Winterfell, The North
It had been over a month since Aryan returned to Winterfell from Moat Cailin. In his solar, he was in the company of three trusted figures—Kinvara, Marwyn, and Jaqen—all seated with him.
"I need you to release my uncle from the ritual," Aryan said to Kinvara. "I've told Robert that Uncle Ned's recovery will take time. That lie will hold—for now."
Kinvara inclined her head. "As you wish, my lord."
Aryan turned to Jaqen. "Anything I should know?"
Jaqen gave a brief nod. "Rodrik Harlaw has been killed. The Ironborn are stirring. They've decided to strike the North in the near future."
Aryan smiled with cold eyes. "Good. We'll do what we did with Skagos. Wipe them out completely. Then we resettle the isles with our own people. There's plenty to make use of—fishing, whaling, shipbuilding, minerals, salt. All of it untapped. And it also places us in striking range of both the Westerlands and the Reach. A dagger at their coasts."
None of them were shocked. They were all loyal to him.
Jaqen continued, "Lord Bryce Caron has been appointed Hand of the King. He arrived in King's Landing a few days ago."
Aryan raised an eyebrow. "Caron? Interesting."
Jaqen said. "He is loyal to the King."
"Hm." Aryan nodded. "Anything else?"
Jaqen answered "I've received several reports from Essos. The Golden Company has joined Prince Aegon's cause. He's no longer only fighting like a soldier. He is now present at strategy meetings also. And Queen Rhaella, Princess Daenerys, and Prince Aegon have sent their gratitude. For the potion and the recipe you sent them."
Aryan said nothing, waiting.
"They've decided on a marriage," Jaqen continued. "Prince Aegon and Princess Daenerys will wed on her sixteenth nameday. But the most curious part is that Illyrio Mopatis has gifted them three dragon eggs."
Aryan frowned. "Why dragon eggs?"
"I believe I know," Kinvara said.
His eyes shifted toward her.
"Why?" Aryan asked. "And why didn't you tell me before?"
"I only learned this before coming here," Kinvara replied. "It wasn't Illyrio's idea. It was done on the urging of High Priest Benerro."
Aryan's gaze narrowed.
"He doesn't get visions often," Kinvara explained. "Not like Melisandre or myself. But the ones he receives are clear and accurate. He saw Prince Aegon and Princess Daenerys aiding you in fight against the minions of the Great Others from dragonback."
She leaned forward "He also gave me a warning to pass on. He says the Great Others are more powerful now and more in number, and their minions are also far more numerous. He urges caution. He said if you aren't careful, all the work you've done, will be laid to waste."
Aryan's jaw clenched. His fingers tightened. The mere thought of seeing all of his work undone—reduced to ash—it made something dark stir inside him.
He closed his eyes. Forced the anger down.
Then opened them again.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Kinvara met his gaze. "I didn't hide anything out of malice. I know your hatred of prophecy. And this was a plea in form of a prophecy."
Aryan said nothing.
Kinvara continued. "In short High Priest Benerro has begged you to do all you can to destroy the Great Others.'"
Aryan stared at her for a long moment. Then gave a short nod.
"I'm already doing that, Kinvara. You know it." he said quietly. "You were right not to speak of prophecy. You did well."
Aryan looked back to Jaqen "Anything else, Jaqen?"
Jaqen shook his head.
Aryan said "Melisandre has successfully sunk her claws into Selyse Baratheon. I'm surprised it was this easy. And now she's moving on to Stannis. This will take time."
______________________________________________________________________
Kinvara rested in the middle, her crimson hair was splaying across the pillows. Arianne was curled up behind her, an arm draped around Kinvara's waist, her bare legs tangled with hers. Aryan lay facing them both, his forehead resting against Kinvara's, one hand settled on her hip.
No one spoke for a while
Then, softly, Arianne broke the silence.
"I'm with child."
Kinvara's eyes opened, but she didn't move. Aryan was stilled, he lifted his gaze to meet Arianne's over Kinvara's shoulder.
"You're sure?" he asked with low voice.
"I am," she said. "I wanted to wait. Just one night where it was you and me."
Kinvara was amused. "I knew. Before we even came to the bed. The flames told me."
Arianne gave a quiet laugh. "Of course they did."
Aryan's hand found Arianne's. He gently shifted, and pulled her up and over Kinvara, guiding her with care until she was resting on top of him. His hands held her like she was something fragile and precious.
Arianne and Aryan started kissing each other passionately.
He didn't think about anything else. Just Arianne. He felt this much happiness only with his wife.
For the next few days Aryan ignored everything else.
He spent those days just pampering and loving his wife.
Even after that, he made it a point to spend more time with his wife.
He may have been an asshole in his previous life. But in this life, he would be better. He would be there for his wife. For their children. He would not let love go cold. He would treat them all with love and affection.
______________________________________________________________________
Kingslanding, Crownlands
Petyr had expected Eddard Cailstark to be named Hand of the King. But the man had fallen ill and couldn't even rise from his bed.
That complicated things. Without a Eddard in King's Landing, how was the war between the Lannisters and the Starks supposed to begin? He would have to make new plans.
Still, all wasn't lost. There was some good news. Neither Tywin Lannister nor his daughter were comfortable with the power Aryan Stark had gathered. And Petyr knew well the old hatred between the Martells and the Lannisters. And Aryan Stark's wife was born a Martell.
He could work with that. He would make new plans.
______________________________________________________________________
The Crown Prince was walking around the room, his mother sitting by the window, watching him.
"We allow the Northerners too much power," Joffrey said suddenly. "You saw how they were acting."
Cersei looked at him. "And how would you handle them?"
Joffrey said "I would double their taxes. And I would order them to send twenty thousand men to the Royal Army."
Cersei raised an eyebrow. "The Royal Army?"
Joffrey nodded. "Aryan Stark has his own standing army. We don't. We have to rely on the lords, but they should rely on us. We need a proper army, trained by professionals, loyal only to the Crown. Not peasants picked up by banners. And no one else should be allowed to raise one."
Cersei asked, "And if the Northerners say no?"
Joffrey didn't hesitate. "Then I would crush them. Take Winterfell and give it to someone loyal. Uncle Kevan maybe."
Cersei asked, "And those twenty thousand Northerners? Would they fight for you or for their lord?"
Joffrey frowned. "For me. I'm their king."
Cersei stood up and walked over to him. "You just invaded their land, forced them to fight their own, maybe even had their sisters raped. You think they'll fight for you out of loyalty?"
"I'm not asking," Joffrey said. "I'm commanding."
Cersei looked at him for a long moment. "The North isn't like the rest. It's too big, too cold, too loyal. And when winter comes, no royal army will save you. Not even the gods."
Joffrey narrowed his eyes. "So you think the Starks are enemies."
Cersei didn't blink. "Everyone who isn't us is an enemy."
_____________________________________________________________________
"Robert still wants to make Eddard Cailstark his Hand once he recovers," Cersei said. She was in her chambers, laying naked with Jaime as they discussed Joffrey's latest idea of 'Royal Army.'
Jaime saw the worry on her face. "Why does that bother you so much?"
She glanced at him. "What if he finds out about the children?"
"He won't," Jaime said. "And we don't even know when he'll recover, or if he'll take the position even if he does."
"If he does find out," Cersei said coldly, "then we'll have to kill him and Robert."
Jaime's eyes widened. "No. Didn't you listen to Tyrion? We can't kill Eddard Cailstark. Not him."
Cersei narrowed her eyes. "Why? Are you afraid of the Quiet Wolf? Understandable, I suppose. He is the man who slew Arthur Dayne."
Jaime scoffed. "I never believed that tale about him beating Arthur Dayne in single combat. But that's not the point. If Eddard Cailstark dies—especially by our hands—then 'The Bloody Wolf will' come."
Cersei frowned.
"He'll burn down Kinglsanding and Westerlands. He won't stop until we're all dead. He'll not even spare our children. Don't ever touch anyone from his family, Cersei. Ever."
She looked at him, and after a silent she said, "So our only option is to kill Robert before Eddard Cailstark recovers."
______________________________________________________________________
It was another Small Council meeting.
Lord Bryce Caron, the newly named Hand of the King, was like any other true Stromlander. Renly Baratheon was looking bored out of his mind. Petyr Baelish was smirking that didn't reach his eyes. Grand Maester Pycelle looked like he might die at any minute. And Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, was sitting slumped in his chair, halfway through a cup of vodka, his crown was tossed aside like a child's toy.
Varys was sitting in silence, with his hands folded in his sleeves. But his mind was elsewhere. He had delayed this long enough. The news would spread soon. Better it came from him, now. That way, he could control what they didn't hear. In this way, he can make them look in the wrong direction.
"My lords," Varys said with soft voice "I bring troubling news from Essos."
Bryce turned his head. "What kind of trouble?"
Robert didn't bother to look at him. "Is this about those dragonspawns?"
"In part, Your Grace," Varys replied, bowing his head slightly. "I have been observing the movements of the Golden Company. As you know, they have long remained around ten thousand strong—until recently. Now they number twenty thousand, perhaps more."
Renly blinked. "That's a lot of sellswords."
"They don't work for free," Petyr said mildly.
"Indeed," Varys agreed. "Other sellsword company are only loyal to coin, but the Golden Company... if it has given its words, then they will keep it. It prides itself on their discipline and reputation. And lately they have got a new purpose. Captain General Harry Strickland has met with the Targaryens in Pentos."
Pycelle wheezed "But… the Company fought for the Blackfyres."
"Yes," Varys said, with a polite nod. "But Strickland told his men that 'A dragon is a dragon, red or black.' They've pledged themselves to the Targaryens."
Robert raised his head at that. "They mean to invade."
"It would seem that way, Your Grace," Varys said. "And if they do, they'll bring at least twenty thousand trained men, armored and ready. I believe more ships are being prepared."
Robert's face darkened. "That kind of gold doesn't come from piss poor exiles and mad kings' daughter and wife."
"No," Varys said. "It does not. Someone—likely more than one—has bankrolled this quietly. I am investigating the source, but they are well hidden."
"Essosi banks?" Bryce asked.
"Possible," Varys said, "but unlikely. They prefer safe investments, not lost causes. More likely, loyalists with long memories. Perhaps even... rivals of our own allies."
Renly crossed his arms. "We should've had them killed years ago. All of them."
Robert slammed his goblet onto the table and roared.
"Do it. I want them dead. Both of them. Send someone to Pentos. Cut their heads off and send them to me in a box. I won this throne. On the bodies of their kin. I'll not have dragonspawn crawling back now with an army of sellswords. Kill them. I don't care how it's done—just do it."
The table fell quiet.
Varys inclined his head slightly. "Of course, Your Grace. I shall see to it."
No one noticed the faint smile playing at the edge of the spider's lips.
______________________________________________________________________
Cersei entered Robert's solar without knocking.
Robert sat alone by the open window, slouched in a heavy chair. A half empty flagon of vodka and a full flagon of wine rested on the table beside him. He didn't turn to look at her.
"I heard about your decision to have the Targaryens killed," she said smoothly.
Robert took a long, slow drink before answering. "They've already managed to swelled the Golden Company to twenty thousand men. This kind of gold doesn't fall from the fucking sky. Someone has been feeding them gold. I know what that means."
"It means someone wants a war," Cersei said, stepping closer.
"Not a war," Robert muttered. "A restoration. Taking back what was once theirs. A pretty girl with a crown and a dragon banner… that'll turn half the realm's heads. The name alone is enough. They'll rally to her before they ever raise a cup for me."
"She's just a girl with her mother in exile. And she has no dragons," Cersei replied, pouring herself a cup of wine.
"She doesn't need dragons," Robert said. "She has a cause and that's more dangerous than fire. And I don't think Aryan Stark will lift a finger to help us."
"Aryan Stark has no love for the Targaryens," Cersei said. "He has done nothing for them ever. There was no report of any secret messages, no whispers in the dark. He has stayed out of it."
"Aryan is not Ned, on whom I can always rely on. Aryan has worked only for himself," Robert said. "And he married a Martell. He commands a standing army which is trained and bloodied. While the rest of us tear each other apart for scraps. That man never moves without cause. And if the Targaryens land… Dorne will join them. And Aryan—" Robert paused. "You haven't seen the way he treats his wife. He won't fight for them, but he won't fight against them either. Not when his wife's kins are involved."
He stared down into his cup. "I should have seen it coming. It was all there—Aryan's actions, quiet moves. But now it's a whole bloody picture. And now he is so far out of our reach, that nothing can be done. If Varys hadn't told me about the Golden company, then I still wouldn't have thought about it."
Cersei said "Then make sure they die before they set foot in Westeros."
Robert muttered, "If Varys does his job, they'll die in Pentos. That'll be the end of it."
"You believe that?" Cersei asked.
He didn't answer at first. He just poured himself another drink. Then he said softly, "No. But I have to try. Because if they get this far, there'll be fire and blood from the Stormlands to the Neck."
He rubbed his face, suddenly looking older.
"I don't know if I've got another war left in me."
Silence hung between them.
"Sometimes I wonder what holds it all together anymore," Robert muttered.
"Our marriage," Cersei said.
Robert looked at her for a moment—then laughed. So did Cersei.
_____________________________________________________________________
It had been a month since the order had gone out for the Targaryens to be killed.
Bryce Caron was walking the corridor of the Red Keep when he heard his name called behind him. He turned, frowning—just in time to see Renly Baratheon running toward him, his face was pale and there was spattered blood.
"It's Robert," Renly panted. "We were hunting… the boar—" He didn't stop, only turned and ran back.
Bryce followed without a word. They reached the chamber where the King had been taken. Robert lay on the bed. Around him, his children stood. Cersei sat at his side, clutching his hand.
Bryce stopped at the door, uncertain—until Robert spoke.
"Bryce," the King croaked, "There you are. I killed the damn thing. Split it near in two after it opened my belly. You should've seen it."
He winced, chuckled weakly. "Tell the kitchens… I want a feast. The biggest the realm's ever seen. And they're to roast that boar—the one that got me. Everyone will eat it. Leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Bryce… and Ser Barristan."
Cersei protested in a sweet voice. "Robert, my sweet—"
"Out!" he bellowed. "All of you!"
The queen obeyed. So did the children, the maester, the lords lingering nearby. Only Bryce and Barristan remained.
"Paper," Robert muttered. "Ink. On the table."
Bryce pulled the parchment closer, and took the quill.
"Write what I say. In the name of Robert, of the House Baratheon, First of His Name—ah, you know the rest. Fill in the damn titles later. I hereby command Lord Eddard of House Cailstark to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm… upon my death. To rule in my stead until my son Joffrey comes of age."
Bryce wrote every word, then handed the parchment to Robert, who scrawled a shaking signature at the bottom.
"Give it to Ser Barristan," Robert said, eyes already drifting shut. "He's an honest man."
Bryce nodded and handed the scroll to the Lord Commander, who took it.
Robert turned his head slightly "Tell Pycelle… I want something for the pain."
He didn't look at either of them again.
_____________________________________________________________________
Renly approached him in the corridor, his face was washed and his clothes were changed, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his eyes. "Did he sign anything?"
Bryce gave a curt nod. "A will. He named Lord Eddard Cailstark as Lord Regent until Prince Joffrey comes of age."
Renly's lips thinned. "The Queen won't care."
Lord Caron glanced toward the hallway. "I believe you. But I also believe there's no winning this here. In my short time as Hand, I've seen how deep the Lannisters' claws go. They're not going to give up power."
Renly said, "Give me an hour and I can have a hundred swords."
Bryce shook his head. "I am leaving for the Stormlands immediately. Kingslanding is lost."
Renly gave a sharp nod. "Then I will also leave quietly."
______________________________________________________________________
In another part of the castle, a courtier rushed up to Ser Barristan Selmy just outside the White Sword Tower.
"Ser Barristan!" the boy gasped. "Ser! The Queen Regent and King Joffrey request your presence in the throne room."
Barristan's eyebrows rose. "King Joffrey?"
The boy said "King Robert is dead. The gods give him rest."
Ser Barristan said nothing at first. Only tightened his grip on the scroll in his hand—Robert's will, unbroken and sealed.
He stepped into the Red Keep's great throne room, where courtiers had already begun to gather. Joffrey Baratheon sat atop the Iron Throne, a thin golden circlet resting upon his brow. Beside him stood Cersei Lannister, and behind her stood Ser Jaime Lannister.
"I command the council," Joffrey declared, "to make all arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today, I shall accept the oaths of fealty from my loyal council."
Ser Barristan stepped forward and raised the scroll. "This is King Robert's will," he said. "Given to me by his Hand, Lord Bryce Caron, in the King's final hours. It names—"
"May I see the will, Ser Barristan?" Cersei interrupted smoothly.
Reluctantly, the old knight handed it over. She took it, unrolled it, read it—and tore it in half.
"But… those were the King's words," Ser Barristan said, stunned.
"We have a new king now," Cersei said, her voice cold and calm as she let the pieces fall. "Long may he reign."
_____________________________________________________________________
Winterfell, The North
There was a knock on the door.
"Enter," he said without looking up.
The door opened, and Jaqen stepped silently into the solar.
"A man brings news," Jaqen said, bowing his head. "News you will wish to hear, my lord."
Aryan looked up from the parchment in his hands. "Speak."
"It has been confirmed. It was Lysa Arryn who told your father the rumor, that your aunt Lyanna had been kidnapped."
The quill snapped in Aryan's hand.
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes were still. Too still. And behind them there was cold fury.
"Lysa Arryn," he said at last quietly "So it was her tongue that sent Father riding to Kingslanding. That shattered everything."
He stood slowly, walking to the hearth.
"Bring her here unharmed," he said. "Use the same method you used with Gregor Clegane. I'll prepare a corpse that will look like her, to take her place. She's already been whispering that the Lannisters murdered her husband. Let the world believe that lie."
Jaqen inclined his head. "It will be done."
Aryan's voice grew colder. "If it was her… then Petyr Baelish was behind it. He was the one to start the rumors, in that tavern. I would bet my soul on it."
He turned back to Jaqen. "I will confirm it. I will tear the truth from her mind. Tell our people in Kingslanding to be ready. In the coming months, I'll send the order to bring that worm to me alive."
Jaqen gave a rare smile. "A man lives to serve."
_____________________________________________________________________
They were in the godswood. The ancient heart tree's white bark was gleaming under the moonlight, and its red eyes were watching them. Arianne sat curled in his lap, legs drawn to one side, head resting against his chest like he was cradling her.
"There's some news," Aryan said at last.
Both women looked to him at once.
"Robert Baratheon is dead."
Ashara did not react at first. Arianne raised her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.
"He made a will and gave it to Barristan Selmy," Aryan continued. "But before he could read it, Cersei tore it to pieces."
Ashara gave a soft snort.
"My people recovered the pieces," Aryan said. "He named Uncle Ned as Regent to rule in his name until Joffrey came of age."
"It's good for us that she tore it, then," Arianne said.
"She panicked. That panic will cost her." Ayran said.
"And Stannis?" Ashara asked.
"Melisandre hasn't completely sunk her claws into him yet, but soon she will. She's already made him believe the children are bastards—which they are."
"How?" Ashara asked curiously.
"She questioned the lack of Baratheon features. None of them have any. None of them look like their supposed father in any way. The final blow was the Book of Lineage. She showed him how every Baratheon before had black hair and blue eyes. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen—they look only like Lannisters, plain as day."
"She did well," Ashara said quietly.
"She was thorough," Aryan agreed. "She understood how much it mattered. She dug up everything she could on House Baratheon."
"And Renly?" Arianne asked.
"He's already in the Tyrells' grasp. They'll push him to claim the throne. To make sure of it, I quietly passed the same information to him. He doesn't know it was me."
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Aryan said in quiet and cold voice, "Mother. My people have confirmed it. It was Lysa Arryn who told Father that Aunt Lyanna had been kidnapped."
Ashara turned sharply. Her breath was caught.
"I've given the order to bring her here unharmed. She will be yours to deal with." Aryan informed her.
He paused. "We're still working to uncover who started the rumor. We'll find that person soon."
Ashara was trembling now, her hands clenched in her lap. "I've waited for this day ever since you told me Brandon was sent to his death. She'll not be granted the mercy of death. From now on, the dungeons of Winterfell will be her home. And I will visit her often, and give her my own brand of punishment, until the day I no longer can."
The fury in her voice cracked on the last word. Tears started to form in her eyes and spilled over.
Arianne moved first—gently untangling herself from Aryan's lap and going to Ashara without a word. She knelt beside her and wrapped her arms around her.
Ashara let herself cry then. The grief of a woman who had waited far too long for vengeance, and was finally going to get it.
Aryan rose and joined them, standing behind his mother and resting a hand on her shoulder.