1 Book 1: Family, Duty, Honour​

Ned I

Robert seemed to sway slightly as he saw the bodies lying at the foot of the Iron Throne. The sizes made it clear which of them was Aerys Targaryen, which his good-daughter and which two were his grandchildren.

Over the last year, Ned Stark had seen a burning anger growing inside his foster-brother - a hatred of Rhaegar Targaryen and all his kin. He feared that Robert would act unwisely now, taint his reign from the beginning.

To his relief, their new king - as yet uncrowned - merely moved from one to another. In each case he dropped to one knee and tugged aside the Lannister crimson cloaks so he could inspect their faces. For each he then nodded solemnly - in confirmation or in recognition, Ned could not say - and then moved on.

After examining Aegon last, Robert rose to his feet and ascended the steps to stand beside Ned, Jon Arryn and Tywin Lannister at the foot of the Iron Throne. "How did they die?" he asked coolly.

"Elia Martell and her children died in the sack," Jon said dispassionately. "Aerys..."

"My son slew him."

Robert's blue eyes narrowed as he looked at the Lord of Casterly Rock. "You mean Ser Jaime, I take it?"

The Lannister's own eyes reduced to dangerous slits. "Of course."

"I would almost have believed your younger boy so enterprising before I thought the elder to forswear his oaths. Still, the deed is done." He shook his head. "Well. He more than deserves to account for himself publically. Where is he?"

"Secure."

Robert scowled. "Well secure his person here. I want to hear this. And perhaps we all should."

"Will you take your seat?" Jon asked, changing the subject with a gesture to the massive and dangerous looking Iron Throne.

"I am more than half tempted," the new King observed, "To have this melted down for scrap. It's an ugly thing... and I doubt the view is all that attractive." He looked around at the mounds of dragonbones that also cluttered the great hall. "Yes, I believe I will have that done. In the meantime, someone find me a chair. There must be at least one that survived the sack."

The chair arrived before the youngest knight of the Kingsguard.

"I found the Lannister here on the throne itself," warned Ned when Tywin was out of earshot. "Sword still wet with the king's blood."

Robert nodded quietly and removed his cloak, folding it over one arm. He turned to the room eyes sweeping across knights and lords from every land that had pledged him their swords against the Mad King. "This is not yet the end," he declared loudly enough to be heard even at the far end of the hall. "The southernmost kingdoms still fly the dragon's banners. Yet it is the beginning of the end."

He walked behind the simple wooden chair. "It is said that a king is wed to his realm, before even to his queen. And who is a realm but the people - the knights and lords and other goodly folk? And so I ask you now. Will you have me now as your King, and this as my throne?"

"Hail Robert Baratheon!" called Jon Arryn, astutely, and scores of voices joined him. Ned's was amongst them. He could see bannermen of the Lannisters and Tullys calling out as loudly as those of the North, the Vale or the Stormlands. A good omen perhaps.

For a long moment Robert let them call out their support and then he unfolded his cloak and draped the comparatively unimposing chair in the colours of House Baretheon. "So be it. I, Robert Baratheon, son of Steffon Baratheon and Cassana Estermont, am proclaimed by your words as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Robert sat and once again Westeros had a king.

There was an ironic clapping from the door, cut off as Tywin Lannister elbowed his son sharply. "My apologies, your grace." Jaime Lannister walked forward to face the new king. "I was... overcome by the moment."

"I'm sure." Robert pointed down at Aerys. "I see your latest deed, Ser Jaime. Doubtless word of it has spread already. But what I do not hear is why."

"Does it matter, your grace?"

"I will be making a great number of decisions in the future. It is the nature of kingship, I am told. Or perhaps merely of life. But I would know what could push one of the lands' most acclaimed knights to break his oaths. It cannot, I feel, be a mere trifle."

Jaime looked at him and Ned had to admit that Robert had a point: from up on the throne it would be hard for Robert to see clearly the faces of those before the throne, particularly in the dim light. "When my father's army entered the city I knew that there was no hope of defending the Red Keep. I therefore requested permission to make terms. King Aerys instead ordered that I bring him my father's head."

Ned thought of his own father, burned to death inside the walls of the Red Keep. That had brought him to rebellion but he had not sworn such oaths...

"Aye?" Robert leant forwards. "You could have simply opened the gates to your kinsmen, Ser Jaime. Instead you acted personally. That strikes me as something more upon you than an impossible - and heinous - command."

The young knight threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed, as every eye in the hall focused upon him. Then at last he stilled his laugh. "The King had appointed Rossart, the Grand Master of the Alchemists, as his Hand. On his command, Rossart was to see that all of King's Landing was consumed in wildfire. Is that sufficient reason, your grace?"

All of King's Landing in flames... Ned blanched and saw he was not alone in doing so. He'd see the sack in progress but now he feared he'd see it again, with the entire horror ablaze with green wildfire. Tywin, whose vanguard would doubtless have been consumed in such an inferno, was looking at his son in astonishment.

Only Robert seemed unmoved. "I am inclined to think so." He rose. "This is my first decree as your King. The Order of the Kingsguard is hereby disbanded and dissolved. Its members, having been bound by mighty oaths to the whims of the mad King, I hereby offer amnesty for all deeds and crimes they may have been forced to commit until this day. I further absolve Ser Jaime Lannister of all wrongdoing in the death of the mad King and..." He stepped forwards and extended his hand. "I offer him my personal thanks."

Ser Jaime stared at the hand and then unclasped the white cloak of his former office, letting it pool upon the floor behind him as he went to meet the King and the two men clasped hands.

Jon I

From the first hours of the Rebellion Jon had worried about what sort of king Robert would be. He loved the boy like one of the sons he'd never had, but he had to admit that Ned - the other 'son' - was a hundred times as responsible.

These first two days though had shown him another side of the man Robert had grown into, charming Crownland lords and many of the Lannister host into allegiance that sometimes went beyond the grudging. (Not Lord Tywin, of course, but that would never have happened).

Of course, he had always been gregarious but his appetites had previously been limited to wines and the hunt - including the hunt for wenches to bed. Now somehow the young King had shown an appetite for the mundane work of kingship.

A map of King's Landing was being filled out before them as reports came in to detail the damage during the sack. The worst was around the Lion Gate where the Lannister forces had been allowed in, but there was a trail of destruction through to the centre of the city and then up the main avenue to the Red Keep. Most alarming were the red crosses marking where the alchemists had revealed caches of wildfire had been buried. Their number was considerable.

"Since we have to dig up so much of the city we may as well do something about the drains," Robert was grumbling. "I have to live in this damn place and I'd rather I wasn't left holding my nose the whole time."

"You get used to it after a while, your grace."

"That isn't a reassurance." Robert tapped his finger on the Dragonpit, the ruined dome atop Rhaenys' Hill. "And we'll do something with that too. It's one of the largest buildings in the city, leaving it closed is ridiculous."

"It's not as if you have dragons to house there, Robert."

The young man looked over at Jon and smiled. "Perhaps I'll make it the new royal residence. The Red Keep isn't precisely ideal and there's something to be said for making a new start."

"In any event, affairs of state beckon."

Robert sighed and shook his head. "Very well then." He acknowledged the bows of the other men around the table as he walked away. "So what's the matter now?"

"We need to decide on the membership of the Small Council," Jon reminded him as they descended the tower stairs. "If nothing else, we need a Master of Coin if you're planning to empty the treasury rebuilding King's Landing."

"That would be going a little far," admitted Robert thoughtfully. "Well, let's start with the easiest position to fill: Pycelle is still Grand Maester and we're stuck with him until he dies."

"Do you trust him?"

"Not even slightly. It was on his advice Aerys had the gates opened to the Lannisters - see how well that worked out for the Mad King."

"It worked out to your benefit though."

"I doubt it was his design." Robert rubbed his face. "Do you have any one in mind who could replace Varys?"

"Unfortunately, no. And he advised against admitting the Lannisters. By that logic, do you trust him."

"His competence at least. I see no choice but to retain him for now or be half-blinded when it comes to the Kingdoms. And the rest of the world, come to that."

Jon nodded glumly. "That's my own thinking. Now without the Kingsguard, there's no need for a Lord Commander to sit."

"I've a thought or two on how to replace that institution. Not, however, holding a seat on the Small Council. We can defer any replacment."

"Then you can assume that the High Septon will petition to represent the Faithful upon the Small Council."

Robert muttered something under his breath. Possibly "Give me strength," although Jon couldn't have sworn to that. "No, absolutely not. I considered a Master of Arms to assist in organising the raising of armies..." He raised his hand to still Jon's words: "But I realise that encroaches upon the roles of the Wardens so I decided against it. Fear not, Jon."

"That leaves the Masters of Coin, Laws and Ships to decide."

Robert opened the door to the royal solar, which still hadn't been entirely stripped of Targaryen heraldry, and ushered Jon in with utter disregard for his own royal dignity. "I have a certain thought, Jon, which I'd like to discuss with you. A sensitive matter."

"Oh?"

The king poured wine into two goblets, although Jon noticed to his astonishment that he also added water from a second flagon to his own goblet. "There's far too much wine here," he said defensively. "If I drank everything that came to hand I'd never stop drinking and I doubt flagons would impress the Seven Kingdoms as much as dragons did."

"Are you sure you aren't feverish, Robert?"

Dark eyebrows twitched above the king's blue eyes. "Perhaps I'm still lying wounded somewhere in the eastern Reach and all this is a dream."

"It really isn't. So what are you considering?"

Robert looked at the goblet in his hand. "We planned on you being my Hand. There's no one I admire more. But now I'm wondering if appointing you now is the right thing to do."

"What do you mean?"

"The war isn't over," the King explained. "We might be nearing the end of the fighting, but there's still the need to bring the Reach and Dorne back into the fold - hopefully without more fighting but we can't count on that - and to convince the rest of Westeros that we're restoring stability."

"I agree so far."

"Well, that means I need someone to go to Dorne to try to persuade them that it isn't our fault that Prince Lewyn was killed at the Trident or Princess Elia here. Which... isn't going to to be easy. They may not welcome you."

"It's an acceptable risk."

"Yes, but I mean to leverage you as much advantage as possible. Lewyn died on the battlefield but the Martells will certainly know Elia was murdered by Lannister bannermen. I'm considering asking Tywin Lannister to assist me by acting as Hand of the King until you return."

Jon thought a moment. "Ah, you think the Martells won't dare preventing me from returning if it means that you might make Tywin your Hand permanently."

"That's right."

"That's unsually deep thought for you, Robert."

"I have a lot of experience with seductions. It's always easier if there's an ugly suitor in the wings."

Jon rubbed his face. "I suppose that makes sense. And Tywin is certainly able. You might decide you want to keep him as your Hand."

Robert threw back his head and roared with laughter. "In that case, my friend, you can go back to the Eyrie and father a dozen little Arryns on your lovely young bride. And then, ten years from now, you can inflict them upon me in a long-awaited revenge."

Tywin I

Robert Baratheon was not as expected. At some point in the not too distant future, Tywin intended to speak firmly with some of his informants about that. For now, however, he needed to deal with a King who - under the jovial bonhomie - clearly had a brain that was good for something more than keeping his ears from touching each other.

"Thank you for seeing me, your grace."

"I'm sorry it couldn't be earlier." Robert gestured to one of two well-stuffed armchairs either side of the fire. "This ruling business... never a spare moment. Does it get any easier."

"One learns to manage one's time."

"That's good to know? Wine?"

Tywin accepted the goblet the king filled for him. No servants, he noticed. Interesting. Was it a statement or a precaution?

Sitting down opposite Tywin, Robert stretched out his legs. "There are a few things I wanted to ask you, but you asked to meet with me so by all means go first."

"Firstly, I would like to thank you for giving me back my son."

Robert nodded and then their eyes met. The king nodded again, understanding it was as clear a statment as Tywin would give of being indebted to him.

"Secondly, is there any news of Lady Lyanna Stark?"

"It seems she's held to the south. Her brother will be leading a party to rescue her."

It was Tywin's turn to nod. "I realise that this is not advice you may wish to hear, but after being a prisoner for so long and... possibly mistreated... you should keep in mind that she may not be prepared to be Queen."

Robert Baratheon went very very still. "Lord Tywin, had Aerys taken Lady Joanna from you as his son took Lyanna from me..."

"Yours is the fury," conceded Tywin, making a mental not not draw that fury upon himself. It was far colder than he had thought. "I am glad for you, your grace. It is not often that men such as we may know such women."

"Then we have an understanding." He emptied his goblet. "Is there a third matter?"

"Not for my part. You had concerns of your own though."

"I do." Robert set down his goblet and leant forwards. "I'm sending an army south to relieve Storm's End and hopefully persuade Mace Tyrell to come to terms. Ned has family to rescue and Jon will be dealing with Dorne. Normally as Warden I'd offer you command of the army, however, I have another position that you would even more qualified for."

"Oh?"

"It's clear that some members of the Small Council will have to be carried over from Aerys' council. We need the stability. At the same time, while I fully intend to appoint Jon Arryn as my Hand eventually, there are a number of other roles he's needed in."

Was he suggesting...?

"I realise I'd be asking a lot, but would you be willing to be my Hand for the next few months, maybe a year?" Robert sighed. "I'll tell you upfront that I may wind up 'dismissing' you to pacify the Dornish. It's no secret that two of your knights slew Princess Elia and you know how hot-headed the Dornish can be."

"It needed to be done."

"The children, yes. And I doubt she'd have stood by for it. But dammit, man!" The king thumped the arm of his chair. "But don't brag about it! Dark deeds are done in the dark where no one can see them. I may need to have Ser Amory and Ser Gregor sent to the Wall as well."

"They are my loyal bannermen, your grace," warned Tywin quietly.

"Are you offering to pay additional taxes to wage war against Dorne? You know how that went for the Targaryens. I won't ask that if I can reasonably avoid it... but better two knights than an army."

"That is inarguable." Tywin frowned in thought. "I will serve as your Hand, your grace, under the circumstances that you describe. However, I would have my son Jaime lead the army south. He will be Warden one day."

"Of course. Lord Tully's brother Brynden will be in command of the Riverlands contingent, I'll be naming him as second in command. And once Storm's End is relieved, well Stannis is the King's brother so..."

"Ser Brynden is very able knight, your grace. And you are correct that lord Stannis -"

Robert raised one finger in admonishment. "Prince Stannis."

"Of course. Prince Stannis will have the right to take command once your ancestral home is no longer besieged. How many men will you be sending?"

"Seven thousand or so from each Kingdom's levies. Thirty-five thousand in all. That will leave me enough men to secure King's Landing and still send some of the western lords back to the Riverlands and the North."

The map of the Seven Kingdoms spread out before Tywin. "Have you news of Lord Quellon?"

"None, and that concerns me. The Greyjoy's health is failing and his son's a hothead. If Balon Greyjoy rules the Iron Isles we could have longships ravaging the western coasts. If it turns out nothing happens, well that's a good ten thousand troops I don't have to feed any more."

"I'm pleased you intend to rule the realm and not merely to conquer it."

Robert chuckled and reached for the wine again. "I do have that reputation, don't I?" He filled his goblet and then Twyins. The two men raised their goblets in toast to each other.

Stannis I

From the gatehouse, Stannis watched Mace Tyrell walk forwards under a flag of truce. He'd called for the truce and no doubt the fat Reachman thought that it was a prelude to surrender.

"So, Lord Stannis, have you finally run out of things to eat?" the Lord Paramount of the Reach asked amiably once he saw Stannis face behind the barred window in the gate. "I can have a few carts brought forward if you're willing to finally see sense about this?"

Stannis scowled deeply. "That's Prince Stannis to you, Tyrell," he said sharply.

"I don't believe your House is Targaryen, but my question remains."

"I've had a letter from my brother. He indicates I should share it with you in the hopes you'll see reason." Stannis bared his teeth. "Personally I hope that you don't."

"And what does the Pretender have to say for himself?"

Stannis took the much folded parchment out and started from the top: "To my royal brother Prince Stannis Baratheon, heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, greetings. I have this day been acclaimed in the great hall of Maegor's Keep as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Aerys the Mad's dead body lay before the throne as I took my seat, soon to be buried alongside his dead son Rhaegar."

"I assure you that my earliest priority in concluding this war is to relieve the siege of our home. An army marches south to Storm's End. I counsel you to share these facts with Lord Tyrell and you may assure him in my name that should he bow the knee to our House then no more shall be said of his allegiance to the Targaryens. However, should he decline this offer then he may not expect such generosity."

"I look forwards to being reunited with you and our brother Renly as soon as may be. By my own hand, King Robert Baratheon."

Stannis looked up from the parchment out the window at Tyrell. "Well, Lord Tyrell. Do you accept my brother's offer... or not? It would, from my part, be very welcome if you declined so we may exact a due price for your enmity."

Tyrell's face had grown redder as Stannis read. "Your word, and your brothers, are hardly an assurance that things go as ill for the House of Targaryen as you describe. And if they do, then Rhaegar has a son and a brother still. Take delight then, Lord Stannis, and tighten your belt. I will have Storm's End and then my armies will march north and we will see how well your brother sings."

"That tends to depend how much wine he's drunk," Stannis said bluntly. "Then there's no more to say. Go back to your lines and await the storm."

Ned II

Robert had decided to wear the crown of Aegon V, his direct ancestor among the Kings of Westeros. Before Aegon the Unlikely the simple golden band had been worn by Aegon III, the king who ended the Dance of Dragons more than a century and half before. It might be a good omen, Ned thought.

The presence of Tywin Lannister beside Robert and wearing a chain of interlinked hands around his neck, however temporarily, wasn't so promising. However much Robert and Jon insisted it was a bargaining ploy against the Martells, no doubt the Lannisters were already going to be spreading poison words - and gold - to pull themselves into political power within Robert's court.

I wish I was riding north, not south, he thought.

Robert grabbed Ned by the shoulders and hugged him fiercely. "You're thinking of home again," he said with the same odd insight he'd been showing of late.

"Aye. We Starks... do not do well in the south."

"Perhaps not. But you have friends here as well as enemies. Find Lyanna and then we can make an end of this mess," he promised.

"I'll do that." Ned looked over and saw Twyin giving a more reserved send-off to his son. Ned would be riding with Jaime's army as far as the King's Wood, after which their roads parted. With luck a small party could make its way along the border between the Reach and Dorne until the reached the remote tower where Lyanna was being held.

Robert released him and stepped back. "There's one more formality before you go." He raised his voice so that all the lords gathered in the main courtyard of the Red Keep could hear him. "My lords, I would have you witness my words today, before you ride forth to bring and end to this war."

He beckoned to Jon Arryn, who wouldn't be leaving until the evening tide. The old man stepped up to join them and Robert placed his hands on their shoulders.

"No greater love has any man but that he would lay down his life for you. More than a year ago, when the madness of Aerys was revealed to us all, two men stood with me against him. We had no certainty that others would join us, but for their honour and for their friendship they joined with me."

"We could have failed. The darkness of the dragons could still loom over us with tyranny. But our cause was just and with your help we have overcome the Targaryens."

"To honour my friends, a man as close to me as my father was, a man as close to me as my brothers are, I hereby raise the House of Arryn and the House of Stark to be princely houses. I do this not because they have sought these honours but because, to my eyes, they are deserving of them."

Ned gave serious thought to strangling Robert. Couldn't he have warned him!?

With a grin that suggested he knew exactly how Ned felt, Robert beckoned to a servant and accepted a roll of leather. Unfolding it he pulled out two golden brooches. Both showed a stag facing but super-imposed on them were other heraldic beasts. On one the falcon of the Arryns, on the other the direwolf of the Starks.

Robert pinned the falcon brooch to the breast of Jon's tunic and then the second brooch to Ned's cloak. "My lords I present to you the Prince of the Vale and the Prince of the North. Long may they defend our ancient rights and liberties!"

Cheers arose from the men before them, calls of "Stark!" and "Arryn!" peppered with the occasional "Bara-Theon!"

Robert's hand tightened on Ned's arm and beneath the cover of the cheers he said quietly: "Ride like the wind, Ned. And bring her home safely."

"Home..."

His friend smiled, a little more tightly than usual. "Wherever she says home is, Ned. After all this time who knows what... well. I can't help but think if I'd listened more..."

"Don't think like that Robert. It was Rhaegar's fault."

"Aye. And his father's. But it's not just fault, Ned. It's responsibility." For a dreadful moment he didn't look like Robert at all. Then the mood seemed to pass and he grinned merrily. "Go on with you, Ned. Get your arse south and find me a northern rose - or at least bring back some of the southern wines!"

Obedient to his king, Ned went to his horse and mounted up. The northern lords like Rickard Karstark - who would lead them to Storm's End - and William Dustin - who had set his levies home but pledged that he himself would ride with Ned to the end - falling in behind him.

And when he looked back he saw Rob slap Jon on the back and wondered just how much becoming king had changed Robert - and how much being Lord - no, Prince - of the North would change him.

Twyin II

The Small Council met in the Tower of the Hand and without difficulty Tywin had had the chamber furnished precisely as it had been during his previous term of office. Few of the furnishings had been changed and those that had were easily put to rights.

Of course, there was no chance of putting the same faces in place - or not all of them. Pycelle had been a member of the council well before Tywin. The soft, bald Varys had been on the council before Tywin's resignation, although not for long. Other than that the council was full of newcomers - most significantly the King.

Robert Baratheon sat where Aerys had once had his chair. Dark where the Targaryen had been pale, full of ready charm that had... well, no. Aerys had once been able to muster that in his own way. The years had not been kind to him.

There was no Lord Commander of the Kingsguard but that seat was occupied by a pale-eyed northern lord. Roose Bolton. While Tywin had not heard of him specifically, his House was known as old rivals of the Starks. And as men who still practised ancient and barbaric customs even by the standards of the north.

The new Master of Ships was Lyonel Corbray, heir to Heart's Home. An Arryn choice and probably not one that would endure. His house had fought for the royalists at first but turned their coats once Jon Arryn and Robert retook Gulltown in one of the first battles of the rebellion and killed Marq Grafton. One of the Corbrays had done well at the Trident but not this one. Mostly his role was symbolic: a sign that former royalists would not be excluded from power.

Hoster Tully was sitting as Master of Coins but plainly this was a temporary measure - the Lord of the Riverlands was clearly smarting that while his daughters were both princesses now, he himself was not similarly honoured. Well, nor was Tywin and certainly House Lannister deserved that far more than Tullys did. No, Tully would shortly go back to Riverun and a more suitable choice might be found. Perhaps, once Tywin himself departed back to Casterly Rock, Tygett or Gerion would be steadied by the role. Certainly some Lannister presence would be in order.

Lomas Estermont, a kinsman of the King's, was Master of Laws. He obviously held royal favour so his place would probably be secure as long as he wanted it. Unlike Corbray he seemed competent enough but impressions could be deceiving.

"Will Lord Bolton be leading a new Kingsguard?" asked Hoster once the men had all been introduced to each other.

Robert shook his head. "I don't intend to reinstate the Kingsguard in their old form. For that matter I'm unhappy with the Goldcloaks. They were shit all use defending the city and now that it's my city that isn't good enough. What I have in mind is to divide the responsibilities of both between three new organisations."

"And Lord Bolton's role would be?" asked Varys in his deceptively gentle voice.

Robert gave Roose a nod and the northerner swept the council with his eyes. "I have accepted the position of the Seneschal of the City," he said softly. Dangerously so. Tywin straightened slightly and reappraised the man. "Among other responsibilities I will head a City Watch tasked with keeping the peace within King's Landing."

"Traditionally wasn't that the responsibility of the Master of Laws?" asked Lomas.

The pale eyes swept to look at him. "The Master of Laws determines what the laws are. I will see that they are enforced."

"The City Watch can, if absolutely necessary, reinforce the defenses of the city but isn't their primary purpose." Robert held up two hands, side by side. "That task falls to the King's Men, a body of soldiery who will man and maintain the city's defenses as well as those of the Royal Court. On Lord Tywin's recommendation they may also have a mounted element to suppress banditry on the roads around the city. We all know how many sellswords will turn their hands to banditry once they're paid off. Or not paid, as is so often the case."

Tywin frowned thinly. His soldiers were paid precisely and correctly but other Lords were less careful. And, of course, the ability of a sellsword to retain money for any period was scant. Sooner or later they would want to replenish their purses and their only trade was their swords...

"Do you intend to entirely dispense with loyal knights around you, your grace. It seems unwise." Pycelle's voice was reedy.

"Not at all. However, rather than a lifetime of service, I intend to select seven knights each year, each pledged to seven years of service with a substantial reward at the end of it. Once brought to full strength there will be forty-nine knights around myself and my family - a rather more manageable number to complete that duty than merely seven - as well as taking command of the King's Men as necessary. Precise details remain to be established. While our armies contain many worthy knights, in future years I propose to hold annual tourneys so that suitable candidates for the Royal Guards may be selected."

"Such a tourney could serve many roles by gathering lords and knights from all over Westeros on a regular basis." It could also be expensive for the Crown, Tywin thought. Then again, since he wasn't going to be the Hand for more than a year or two, was it his business if Robert spent fortunes on tournaments.

"Just don't expect me to overshine Harrenhal every year." Robert rubbed his chin - he'd shaved off the beard he'd grown during the fighting and his skin was paler. "Aerys didn't manage to empty his treasury but we'll need to dig into that for repairing the damage King's Landing has taken, not to mention bringing the walls and towers back into good condition."

"And then there are your grand plans for the Dragonpit." Hoster Tully folded his arms. "Just repairing the windows will take a fortune in glass. And I'm not sure if there are builders anywhere who can restore the dome."

"If there aren't then the Targaryens have led us all into decay." The king folded his hands. "But that is the work of several years. For now all that's being done is removing the wildfire the alchemists placed there and clearing it out so that the smallfolk of the city can shelter inside until their homes are rebuilt."

"And then you'll need your King's Men to dig all the beggars out."

"If they've nowhere else to go they can take the black." Turning from Tywin to the Master of Ships, Robert leant forwards. "Now, Ser Lyonel, how are preparations going to assemble a fleet that can secure Dragonstone? It may be the hereditary domain of the Targaryens, but its also part of the Seven Kingdoms and I don't plan on leaving them even the scraps."

Jon II

Sunspear was as hot and uncomfortable as Jon Arryn had remembered from a visit in his youth. The looks he got were heated too. His escort had very pointedly avoided the Threefold Gate and marched him through miles of hidden courts, and noisy streets before at last reaching the Old Palace.

There were two Dornish princes in the grand hall, Prince Doran seated and his younger brother Oberyn stood behind him. In looks they were much alike save for the silver creeping through Doran's hair, but while Doran's face was a cool mask, Oberyn's eyes burned.

Many lords thought the Red Viper was the more dangerous of the Martells. Jon was wiser than that.

There was a table before the dais with bread and salt laid out. No one offered it to Jon. So he would have to win even guest right. Prince Doran's sword was by his chair but not yet across his lap - a sign that hospitality might yet be offered.

"Jon Arryn. I am told you now style yourself Prince of the Vale."

He flicked a finger at the brooch on his chest, making mental note that Doran clearly had good sources of information in King's Landing. Not really a surprise. "As proclaimed by the king."

"Ah, the king." Doran cradled his chin in one hand. "Rhaegar died at the Trident, along with my uncle and a great many Dornishmen."

"That is so, yes."

"This would have made Aerys' heir his grandson Aegon. My nephew."

"I regret to inform you that by my arrival at King's Landing, Aegon and his sister had been killed."

"And also their mother, it is said."

"And also their mother," confirmed Jon. "I'm sure you've been informed that I have brought the bones of your uncle and sister to be buried alongside their kin."

Doran nodded. "For this I am grateful." He frowned. "And yet, I believe that after Aegon the succession would pass to Rhaegar's brother Viserys. This is not the king you speak of."

"It is not."

"And who sits upon the Iron Throne?" hissed Oberyn, fingers tightening upon his spear.

"No one sits upon the Iron Throne." Jon folded his arms behind his back. "Robert Baratheon, first of his name, is now King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. The Iron Throne has been cut apart for scrap. It is his intention to forge armour from it to armour his guards."

"Robert is Viserys' cousin, as I recall. Yet I do not hear of Viserys' death, unless there has been a kinslaying unreported by my eyes and ears."

"Viserys was last reported upon Dragonstone. In light of his father's madness and very possibly a similar defect in Prince Rhaegar's mind, House Targaryen has been passed over in succession to the kingship. King Robert has agreed that if his cousin bows the knee then he may retain the lordship of Dragonstone as his grace's subject." And that had been a hard row with the Small Council. Robert had remained quiet although Jon suspected that he'd put the idea in Lord Egremont's ear first. In the end, the main advantage of the offer was that Viserys or his guardians were virtually certain not to accept it.

"It could be argued that with the removal of the Iron Throne, that there can be no single King over all of Westeros. And while your foster son may indeed, by virtue of your submission and that of Eddard Stark, be King of Andals and First Men, the Rhoynar are another matter." Doran sat back in his chair. "But where are my manners? Oberyn, please take the Prince some bread and salt. We can discuss matters further - at length - with you as my guest, Lord Arryn."

Could be better, Jon thought, as Oberyn tore the loaf open and placed one end on a plate along with a handful of salt. At the least, even the wilder of the Martells would hesitate to poison me once I'm an acknowledged guest.

Stannis II

The banners of the Reach still reached for the sky between Storm's End and the Stormlands. But there was no feasting in their camp because behind them there were more banners, those of another army that sat astride the Reachmen's own supply line.

"They're caught now, Renly," Stannis assured his brother. More than a decade younger than his elder siblings, the boy had to stand on tip toes to look out over the battlements, but he wore a leather brigandine and clutched a long dagger that would serve in his defense in the absolute worst case. "Tyrell has no choice but to fight or surrender."

"Donal Noye said he might throw up field fort... fortified cautions."

"Fortifications. I only hope he's such a fool. He won't last a week if he tries that."

"Why's that, Stannis?"

Leaning on the battlements and looking at the Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Arryn and Tully banners of the second army, Stannis smiled coldly. "Because he has a hundred times as many men to feed as we do. And while they might have more food in their camp that we do, it's not a hundred times as much. His army will starve unless he breaks out or whoever commands over there lets supply wagons through."

"Can't he bring in more food with his ships, the way Master Davos did, or send men away on them?"

"If he sends men away then as soon as he's weakened their numbers enough, our allies out there will crush what remains, at least half his army gone. Bringing in food might work for a while, but it will take time to send the ships out and obtain that food. And again, they need far more than we do." He stepped back from the battlements. "And most of all, the Lannister banners means Tyrell must now worry that while his army is here that the Westerlands could have another army marching on Highgarden."

"So we've won?"

"Unless Tyrell manages to defeat that army in the next day or two, yes."

It was too late in the day for any serious fighting but Stannis kept torches burning to watch for any attempt at a night assault just in case.

The following morning, before a breakfast on salt fish and onions - the only food there was in the castle and even that was beginning to run low - one of the lookouts reported two riders at the gate. Stannis wordlessly put his plate in front of Renly and headed out, buckling his swordbelt around his waist in case matters went awry.

One of the men at the gate was familiar: Randyll Tarly, the lord who'd defeated Robert's army at Ashford. Mace Tyrell's chief general when the Lord Paramount of the Reach had the wit to pay attention to him - which was fortunately none too often. The hilt of his famous Valyrian greatsword jutted up from behind one shoulder.

Lions adorned the armour of the second man and he had the look of a Lannister, although not one of the few that Stannis had met. The two men had dismounted and the Lannister bowed once he saw Stannis' face at the door. "Prince Stannis?"

"Aye."

"I haven't had the privilege of meeting you, sir, but I am Ser Kevan Lannister. I have been permitted to cross the siegelines to inform you that Lord Tyrell has offered his surrender to my nephew."

Stannis considered the Lannister family. "Ser Jaime, that would be?"

"Aye." Ser Kevan glanced aside. "While the king appointed my nephew to lead the army here, he was quite clear that upon arrival the command was yours."

"And what terms does the lord of Highgarden seek? To bow the knee and return home otherwise unscathed by this war?"

Tarly grunted. "Aye. I hear you offered as much to him."

"Then he reports poorly."

Kevan pulled a letter out of his belt pouch. "If I may, sir, I have a letter from your brother."

He nodded and the Lannister carefully slid the correspondence through the door, careful not to crack the wax seal. Examining the seal, Stannis recognised the imprint as being from Robert's ring. If the ring was now in the wrong hands, then things would be dire enough. It seemed unlikely to be the case given the past ravens. Which had been eaten on arrival, much to the Maester's dismay.

The seal cracked easily and Stannis felt his eyebrows climb as he read the contents. It was Robert's hand, sure enough. He looked up. "Lord Randyll, Ser Kevan. My brother has spelled out the following terms to be offered to Lord Tyrell if he does not surrender before the arrival of Ser Jaime's army."

"Lord Tyrell, his family and his lords and his armies must pledge allegience to King Robert and submit themselves fully to his authority. Thereupon they shall be permitted to return home without further consequence or blame saving only the following exceptions."

"Firstly that all lords and knights holding lands east of but not including the towns of Bitterbridge, Longtable and Ashford and also south of the Mander River shall be relieved of all oaths and obligations of vassalage to Lord Tyrell of the Reach."

"Secondly that these lords and knights of the first part shall swear vassalage unto Prince Stannis Baratheon, who shall hold these lands as part of the Stormlands in direct vassalage to King Robert Baratheon."

"Thirdly that tthose lands within the aforesaid region formerly held by the Merryweathers of Longtable are remanded to Prince Stannis as his seat and residence within the Grassy March, as it shall henceforce be known."

"Fourthly that the remainder of the Merryweather holdings are restored to Lord Owen Merryweather, whose exile is hereby lifted."

"Fifthly," Stannis glanced at Tarly and saw a muscle jump in his jaw before he nodded.

"Say on, Prince Stannis."

"Fifthly, Lord Mace Tyrell is deprived the position of Warden of the South. The title, with attendent responsibilities and revenues, is hereby conferred upon Lord Randyll Tarly for his lifetime, said title to revert to the Lord Paramount of the Reach upon the death of Lord Randyll."

Lord Tarly went red, then white. His mouth flapped open.

Stannis paused to let that slap to the face of Mace Tyrell sink in and then added. "If Lord Tyrell feels this is unbearable, then please remind him, in my brother's words, that he has a second brother and would be only too pleased to endow him also at the expense of the Reach."