civilized.

“Two days, Greyjoy!” Eddard battlefield bellowed after him.

Balon Greyjoy slammed the door.

Eddard investigated the as-yet cleared breakfast table to see if there was any mulled wine left. The Gods loved him because there was. He looted exactly one goblet of wine and the entire pot of herbal stimulant and returned to his work space with them in hand.

He added Destroy and Rebuild King’s Landing to his Damn List as well as Question Conclave about KL tunnels before moving on the wade through some of the more innocent-looking raven scrolls. They were not from Northerners because their ends were painted with running direwolves or direwolf faces rather than the sigil of the King of Winter.

Most of them were congratulations on his ascension. Most included offers of daughters as brides or sons as Kingsguards. He made another Damn List. Two lists. One of sons to evaluate for the White Cloak. The second for Houses that needed to know that his queens had been chosen and would be revealed to the Realm in due time.

“Ser Brynden of House Tully,” Myrsden called.

The Blackfish clinked back into Eddard’s life just when he needed him most.

“Ser Brynden,” Eddard greeted and gestured to the breakfast spread. “Refreshment?”

The Blackfish said, “No, Your Grace,” at the same time Myrsden said, “oh” and scurried right out of the room. Hopefully to return with a maid or six to clean up the meal.

“My father always spoke fondly of you and your time together during the War of Ninepenny Kings,” Eddard said as he motioned for the knight to sit. Softly telling the man that he knew that the Blackfish had been his father’s lover and beloved for most of their lives.

“I will not waste your time, lad,” Ser Brynden gruffed. “We both know what my brother did to you and Cat was wrong. He broke the law. You cannot let that stand.”

“No, I cannot,” Eddard agreed.

Ser Brynden nodded as if that was what he expected. “I need to know you will not punish Cat or young Robb for my brother’s stupid.” The Blackfish frowned. “Or Edmure.”

“Will I still have your loyalty if I answer in a way you do not approve of?”

“Rickard will have my loyalty until the day I die,” Ser Brynden declared fiercely. “Rickard was my family. His sons are my sons. Hoster and them are just blood relations. Nothing like family. But I cannot abide women and children suffering for the choices of their lord.”

“Would you swear that in blood on a weirwood tree?” Eddard asked as his mind raced.

“Yes.” Ser Brynden hesitated, “I do not know how. If you will guide me, I will do it.”

That was good enough. For now. “We will take a walk in the godswood tonight,” he decided. “If you will remain in my sight until then, I will tell you my plans in regard to House Tully.”

“I will, Your Grace.”

“I will put you to work,” Eddard warned.

The Blackfish smiled at him as if he had said something amusing, but did not back down.

“Young Robb lives so Hoster Tully’s head is safe from me. Hoster will take the Black. Robb Stark will be named Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Rivers, but I will raise him until he is old enough to foster and train under his regent—”

“Not me,” Ser Brynden interrupted to demand. “Please, Your Grace, not me. I am a simple man with a sword. Not a lord.”

Ser Brynden had a great deal more potential than he seemed to think, but, “Not you,” Eddard agreed, “But a First Man.”

“Not House Blackwood. Robb would never know peace from House Bracken if you chose House Blackwood for his regent.”

Eddard added Deal with Blackwood/Bracken bullshit to The Damn List. He would not damn his son to a life at war. He never wanted any of his sons or daughters to know a day of war, but this time he would prepare them for it regardless. All of them.

“Noted.” A Royce would be a better choice for Robb’s regent. One he would be more comfortable with fostering his son, that was for sure.

“I cannot keep Lady Catelyn in my household. It would be abusive to demote her so sharply from my Lady-Wife to the servant of one of my wives, so she will be remarried to a loyal lord.” Tranis Whent would be a good choice. He was loyal, and he and Catelyn were first cousins. It would give her something familiar to cling to in what would no doubt become a very turbulent time in her life. Or mayhaps House Manderly, they followed the same gods she did and would remove her from Robb’s lands.

“If Edmure showed any aptitude with books, I would send him to the Citadel.” Definitely not the Faith because that was a zealot against House Stark in the making. “I have some lady-heirs that will come to rule their houses in the next few years and need good husbands.” Lady Ana Selwyn, for example. “He will foster in the North, most likely at Bear Island so he can grow to understand the strength of women, and then marry North.”

Ser Brynden nodded. “Lord Arryn is a good, gentle husband for Lysa. I am pleased with that match.”

As long as Lord Arryn wished to remain married to the crazy Fish, Eddard agreed.

“I am satisfied, Your Grace,” Ser Brynden admitted, “and I acknowledge that plans do not always work out as we would like them to.

“What work did you have for me?”

“After I am crowned, I had thought to make you Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, since you have no desire to stand as Regent of the Rivers. Though I warn you, my Kingsguard will have many more than seven men.”

The Blackfish huffed. “That was always nonsense, pandering to the Faith. Seven swords have never been enough to secure the king himself, much less the entire royal family.”

Eddard agreed. “You will need to figure out how many we will need to run an effective guard on myself, three queens, and an uncertain number of children.”

“Sworn swords might be better than Kingsguard for the children.” The Blackfish scratched his whisker-covered chin. “Particularly the children without a direct royal inheritance.”

“Have you considered Red Keep security? House Targaryen had their Dragon Guards answering to their Master-at-Arms, but they are all dead or hiding now. Hoster mentioned putting the Gold Cloaks in charge of Keep security. It is a damnfool idea, I have to say.”

That Eddard knew for a fact. He had experienced the downside of that choice in his last life and lost his head because of it.

“The Master-at-Arms’ duty is training both current and future guards. Combining the two is too much work for one man.” Westeros was a nation of millions; why did House Targaryen pack so much work onto singular individuals? It made no sense and rendered the royal family utterly unreachable.

To their detriment.

“I agree,” Ser Brynden nodded. “Mayhaps the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard becomes the Lord Commander of the Red Keep. I can have Knight-Commanders with squads assigned to each royal and one to the Keep itself. Knight-Captains can take responsibility for individual sections of the Keep under their Knight-Commander.”

“We should include the Black Cells within our security scheme,” Eddard pointed out. “To prevent abuse of captives as well as to tighten security in the area.

“I want to replace all of House Targaryen’s gaolers, if any survived, with proper guards that will rotate in and out of the area during their service.”

“I will take that into account, Your Grace,” Ser Brynden promised.

“Good.” Eddard stood and handed over his latest project—the ravens he had read, the ravens still on the remaining strings, his lists, two newest lists and all. “Go through these for me, make notes of what I need to know and what I need to respond to.”

On second thought, he added all of the ravens from Vanyon Poole to the stack. The wildfire would soon be just as much Ser Brynden’s worry as it was currently Eddard’s.

In need of some movement, Eddard sought out Myrsden in his little—comparatively speaking—antechamber work space.

Myrsden looked up when he entered, did a double take, and shot to his feet. “My King!”

“Myrsden,” he greeted his friend and waved him back into his seat. “Ser Brynden will be remaining with me for the day.”

“Should he join Ser Robert in the hall?” Myrsden asked, subtly inquiring if the Blackfish was joining his guard.

“Mayhaps, eventually, for now I want to keep my eyes on. He is working on my behalf.”

“The ravens?”

Myrsden knew him too well.

“You are not safe from Robert’s boots, yet, either,” Eddard warned.

Myrsden laughed. “Lady Whent is your next meeting.”

“Let her in when she arrives.” Eddard paused. “Do you know of any record of knightly oaths? Ones not related to the Faith of the Seven?”

Myrsden squinted, thinking. “We had some such references in the Eyrie. I will inquire with House Whent’s maester. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Mostly, oaths for knights that do not require the Seven to be invoked,” because no self-respecting Northman would swear by the Seven unless they were from White Harbor. “Preferably reciprocal oaths for knights and their lieges.”

“I will inquire,” Myrsden promised, already pulling out a scrap of parchment.

“How are Dromen and his brother working out?” Eddard really needed to learn and remember the older boy’s name.

“They are excellent,” Myrsden declared. “Dromen is a delight, and I would like to train him to fulfill my role for one of your sons.”

Eddard considered that. “He said he wanted to be a knight.”

“There is no reason he cannot do both.” Myrsden was certainly both. “The boy has a great deal of potential.”

“I will consider it,” Eddard agreed. He would have to speak with Dromen. Or, more likely, have Vanyon speak with him when they were back in King’s Landing. If they got back to King’s Landing before the boy was beyond the age to squire.

It was a future problem.

He would put it on the Damn List.

-*-

“Lady Shella of House Whent!”

Eddard looked up from the Damned List and gestured Lady Whent into his work space.

She set the book she was holding on his desk. “A history of the Oaths of Knights, including a comparison of those various knightly traditions pre and post Andal Invasion.”

Eddard blinked. “Knighthood was not invented by the Faith?”

Lady Whent snorted. “Not remotely, My King. The author of the book, a Maester Wyllard, traced the first recognized Knight of Westeros to the West and theorized that the tradition had been brought to Westeros by a race of ancient mariners of the Far East.”

Fascinating. “And the Andals assimilated the tradition.”

“They were wandering warlords and mercenaries while in Essos that took advantage of the Vale’s supposed superiority to gain a foothold and change the entire face of Westeros. They needed something to legitimize their faction, and Westeros’s tradition of knighthood had a largely uncertain origin.”

Eddard considered that. “You have spent too much time around Northerners.”

Lady Shella Whent laughed out loud. “Your Lord Selwyn is entirely charming and more widely read than anyone I have ever met.”

Eddard knew, from another life, that this was because House Selwyn was running a project to copy texts out from under the Citadel’s collective nose—starting with the hidden and ostracized works the Maesters kept behind locked doors. House Selwyn managed and protected the Archive of the Kingdom of the North. Something everyone in the North believed only House Stark knew the location of.

Some less loyal lords even believed the Archive did not actually exist.

“You have my thanks.”

Lady Whent inclined her head. “We need to speak about your coronation.”

Yeah, he figured.

Lady Whent opened a book full of unfamiliar—to him—scribbles.

He prayed to the Gods that the Damn List did not grow so large he had to bind it in leather as she clearly had.

“Ser Yew will be collecting your formal attire from my laundress tomorrow morning.” It took him a moment to realize she was talking about Myrsden. “I verified with Lord Mormont in Winterfell that there are several ancient, less formal crowns in storage there—mostly queen’s crowns based on weight and size—but not the full Crown of the King of Winter.

“Thankfully, your army includes a smith from Winterfell as well as several apprentices from across the North. They have been dominating my smithy for three days now and expect to have one King and three Queens’ crowns ready on their fourth day of work, the day before your coronation.”

“That is traditional,” he assured her, because she seemed so put out. “Three and four are the numbers sacred to the Old Gods—four seasons, three domains of the moon.” Many across their entire world recognized the moon as a goddess. That included ancient Northerners, and was why he was encouraged to have three queens. To represent the Moon’s power over earth, sea, and sky.

“Your smiths wish to know if there are any stones you wish included on your queen’s crowns.”

That felt like a trap.

He had not specified who his queens were—he had claimed he was refusing to name them for their security, despite everyone knowing he was supposedly married to Lady Catelyn. The truth was, he was protecting Lady Ashara and hiding his intentions from Lord Tully.

Fortunately for him, the Lords of the North hated Hoster Tully with a fury Eddard had not expected. Because of that hatred they had, to a man—or woman—taken to declaring his nonsense about security as traditional, loud and often.

Especially when there was a Tully within hearing.

“All three crowns should match to show my queens are equals,” was what he landed on. Even he knew that was a lie, but he would not compromise Ashara’s or Jon’s security for anything.

“They can have personalized crowns made later,” he allowed. “For now, a ring of hammered bronze with three touching black iron swords.”

It would be a demure and feminine version of his crown with its nine black iron swords.

“The current design has a wolf’s head in front of three sword blades coming out of it, Your Grace.” She pulled a drawing and showed it to him.

“I like it.” And he did.

Lady Shella nodded and slid the drawing back into her Damned List-book.

“There is the question of where you will be crowned, Your Grace. I had assumed the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, but Lord Selwyn informed me that anything as important as this had to be done in front of your gods.”

Eddard nodded. “You have the largest stand of weirwood trees outside of the Isle of Faces inside your walls.”

“My godswood would do, then?”

“Certainly.”

Lady Whent tapped her chin. “I can have my builders raise a temporary platform over one of the pools in my godswood, complete with a throne, Your Grace.

“My godswood is crowded with plants, and the pools are the only natural clearings within my walls. It seems inappropriate to cut down any of the trees, even the non-weirwoods, to make room for your gods and nobles to attend your coronation.”

“It would be inappropriate,” he agreed.

“Would you like to select one of the thrones from Harrenhal’s storage for your use or have a new one made, Your Grace?”

New sounded better to him, but he had to acknowledge that it would be a waste of time and resources if they already had thrones in storage.

“Anything particularly Targaryen?” he asked. His coronation was supposed to symbolize the end of House Targaryen’s hold on Westeros and the legal transition of power from House Targaryen to House Stark. He had to keep that shit in mind. He had to remind the rest of Westeros of these facts as well. If he could make it clear to even Essos that he was the true and rightful King of Westeros, it would serve to ensure whatever was left of House Blackfyre remained hidden in the shadows rather than stepping forward to challenge him once again.

Or it would help, anyway.

Ambitions on the level of House Blackfyre did not go away easily.

But. His plans for his coronation and immediately after would entirely prevent House Blackfyre from gaining any support from the nobles of Westeros.

That had to be enough.

Lady Whent flipped back through her little book. “Three thrones were made specifically for King Jaehaerys and another two for the Great Councils that have been held here. All of them are larger thrones intended for kings, but we can compensate for that in how we build the platforms the thrones are placed on—put your throne a step out from your queens’.”

“Three steps for the queens’ and four for me,” he guessed.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lady Shella pulled a quill out of her skirt. Eddard nudged his inkwell closer to her. Lady Whent nodded her thanks as she used his ink. “My builders might be able to trim the queen’s thrones down a bit without damaging the decorations. I will have all five thrones inspected for use.”

“I appreciate that.” It would be a terrible omen for his reign if he sat down with the crown on his head for the first time and immediately fell to the floor.

“One of the thrones created for Jaehaerys I was made of blackened ironwood from the North and detailed with painted wooden swords,” Lady Shella said. “It was never used, though it is the closest we have to the Iron Throne; depending on what message you intend to send, Your Grace.”

“I would like to see it before I decide.” But an ironwood did sound fantastic.

It seemed like fate that a throne made of a material found only in the North for a Targaryen king—but had never been used by any Targaryen kings—even existed. And it would be the throne least likely to break on him, as ironwood was impervious to pests, particularly when fire-sealed or blackened.

“If we make it through my list in the time we have, I can guide you to the storage area to examine the available thrones, My King. Otherwise, I will make time to return before dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

“Your oaths will be made upon a weirwood, I assume?” Lady Shella asked.

“Yes. In blood.” He had already found the king tree in her twenty acres of godswood. Making his oath in blood upon that tree would activate the magic of the godswood and secure it to his use.

“There is the question of who will place the Crown of the King of Winter upon your head after your vows,” Lady Shella asked in a sideways way. “Your religion does not have any holy people that I can find.”

Children of the Forest were the closest they had to holy people, and now he knew for a fact that they still lived south of the Wall, but he would never ask one to leave the shelter they had found in the Green Wood of the Gods. If they came to him, he would heed whatever Word they brought from the Gods, but he would never think to command one to come to him.

“As this ceremony will stand as the transition from House Targaryen to House Stark, my choice to crown me would be Queen Rhaella, if she is physically capable.” And if she returned from the Isle of Faces in time. “For a second choice,” Eddard hesitated.

House Velaryon and House Nymeros-Martell were the closest, most recognized blood relations that House Targaryen still maintained. But Lord Baratheon was also a blood relation, and Lord Lannister had been King Aerys’s Hand for upwards of twenty years.

“Traditionally, a woman crowns the King of Winter.”

He did not realize he had said the last aloud until he saw Lady Whent nodding. “Mayhaps Princess Lyanna for a second choice, Your Grace?”

Eddard was not sure how he felt about that. About his sister crowning him or her being named a princess.

Legally, Lyanna had no blame in Prince Rhaegar’s crimes against her, no part in King Aerys’s crimes against House Stark, or in Benjen’s crimes against the entire Realm. But, emotionally. If she had just asked their father for permission and an escort to visit the Isle of Faces rather than sneaking off on her own the way she always did, none of this would have happened.

Legally, she was a victim as much as he was. It went against everything in him to blame a victim for what others did to them.

As for the title. By First Man tradition, it was entirely up to him if his sister was a princess. She had been born before he was crowned, and she was not his daughter, so he had every right to deny her the title. But granting her the title of Princess of the Realm would make her marriage even more valuable to House Lannister—something that was a whole other kettle of fish altogether.

By Targaryen tradition, Lyanna was not a princess despite her marrying a prince. She would remain a lady until or unless Rhaegar had been crowned. Then she would become a queen consort, not a princess.

Something that would never happen now that Rhaegar was dead.

The Rhoynish tradition was similar. A woman born to the rank of lady only became a princess if she was married to the ruling prince of Dorne. They also required that she not use her new title in connection with her previous House name. Princesses who married out of House Nymeros-Martell could use only the title of lady in connection with her new House name.

“I will consider it,” was what he said aloud.

He would have to have a long, specific, and detailed discussion with Lyanna once he saw her again.

Fuck, was he going to have to push House Targaryen for a bride price for his sister? House Stark had not provided a dowry for his sister—had not been given the opportunity or knowledge that they needed to provide her a dowry—so, he supposed he could give it a wash. A wergild was not going to happen; the men who had committed crimes against his sister were dead already for their crimes. And he had physically claimed all of House Targaryen’s properties and wealth—he would have to ensure the transfer of means was specified in House Stark’s terms of surrender for House Targaryen.

And that House Targaryen’s actual surrender document confirmed the transfer of means.

He added that to his Damn List.

“How do you feel about becoming my Master of Coin, Lady Whent?”

Lady Whent laughed as if he had been joking.

He waited her out.

“Was that a sincere question, My King?”

“Entirely.”

She took a deep breath and considered. “I am honored, Your Grace, but I must decline. House Whent is in no better shape than House Stark—we were both nearly killed off by the war.

“Mayhaps once my son is wed and prepared for rule with two heirs.” Lady Whent sighed and shook her head.

“The offer is open,” he assured her. “Though you should know that if you were twenty years younger, I would make you a queen. You are thoughtful, loyal, efficient, and hardworking—all traits we prize deeply in the North.”

“I am flattered, Your Grace.” She paused. “There is the tourney to consider. How would you like it to happen?”

“I would rather it did not happen at all,” he admitted.

She frowned like she was disappointed in him. It was frustratingly effective. “Men of all ranks and ages are putting in the work to build a tourney field and stands worthy of you in time for your coronation.”

“I hate tourneys,” he muttered. He could not tell that he hated tourneys because of the Tourney of Harrenhal. Such would be a mistake to mention.

“And children do not like vegetables,” she countered. “This is an opportunity. I know you are smart enough to see that, Your Grace. Act appreciative.”

“She has a point, Your Grace,” the Blackfish said. The man stood from the couch he had been working on and stretched. “And. We are going to need a War for the White Cloaks, if we are going to fill out your Kingsguard in a reasonable period of time.”

“We are going to need so many more than seven,” Eddard agreed.

“Have you chosen your Lord Commander?” Lady Whent asked.

Eddard pointed at the Blackfish, who raised his hand.

“My husband and I figured ages ago that it would take at least one-and-twenty guards to truly keep the king safe while allowing for rest days, training days, and maintainable shifts.”

“I would like to review those numbers with you to understand your reasoning,” Ser Blackfish said. “In the meantime, mayhaps you should have your ladies begin by making two-and-forty white cloaks.”

Lady Shella made some notes. “Any special requests?”

Blackfish shook his head, but Eddard had some. “One with three-inch gold-embroidered edges and three more with one-inch gold-embroidered edges, though those are not as urgent as the first.”

“I will certainly have the first one prepared for your coronation, Your Grace.”

“My thanks,” Eddard nodded.

Lady Shella turned to the Blackfish. “You may wish to consult with Lord Lannister about the final number of Kingsguards you will need. He has the most experience in the requirements of the life of a king than we do.”

“A fair point.” The Blackfish turned to him, silently asking permission.

Eddard waved his silent permission. “Lord Lannister should be here soon. You stay and see what you can gain from his experience with kings. Lady Whent and I will be looking at her thrones in storage.”

“As you will, My King,” the Blackfish confirmed.

Lady Whent stood, secured her Damned List, and took his arm when he offered.

“Now, about the tourney.”

Eddard nearly groaned, but he held back. Mostly because he could see his mother’s disappointed look in his mind’s eye. The look she reserved for such uncouth behavior.

“There will be many weddings to be held,” Eddard pointed out. “And quite a lot of justice to be handed out.”

“Must it all be done on the same day, Your Grace?”

Eddard considered that. “You want to spread it out?”

“I want balance, My King.”

“I have no idea what that would look like,” he had to admit.

Lady Shella laughed. “It is a lovely spring we are having. I had thought we could use the cool mornings for the tourney and do the King’s business in the shade of the afternoons.

“Except for the first day, of course,” she corrected with a frown. “It may take the entire first day to see you crowned, accept your vassals’ vows, and name your queens.”

“Would it not be better to get all of the King’s Justice addressed and then use the tourney to end our gathering on a sweeter note?” Not that men competing to die brutally would be a sweeter note than justice in his mind, but Southrons were odd.

Lady Whent was quiet as they crossed the bridge to the Widow’s Tower and went down, down, down. They had just passed Benjen’s cell-rooms when she spoke again. “The breaks between rounds of Justice would be for you, My King,” she said pensively. “Serving the King’s Justice can be heartbreaking. Exhausting. I had thought that chewing it in smaller pieces might make it more palatable.”

“I have found it is better for medicine to be administered quickly and to find your joy once the fever has passed,” Eddard countered.

“There is wisdom in what you say, My King.”

“It need not be an all or nothing consideration,” Eddard allowed. “First, I will be crowned and accept all of the vows of the Lords of Westeros. Then, I will announce my queens.” And deal with That Tully Problem of his.

He would need to meet with his queens and see if they would prefer one marriage ceremony for them all or a series of marriages. On second thought, Eddard wanted individual marriages with each woman, so a meeting was unnecessary for that issue.

“In the evenings, after your tourney events, I will marry my wives. Separate marriages on consecutive evenings.”

“I have the feeling most evenings will end in marriages, Your Grace,” Lady Whent offered dryly. “Marriages are the conventional way to end hostilities.”

She had a point.

“We may have to double up,” he offered. “Afternoon and evening weddings, else we will be abusing your hospitality a year from now.”

“There could be simultaneous weddings in the Sept and in the godswood, My King.”

She was right; there could. “I will only attend weddings held in the godswood,” he told her firmly.

Every single lord or lady that chose a Septon over the true gods would go on a watch list for possible future rebellions.

“After my weddings,” Eddard said, “we will do three days of White Cloak events and then a two-day break for rest and justice to settle the affairs of Robert’s Rebellion before the Tourney itself begins.”

“A fine compromise, My King.” Lady Whent dropped his arm and pulled a large ring of keys from within the folds of her dress. “Throne storage,” she waved at the door. She struggled a bit with the aged lock but got it open in the end.

“Only two of these have been used,” she said. “The white one over there was King Harren the Black’s throne. The writings that have survived claim it was made from weirwood, though it is clearly made of some pale stone.”

“Harvested weirwood turns to stone as it dies, Lady Whent,” he corrected. The rune work around the base of the throne was impressive. “Was Harren Hoare’s corpse found on this chair?”

“No,” Lady Whent shook her head. “It is said that Aegon the Dragon struck late in the day, well after Harren the Black had retired to his private chambers.”

That made sense and made him wonder if Aegon I had struck as he did specifically so that King Harren Hoare would not be sat on this chair. Unless Eddard was reading the runes incorrectly, when a rightful king—no matter how terrible—sat upon this weirwood throne, his lands would know the protection of the old gods themselves. Meaning, Harrenhal would not have burned had King Harren the Black been seated on this throne when Balerion had unleashed his fury.

Whether King Harren would have survived being the focus of and channel for the Old Gods’ power was a completely different matter.

“The Great Council of 233AC put Aegon V on that throne without any input from the king they chose.”

“I want to keep this throne,” he told her. “Can you arrange for a Royce of Runestone to examine the runes along the base?”

“Do you have any instructions I should pass on to them?”

It was on the tip of Eddard’s tongue to say, but he did not quite dare. “Ask Lord Royce to have his premier Rune Masters walk with me in the godswood this evening.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The Lady of House Whent agreed. She even pulled out her Damned List-book, licked the tip of her quill and made a note.

“This is the second throne that has been used,” she pointed to a gaudy gold and purple number. “It was made for and used by Jaehaerys I during the Great Council of 101AC.”

“That is not a throne, but a couch with delusions of greatness,” he japed.

Lady Shella laughed with him.

“Tell me about the rest?”

-*-

Eddard was not on time for his meeting with Lord Lannister.

Fortunately, Myrsden stopped him before he could fully cross the man’s space and enter his own work area. “Lord Lannister is in deep consultation with Ser Brynden about the security of the Red Keep, Your Grace.”

Eddard paused. That was good news. Mayhaps he might even convince himself that their meeting happening first had been the plan the entire time.

“I have received several scrolls for you, Your Grace.”

Eddard silently gestured for Myrsden to continue.

“These are from Lord Arryn and Lord Tully.” Myrsden handed him the appropriately sealed scrolls.

“My thanks. Anything from Lord Greyjoy?”

“Not yet, Your Grace.”

“I will review them, then I will need a list generated of all the Lords Paramount’s recommendations to my Small Council by position rather than kingdom.” He should ask Queen Rhaella for recommendations from the Crownlands as well, once she returned from the Isle of Faces. It would hardly be just or fair to exclude the Crownland Lords simply because they had neither Paramount nor Warden to speak for them.

“These three are from Lady Ana of House Selwyn.” Myrsden handed him a small mountain of parchment. “She said to tell you that the estimate for the most recent event is by no means conclusive, but that she is gathering more information in the hopes that it will become conclusive.”

That was fair.

“How goes the copying project?” he asked, because he had not had time to peek in on his maesters.

“Very good, Your Grace,” Myrsden said. “Maester Luwin expects to have the first six copies ready for binding today.”

That was impressive.

The Nature of War was not a simple book to copy—Eddard would know; he had made three copies himself as punishment for the various escapades Brandon had always dragged him into before they were both fostered away from Winterfell. Each copy had taken him weeks to finish.

“Unfortunately, his team has grown so large that we have had to sacrifice your meeting room to the copying project. Maester Luwin sends his apologies, but to copy the tome on time, it was the choice that had to be made.”

“That is fine,” Eddard dismissed the concern. Their impressive progress made much more sense to him now. “Mayhaps a new meeting space can be arranged within the godswood? Ask Lady Whent if we can cover a second pond.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

“Once Master Luwin’s team has ten copies made, I will have another document for them to copy.” Even if it meant Eddard would have to stay up all night to re-read the Laws of the First Men and make sure they matched what he remembered before he handed over Lord Howland’s copy to the maesters. “Ask Lady Maege of House Mormont if she has her copy of the Laws of the Iron Throne.” Lady Maege would actually be the perfect choice of regent for Dragonstone, being an island native herself. “Disregard that. Have her come speak with me at the High Table at dinner tonight.”

“It will be done, Your Grace.”

“Luncheon soon?”

“Whenever you are prepared to receive it, My King.”

“Ten minutes ago would be my preference,” he admitted, making Myrsden snort. Who knew making decisions and talking to people while holding his true goals secret was so much work? In his last life, many had considered Eddard the worst liar in all of Westeros. The truth had been that he could not be fucking bothered to lie most of the time. That was not a problem for him now, however. “But I understand the constraints of reality.”

“Luncheon ten minutes ago; I shall do my best, My King!”

Eddard waved off his friend’s over-serious salute and made for the door to his work space.

Myrsden darted ahead of him to announce, “King Eddard of the Royal House Stark, the First of his Name. King of the First Men, the Rhyonar, and the Andals. Lord of the Eight Kingdoms of Westeros. Protector of the Realm!”

Eddard nodded to Lord Lannister and Ser Brynden as they stood. “Carry on.”

Eddard laid his parchment burdens down upon his desk, sat, and popped the seal on Lord Jon’s scroll. It was his recommendations for Eddard’s Small Council and Kingsguard, as expected.

Predictably, Lord Petyr Baelish was Lord Jon’s choice for Master of Coin. That was never going to happen. If Eddard had his way—and he would—Petyr Baelish was going to die screaming. He mayhaps even have Lord Bolton handle the matter as a bit of delicious irony related to their collusion against House Stark in his last life.

Ser Lyn of House Corbray was the top option listed for joining his Kingsguard, and he was a good one. Corbrays wielding Lady Forlorn had a history of being nigh unbeatable. Nor would Ser Lyn be the second man of House Corbray to join the White Sword Brotherhood. Unfortunately, the politics of the situation were delicate. Eddard could hardly be seen to reward Ser Lyn with a place in his Kingsguard when the man’s most famous feat to date was killing the beloved younger brother of the ruling Princess of Dorne during the Battle of the Trident.

“My Lord Lannister,” Eddard interjected.

The Old Lion stood. “Your Grace?”

“Do you have your list of Western recommendations? For my Small Council and Kingsguard?”

“Of course, My King.” Lord Lannister came to his desk and laid a sealed scroll upon it. Since the man was not wearing gloves, Eddard figured it was safe enough for him to open.

“My thanks.” Eddard nodded. “Are the two of you done with your consultation?” he asked the Blackfish, because he knew the man was too blunt to offer the courtly answer based on what he thought Eddard wanted to hear.

Ser Brynden would serve him the truth whether he wanted it or not.

“We are not, Your Grace.”

As Eddard expected. “Very well, continue until luncheon arrives. If you require more time after that, you will need to meet without me on the morrow.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Ser Brynden confirmed before focusing again on his work.

Eddard focused on the scroll he had in hand and broke Lord Lannister’s seal.

There were no surprises on Lord Lannister’s—wait. “You would give your own brother to the Kingsguard?”

Lord Lannister looked up at him. “Tygett requested the position, Your Grace, and I have decided to allow it. I have enough brothers—as well as children—that the line of succession in the West is secure even without him.”

Eddard nodded. “You will still receive an invitation on Ser Tygett’s behalf to join the War for the White Cloaks. He will have to return it with your signature and seal as the head of his House to Maester Luwin before Ser Tygett will be allowed to participate.”

“You seek to keep from stealing another man’s heir, Your Grace?” Lord Lannister raised an eyebrow.

“What King Aerys did to House Lannister was an extreme crime amongst First Men,” Eddard explained, even though he was certain he had told the man this before. “I would give none room to claim the same of me.”

“Very good, My King.”

Eddard returned to his reading, opening the seal on Lord Tully’s missive.

Surprisingly, Lord Tully had also listed Lord Baelish as his choice for Master of Coin. Had the fool forgotten his one and only ward had come from the Vale and not the Riverlands? Did he think that Eddard was going to just forget the conflicts Littlefinger instigated with his brother, Brandon, over his so-called wife, Catelyn?

Family, duty, honor, Eddard’s ass.

And the Stupid Fish had placed his brother as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. While it was frustrating that he and the man had so much as a single thought in common, Eddard figured Tully thought it was his only option to have a family member watch over his daughter.

Eddard wondered if the truth of the matter was that the Fish did not have another man in all of the Riverlands capable of standing as Eddard’s Lord Commander.

The rest of Lord Tully’s candidates for the Kingsguard were four Brackens and two Blackwoods. Having both Brackens and Blackwoods serving side by side was an idea so stupid on so many levels that Eddard’s brain broke to even consider the level of arrogance it took for Tully to write it on the page!

House Bracken and House Blackwood’s rivalry was so long-standing it was the root of the Blackfyre Rebellions! And it was so vicious, even today, that the male lines of both Houses would be dead if they had not been forcibly separated and kept apart during the war—something Eddard had been forced to do because the Fucking Fish had assumed that fighting on the same side during a civil war had somehow, miraculously, healed the rift between the two Houses without any effort on Tully’s part.

Never mind the witnesses and evidence of friendly fire between the Houses in question, despite Eddard’s best efforts.

Probably because the only ones willing to speak up about House Blackwood and House Bracken’s misbehavior had all been Northmen, Eddard thought darkly. How Tully thought his daughter would flourish as the Lady of Winterfell with all the anti-Northern bias he had fed her was still beyond Eddard, an entire lifetime later.

Eddard struck three Brackens and a Blackwood off the list.

The two he left only remained because he was almost entirely sure they were lovers. As long as they swore that they could work together and would not harm each other, Eddard would let them join the War for the White Cloaks. If he was right about them loving each other, and they both won White Cloaks, he would even ensure they worked the same shifts as Kingsguards, though always protecting different members of his House. Nothing in the Kingsguard vows kept a man from loving or even marrying another man as long as neither of them had a womb. Eddard did not have a problem with it as long as their love was no danger to their duty.

Finally, Eddard turned to Lady Selwyn’s reports.

As expected, the wergild for House Tarbeck was massive. Eradicating an entire Noble Houses over verbal rebellion—a rebellion that had cost no lives and had yet seen no battles when Lord Tywin had set out to destroy it—was wildly out of proportion.

There was also the fact that then-Heir Tywin Lannister had never declared war on his father’s vassals. Neither had he the right to declare or make war on his father’s vassals as long as his father had been alive.

Paternal incompetence was not a valid reason to do as Lord Tywin Lannister had done.

The legal thing to do would have been to petition the Iron Throne to supplant his lord-father and become Lord of the West in his own right to bring the rebellious vassals to heel.

If he had not trusted the Iron Throne to do well by House Lannister, he should have isolated and supplanted his father internally. A testimony from a maester declaring Lord Tytos Lannister’s unfitness to lead his House should have been easy enough for Lord Tywin to purchase. Combined with reports of dissent in the West that any competent Master of Whispers would have been able to support and Lord Tywin would have returned to the West with the Iron Throne at his back. No war would have been necessary if Tywin had simply exercised his rights and brought a dragon to a lion fight.

Eddard shook his head to clear it. Hindsight was a nasty thing.

The next scroll held the estimated wergild for House Reyne. That one was, of course, steeper because it had all the same charges plus the charge of diverting and corrupting a watercourse—something explicitly illegal during siege warfare—and the torture by drowning of non-combatants.

Having been forced by the Gods to watch as his children were murdered, raped, betrayed, and abused, Eddard could attest that watching his children drown would qualify as torture. Watching helpless as his children had been picked off one by one, often by those they had trusted most, had been the worst kind of torture. He could very well imagine what each and every parent among the household of Castamere had felt, watching their children drown. Knowing the most aid they could offer was mercy—to kill the child gently but quickly so that their last moments were not the panic and madness of drowning.

A gift that would damn the giver.

Eddard took a deep breath and set that scroll aside.

The scroll for the Sack of King’s Landing was a great deal of speculation. There were many factors that were openly stated to have come from rumors and guesses, neither of which were seeds from which Justice grew.

Lady Selwyn also complained magnificently about Grand Maester Pycelle’s inability to provide any facts about the state of the city before or after the Sack. Her complaint would be enough to investigate Pycelle for dereliction of duty and treason. Eddard knew Pycelle was guilty, and he looked forward to swinging the sword himself, but everything had to be done properly for it to be seen as justice by future generations.

Fortunately, as far as King’s Landing was concerned, Eddard had a plan.

The door to his solar opened, and Myrsden led a small tribe of servants through. They made up the table and laid out the food on the dining surface around the four place settings they had laid out, leaving his space entirely as their tasks were completed.

It was a comfortable, Northern style of dining. Much less formal and pretentious than breakfast with Lady Olenna had been, laid out on the sideboard as it had been. The Northern way provided them with more privacy, as the meal did not require an army of servants to fill a single plate.

Once the tasting was done, the last servant left them to it.

Lord Lannister frowned at the four place settings. Eddard ignored him and took his seat. Ser Brynden sat on his left, Myrsden sat on his right. In the end, Lord Lannister sat across from him with all of the grace befitting a man of his station.

“Where is your brother, Lord Lannister?” Eddard asked. “I have not seen Ser Kevan since we parted ways in King’s Landing.”

“He has returned to King’s Landing in my stead, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister answered. “Young Ser Addam of House Marbrand is a good lad, but he is just that, a lad. Ser Kevan, on the other hand, fostered in Lannisport and is well used to the tasks of city management. Particularly as they concern a port city, like King’s Landing.

“I am certain we have received many of the same ravens, Your Grace,” Tywin offered vaguely.

A test of Eddard’s trust in their company. A question posed without asking. “About the wildfire and the tunnels, yes.

“Have your investigations turned up anything about the origin of the tunnels?”

Lord Lannister put a slice of roast pork in his mouth to allow himself time to think. Eddard did the same.

“History tells us that King’s Landing was not planned, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister said. “It more sprouted around the base of Aegon’s High Hill.”

“A fact the city’s poor layout agrees with, my lord,” Ser Brynden said.

Lord Lannister nodded to Ser Brynden. “After the Aegonfort was replaced with the Red Keep, the only large-scale construction project within King’s Landing was the Dragonpit. The deconstruction of the Sept of Remembrance and the digging of the pit could have been used to hide or excuse the sheer amount of rubble excavating those tunnels would have required.”

“And oversight would have been spotty at best,” Eddard pointed out. “With all of the conflict between the Faith and the Iron Throne at the time, the project took nearly fifty years to complete.” Which made Eddard think that mayhaps the tunnels were part of a long-term plan to destroy the Iron Throne. A plan that the planners had laid the foundations for, but never enacted.

Lord Lannister shook his head and, as if reading Eddard’s thoughts from his eyes, said, “None of the tunnels reach the Red Keep’s outer wall. The closest tunnel is some 300 yards short.”

Eddard huffed. That did not eliminate the Faith as a suspect in his mind, but it was persuasive.

“Who but the Maesters of the Citadel have the keepcraft to design and build a network of tunnels that would stand strong for nearly three hundred years?” Myrsden asked.

“And the Maesters of the Citadel have failed to teach the Lords below the Neck the full laws of the Realm, Your Grace,” Ser Brynden pointed out. “What can it be but a conspiracy on the scale we have never before observed?”

“Explain,” Lord Lannister ordered Ser Brynden.

The Blackfish sent him the request with a glance.

“Since the end of Robert’s Rebellion, I have encountered three lords that knew there are Laws of War and two that had read them. The second of those two, Lady Olenna Tyrell, only read the Laws after the first, the heir of House Tarly, young Lord Randyll, lost his entire mind over Lord Tyrell’s so-called siege tactics.

“I understand she had to pry Lord Randyll’s copy directly from his hands,” Eddard offered wryly.

Lord Lannister gave a dry snort—the closest he had ever heard of the Old Lion come to a laugh.

“I have asked around as subtly as I can,” Myrsden said. Which to Eddard sounded like he had convinced others to ask around on his behalf. Myrsden was rarely subtle. “And it seems lords over fifty recall that the Laws of War exist, but none of them have studied them as you do in the North.”

Eddard could not claim to be surprised by that. No lords but the Lords of the North carried Legal Pouches on their belts.

“Lords under fifty are largely ignorant that the Laws of War exist, Your Grace,” Myrsden’s mouth twisted unhappily. “The younger they are, the less they seem to know.”

“Speaking as a lord of one-and-forty,” Lord Lannister added. “I knew about the Laws of War because I have read several versions of Aegon’s Charter across different Kingdoms of Westeros. After reading the copy from the pouch you lent me, I felt as though I had never read the Charter for the Iron Throne at all.

“Further,” Lord Tywin took a deep swig of his water as though it were wine. “No maester I have asked has been able to provide me with a copy of The Nature of War.”

“Not even Grand Maester Pycelle?”

“I would argue especially Grand Maester Pycelle, as he is the man that I most oft requested the work from.”

Fuck. Eddard scrubbed his face with his hands. “Why would they keep this information from the majority of Westeros? Why keep the lords that are supposed to protect your people ignorant?”

And did it have anything to do with the Citadel’s conspiracy to kill dragons? They would need dragons to be reborn soon for them to reach a size to be useful during the coming Long Night. He could not allow a bunch of magic-hating fools to endanger the entire world of men.

“Knowledge is power, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister offered. “Controlling the flow of knowledge therefore is an advantage, no matter what battlefield you use to wage war.”

Whether the knowledge they were controlling or disseminating was true or not, Lord Lannister had a point.

“I need as many accounts of maesterly dereliction as I can get,” Eddard told them. “We already have Grand Maester Pycelle on several failings. Has the Citadel itself refused to provide the Iron Throne with relevant information in the past?” Eddard asked Lord Lannister.

“I can think of several instances where the care of the Realm was stymied by the Citadel failing to yield the knowledge we needed, My King.”

“Documented instances?” Eddard pushed.

“Notes from Small Council meetings.”

That was not enough.

Eddard sincerely doubted anyone in the south would accept the witness of a Greenseer.

“What about the Grand Maester’s personal annals?” the Blackfish asked. “The Maesters at Riverrun keep them, and keeping a personal journal is an honored practice for Andals. Certainly, the Grand Maester does the same. The position of Grand Maester is, in effect, an active witness to history as it is made.”

“He does keep annals. I have seen them.” Lord Lannister frowned. “But he keeps his journals in a language I do not know, Your Grace.”

Eddard nodded. A dead language or a code would be the best option for a treasonous Grand Maester to keep his head.

“The North Remembers, Lord Lannister,” Eddard reminded the man of the unofficial Words of the North. “We keep several dead languages and codes alive.” Eddard shrugged. “If I cannot read it, one of my people will be able to.”

Lord Lannister sat back in contemplation. “Do we have time for a rider to make it to King’s Landing and back before you intend to bring accusations against the Citadel, Your Grace?”

“A raven there and rider back,” Eddard countered. Then he sacrificed several vegetables to the task of buying himself time. “If Lord Brynden Tully here can make arrangements for relief mounts to be available to your rider as soon as they cross into the Land of Rivers.”

“I could get you a pair of relief mounts inside the Crownlands and a ship to bring your rider across the Gods’ Eye Lake, if I can invite Ser Dayvis Hogg to the War for the White Cloaks, Your Grace.”

“Should that not be Lord Dayvis Hogg?” Eddard asked, amused. “His father, Lord Jeffers Hogg, was on one of the casualty lists I saw.”

Blackfish smirked. “He should be, but his mother has interfered—as is his preference. He is thick as two short planks when it comes to lordly duties and knows it, but he fights like a demon.”

“Is there someone else in place to inherit Sow’s Horn?” Lord Lannister asked.

Mayhaps it was not Lord Lannister’s place to ask that question, but Eddard certainly could not name the keep of a very minor lord from the Crownlands when provided only their House name. Not yet, anyway.

“His older sister has been doing the work for their father for nearly a decade.”

“Was Lord Jeffers as thick as two short planks as well?” Myrsden asked with a smirk.

“Aye,” Ser Brynden nodded. “But the difference between Lord Jeffers and Jeffers’ son Dayvis is that Ser Dayvis is aware he is stupid and humble enough to seek work for which he is qualified while allowing those capable of doing the job dictated as his by birth to be done by family members more suitable.”

That certainly worked for Eddard and his hopes for gender equality. Mayhaps this was something he should discuss with Princess Mariah? Another thing for the Damned List.

“Extend the invitation,” Eddard ordered. “And arrange for the two relief mounts within the Crownlands, and boat.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow at Lord Lannister.

The older man nodded. “I will send the raven after our business is concluded, Your Grace.” Lannister focused on the Blackfish. “My rider will be a Marbrand bearing the burning tree sigil.”

“Useful information, thank you, Lord Lannister.”

“Back to the issue of King’s Landing and its wildfire.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Lannister said, Eddard assumed to prove he was listening.

“I think we know why Lord Jaime did what he did.”

“I agree, Your Grace.”

“Unfortunately, the Laws of the Iron Throne make no exceptions for saving the lives of half a million people. By the Laws of House Targaryen, Lord Jaime is an oathbreaker, a kingslayer, and a traitor destined for execution or the Wall.”

“But,” Lord Lannister demanded through clenched teeth.

“But,” Eddard echoed. “I am no Targaryen. The Laws of the First Men are more thoughtful.

“Should Lord Jaime’s testimony support our guess, Lord Lannister, I will have him restored to you in full. I know I gave you choices for your son’s bride before this information came to light. Now, I am certain that the only way to assure the West—and all of Westeros—of your son’s honor is to wed him to my sister, my only living family member.

“Unless you have an incredibly strong argument for Lord Jaime to wed Lady Jana.”

“I do not, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister admitted. “I had not made a choice between the two ladies you offered before. Lady Lyanna was, in fact, my choice the moment I realized she was alive. I simply did not bring it up because she was not one of the two that you ordered me to consider.”

“Princess Lyanna of House Stark,” Eddard corrected.

“Princess Lyanna,” Lord Lannister inclined his head. “An even greater boon to my House, Your Grace.”

Eddard gave him a single nod. “There are conditions.

“First, Lyanna is heir to the Iron Throne until I claim a child as heir to the Iron Throne from my second wife.”

“Accepted, Your Grace.”

“Second, Lyanna must live in Winterfell until the son I claim for Winterfell is old enough to foster there. Lord Jaime may come and go from Winterfell. You may come and go as well. Lord Jaime’s retinue, your grandchildren,” Eddard waved to indicate that the list continued, but he could not be bothered to itemize it. “But Lyanna must stay.”

“Why?” Myrsden asked, aghast.

Eddard looked at his valet and then back to Lord Lannister. He could see the same question in the Lion’s eyes.

“I know my Lord Lannister does not believe in magic or gods. Like Lord Baratheon, you have lost too much in this life to believe in such things. I do not begrudge either of you.

“However,” Eddard paused to gather his thoughts. “The Long Night is a fact. A historical event documented from the Wall to Asshai.” Eddard made unflinching eye contact with the Lion of Lannister.

“I concede that the Long Night is historical fact, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister allowed.

Eddard nodded. “There are thousands of stories of heroism from the War for the Dawn, but the truth is that the War did not end the Long Night. A pact did. The Pact for the Dawn. One of the conditions, the first and most binding of the agreements, was that the line of Brandon the Stark would always be found at the place of the signing—a godswood with hot springs in it that Winterfell grew around to mark and protect it.”

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Myrsden said softly, relaxed now that he had the relevant information.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Eddard agreed. It was by no means an accident that the Wall had been destroyed and the dead had marched south within moons of Theon driving the last of his children was Winterfell’s sheltering embrace. “During Robert’s Rebellion, my brother Benjen was the Stark in Winterfell, but he is the traitor most assume Lord Jaime to be and must go to the Wall as soon as I am crowned.” Would making Benjen publicly confess his crimes help or hurt the case of restoring public trust in Lord Jaime? He would have to carefully consider the issue. “Currently, my son Robb is the Stark in Winterfell, but he is not yet a year old.

“When our business at Harrenhal is concluded, I will be returning to Winterfell. Once my son is robust enough to survive the journey, he will accompany to wherever my seat is at the time, be it Harrenhal or the Red Keep. My sister will have to be in Winterfell before I leave it, though. I would prefer if she and her new husband were to travel with me and my new wives.”

Lord Lannister nodded. “Speaking of wives, there are two I wish to discuss, Your Grace.”

“Your daughter would be the first,” Eddard guessed.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“The peace of Westeros is best served by weaving all of the Noble Houses together with ties of blood,” Eddard said firmly. “Closing the relationship between House Stark and House Lannister does not serve this goal. Therefore, your daughter will marry Lord Baratheon.”

“Very good, My King, but there is another lady of the main Lannister line in need of a husband worthy of her.”

Eddard frowned. There was only one other main line female Lannister he could name was Lady Genna. “Is Lady Genna not wed to Ser Emmon Frey?”

“She is,” Lord Lannister agreed. “She was betrothed at the age of eight and wed Ser Emmon of House Frey at the age of eleven on our father’s order. I ordered her to never consummate the marriage, and my brothers and I have worked for decades to keep Ser Emmon well away from our sister.”

“I hope you have a good reason for denying your Lord-Father’s Will for his daughter,” Eddard said softly.

“I do, Your Grace.” Like a charlatan but without any sort of distraction, Lord Lannister pulled a scroll from a sheath strapped to his forearm and hidden by his sleeve. “This is the reason.”

Lord Lannister handed the scroll to Ser Brynden. Ser Brynden unrolled the scroll and ran his bare fingers over the entirety of both sides to ensure there were no poisons on the document before passing it to Eddard.

It did not take but a glance for Eddard to find the sentence that would have had him hiding his sister from the man his father gave her to as well. “Gods of Stone.

“Why would your father do this?” Eddard checked the end. The document was signed and sealed by both Lord Tytos Lannister and Lord Walder Frey.

Eddard returned to the top of the document and started reading for something that would make sense of this horse shit.

“My father found me vexing,” Lord Lannister said in answer. “As I found him to be incompetent.”

Lord Tywin was being too kind to his father, in Eddard’s honest opinion. Not that he could admit such a thing; it could cost him leverage he would need later.

“Lord Tytos set Lady Genna’s children with Ser Emmon above you and your brothers in the line of succession,” Eddard pointed out for the benefit of the two knights present. “Nowhere does he specifically that these Frey children will take the Lannister name. Nor does he specify who will be the regent for these Freys until they come of age.” The wording of the document effectively made Lord Walder Frey Lord Paramount and Warden of the West the moment Genna pushed out a son.

All color was gone from Myrsden’s face when he said, “That would leave the West under the complete control of House Frey.”

“The Westerlands would never stand for it,” Ser Brynden said, but then he turned to Lord Lannister, making the statement more of a question.

“No, we would not,” Lord Lannister confirmed.

How could House Frey intend to make such a claim stick? Eddard could not fathom it. Lord Walder hardly even had an army if one did not count his hundred or so descendants.

His descendants, Eddard realized. The man was on his sixth or seventh wife. All of whom were the daughters of men with large armies, and only two of them were Riverlords. Depending on the terms of the marriage contracts, House Frey could possibly drag massive armies from the Vale, the Stormlands, the West, and the Riverlands into defending his blood’s claim on the Rock and the West.

“I need to read the marriage contracts for all of Lord Walder Frey’s wives,” Eddard declared. “After that, I need to meet with their fathers—or brothers, if their fathers have passed.”

“My King, you do not have time for that,” Myrsden fretted.

“Not before my coronation, no,” Eddard agreed. He had seen his schedule for today and could not imagine the next two days were any less packed. Particularly if his Lords of the North followed tradition and interjected themselves into meetings between the various naysayers he would start meeting with the very next day. “After, I could.”

“Mayhaps having them sit with you during the tourney would allow meetings without House Frey being any the wiser,” Lord Lannister offered.

It was an equally appealing and appalling option.

“The current Lady Frey is a Rosby, Your Grace,” the Blackfish said bluntly. “Her brother is now the Head of House Rosby and a Crownlander. If he is not one of your naysayers, I would be extremely surprised.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” Myrsden nodded. “If I had a sister and our father gave her to a man that prided himself of breeding his wives to death and I was offered an audience with my new king, I would be there so fast that every witness would of my travel would sustain a neck injury.”

Eddard huffed in amusement.

He turned to Lord Lannister. “Assuming we can establish Lord Frey’s full conspiracy, what damages would you be seeking?”

“What would you offer, Your Grace?”

“I am uncertain I could provide your sister with the Lord Paramount husband she certainly deserves. Dorne’s heir is wed. None of the heirs of the North, the Reach or the Riverlands will be old enough to do their duty to her while she can still bear children.”

Eddard decided it was best left unsaid that the man could not marry his own sister. Lord Tywin was a Lannister, not a Targaryen.

“That leaves the Vale.

“Lord Arryn has no heir, which could create an opportunity, but he was wedded during the Rebellion. I could inquire about the state of his marriage. If it has not been consummated and he is amenable to setting that match aside, Lady Genna could wed Lord Arryn, but I could not give you odds on such a thing.

“On the other hand,” Eddard allowed. “Lady Genna could become Lord of the Crossing should House Frey be attained. She can wed a son of the Riverlords and start House Lannister of the Rivers.

“If that is unappealing, I could wed her to a different loyal lord. Master Tranis of House Whent needs a good bride. He will never be a Lord Paramount, but his House does hold the largest keep in the Riverlands.”

Lord Lannister scratched at his whiskers as he considered.

“My brother Kevan will take the Twins should House Frey be attained, and my sister Genna will marry a loyal lord, preferably Lord Arryn, if at all possible.”

And Eddard could take Walder Frey’s head in revenge for the Red Wedding long before it happened. Long before he became a threat to Eddard’s heir and Eddard’s wives.

“Aye,” Eddard nodded. “Now we gather all of the relevant evidence so that none may deny House Frey’s foolishness brought their downfall on themselves.”

Eddard led his company in silently eating for several moments.

They had nearly finished the meal when Lord Lannister brought up the final subject on Eddard’s not-so-mental itinerary.

“I have now read the Laws of War,” Lord Lannister offered. “How does that affect the future of House Lannister?”

Eddard slowed his chewing to buy himself time. “We will discuss that privately.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

Myrsden and Ser Brynden abandoned him with haste after that.

Traitors.

Eddard waved Lord Lannister over to the seating arrangement Ser Brynden was not camped out in and grabbed the relevant documents from his desk.

“As the Laws of War originate in the North, we have an established practice for evaluation of violations and levying corrective action. Corrective action is typically assigned in the form of wergilds assigned to the criminal and paid to their victims. In the event criminals refuse to pay their wergild, they are isolated and left to starve to death during winter.

“As winter is unlikely to starve you out as far south of the Neck as you live, the equivalent would be attainment and execution.”

“I have not refused to pay the wergilds, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister reminded him.

“Correct. In fact, I would argue you have already paid the wergilds for House Tarbeck and House Reyne.”

“How?” Lord Lannister demanded.

“In the North, House Selwyn is largely considered neutral. Castle Selwyn is within a half-day’s ride of Winterfell. They have access to the Archive of the North.” Two separate statements that most southroners assume are a single statement. A careful misdirection. “They handle damage assessments and wergild assignments. For all of the North.”

“Because House Selwyn is neutral,” Lord Lannister reiterated.

“Yes, and if you have a House that is naturally neutral or if you wish for one of Lyanna’s children to start a new House in the West to fulfill this role, I can arrange for them to foster with House Selwyn for training.”

“My thanks, My King, I will consider your offer.”

“Based on what House Selwyn has been able to gather from your lords about your attacks on House Tarbeck and House Reyne, they have generated estimated wergilds.” Eddard laid the two relevant scrolls on the table between them.

Lord Lannister picked up the first scroll and read it.

The Lion of Lannister set aside that scroll and picked up the second.

When he finished with the second, Lord Lannister sat back with his lips pressed tightly together in displeasure.

“The estimates seem excessive.” Lord Lannister shook his head. “But I cannot argue with the charges as House Selwyn has laid them out.”

Lannister’s easy capitulation made Eddard wonder if there were additional charges that should have been levied against House Lannister that House Selwyn had missed.

“Typically, damages would be paid to the victims. As House Tarbeck and House Reyne were eliminated in their entirety, their warden or lord paramount should have collected the damages and used them to improve all of the West. However, as heir, you were acting on your father’s authority. A man cannot assess his own damages and distribute the coin.”

Lord Lannister nodded. “Such would be a massive conflict of interests, Your Grace, and create opportunities for terminal corruption of Westeros’ legal system.”

“I agree. Which leaves the Iron Throne to assess the damages and collect the wergild in this instance.”

Lord Lannister cast his eyes down at the scrolls in front of him. “I did pay a loan to the Iron Bank on behalf of the Iron Thone. The amount was similar to the wergild for House Reyne.”

“Yes,” Eddard agreed, picking up another scroll and passing it to Lord Lannister. “This is the confirmation the Iron Throne received from the Iron Bank that House Lannister paid off House Targaryen’s debt, complete with the amount listed.

“If we both agree to accept this as a wergild paid, House Lannister will have to release this idea I have heard from many mouths that House Targaryen and the Iron Throne owe you something for special services rendered.” Meaning the Lion of Lannister would have to get the fuck over himself.

“I will need these documents to explain the situation to my family, Your Grace.”

“Once we have settled the matter of House Tarbeck and House Reyne, you and I will write a document acknowledging the wergilds paid. A day after that, you will receive copies for your own records.” Maester Luwin should be able to come through for him for that promise. The man’s team of scribes was a massive beast at this point, but not a beast that lumbered. That beast could outpace a horse, truth be known.

“My thanks, Your Grace.” Lord Lannister frowned at him, but his face cleared with admirable speed. “And House Tarbeck?”

“Are you aware, Lord Lannister, that Hand of the King is a paid position?”

For the first time, Eddard saw an emotion on the Lion of Lannister’s face that he figured could not have been planned for effect. A wave of red fury spread from Lord Lannister’s collar to his hairline as his mind processed Eddard’s words to gain understanding. Tywin Lannister’s hands shook with fury as he put down the scroll he had been holding slowly and delicately, as if he feared he would destroy it if he put any less effort into returning it to the table between them.

Lord Lannister cleared his throat and regained control of himself. “I was unaware of that, Your Grace.”

Eddard nodded. He had figured that part out for himself. “King Aerys was also supposed to maintain written, signed, and sealed service agreements between the Iron Throne and the members of his Small Council, but he did not. The only other kings in the Targaryen Dynasty that failed in this way were Viserys I and Aegon IV.” Neither of which were kings worthy of Westeros. “Even Maegor the Cruel maintained this tradition as his father established it.

“Now. There was some confusion at the end of Aegon II’s reign and the beginning of Aegon III’s. My people could not find Creagan Stark’s service agreement for his days as Hand during the Hour of the Wolf, but I think we both now know how messy ending a civil war is. Written service agreements were reinstated immediately after the Great Council of the time chose Aegon III’s regents, so I think we can forgive our ancestors that one miss.”

Lord Lannister grunted.

Whether it was agreement or not, Eddard could not say, but he would take it regardless.

“King Aerys II did not pay any of his Hands for their service, so we cannot refer to his choices to see how much you should have received from the Iron Throne. However. In the history of the Iron Throne, only two Lords Paramount have ever been named Hand of the King.”

“Lord Orys Baratheon and Lord Edmyn Tully,” Lord Lannister provided. “Both Aegon the Dragon’s choices.”

“Yes.” Eddard handed Lord Lannister two more scrolls. “As you can see, all of the relevant information is present on both scrolls. Title, duties, pay by moon, duration of service. Signatures and seals.”

“Lord Baratheon was paid significantly more than Lord Tully,” Lord Lannister pointed out.

“Lord Baratheon had a great number more duties than Lord Tully accepted,” Eddard countered. “And Lord Baratheon was King Aegon’s very dear friend.”

“Baratheon was Targaryen’s bastard half-brother, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister offered cautiously—as one should if they are bold enough to correct their king.

Unfortunately for Lord Lannister, he was wrong.

“That is an Andalization of their relationship based entirely on the fact that Baratheon chose the inverse colors of House Targaryen for his personal sigil—black bull on red versus a red dragon on black.

“Orys Baratheon was Aegon I’s whipping boy.”

Lord Lannister frowned. “What is a whipping boy?”

“It is a heinous practice.” Eddard took in a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. “It is based on the ancient Valyrian belief that a rider must be physically perfect to be accepted by a dragon.”

“The boy would take the punishments—the whippings—the future rider earned in his stead,” Tywin Lannister guessed.

“Yes, but more than that. A lesser child of the same gender as the future dragonlord born within days of each other, would be taken from their parents, never to return to their family. The two children would be raised as siblings, twins. Same cradle, same beds, same clothes, same lessons. Matching nameday gifts. Some accounts even claimed they shared lovers.” Or they were lovers, which Eddard believed to be the case with Orys and Aegon, but Tywin Lannister would never accept such a thing. “They were exactly the same until the future dragonlord acted out. In which case, one would be severely beaten while the other was made to watch and know it was their fault.”

“I can understand the practice, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister admitted. “But I could not imagine encouraging one of my children to bond in such a way with a commoner.”

That was not the reason Eddard had hoped Lord Lannister would oppose the practice of the whipping boy tradition, but it was enough to assure Eddard that House Lannister would not suddenly take it up upon learning of it, and so it would do.

“What I propose we do is that we generate a retroactive service agreement—a series of service agreements since the standard term is five years and you served as Hand of the King for nearly twenty years.

“From moon three of 262 to moon twelve of 267, you were Heir of the West and would be paid at Lord Edmyn Tully’s monthly rate. From moon thirteen of 267 to moon seven of 281, you were Lord Paramount of the West and will be paid at Lord Orys Baratheon’s monthly rate.

“You will also have to write a formal resignation letter cancelling your final service agreement early, with cause,” Eddard told him.

“I did write one at the time, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister admitted. Eddard just bet he had so that King Aerys could not gain the opportunity to refuse the resignation face-to-face, as he had supposedly done once before. Eddard could not imagine that Aerys was any more willing to release Lord Lannister as his plaything than Joffery had been to release Eddard’s daughter in another life, Sansa. “But I would not be surprised if Aerys had burned it.”

“Agreed,” Eddard nodded.

“The worth of a golden dragon has changed since the time of the Conquering, My King.”

“It has,” Eddard agreed. “I have written to the Iron Bank for confirmation of the change in value. Obviously, it will take time to receive their official third-party evaluation. This is my best estimate based on historical costs of things like horses, castle-forged swords and armor, and even bread. All within the Crownlands, comparing post-Conquering to pre-Rebellion records.” Eddard tossed Lord Lannister the final scroll and sat back, relieved to have given Lord Lannister all of the relevant information in the correct order. “You will find your total earnings at the bottom.”

“Very thorough, My King.”

Eddard inclined his head in thanks. He had done his best to imitate House Selwyn’s highly logical approach.

“The total listed here is very near the estimated wergild for House Tarbeck.”

“It is.” Eddard paused to consider his next words before deciding that clarity was the best choice. “Typically, I would not make this offer. After twenty-two years, if you had not made amends, you were not going to. Time to move on. Time for House Lannister to be attained.”

“So why make this offer?” Lord Lannister asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Aerys was a shit king that murdered my father and brother,” Eddard said flatly. “He tried to murder me.”

Lord Lannister’s eyebrows did a little dance Eddard could not be bothered to decipher but knowing the Old Lion as he did, Eddard knew the man understood revenge as a drive to destroy someone’s legacy.

“And I need your testimony to take the Citadel down a notch. You will have to testify in front of a weirwood, but so will hundreds of other lords.”

“I can start a whisper campaign against the Citadel about their failure to do their duties to educate the lords of Westeros,” Lord Lannister offered.

It could backfire horrifically. But. When combined with Lady Olenna’s whispers that he had not asked for and Robert’s drunken ramblings that he had asked for and planned to begin after dinner this very evening, things should work out.

“Do you have anything you can whisper to set the Faith on the backfoot, but not send them running?” Eddard asked. “You know the Citadel and the Faith are unshakable allies. We need their alliance to get shaken.”

Lord Lannister was quiet for a long moment. “I received correspondence from Prince Rhaegar during the Rebellion,” the Lion finally admitted. “He was seeking advice about ending the war and displacing his father. He told me then that he had taken Lady Lyanna as his second wife before the Seven.”

“Septons have to report all noble marriages they conduct to the High Septon,” Eddard said, as though he were following Lannister’s logic when, in fact, he knew all of this information already.

“He used the Septon Grandin of Harrentown. I have the man in protective custody, Your Grace.”

That… was better than Eddard had feared. When he had sent men to fetch the septon for a conversation, they had not found him. Not one of the people his men had questioned had known what had happened to the septon. And Eddard had sent Manderlys! To offer whatever comfort talking to other Faithful could bring to sheltered religious types.

“Is he secure?” Eddard asked.

“As secure as I can make him so far from the Rock, Your Grace,” the Lannister assured him.

“And his food is tasted before he gets it?” Eddard pushed. “Both Reachers and Dornish do love their poisons.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Eddard took a moment to consider his options. “Keep him,” he decided, “we will need his testimony.

“And whisper away. In a week, I want the nobles of Westeros ready to demand answers, but also certain that their new First Man king will tell them true.”

“It will be done,” Lord Tywin Lannister agreed, “My King.”

“Now, let us discuss the wergild for the Sack of King’s Landing.”

 

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