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Tywin III

He found Robert in the training yard, sweating in a weighted hauberk and battering at a heavy wooden mannequin with a hammer that must have weighed twice as much as the King's usual weapon. A page wearing a Baratheon tabard was calling out the hit and where they struck.

There were a score of other knights training but even if Robert's height hadn't identified him, the presence of Jorah Mormont would have been evidence. The first of Robert's Royal Guards wore a white tabard with a crowned stag upon in. Rather than the plate of a knight he wore northern mail, but there was a heavy shield strapped to one arm, broad enough that he could use it to cover the King if need be.

Normally Tywin would have said there were more productive uses of his time than waiting for the king and as Hand that might be true. However, Jon Arryn would return in a few months and then Tywin would be leaving King's Landing behind him. With surprisingly few regrets: he had what he wanted from the place and there was no one, not even Kevan, who could teach Jaime what he needed to know for when he was Lord. And once he was gone, knowing the King's mind would be vital.

Robert removed his helm once he was done with the mannequin and accepted a water bucket from the page, pouring the contents over his head. He raked thick black hair back from his face before turning on some subtle signal - from Mormont, the man is no fool - and seeing Tywin.

A few moments later, hauberk loosened but not removed and Robert stands beside his Hand on the terrace overlooking the yard, drying his face with a towel. Another thing that Tywin hadn't expected: the Stormlander was fastiduous about staying clean. It was said he bathed every night - another welcome change. Aerys had given up bathing after a fit of paranoia that a servant had been planning to drown him in the tub.

"News from the south?" he asked.

Twyin nodded. "Much as expected. Reading between the lines, the Martells want blood for the death of their sister."

"And Ned?"

"No news of Lord Stark." Which left the King's marriage plans inconveniently undefined.

"Hmm." Robert looked away for a moment. "Tell me, Lord Tywin, if questioned would Amory Lorch or Gregor Clegane reveal that they acted on your orders."

"Neither man is known for their wit. Nor Clegane for his self-control."

"I'm given to understand that Lorch stabbed Rhaenys. Repeatedly, it appears."

"Yes. Clegane killed the young prince and his mother."

Robert scratched his chin. "And raped her too, it is rumoured. A very blunt instrument. Although I imagine you can find the like again."

"You intend to give the Dornish what they want?" The idea galled Tywin - he'd cleared the way for Robert to take the throne and now more was being demanded of him.

"What exactly did they ask for?"

"Justice."

"Hmm." The king lowered his voice. "If I ground all of Westeros to a fine powder, how many grains of justice do you think might be found. Justice is a dream men have. But such dreams have their place, my lord Hand, for the same could be said of chivalry, of lordship. Even of kings. So if they want justice, they will have it. "

"Or the illusion of it." Tywin's own voice is no louder.

"Lorch's testimony should be sufficient to condemn Clegane for the deed. Complicity is a lesser crime, Lorch we can send to the Wall to cool his blood."

"And if Ser Gregor calls for a trial by combat?"

"That is why Lord Bolton has provided the City Watch with crossbows." Robert's lips curled up with distaste. "If we could count on him to keep his mouth shut I might be able to send him north but things are as they are."

"They are," agreed Tywin and raised his voice back to normal levels - those that might be overheard by the nearest knights. "I must advise you that once Prince Jon returns from Dorne, as seems likely, that I will need to return to Casterly Rock. My son's education in matters of rule has been sadly neglected while he was in King's Landing."

"Indeed, we must all give thoughts to the future. Your help is invaluable, Lord Tywin. And I am sure that with you and Ser Jaime that the Westerlands will remain as secure as the North or the Eyrie." The king winked slightly and then, in a low tone added: "One cannot promote a son above his father, but Ser Jaime has a princely bearing so he must have learned some lessons well."

Mentally Tywin noted that it was a point in Robert's favour that he took that debt seriously.

Stannis III

The first thing Renly said to Robert was that King's Landing smelt like a cesspit. Their brother blinked, laughed and told Renly he'd noticed the same thing before going on to congratulate Stannis for things that were merely his duty. As if he hadn't expected as much from him.

The throne room was large and echoing with no Iron Throne on the dais. The dragonbones had also been removed, Stannis knew not where to. Banners had been hung from the walls, the Baratheon stag behind the dais but along the walls marched wolves, falcons, trout, squid, lions and even roses now.

The celebrations were loud and tedious and Stannis was impatient for the whole mess to be over so he could go back to Storm's End with Renly. The boy was enchanted with the thought of a new wardrobe but there was a great deal still to do.

"What do you mean we're not going back to Storm's End!?"

Robert should have exploded back at him but the king didn't. It gave Stannis a creeping feeling, looking at his brother. The war had changed him too, but not so much.

"You're hardly barred from Storm's End, Stannis. It's our home. But we both have responsibilities and I'm not so careless as to send Renly away alone."

He'd hardly be alone but Robert had a point there. "He'll hate it here, you know what it smells like."

"A pit of scum and villany. The scent is more honest than the view." Robert drained his cup and refilled it, pushing the flagon over to Stannis without being asked. "At least you'll get away from time to time. I have to live here."

"My new lands, you mean."

"Those too. You're my heir. You're also one of the few men I know who are both competent and loyal."

"Another duty, then?"

"It's the reward for a job well done. Lyonel Corbray isn't working out as Master of Ships but I can't dismiss him just yet. Officially you're going to be his understudy, I want all the councillors to have one or two. Unofficially, you'll be taking charge of the fleet for Dragonstone."

"The Targaryens?"

"Managing a fleet isn't the same as handling an army." Robert belched, looked startled and then chuckled. "It takes attention to detail and a great deal of rigor. Besides, you have that smuggler you knighted, what's his name?"

"Davos Seaworth." Somehow he didn't think Robert had really forgotten.

"Him, yes. A useful man. Once we have Dragonstone I'd like you to understudy Lord Egremont. You have an eye for justice, he can teach you a lot."

"Do you want me to be Master of Ships or Master of Laws?"

"Whichever the situation calls for." He put his goblet down with a thump. "If I slip on the stairs tomorrow, you'll be king. I'm probably going to be bloody awful at the job, but at least I can get you trained up to be better if it comes to that. And if it doesn't there'll be an able lord on the marchlands between the Stormlands and the Reach."

Stannis nods sharply. "And Renly?"

"He's young yet."

"Not too young to plan."

"Very well. Summerhall. And possibly a marriage to the Martells if things look well for it in ten years or so."

"Do you have me wed off too?" spat Stannis, uncertain if he was more angry because Robert seemed less angry.

"What do you want of me, Stannis!" burst out Robert. He leant forwards. "It's not bloody easy being King."

"Why not crawl back into an ale barrel with some whores then?"

"Tried that, it didn't work." The offhand reply stunned Stannis long enough for Robert to add: "Or are you mad that you're not the only responsible one anymore?"

For a long moment the brothers stared at each other, teeth grinding. Stannis pushed his chair back. "Excuse me, your grace."

"You are excused." Robert waited until Stannis had almost reached the door before adding. "And Stannis... not one man in ten thousand could have stood siege at Storm's End."

The door slammed behind Stannis and he leant against the opposite wall, pressing his face against the wall. Years ago Robert had left Storm's End and never once looked back at his brothers. I should take Renly now and see how he likes it, he thought, knowing he would not.Jon IV

King's Landing was quieter than he remembered it. The goldcloaks were no longer in evidence but there were men on the walls and he could see that several of the siege weapons had been removed, a few replaced with newer catapults, scorpions and other devices.

At the docks and on the streets men in tabards of undyed cloth were in evidence. A small party of them greeted Jon's ship and he saw that each wore a bronze batch on their shoulder: a circle around a tower, which he guessed was supposed to represent the city.

Once he identified himself a runner was sent to the nearest gatehouse and two more of the men fell in with his own party while the others inspected the ship for contraband - or jars of wildfire.

"It's not that we suspect you of anything, your grace," the leader of the party said apologetically. "But Lord Bolton ordered every ship inspected and that the King said that if even a Prince's ship was inspected then no lord or foreign merchant would have cause to complain."

"A shrewd move. And truly, we should take no chances of wildfire in the docks." Jon shuddered at the thought. King's Landing was the greatest port on the eastern shores, larger than Gulltown or White Harbour. One jar of wildfire in the right place could start an inferno all long this bank of the Blackwater Rush.

At the gate there were more guards, hardbitten men armed with poleaxes. The city inside the wall appeared to be recovering well from the sack, although the area between the docks and the Red Keep hadn't been particularly hard hit so Jon supposed it might be less so in the western districts of King's Landing.

Robert was waiting for him at the gates of the Red Keep and greeted him with a fierce embrace that made Jon's ribs creak and cut him off in mid "Your grace."

"None of that formality between us, Jon. You've brought peace to the Seven Kingdoms - even if you weren't like a second father to me I'd owe you for that."

Jon coughed and caught his breath. "It was my pleasure, Robert. I see you've been busy here."

"Gods, yes. The records are a mess. I've had to go through the army for anyone who can read and write and draft them as clerks to get things under control." He gestured to the Maidenvault, from which a stream of men were coming and going carrying stacks of paper. "I did have a clever idea though. I want you to see this."

With a small prayer to the Gods that Robert hadn't hit on something catastrophic with an excess of enthusiasm, Jon followed him and saw that the main room of the building was now taken up with several complicated devices tended by at least a dozen men with ink-stained fingers.

"Here." Robert snapped his fingers and then snatched a sheet of paper from the top of a stack, handing it to Jon. The sheet was marked out with lines and words, although most of it was blank. "It's for our records, Jon. I wanted to know just how much all the lords of the Crownlands had, but the Targaryen's records are mostly stack of letters with each Lord reporting what they think the King should know about their lands... and probably undervaluing some things to keep their taxes low."

"Ah." Jon realised that each section of the paper was for filling in one detail about a lord's holdings. "So you want them all to fill these out?"

"Exactly! And then with one quick look I can compare any two lords from Duskendale down to Greenstone and know exactly how many villages there are in their lands - or how many mills or how many armsmen they can call on. Tywin thought it was a great idea."

"He said so, did he?"

Robert grinned and tugged on his hair. "Well, he said it 'might be useful' and changed the subject, but that's just his way."

"And these devices..." Jon studied them. "Ah, like a seal. They stamp the form on the paper so it's the same every time."

"Precisely. I could lay two of these forms on top of each other and every field would be precisely aligned so we'll always know where to look for a piece of information. If we have the lords fill these out once a year - or every winter at least - then we'll have a good idea not just of what state the lands are in but of whether a lord is doing better or worse than usual."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd need this many forms though. Or so many clerks."

"Ah." Robert clapped his hands. "I've got them going back through the records too. We might not have a complete picture for the past but we can record what we do have and at least get some idea of what's happened before."

Jon scratched his chin. "Lord Tywin is right. That could be useful. It's going to take a while to be useful though, and your lords may not be happy about such an accounting."

"Well I have to be fair, Jon. I need the crownlanders to fill these out so I know what I rule now - personally, not just as King. And it just makes sense to do the same for Storm's End." He put his hands on his hips. "And if I have to do the bloody paperwork then so does every lord in the Easterlands."

"Easterlands?"

"It's easier than saying Crownlands and Stormlands."

"That won't make the lords happy either."

"Nothing will make them all happy, Jon. But it's better than calling them all Stormlanders or Crownlanders..."

Ned IV

The inn was around a day's ride from King's Landing. There had been a rich trade in catering to travellers along the major roads and now that order was returning it was flourishing once more.

The evening of the day after he sent William Dustin and Martyn Cassell ahead, Ned kept an eye on the common room of the inn to see who came back. He hoped that Lyanna would be alright up in the room he was paying for alone, but few things would draw attention more than whoever Robert sent having to ask for him.

The sellswords who swaggered in shortly almost didn't catch his eye. Only a familiar line of face told him that the smaller of the two was Jorah Mormont. Then, looking closer at Jorah's companion he saw that it was Robert: beard shaven, hair drawn back and apparently greying. Rather than his famous hammer, he carried a pole-axe and Jorah had the same. Bronze badges on their chests had what could be a seven-pointed star or could be a tree, depending on how one looked at it.

"Spare us this end of the table," Jorah more ordered than asked Ned – it was a little bit of a shock not being addressed like a lord, much less Lord Paramount or now Prince of the North. Still, he wasn't exactly dressed the part of a lord himself. Stripped of the dire wolf badges on his shirt and wearing an older cloak over his mail he looked like a sellsword.

Robert himself carried over a platter with two large mugs of ale and a platter of bread, fruit and cheese. He swung one chair around and leant forwards over its back. "Glad to see you made it north again. Southlands aren't always healthy."

"I lost some good friends there."

"Aye, haven't we all the last few years?" Robert tilted back the mug but for all the loud slurping noise, when he lowered it the level of the ale had barely charged. "Are you not going to King's Landing?" He tapped the badge on his chest. "The King has a place for good men. It's a safer birth than drifting the roads."

"I've my sister with me," Ned said and saw Robert's eyes light up. He raised his own hand. "She's not well, Rob. I'm taking her home with me. There'll be a company going north, I hear."

"The Northern army is marching home in a few days. It'll be safe enough," agreed Robert slowly. "I'd heard though, she was to wed..."

"That's not going to happen, she says."

Blue eyes met grey, bright southern to intractable north.

"The scoundrel probably wasn't worthy of her. A fine woman, your sister." Robert took another apparently large gulp out of his ale. "D' you think she'd mind if I paid my respects? Just my respects, you understand."

Ned thought a moment and then nodded. "I think that she wouldn't mind."

Robert came to his feet and when Jorah started to do the same he planted one hand on the Mormont's shoulder. "Mind my ale and don't drink any yourself," he joked.

The room Ned was renting wasn't the largest but it was the nearest to the chimney and thus the warmest. Ned paused at the door. "Robert," he said in a low voice. "You're like a brother to me, but I want your promise you won't do anything rash."

"I'd think you should ask me that because we're like brothers, not in spite of it. I knew Brandon, after all." He saw that Ned wasn't amused and sighed. "My best behaviour, I promise."

Ned knocked gently. "Lya, it's Ned. Rob wants to speak to you."

The door opened a crack and he saw a wide grey eye. Lyanna's. She saw Robert and the eye widened more. "You look old."

Robert rubbed at one of the grey streaks with his fingers and they came away stained. "That's the idea."

Slowly the door opened wider. "Come in." She stepped back, keeping the door between her and Robert. Ned gestured for his friend to enter. This could be bad, if Robert reacted poorly...

His foster brother entered the room confidently but as he went past the arc of the door and it couldn't mask Lyanna any further, he froze. "Oh Lyanna," he said sadly. There was none of the fury that Ned had feared. Instead he half-turned and beckoned for Ned to enter the chamber.

Lyanna closed the door and stood before them, her eyes fixed now on the floor – or as much as she could see of it past her belly.

Robert reached out to her chin and raised it so that she met his eyes. "You don't have to fear me," he promised. "Nor does your child."

"Even if he's a dragonspawn?"

Robert winced but he didn't look away. "Even so."

"I can't marry you, Robert. Not now."

"You could." He reached out and took her hand. "But I don't insist on it. You've had enough, I think, of being told what you must do. Let it be your choice, and his or hers."

"Then I choose the North."

Robert sighed heavily. "Thus, then." He raised her hand slightly and then released it, drawing Lyanna against him in a careful hug. She squeaked in indignation as he kissed her noisily on the cheek. "Then at least call on me if you need me. As you would a brother."

The moment was broken by a wail from the corner of the room. Robert's eyes snapped to the small crib. "Ned!" he exclaimed.

Ned was sure his ears had gone entirely crimson.Tywin IV

Tywin found the King in the same chamber, indeed the same chair, that he'd been in when he offered the post of Hand. The room was darker though, no light except for that cast by the fire. Robert was more shadow than man, looming and brooding with legs thrust out and his hand wrapped around a tankard.

"Your grace."

Robert turned his head. "Aye. Lord Lannister. Pray take a seat."

Tywin obeyed. "Is there some reason that the King of Seven Kingdoms sits in the dark?"

"My mood is dark. Is that not cause enough."

"Ill news of the Lady Lyanna?"

His head turned back towards the flames. "Some good, some ill. She lives but will not wed."

"House Stark has broken off the betrothal?" A strange choice, but they were a strange folk in the North. Still, with a Stark as queen they would have been a powerful threat.

"I have consented, of course. I do not believe rape is the mark of a good man, still less a good king."

"That is wise, although I understand your sorrow." Would it be too soon to raise the matter of alternate brides. If he was Hand, no, but since Jon Arryn now bore that office...

"And yet a king must wed for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms. Duty. It is a heavy word, Lord Tywin. May I have your counsel?"

Tywin nodded. "Of course, your grace."

"I should not marry into the household of a Lord Paramount, I think. On the one hand it would leave them the impression they were second-best to the Starks. One does not tread lightly upon the pride of princes, in my limited experience. On the other, it would give the impression that the House I wed would have undue influence upon my judgements - and a king who is too obviously partial is a king who breeds discontent."

Damn. "Those are reasonable arguements, although it may also be said that wedding a House would also secure that House's support for the future. Aerys' grandfather understood that and had his children not undermined him..."

"We would not be here, no. And I would likely not have been born. My brothers may wed into princely Houses, perhaps. But I am surrounded by Crownlanders who fought for the Targaryens and to heal those wounds I should wed near to this city."

"I see your mind is made up, your grace."

"I suppose that it is." He leant forwards, face now lit by the fire. "You know these Houses well, do you not? I should prefer to wed a woman whose house is known for some fecundity, but I do not wish to have too many goodbrothers - we have enough factions."

"The Rykker's are a small house, but they were recently raised to Duskendale and lack stature. The Stokeworths have two daughters of suitable age but one is a shrew and the other dull. I do not commend them as queens." He frowned. "They have considerable lands near to the city though. Adding them to the crown estates would be of value."

"As do the... Rosbys, do they not? Not known to be robust, I don't think Lord Gyles has an heir."

"Not of his body. The Stokeworths would have a claim on those, they have interwed often. And the Freys are kin by marriage."

"Walder's sixth wife?"

"Aye."

"Gods. We should all be so vigorous at his years."

"I would not commend the Crackclaw Point houses, they are all too small and their loyalty to Prince Rhaegar too close. The Celtigars are wealthy but would want you to confirm them as overlords of Crackclaw Point and you would need to fight another war to enforce that. And the other houses sworn to Dragonstone have not yet bowed the knee so I cannot commend the Velaryons or House Sunglass."

"Aye, Velaryon blood would count for much but they have missed that chance."

Tywin shook his head. "There are few candidates in fact. The Farrings have a daughter of suitable age although I gather the Freys..."

"Again? I might be doing the girl a favour."

Tywin paused. "There is... you may recall that Lord Qarlton Chelsted was among King Aerys' Hands during the war."

"Aye. Burned to death, was he not?"

"Quite. There would be some merit to a match with the Chelsteds - they have no cause to love the Targaryens now but they were loyal until then."

"Had he a daughter?"

"Lord Qarlton was not wed, but there is a sister. Much courted now. I confess I do not recall her nature."

Robert nodded. "Aye. Well, I shall have Jon find out. And see about the Stokeworth girls and this Farring too. It is a place to start, and I thank you."

Tywin nodded silently.

"On the matter of marriages..." Robert hesitated and rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Well, I know not how well your daugter and my brother would get on. They are both strong-willed. Have you considered that Prince Eddard has a younger brother? He can certainly grant young Benjen broad lands and a Lannister bride would presumably dower him suitably to establish himself."

"Would you support such a match?"

"I would not dictate it, but it seems to me that it would be better for all the great lords of the realm to have both heirs and spares."

Tywin rose. "It is a prospect to consider, your grace." And it would give the Lannisters a route into the marital alliances between Stark, Tully and Arryns. Hmm. And Jon Arryn had nieces and as yet no son by any wife including the latest. Something to consider for Jaime.

Stannis IV

"Damn Lyonel Corbray!" shouted Stannis as he took in what was left of the royal fleet. His brother's royal fleet, that was.

The Master of Ships had insisted on taking charge of the fleet and in launching the assault before Stannis was ready. A week longer and there would have been four more wargalleys and ten more transports.

Then again, as it worked out that would have meant fourteen more ships caught in the night storm that had scattered the fleet and sunk at least three ships. One of them had been a three hundred oar galley mich like his flagship the Fury.

"No one could have expected a storm like last night, my lord." Davos Seaworth stood on the poop deck of the Fury alongside Stannis.

"You should always expect a storm at sea," Stannis chided the older man. "One like it killed my parents. I watched it from the towers of Storm's End."

The former smuggler shifted uneasily. "Well it's passed now. Should we assemble the ships we can see and make for King's Landing."

"No." He gripped the rail and stared out. Four other ships in sight, out of more than forty. Probably not all the others were sunk. "We came here to take Dragonstone and that's what we'll do!"

"With five ships!?"

Davos reached up for the small bag hung around his neck. "Get back to work, Gregor," he ordered the ship's sailing master. "The storm hit us from the north. It likely did the same to Dragonstone and while we could run south ahead of it, ships in harbour couldn't. There's a good chance that they're even worse off than we are."

"That's my thinking. You kept us at the head of the fleet so most of the others afloat will be north of us anyway - we've a good chance of finding them as we sweep up on Dragonstone."

It was a long, slow day as they slogged north. The end of the storm had left little or no wind behind it and so the Fury and her little squadron made what sail they could and the men rowed in shifts. By the time the sun set there were seven ships in total, but others had been seen upon the northern horizon.

They didn't include Lord Corbray's flagship.

"The Valorous broached!" called across the captain of the cog Windraker. Her captain was known to Davos for reasons Stannis was assured were entirely honest. "I saw it myself. There couldn't have been a survivor."

"It seems that you're in command of the fleet now, my lord."

Stannis nodded grimly. "Aye. And we'll see Dragonstone on the morrow."

They saw the island, as well as five more of their ships. Five of theirs and one cog that flew the blazon of the Targaryens from its mast.

"Take them," Stannis ordered sharply and under Davos direct the ships of House Baratheon spread out and took the stiffening wind in their sails. Had it only been the seven with Stannis they might have made it but two of those seen at night were to their east and the wind forced the fugitive vessel towards them.

One, two and then a third of the ships grappled.

Davos stared through an eyeglass and then passed it to Stannis. "See their poop deck, my lord. I know not the colours but there's a lad there with hair pale enough to be Targaryen."

It took the young lord but a moment to make his assessment. "Aye, and those are Darry colours on the man with him."

"Darry?"

"Ser Willem Darry was master-at-arms for the Red Keep. He went to Dragonstone with Queen Rhaella." Stannis swore without heat. "That must be Viserys. And we have him!"

They were close enough to no longer need the eye-glass to watch as sailors and men swarmed across the ship. The boy with white hair drew a long knife, but one of the Baratheon men had brought a fishing net across from his ship and flung it across the boy. Tangled and kicking, he was borne down and a moment later the knight in brown and black fell at his side, crimson now joining his colours.