Reading Time: 70 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 Four

Eddard sat in front of all of the lords of the Reach. The ones that were still alive and that had participated in the Siege of Storm’s End, at least. There were around two hundred and fifty men staring back at him in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

After this, would come the landed knights that had all participated in the Siege, of which there were just over five hundred.

Then the 1,257 heirs to various lords who had themselves participated. And the 1,998 heirs to the various landed knights who, also, directly participated in the siege.

Then, eleven thousand hedge knights. That was going to be fun.

Not as fun as the sixty-four thousand commoners that would have to draw lots, but fun.

For certain definitions of the term.

Lord Baratheon would be pleased. The Storm Lord sat in Lady Shella’s seat, beside Eddard on the dais at the front of the room.

“Thirty-six of you will be required to join the Night’s Watch to pay the Reach’s debt to the Warrior and to House Baratheon.” Eddard waved over to where two separate bowls displayed white stones and black stones, the total of which matched the number of men that were standing before him, all of whom were going to draw. “You may volunteer to pay this debt, and a black stone will be removed from the drawn lots, but there is no way to escape this room with your life other than volunteering or drawing.” He had Kingsguard guarding the doors to ensure it.

“You will be joining the forty-four Western rapists from the Sacking of King’s Landing who have already sworn to the Night’s Watch.” They had joined out of fear of Tywin Lannister, probably, but they had made their oaths all the same.

Eddard had not asked Lord Lannister how many men had been executed, by his own deliberate choice. As long as all of the rapists were justly punished, Eddard was just fine letting the Warden of the West carry out his own business.

“Should you draw a white stone, you will exit to my right and be free men.

“Should you draw a black stone, you will exit to my left. You will go down a short hall, directly into a small weirwood grotto where Lord Commander Qorgyle is waiting for you. You will make your oath to the Night’s Watch in blood upon the weirwood and leave the grotto as a man of the Watch.

“We, unfortunately, do not have enough black clothing for you all, yet, but you will all leave the grotto with either a black cloak, which you will wear, or a black iron collar that you will have no chance to remove, until you reach the Wall.” The volunteers would be given cloaks. The drafted would be given collars.

No matter how much Eddard hated the collars, they were useful.

Black clothing production was, unfortunately, still in progress. Cloaks were by far the easiest clothing item to produce.

Eddard nodded to Maester Luwin, who lifted the bowl of white stones and poured them into the waiting barrel. It had been altered to open like a chest; had interior ribs added to encourage the stones mixing; and mounted to a cannibalized wagon axle, stanchions, and a handle for spinning. “Would anyone like to volunteer before the black stones are added?”

Eddard waited.

Then there was movement.

Lord Wyllas Tarly came to the front and held out a hand. Maester Eldyn took a single black stone and placed it in the hand.

The wielder of the Tarly ancestral blade, Heartsbane, turned to him. “As you know, Your Grace, my son Randyll keeps the Laws of War the way some men in this room keep the Seven.”

“I am aware,” Eddard confirmed. “It is part of why I chose him for my Small Council as the first Lord Dissenter in all of Westeros.”

Lord Tarly nodded once. “You honor my House, my King.

“Randyll and the fuss I helped him make are the only reason Mace Tyrell sent any notice of war to Storm’s End,” the man admitted. “The fuss we made is also the reason my son was made to lead a contingent from the Reach away from Storm’s End to join House Targaryen’s direct forces almost immediately.”

Eddard nodded. Randyll Tarly had been at Storm’s End, but left long before the host had fallen into revelry and mindless cruelty. Lord Randyll had told him in explicit detail days ago.

“I say this so that all may know that I knew better than to behave as we did at Storm’s End. I chose the easiest path to please my Warden. I chose dishonor. I dishonored my heir. I dishonored my House. I take this stone to start earning that honor back.” Lord Tarly turned to face his peers. “Many of us sent sons and heirs with my son. Good boys that flourished under Randyll’s leadership.

“I encourage those of my peers as fortunate as I am in the matter of their heirs to take stones to protect our less blessed neighbors. We are all Reach; we grow strong together.”

Two more lords, both older but neither elderly, stepped forward to take black stones from Maester Eldyn. So did three of Mace Tyrell’s cousins—the sons of his father’s younger brother. All three of them were only in the Lords’ lot-pulling event because even House Tyrell could not further divide their lands any further and expect the resultant estates to support the keep of even a landed knight.

Instead, as the previous spare’s children, the three of them had split duties that the Highgarden castellan should have been performing by himself, just to have some service that they could provide their House. To keep the rank and means they had been born to, as much as they could.

Now, they were making new destinies for themselves with the Watch.

Eddard nodded to each of them as they accepted stones from Maester Eldyn and left to see Lord Commander Qorgyle. He was vaguely proud of them.

As proud as he could be of people he had never spoken to and barely knew the names of, at least.

“Any more volunteers?” Eddard asked.

There were none.

“Maesters, ensure there are one-and-thirty black stones.”

“As you will, Your Grace,” Maester Eldyn confirmed. Then he proceeded to count the stones for all to hear as he added them to the barrel.

When he was done, the barrel was sealed and spun.

Maester Luwin approached him with the rolled list of names. Eddard waved him over to Stannis Baratheon.

“The volunteers have been struck from the list, my lord,” Maester Luwin told Lord Stannis. “The scribes will record the names and document their selection as they make it.”

“Very good.” Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm’s End stood from his seat and called the first name.

A Reacher came forward. Maester Eldyn pulled the short, fat cork from the hole in the lid half of the barrel, and the lord stuck his hand in.

The stone he pulled out was white. A free man.

Lord Baratheon called the next name.

Draw. A white stone.

Only 79,992 Reachers left to go.

-*-

“Brother, are you well?” Lyanna asked.

Eddard looked up from the soup he had been dragging his spoon through. With the Hall of a Hundred Hearths reserved for the lot-drawing process, meals had been redirected to other, smaller halls around the keep. He had taken advantage of the situation to take meals in private as often as possible. Usually with only one other person.

Today he had chosen Lyanna.

“Yes,” he set aside the spoon he clearly would not be using. “We finished drawing lots for the hedge knights of the Reach before the meal.” All 11,486 of them. Four hundred had volunteered to go to the Wall all together, but that had left 1,241 black stones to draw. Even broken down into twenty groups, it had been an excessive number of men. “After lunch, we will begin on the skilled smallfolk: blacksmiths, tanners, and such.”

“No king is so righteous in his justice as a Stark King,” she said flippantly.

Eddard looked at her sharply.

Lyanna sighed. “I apologize. I did not mean to speak of your duty; I meant to ask personally. Are you well, personally?”

Eddard. Was confused. “Why—” so very confused, “—would you ask that?”

“I have seen visions of that other life you lived,” she admitted softly. “The one where I died in Dorne and you gave up the love of your life to protect my son.”

Eddard made a face that made Lyanna let out a bark of surprised laughter. He hated to think of it, truly, the life he had lived without Ashara. He had idealized her, he knew, after her so-called suicide.

“It was fine,” he admitted roughly. And it had been fine. Until the end.

“You seemed to love Lady Catelyn.”

How could he explain it? “I had lost everything, Lyanna. You, father, and Brandon, dead. My wife, as good as dead. Ben, a betrayer that might as well have been dead, off with the Watch where I had sent him. If I had known the true depth of his betrayal or that he would lure my one trueborn son away from me, I would have never allowed him back into Winterfell.”

Not plumbing the depths of Ben’s betrayal during Robert’s Rebellion the first time was going to haunt him for the rest of this life; he was already sure of that.

“After you died in my arms, I did not have the resources left to fight for myself,” he admitted. “I had nearly lost my mind when the Mountain That Rides had laid that bloody cloak at Robert’s feet, and Robert laughed. Laughed at a child being smashed into little more than a bloody puddle. And then, there you were, dying, holding the sibling of those sweet babies that Robert had celebrated the butchery of—” Eddard could not speak.

He could scarcely breathe. Those children. Innocents, murdered because they had purple eyes. Rhaenys and Aegon.

Jon and Aegon.

“You did not give up, brother,” Lyanna reminded him fiercely. “You kept going.”

“For Jon,” he admitted. “And for your Aegon.”

Though he was still unclear how Aegon Blackfyre had died and been replaced by his sister’s son, Aegon Targaryen.

“I am sorry. About your son,” he said softly. He would have died in her place had Jon died at birth in any life as her Aegon had died this time, truth be known.

“My son lives,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Aegon will never be my son again, physically, but his spirit lives.”

“How do you mean?” he asked haltingly. Fighting for every word.

“You know that the soul enters the body at the naming,” Lyanna reminded him.

“Yes.” In the North, they believed that children had to be named before the sun set on the day the child was born because the soul entered the body with the name. And that Naming had the power to call back any other soul that had held that name in life. That was why there were so many Brandon Starks, each an attempt to bring back Bran the Builder or Brandon of the Bloody Blade, depending on the needs of House Stark at the time.

“I have watched Daemon Blackfyre as Illyrio Mopatis through in my Dreams. This Blackfyre plot started when he was little more than a boy. He searched for his Brightflame bride until he found her. He bought her and wed her, put a child in her, but never freed her. Saera Brightflame is a slave. I hope that this time, she can live and be free here in Westeros.”

Eddard sympathized, he really did, but he had more pressing matters. “What does Saera Brightflame have to do with your son surviving?”

“Oh.” Lyanna shook her head. That face meant it was inward recrimination. “Daemon Blackfyre named his son Aegon Targaryen first before naming him Aegon Blackfyre.”

“So Aegon Blackfyre’s soul is that of an Aegon Targaryen.” Eddard nodded, understanding. “But how do you know he was your Aegon Targaryen?”

“Because the Blackfyre babe has the same soul as my baby, the same soul as Elia’s baby. When they came too close to each other, the weaker body died and the stronger boy, my boy, lived. If my Aegon had stayed in Westeros and survived, they would have eventually grown into separate Aegons, but that did not happen with them both just barely scraping survival in Essos.”

“Why would the Gods put the same soul in two bodies at the same time?” Eddard asked.

“Three bodies over the course of less than two years,” Lyanna corrected. “My best guess is that Westeros really needed that Aegon to lead us through the Long Night. Mayhaps he was even Aegon the Conqueror come again, but honestly, I do not know why the same soul would be born so many times so quickly unless he was entirely necessary.”

“Time is nothing to the Gods,” Eddard pointed out. “Else, I could not have died fifteen years hence and come back to my earliest surrender to an Andal before the fuckery that killed House Stark in its entirety.”

“You mean, the moment you gave in and allowed Robert to become king,” Lyanna supposed.

“Yes.”

“I never thought I would hear you refer to Robert Baratheon as an Andal.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” she shook her head. “My surprise is that you admit and accept it. For years, you have taken us calling him an Andal as an insult.”

“Could that have been because you and Brandon used Andal as an insult?” Eddard asked.

Lyanna considered that. “That is a fair assessment. My apologies, brother.”

He nodded back, accepting.

“You have danced around it quite well.”

He glared at her.

Lyanna laughed. “Very well, we have danced around my question, so I will ask it again. Are you personally well, my brother?”

“I am,” he admitted after some thought. “I am thoroughly tired of cleaning up the messes House Targaryen was too arrogant or too foolish to deal with appropriately, but that will probably make up the vast majority of my work as King Eddard Sixqueens.”

“And as my brother Eddard?”

“Somehow living with Ashara is even better than the wispy daydreams I had of her last time. Even when she is telling me in detail how I make a mule look tractable.”

Lyanna laughed again, but it was kind.

“I feel protective of Ellaria. She has such a fierce but gentle soul. I feel possessive of her in a way I have never felt before, and I am obsessed with her safety.” He paused to consider it, but he found he needed to be personally honest with the last remaining person from his birth family. “I feel as if I would go irrevocably feral if something were to happen to her. Will that grow into love? Can it? I could not say. I hope so, but for now I am satisfied with the protection of her and the pleasing of her.”

“Brother!” Lyanna pointed at him. “No. Details.”

As if he would.

He was not Brandon. Or Robert.

“Rhaella says she trusts me, but the truth is that she trusts our Gods. I hope someday to earn her trust. And respect. She is as protective of Ashara and Ellaria as I am. Mayhaps that is the way of it? Will that unified purpose bring us together? I do not know, but I look forward to the learning.”

What could he say about his third wife that was fair and did not give his sister a poor idea of her?

“Janna does not seem to invest herself with her heart. I do not know if this is the result of Queen of Thorns’ training, or the result of Robert’s seduction of her.” Eddard shrugged. “She loves her son deeply. With any luck, that will continue with the children we will come to share, and we will find common ground there in the future.”

“I should probably warn you that she and Ser Jorah were discussing certain esoteric cultural practices that only House Mormont still maintains,” Lyanna offered. “Practices you are rumored to have enjoyed with Ser Jorah before you were crowned.”

Was Janna learning rigging? If there was one of his wives that he would trust to tie him up and lift him free of the ground, it would have to be Janna. He had seen her bow and heard her Reed mentor’s testimony.

But. While Janna could certainly manage to rig him physically, Rhaella seemed to be more of the type to use tools to force his pleasure out of him, as it were.

“Are you blushing?” Lyanna demanded.

“Of course not,” he dismissed the concern with as much dignity as he could muster. “How is Lord Jaime treating you?”

“He prefers Ser Jaime, brother.”

“I shall endeavor to remember,” he promised.

And waited.

Lyanna sighed. “He is a man. A young, traumatized man who until recently was passionately in love with his own sister.”

Eddard winced. “He admitted that to you?”

Lyanna shot him a scathing look. Which was fair.

“Right,” he agreed. “Greendreams.”

“If you could find a way to send Lord Tywin to the Isle of Faces so that the Gods could fix what is wrong with him, I would appreciate it.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow. “If Tywin Lannister was buried at the feet of our Gods, they would keep him.”

Lyanna opened her mouth to object, but said nothing. After her third false start, she stopped trying. “Granted.

“Unfortunately, we need another ten years out of him.”

“Deeply unfortunate,” Eddard agreed. Someone had to rule Casterly Rock and the West until Jon could ostensibly relieve Lyanna but actually Benjen as the Stark of Winterfell. “Too bad Benjen has proven that he is not to be trusted.”

“Well, from a certain point of view, Ben is going to get what he betrayed you for,” she pointed out. “Though in a way he would never have imagined.

“Or wanted.”

Eddard considered that. Then he smirked. “Benjen is going to be the Stark of Winterfell.”

“With absolutely no choice and no power attached.” She grinned right back at him. “That is true justice.”

Benjen would probably find it to be cruelty, but he hardly cared.

“I miss my children,” Eddard admitted to his sister after the servants had cleared away their plates. He sat back to chat with his sister like he had not gotten to in years, with the good but thin beer Lady Whent’s staff had found for him in his hands.

“They will come back to you,” Lyanna promised.

“Are you sure?” he could not help but ask.

Lyanna gave him a sympathetic look. “I believe they will. They may not be the same as you first knew them—mostly because your circumstances are not the same, seeing you are the king, rather than a Warden—but your children will always be yours.

“Jon will be the same quiet, broody boy he was, but he will be secure in his identity, knowing and loving his mother and having full siblings. With a future place laid out before him.

“Robb will still be the outgoing, charming one. A Paramount instead of a Warden. He will hide it better, but he will have some insecurity over his mother.”

Eddard nodded; that tracked.

This time, he would answer his semi-orphaned son’s questions when he asked about his mother. And he would answer honestly. He would prove to the Gods and himself that he could learn.

“Jon and Robb will still be brothers and best friends. With sharper tactical minds than yours.” Lyanna’s eyes clouded over. Not like Old Nan’s eyes were clouded over. Like a Greenseer in communion with the Gods. “You will need to hone them.”

That tracked. The Long Night was coming again.

“Sansa was always supposed to be the first Andal-Stark. She will come to you through Queen Janna.

“Arya will never be tormented for her looks again, being the daughter of Ashara Dayne.”

Arya should never have been tormented for her looks in the first place, being the daughter of a Warden. Unfortunately, her main antagonist had also been the daughter of a Warden, her sister. Sansa.

“Brandon and Rickon?” he asked softly, bravely.

“They were Catelyn’s children.”

Eddard tried not to be relieved. A boy as gifted as his Bran had been was almost more of a burden than a boon to any House. And Eddard could honestly see the resemblance between the feral state Rickon had been driven to, abandoned at such a young age as he was, and Catelyn’s behavior, both before and after her resurrection.

What idiot kidnapped the son of a Warden on the word of a single man?

Catelyn Tully was the idiot who kidnapped the only Lannister worth a damn on the word of a liar and doomed House Stark to die. Eight thousand years of the Stark Direwolf ruling the North had been ended by a single Andal Fish.

He would be furious if he were any less mortified and heartsick for his children.

But that was not this life.

That woman was not his wife. Catelyn Tully would never be his wife again.

“Lya, I need you to do some work on my behalf.”

“Of course, brother.” She blinked her eyes clear of the Gods’ touch. “How can I help? Do I need to relay instructions to your Small Council, or?”

“No,” Eddard shook his head. “They should all have their orders.”

He had given them to them, after all.

“I have seen Lord Gerion speaking with Lord Harlaw and a woman I have not been introduced to from House Redwyne. Lord Velaryon seems to be planning something—a trip, I think. Lady Ana is working with Lord Bolton and the two Lords Lannister not already directly in your service, to sentence and execute those that have already chosen death over other punishments. And Lady Whent has been organizing classes, I believe. Though I could not say for what.”

“The Iron Throne is taking direct responsibility for teaching all of the current and future Lords and Ladies of the Realm the Laws of War,” Eddard explained. “Lady Whent is managing that with the lords currently present while I manage the drawing of lots for those going to the Night’s Watch.”

Lyanna huffed. “Just like a Stark to take the worst possible job.”

That was not untrue, he had to admit. “We arm-wrestled for it. I lost.”

Lyanna laughed.

She laughed so hard she had to put down her drink, cover her face with her hands, and just giggle.

“I need a private meeting with Lord Royce as soon as possible,” Eddard told her when she calmed down. “Will you arrange it?”

“Certainly,” she snort-laughed as he handed her a handkerchief to pat her eyes.

The look she was giving him was truly uncalled for.

“Lady Whent is a very serious baker,” he pointed out, defending himself. “Daily kneading makes her arms very strong.”

Lyanna giggled until she hiccupped.

“We eat her bread every day we are here.” Because they did. “It is always great.”

“Stop!” Lyanna wheezed. “Please, just, stop!”

Eddard rolled his eyes, but he was entirely pleased to see his sister happy.

And alive.

“Very well.” She cleared her throat. “I will invite Lord Royce to dinner with you tonight. He will not say no, of course, and I will steal your wives to have dinner with me. I have been meaning to, but they keep putting you first.

“Like you are the king or something.”

Eddard shook his head and agreed, “Or something.”

Lyanna grinned like she had played a trick on him.

Then she sobered. “I am more sorry than I can ever express that your children were murdered.”

“I am sorry that you lost your son.” Eddard slid a hand across the table between them in a silent offer of comfort.

One his sister took.

“I am so glad you are here with me, this time.”

“Me, too,” she admitted. “You are going to be an amazing king, Eddard Sixqueens.”

He closed his eyes. “The Gods themselves called me Sixqueens, can you believe it?”

“Yes,” she gave him a small, very Stark smile. “I have a suggestion.”

“Tell me.”

“Your children held on to our values long after you were gone. And they passed them to all the people that followed them,” she said. “Do that for all of Westeros.”

“You want me to foster the entire Realm?”

“All of the noble children, yes,” she agreed. “Bring them close, keep them for years. Arrange marriages and squirings. Shape the Realm as House Targaryen should have, but could not be bothered to do.”

He considered that. “It could be argued that I have started with Lord Tyrion.”

“Then expand.”

Eddard considered that. “Convince my wives and have them convince me.”

“You are not opposed?”

“Not out of hand,” he admitted. “There is a great deal of emotional labor in what you propose, and my wives will be doing a lot of it. They need to be on board before I consider it.”

“I will do my best to convince them,” Lyanna agreed.

Part Five

“Every man is accounted for, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin said with a bow.

“Very good.”

Eddard looked out over the gathered blacksmiths. This was not all the blacksmiths in the Reach, Lady Olenna had assured him, though there were a great many of them. These were just the blacksmiths that had actively supported the Siege of Storm’s End and that portion of the Reach’s forces.

“In the event that your lords have failed to inform you,” he told the gathered men. “The method by which the Siege of Storm’s End was carried out was illegal. Because the Laws of the Dragon make no exceptions for rank or for ignorance of the law, every single man of the Reach’s army that participated in the Siege is guilty of breaking the Realm’s sacred Laws of War.”

The blacksmiths looked from one to another.

In tiny towns and villages all across Westeros, blacksmiths were central figures. Very little could be built without a blacksmith making nails. Very little could be plowed, grown, or harvested without a blacksmith making the plow and shoeing the draft animal. Food could not be cooked or served without a knife, made by a blacksmith. Their skills and wares made them important to the smallfolk. Made them powerful in their own way. Respected.

These blacksmiths were examples all the smallfolk in their communities looked to.

If they broke the law, chaos reigned.

“Your Lady Paramount, Lady Olenna, has nearly beggared House Tyrell to pay a wergild large enough that the Iron Throne can justify not executing or exiling all eighty-thousand men that participated in the Siege of Storm’s End to the Night’s Watch.

“The wergild is a time-honored tradition for resolving war crimes, so do not think she simply bought freedom for her lords. In her humility—” Lord Stannis snorted softly, which was fair “—she negotiated that only one out of every seven men of the Reach’s army should pay for the Reach’s violations of the Laws of War as the Siege of Storm’s End was specifically a sin against the Warrior—one of the Seven Who are One.

“To ensure true justice,” and because there are so damn many of them, “the army of the Reach has been separated by rank and vocation. Already 2,288 highborn of various statuses have given their oaths to the Night’s Watch—sealed in blood upon a weirwood tree. Those of you who draw a black stone—” he waved toward the mound waiting to be added to the selection barrel “—will be required to do the same.

“But, you—the commonborn from the army of the Reach—will have the option to take an older oath from before the Andals’ influence of the Night’s Watch. In this oath, you will not vow to give up your children or not hold lands.

“This change gives you an opportunity.

“You can take the full, current oath and live on the Wall.

“Or, you can take the older oath, collect your families from the Reach, and settle in the Gift. You will still receive arms training from the Watch, wear black, and be expected to fight at the Wall should it ever be threatened, but largely your lives will remain the same.” Living in the Gift would be very different from the fertile lands of the Reach. But. “The main difference will be that the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch will, in effect, be your king.

“Questions?”

“Did nae the West violate them War Laws, Yer Grace, Ser?” one man asked. Eddard did not try to figure out which one.

“The West did violate the Laws of War,” Eddard confirmed, “but it was done differently.

“Other than the accounts of rape, the West’s breaking of the Laws of War landed squarely on Lord Tywin Lannister. The law he broke is specifically about advising the people you are about to make war on that you are going to make war upon them. He did not send this notification and was therefore allowed through the gates of King’s Landing as a friend.

“No one has control over the Lord’s Declaration of War other than the Lord in question,” Eddard reiterated, “therefore the biggest crime of the Sack of King’s Landing was entirely Lord Lannister’s.”

“In the Siege of Storm’s End, and according to the Laws of the Dragon, you each had control of your individual participation in the feasts you enjoyed and the food waste that was used to taunt and torture the garrison of Storm’s End.”

Not that any of them could have spoken up against Lord Tyrell and not been executed for it.

Not that any of them had ever expected to need to learn the Laws of the Realm, as that had been Lords’ Business for time immemorial.

But the Laws of the Dragon did not care. The Laws of the Dragon did not take such factors into account, making them wildly short-sighted for laws supposedly written by a man remembered as the Wise.

“Any other objections?”

“Our apprentices are not here,” another said. “They are smiths, too!”

“Until they finish their apprenticeships, your students will all be considered general laborers. Only masters of your craft will be drawing with other masters of the same craft.”

Eddard waited. There were no more questions.

He nodded to Maester Luwin to begin adding the white stones to the barrel.

“You will all draw one stone from the barrel. If you pick a white stone, you are a free man. If you pick a black stone, you will make your vow to Lord Commander Qorgyle immediately. Once your vow is made, he will give you leave, if you need it, to return to the Reach and gather your families. The highborn of your region also sworn to the Watch will see you to the Wall together with the goods they will be donating to help you start again.

“You have another choice,” he told them. “You can volunteer to go to the Watch, and a black stone will be removed from the pile. Your fellow blacksmiths of the Reach will have one less black stone to endanger their freedom.”

“Can we pick, Yer Grace?” an older man asked, stepping forward.

“Pick what, Master Smith?” Eddard asked. He hardly wanted to guess and give people ideas.

“Who gets a white stone if we take a black.”

“No.” He could probably be convinced to let a man who drew a white stone take the place of a man who drew a black stone on this particular occasion, but such was not traditionally offered. If a man decided to go to the Wall because someone else drew black, Eddard would let them. It would be a good thing, truth be known.

They had less than twenty years before the Long Night fell again.

The Wall needed every man it could get.

“Well,” the old man gruffed. “The Gods themselves should choose who pays the debt They are owed.” And he stomped over to the barrel.

As the man watched, Eddard’s maesters counted 100 black stones into the barrel and sealed it.

“Do you have your token?” Maester Luwin asked the waiting smith.

The Smith produced a flat wooden coin. Maester Luwin took it and crossed out the match on his list. At his nod, Ser Osrick of the Kingsguard spun the barrel.

The Smith nodded to Ser Osrick, and the barrel stopped.

The cork came off, and the man drew.

White stone.

The next smith came forward.

“Do you have your token?”

It was going to be a long afternoon.

-*-

“Today was a good day,” Lord Baratheon said as the last cobbler took the last white stone of the day and left.

Eddard did not necessarily agree but, “it had to be done.” He settled back onto his throne. “I wanted to discuss something with you before I am descended upon by my Small Council.”

Stannis Baratheon chuckled.

Stannis Baratheon.

Chuckled.

If Eddard had not already known that this life was different from his previous one, that chuckle would have clinched it.

“How may I serve, Your Grace?”

“It is about your brother, Renly. Have you considered taking him to the Isle of Faces so that the Gods might heal him? I know not what damage nearly starving to death can do to a child, but I assume it is just as devastating and lasting as the same happening to an adult.”

“I had considered discussing the matter with Princess Lyanna, Your Grace,” Lord Stannis admitted. “I do not keep any gods, though I respect yours. I know they have saved me from the worst of myself and given joy room to put down roots in my life. I believe Renly keeps the Seven. I would not ask—to ask the Old Gods to heal the follower of other gods seems like too much to ask. I am simply uncertain as to what is appropriate, My King.”

“That is fair. And speaking with Lyanna is a good start.” Eddard thought for a moment. “Send for the boy. Have him join us here. Even if he does not go to the Isle of Faces, he will need a knight to squire for, soon. All the knights of the Realm are here.”

“Very good, Your Grace. I shall send the raven and ask the princess for a bit of time.” Lord Stannis leaned forward conspiratorially. “Your Lady Hand has peeked in here twice. I fear we should not enjoy the consequences of her peeking in a third time.”

Eddard sighed dramatically, but stood.

Lord Stannis chuckled and stood with him.

“It is as though I am king of nothing,” he japed, less than half serious.

“I am sure, Your Grace,” Stannis Baratheon agreed, making for the far door. “Good night.”

“Good night, Lord Baratheon.” His Kingsguard followed him from the room, but they did nothing to keep Lady Shella from swooping in upon him. “Any developments?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I have successfully mobilized the craftsmen in the various armies currently surrounding Harrenhal to create clothing for our new Night’s Watchmen.”

“The copying project?”

“As you have Luwin and Eldyn with you, the new leader of the project is Maester Gravven, who specializes in restoring, preserving, and binding books. He has expanded the number of scribes—all of them have sworn to copy fully, clearly, and accurately, as well as their loyalty to you upon a weirwood in blood. My son, Tranis, and Princess Lyanna oversaw the oaths. They also questioned all of your would-be scribes about the Society for the Advancement of Science upon the weirwood. They either passed or were given to Lord Bolton.”

“Good.” Lyanna was clearly the smartest of their father’s children. Eddard could not have been sure that he would have thought to clear the maesters of any possible treason before swearing them in.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Maester Gravven believes his people will have the Laws of War copied and bound before the classes I am organizing begin.”

“Enough copies to supply all of the lords that you will be educating?” Eddard was truly of the opinion that every single lord needed to carry their own legal pouch. Keeping the King’s Justice and the King’s Peace were their duties. Attempting to do so from memory created situations that were ripe for abuse or failure. Neither was acceptable to him.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And the classes will be when?”

“The day after you finish the drawing of lots,” she said firmly. No room for debate. She was well on track then. “I figured two consecutive rest days would do you some good.”

Eddard snorted. “I should probably take offense to something in that statement, but I actually appreciate the rest and so I will not bother.”

“Very kind of you, Your Grace.”

She was grinning. Whatever game she was playing, he was losing.

He decided to just let her have her victory. Whatever it was. “And the Laws of the Wolf?”

“Your flock of maesters will begin copying the Laws of the Wolf once the Laws of War are finished and bound. I expect them and pouches to hold both books will be completed and distributed before we leave for Winterfell.”

“Very good.”

She curtsied and turned away.

“Next,” he said—approximately half japing—as he started walking from the Hall to his quarters.

Lady Ana stepped up beside him. “Your Grace.”

“Lady Ana, what news?”

“About half the executions are complete. Lord Tywin and Lord Kevan have been most helpful. The Green Men have been understanding of why we must complete the executions and remain eager to feed the trees, as it were.”

No surprise there.

“Lord Tywin believes I need my own guards,” she told him, sounding curious. “He went so far as to offer me guards from the West. House Selwyn, as you know, is quite small and almost entirely dependent on Winterfell for protection.

“I put Lord Tywin off so I could speak with you on the matter.”

“Lannister is looking to wed you off.” That was entirely clear to Eddard. “Not that you do not need guards of your own, but he brought the concern to you because he sees the value in the intelligence and training found in that mind of yours, and he wants it for the West.

“I will speak with Lord Commander Tully and have guards assigned to you. He may call upon you for an opinion about said guards.”

When he looked at Lady Ana, she was blushing. He could not say if it was a blush of pleasure at an implied compliment from the Lion of Lannister or fury at Lord Lannister’s audacity.

“I bet Lannister’s first offering would be a Marbrand,” she muttered darkly.

It was a safe bet, in Eddard’s mind. Lord Tywin’s mother had been a Marbrand, as were two of his current squires. “Were it the spare Marbrand, I could see allowing it, but make no mistake, Lannister wants you, entirely, in the West. He would send the heir of a Western House to charm you under the guise of guarding you, but you have a keep of your own in the North. And I mean for you to inherit it.”

“In good time, certainly, Your Grace,” she agreed.

“I did not mean to imply your father should die early so that you may inherit anytime soon,” he assured her the moment he realized what she had taken from his words. “Mayhaps some years after you have returned to the North and recovered from your term of service in the South.”

He smiled to himself when she nodded stoutly.

“After a great-grandchild or three.”

Lady Ana huffed. “It would not take me so long to recover that my grandchildren will be born first.” She pointed at him. “It better not.”

“I have no control over that,” he told her. He had not meant her recovery would take so long, or even that the grandchildren would be hers rather than her father’s, but, either way, he had no control over such things.

“That is true,” she admitted. “Anything else?”

“Be ready to test the highborns’ comprehension of the Laws of War after Lady Shella’s classes.”

“We have a plan, Your Grace,” she assured him. “I will lay out the four primary points to all of Westeros before they are broken up into classes for finer details.”

“Good.”

She smirked at him. “Next!” And danced away.

As he entered the courtyard between towers, his Master of Ships, Lord Gerion, and his Master of Coin, Lord Velaryon, came to flank him.

“We are hammering out the supply chain for the Royal Shipbuilding Project,” Lord Gerion told him. “We had questions about Northern timber.”

“House Velaryon’s best ships are all made from Northern timber,” Lord Velaryon declared loyally.

Eddard nodded. “In the North, we are very careful with our natural resources. We take nothing without replenishing it, if at all possible. You will need to either divide your demand across all Northern Houses or rotate between them regularly. This is a matter you should discuss with the Warden of the North. If you can, leave the organization of the entire timber effort to him.”

“This plan will do great things for the economy, Your Grace, making work available and increasing trade,” Lord Velaryon blew sunshine at him, then frowned. “Moving everything to the Iron Islands complicates things. Is it truly necessary?”

“Currently, the only Lord in the Iron Islands is Lord Harlaw,” Eddard pointed out. “With him answering directly to me as my banner man, none of my other primary vassals are receiving favor over the other Lords Paramount or Wardens. Everyone is contributing to the project; gold dragons are in motion, everyone benefits evenly.”

“But most of the Kingdoms’ portions could be taken up by another, so the King’s Peace is encouraged by trade,” Lord Velaryon pointed out. “Play nice, or your goods will suddenly not be needed.”

“Exactly,” Eddard agreed. “And the Iron Islands are on the opposite side of Westeros from Essos. If they get nervous about us building ships—”

“As they should,” Lord Gerion interjected. “We are not just building trading cogs.”

Eddard nodded, “—they will have a very difficult time making it around Dorne, and the Reach, and the West to burn the Iron Islands.”

“Never thought I would see the day where the Iron Islands wound be something the rest of Westeros would need and protect.” Lord Velaryon shook his head as Lord Gerion laughed.

“Your letters?” Eddard asked his Master of Coin.

“Drafted, reviewed by Lady Ana and Lady Shella, and sent, Your Grace. To the Iron Bank, the House of Black and White, and the Sealord of Braavos.”

That was good. Eddard did not want to anger a city founded upon the most successful and dangerous assassins’ guild in the world just because he was working on strengthening his own economy and unification. And if Braavos decided this would be a good time to take an active role in ending slavery, Eddard was willing to be convinced to expand his kingdom into an empire.

Assuming everyone agreed to certain rules.

“Are you certain we should send every thirteenth ship to the Night’s Watch?” Lord Gerion asked.

“Thirteen is a cursed number,” Lord Velaryon asserted with the vehemence only a man raised on the deck of a ship could manage. “We cannot keep a cursed ship, and it would be a waste to burn it.”

“The ship will be born again when it joins the Watch, as all of those given to the Watch are,” Eddard promised. “I will require the Lord Commander to rename each ship upon receipt.” If that was what he had to do to keep from transmitting some sort of curse to the Night’s Watch. However, those superstitions were supposed to work.

“As you will, Your Grace.”

Only the Gods Themselves knew the last time the Night’s Watch got a new ship. Or how old their current ladies were. There were an excessive number of reasons that Samwell Tarly had gone to the Citadel on a Braavosi ship, last time.

“I suppose I should speak to Lord Commander Qorgyle and find out what the Watch needs most in the way of ships,” Lord Gerion mused. “With your leave, Your Grace.”

“Given.” He waved both men off.

Lord Randyll of House Tarly was lingering by a well where Eddard needed to turn and fell into step with him the moment that he was alone.

“Your Grace,” his Lord Dissenter greeted.

“Lord Tarly?”

“I am going to have to resign from the Small Council now that my father has taken the black.”

“I am aware,” Eddard agreed. Because he was. “I only ask that you remain a member of my Small Council until I have found a replacement.”

“Which will be when, Your Grace?”

Eddard ignored the man’s impatient tone. The handful of days that had passed since Lord Tarly took the black was nowhere near enough time to replace a Small Council member. Recognizing the new Lord Tarly’s impatience could be taken as condoning unreasonable expectations. “Before I release everyone from Winterfell.” Because he fully expected Lord Tarly to come with him to Winterfell.

Lord Tarly grunted, but nodded. “Very good, Your Grace.”

The man bowed, dismissing himself in a way Eddard should probably put a stop to, but honestly, Randyll Tarly’s bitchiness was part of the reason Eddard had picked him for his Lord Dissenter in the first place.

Lord Commander Tully just happened to appear in the doorway of his destination tower. The level of organization his Small Council had put into making these evening walks productive was…interesting.

“Your Grace,” Lord Commander Tully said with a bow.

“Lord Commander, do we have the men to provide each of my Small Council with guards?” he asked. He hardly wanted Lady Ana to stand out, after all.

“We do, Your Grace,” Lord Commander Tully assured him. “We may have to recruit more men when you have more children, depending on the size of the squads each Lord of the Small Council receives.”

“With three wives and a mistress giving me children, that was always the case,” Eddard pointed out.

“True,” the Whitefish chuckled. “At least when they are small, they can all share a nursery. We could put it in the White Sword Tower, above my solar.”

“Would that not put the nursery in your sleeping quarters?” Eddard frowned.

“Precisely, Your Grace.”

Eddard shook his head. And Lady Shella thought he worked too much. “Remind me, if you ever piss me off, to send you on a leisure trip.”

Lord Commander Tully shot him a wide-eyed look. “There is no need for threats, Your Grace.”

Everyone was a jester.

Eddard very carefully did not rise to Tully’s bait. He would not engage in a fight he could not win. Especially not one of wit.

“Lord Royce is waiting in your solar. He has been searched, disarmed, and is being observed by Ser Brynden Blackwood. Food has not been delivered yet from the kitchens.”

Eddard nodded. Unless he was wildly behind, he would have half an hour with his women before dinner called him back to duty.

“Your Grace, would you announce that anyone who squires for any member of the Kingsguard will earn a white cloak upon their knighting?” his Lord Commander asked.

Such would certainly clarify and streamline the recruitment process for the Kingsguard. “Do any of my Kingsguard currently have squires?”

“No,” Tully shook his shaggy head. “Those who did, gave their squires over to other mentors between being selected and swearing themselves to you.”

That… was fast.

“The announcement will have to wait until we have returned to communal meals,” Eddard warned his Lord Commander.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Have Ser Myrsden add it to my List, will you?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Commander Tully stopped at the base of the stairs. “Have a good night, Your Grace.”

“You as well, Lord Commander,” he said as Ellaria emerged from the shadows under the steps to take his arm. “Good evening, my lady.”

“Good evening,” she smiled at him. “Have you considered your new Master of Whispers?”

“Yes,” because he had, “but I would rather not set eyes on the betrothed of my preferred Master of Whispers any time in the next decade.”

Ellaria hummed. “Ser Wylis could take over the rule of White Harbor, and his father, Lord Manderly, could serve as your Master of Whispers.”

Eddard considered that. Wyman Manderly had been vicious and thorough in his scheming to overthrow House Bolton’s rule of Winterfell in favor of Rickon. His personal efforts had been responsible for more Bolton and Frey losses than any other single anti-Bolton belligerent.

In fact, the only thing that had kept Lord Manderly from putting Rickon on the Throne of Winter had been Robb’s Will as King of the North, which had specifically ‘legitimized’ Jon and granted him the station he had been born to, King of Winterfell.

Jon would have been an amazing King of Winter, Eddard sighed to himself.

He had been an outstanding king, honestly. And he had been the best option for leading the defense of the Living, even if he had been forced to trade his crown for dragons.

“Ashara does not want it?” he asked. Because Ashara was doing the job of Master of Whispers. She could do it in her sleep. He was not such a fool as to think she would stop doing it just because he gave a man the job.

“She has other things she wants to concentrate on,” Ellaria said breezily.

That was suspicious. And very unlike his Ashara.

Could she be pregnant again already? His previous Ashara had put duty before family, but the circumstances that had held them fast had never given her a choice. There had been no other choice, truly. For any of them.

Not once Robert had been crowned.

If this time, Ashara could lead a gentler life. One where she could put family before duty. That would make his entire previous life and coming back to be king worth it for Eddard.

Just that one thing.

“Feel Lord Manderly out,” he requested. “And I will need a new Lord-Dissenter, as well. Add that into the four of yours’ scheming.”

“Has Lord Randyll resigned?” Ellaria frowned.

“Not officially, but his father is going to the Wall. He has no other choice but to return to his House at his first opportunity.”

“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Post-war rules, every lord belongs in his castle once the King is done with them.”

She was adorable. Honestly.

“Should we throw him a wedding soon?” she asked.

“Most likely,” he agreed. “Though speak with his betrothed first. I would prefer it happen at Winterfell, just before I release them back to the Reach to reduce her chance of travelling while pregnant.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Any developments?”

“Prince Oberyn and Ser Bronn have left for Pentos. They expect to meet us in Winterfell with the babe in arm—and the mother, if the Gods are good.”

“It is a hope,” he admitted.

And then a thought occurred to him. “Oldtown is proving to be quite the mess to clean up. I have assigned various lords sections of it to deal with, but I will need someone especially competent and vicious to manage the city as a whole and to protect the Iron Throne’s interests. Can you ask Princess Mariah if Prince Doran is available and willing to stand as regent of Oldtown until I grant it to a new House?”

“Have you decided who that new House will be?” she asked.

“I have not,” he lied.

Ellaria eyed him speculatively. “Keeping it secret,” she nodded. “I approve.”

“And I am very glad that you do,” he deadpanned.

Ellaria Sand laughed.

-*-

“I was surprised to receive your invitation,” Bronze Yohn admitted as they settled at the table together.

“Why is that?”

“Well, Your Grace—”

Eddard looked up sharply at the honorific. He had considered Bronze Yohn a friend and role model since they met ten years ago. When he was eight.

Bronze Yohn huffed and nodded. “Eddard,” he corrected himself.

Eddard nodded and returned his focus to his food.

“There was a time when the Royces of Runestone were the first choice of Justiciars for the King of Winter. In the parlance of the Iron Throne, I would assume a Justiciar would be Master of Laws. And yet you chose another for your Small Council.”

Eddard considered that. “I have always thought a Justiciar was more of a judge. Or arbiter for the King of Winter.” Which did have similarities to the Master of Laws, but was not, technically, the same. “If you have a child or two interested in such a thing, they could train under my Master of Laws. In a few years.”

Unless he was mistaken, Bronze Yohn’s firstborn, Andar, was eight.

“It would be good experience for Andar, in a few years,” The Royce of Runestone agreed. “Robar and Wymar have a different sort of service to the Realm in mind.”

“Kingsguard or Night’s Watch?” He thought he remembered them each choosing one of the Realm’s militant brotherhoods in his last life. Even though Robar Royce’s oath of service had been to a rebel king.

“Kingsguard, I hope,” Bronze Yohn gruffed.

“As to the matter of my Master of Laws, I needed someone with a more thorough, deeper understanding of the Laws of War than I already had. That is why I chose Lady Ana for Master of Laws.”

Were he not now Lord of Horn Hill, Lord Randyll would have been a good match for Lady Ana, as they both held to the law as others held their religions.

But Randyll Tarly was a lord.

And betrothed besides.

Bronze Yohn was quiet through the changing of courses. A pensive, almost painful quiet. Eddard did him the courtesy and let him keep it as he started working on the cheese and nuts that followed their supper.

Finally, Royce sighed and picked up some cheese. “I understand. My House has let the study of most First Man things slide to play games with the Andals of the Vale.

“It is a terrible thing, to realize that they have corrupted my House when I thought…”

“That they had not. That you were immune.” Eddard nodded. “Being knocked out of your assumptions always hurts. I know that pain well. There was a time I thought a Warden was safe from a King’s madness.”

Royce closed his eyes and held them silently there in an expression of mourning. “You got justice for your family, Your Grace. And protected—are still protecting all of our families as much and more than any of us would have expected of you.”

Eddard nodded. “I cannot allow it to happen again.” In truth, he meant his children’s deaths. He could not survive allowing such circumstances to exist again. But. His vague wording allowed his statement to apply to his brother and father as well.

Father and Brandon at least had been adults.

Father and Brandon had made their own choices.

Father and Brandon had not been led to slaughter by the adults around them. The adults who should have protected them if a single one of those adults had held even a sliver of moral value.

Time to change the subject.

“I have a job only House Royce can do,” he said.

“Name it.”

“Most people no longer know this, but the bridge and central tower of what eventually became the Twins was built by House Stark. The founder of House Blackwood was actually a Brandon Stark. He was a King of Winter’s firstborn, but not all that much younger than his father and unlikely to ever hold Winterfell for himself. Instead, he went south to guard the North’s Southron border and established Raventree Hall as his own holdfast.” That Brandon was hard to verify in House Stark’s public records because he had changed his name to Brynden Blackwood to hide the connection.

Bronze Yohn nodded. “It is said that the weirwood the first Blackwood built his keep around held so many ravens that the tree’s canopy was as much black as it was red.”

“Aye,” Eddard confirmed. “That tree is why he named the keep Raventree Hall and why his line took the name Blackwood.

“One of House Blackwood’s duties was to maintain the South Bridge. Another was to keep anyone from claiming such a strategic and economic resource and keeping it from House Stark or the people of the North.”

“Clearly, they failed.” Lord Royce frowned.

Eddard did not entirely disagree. But. “House Frey only took the South Bridge and began building the Twins six hundred years ago.”

“Well after the Kingdom of the North had pulled its border back to Moat Cailin,” Bronze Yohn interjected.

Eddard nodded. “The Freys began building right around the time House Blackwood and House Bracken started to feud over nothing. That feud was actually central in House Frey successfully claiming something that had originally been built to be a public resource, and as a result grew wealthy with it.”

Bronze Yohn looked at him with obvious confusion. “What does this have to do with House Royce?”

“Do you still have Rune Masters?”

“I should say so!” Bronze Yohn huffed at him. “You made my most accomplished one Regent of the Riverlands!”

Perfect. That made this her duty entirely. “I want the Twins, Raventree Hall, and Stone Hedge thoroughly inspected for any sort of magic that could make their residents forget their duty and reason in favor of petty slights and revenge. I cannot grant these lands to a new House until I am certain doing so will not begin the cycle of violence again.

“I also want Raventree Hall’s weirwood investigated.

“While poisoning House Blackwood’s weirwood is the kind of cruelty House Bracken would commit, they are not the only petty asshole in this scenario—though most are unaware of House Frey’s involvement.”

There was also the matter of the weirwood in the central keep of the Twins, but Eddard would have to deal with that himself. Possibly with Lyanna.

“You have not asked House Reed to investigate this issue?” Yohn Royce asked. “They still have Greendreamers do they not?”

“Lord Reed and his heir, Lord Howland, are in Oldtown gathering information about House Hightower’s Conspiracy against the Iron Throne. I think we can agree that is the more pressing issue, as it affects all of Westeros, not just the northern part of the Riverlands.”

Bronze Yohn stared at him; mouth open for a moment before he closed it. “They are in Oldtown.”

“Yes,” Eddard confirmed cautiously.

“Right now?”

Eddard nodded.

“When did you send them?”

Ah. Now Eddard understood. “The morning after the conspiracy was revealed.”

“And they made it to Oldtown so quickly?” Bronze Yohn shook his shaggy head. “I had no notion that the people of the North still had Woodswalkers among them.”

That was fair.

Eddard had not been sure either until Lord Howland had revealed himself—this time. He had not revealed himself last time at all.

“There will be more, soon,” Eddard assured him with confidence he did not actually have. He certainly hoped to match as many of his children as he could manage with Reeds in the hope of bringing out the Old Magics within his lines. “I cannot and will not attempt to force anyone to change their Gods but as the South becomes acquainted with me as king and sees the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone at work in my life, they will come around.”

“The price to be paid for coming back to Gods that you have previously rejected is a frightful one,” Bronze Yohn cautioned. “Even if you were not the one who originally turned your back on them. Our Gods hold crimes to the bloodline that committed them.”

“They also have a preference for bloodlines making amends for their own crimes,” he reminded the other Lord. “And we are giving them a lot of blood.”

Blood was magic.

Blood was life.

He did not expect any particular boon to come his way, but something good would inevitably come from all of the blood sacrifices they were making. Even if they could not legally allow the trees to openly kill people or eat the bodies. Eddard could not claim he wanted to follow their ancestors’ worst practices. He certainly did not want to see a weirwood draped in the innards of any man.

Not even Littlefinger.

But something would come of all of this death. It had to. Magic, like life, was about balance.

And change.

“Over a hundred executed from the Riverlands alone,” Bronze Yohn agreed. “And then there is the Reach.”

It had been disheartening, but some of the Reachers who had drawn black stones had requested execution instead of joining the brotherhood of the Night’s Watch. Even with the more lenient options he had made available to them. Lord Commander Qorgyle had granted every request personally, and Eddard had not said anything against it.

Mostly because the Wall was not prepared for such an enormous influx of men and resources all at once, and executions could take the edge off.

“I will have to send some of the knights to the Wall early,” he decided. “So that they can start helping the Wall prepare for the commonfolk coming.”

Bronze Yohn considered him for a moment. “I will call several of my Rune Masters here. My sons and oldest daughter will come with them, but my wife will have to remain at Runestone with our youngest, Ysilla.

“In honor of my ancestors’ legacy as the Justiciars of Winter, I will put myself and all available Royces here at Lady Ana’s disposal to assist in bringing First Man Justice to Westeros.”

That was good.

More than House Lannister should be involved in laying the final sentence and swinging the sword, but they had been the only ones to volunteer.

“Let me ask you something,” Eddard started.

Bronze Yohn nodded his consent.

“Absolute primogeniture. It used to be the law of House Stark. Before the Pact.” House Stark had never, technically, changed their ways, but the magic of the Pact for the Dawn had ensured that the first child in every generation was male so that a male Stark child would be on hand in Winterfell to fulfill the Pact, if needed. After a few hundred years of House Stark being ruled by first son after first son and the Lords Vassal of the North had started doing the same.

“You want to return to it,” Bronze Yohn guessed.

“Yes. But I have no desire to fight a war for it.” Eddard grabbed his beer and sat back, grumpy. “I have been told that it must be a gradual change. That it could take generations.”

“I can see that, and I agree you need to wait ten or so years before making such a drastic change. Let the changes that you have already made sink in and become the new normal,” Bronze Yohn urged.

Eddard sighed gustily, unsatisfied but not surprised

“I think it is possible in your lifetime. Possibly even in mine,” Bronze Yohn scratched his beard, “I think you just need to come up with the right carrot, so you are not required to use your very big stick.”

“Do you have ideas?” Eddard wondered.

Bronze Yohn grinned.

“I do.”

Part Six

“Eddard,” Lyanna greeted him sternly.

He nodded to his sister but did not fix himself, like she had probably assumed he would.

Yes, this was the collective nobles’ first breakfast together again in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths since the Judgement of the Reach had started. Yes, he was reading at said breakfast. Yes, his father would have rung his bell for the audacity of reading at a meal.

No, he was not concerned about any of that.

No, he would not fix himself.

Ever since Howland Reed had come back from Oldtown with a trunk full of books, Eddard had been dreaming. It had not taken too long for him to realize that he was Dreaming the contents of the books: personal accounts, all, from various Lords Hightower, High Septon, and Seneschal of the Citadel at the time of the Conquering. Starting with watching the High Septon’s scathing remarks about his own Faithful, his so-called vision from the Crone that led to Oldtown welcoming the Conquerors, and the crowning of King Aegon I. The fact that Aegon the Dragon had already been crowned by his older sister was the entire reason they had pushed for the right to sanctify Aegon’s Crown before the Seven, to undercut the Targaryen narrative of women with power. Those facts had been written plainly on the page.

It was all outrageous.

Watching the joy of grown men when they received the news of the death of a six-year-old princess from a short but extremely painful disease had nearly made him ill. Somehow, reading the Seneschal—the Archmaester of Healing, that particular year—speculate about the course of the disease and celebrate the death of a child had actually been worse than Dreaming it.

Alysanne’s daughter Daenerys had not deserved that.

It had been the sort of thing people would never say so much out loud, of course, but journalling one’s inner thoughts was an intrinsic part of the religious practice of the Faith of the Seven. The Seneschal had not censored himself in his writings as he had speaking of the events with his co-conspirators.

Eddard had resolutely clung to Lord Hightower’s journals after that. At least with him the conspiracy was just political concerns with a dash of Hightower superiority.

None of the High Septon’s unhinged zealotry.

None of the Seneschal’s utterly morally void curiosity.

He would have to read the books of messages to and from the Grand Maester soon. He had given that trio of books over to Rhaella first since they had directly impacted herself and her family.

It was amusing to see that the Grand Maesters under Aegon I, Maegor, and Jaehaerys I had coded their messages back to Oldtown. From Viserys I on, they clearly had not seen the need. Whether that was because the trustworthiness of Oldtown had been assumed by the Iron Throne at that point or because Oldtown had assumed House Targaryen was too stupid to suspect them of conspiracy against the Iron Throne was anyone’s guess.

He glanced over at Rhaella. She was still reading. Her pale face was set, stern and uncompromising even to him—a man who worshipped bone-white trees.

Eddard returned to his reading.

Lord Grahar Hightower, father of Lord Leyton Hightower, hated Grand Maester Pycelle in a way Eddard had not thought anyone other than Robert had been capable of hating. That Pycelle was a bastard sired by Tytos Lannister, making him Tywin Lannister’s half-brother and probably his spy, was an obsessive point of contention with the previous Lord Hightower.

Lord Grahar had been particularly vicious about Pycelle’s whore problem.

That was ironic, to Eddard. The entirety of Westeros knew that the most expensive sex workers in Oldtown were all Hightowers, regardless of which side of the sheets they were born on.

A slipper gently brushed his boot, and he turned to Queen Janna, currently seated on his immediate left. Outside of Big Fucking Deal events, he did not care what order his wives sat next to him, only that they did. That had given rise to a rotation among his queens in a pattern he had yet to decipher. Today, it appeared as though his younger wives were physically insulating Rhaella so she could have peace as she read.

“Wife?” he prompted Janna when she did not speak after he had given her his attention.

“Husband.” She looked at him briefly before she flicked her eyes forward and nodded her head in that direction for good measure.

He looked in the direction she had indicated to find his good mother, Lady Olenna; Lyanna’s future good father, Lord Tywin; and his foster father, Lord Jon, waiting immediately in front of the dais for his attention.

Two Wardens and the lady of a former Warden. Whatever the issue, it was likely severe. “Did you need something, my lords and lady?”

“We have been Dreaming,” Lady Olenna said bluntly, as was her wont. “We ask you, Your Grace, to stop it.”

“I do not rule the land of Dreams, my lady.”

She rolled her lips inward and pressed them together until they turned white, a sure sign she was disturbed. “These Dreams are not normal dreams. We are clearly all Dreaming of the Hightower Conspiracy against the Iron Throne from its instigation, Your Grace.”

“Ah.” Such a thing would certainly disturb any number of people. Even one so formidable as the Queen of Thrones. “I, too, have been having those Dreams.”

“We thought you might be.” His foster father nodded. “You have long been an avid learner, but in the entire time I have known you, never have you brought a book to a meal, be that meal public or private.”

There was not a single question being brought before him. He considered how stubborn he wanted to be before he realized that he did not want to be stubborn at all. If he dug his heels in now, Westeros would be convinced he could control Dreams. Something that could not be further from the truth.

But. He had no desire to take any sort of blame or ire for something he had no choice in. He would have to tread carefully. “You are all Dreaming?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the three each said.

Eddard looked out over the gathered throng. “If you are not Dreaming of the Conspiracy of Oldtown, stand now.”

No one stood. Every. Single. Noble present was Dreaming what he was reading. First Man, Andal, Rhyonar, Mountain Clan. All of them. Houses with heroic ancestors and Houses with no known history of magic at all. It was beyond surprising.

Eddard turned to Lyanna. “How could so many humans share a Greendream?”

“As a Greendreamer, I am told that I could give a Dream to any one person as long as I was in contact with the tree I am wedded to—blood bonded to,” Lyanna admitted. “The tree I am currently bonded to is on the Isle of Faces. I have not gone there, as any number of people can attest, and I will not change my bonded tree until I settle at Casterly Rock.

“I could possibly share a Dream with two people if all three of us were blood-related to each other. Again, this is just what I was told during my training. I have never done this myself.

“I have shared a Dream with nearly a dozen people, but we had all shared blood and were in physical contact with the same weirwood.” Lyanna shook her head. “Every single person of the thousand or more currently sleeping inside Harrenhal sharing the same Dream? That is an Act of the Gods, Brother. That is all it could be.”

“I agree,” he said, because that had been his conclusion as well.

He had made with much fewer facts and experience, but it was the same conclusion.

“Many of those seeing this Dream follow the Faith of the Seven,” Lord Jon offered.

Eddard just raised an eyebrow. Had they not well proven that the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone were not bothered in the least by the seven statue gods?

“How can the Old Gods reach the followers of the Seven?” Lord Jon pushed. Foolishly.

“We are in Harrenhal, Lord Arryn,” Lyanna said sharply.

Lord Jon looked to Eddard, openly expressing his confusion.

“Everything in Harrenhal that is not black stone is weirwood,” Eddard pointed out with more patience than he actually felt. “The beams, the rafters, the floors. The doors. All of the original furniture.” Including every single bedstand he had seen on any of his trips through the Riverlands in two lives. “Weirwood is the domain of the Gods of Forest, Stream and Stone, and only the Gods of Forest, Stream and Stone.”

Supposedly, leaving Harrenhal could free those most distressed by the Dreams from the grip of the Gods. But there was no guarantee that would work once the Gods had already connected with the person. And those most disturbed were the ones that needed to face the truth behind the use that the Faith of the Seven had been put to the most.

“The only way out is through,” he told them. “You must finish the Dream to be free of it.”

“I have finished it, Your Grace,” Lord Lannister admitted. That did not surprise Eddard. Lord Tywin did not have to obstacle of faith in the Seven when being presented with the evil of the Seven’s men. Lord Tywin glanced toward Rhaella. “I have seen the Seven Hells Grand Maester Pycelle has put Queen Rhaella through.”

“I want him dead,” Rhaella hissed. “I want him flayed, thrown in the sea skinless, and forced to walk unshod across the fiery shores of Dragonstone to find death for himself.” She turned her focus upon him. “Husband, he murdered my children.”

Eddard found he could not deny her. He, in fact, had no desire to try. “Lord Bolton.”

Bolton stood when Eddard said his name and bowed to Queen Rhaella. “Your will be done, Your Grace.”

Eddard turned on the other two nobles standing before him. “How far have you gotten in the Dream?”

Lord Jon looked down and away, as though he had been scolded. “Archmaester Vaegon has just manipulated the outcome of the Great Council of 101AC so that Viserys Targaryen will become king because he has no dragon.”

Eddard nodded. Lord Jon was a Faithful man that embraced his House Words—As High As Honor—to a foolish degree. Lord Jon’s inability to understand and accept underhanded tactics, just as much as his belief in the Seven and his faith in their High Septon, would certainly slow his Dreaming.

Eddard turned to Lady Olenna.

She huffed. “Maester Gerardys of Dragonstone just took two of Viserys I’s fingers, saving him from Grand Maester Mellos’ poisons.”

“A question for you, my lady,” Eddard said.

“Your Grace.” Lady Olenna stood up as tall as she could and rolled her shoulders back for good measure.

“Were you aware of the Hightower Conspiracy against the Iron Throne at any point before coming to Harrenhal?”

She was thoughtfully quiet for an extended period.

“I find myself in a quandary, Your Grace,” she eventually admitted. “If I tell you House Tyrell knew nothing about it, we could be found guilty of dereliction of duty and find ourselves attained.”

He nodded because she was right.

He would have no choice but to attain House Tyrell for dereliction of duty when it had allowed so much murder and treason. Particularly after the extreme number of Houses he had similarly punished for what some would consider lesser crimes.

“But. If I tell you House Tyrell knew about it, I would be lying and condemning my House to execution for treason.” Lady Olenna huffed. “As you can see, Your Grace, there is no good path forward for me here.”

That was all true, Eddard conceded with a tip of his head.

“Then you have not gotten to the part where your deceased husband’s grandfather decided he was done with the conspiracy and sold five hundred years of House Tyrell’s silence to House Hightower for sixty percent of House Hightower’s gold and resources over that entire period.” Lord Tywin told the Queen of Thorns.

“She also has not seen the part where Lady Alerie Hightower was sent to seduce young Lord Mace Tyrell in the hope that she could destroy all seven evidence packages Lord Loras Tyrell had hidden around Highgarden so House Hightower could void the deal and stop paying the agreed-upon debt,” Eddard pointed out.

“Or that there are actually twelve evidence packages,” Lyanna added. “Or that not all of them had been hidden in Highgarden.”

Eddard shook his head. “It appears as though Lord Luthor took the locations of the evidence packages with him to his unexpected grave. Do you think you can find them, Sister?”

“I would need to go to my tree, Your Grace.”

“You have my leave to do so.” He smirked at her. “Hopefully, the Green Men will give you their leave as well.”

Lyanna huffed and a handful of First Men laughed at his jape.

“You do realize that I have to punish House Tyrell for this,” he told Lady Olenna. “Every Tyrell directly guilty of treason is dead without facing consequences, but dereliction of duty in regard to treason cannot be tolerated. Their legacy is the only thing left to carry the burden of their punishment.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” she confirmed, bowing her head contritely.

Eddard considered Lady Olenna for another moment. “I will not attain House Tyrell. You will remain Lords Paramount of the Reach.”

Lady Olenna’s head came up, almost as if she were trying to look down upon her peers because she certainly could not look down upon Eddard’s table.

She simply was not tall enough.

“I fear that I do not know what else House Tyrell can give so quickly after everything we have agreed to and are bound to do in regard to my son’s Crimes Against the Warrior, Your Grace.”

Eddard would bet not. “My people will retrieve Lady Alerie and her children from Highgarden. Lady Alerie will be given to my Blood Wolf. Your grandchildren will foster with me.” Fosterlings, hostages. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other. “I will return Lord Willas to you at six-and-ten. He will train with you on running the Reach and Highgarden for two years, and then he will rule Highgarden and the Reach in his own right. You will then come to my court to serve on my Small Council.”

Putting her on his Small Council was more a reward than a punishment, to most. He needed to do more.

He glanced at his Tyrell wife. “You said Highgarden is expanding south of the Mander?”

“That is House Tyrell’s plan for the next decade or two, husband, yes,” Janna agreed.

“The expansion of Highgarden will stop immediately,” he told Lady Olenna. “The lands currently included in the Reach north of the Mander River will remain under House Tyrell and still be called the Reach.” There. House Tyrell were still Lords Paramount, but with their power and resources cut in half. A clear punishment. “All lands formerly within the Reach but south of the Mander River are hereby renamed the Dragonlands. Oldtown will henceforth be the seat of House Targaryen, who will rule the Dragonlands as Lords Paramount. The firstborn child of Queen Rhaella’s last pregnancy by King Aerys will rule the Dragonlands.”

“As you will, Your Grace,” Lady Olenna agreed severely.

Eddard dismissed the nobles before him with a silent wave and, well, since they were on the topic, he should take the momentum his lords and lady had granted him to lay out all of the punishment he had chosen for the Conspiracy of Oldtown.

“Sister, have you finished questioning all of the Maesters of the Citadel that are here?”

“I have had the time, Your Grace, yes.” She shot him a significant look.

Eddard refused to be cowed. Nor would he apologize. He had underestimated the time it would take to sort the Army of the Reach to the Wall or freedom. Underestimated by twelve days because, for some reason, it had never occurred to him that all hundred thousand men had to draw stones. He had only accounted for the time it would take for nearly fifteen thousand black stones to be drawn.

Thankfully, he had never shared his expected timeline in public. Only his so-called six queens knew of his miscalculation.

“Master Tranis of House Whent has been an excellent partner in the duty of questioning the maesters here to confirm their loyalty or their crimes.” Lyanna nodded to Lady Shella’s only living child.

Master Tranis nodded back to her. He had a raven perched on his shoulder. A raven the size of a medium-sized hawk. The combination told Eddard that Master Tranis was a skinchanger and that he had bonded one of the one-in-a-thousand overly smart, extremely magical ravens of Westeros.

“All those who have actually murdered someone on orders of the Citadel or to soothe their own ego during the course of their maesterly duties have been executed,” Lyanna said. “Because who could trust a maester who murdered someone while claiming they were healing them?

“If the maester’s crimes were only knowledge and silence, we let them choose between execution and the Wall. So far, twenty-one maesters are going to the Wall for knowing about the Conspiracy and not telling anyone that could stop it.”

“Very good.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lyanna inclined her head. “I also have lists of maesters, septons, knights, and nobles involved in a very specific thread of this conspiracy.”

Then he frowned. “What specific thread?”

“As Your Grace must be aware, there are several different paths the Oldtown Conspiracy has taken. Some are even older than the Iron Throne, such as their scheme to breed all forms of magic and magical potential out of the people of Westeros. This is part of the reason for the Faith’s repeated attempts to launch wars of conversion upon the North, because, until House Tully’s marriage contract with House Stark, there have been no significant marriages of Andals into our First Man magical lines.”

“Yes,” he agreed. Because he was well aware.

Unfortunately for the Citadel, Catelyn Tully’s Andal blood had not done a damn thing to dampen the magic in the Stark bloodline. It could be argued, in his other life, that her injection of Andal blood into his line had quickened House Stark’s First Man magic and made it more potent.

“Is there anyone we need to be aware of?”

“Mostly I have found a series of lords or landed knights that have faked their deaths to join the Faith Militant and the heirs that covered for them—”

“The Faith Militant is certainly something I needed to be aware of immediately,” Eddard interrupted.

“I agree, Your Grace.” Lyanna sighed. “I had been hoping to have firm locations for the Traitor Militant before bringing their continued, illegal existence to your attention. None of the maesters I have questioned have admitted to knowing the locations of their four bases—though I have been able to confirm that there are four locations hiding Faith Militant, and I do believe one of them was the Dragonpit.”

He had no good response for that. “The lords and knights in question?” he asked.

“Minor lords vassal, and landed knights,” Lyanna admitted. “Mostly attached to Oldtown, though not solely from Houses in the Reach. I have given the list of former heirs hiding their parents’ treason to Lord Bolton.”

Not what he wanted, exactly, but it would do. “Very good.”

“I have lists of maesters deployed around Westeros that are part of the Conspiracy or have done illegal things for the Conspiracy without either knowing of it or being part of it. And a list of cleared, fully qualified maesters that are ready to replace the traitors in the service of Westeros. I simply need to know who will be in charge of dispatching the replacement maesters and returning the traitors.”

“Have you reset the Conclave?”

“As instructed, Your Grace,” Lyanna confirmed. “Four Archmaesters did prove to neither be part of the Hightower Conspiracy, knowingly cooperative with the Hightower Conspiracy, or to have done illegal things under the direction of the conspirators.”

“And those four are?”

“Marwin, Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries; Duncan, Archmaester of Warcraft; Alix, Archmaester of Astronomy; and Karron, one of the two Archmaesters of History. The one specializing in Essosi history.

“Those four are still on the Conclave, of course.

“The Archmaesters of the other eleven subjects listed their students—while blood bound to the tree for honesty—from most qualified for Archmaester status to least. I also verified which of these students were or were not members of the Conspiracy. Per your instructions, I promoted the most qualified, innocent maesters to Archmaester for their subject.

“The only problem I foresee is that there are usually three Archmaesters for healing on sitting the Conclave because healing is so central to the service the Citadel renders to Westeros,” Lyanna looked at him. “Now there is one. One with no experience at being a member of the Conclave. That man, now-Archmaester Corban, suggested promoting your personal maester, Maester Luwin, to the Conclave because of his specialty in the health of gravid women and newborn children.

“I am inclined in favor of this because the health of women has never been particularly important or emphasized in the history of Westeros, despite how vital we are to the continuation of bloodlines,” Lyanna concluded. “But I am disinclined because he is your maester and there are four very important women that will spend many years yet carrying your children, brother.”

“I will discuss this with him,” Eddard promised. “You are correct that he is my maester and I would rather keep him as my maester, but it is also my duty to make the choices that best serve the Realm, even when I do not like them.”

“As you say, Your Grace.”

“Lord Adarien Dayne,” Eddard called his good brother from the crowd.

“Your Grace,” his good brother bowed. Unlike his younger siblings, Lord Adarien had full Valyrian looks; silver hair to go with the pure purple eyes he shared with his sister, Ashara. In comparison, Ser Arthur Dayne looked almost completely Dornish with black hair and the dark purple eyes that he shared with Eddard and Ashara’s son, Jon.

“I know you have goals,” Eddard started.

Lord Adarien nodded. “We have spoken of them for hours and have made plans together to see them through, but I understand that will take time, Your Grace.”

“Very good.” Eddard was relieved by the good will for him that Lord Adarien so openly displayed. The man’s displeasure would not have changed Eddard’s course, obviously, but it would have been a stress Eddard and Ashara did not need. “I name you Lord Seneschal of the Citadel for the next ten years. You will not run the Citadel entirely on your own. The Conclave will still guide the educational course and choose the new Grand Maester once Pycelle has finished dying.

“You will hold the strings of the purse and dispatch maesters to keeps that need them. Being a First Man yourself, you will accept oaths of loyalty to the Iron Throne in blood upon a weirwood for each and every maester the Conclave has deemed fit to serve Westeros.”

“May I review this oath, Your Grace?”

“You may write it with Lady Ana, if you like,” Eddard offered. “I will require the completion of the Gods’ Viewing of the Conspiracy and a full review of all the written materials taken from Oldtown about the Conspiracy before I allow you to partake in the process of crafting that oath, however.

“Lady Ana will go through the same review.

“You both have to know and understand the behaviors the oath is intended to prevent before you can write it.”

“I understand, Your Grace.” Lord Adarien bowed to him. “I thank you for your trust.”

Eddard nodded back. Then he focused on the greater group. “Maesters of the Conclave, step forward.”

Fifteen men, one for each subject taught at the Citadel, stepped forward.

Two of them were older, but there was a bright, almost innocent, curiosity about them. Eddard assumed those were Archmaester Alix and Archmaester Karron.

He recognized Archmaester Marwin from his other life, of course.

Marwin still looked as stubborn and aggressive as when Eddard had seen him some twenty years from now, watching his children live that other life. The only true difference between the man he saw then, at Winterfell, helping to prepare for the War for the Dawn and now in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths was the volume of his hair. Mayhaps the fineness of his robes, as well.

The other twelve ranged from middle-aged to just older than boyhood, a good mix of First Man, Andal, Rhyonar, Essosi from various locations, and even one Summer Islander. They were all nervous to meet him, but it was an appropriate level of nervous, not alarming.

Only a fool would not be nervous to meet the king who had ordered his predecessors’ execution.

Eddard turned to his sister. He had not asked for a mix of origins for the Conclave, but seeing it now pleased him. People of different origins had different experiences and different points of view. It made sense for the body that was arguably in charge of the educational future of Westeros to have as broad a scope as possible in as many ways as possible.

“Well done,” he commended Lyanna.

She gave him a smug little grin that said she knew she had done well and was pleased that he had noticed.

“I understand that the Archmaesters of the Conclave hate taking time from their studies to serve as Seneschal of the Citadel when they are elected to the post. Even though the term is just a year for each election,” Eddard told them. “I have taken care of that problem for you.” And he would probably continue to do so once Lord Adarien moved on to other work.

“We thank you, Your Grace,” Archmaester Marwin spoke for the group.

“You will take note that I have levied no financial penalties or wergilds against the Citadel for the undeclared war your people have been waging against all of Westeros.” Eddard paused. The Conclave stirred uneasily. He was not surprised when none of them were brave enough to interject or rebut. “I have done this because you will be paying your Order’s dues through service.

“This is not slavery; that is illegal,” Eddard said before someone could object. “But you must rehabilitate your Order’s reputation if you expect Westeros to trust you ever again. You must prove your worth to us if your Order is to survive.

“This is how you will do it.

“First, you will move every scrap of knowledge you have in the Citadel in Oldtown here, to Harrenhal. This will centralize the learning center of Westeros so that all may access it. This will also put you where the Iron Throne can keep an eye on you and reduce the chances of a single lucky enemy raid of our coast destroying the collective knowledge of Westeros.

“Second, you will go through the knowledge your predecessors have hoarded and hidden from Westeros. You will release any of these inventions and techniques that are ready to improve the lives of the people of Westeros, and provide training in these new technologies and techniques, as necessary.”

The Maesters of the Conspiracy, despite their claims to be working to advance science, had also stomped out or contained all innovation in part to maintain their academic dominance of Westeros.

Hoarding knowledge as a way to keep the common people of Westeros ignorant and without any other options than trusting the Faith.

“And third, since your numbers have plummeted rather severely and will continue to plummet until this conspiracy is nothing but ash, you will open your doors and your libraries to women. All women. Regardless of their age or rank at birth. Without any previous knowledge or training required to earn the right to forge a chain.”

Pure shock filtered through the chained maesters before him.

Eddard doubled down. “In fact, I encourage all Maesters of the Citadel to seek out women with various skills from all across Westeros to bulk up the skills and knowledge you protect and improve within the Citadel. I can think of three areas in which you are lacking off the top of my head.”

“Can you give us an example of where we are lacking, Your Grace?” Archmaester Marwin asked with utmost politeness.

“I have never seen or heard of a maester specifically studying in the care of animals. Not breeding, healing, effects of weather or work, nothing,” Eddard answered immediately. In Winterfell, at least, all animal care fell to their specific handlers who carried generational knowledge of animal healing that, as far as Eddard knew, had never been written down. “I have yet to hear about advances in farming, at all, coming from the Citadel. You lump farming in with herblore, ignoring the wildly different uses herbs have compared to good, honest food.

“In the North, we can dry-freeze seeds so they can be used decades after the harvest that made them, but no maester has ever come to learn about our methods or spread them elsewhere.

“No improvements have been made in the materials, preparations, or techniques involved in making shoes, working leathers, weaving, or spinning. These are all things they are used and done every day in Westeros, but they seem to be beneath the notice of the Citadel.”

Marwin seemed to actually be considering his words. That was new and refreshing from a Maester of the Citadel.

“What about magic?” Eddard asked. “I know you have a glass candle, and that is fire magic, but ice and nature have their own magics, too. What about rune craft? Has anyone researched how blood magic seems to have no category, but instead enhances all other magics? Sailors use the stars to find their way; the Citadel uses the stars to predict the turn of the seasons; and the Seven Who Are One each claim one of the celestial wanderers for themselves—does that mean there is star magic? Has anyone studied that?”

“Those are very good points, Your Grace,” Archmaester Marwin agreed. “Though, I feel it only fair to point out that we have no way of knowing what knowledge the Conspiracy has kept from Westeros. Or who they have killed to keep the knowledge from Westeros.”

Eddard gave the man a wry look. “Do not be surprised if the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone give you more Dreams for talking like that, Archmaester.”

“In that case, Your Grace, I hope we all are forced to Dream every angle of this Oldtown Conspiracy. Every thread, as your sister called them.” The Archmaester spread his arms. “We need to see more than just workings against the Iron Throne. We need—” Archmaester Marwin stopped talking as one of the younger Archmaesters was pushed forward by the rest of the group.

“Your—Your Grace,” the pimply boy stuttered.

“Yes, lad?” he prompted, leadingly.

“Archmaester Willyam of Economics,” the boy replied.

“You have something to add to our discussion, Archmaester Willyam?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The kid stood up straighter, finding something within himself that let him look Eddard in the face. “We cannot have women learning and studying at the Citadel.” Archmaester Marwin dropped his face into his hands. “Women are too much of a distraction. A disruption. Allowing them to forge chains would—” The boy stopped immediately when Eddard held up his hand.

“Do you want to know what I am hearing before you finish your objection?”

“No,” the boy blurted, honest and awkward.

The crowd laughed at him. Eddard raised a single eyebrow.

Archmaester Willyam flushed. “Please grant the Conclave your wisdom, Your Grace.”

Kiss ass.

Eddard preferred honesty even if he did not agree with it. “When Maesters of the Citadel say that having women study with them is too much of a distraction, too much disruption, it sounds to me like a confession. Of fraud. Not just on the part of the Conclave, but on the part of every single maester that has ever been sent from the Citadel to work in any of our keeps in the thousands of years since your people started serving Westeros.

“If you cannot study side by side with a woman, how can we trust you to teach the daughters of Westeros? If women are too disruptive for you to do your work, how can we trust you to heal our wives? Should we even trust you to receive our ravens, if women cause such a mental and emotional disturbance in you as you describe?”

Archmaester Willyam’s mouth was hanging open in shock.

“Why would we keep your order around at all if you cannot be trusted with half the population of Westeros? What use are you to us?”

Archmaester Willyam turned urgently to his order brothers. The Conclave turned inward to have an urgent, hissed conversation. Archmaester Marwin had to be physically turned to join the conference. He was clearly furious with the foolishness of his sworn brothers.

“Lady Ana,” Eddard called loud enough for the woman to stand and come to stand before his table. “We need to add a law that requires any person holding any lands anywhere in Westeros to be able to read, write, and do basic arithmetic. In the past, landholders have left several duties using these particular skills to their maesters. Either because they did not want to do these tasks or because they could not.

“We cannot allow that to happen again.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” she bobbed a curtsy. “I will begin drafting a law for your review. Are you authorizing the disinheriting of heirs that either cannot or refuse to learn literacy and basic mathematics?”

“Yes.” Clearly. “And every heir going forward will be required to prove their skills to myself and my Small Council before they are allowed to inherit.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

He waved her off in a silent dismissal.

He could see the lords closest to him passing his words on to the lords beyond them. There was a lot of nodding going on as the knowledge rippled out through the crowd.

Movement pulled his eyes back to the Conclave. Archmaester Marwin was standing about two steps in front of his brothers.

Archmaester Willyam was hiding.

“Your Grace, my brothers have conceded to your wisdom,” Archmaester Marwin declared. “I have, in the past, taught women outside of Westeros a number of maesterly arts. We will draft a notice to maesters across all of Westeros that the Citadel will accept girls as well as boys into the Order.”

“Very good,” Eddard nodded. “Archmaester Marwin, you will coordinate directly with Lady Ana Selwyn and Lord Seneschal Adarien Dayne on behalf of the Conclave to see the work I have laid out for your order done.”

Archmaester Marwin bowed to him. “Your will be done, Your Grace.”

“You may go,” Eddard told the Conclave.

There was bowing and thanks, and it was all equal parts annoying and boring, but eventually, they went.

“As for the Faith of the Seven,” Eddard continued. “I will not be the first king of all Westeros to attempt to ban a religion. Banning ideas only makes them more popular. Follow the religion you feel most connected to.

“To be very clear, I do respect the Faith of the Seven. I have read several versions of The Seven-Pointed Star and have found each version to offer different wisdom.” Eddard paused to consider his own words. “Not the latest version of the Book of the Warrior as such. Two revisions ago, it held sound advice for fighters of all kinds. The Book of the Crone offers wisdom particularly suitable to those in leadership positions. And, in my opinion, the Book of the Maiden should be read by any father with daughters.

“So, the Faith is still welcome in the lands of Westeros, but the office of the High Septon is abolished.

“The Offices of the High Septon and the Most Devout will not be reinstated.

“All operations involved in the Faith of the Seven must operate independently.

“All financial accounts belonging to the High Septon, Most Devout, and the Faith of the Seven will be seized and divided fairly among the various Septs, Mother Houses, and Father Houses throughout Westeros by my Master of Coin, Lord Monford Velaryon.

“In the North, we learned long ago that one may serve the Gods or one may serve the people of their lands. No one can have two masters. This is the reason that the Faith of the Seven has not paid taxes in three hundred years. However, it is my personal experience that no septon or septa has ever followed this wisdom. The Faith has accepted the benefit of not paying taxes but still involves itself freely and openly in politics—advising the landholders closest to them and speaking out against the Iron Throne or other nobles that they have randomly decided that they do not like. Even being so bold as to instigate civil wars in kingdoms great and small.

“This will stop.

“It must stop.

“If this religious interference in all things political does not stop, all back taxes the septon, septa, and their Faithful flock have avoided since House Targaryen freed them from taxes will be due immediately. Even for the Faithful, failure to pay taxes is treason.” Eddard stared out at the gathered nobles, his face as set and stern as he could make it.

“With the Office of the High Septon abolished, all marriages of any lords, landed knights, or their children within Westeros must hereby be approved and documented by the Iron Throne. In fact, as I believe has already been made clear, my wives will be arranging all of my vassals’ marriages until further notice. I suggest—” as in gently order “—that all members of your Houses currently eligible for marriage join us here in Harrenhal or in Winterfell, where my party will be going once our business here is concluded.

“Now, Warden of the West, Lord Lannister.”

Lord Tywin stood and walked forward to stand before him. “Your Grace,” he bowed.

“You have done good work overseeing justice at my Master of Laws’ side. She is not one to praise for the sake of having something to say, being Northern rather than a Southron maid, but it is clear to me that you hold her faith.”

“I am honored, Your Grace.” Lord Tywin nodded to Lady Ana, who nodded right back in acknowledgement.

“I leave the issue of the Faith Militant in your hands. You will need to coordinate with Lady Ana to verify the legal bounds for dealing with these traitors and Princess Lyanna for the locations of their hidden bases.” Eddard was certain there would be a Faith Militant base at the Stoney Sept. The location was too good, tactically speaking, and too historically significant to the Faith for them to resist using it.

But.

Eddard had assigned experts. He would let them do their jobs.

“I can have fifteen thousand men ready to march on the morrow,” Lord Tywin swore. Then he turned to Lyanna.

“I will get you all of the locations and information I can as soon as I can,” Lyanna promised. “To that end, I invite you and Ser Jaime to break your fasts with myself and Lady Ana on the morrow.”

“It is the honor of House Lannister to do so, Your Grace.” Lord Tywin bowed to Eddard’s sister, and he dismissed the Lion of Lannister with a silent wave.

“Any other concerns?” Eddard asked, looking to his Queens and Small Council.

They all answered negatively.

“Good.” Eddard stood. “I bid you all good night.”

The Gods only knew what malarkey the future would bring.

 

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