Reading Time: 100 Minutes

Title: Presence of Justice
Series: From Experience
Series Order: 4
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: ASOIAF/GoT
Genre: Time Travel
Relationship(s): Eddard Stark/Ashara Dayne, Eddard Stark/Rhaella Targaryen, Eddard Stark/Janna Tyrell, past-Eddard Stark/Catelyn Tully
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: *No Mandatory Warnings Apply, Canon-level Violence, Blood Magic, Citadel Conspiracy
Beta: Claire Watson
Word Count: 42,388
Summary: Justice comes to Westeros.
Artist: Mizu Sage

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Part One

“I am honored,” Eddard said as he walked down the steps from his black Ironwood throne, back in the Harrenhal godswood, to stand among his Kingsguard. One hundred and seven, they numbered. The number would never be limited to a certain seven, but from now on the number of sworn Kingsguard would be dictated by the needs of his family. “That all of you have laid aside your previous lives to guard myself and my family. Laid aside your previous goals for the good of the Realm.

“For the record, all of you are formally and legally knights because of your oaths of service to the Iron Throne,” Eddard looked at each of them in turn as well as he could. “Regardless of your past, regardless of your religious choices, you are all Knights of the Realm.

“In the way of the North, you have earned your place. You wear the title of knight; you will be addressed as Ser from this day forward. Let no one deny you your due.”

He waited as they acknowledged this truth.

He would have to find a more public way to extract knighthood from the Faith of the Seven, but his Whisperers were already working on that.

“Now that you are all sworn in, we will discuss your duties going forward.

“Lord Commander Tully is, of course, your leader.

“The only person who you answer to above him is me. Or, in my absence, my Lady Hand,” he gestured up to where Lady Shella was standing with his queens, his mistress, and his sister. “My Kingsguard will be taking on more duties than the Targaryen Kingsguards have ever done. Under Lord Commander Tully, there will be several Knight Commanders who will have permanent duties; some of these Knight Commanders will have permanent Knight Lieutenants who will answer to them.

“First of all, Knight Commander Tygett Lannister.” The White Lion stepped forward. “As you are the most familiar with coastal cities among my Kingsguard, your assignment henceforth is the security of King’s Landing.

“Unfortunately, King’s Landing is littered with wildfire and undermined with tunnels from the schemes of previous generations against the Iron Throne that were never carried out, and some wildfire from Aerys the Mad’s own plots. Your duty will be to assist the Master of the City—that I will assign later today—in rebuilding the city with an eye toward the safety of the Iron Throne. You will also have to rebuild and train the City Watch. You will need to work with Lord Commander Tully to choose the four Knights Lieutenant who will assist you in your duties.

“If you feel this duty is not for you or if you need more Knight Lieutenants, do not be afraid to speak up.”

“As you will, Your Grace.” Knight Commander Lannister confirmed, tapping a fist to his chest in salute. “I am honored to be trusted with the safety of King’s Landing.”

Eddard nodded to Knight Commander Tygette before he cast his gaze over the rest of the gathered Kingsguard. “That goes for all of you—if you feel cannot fulfill a specific duty, there is no shame in recognizing your own limits. It will keep my family safer if you acknowledge that you cannot do something and allow Lord Commander Tully to cultivate someone that can.”

Eddard waited as the knights around him nodded or voiced their understanding.

“Next, Knight Commander Danya Redfort.” The first of eight women within this Kingsguard stepped forward. Ser Danya was a Valewoman and a First Man besides. “You will be in charge of the security of the Red Keep once the Master of the City has declared King’s Landing safe for the regency to reclaim the Keep. For now, you will oversee the security of the areas of Harrenhal that I have claimed for myself and the Iron Throne.

“You will have four Knights Lieutenant to assist you,” he almost forgot to add.

“As you will, Your Grace.” She bowed her head and saluted him.

“Knight Commander Aracelle Jordayne.” The second of eight women within his Kingsguard stepped forward, this one Sandy Dornish. “You will be directly responsible for my safety.”

The woman smiled, surprised and pleased with his trust. “As you will, Your Grace.” And she moved to stand at his left and a step behind, mirroring Lord Commander Tully, who stood at his right and a step behind.

“Knight Commander Lyn Corbray.” House Corbray was a poor House, but every man that had ever wielded their Valyrian Steel sword, Lady Forlorn, had been a solid and fearsome warrior. Lyn Corbray was the latest in that long line of formidable warriors. “You will be directly responsible for Queen Ashara’s safety.”

The Valeman bowed and moved to stand with Ashara.

“Knight Commander Corlys Velaryon, you will be responsible for the safety of Queen Rhaella.” She had requested him, after all.

“As you will, Your Grace.” The White Seahorse moved to stand with the Last Dragon.

“Knight Commander Ryam Westerling, you will be responsible for the safety of Queen Janna.”

In a silence fit to make any Northman proud, Westerling bowed and immediately moved to guard the Royal Rose.

“Knight Commander Adrielle Jordayne, you will be responsible for the safety of my Official Mistress, Lady Ellaria Sand of House Uller.”

The two women smiled at each other. “It is my honor, Your Grace.”

Would people read into the fact that his and Ellaria’s main guards were identical twins? Certainly. Did he care? No. Or. Mayhaps it was better to say that he was counting on the assumptions of the masses to make clear to the Realm how much he valued his Official Mistress. Ellaria was the only woman as close to him as a queen but without the protection of a crown, with what some—Andals, if he were honest—would consider a tenuous connection to a powerful noble house. She needed the best protection he could provide, and he would provide it. End of story.

“And finally, Knight Commander Jorah Mormont, you will be responsible for the safety of my heir until Queen Rhaella provides me with a suitable child, Princess Lyanna of House Stark.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

Eddard was relieved that the man did not seem put off by being stationed so far from him for the foreseeable future. The White Bear peaceably stationed himself at Lyanna’s back.

“I am also assigning Ser Jacaerys Celtigar and Ser Dayvis Hogg to protect my Hand, Lady Shella Whent.” Both Crownland men nodded. They were a good match to serve together; they complimented each other well. Celtigar was clever and observant, while Hogg had the second fastest reaction time in his Kingsguard, just after Barristan the Bold. And. He hit like a battering ram in the arms of Umbers.

“You have many things to discuss,” Eddard told his Kingsguard. “You will remain here with Lord Commander Tully until he releases you. My family and I will give you privacy for your meeting. Fear not, Aerys Targaryen’s former Kingsguard will guard us until we return.”

Eddard exchanged nods with the Whitefish, and he turned to leave the godswood. Lyanna caught his arm and leaned into him.

“You have something to say?” he asked his heir.

“Thank you for assigning me a proper Northman to lead my personal guard,” Lyanna said quickly. Too quickly. “And thank you for allowing me time to heal at home.”

“But?” Eddard prodded, because he knew a but was coming.

“No but,” Lyanna assured.

Eddard scoffed.

They were out of the godswood when Lyanna asked. “You remember Brandon the Chainless?”

“The second son of the Hungry Wolf that went to the Citadel, but refused to forge the chain of a maester,” Eddard offered. “He kept his individual links in the bottom of his Legal Pouch.” Brandon the Chainless was also the man who started the Northern Archive Project that has copied every tome the Citadel contained and all new knowledge submitted to the Citadel for the last nearly 900 years.

“Do you remember his Hatcher Theory?”

Eddard narrowed his eyes at his sister.

He did not appreciate leading questions or guessing games. Both Brandon and Benjen had been fond of them as children, and Eddard had been their favorite target for their intellectual torture.

Lyanna knew he hated guessing games. And she well knew why.

“The theory that one Dragon Lord in every line of Old Valyria had a magical property that encouraged dragon eggs to hatch. Each line had one such in every generation, but that magical property comes with a tendency to birth babies with dragon features whenever they breed with another Dragon Lord of their own line and father or bear a child of their own gender,” Eddard supplied but he did not disguise his impatience.

The half-dragon babies of various Dragon Lords had never proven themselves viable outside of the womb.

Worst of all, the bearers of those dragon-babies rarely survived their birth.

Brandon the Chainless had theorized that Hatchers mixing with a different line would prevent the creation of dragon-babies and prevent their mothers’ deaths. Not that it mattered any more. There was only one line of Dragon Lords left. And House Targaryen had no dragons.

“Yes.” Lyanna nodded. Then she resolutely focused on the hall in front of them. “Rhaella is the Hatcher for her generation.”

Eddard nearly stumbled.

Rhaella was currently pregnant with her brother’s—another Dragon Lord’s—daughter. Based on Hatcher Theory… Eddard took a deep breath. “Do not tell me that my wife is going to die,” he ordered.

But. Rhaella had, in fact, died giving birth to Daenerys last time.

Daenerys herself had been born healthy and had been a Hatcher herself, as evidenced by her hatching three dragon eggs all on her own. It tracked that the last Hatcher would birth another, healthy, Hatcher as they died.

Assuming Brandon the Chainless’s theory was correct.

“I have taken care of the matter,” Lyanna assured him. “The Green Men of the Isle of Faces assisted her and I with a ritual that redirected Rhaella’s magic to ensure both her survival and a healthy birth. The cost of the ritual is a birth of multiples—which is dangerous in another way, of course—but I am certain she will survive.” Lyanna looked up at him now. “I wanted you to know now rather than allow the entire Kingdom to watch you realize that Queen Rhaella could die within the year.”

Eddard was not remotely inclined to thank his sister for this reminder of his wives’ mortality or the risks they took every time they took him to bed. But. She had worked to protect his most vulnerable wife, which he was certainly grateful for.

Eddard compromised with himself and nodded to his sister.

Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan opened the doors to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, and Lady Shella’s new herald—a stout red-haired man with a beard any Northerner would be proud of—announced Eddard’s party. Those gathered in the Hall stood in his honor.

Now, he had to start a meal and actually eat with knowledge he never wanted and had not sought churning in his gut for the entire Realm to see.

Though his sister did bring forth an issue he had not considered. He could certainly use a greenseer of his own among his advisers as king. The Kings of Winter had always had one. Usually a female Stark, which was why they were normally bred back into the line. But he was giving Lyanna away.

Eddard signaled Howland Reed that he wanted a conversation.

A king’s work was never done.

Part Two

“We are here today so that we may all understand the causes of Robert’s Rebellion and find justice for all those who have lost their lives in the course of the war.”

Eddard paused and looked out over the gathered nobles.

“However, at the request of several noble houses, we must first address a few older legal squabbles that had been left to lie—left to rot and spread—while House Targaryen sat the Iron Throne.”

The Lords and Ladies Paramount were the only ones seated, each separated from their peers by a weirwood tree and surrounded by their own bannermen. There was a large open space between the royal dais and the nobles. On the dais with him were his Queens on his left—Rhaella closest since their marriage had legally ended the war in question, then Janna as a second war-ending bride, and finally Ashara. On his right sat first Lya and then Lady Whent. Just off the dais, beyond his queens, behind a small fleet of tables, sat the scribes from his copying project; working together to make a complete record of the events of the day. Off the dais to the other side, seated around a single round table were the members of his Small Council. Behind them, Myrsden patrolled, ensuring Eddard’s party’s needs were met before they even knew they had them, with a small army of pages at his back.

“Typically, under First Man Law, this entire process would be completed in the True Tongue to ensure the truth is addressed without excuses and platitudes. However, most of the population of Westeros south of the Neck cannot speak the True Tongue.

“As a legal and binding alternative, under the Laws of the Wolf, all witnesses must speak Westerosi Common and bleed upon a weirwood tree so the Gods may enforce their honesty. To refuse to bleed upon a weirwood tree when called upon to testify before the Iron Throne is treason and will be rewarded as such.

“As far as old business stands, we will begin with the rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood. House Blackwood and House Bracken, step forward.”

The two Riverland Houses stepped forward. They were predominantly female. Or, rather, what was left of the two Houses was predominantly female. This seemed to surprise many, though Eddard could not understand why.

A war where both Houses had been forced into close proximity had just ended.

Only two of the men from House Blackwood and House Bracken had behaved properly over the course of Robert’s Rebellion. And both of those men were now part of Eddard’s Kingsguard: Ser Brynden Blackwood and Ser Osrick Bracken.

Eddard stared down at the two new, young lords.

It took a while for them to recognize his silence, staring at each other with excessive hatred as they were. Each man was holding a knife—ostensibly so they could bleed upon the tree and give their witness to the rivalry, but Eddard was not fooled. They were looking for an excuse to cut each other.

Unfortunately for them, Eddard could not claim to give a single fuck about what they thought their Houses’ history was.

It was interesting to him, however. Watching their awareness of his disfavor ripple through both Houses until finally the two lords stood before him, shoulders rounded down and eyes on the ground like poorly behaved children.

He had not yet said a word.

“I cannot tell you how many grey hairs you lot gave me during Robert’s Rebellion.” Eddard frowned at them.

“Tell me, my lords—” he tried to make the honorific sound as much like assholes as he could. From the look Lyanna shot him, he succeeded. “—why are your Houses fighting and killing each other?” Eddard pointed at the left one. “The original reason.”

“House Bracken ruled the Riverlands until the Blackwood Usurpers were driven from the North by your honorable ancestors, My King! We—”

Eddard held up a hand, and Lord Bracken, apparently, shut the hell up.

He pointed at Lord Blackwood.

“House Blackwood left the Wolfswood out of respect for House Stark many thousands of years ago. House Stark were our honored enemies long before they united the North under a single banner.”

Eddard hated lickspittles.

Lord Blackwood gave him a nervous glance. “House Blackwood ruled the Riverlands for a thousand years before the Bracken Usurpers—”

Eddard held up a hand again, and the man shut up. Again.

“I could tell you the exact origin of both your Houses,” he informed the Lords. “We have tomes in the North about exactly why House Blackwood left the North. About how your rivalry started. Tomes written in the True Tongue at the time when your mess started.” Eddard shook his head and sat back. “But that hardly matters, seeing as it has been over a thousand years since the events you continue to squabble over like feral children took place.

“I will show you what does matter.

“My lords and ladies,” he addressed the gathered nobles, “raise a hand if your House, a House you are descended from, or a House you are sworn to, has ever ruled over part or the entirety of the lands now recognized by the Iron Throne as the Riverlands.”

As Eddard expected, every single noble in the godswood followed him in raising a hand.

“Your rivalry has no merit,” he told the warring Houses as he lowered his own hand. “You are murdering the people of Westeros for no reason. Your many, many endeavors in breaking the King’s Peace have not had a single justification. It is the Iron Thone’s duty to stop your crimes against the people of Westeros and maintain the King’s Peace.

“House Targaryen tried for three hundred years to bring peace between your Houses. The Targaryen Iron Throne has tried marrying you to each other time and time again, and you have still continued to kill each other.

“That means, on top of everything else, you are kinslayers.

“The Royal House Stark will not tolerate your behavior as the Targaryen Dynasty once did. House Stark has chosen a more permanent solution.

“House Blackwood and House Bracken are attained. Control of Stone Hedge and Raventree Hall returns to the Iron Throne until new Houses are raised to hold them. All males of your Houses may choose between joining the Night’s Watch or execution before a weirwood. All females of your Houses are stripped of the name Blackwood or Bracken, may take the name Rivers—” though Eddard did not think they deserved even that much acknowledgement of their previous noble circumstances, truth be known “—and may join the Faith or make their own way in the service of a noble House that actually understands their duty to the Iron Throne.

There were a number of surprised gasps, and several women from each House burst into tears, but Eddard was not moved.

Enough was enough.

“Neither House Bracken nor House Blackwood are welcome within the Riverlands in any way from this day forward.”

Eddard waved a pair of blacksmiths forward. They strained as they rolled a platform forward to Eddard’s right. On the platform were several pairs of poles. Held open and curled around each pair of poles were stacks of black iron collars.

“Peace requires justice in order to last. There is a great deal of justice to be carried out upon Westeros,” Eddard said by way of explanation to the less foolish nobles under his command. “Too many people need to face punishment for the seeds of peace that we have planted to flourish. To ensure no criminals fall through the cracks, they will all wear these collars until they reach their new homes.” He had had every blacksmith within a day’s ride of Harrenhal making black iron collars since before he had left King’s Landing. There were over a thousand of such collars in his keeping.

He had considered arm or wrist cuffs at first, but those could be escaped, and even a permanent maiming could hardly prevent the future murder of the innocent. Further, a state of permanent injury was not enough to balance the needs of justice, in his mind.

He did not like the method he had settled on. Putting Westerosi in collars was entirely distasteful to him, but he owed it to his children, to his wives, to see justice well and truly done.

“These collars will come off with execution, of course,” Eddard explained. “Or when the Faith, the Citadel, or a noble House accepts oversight of the criminal in question, as their crimes allow. Let it be known that only I hold the keys to these collars. I will give copies to Lord Commander Qorgyle of the Night’s Watch when we reach the Wall, but otherwise I will require strenuous oaths between prisoner and their patron sealed in blood upon a weirwood before I will release anyone to a lifetime of service.”

“Can women be executed?” One elderly woman, proudly wearing House Bracken’s sigil, asked.

“If that is your preference,” Eddard allowed.

The woman walked forward to his waiting smiths. “I am your first. I will wear that stupid thing until he cuts it off me.”

Eddard was reluctantly amused. And impressed. If she had been from any other House—Eddard shook his head. Person after person approached his smiths, declaring where they would go as they were collared by their punishment. Lord Commander Qorgyle and Knight Commander Danya Redfort took charge of sorting the criminals into the correct destinations.

A few did try to refuse collars.

Eddard took two heads right then in the godswood before the rest fell in line.

He waited as the Brackens and the Blackwoods were done being sorted and were escorted off to the appropriate accommodations in the various towers of Harrenhal.

“Next, I call forth Varys the Spider, former Master of Whispers on behalf of King Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name.”

Varys stepped into an opening between weirwoods not far from Eddard’s Small Council. The Spider stopped in his path, visibly confused. For once in his life, Eddard thought the emotion probably not a mummery. Last Lord Varys knew, he was walking away from a Small Council meeting; now he was walking into a Great Council that was clearly in progress when, to him, no time at all had passed. Confusion was natural.

“Lord Varys,” Eddard greeted. “Bleed upon the tree.”

“Your Grace, I—”

Ser Jorah and Ser Edrick Umber stepped out from the trees behind the Spider with hands resting on their weapons—an axe and sword, respectively—ready to draw. Lord Varys looked sharply over his shoulder, spotting both Northern Knights.

“Right.” The Spider gave a simpering, fake smile. “Your will be done, Your Grace.”

Neither Ser Jorah nor Ser Edrick were fooled by the Spider’s easy acquiesce. But Eddard was hardly surprised; he knew Lyanna had briefed Ser Jorah thoroughly over breakfast the morning previous to this one. The two Kingsguard shadowed Varys the Spider directly to the weirwood that the Lysene man had chosen. When he turned to say something, Ser Edrick grabbed his shoulders while Ser Jorah took his hand, sliced it open, and slapped on the weirwood.

Varys struggled, but no one bound in blood to a weirwood in this godswood would ever be released without Eddard’s own, specific permission.

“Lord Varys, for the record, what is your true name?” Eddard asked.

“Prince Viserys of House Blackfyre.” The eunuch froze.

He paled so fast Eddard half expected him to faint. The Spider did not faint, though, leading Eddard to believe the man’s reaction was but a mummery.

“Why did you choose to come to Westeros from Essos and serve King Aerys II Targaryen as his Master of Whispers under a false name, Viserys Blackfyre?” he asked, very specifically so that none could forget the premeditation of the man’s so-called service.

“To destroy the Targaryen Dynasty from the inside so that House Blackfyre may ascend to our rightful place as the Kings of Westeros.”

Eddard nodded. “And who is the rightful King of Westeros?”

“King Eddard Sixqueens of the Royal House Stark, House Stark of the North, and House Stark of the Riverlands.” Lord Va—Viserys Blackfyre glared up at him as if he was somehow the cause of the Gods forcing the Spider to speak a truth that the man did not personally believe. The man tried again. “King Eddard Sixqueens of the Royal House Stark, House Stark of the North, and House Stark of the Riverlands.”

“Now that that is settled.” Eddard took pity on him. “Who do you, Viserys Blackfyre, believe is the true and rightful King of Westeros?”

“King Daemon Blackfyre, the Seventh of his Name.”

“And what is your relationship to this most recent Daemon Blackfyre?”

“He is my half-brother,” Blackfyre frowned ferociously, “Stark.” The spider said it like Eddard’s House name was a curse. “We share the same Blackfyre mother.”

Eddard nodded; that matched up with what Ser Bronn had told him when Prince Oberyn had brought him forth for them to meet. “And you have a younger brother named Baeron Blackfyre who is a mercenary, formerly part of Bittersteel’s legacy, the Golden Company.”

“Yes,” Viserys Blackfyre agreed slowly.

Eddard ignored the other man’s surprise. “Why do you not tell these people how you planned to put your brother’s son on the Iron Throne?”

“Your Grace—”

“You can tell them now or I will tell them later, after I have executed you as a traitor and usurper,” Eddard pointed out reasonably. “If I tell them, you lose all possibility of gaining sympathy for your surviving brother’s cause.”

Viserys Blackfyre glared at him with hatred born from the depths of his very soul.

Eddard was not moved.

“I purchased a Pisswater Prince and the whore that bore him from a Fleabottom brothel. I put them on a ship to Pentos with a guard, paid for their food and travel. Then, I returned to the Red Keep, encouraged Aerys to let Lord Lannister through the city gates, and waited for things to reach their natural conclusion.”

“And what natural conclusion was that?”

“Lord Lannister wants his daughter to have a crown and to sit his grandson upon the Iron Throne,” Viserys Blackfyre shrugged. “I remain uncertain how the Old Lion has you convinced that he has given up this dream for his House, but I suppose you will learn that the hard way, as they say.”

“I suppose I will,” Eddard offered in the same lazy tone. As lazy as he was capable of, anyway.

Viserys Blackfyre’s poisonous glare was all the reward he needed for the effort.

“I assume your brothel worker’s son had Targaryen looks?” Prince for the last three hundred years until recently had meant a Targaryen, after all.

“He did.”

Eddard nodded but something nagged at him. “Are mother and son still alive?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” Viserys Blackfyre shrugged. “I did not care to ask my friends in Essos. Mother and son are of no matter to me. Mayhaps their guard sold them in Essos.”

Eddard wondered, idly, where a victim became a villain. But that was a pointless thought. Viserys had made himself the monster he was now. Not that the man in question seemed to see it that way. “Why did you remove the brothel worker and her son from King’s Landing?”

“Elia Martell and her children were never going to survive the war. Once your rebellion broke out, their deaths were assured. Either Aerys would kill them, or the rebellion would. Removing the whore’s son from King’s Landing as I did, I laid the trail for doubt about Princess Elia’s son, Prince Aegon’s fate. In ten years, when I kill your dynasty from the inside, I can offer a solution. A boy, saved from certain death, to save the Realm. A miracle. A trueborn king, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, well trained and mentally stable to stand as the King of Westeros.

“If Queen Rhaella survives long enough to push out a bride for my nephew, all the better.”

The depths people would sink to in the name of power never ceased to surprise him. “And you have no objection to your Blackfyre nephew taking the Iron Throne under the Targaryen name?”

“Blood Before Name,” Blackfyre said fiercely, as if those words had special import to him.

“Are those House Blackfyre’s Words?” Eddard wondered almost flippantly. To show how little House Blackfyre mattered to Royal House Stark. “I thought they were Truer than Blood.” He turned to his Targaryen wife and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I understood their Words were Blackfyre Burns,” she admitted.

That sounded like a disease. A painful one with only one possible ending. He turned to Lady Shella and Lyanna.

“Blood and Steel, Your Grace,” was Lady Shella’s offering.

“Honestly, Brother, I thought it was We Bear the Sword,” Lyanna said. “Referring to Blackfyre, of course.”

“Ashara?” he asked. “Who Writes Remains,” he quoted her House Words to her.

“I cannot recall reading of any House Words recorded for House Blackfyre,” she admitted. “Yield to None were Words associated with Bittersteel in the writings of House Dayne at the time, but we have no record of Daemon Blackfyre ever claiming them. I can raven my cousin in High Hermitage to verify.”

“I like that one,” Eddard admitted. “I would not mind knowing whether they have been claimed or not.”

“And if not, claim them for Royal House Stark?” Ashara asked.

Eddard nodded.

Robert had kept the same words for his Royal House and two branch Houses at Dragonstone and Storm’s End. The lords of each branch House had both been Lords of Robert’s Small Council, as well. Neither of Robert’s brothers had ever truly been lords of their own as a result. Stannis, at least, had earned his place as Master of Ships with his efforts against Dragonstone itself at the end of Robert’s Rebellion, and his victories during the Greyjoy Rebellion in the years that followed.

Renly had done nothing to earn his place as Master of Laws, the most powerful Lord of the Small Council after the Hand.

Neither had ever had anything other than Robert and the Iron Throne. They had, truly, been puppets to Robert’s will and name. It was no wonder, in truth, that they had contested for the Iron Throne the moment their good-sister’s treasons had become known.

Eddard wondered if they would have rebelled if Cersei had not been a horrible person. He thought, they probably would have.

After Robert’s death, they had had nothing else.

Eddard wanted better for his sons.

If that meant coming up with two new sets of House Words, that was honestly the least he could do.

He would not be putting his currently living sons on his Small Council, either.

Eddard focused on Viserys Blackfyre. “Not that the Words your House has claimed will change anything for you, Viserys Blackfyre.

“I already know the public name of your half-brother and where he can be found. That information has been provided to me and confirmed through other means. Separate means, far more trustworthy than you.

“Is there anything you do not wish to confess to me, Lord Viserys?”

Blackfyre warred with himself before he finally admitted. “Grand Maester Pycelle has been managing Targaryen fertility since he took the office of Grand Maester. Using teas and tinctures to support Queen Rhaella’s fertility or deny it. To kill children in the womb, particularly, to drive King Aerys mad. I do not know why or to what final end, but I do know that his supplies come from Oldtown because I accidentally intercepted a shipment very recently.”

Blackfyre sent him a sly look. “Pycelle was quite wroth with me for the daughter he claimed I let through.”

“You know all this, and he allowed you to survive?” That did not seem wise at all.

“I allowed him to purchase my silence—with Hightower coin, if I am not mistaken—and began my own investigations.”

“In the event that you need to use him as a smokescreen for your own treasons, no doubt.” Eddard was disgusted. Deeply disgusted. Abusing Rhaella like that was — he had no words.

Lord Viserys shrugged.

“What do you know about Grand Maester Pycelle?”

“He is a Westerman. A bastard of Lord Tytos Lannister, I believe. Probably sent to the Citadel to protect him from his brother, Lord Tywin. Or, mayhaps, Lord Tywin sent him away as a means to cultivate a useful piece in the Game of Thrones. Who could say?”

And the weakness of forced truthsaying was revealed to those wise enough to catch it. A willing speaker, offering theories in the form of questions, could not be stopped from speaking by the powers of the Gods because questions were not lying.

“You are targeting Tywin Lannister consistently throughout your testimony,” Eddard pointed out. “Why do you seek to divide us? To separate the West from the Iron Throne?”

Blackfyre’s hate seemed to burn brighter in his eyes for a moment. “Tywin Lannister has taken down one king. He can take you, too.”

Ah. “Still trying to make room for the lie of your nephew,” Eddard shook his head. “My Queens, Lords and Ladies of the Small Council, do any of you have any more questions for the Blackfyre traitor?”

“Take his head, husband,” Rhaella urged. “Immediately. I cannot bear him breathing my air for another moment.”

“As you wish, My Queen.” Eddard stood and pulled Ice from the sheath at his shoulder. The great-sword was by far too large to wear at his hip as he would a typical arming sword, and he refused to entrust it to a squire as he once had with Theon Greyjoy.

“Mayhaps Grand Maester Pycelle should be given to Lord Bolton and his Skinners,” Janna offered.

Eddard sent the suggestion to Rhaella with a silent look.

Rhaella nodded.

Eddard turned to his Blood Wolf and nodded.

Lord Bolton bowed to him, then again to both Queen Rhaella and Queen Janna individually, and quit the godswood. To retrieve Grand Maester Pycelle from his secure quarters, Eddard assumed.

Eddard returned to the task at hand. “Lord Viserys of House Blackfyre, formerly known as Lord Varys the Spider, Master of Whispers for King Aerys II Targaryen, for treason against the Iron Throne, I, Eddard of the Royal House Stark, King of Westeros, sentence you to die.”

Ser Jorah and Ser Edrick pushed Lord Viserys into a proper kneeling position, and Ice fell.

A head rolled, and Varys the Spider was no more.

Eddard returned to his throne.

“Lord Royce, Lord Swann, Lord Crakehall, Lady Whent, Lord Lannister, Lord Rosby, and House Frey—step forward.”

Eddard waited.

Several Freys had to be outright pushed into the clearing by their fellow nobles to stand before him.

“Lord Royce, bleed upon the tree.”

Bronze Yohn walked to the tree closest to Lord Arryn, knelt, and bled.

“Lord Royce, you hold the largest army in the Vale other than Lord Arryn’s forces; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Bronze Yohn Royce agreed.

“House Royce has given many brides to House Frey,” Eddard observed. “I have read each of the many marriage contracts that exist between your Houses, and every single one of them leaves your army in the service of House Frey as long as a single Royce-blooded Frey survives, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“How did House Frey put your noble House in a position that compromises your loyalty to not only House Arryn, but to the Iron Throne as well?”

There, that got the reaction he was looking for from the gathered nobles—uncertainty and unhappiness.

“I am uncertain, Your Grace,” Bronze Yohn admitted. “I believe Lord Walder Frey must have had leverage over my uncle. All of the Royce brides given to House Frey were of my uncle, the previous Lord Royce’s, line. I am required by blood and word to honor the contracts my uncle signed. I have no proof of any misdeeds by my uncle or Lord Frey other than the unusual marriage contracts.”

“Did House Arryn approve House Royce’s marriage contracts with House Frey?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Why?”

“Lord Jon’s father, Lord Jasper, declared that marriage was a holy ceremony and the purview of the Faith of the Seven through the Office of the High Septon, not the concern of secular lords.”

“I see.”

Eddard started down his foster father. Lord Jon had the grace to flush with shame and nod to him. Lord Jon would fix this nonsense.

Or else.

Eddard had no choice in this matter.

“Lord Royce, you are thanked for your honesty and support as the Iron Throne seeks justice. You may remove your hand from the tree, but are required to remain in the clearing in the event more questions arise.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Lord Swann, bleed upon the tree.”

He waited as, again, the lord in question chose the weirwood closest to this Lord Paramount, knelt, and bled.

“Lord Swann, you hold the largest army in the Stormlands other than Lord Baratheon’s forces; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You gave your two sisters to House Frey,” Eddard pointed out. “Both marriage contracts leave your army in the service of House Frey as long as a single Swann-blooded Frey survives; is that correct?”

“Not exactly, Your Grace,” Lord Swann corrected gently. As Eddard had expected him to. Had, in fact, set him up to do, to show the witnesses the differences between House Royce and House Swann. “That was the result of the marriage contract, as written, that is true, but House Swann’s protection of House Frey was not supposed to last this long.”

“Explain.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Swann took a deep breath. “I am my father’s only son, but I do not wish to rule. I have never wished to rule. I am wed, but I chose my lady because both my wife and I would rather lie with a book than each other.

“When Lord Frey approached me with the idea of wedding my sister to his son, I saw that three of his four children from his previous marriage were sons, and my wife and I were relieved. Here was our solution! My sisters’ sons could free us from the obligations to which we were ill-suited.

“In exchange for both of my sisters, House Frey had my pledge of protection until my sisters’ children were returned to my House. House Swann was only to be in House Frey’s service as long as my sisters’ children lived in the Twins.”

“But?” Eddard was getting talented at spotting hidden catches. Ashara would be proud.

“But we did not include our verbal agreement that my sisters’ children would be returned to House Swann no later than the age of eight within the final written document, Your Grace. Lord Walder swore upon the Seven that he would return all of my sisters’ children to House Swann before they reached eight years of age, but we did not write that stipulation down. The document with our signatures and seals does not include this requirement.”

Proving once and for all that Lord Jaraad Swann was not fit to rule House Swann, in Eddard’s mind.

“Did House Baratheon approve of House Swann’s marriage contracts with House Frey?” he asked.

“No, Your Grace. At the time, House Baratheon referred marriage approval to the High Septon as House Arryn did,” Lord Swann admitted. “However, when I brought my concerns in regard to House Frey’s oathbreaking to Lord Baratheon of the time, Lord Ormund, we found that he could not do anything to a Riverlord due to the lack of a written agreement. Because of this, Princess Rhaelle convinced Lord Steffon to take back approval of marriage contracts for House Baratheon from the High Septon. Her argument was that while the rite of marriage is a holy matter, marriage agreements are always alliance agreements among nobles, which are a secular matter and, at least in the Stormlands, entirely the prerogative of House Baratheon.”

“And House Baratheon has had final approval of all Stormlander marriage agreements since Princess Rhaelle’s intervention?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lord Swann agreed.

Eddard looked to Lord Stannis, who gave him a single, solemn nod to confirm the truth.

Eddard considered the issue. Lord Frey and Cyrenna Swann’s first child, Ser Jared, was married to another Frey. Their second child, Septon Luceon, had been chosen as a member of the Most Devout and, as a septon, had foresworn his claim to inherit anything. Lord Frey’s oldest son and heir, Ser Stevron, had one son with Corenna Swann, Ryman. Ryman was heir to the Twins after his father.

Eddard could not allow Jared or Ryman Frey to inherit the largest army in the Stormlands other than House Baratheon. That was simply never going to happen.

“Lord Swann, have you considered your options for continuing House Swann without your Frey relatives?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lord Swann confirmed. “Your Maester Luwin has confirmed that my wife is unlikely to survive bearing children and that I have left such things too long to be able to physically sire them. However, I have a half-Baratheon cousin of just eight and ten, Jarold Storm, and a half-Selmy cousin of twenty, Barba Selmy. If they were allowed to wed, their son could stand as the next Lord of Stonehelm.”

“I will consider the matter,” Eddard allowed. He would have to speak with Lord Stannis and Lord Selmy. “You understand why I cannot allow you to handle the training of your successor, do you not?”

“I do, Your Grace, my choices have been,” Swann hesitated, “poor. Selfish. I chose my personal comfort over my duty as a Lord.”

“It is good that you recognize this,” Eddard allowed. “From this day forward, you may serve as castellan of Stonehelm, but all lordly choices concerning the keep and vassals of the lands of Stonehelm must be made by Lord Baratheon, in writing, to be considered valid until he and I have both validated the training and noble rights of your heir. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man had to be furious to be so publicly berated and demoted, but none of it showed on his face. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Two down.

“As with Lord Royce, you are thanked for your honesty, Lord Swann. You may remove your hand from the tree, but must remain in the clearing until this matter is entirely settled.”

“Your will is mine, Your Grace.”

“Lord Crakehall, bleed upon the tree.” Once the man had obeyed, Eddard asked. “Lord Crakehall, you hold the largest army in the West other than Lord Lannister’s forces; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“The marriage contract that you signed for your daughter leaves your army in the service of House Frey as long as a single Crakehall-blooded Frey survives; is that correct?”

Lord Crakehall scoffed. “Only if Lord Walder grows the balls to claim my army.”

Eddard allowed himself a single blink. Lord Crakehall brought up an interesting point of view, but his arrogance was truly appalling. “How did House Frey put your noble House in a position that compromises your loyalty to House Lannister and the Iron Throne?”

Lord Crakehall tried to fight the tree. He stammered a few false starts before he admitted, “Amarei was a simple girl; she was not beloved by my men or my vassals and gave no value to my House.

“Walder Frey is, and has always been, a craven that would never call upon my men for fear of Tywin Lannister. Lannister is a cunt that relies too heavily on the West’s fear of him to rule. His children will never hold the West once he dies. Nor does any man within House Frey have the power or skills to hold the West.

“There was no risk of compromising House Crakehall’s loyalties in the agreement that gave Amarei to Walder Frey.”

Eddard considered that. “And allowing it to be written, under your signature and seal, that you were—in effect—refusing to follow the hierarchy that the Iron Throne had instilled upon Westeros at the Conquering did not pose a risk for House Crakehall?”

“There was no Targaryen born that could not be bought,” Crakehall said dismissively.

Eddard wondered if the man thought indirect answers could keep him from being forced to tell the truth. “You mean to tell me that you assumed that you could pay whichever Targaryen was sitting on the Iron Throne to ignore your entire House’s treason for as long as your seven Frey grandchildren survived? Answer yes or no.”

“Yes.”

Eddard paused as the gathered nobles expressed surprise to each other. “Did House Lannister approve your marriage contract with House Frey?”

“Lord Tytos hardly cared,” Lord Crakehall shrugged. “And Lord Tywin was going to lose his right to rule the moment Ser Emmon put a baby in Lady Genna because of the contract the Laughing Lion signed without any thought or review.”

“Confirm, yes or no, that you were aware of House Frey’s plans to usurp House Lannister when you signed the contract with Lord Walder for your daughter,” Eddard ordered.

Again, Crakehall tried to fight until he was forced to admit with a snarl. “Yes.”

“Why do you think House Frey has not gone through with their plans to usurp House Lannister?”

“Because Tytos Lannister fell tits over boots down a set of stairs and died before he could be made to enforce his daughter’s marriage and Emmon the Useless got the opportunity to put a babe in Lady Genna.”

Well, that was honest.

“Your sons have both passed, correct, Lord Crakehall?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Your grandson, Ser Roland, is your heir, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Ser Roland Crakehall.” Eddard waited for the man, mayhaps five years older than him, to step forward and bow. “Ser Roland, we will have to have a long talk before I allow you to become the Lord of Crakehall. Until such time, Lord Tywin Lannister will hold your lands in my name. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Ser Roland bowed. “House Crakehall is grateful that Your Grace is willing to give us a second chance in the face of my grandfather’s shameless treason.”

Great. A talker.

Eddard waved the man back.

“Lord Lannister, do you want Lord Gamon Crakehall, or shall I sentence him for his treasons?”

Tywin Lannister stood from his chair. “Crimes against the Iron Throne take precedence over crimes against a Warden or Lord Paramount, Your Grace. I bow to your wisdom.” The Old Lion did, in fact, bow before he stepped back and retook his seat.

“Very well.” Eddard agreed because the man was, technically, correct. “Lord Gamon Crakehall, for your conspiracy to usurp House Lannister and undermine the Iron Throne’s design for the Westerlands, you are found guilty of treason and will be executed as soon as I find the time for it.” There were quite a few executions already waiting for his sword, of course.

“You are released from the tree.

“Collar him and take him away,” Eddard looked to Knight Commander Redfort, who bowed her head and moved to help Lord Crakehall stand.

“House Blackwood should testify here,” Eddard told the gathered lords and ladies, “Because of then-Lord Blackwood giving his only daughter to Lord Frey as his fourth wife. Lady Alyssa Blackwood provided Lord Frey five children—three sons and two daughters—but House Blackwood has already been dealt with for older crimes than this would be Frey Usurpation.

“We will move on to Lord Frey’s fifth wife.

“Lady Whent.” His Lady Hand bled upon the tree without being ordered to do so. “You hold the largest army in the Riverlands other than House Tully; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Your only daughter, Sarya, was given in marriage to Walder Frey; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And the marriage contract between House Whent and House Frey left your army in the service of House Frey as long as a single Whent-blooded Frey survived; is that correct?”

“Yes, Sire,” Lady Shella sighed. “Fortunately, I explained the conditions of the marriage contract to my daughter. Unlike her father, she understood that the entire contract was treason against the Iron Throne and chose to throw herself from the Twins rather than participate in such crimes against the Iron Throne.”

“How did House Frey put your Noble House in a position that compromised your loyalty to House Tully and the Iron Throne?”

“My grandfather was King Maekar I,” Lady Whent said. “As you know, my mother’s marriage contract stipulated that her firstborn child would inherit Harrenhal. I was that firstborn child, but I never received the support for my position that I should have from the Iron Throne due to House Targaryen’s many, rapid losses between my birth and Robert’s Rebellion. My husband was chosen for me by our elders in House Whent and once I had sworn to obey my husband in a ceremony that I had no choice but to participate in, I lost all of the control my royal grandfather had intended that I have in my life, my marriage, and my keep.

“Like Lord Gamon Crakehall, my husband was also well aware of Lord Walder’s plans to usurp House Lannister and saw the marriage agreement for our daughter as his own opportunity to usurp House Tully.”

“Your husband is now dead.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Years ago, from Winter Fever.”

“Final question: Did House Tully approve of your House’s marriage contract with House Frey?”

“As far as I know, House Tully has never reviewed a single marriage contract made between their vassals. House Tully always preferred to refer the matter to the High Septon despite the Laws of the Dragon that made it entirely clear that the Faith’s duties in regard to noble and royal marriages were those of record keeping, and did not extend to approval or denial.”

“As all of those guilty of wrongdoing in this matter within your House have already passed beyond the Vale of Tears, I find the matter to be closed,” Eddard decreed. “And I thank you, Lady Whent, for your assistance in investigating this matter for the Iron Throne. You may stand and be released from the tree.”

Eddard turned to Lord Rosby. Without being told, the Crownlander slit his palm and placed it upon one of the many weirwood trees.

“Lord Qarl Rosby, you hold the largest army in the Crownlands other than House Targaryen; is that correct?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Your marriage contract for your daughter with House Frey leaves your army in the service of House Frey as long as there is a single Rosby-blooded Frey among the living; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“How did House Frey put your House in a position that compromised your loyalty to the Iron Throne?”

“I admit that I took the advice of Lord Whent, Your Grace,” Lord Rosby said. “And, like House Swann, I needed a male heir. My son was ruined during his squiring and cannot continue our family line, no matter what woman he was to marry.

“It seemed to be the best choice I could make at the time.

“House Targaryen has never used the Crownlands for anything other than our gold and our sons. Outside of House Velaryon, they never bothered to call upon us as advisers, friends, or matches for their children. Never cared for or inquired about our needs. House Targaryen needed a wake-up call. Resetting the board in the West seemed to be the best possible way to do this. To improve affairs for the Crownlands and all of Westeros in a single sweep.”

“Did House Targaryen approve of House Rosby’s marriage contract with House Frey?”

“Of course not, Your Grace. You know well that King Aerys could not be bothered to do even the least of his duties.”

“I find myself in a quandary,” Eddard admitted. “I, too, am technically guilty of treason against the Iron Throne because of King Aerys’s madness.”

Lyanna shifted forward in her chair, as if she had something to say.

He nodded to her, silently giving her permission to speak.

“House Stark’s rebellion was open, brother,” Lyanna pointed out. “Lord Rosby’s attempt at rebellion was insidious. He did not even bother to declare himself as the laws of war demand. Such cannot be allowed.”

Eddard nodded. That was true.

He turned to Rhaella. “My queen?”

“I cannot help but notice Lord Rosby’s stated goal, now that he has been caught and questioned, is the betterment of the Realm. I cannot be the only one who is wondering if his goal was so virtuous when he struck his deal with House Frey, my husband.”

“A good question.” Eddard looked down upon Lord Rosby, “What was your goal when you initially chose to join Lord Whent and Lord Frey in treason against the Iron Throne?”

Lord Rosby sent Queen Rhaella such a hateful look that Knight Commander Velaryon dropped the faceplate of his helm and stepped between them, with his trident leading.

“To supplant House Targaryen, of course,” Lord Rosby snarled. “Failing that, separating the Kingdoms once again and taking the rule of the Crownlands for myself.

“Your brothers have died,” Eddard said, more than asked.

“The older one in the Ninepenny King war and the younger one to King Aerys’s love of fire along with my second son.” Lord Rosby paused pointedly, “Your Grace.”

“And your older son, Ser Karsan, is unwed.”

“I was courting a daughter of Lord Celtigar for him,” Lord Rosby admitted. “When I refused to explain to her Lord-father why I gave my daughter to Lord Walder, he ordered her return to Claw Isle and has refused my ravens since.”

Because Lord Rosby could not explain his treason to his son’s betrothed or her father without compromising his own or his House’s safety. Leaving how and when she did was probably the wisest move the maid in question could have made for all of House Celtigar.

“Despite your plans for House Targaryen, you fought for House Targaryen during Robert’s Rebellion.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Your daughter, Lady Bethany, your firstborn, was recently bred to death as Lord Frey prefers to do to his wives.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Lord Rosby, did you bring anyone else—within your House, in your service, or outside of it—into your conspiracy with House Frey?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Have you considered your options for continuing House Rosby beyond yourself?”

Lord Rosby blinked in clear shock. “Little else has been on my mind since my son’s injury, Your Grace, but as long as I am here, my House is secure.”

“Your brand of loyalty cannot be tolerated,” Eddard decided. “You may take the Black or be executed. What do you choose?”

“I will take the Black, Your Grace.”

Then something occurred to Eddard. “Where is your son, Lord Rosby?” The lad was missing. It was odd. “Where is Ser Karsan?”

“He was killed by an Ironborn, Your Grace,” Lord Rosby said lightly.

It was…odd. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Because I paid for it.”

Sweet Gods of Stone. “What is the name of the last child your daughter brought into this world?”

“Roslin Frey, I believe, Your Grace.” Lord Rosby said slowly. “She is just three moons old.”

“Very well. You may remove your hand from the tree and take a collar.” Eddard waited as he was obeyed.

Then he addressed the gathered nobles, “Lady Roslin Frey shall henceforth be Lady Roslin Rosby, Lady of Rosby. Her brothers will remain members of House Frey. I will raise Lady Rosby as a foster in my House. Should Lady Rosby fall, a new family will be chosen to take command of the keep of Rosby.

“Queen Rhaella, as Lady Paramount of the Crownlands, who do you choose to stand as regent-ruler of Rosby until Lady Roslin is old enough to assume her rightful place?”

“I choose Ser Edwell Velaryon to serve as Lord-Regent of Rosby until Lady Rosby is prepared to take control of her lands, Your Grace.” Ser Edwell stepped forward for Eddard to see him.

“Very well,” Eddard accepted her choice easily enough. “I will be holding a meeting in Winterfell to discuss my expectations for all of the regents that have been appointed since the end of Robert’s Rebellion. We will discuss my expectations of you there.”

“As you will, Your Grace,” Ser Edwell bowed and stepped back.

“Lord Frey,” Eddard called, “bleed upon the tree.”

Walder Frey stepped forward obediently enough, but sneered at him. “No.”

Eddard nodded. Defiance was not actually a surprise.

He was more surprised that it had taken one of the Frey Conspiracy so long to deny him. “You have vowed in blood upon a weirwood tree to obey me as your King. I will ask you one more time: bleed upon the tree and answer my questions, or I will call upon the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone to judge you for your crimes.”

“I will not bow before your false, heathen gods!”

As if Walder Frey believed in any gods at all. “I, Eddard of House Stark, King of Westeros, call upon the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone to judge Walder of House Frey, Lord of the Crossing, for oath-breaking and treason.”

The clearing held its breath, and Eddard waited.

Slowly, a frown crossed Lord Walder’s face.

Then he rubbed at his chest.

Soon, he began coughing as he tried to clear his airways.

The Lord of the Crossing fell to his knees and then fell onto his back, dead. Out of his open mouth sprouted a small white branch. As they watched, a small, five-fingered red leaf unfurled on the little branch.

“Oathbreaker,” the weirwood trees around the clearing said together in a chorus of creaking, grinding voices.

Eddard ignored it as the Andals in the crowd paled or shook—one even threw up in what he assumed was a fear response. For people who claimed to follow the only true gods, they certainly had no idea how to react to the acts of Gods.

“The Gods have judged Walder Frey guilty of treason and oath-breaking,” Eddard said for those that might have somehow missed it. “Ser Stevron Frey, we are at an impasse. You may delay my call for the Gods’ Judgement upon the rest of House Frey, if you can bleed upon the tree, speak your piece, and face the King’s Justice.”

Ser Stevron stared at his father’s sprouting corpse rather than respond until his current wife, a Waynwood niece of Lord Arryn, grabbed his arm.

The two shared a look, and Ser Stevron spoke. “I will bleed on the tree.”

Once the truth-binding had been done, Eddard asked. “Were you aware of your father’s desire to usurp House Lannister?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Stevron agreed. “Father visited Casterly Rock once as a boy and has—had dreamed of living there ever since. He raised my younger brother Emmon to believe that the Rock was his birthright.”

Eddard allowed the crowd to briefly express their outrage amongst themselves before he held up his hand for silence. “What part did you play in this conspiracy?”

“I assisted Emmon in convincing Lord Tytos Lannister that wedding Emmon and Genna was the best choice for removing his son, Tywin, from the line of inheritance. Lord Tytos was afraid of his son, Your Grace, and furious at the boy for embarrassing him by calling in his vassal’s debts to House Lannister without his leave.”

“Did you physically intimidate Lord Tytos? Or in any other way coerce him to gain his agreement?”

“We did not have to, Your Grace,” Ser Stevron admitted. “The lure of displacing his own son with someone more obedient was enough to gain his approval.”

“What was your opinion on your father’s planned treason?”

“The West is none of my concern, Your Grace, and it never has been. House Frey has no rights to it, no matter what father or Emmon thought. Running the Twins while my father indulged his little power fantasies required and held my full attention.”

“Did you warn anyone in House Lannister or House Targaryen of your father’s treason?”

“There was no need for me to, Your Grace,” Ser Stevron shook his head. “Lord Lannister can read, and he knew well that my brother had no business being wed to his sister. Further, it had been obvious to me that Lord Lannister was keeping my brother far from his legally-wedded wife from the moment she was old enough to consummate the marriage until now.

“I did do my part to keep Emmon from complaining to the Iron Throne in regard to Lord Lannister’s interference in his marriage, but that merely required reminding Emmon and our father of the horrors Targaryen Kings have brought upon those that have displeased them or bothered them with foolish causes.”

Thus, Ser Stevron had almost done enough to gain mercy for his House. Only he really had not done anything at all.

Eddard was tired.

Tired of the nonsense.

Tired of the excuses.

And they had yet to reach the true reason for their gathering.

“I, Eddard of House Stark, King of Westeros, call upon the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone to judge all of House Frey of the Crossing for their participation in the conspiracy to usurp House Lannister of the West.”

Ser Stevron gasped and collapsed forward as the tree he had bled upon pulled the rest of his blood right out of his body, turning the ground beneath him to mud of his own making.

Several more Freys, including Ser Emmon, gasped and ran off in various directions.

Eddard shook his head when his guards looked to him for permission to pursue.

No one could outrun the Gods. “They will die soon enough,” Eddard said aloud. “House Frey is attained. Same conditions as House Bracken and House Blackwood for those that the Gods do not see fit to execute.” Eddard waved the remainder of House Frey over to Lord Commander Qorgyle and company.

Once House Frey was collared, divided, and dealt with, it was time to return to business.

“Lord Lannister, bleed upon the tree.”

Tywin Lannister slashed his hand and slapped it on the bone-white bark of the weirwood closest to his chair without a word.

“Tell us about your sister’s marriage to Emmon Frey.”

“The first I heard of it was when my father announced it, the day after he greeted Ser Stevron and Lord Emmon to Casterly Rock as if they were Targaryens themselves.” Lord Lannister took a deep breath, pressing his lips together so hard they momentarily turned white. “I spoke up against the match, as all who were there can confirm. My sister deserved better than the second son of an untrusted lord vassal from a different kingdom. A Lannisport fisherman would have been a better choice for my sister than Emmon Frey.”

“When did you learn the traitorous details of the marriage contract your father had signed, giving away your birthright?”

“Less than a moon after the signing of the Frey contract. A month before my eight-year-old sister was forced in front of a septon to marry Emmon Frey. Our father had called himself preparing Genna for her future as heir-conveyant for House Lannister, due to how her son would inherit directly from our father.

“My sister recognized that agreeing with our father was the only way forward, and when their lessons were over for the day, brought the copy of her marriage contract that our father gave her directly to me.”

“You found the agreement lacking,” Eddard prodded when Lord Lannister paused for too long. The man would grind his teeth to nubs if Eddard let him.

“The agreement stated that my sister’s Frey son would use the Frey name, not the Lannister name; House Frey would hold regency over the West should something happen to my father before Genna’s son was old enough to stand as Warden; and that this boy stood to inherit the entire West in my place. The contract guaranteed mine and my brothers’ full removal from House Lannister upon the birth of our sister’s son.

“The entire contract was ludicrous, overdone, and unenforceable, Your Grace.”

“I agree,” Eddard said, because he did. “No single marriage contract is enough to reseat a Paramount House or a Warden without the signature and seal of the Regnant holding the Iron Throne. But,” he allowed, “such a contract and fruitful marriage would be enough to cause questions around the future ruler of the West. Together, they would be enough to divide a kingdom and could even cause armed conflict to break out, destroying the King’s Peace.

“The Iron Throne must thank House Lannister for their wisdom and good service in preventing the Frey Usurpation of the West.”

“You have the gratitude of House Lannister, Your Grace, it was our lawful duty,” Lord Lannister bowed as much as he could seated and bound in blood to the weirwood as he was, “but it was my sister, Lady Genna’s wisdom that prevented the usurpation of House Lannister.”

Eddard nodded. He and Lord Twyin had gone over this reveal in exquisite detail. The Lion of Lannister was following the script they had made beat for beat.

“Has Lady Genna arrived?”

“In the night, as you instructed, Your Grace.”

“Lady Genna of House Lannister, come forward.”

Red Cloaks parted and Lady Genna strode forward, beautiful in Lannister red and gold. She curtsied down to the grass. “Your Grace.”

“Lady Genna, the Iron Throne owes you a debt. I would fill this debt by ensuring your second husband is a man worthy of you and your children.”

“Such is the only thing I could ask for, Your Grace.”

“Unfortunately, I have all of the queens I am allowed.”

“It is a pity, Your Grace,” Lady Genna agreed with a smirk. “But it is a rare Lannister that can share their spouse. I find I am not one such rare Lannister.”

Eddard was not convinced marrying her to another Warden, as he intended, would be enough of a reward for the Lioness of Lannister, but he did not feel he could give her a keep of her own and a worthy husband, either. He had to make the choices that best served all of Westeros. Not just one House, or one person.

“Ser Kevan of House Lannister, step forward.”

Ser Kevan had arrived in time to witness Eddard’s marriage to Queen Rhaella. The man had seen King’s Landing evacuated as fault, after failing, after treason, had been revealed, proving the city was entirely unsafe. He had done an admirable job, saving as many Westerosi lives as he could and keeping the wildfire from being found and lit.

Ser Kevan had even fought his lord brother on his recall to Harrenhal, until Eddard himself had written, ordering the man to secure the city the best he could and come north with all possible speed.

Some things had to be done in person. And this was one of them.

“Kneel,” Eddard ordered and was immediately obeyed.

“In thanks for House Lannister’s continued loyalty and honest service to all of Westeros and the Iron Throne, I, Eddard of House Stark, King of Westeros, hereby declare Ser Kevan of House Lannister Lord of the Crossing. May his line hold the Crossing in honor and service from this day until their last day.

“Rise, House Lannister of the West and House Lannister of the Crossing. Go with my thanks.”

Both men bowed their way back into the Western collective. Ser Kevan received several hearty shoulder claps for his promotion.

“High Septon Rylong and the Most Devout,” Eddard called once the jubilation of the West was over.

A total of six men stepped forward—the High Septon and five Most Devout. Their sixth had been one of the Freys, Septon Luceon, who had fled into the woods to die.

“High Septon Rylong, Most Devout, I do hope you realize that you will be made to answer both for the power over noble marriages that you have wrongfully taken from the Iron Throne, as well as for this War of Western Ascension you were clearly encouraging.”

“I fail to see how that could be, Your Grace,” High Septon Rylong said, fearless. “I am a man of the Seven. Your heathen gods have no hold over me.”

“Lord Walder Frey thought the very same,” Eddard pointed out. “Why do we not test your Seven’s protection of you? High Septon Rylong of House Hightower, brother of Lord Leyton Hightower, I, Eddard, King of Westeros, call upon your House’s blood oath to myself. You will bleed upon the tree, or your blood relatives will pay for your insolence.”

The clearing was silent, waiting.

Lord Leyton gave a weak cough. “Ry.”

“I have foresworn all connection to House Hightower!” Rylong objected. “All septons do when we enter the service of the Seven!”

“The magic in your blood does not agree,” Eddard said simply. “That means that my Gods can see that, as a septon, you have served House Hightower’s interests over those of your seven statues.”

“I—I—”

“RY!” Lord Leyton roared. Then he coughed, spitting up blood.

“Leyton!” High Septon Rylong pulled a heavily jeweled dagger from his belt and struggled to slice his own hand with the dull, unmaintained blade.

Lord Leyton’s oldest son, Baelor Breakwind, a lad of seventeen, took his uncle’s hand, sliced it with his own blade, and slammed it down upon the closest weirwood. Lord Leyton staggered then, sucking down deep breaths of relief.

“High Septon Rylong of House Hightower, what was your part in House Frey’s conspiracy to usurp the West?”

“I provided Lord Frey with the information that allowed him to secure Royce wives for his line, Your Grace.”

“Why would you provide Lord Frey—a minor lord from the Riverlands—with such an advantage?”

“I needed a noble patron outside of House Hightower and the Reach to hide House Hightower’s control of the Office of the High Septon.”

“How many High Septons have not been Hightowers during the rule of House Targaryen?”

“One.”

“One,” Eddard repeated. He had to focus entirely on Rylong Hightower to keep from being distracted by the huffing outrage a number of southerners were displaying. “Was that one non-Hightower High Septon the High Lickspittle that was elected during Maegor the Cruel’s reign?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Did the office of the High Septon exist in Andal culture before House Hightower took the religion under its aegis?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Was the Office of the High Septon created for the purpose of extending the authority of House Hightower outside of their legal domain?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Has House Hightower extended their authority outside of their legal domain in any other ways?”

“Yes.” The High Septon closed his own mouth with a sharp clack to stop himself from saying any more.

“In what ways has House Hightower extended their authority beyond their legal rights, High Septon Rylong of House Hightower, Father of the Faithful?”

“With the Citadel.”

“Explain.”

“The majority of the Conclave are House Hightower.”

“The Conclave chooses the Grand Maester who advises the Iron Throne and provides direction to maesters assigned to keeps across Westeros; is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“As the majority of the Conclave is House Hightower, House Hightower has complete control of the knowledge and training of Westeros’s nobles,” Eddard pointed out. It was like pulling teeth with this man. “And?”

“Maesters report all they see and do to the Citadel and House Hightower.” High Septon Rylong tried not to say. “Unless the lord or lady of the keep they are assigned to requests a very explicit oath from their maester, that is.”

Assigned to. Not sworn to. That was an interesting difference. “Making the Citadel into House Hightower’s spies across the entire Realm,” Eddard concluded.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Outrage rippled across the clearing at a volume he could not ignore. Eddard held up a hand for silence.

“Maesters are meant to advise their lords for the lord’s benefit. Have the maesters the Citadel has sent out into the world been doing that, or have they been advising their lords according to what was best for House Hightower?”

“If they were not made to take the correct oath, maesters across all of Westeros work to the benefit of House Hightower.”

Eddard scratched his chin and decided to ask a question Lady Ana had asked him but he had thought irrelevant. “As High Septon, do you have any influence over which maesters chosen for the keeps that need them?”

“By their loyalty to the Se—” the High Septon hissed and frowned down at his bleeding hand. Even from where he sat Eddard could see that there was blood flowing faster down the tree from Rylong Hightower’s hand. It was an unambiguous warning. “Their training and dedication to House Hightower’s goals as stated by the Faith and the Citadel are all considered in maester placement.

“I, of course, am always available to counsel my kin.”

Disgusting.

“Unfortunately, Westeros does not have a secondary option to replace the Maesters of the Citadel. We will all have to question our maesters for ourselves,” Eddard told the gathered lords. “And verify which oath is the correct one to ask our maesters to make.”

That earned Eddard a round of nods and a few cheers.

“Has House Hightower overreached themselves in any other ways?” he asked.

High Septon Rylong pursed his lips together in an attempt to keep from answering but, in the end, he said, “Yes.”

Eddard considered the man. “Have you kept any records of your efforts on behalf of House Hightower against the betterment of the Realm?”

“Yes.”

“Does the Citadel have such records?”

“I—Not ent—Yes.”

Eddard looked over to his Dayne Queen. Starfall was by far the closest First Man keep to Oldtown. Considering the enmity between these two ancient Houses, there was no way House Dayne did not have agents at work in Oldtown. Agents that could retrieve the information that Eddard—that the Iron Throne—now required.

Ashara inclined her head, stood, and left the godswood altogether. Maester Eldyn and a handful of Kingsguard went with her.

A glance from Eddard had Howland Reed joining Ashara’s tail to mobilize the North’s agents within Oldtown and possibly help with transportation, should the Gods will it.

“Is there anything you do not wish to tell me, High Septon Rylong of House Hightower?”

“The Faith has been conspiring against the Iron Throne from the time Aegon the Dragon burned Harrenhal. Working together with House Hightower and the Citadel, we instigated the Dance of the Dragons to kill off the dragons of House Targaryen. We undermined the mental stability of House Targaryen by engineering tragedies, from the Summerhall Fire to Queen Rhaella’s many lost children and so many before that. We will continue to conspire against the Iron Throne until a Hightower has ascended to their rightful place, ruling all of Westeros. We will—”

“Stop,” Eddard ordered.

High Septon Rylong immediately stopped speaking. The man had to audacity to smirk at him. As if he did not know, already, what his end would be.

“Does your conspiracy have a name?” Eddard asked.

If looks could kill, High Septon Rylong would have struck him dead with his eyes. “The Will of the Seven.”

“Lord Hightower?” Eddard turned to the man’s older brother. “What is the name of House Hightower’s conspiracy against the Iron Throne?”

Lord Hightower was not bleeding upon a tree, but the Gods would not allow anyone to lie to him to their faces. Not in his woods. “In the Citadel, they call it the Society for the Advancement of Science, Your Grace.”

“The Society for the Advancement of Science and their conspiracy against Westeros is not our current topic of pursuit,” Eddard said to the gathered nobles. “We will conclude our business with Robert’s Rebellion and return to drag the roots of this dark conspiracy into the light.

“Lord Leyton, you, Lord Baelor and Lady Malora will remain,” Eddard ordered. “The rest of House Hightower will go with my Blood Wolf, Lord Bolton, and his Skinners.

“I require a maester that is not part of the Society for the Advancement of Science to take full record of Lord Bolton’s interrogations.

“No blood this time, Lord Bolton. Just questions.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Roose Bolton confirmed, appearing as if a ghost among Hightowers, startling them all.

“Take House Redwyne, other than their Lord and Lady,” –also known as his good-sister and good-brother— “with you.

“House Tyrell will remain here.” Since there were only two of them, his good-mother and his wife. “High Septon Rylong, you will remain exactly where you are as we together learn the truth about Robert’s Rebellion. I am certain we will all be fascinated and horrified by your involvement in fomenting that rebellion as well.”

Lyanna rested a hand on his arm, and they shared a look. She looked exhausted, and Eddard knew what she wanted.

“Maesters?” he prompted.

Eddard had hoped for one volunteer. He got three.

He waited as Queen Rhaella took the lead on questioning their loyalty and their oaths of service were made.

He waited until the Fools of Oldtown and their immediate secular allies were escorted from the clearing under the watchful eyes of Roose Bolton and his Skinners.

“We will take an hour’s respite before we return to the issue of Robert’s Rebellion. Anyone who does not return to this clearing within the hour will be judged as an oath-breaker by the Old Gods.” Eddard stood and accepted Lyanna’s arm. “One hour.”

Part Three

“It is time to begin our search for understanding in the matter of Robert’s Rebellion,” Eddard told the gathered nobles—nobles that had returned to a man and the High Septon that was still bound to the tree. “First, we will explore the commonly accepted cause of the Rebellion.” He turned to face his sister. “Lyanna?”

“Of course, My King.” Lyanna left the platform, drew her belt knife, and bled upon the tree.

“Princess Lyanna of the Royal House Stark, were you kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone?” Eddard asked.

“I was not, My King,” Lyanna focused on him, ignoring the murmuring from the crowd

“Were you raped by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen?”

“In the beginning, no. In the end, once I learned of the war and Prince Rhaegar refused my request that we ride forth to end the war, yes, My King.”

“Tell us what happened from the beginning,” Eddard ordered. “Why were you in the South?”

“I was in the South to attend Brandon’s marriage to the Tully maid, Lady Catelyn, My King,” Lyanna told the crowd more than him because he already knew. “I had been having strange dreams. I eventually realized they were Green Dreams. They made it clear that it was vital that I go to the Isle of Faces as soon as possible. The Gods had a fate for me, and that fate would be found on the Isle of Faces.

“I already knew I was a skinchanger—as you are. As were the Stark Kings of old. I had competed in the Tourney of Harrenhal as the Knight of the Laughing Tree the year previous. I did well and accomplished my defense of Lord Howland despite riding an untrained plow horse and having minimal combat training myself. I knew the Gods would favor me for protecting one of their Dreamers and for upholding House Stark’s duty to protect one of our vassals, but I had never expected to do as well as you all saw that I did.

“As a skinchanger, I was able to guide that plow horse to do exactly as I wished.”

“There was nothing special about the horse,” Eddard pointed out. “I know because I returned it to the farmer Benjen stole her from and paid him a just penalty for the unwilling loan.”

“You have my thanks, brother,” Lyanna smiled with her eyes, as a proper Northerner would. “I had no idea what had become of my mount after I abandoned her to protect myself from King Aerys.”

Eddard inclined his head, accepting the thanks. “You were skinchanging and Dreaming,” he reminded her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “That plow horse. Riding her was the most fulfilling experience I had ever had. It was as though she responded to my very thoughts. She was what made it clear to me that I was a skinchanger.

“Then, within days of riding her, I started Dreaming. Odd and harmless Dreams.

“The further South I rode on my second trip below the Neck, the worse the Dreams grew. Violent dreams, full of death. I began to see the Dreams during waking hours—while I was riding, rather than simply while I was asleep. This was especially true after we left Moat Cailin and the Twins. I could barely think for the horrible things I was Dreaming. I was terrified. I knew I had to get to the Isle of Faces—the Dreams made it clear. I needed training, or I would go mad.”

“Did you ask our father if you could go to the Isle of Faces?”

“I did, Your Grace. Father said no. I tried to explain, but he would not hear it. He would allow nothing to distract any of us from sealing his bargain with House Tully. So, I left.”

“You left.” Eddard repeated, still shocked by his sister’s boldness even an entire lifetime later. “By yourself and of your own free will?”

“By myself and of my own free will,” she agreed.

“How did you leave our father’s retinue alone?” Eddard asked.

Lya put her free hand to her cheek in an attempt to hide her blush. He knew she would have used both hands if the other was not bound to a weirwood in blood. “As you are aware, I tend to pout and avoid people when I lose an argument.”

Eddard fought a fond smile. “I am aware.”

“The night we camped at the turnoff of the Kingsroad onto the River Road, I goaded father into an argument. I endured his lecture and fled to my tent. I stayed long enough to dismiss the servant that father sent to fetch me to break my fast and slipped away during the change of the guard. I knew Father would not consider my absence from his side odd for at least three days, as that was how long I had pouted nearly every time before.

“With a three-day lead, riding a Ryswell mare that I was well bonded with, I knew would be on the Isle of Faces before Father’s outriders ever got close to me.”

“But,” he prompted when she paused.

“But I did not pack enough rations.” Lya blew out a frustrated breath, making her bangs fly up and then flop over one of her eyes like a stubborn mare. “I stopped at an inn to resupply ten leagues from Harrenhal. An inn where Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Oswell Whent had stopped for a meal.”

“Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell,” he called.

Both men came forward and bled upon separate trees without the need for an explicit command.

“Which of you recognized my sister?” Eddard asked both Kingsguards.

“I did,” both men said at the same time

“I am the one who pointed her out to Prince Rhaegar, Your Grace,” Arthur admitted.

“I insisted she write to her father when Prince Rhaegar decided we would travel with her to the Isle of Faces, rather than continue our trip home from the Wall, Sire,” Ser Oswell added.

“Sister, you wrote to our father?”

“I did,” she confirmed. “When we reached Harrenhal. The first inn, where we met, was not large enough to have a maester or ravens.”

“I insisted Prince Rhaegar write to Lord Stark as well, Your Grace,” Ser Oswell added. “I thought it would be better if he knew his daughter was appropriately escorted by representatives of the Iron Throne.”

“Who sent these ravens?”

“Maester Dennas of Harrentown,” all three confirmed in that eerie synchronicity of those willingly obeying the prompt of the Old Gods.

“Maester Dennas,” Eddard looked to the circle of Citadel Maesters that had clustered to Lady Olenna’s right as if she could protect them with their Conclave already in the hands of his Blood Wolf. One of the gray sheep shuffled forward. “Bleed upon the tree.”

The man played the invalid as he made his way across the clearing—why, Eddard could not say, but Maester Pycelle had been a much better mummer of helplessness—to a weirwood tree. There he paused, slowly turned, and looked up at Eddard from under bushy brows. “I have no knife, Your Grace.”

Ser Oswell, the closest person to him, pulled a hidden knife, sliced the man’s hand, and put his blade away before anything else could be done.

Maester Dennas gasped and looked at the White Bat with helpless shock.

Then he turned to Eddard as if he expected him to object to a Knight of the Realm assisting him with meeting Eddard’s demands.

Eddard waited.

Knight Commander Tygett did not have Eddard’s patience. He took the fool’s hand and planted it, blood down, on the closest weirwood tree.

“Identify yourself,” Eddard ordered.

“I am Maester Dennas of Harrentown, Your Grace. Formerly a man of Dorne, sponsored to the Citadel by House Nymeros-Martell.”

“How long have you served Harrentown?”

“Fifteen years, My King.”

Eddard nodded. The man looked around the right age for such a length of service.

Eddard debated calling the maester on his mummery. In the end, he decided it would, in fact, be better if he called the maester on his nonsense—lest someone think they had the right to complain about Ser Tygett’s or Ser Oswell’s behavior toward the fool. “Have you been attacked in these last three days?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Have you fallen in the last three days? Had some sort of accident? Aged a decade or two?”

The maester huffed. “Of course not.”

“Most of us here remember you from the Tourney of Harrenhal,” Ned pointed out. “And even those of us that do not have those memories can certainly recall you striding about telling us about everything we have done wrong in setting up the war camps we have spent the better part of the last two years living in.” Ned turned his gaze—and every ounce of judgement he could—upon the remaining collective Maesters of the Citadel. “I do not begrudge you the games and mummeries you play to keep yourselves safe in the South, but I caution you to recall that you are currently using my time and I do not take kindly to my time being wasted.

“I am of the North,” Eddard reiterated. “The best way to keep yourselves safe from a Northman is to prove your knowledge, your efficiency, and your ability.

“The weak, the slow, and the useless do not last in the North.”

There was some nervous shifting before a younger maester stepped forward. He looked like a bulldog made into a man. Complete with bottom jaw thrust forward belligerently. “We will take your words under advisory, Your Grace.”

“Your name?” Eddard asked.

“Archmaester Marwyn.”

The Maester that Jon’s friend from that other life, Samwell, had so admired.

Eddard nodded, accepting the young man’s leadership of what remained of the Citadel.

“Maester Dennas, did you send these ravens to Lord Stark as my sister and these Kingsguard knights have described?

“Not directly, Your Grace,” the Maester said. “Princess Lyanna made me aware that sending ravens to Winterfell would not actually reach her father for possibly up to a year. I sent the ravens to Riverrun for Maester Vyman to pass on to Lord Stark, as she swore that was Lord Stark’s Southron destination.”

“Did you pass this information to anyone else?”

“Due to my standing orders from the Conclave, I sent summaries of both ravens to my superiors in Oldtown, Your Grace.”

And that was another maester for the Wall.

“After that, sister?” Eddard asked.

“I trained in the ways of Green Dreamers under the Green Men of the Isle of Faces. After several moons, alone and without the presence of a family member in the presence of three men, I realized I would be ruined in the eyes of Westeros.” Lyanna took a deep breath. “At first, I was relieved. Robert Baratheon would not want to marry me if I was ruined. But then I remembered Lord Robert’s violent nature. My Dreams began to show a war of uncertain cause. The dreams were focused on Robert Baratheon. I demanded Prince Rhaegar marry me to protect me from Lord Robert’s fists and to prevent you, my brother, from having to wage war against your dearest friend for the offence of abusing me.”

Eddard nodded. He understood his sister’s reasoning.

Unfortunately, King Aerys’s madness had gone too far for normal measures—such as uniting their Houses through marriage—to be enough to guarantee the peace of the Realm.

“We wed upon the Isle and then made for Winterfell. I led our party on the hidden paths. Our goal was to reach Winterfell and write to Riverrun to bring House Stark home so we could choose our path forward together.” Lyanna sniffled. “Benjen said again and again that he had written to Riverrun to call you all back, but you never came.

“Then, we found that I was with child.

“Targaryen tradition required Rhaegar’s first wife and me to say our vows to each other for me to be truly, legally wed to my prince. We planned to go to Starfall. We would meet Elia there so my child could be trueborn, but once we reached Starfall, we learned the truth that Benjen had hidden from us. The Realm was at war.

“Over me.

“Father and Brandon had died. For me.” Lyanna sobbed once before she swallowed back. She tried, like a good Northern lass, to contain herself. But the pain of their lost family—to murder and betrayal—was too much, and in the end, she wept.

Ser Arthur reached over and put a comforting hand on Lyanna’s shoulder. “My King, your sister demanded that we ride forth to end the War. Rhaegar—my prince. He hit her. We were his Kingsguard. By our own vows, we could not act against him. And we did not. This broke her trust in all of us. She was unwell for days after the prince struck her; she would not speak. Not to Ser Oswell nor I. Not to her maids. Not to Starfall’s Septa. Not to Rhaegar, her husband, when he sought her out.

“My Prince left to end the war and return peace to the Realm, but he never returned.

“Next, we knew, Ashara received your raven telling her the war was over and that you would be made King of Westeros at Harrenhal. We all began to pack immediately, to obey your command and come to Harrenhal.”

Eddard nodded. “Ser Arthur, were you aware when you escorted my sister to the Isle of Faces that she did not have permission from her father to be there?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Are you aware, Ser Arthur, that the Laws of the Dragon do not recognize that women, regardless of age or rank, have the agency to make their own choices?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Were you aware that assisting or taking an underage female child of a noble blood to any location without their father’s presence or express permission is kidnapping by the Laws of the Dragon that were active at the time when you were escorting my sister to the Isle of Faces?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Ser Oswell, are you aware that by the Laws of the Dragon you, Ser Arthur, and Prince Rhaegar kidnapped my sister?”

“Yes, Sire,” the White Bat acknowledged. “We attempted to send ravens to mitigate this fact.”

“But you never escorted her to our father, which is what the Laws of the Dragon required you to do in order to be anything other than her kidnappers,” Eddard pointed out. “You went along with her choices and broke the Laws of the Iron Throne at that time.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You kept my sister safe, for the most part, so I will give you both the option to take the Black for your crime of kidnapping my sister. Will you accept?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Oswell agreed.

“It is the least we deserve for the evils we allowed Prince Rhaegar to visit upon your sister and King Aerys to visit upon Queen Rhaella,” Ser Arthur added as his own form of agreement.

“We will speak on that later,” Eddard warned the Sword of Morning. “For now, you are released from the tree to accept the mark of the Watch.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

He waited as both men removed their white cloaks and locked the collars Eddard hated so around their own necks, choosing to stand with Lord Commander Qorgyle.

“Sister, were you wed beneath the tree or by a septon?”

“Both,” Lyanna sniffled. “We wed before the Laughing Tree on the Isle—it was my favorite. But the rite was led by Septon Grandin of Harrentown.”

“Septon Grandin of Harrentown, come forward.”

The septon stepped out from the Western contingent that had sheltered him. A Marbrand squire slit the man’s hand when he silently held it up, and he laid it on the white bark of the weirwood.

“Are you Septon Grandin of Harrentown?”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“Did you wed my sister, Lyanna Stark, to Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

“Did you notify anyone of this marriage?”

“As required by law, I sent ravens to Winterfell, the Red Keep, and the High Septon, to notify all affected Houses of their new joining.”

Another betrayal from Benjen, then. Knowing that their sister had wed well before she had ever reached Winterfell and not bothering to write Eddard to advise him of this fact.

“Were you aware that Prince Rhaegar did not have Lord Stark’s permission to marry his daughter?”

“I did not ask, Your Grace.”

“Would you prefer the Night’s Watch or execution for your dereliction of duty in the matter of my sister’s illegal marriage?”

The septon stuttered for a moment before he said, “The Night’s Watch, Your Grace.”

“Very well,” Eddard agreed. “You are dismissed, Septon Grandin, to join Lord Commander Qorgyle.”

“Maester Vyman of Riverrun,” Eddard called.

One of the Northmen acting as a guard for Eddard’s now-Royal House brought the man forward, cut his hand and placed it on the tree.

“Identify yourself,” Eddard ordered.

“I am Maester Vyman of Riverrun, formerly a man of the Vale, sponsored to the Citadel by my trueborn brother who stands as a vassal in the service of House Redfort.”

“Maester Vyman, did you receive the ravens sent by Maester Dennas on behalf of my sister and Prince Rhaegar?”

“I did.”

“Did you pass them on to Lord Rickard Stark?”

“The ravens arrived well before Lord Stark reached Riverrun, Your Grace,” Maester Vyman said. “I had Lord Baelish, who often worked as a page on my behalf, take the scrolls to Lord Tully so that Lord Tully could distribute the information as he saw fit.”

“Did you tell my brother, Brandon Stark, that our sister, Lyanna, had been kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar?”

“I did not, Your Grace.”

“Do you know who did?”

“I do not, Your Grace. I confess that I was unaware that Lord Brandon had reached or left Riverrun until the raven from Maester Pycelle arrived, ordering Lord Rickard to the Red Keep for Lord Brandon’s trial for treason.”

“Did you pass that information on to my father?”

“Not directly, Your Grace. The oath Lord Tully required of me meant that I had to give all information I received to him first so that he and he alone may distribute that information on behalf of the Riverlands as he sees fit. I kept my oath.”

“Did you send the information you had received about my sister and Prince Rhaegar to your superiors at the Citadel?”

“After sending the information to Lord Tully, of course, Your Grace.”

Two maesters for the Wall, then. They might not have, technically, broken their oaths, but they would never be trusted by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros. Since he could not outright execute them for treason, the Wall was the safest place for them to live out their lives.

Once Lord Commander Qorgyle had claimed his two newest recruits, Eddard called for, “Lord Petyr Baelish and Lord Hoster Tully.”

When both men were bleeding and kneeling in the dirt, Eddard asked. “Lord Baelish, did you read the ravens sent from Harrenhal to Riverrun regarding my sister as you took them from Maester Vyman to Lord Tully?”

“I read all of Lord Tully’s ravens when I take them to him,” Baelish admitted.

“Did you use this information that you had no right to against House Stark in any way?”

“I used it against that fool, Brandon Stark,” Baelish shrugged. “I knew it would not be hard to send him into a rage—I had done it twice before. He did not deserve Catelyn’s devotion.”

“What, precisely, did you tell my brother, Baelish?”

“I told him that I had seen Prince Rhaegar take Lady Lyanna into his saddle against her will. That Prince Rhaegar had taken Lady Lyanna south against her will, even as she fought against him. And that his Kingsguard helped.”

“Did you intend for Brandon Stark to die at the hands of King Aerys?”

“Yes,” Littlefinger admitted through gritted teeth.

“Did you intend for a civil war to break out within the Realm?”

“No.” Baelish shrugged. “But the war did provide me with opportunities.”

That sounded a lot like the older Baelish that had been Eddard’s doom in another life. Chaos is a ladder, and all that. “In what way?”

“If you died in the war, someone would have to take command of Winterfell and the North. Lady Catelyn trusted me above all others, save her father, who was entirely bound to the Riverlands at the time.”

“You thought to become Lord Regent of Winterfell and acting Warden of the North should I have fallen in battle?” Eddard asked to clarify.

“Yes.”

“What you allude to would only have worked if Lady Catelyn was bearing my child before the end of the war, and it would not have been a long-term path to holding power for yourself. Regencies only last until the child the regent guards is grown,” Eddard pointed out.

“Raising your child would give me plenty of time to ensure the child could not function without me.” Baelish gave him a sly look. “If it was, indeed, your child. As long as the timing was close enough, what did it matter? With you dead, Lady Catelyn’s future would be most secure as the Lady of Winterfell. And she would have her father and the Iron Throne’s backing over any who would contest.”

That reminded him, first of Lord Jon’s son Lord Robert—called Sweetrobin by his mother, Lady Lysa—that his Sansa had met in another life. The boy had been entirely dependent upon Baelish over even his own mother.

Though. Speaking of sons, they had another issue to settle between them. “Have you ever lain with Lady Catelyn?”

“Y—No.” Baelish looked shocked to hear his own admission. “I did…not lie with Catelyn after I challenged Brandon for Catelyn’s hand.” Baelish flushed with fury. “I lay with C—Lysa!”

“Now that that is settled.” Eddard rolled his eyes. “Lord Petyr Baelish, do you admit and confirm that you contributed to the beginning of Robert’s Rebellion by lying to the heir of the North, Lord Brandon Stark and therefore setting him up to die by the hand of King Aerys the Mad because you desired Lady Catelyn Tully for yourself?”

Again, with the eyes.

Honestly, the eyes would be more threatening if Baelish did not seem like he was about to cry. “I admit and confirm that I lied to Brandon Stark with the intention that he would die at the hand of the Mad King so that I could have Catelyn Tully for myself.”

That would do.

“Ser Danya, Petyr Baelish has an appointment with Lord Bolton in his workshop beneath the Widow’s Tower.” Lady Whent’s builders had fashioned a trio of sturdy cells to Lord Bolton’s exact specification within his workshop.

“I will see him to it personally, Your Grace,” Knight Commander Danya Redfort swore.

“Petyr Baelish, you are released from the tree.” Ser Danya did not give Littlefinger the opportunity for tricks. She frog-marched the former Lord Baelish from Eddard’s presence with all due haste. Eddard took comfort in the fact that the next time he would see Petyr Baelish would be for the occasion of watching the life fade from the man’s hateful eyes.

“Lord Tully, did you receive the ravens that my sister and Prince Rhaegar sent to Riverrun regarding their presence at Harrentown and the Isle of Faces?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Did you ever share this information with any member of House Stark or any of our vassals?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Why?”

“The Wild Wolf did not deserve my daughter,” Hoster Tully sneered. “The North did not deserve my daughter.”

“Then why did you force me to wed your daughter rather than join House Stark in Robert’s Rebellion as you were sworn to as our ally?”

“You were nearly civilized, being raised by a proper, Faithful lord in the south as you were.” Lord Tully shrugged. “I wanted my grandson to rule the North. Through him, the North would be mine, and the people of the Riverlands would have never been safer.”

“Except for the fact that I was already married.”

“Your heathen rituals have no power—” Lord Tully looked down at his bleeding hand. The puddle seemed bigger than before, and Eddard was sure it was. The Gods did not take kindly to those entirely within their power attempting to deny them.

The former Lord Paramount of the Riverlands himself swallowed hard, as though he was struggling not to lose his last meal.

Eddard nodded. “Right. Clearly, you are telling us all of this of your own free will.”

Did he have any other questions he wanted answered by his would-be good-father? No, in fact, there were questions he would rather leave unasked. Questions he had given over to the Gods entirely for his own mental peace a lifetime ago.

Questions Westeros deserved answers to.

“What about my father?” Eddard asked. Because he had to. Because Westeros needed to know why they went to war, really. It was not his sister. It had never been his sister. That was Robert’s folly. Westeros had gone to war for the entirely unjustifiable murder of a Warden, the Warden of the North. “What did Lord Rickard Stark, Warden of the North, do to earn your betrayal? Why did you withhold information that could have saved your sworn ally’s life?”

“He was in my way,” Lord Tully said heartlessly. “He was in the way of everything my daughter deserved.”

“Because your daughter deserved the North?”

“Yes.”

Eddard nodded. “Other than being directly responsible for the murder of a Warden and the start of Robert’s Rebellion, what other secrets are you keeping from Westeros?”

“I sent a raven to the Faceless Men inquiring about your death after you survived the war and became King. They refused to take a contract on you, so I decided to settle for being your Hand until I could arrange a suitable end for you myself and become my own royal grandson’s regent.”

“Effectively making yourself the King of Westeros.” Eddard nodded. “Fortunately, for you, my son with your daughter protects you from me. Lord Commander Qorgyle, I believe you can take Hoster Tully into your care.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Knight Commander Tygett moved up behind Hoster Tully and put a blade under his chin, forcing his head up so Lord Commander Qorgyle could collar the senior Tully Fish and lead him away.

“We have established that Robert’s Rebellion was started under false pretenses, established by the lies of small men with over-large ambitions.” Eddard told the noble throng. “These false pretenses do not change the illegal actions of King Aerys that led to House Stark’s formal declaration of war against the Iron Throne.

“Let us discuss those.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, come forth and bleed upon the tree.”

Ser Jaime came forward and complied with easy grace.

“Tell us about my father’s and brother’s deaths.”

“Lord Brandon had entered the Red Keep one quiet night, shouting for Prince Rhaegar to come out and die! That was, I believe understandably, not taken well by King Aerys. Lord Brandon was quickly arrested and thrown into the Black Cells beneath the Red Keep.

“I was there when King Aerys ordered Grand Maester Pycelle to send a raven to Lord Stark so that he might answer for his son’s treason.

“I was also there three moons later when Lord Stark arrived in the Red Keep without his banners. Why would he come without his banners?” Ser Jaime shook his head. “King Aerys explained to Lord Stark the crimes that Lord Brandon was accused of.

“Lord Stark demanded Trial by Combat. King Aerys agreed, and for a moment I knew I was about to die.” Ser Jaime took a deep breath. “I knew that Aerys would never sacrifice the White Bull with my father’s son in his keeping, and Lord Stark was as fearsome a fighter as any man that has ever wielded the great-sword, Ice. My castle-forged steel blade could not turn Valyrian steel; that was a fact.

“I was going to die.

“And then King Aerys named fire as his champion.

“I did not think King Aerys’ choice was legal, but I knew better than to speak up. Lord Commander Hightower would kill me himself if I said anything against the Will of the king. Assuming Aerys did not order me burned as an oathbreaker, too.”

Ser Jaime took a moment to gather himself. He was admirably composed for a boy of six-and-ten. Not composed in the way a Northman would be, but good enough, Eddard figured, for his sister.

Different enough to keep her attention, probably.

“Aerys’s pyromancers built a bonfire and tied Lord Stark to it, in his full armor.

“Aerys had Ser Jonathor Darry bring forth Lord Brandon and secure a belt around his throat. A sword was placed out of Lord Brandon’s reach.

“The King said—” Eddard noticed the boy was shaking ever so faintly. “—he said that if Lord Brandon could get the sword and use it to free himself and Lord Stark…that they could go free. That House Stark would be found innocent. But if they died on the pyre or trying to free each other, they would be guilty.

“Then.

“Wisdom Rossart lit the fire.

“It took two Gold Cloaks to help Ser Jonathor keep control of Lord Brandon until he strangled himself. On the belt. He died, trying—

“Lord Stark screamed. Not immediately, but that made it worse when he eventually stopped.

“King Aerys found his pleasure. Right there, in front of the Court.

“As the Starks died screaming.” Ser Jaime shook his head, eyes going distant—going away like so many victims Eddard had seen in two different lives. “The next day, the King decided he needed to test Lord Arryn. Because House Arryn was too close to House Stark, in his estimation. He had Pycelle write to Lord Arryn demanding Lord Eddard’s head because he was a Stark. And Lord Baratheon’s, because if he had proper control over Lady Lyanna, she would not have seduced Prince Rhaegar into taking her.

“The letter he got back from Lord Arryn was a declaration of war. King Aerys did not take it seriously. He had it, and the declaration from House Stark burned even as every noble that could fled King’s Landing.”

“King Aerys did not take our declarations seriously,” Eddard realized more than said.

“Not at all, Your Grace.”

“The High Septon was in King’s Landing until that point, correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“We have all heard witness accounts that the High Septon was well aware of my sister’s marriage to King Aerys’s son. Did High Septon Rylong, at any point, tell King Aerys that Prince Rhaegar had wed my sister?”

“Not that I saw or heard, My King.”

“When did King Aerys finally start to take the war seriously?”

“The Battle of the Bells, Your Grace. When his Lord Hand, Lord Jon Connington, returned as a failure, without your head, without Robert Baratheon’s head. The Griffin Lord was banished to Essos, Wisdom Rossart became Hand of the King, and King Aerys started fortifying the city with wildfire.

“Then Prince Rhaegar came back, out of nowhere, and said he would fix everything. But he never came back from the Battle of the Trident.

“Then my father was there. He said he was there to help, but he never said who he was going to help. I knew—I knew—my father hated King Aerys. There was no way on this good earth that my father had come to protect King Aerys. I told King Aerys this. I tried to make him understand that my father hated him as much as he hated my father, but Pycelle and Varys convinced him that my father was his friend. Father had served him for so long; certainly, he had returned to King’s Landing to serve him again.

“They opened the gates, and my father began sacking the city.” Ser Jaime started shaking hard enough to audibly rattle his armor plates together.

“Breathe!” Eddard ordered.

Ser Jaime sucked in air like a drowning man.

Ser Tygett put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, and the boy seemed to draw strength from that silent support.

“What happened next?” Eddard asked softly.

“King Aerys ordered me to bring him my father’s head. I could not, of course. I would die before I hurt my father. I would rather die than become a kinslayer. With the White Bull gone on some secret mission, I knew I could ignore King Aerys’s,” Ser Jaime shook his head, “mad order. Instead, I focused on coordinating the defenses of the Red Keep, but I could hear the king screaming. Burn them all! Burn them all! I stayed at my post. I defended the King. He screamed for hours; Burn them all!

“Then I saw Wisdom Rossart, dressed as a common guard, trying to slip out of the gates against my established orders.”

“Why would Wisdom Rossart leave the established safety of the Red Keep?” Eddard asked for their audience.

“There are wildfire caches all over the city, Your Grace,” Jaime said. “I had found several in my off-hours wandering. I knew in my soul that I could not let a single one of King Aerys’s Wisdoms leave the Red Keep, or any single one of them would burn us all, as the king demanded.

“I killed Rossart and every Wisdom I came across until I reached the throne room. I knew I had to kill the King, or he would just find someone else willing to burn the city.

“He saw the blood on my blade.

“He was happy.

“Asked after my father’s head.

“I told him it was not my father’s blood on my blade. I told him that I had killed his alchemists.

“Aerys turned to run.

“I could not let him burn the city; I killed him.

“I killed him.”

The boy was left sitting in the dirt, staring into the distance, rocking slightly under his uncle’s hand. Eddard stood and ignored everyone else as they stood with him. He walked down from his throne and offered Ser Jaime his hand.

The boy just stared at his hand until Ser Tygett shook him a bit.

Eddard watched Ser Jaime’s eye climb up his hand, to his arm, to his face. Recognition dawned, and Ser Jaime quickly took his hand. Eddard pulled him to his feet.

“Thank you,” Eddard said, visibly startling Ser Jaime. “You saved the lives of five-hundred thousand souls living in King’s Landing and the lives of the nearly thirteen thousand men that were there in the service of your father’s army. Every single Lord of the West, including your father, owes you their lives, as do the majority of their heirs.

“Yes, you broke your oath to King Aerys, but you did so to answer a higher calling.”

Someone behind him on the dais started clapping, and all the rest of the clearing followed their lead quickly. Eddard watched as Ser Jaime looked around him, first in confusion and then in awe. Eddard held up a hand for silence before Ser Jaime could become too overwhelmed.

“I, Eddard of House Stark, King of Westeros, forgive you, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, of all vows you have made and broken to King Aerys of House Targaryen. I free you from your service to the Kingsguard and hereby return you to your lawful birthright as heir to the West.”

“Thank you,” Ser Jaime said softly enough that Eddard doubted anyone else heard it.

Eddard nodded to Ser Tygett, who removed the white cloak from Ser Jaime’s back.

“Further, to show my faith in you as heir to the Warden of the West, I betroth you to my sister and heir, Princess Lyanna of House Stark. She is in mourning for the babe Prince Rhaegar raped out of her, so your wedding will be delayed. You will wed no less than a year from today in the godswood of Winterfell.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

Eddard nodded. “Join your father.”

Ser Jaime took a deep breath and turned to Lord Lannister.

Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, was smiling. He opened his arms and accepted his son back into them as a father should. To thunderous applause.

Once the crowd had calmed, and Eddard was back on his throne, he spoke again. “I have requirements for the treatment of my sister. I have discussed them with your father, and he has agreed to my conditions, but I wish to lay them out here so that no one may doubt House Lannister is obeying my will.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Ser Jaime said, pushing away from his father to stand on his own two feet once again. “How may I serve?”

“You have agreed to a year’s betrothal to my sister and to marriage beneath the weirwood. The West is, of course, invited to witness their heir marry the heir to the Iron Throne. You will not consummate your marriage until my sister has expressed to me, of her own free will, that she is prepared to take on her wifely duties to you.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

“Third, Lyanna will remain in Winterfell as the Stark of Winterfell—” covering for Benjen being the Stark in Winterfell in truth since the Pact required a male Stark to stay in Winterfell “—until my firstborn son, Lord Jon, is ready to begin his fostering there under Lord Jeor Mormont, Warden of the North. This will be the next ten years at least.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Eddard made his countenance as fierce and frozen as he could. “Finally, abuse my sister as Rhaegar did before you, and you best pray you make it to the Wall before I find you, as vows to the Watch are all that will save you from me.”

“I understand, Your Grace.”

“Be at ease,” Eddard ordered, and the younger man relaxed.

Eddard turned his focus upon the gathering as a whole. “Lord Lannister and I have discussed the Sack of King’s Landing. My Master of Laws evaluated the Laws of War that were broken by the attack and assigned a wergild which Lord Lannister has paid. This wergild will be used to rid the city of King’s Landing of its wildfire infection and rebuild the city from the Sacking.

“As to the matter of the extreme abuse and murder of Princess Elia of House Nymeros-Martell and her two children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, House Nymeros-Martell has requested the right to serve their own justice in this matter. Lord Lannister has agreed that while he sent ahead a raiding party to execute the royal family, rape was not something he either ordered or condoned. Therefore, Ser Gregor Clegane, Ser Amory Lorch, and all surviving members of their party that raided Maegor’s Holdfast are currently secured in the cells of the Wailing Tower and will be given to House Nymeros-Martell for judgement and punishment.” Eddard pulled a key from one of his pouches. “Princess Mariah?”

At his mother’s gesture, the young Red Viper sprang forth, bowed, and accepted the key to the Mountain That Rides’ cell with all due gravity. “Dorne thanks you, Our One, True King.”

Eddard nodded, and the Viper returned to his mother.

“House Clegane, step forward.”

A boy—just one boy—stepped forward. He was tall, horrifically scarred, and on the lean side. Extremely tall, actually, considering he could not be older than twelve, three-and-ten at the most. He stepped forward and took a knee.

“Your name?” Eddard asked, even though he was well aware of who the boy should be.

“Sandor Clegane, Your Grace.”

“Where is your father?”

“Gregor bashed his head in a year gone now, Your Grace. Announced it as a hunting accident.”

“Your mother?”

“Sanda Pyke, Your Grace—” A Greyjoy bastard, then. That explained the shadow of Theon and Victarion Greyjoy he could see in the boy—shades he had never seen in the man the Hound had become. “She died trying to birth my younger sister.”

“And your older sister?”

Sandor flushed with fury. “Gregor raped her to death rather than pay the dowry our father promised for her.”

That made Gregor Clegane a kinslayer twice over. “Are you squired, lad?”

“No,” the man who would become the Hound shook his head. “Father never finished making arrangements, and Gregor refused to bother. I took myself off to Casterly Rock to train among Lord Tywin’s men-at-arms.”

Eddard nodded; that tracked. Lord Tywin had required all boys from Lannisport or born in Casterly Rock to train with his men-at-arms and then serve his army for at least five years. In fact, many who lived outside of Lord Tywin’s edict sent their boys to Casterly Rock to train, regardless.

One more boy training at Casterly Rock would not be commented on.

“You are the Knight of Clegane Keep, Ser Clegane, but you will squire for me until you are eight-and-ten,” Eddard told the boy. “In a year or two, I will choose a knight to travel with you so that you may have a more traditional Southron squirehood, should you desire it.”

Sandor’s mouth fell open in shock. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he stuttered as he recovered himself. “I am honored.”

Eddard waved away the boy’s thanks. “I do this so that I may assure all of Westeros that you are nothing like the beast who walked in human form and shared your parents.”

He pointed at the spot behind him and to his right, “Your place is here.”

Sandor Clegane stood, sketched a hasty bow, and scrambled to get into place.

House Lorch were only knights because of their close service to House Lannister in Casterly Rock; they did not actually hold any lands or hold the loyalty of any lowborn for themselves so Eddard left Lord Lannister to mind the behavior of their own servants within their own house.

“Lord Baratheon and Lady Tyrell,” he called forward the next lords he was going to deal with. “Let us discuss the Siege of Storm’s End.

“Lord Baratheon, did you receive a declaration of siege and terms for ending the Siege from Lord Tyrell?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Would you say that the Siege was executed within the bounds of the law?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“What would you say exceeded the definition of a legal siege?”

“Based on my reading of the Laws of War, Your Grace,” Lord Stannis started.

“Of course.”

“Feasting within sight, within smell of my castle, while my entire garrison starved. While my household starved. While my brother starved. The Reach contingent let food go to rot—daily—more food than my people had seen in months. Over and over again. They jousted to determine who would be the guest of honor at that night’s feast. They made a jape of our suffering. My brother’s suffering. He will never—”

Eddard held up a hand. Lord Baratheon stopped speaking immediately.

“Lord Tyrell is dead and cannot be punished for his folly.”

“He cannot,” Stannis Baratheon acknowledged.

“Lady Tyrell has given up the honor of the station of Warden of the South because of her son’s crimes and has offered a wergild for the crimes of her House.”

“Yes.” Lord Stannis took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “May I be blunt, Your Grace?”

As if there was any reason to be any other way. “Yes.”

“Your Grace, there is not enough gold in the Reach, in all of Westeros, to make up for what my brother suffered over the course of Mace Tyrell’s illegal siege. But Mace Tyrell was not alone in the crimes he committed against House Baratheon. Nearly every knight and lord of the Reach participated in the Torture of Storm’s End.”

“How can we make this right between House Baratheon and House Tyrell to ensure the peace of the Realm?”

Lord Baratheon took another deep breath and let it out slowly, once again.

Eddard had discussed these issues thoroughly with both Lord Baratheon and Lady Tyrell. He had no idea what could be bothering Lord Baratheon about playing out this argument exactly as they had all already agreed.

“I want to see punishment,” Lord Stannis finally said. “Gold is not enough for what was done to me and mine.”

“Will sending men to the Night Watch satisfy you? Or are you asking for the time of my Blood Wolf and his Skinners?” Was Stannis Baratheon changing their agreement?

“I do not have a stomach for torture, Your Grace, having endured too much of it already. The Night’s Watch or execution are acceptable to me.”

Good. He was not changing their agreement, just the presentation. That was fine.

“Lady Tyrell.”

“Your Grace,” his good mother stepped forward and gave him a quick curtsy.

“What do you have to say in defense of the Reach?”

“You and I have both—as has every lord and lady here, in truth—discovered the shameful lack of education on the matters of war and the Laws of War in the South in these recent days. We have traced this failing to the corruption of the Citadel rather than the lords themselves. Certainly, considering this, sending every man that participated in my son’s siege of Storm’s End to the Night’s Watch would not be justice.”

Eddard did, in fact, agree. “Your proposal?”

There was also the fact that the Wall could not support the sudden addition of eighty thousand swords to consider.

“In speaking with your lords, Your Grace, I learned that the North has a history of honoring the Last Hero that is credited with ending the Long Night by sending every thirteenth man to the Night’s Watch after a significant period of peace has caused a population boom within your ancestral lands.”

“Yes,” Eddard confirmed. “I agree that sending every man who participated in the siege to the Night’s Watch would devastate the Reach and overwhelm the Watch with their numbers. However, you must send more than every thirteenth man. This is intended as a punishment, not the honoring of a heroic history.”

“I propose we send one in every seven men, Your Grace,” Lady Olenna said. “Cosmically speaking, the Torture of Storm’s End, as Lord Baratheon aptly called it, was a crime against the Warrior. The Reach will make amends to the Warrior by sending every seventh man to the Night’s Watch.”

“Lord Baratheon, do you find the combination of demotion from Warden; wergild paid in goods or golden dragons; and men sent to the Night’s Watch to be sufficient to lay the matter of the Siege of Storm’s End to rest?”

“I do, Your Grace,” Lord Baratheon confirmed. “I only ask that I be allowed to participate, or at the least witness, this justice as it is done for my House in whatever manner you make it happen.”

“The North has an established method for drawing lots to choose the men who will go to the Night’s Watch,” Eddard assured the Lord of Storm’s End. “It is much fairer across the various social classes and allows the Gods a say in those that leave the life they were born into to serve the Watch.

“My people have already deployed measures to ensure no man can escape just punishment and will be prepared for lots to be drawn on the morrow.

“Let it be known, Lady Tyrell, that fleeing before the drawing of lots will be considered treason and an immediate death sentence. The execution of these cowardly traitors will not reduce the number of men who will be sent to the Night’s Watch. Their only chance of returning freely to their previous life is through the drawing of lots that will begin tomorrow.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lady Tyrell agreed.

“Return to your people, Lord Baratheon,” he ordered.

Lady Tyrell actually represented the injured parties in the next topic they had to discuss.

“Your Grace.” Lord Stannis bowed briefly and returned to his seat.

“House Greyjoy, come forward.”

Lord Balon Greyjoy, the grasping bastard, swaggered forward with his younger brother Euron at his side. Victarion had joined Eddard’s Kingsguard. The last pain in Eddard’s ass from last time, Aeron was just ten years old. Because he was a child, they might be able to save him from the insanity the Drowned God had driven him to, last time.

“Lord Greyjoy,” Eddard said. “The first question I have for you is this: did you send any sort of notice or declaration of war to the Houses of the Reach that you made war upon before attacking them?”

“Was I supposed to?” Balon Greyjoy, the most foolish Greyjoy to ever live, asked.

Eddard passed the question to his foremost legal expert, “Lady Ana?”

His Master of Laws stood from the Small Council table and came to stand between his dais and the Greyjoys. “My King, an argument could be made that because House Greyjoy claimed to have reaved the Reach on the Rebellion’s side during the war that it was the leaders of the Rebellion that were responsible for notifying every keep that they could become a battleground as you did with the Crownlands Lords after you sent House Targaryen your declaration of war.”

Euron Greyjoy smirked.

“However,” Lady Ana continued. “We must also consider the fact that House Greyjoy did not inform any single known and acknowledged leader of the Rebellion—namely: King Eddard, Lord Baratheon, or Lord Arryn—nor Lord Tully, after he joined the Rebellion through his illegal marriage pact—that House Greyjoy and the Iron Islands had joined the Rebellion. No one knew House Greyjoy was taking part in Robert’s Rebellion until after House Targaryen was defeated and all of the noble Houses of Westeros had been summoned here to Harrenhal.

“That Lord Greyjoy claimed membership of the Rebellion and opened a third front for hostilities could, arguably, mark him as a leader of the Rebellion in his own right. As a leader of the Rebellion, it would be his responsibility to notify the keeps and lands that the Ironborn reaved that they would be coming under attack before physically attacking them, his responsibility. Or.”

“Or,” Balon Greyjoy snarled, warningly.

His younger and arguably much smarter brother, Euron, was no longer smirking.

“Or House Greyjoy and the Iron Islands merely wanted to commit crimes against so-called ‘Greenlanders’ and used the Rebellion as an available excuse to avoid their just punishment for breaking the laws of the Realm.” Lady Ana gave Lord Greyjoy a tight, shrewd smile.

“Is that not what Lord Lannister did?” Lord Euron tried. “With his Sack of King’s Landing? He violated your little Laws of War and claimed to be on your side only after you won. Is that not a little too convenient?”

“Unlike you, Lord Lannister did not contest that he failed to send notice to the Red Keep. He did not dispute what he ordered or anything that happened as a result of his orders,” Lady Ana countered. “In fact, he sought out legal documentation to educate himself as to the Laws of War after being denied that knowledge for decades by maesters across multiple kingdoms, gave the King a full accounting of what he ordered and what he did not order on the first day King Eddard was available for him to speak with.

“Further, Lord Lannister allowed me, as Master of Laws, to verify his testimony on behalf of King Eddard and accepted his assigned wergild without discussion.”

“Now, let us compare Lord Lannister’s actions to yours, Lord Greyjoy,” Eddard said before any of the Ironborn could present themselves as some sort of threat to his Master of Laws. “You have never bothered to learn a single Greenlander law unless your father, Lord Quellon, forced it upon you.” Eddard was not actually convinced that Lord Balon could read, since that was soft, Greenlander behavior in his eyes. More, after two lifetimes of observation to judge by, he had never seen the man write or even sign anything. “In the one and only meeting you scheduled with me, you attempted to strong-arm me into naming you Master of Ships as if I were foolish enough to trust you with such a thing.

“Even now, you think you can somehow fool or trick me as if we, all of us together, have not spent this entire day proving the powers of the Gods of Stream, Forest, and Stone, to enforce truth in front of their faces and in their places of power.”

“The Drowned God.” Lord Greyjoy stopped speaking immediately.

“Yes?” Eddard prompted and waited.

And waited.

“Lord Balon Greyjoy, bleed upon the tree,” he ordered after an extended silence.

Balon Greyjoy pulled a long, ugly, saw-toothed dagger, cut his own hand, and slapped it on a tree.

The dagger was so poorly maintained, Eddard was vaguely surprised that Greyjoy could cut himself. He was going to give himself an infection, cutting himself with such a nasty blade.

Executing him would be doing him a favor in the face of the plague that must have just given himself.

“Lady Ana,” Eddard prompted, because he could not.

He already felt like he was picking on the fool. And that was despite the man’s crimes last time. There was no need to increase his own emotional burden.

“Lord Balon Greyjoy, did your Ironborn reave the Reach as part of Robert’s Rebellion or for any other reason?”

“We reaved the Reach because we could. Because we wanted to reave it. Because that is what Ironborn do.”

Eddard could not even pretend to be surprised

Lady Ana nodded, clearly unsurprised. “Whose idea was it for you to attack the Reach?”

“My brother, Euron,” Balon Greyjoy admitted. “He convinced our father that joining the Rebellion was the best option for Quellon’s fool Greenlander dreams, but the rest of us knew the truth.”

“What truth was that, Lord Greyjoy?”

“That Ironborn are better than greenlanders. Stronger, smarter. The Iron Price is the only way to get anything worth keeping. It is the only currency worth paying.”

Lady Ana looked up to him with the shadow of an idea in the lines of her face.

Eddard nodded to her because he wanted to see where she would take them and what she would find in the inky depths of Balon Greyjoy’s mind.

“Lord Greyjoy, how did your father die?” Lady Ana asked.

“He was stabbed in the back while fighting in the Reach,” Lord Balon said.

Well, that was specific.

“Did you stab your father in the back?”

“No.” That surprised Eddard. Honestly, truly, surprised him. “Euron did.”

Euron Greyjoy shouted a wordless objection and pulled a dagger. Knight Commander Tygett Lannister—still boldly standing among the gathered noble throng, as he had been all day—was faster than the younger squid. The White Lion tapped Euron on the temple with the pommel nut of his own dagger, hard enough that the man went down like a Southroner fool standing on the White Knife in summer.

There was a reason House Manderly’s ships were all icebreakers. It was the same reason why the river House Manderly guarded was called the White Knife.

“Lady Ana,” Eddard called.

“Your Grace,” she bowed and, still bowing, stepped back.

“Captains and Lords of the Iron Islands,” he said once Lady Ana was again seated with his Small Council, “it is clear to me that you were not fighting for the Rebellion when you reaved the Reach; you must face a different sort of justice than a war tribunal.

“Is there a single Lord or Lady in all the rest of Westeros that would speak in defense of the Iron Islands?”

Not a single person spoke up. Several nobles were shaking their heads in silent denial of support.

“Very well,” Eddard said, closing the opportunity to defend the Ironborn. “Lady Tyrell, you may return to your seat. Your witness is no longer required for what comes next.”

“As you will, Your Grace.” Olenna Tyrell curtsied and left.

“All Ironborn step forward so that all may see you.” He waited as, begrudgingly but oathbound to obey, the Ironborn moved into the open space between Eddard and their fellow nobles. Ser Osrick Bracken helped Knight Commander Tygett pull the still unconscious Euron Greyjoy out of the space and onto to safety of the base of Eddard’s dais steps.

“If, during the Reaving of the Reach, you committed rape on any man, woman, or child of Westeros, kneel.”

A few Ironborn tottered, but none went down.

“Kneel if, in your own cultural terms, you took a salt wife regardless of the so-called wife’s age or gender.”

A little over half knelt.

The Ironborn’s aggressive refusal to accept the reality of their crimes and use the correct, direct terms for them was aggravating. Infuriating, if Eddard were to be honest about it.

“If you took a slave—what you would call a thrall—during the Reaving of the Reach, kneel.”

Two questions, and there was one Ironborn left standing from the gathered captains.

“You are Lord Rodrik of House Harlaw, called the Reader, if I am not mistaken,” Eddard said to the literal last man standing.

“That I am, Your Grace,” the Harlaw of Harlaw admitted, stepping forward through his kin.

At a look from Eddard, a squad of Kingsguard interposed themselves between Harlaw and the kneeling Ironborn. The Reader glanced at his protectors before focusing entirely on Eddard.

“Do you not hold with Ironborn culture?”

“I am an Ironborn; the sea is in my blood,” Lord Rodrik said.

Whether that was confirmation or denial, Eddard could not say.

“Being Ironborn does not mean constantly committed such base acts as rape, slavery, and kinslaying.

“I spoke privately with my sister’s good-father, Lord Quellon, before he fell to the madness of his sons,” Lord Harlaw said. “I told Quellon not to reave the Reach. I told him what we all know now to be true: that his sons did not care for his plans to reform the Iron Islands, to truly join the Iron Islands with the rest of Westeros. Balon and Euron wanted nothing more or less than to remind Westeros why Ironborn were to be feared.” The Reader shook his head. “Lord Quellon was wroth with me, but my niece and nephews are his grandchildren. Lord Quellon would never slay a kinsman.”

“That does not mean you were safe from him,” Eddard pointed out.

“And I was not,” Lord Rodrik agreed. “Lord Quellon gifted me with a broken leg and this limp that I expect to overcome. Fortunately for me, my maester agrees I will overcome it, in time.

“I did not sail with my sister’s good-father, Your Grace. I was neither physically able nor was I allowed. In fact, Lord Quellon ordered my sons to patrol our waters as I recovered, and he took most of our warriors away south. My sons are still patrolling our waters, keeping our lands safe.

“As for the crimes of my fellow Ironborn, Harlaws do not rape.

“Our thralls are not slaves; they are paid justly for their work.” Lord Rodrik turned dark, furious eyes upon those kneeling behind them. “Any of my kin now kneeling best call themselves Pyke for the rest of their lives. And never show their faces on Harlaw again!”

“That will not be a problem for them, Lord Harlaw,” Eddard assured the man. Two or three gasps showed at least some of the Ironborn were smart enough to take a hint.

Lord Harlaw nodded. “And the Iron Islands, Sire?”

“Undecided,” Eddard admitted. “Truth be known, I had not expected Lord Greyjoy to be such a proud fool as to put the Iron Islands in this position.

“My first thought is to give the Iron Islands wholly over to Lord Lannister as part of the Westerlands,” Eddard probably should not have admitted. “Because I know for a fact that he will meet the most stubborn of your kin war crime for war crime; if that is what maintaining my peace requires.

“This display has hardly inspired me to protect such awful people,” Eddard waved at the kneeling Ironborn.

“My second thought is to split the Islands up so that they geographically answer to different Wardens and Lords Paramount. Lessening the burden of ruling them upon any one lord and reducing the Ironborn’s power as a political group.”

“That may not work, Lord Harlaw cautioned. “My people are very stubborn, Your Grace.”

Eddard knew that very well. He had raised Theon Greyjoy.

And he had very nearly civilized him.

“But there are other options. Outside of emergencies, I do not make hasty decisions. I invite you, Lord Harlaw, to consult with me and my Small Council as we discuss the legal fate of the Iron Islands in their entirety. But for now,” Eddard stood. Lord Commander Tully and the woman directly responsible for his personal safety, Knight Commander Aracelle Jordayne, nearly scrambled forward to escort him down. “I have work that needs doing.”

He took two handfuls of the back of Euron Greyjoy’s leather jerkin—one at his collar and one closer to his hips—and lifted the kinslayer from where he rested upon the bottom step of his dais. There was a vague sense of movement and, when he looked, the mouth of the weirwood tree on which the Ironborn had made their vows was open in a circle.

A circle, if he was right, that was big enough for Euron Greyjoy’s head.

As a test, Eddard slid Greyjoy’s head into the mouth. It slid right down the tree’s gullet until his shoulders were flush with the bone-pale bark.

“Your Grace, I must object!”

Eddard stilled and looked over to see Lady Ana marching toward him. “Yes, my lady?” he asked, leadingly.

“Your Grace, feeding a criminal to a weirwood is human sacrifice and illegal.”

“Not by the Laws of the Wolf.”

“This man’s crimes were committed under the Targaryen Dynasty. They must be charged and punished under the Laws of the Dragon, Your Grace. The Laws of the Dragon forbid this exact act. Lord Euron can legally be sentenced in front of a weirwood, my King, and where you kill him is your business, but his death must come from a human hand, by the Laws of the Dragon.”

Eddard considered that. He could see no flaw in her argument.

“Very well,” he agreed. But before he could remove Euron from the tree, there was a crunch. The weirwood’s mouth had closed. There were several screams. The more delicate among the gathered nobles fainted—mostly Reachers, if he were to be honest about it.

Eddard tipped the corpse up to see a sluggishly bleeding circle where the kraken’s neck used to be. It lay in a flat line with the shoulders. “There is nothing I can do to fix that,” he said tiredly.

Lady Ana nodded. “An Act of the Gods it was.” She swallowed. Hard. “No law of man can restrain the Gods.”

“We are very fortunate that this is true,” Lyanna offered, coming to stand beside Lady Ana. “Euron Crow’s Eye was a Greenseer with as much potential as Bran the Broken—”

Eddard shot his sister a dark look. Brandon the Broken had been his son. His second son with Catelyn Tully, a boy that would now never be.

Lyanna caught his gaze and held it steadily. “—with none of the Broken’s restraint or moral fiber.”

That was horrific, since Bran had broken every skinchanger taboo with the abominable act of skinchanging Hodor—a man, broken-minded or not.

“The only way to truly kill a corrupted greenseer like the Crow’s Eye would be for the Gods to do it, as they have,” Lyanna waved at the corpse. “Anything less would leave a more powerful foul spirit working evil among us without the limits of mortal flesh.

“This is why the Laws of the Wolf have never forbidden giving True Evil to the Gods to deal with.”

Eddard dropped the body.

The tree would take it or reject it. Either way, it was no longer his problem.

“Balon Greyjoy next,” he decided.

“Next for what?” The Greyjoy asked, voice shaken.

Eddard frowned at the man. “You are guilty of murder, rape, and slavery. As well as lying to your king’s face and to his officials. That is treason. What do you think you are next for?”

“To be fair, brother, you have not formally sentenced any of the Ironborn,” Lyanna offered. “There are quite a few of them in need of justice. A great many, to have justice served them upon a single sword. Mayhaps not yet sentencing them is a boon? Every man here can wield a sword and lay a sentence in your name.”

“Would any of these men be willing to lay the sentence and take the head of an Ironborn?” Eddard wondered. Taking the life of a man was no easy thing. No matter how justified you were in doing it.

Tywin Lannister stood immediately. “Your Grace, we would be honored.”

Eddard nodded. “Take an Ironborn and a weirwood. The crime is treason; the sentence is death. Leave the bodies for the trees. As we have seen, they are hungry.” He waved to where Euron Greyjoy’s body was gone, save for a smear of blood in the shape of a smile upon the grass.

“Make it quick, lads.”

Lord Lannister took Balon Greyjoy’s arm, a sword from the White Lion, and disappeared into the wood.

“Your Grace.”

Eddard turned to see Victarion Greyjoy pawing off his white Kingsguard cloak. “Yes?”

“You need to take my head, too.”

“Like the Night’s Watch, in joining the Kingsguard, your past life is dead,” Eddard pointed out. That had not, technically, explicitly been true for the Targaryen Kingsguard, despite the Targaryen Iron Throne repeatedly acting like it was. He was not making this into a change; he was just verbalizing what had always been. “Any crimes you committed before you swore were forgotten when you took up the life of service of a Kingsguard.”

“That may be true,” Victarion agreed. “That may even be enough for your Tully, Blackwood, and Bracken swords, but I cannot abide this attack on the Ironborn and the Old Ways. I cannot remain true to my oath after what you have done just now, and I would rather die fast, by the blade, than slowly like House Frey.”

“Very well,” Eddard agreed, slightly disappointed but only surprised that Victarion Greyjoy had been so honest so quickly. He pulled Ice from the sheath on his back. “As a courtesy in return for your honesty, kneel before the tree.

“I, Eddard of the Royal House Stark, King of Westeros, condemn you, Victarion Greyjoy of my Kingsguard, to die for the crimes of rape, murder, slavery, and treason.” Ice separated head from body as it had for time immemorial, and the White Kraken was no more.

Lord Commander Tully took Victarion Greyjoy’s rolling head and added it to the stack forming before his dais.

Eddard could have honestly done without the grotesque display, but he supposed he had only given specific instructions regarding the bodies of the condemned. And heads were a clear indication that his will had been carried out.

“Have you kept count?” he asked Maester Luwin softly as they walked together back to his dais.

“I have, Your Grace. Only one missing head,” Luwin looked back over his shoulder and nodded, “but it seems Lord Lannister is returning with it now.”

“Very good.”

Eddard sat heavily upon his throne. He was more frustrated with the stupidity of squids than exhausted by justice.

Or something.

His head was a strange place currently.

Lyanna touched his arm. A gesture of comfort as she, too, returned to her seat.

“The business of Robert’s Rebellion is settled,” he announced. “Save for the drawing of lots among Reachers to find who will go to the Night’s Watch to pay the debt the Reach owes to the Warrior.

“That will begin on the morrow.

“My maesters assure me they have a plan to see this done in an orderly, fair fashion and that it will take several days to complete. After that, we will meet again to deal with the Hightower Conspiracy with the Faith and the Citadel in its entirety.

“For now, I have several betrothals to announce.

“First, of course, is my sister and current heir, Princess Lyanna Stark—” Lyanna walked right back down the dais to stand in front of it “—to Ser Jaime Lannister, heir to the West.” Ser Jaime joined her. “I would appreciate at least two daughters from you, for future marriages with my Targaryen son and my Tully son,” Eddard told the pair bluntly.

Ser Jaime blushed furiously.

Lyanna merely nodded. “We will endeavor to meet your expectations, brother.”

Historically, House Stark preferred double Starks for House leadership. Eddard and his siblings were all double Starks, the get of first cousins both born to the name Stark of Winterfell. Lyanna’s Lannister daughters were the only opportunity for his grandchildren to also be double Starks, as the leaders of the two new Houses Stark should be.

“Next, Lady Cersei Lannister,” Lord Tywin’s golden daughter walked forward to be recognized just as Lyanna had, “to Ser Stannis Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.” Stannis, of course, joined his betrothed and they linked arms in a charming display that Eddard did not believe for a moment was sincere.

“And finally—for now, Lady Genna Lannister to Lord Jon Arryn, Warden of the East.

“Lord Arryn will be in charge of the rebuilding of King’s Landing. After he has returned his lands to their peaceful state and King’s Landing has been rebuilt, he will be a member of my Small Council as the first Master of the City of King’s Landing.”

He honestly could not remember if he had warned Lord Jon of his new position before this meeting or not, but his foster father did not give the game away either way. Lord Jon simply nodded at his words and bowed to Eddard himself. The appointment was both a slap on the wrist for Lord Jon’s lax application of himself to his duties so far as the Faith were concerned and a way for Eddard to keep a man that he thought of as family as close as he could justify.

The city needed to be rebuilt.

Eddard was convinced the Eyrie was cursed to prevent Lord Arryn from making a suitable heir. To negatively impact the fertility of House Arryn in general. If Lord Jon managed to sire a son in King’s Landing, as he never had in the Vale, Eddard would be convinced of it.

“Never fear, there will be more marriages,” Eddard japed softly, earning himself a few chuckles. “In fact, if you or your children do not already have a betrothal signed in their name, do not betroth them. My wives will be exercising their rights as queens to arrange all noble marriages for the foreseeable future.” That earned him more chuckles, though he could not say why. He had been entirely serious.

“Let us call it a day. It is nearly time for dinner.” And there had been a foolish amount of death just now. “Go, I do not wish to see any of you again until the morrow.”

Again with the chuckles, Eddard huffed.

Southrons were a mystery he had no interest in solving.

Ellaria was there to take his arm as he left the dais. “You are frustrated,” she offered as they stepped from the grass of the godswood onto the stone floor of the keep.

“I am,” he admitted.

She raised both of her eyebrows at him. “I seem to have forgotten my smallclothes this morning, Your Grace.” It was both a challenge and an offer.

He opened the first door they came to, gratified to find it empty save for a desk and a few barrels. She laughed as he hustled her in. He kicked the door closed behind them. She rucked up her single-layer Southron skirt as he knelt before her to feast.

“Hold on to something.”

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