[ POV Rhaegar Targaryen ]
The report from Winterfell reached the Small Council shortly after midday.
Tywin Lannister broke the seal before them all, read the three pages without changing expression, then returned to the first before allowing any man to speak. He sat in the Hand's chair with his back straight, broad shoulders motionless beneath crimson velvet. His shaven head reflected the light from the tall windows. Thick, neatly trimmed golden whiskers ran down his cheeks, framing a narrow mouth that rarely granted others the advantage of a smile.
My father had not attended. He had sent only the command that no decision regarding the Bolton lands was to be recognized without the Crown's knowledge. The councillors still measured their words, though that afternoon they did not need to watch his hands for the first sign of fire.
Lord Qarlton Chelsted was the first to lose patience. His fingers drummed once upon the treasury ledger before Tywin's gaze stopped the second tap.
"Roose Bolton is dead?" Chelsted asked, leaning forward to see the parchment. "The report mentions confiscated lands, suspended revenues, and trials. We need to know what will continue reaching the Crown."
"The Crown never received half of what Roose Bolton's ledgers claimed," Varys informed them. The eunuch kept his hands hidden inside lilac silk sleeves and wore a delicately sorrowful expression upon his round face. "Some coins vanished along the way. Others never left the villages, though they were recorded as paid. The former stewards possessed admirable imaginations when working with other men's numbers."
Grand Maester Pycelle made a sound deep in his throat and ran his fingers through his white beard. The chains clinked across his robes.
"Accusations assembled by the Boltons' enemies must be examined with prudence," he cautioned. "The House served the Starks for centuries, despite ancient quarrels. A hasty execution may turn local justice into a dangerous precedent."
Tywin raised his eyes from the report. Pale green irises flecked with gold settled upon Pycelle until the maester gathered his beard between his fingers and fell silent.
"Rickard Stark assembled Manderly, Karstark, Umber, Mormont, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Dustin, and Ryswell before pronouncing sentence," the Hand said. His low voice forced the others to listen. "Roose was judged before the lords who could have contested the decision. None did. A sentence supported by every neighboring House ceases to be hasty the moment the men capable of resisting it choose to recognize it."
Symond Staunton unfolded the copy of the legitimization decree I had signed in the Crown's name. As master of laws, he had reviewed each clause twice during the document's journey to Winterfell and still seemed troubled by his failure to find a flaw.
"Arthur was Lord Rickard's bastard when the decree left this castle," he reminded them. "Now he bears the Stark name, holds the Bolton lands, and enjoys the public recognition of the North's principal vassals. The grant respects the Warden of the North's authority. Legally, I can find no grounds to annul it."
"Annulment would be stupidity," Tywin declared.
Silence fell before Staunton had finished aligning the parchment upon the table.
Tywin slid the report toward the map of the North and placed one finger upon the Dreadfort. He did not need to search for the castle. He knew the roads, rivers, and distances between the realm's great strongholds as well as he knew the revenues of the westerlands.
"Rickard Stark eliminated a disloyal line, prevented a dispute over the division of its lands, and placed the stronghold in the hands of a son whose position depends upon Winterfell's recognition," he explained. "If we attempt to revoke the grant, we will unite the North against an interference that offers the Crown no benefit. If we recognize it, Arthur will continue to owe his position to his father, his king, and his own performance."
Lord Lucerys Velaryon traced the course of the Weeping Water to the Shivering Sea with one fingernail.
"The river reaches the coast," observed the master of ships. "If barges can navigate it, the lands might supply a lesser port and connect to White Harbor's routes. It will still take years before they produce anything capable of interesting the royal fleet."
"Years pass," Tywin replied. "Competent men remain dangerous after they cease to be novelties."
Ser Gerold Hightower stood near the door, clad in the white of the Kingsguard. The White Bull held no seat on the council, but my father had ordered the Lord Commander to attend every meeting in which I took part. He kept one hand upon his sword's pommel and spoke only when Tywin turned his gaze toward him.
"Thirteen men opened the stronghold to the northern army," Gerold said. "Arthur entered knowing the walls would withstand a siege. He chose the point where Bolton strength was useless."
"And preserved the ledgers," Varys added, allowing precisely enough admiration into his voice to sound sincere. "My little birds heard that he stopped the soldiers from looting the chambers where Roose kept his accounts and correspondence. A young warrior interested in records often grows into a greater nuisance than one interested only in songs."
Tywin did not answer at once. He smoothed the edge of the first parchment with his thumb, correcting a crease left by the messenger. It was the closest thing to unease he had displayed throughout the meeting.
"How many men remained at the castle?" he asked.
"A little more than three hundred under provisional oath," Varys replied. "Rodrik Cassel separated forty-three of the accused. Several captains kept their posts until Winterfell completes the interrogations."
"Find out who is retained when Arthur assumes command," Tywin ordered. "I want to know how many soldiers he pays, which officers he chooses, and where the men intended to replace the Boltons will come from. Watch his purchases of timber, iron, grain, horses, and weapons as well. Strongholds declare their intentions through what they consume long before their lords send proclamations."
Varys inclined his head. His sleeves concealed any movement of his hands.
"My little birds will listen to the merchants," he promised. "The northern roads are long, however, and their people have little affection for curious foreigners. Some answers will require time."
"Take whatever time is needed to obtain reliable answers," Tywin said. "Inaccurate rumors serve only men who wish to be deceived."
Pycelle nodded vigorously enough to stir his chains.
"Prudence worthy of the Hand," he praised. "Perhaps we should also request complete copies of the recovered records from Winterfell. The Citadel could examine and preserve them—"
"Rickard Stark will send evidence pertaining to crimes against the Crown," Tywin interrupted. "The taxes of his millers and the contents of his mines belong to the North's administration so long as the royal tribute is paid. Demanding everything would reveal our curiosity and guarantee ledgers prepared to satisfy it."
Chelsted closed his mouth before repeating the request for a different reason.
Tywin turned to me. Not a muscle in his face moved, but I felt the others' attention follow the Hand's gaze.
"The decree came from your chambers, Prince Rhaegar. Arthur Stark also served under your command against the Kingswood Brotherhood and delivered Dark Sister to you. The court will associate his name with yours, regardless of what we desire."
"Arthur fulfilled a mission for the Crown and returned a sword belonging to my House," I replied. "Those deeds do not make him my vassal, nor do they turn the North into an extension of Dragonstone."
"Truth rarely prevents a useful association," Tywin declared. "Your father will see conspiracy if someone presents separate events as parts of a single plan. Choose carefully the men you send north and the words you place in your letters."
I kept my face still. The hundred thousand dragons set aside from my coffers were already traveling under Ser Willem Darry's guard. No man at that table knew of the chest's false bottom or the instructions given to the knight.
"I understand the risk," I answered, keeping my hands upon the arms of the chair as Tywin searched my face for some reaction he might use.
Tywin held my gaze for several seconds. Perhaps he had seen only caution. Perhaps he had stored away his suspicion to examine once he possessed facts. He never wasted an accusation before knowing the price he could demand for it.
"The council will recognize the grant," he decided, drawing the Hand's seal closer. "Staunton will prepare the legal confirmation. Chelsted will keep tax obligations suspended in the destroyed villages until we receive Winterfell's first assessment. Velaryon will watch for any increase in traffic upon the Weeping Water. Varys will monitor men, weapons, and purchases."
He pressed the golden lion into the hot wax. When he lifted the seal, the design remained whole.
"Roose Bolton became a problem because the men around him mistook silence for weakness," Tywin concluded, handing the order to the scribe. "We will not repeat that mistake with his successor."
No one argued. Tywin was already calling for the next document when I left the table.
By the time I reached my chambers, the last glow of evening had abandoned the Red Keep's windows.
Ser Barristan remained outside. I closed the door after dismissing him and found Elia reclining by the window, a thin blanket over her legs and an open book upon her lap. Ashara occupied the chair across from her. They had placed a small table between them, though the cyvasse pieces scattered across the wood showed that the game had ceased to matter long before my arrival.
Elia moved an elephant without taking her eyes from Ashara.
"If you place the elephant there, you will lose your fortress in three moves," my wife warned, keeping her fingers upon the piece as though offering her opponent one final chance to reconsider. "I could pretend I failed to notice, but then your victory would have no value."
Ashara rested her chin upon her fingers and studied the board. The reddish light through the window cast copper glints through her dark hair but could not erase the violet of her eyes.
"Perhaps I decided the fortress is not worth defending," she replied, leaning back in her chair. "Some strongholds are more useful after someone tears down their walls."
"A dangerous opinion to voice in the Red Keep," I remarked, removing my gloves as I approached. "Especially on a day when Varys brought the council news of a castle conquered from within. Roose Bolton is dead."
Elia closed the book upon her lap. Ashara merely tried to return her attention to the board, but the movement was too quick to seem natural.
"And Arthur?" Ashara asked. Her hand remained beside the cyvasse king, motionless upon the wood. "Is he well?"
"He is alive and unharmed," I answered, watching the tension leave her fingers. "One of his companions dislocated a shoulder. The others walked through the gates. Roose Bolton was judged before the North's principal lords and executed by Rickard Stark. The legitimate Bolton line has ended."
"So you finally received news from the North," Elia said, lowering her feet to the floor. "Judging by how long you took to return, I imagine every councillor found a different way to turn Roose Bolton's death into a matter of the realm."
"Pycelle wanted records for the Citadel. Chelsted counted taxes that do not yet exist. Lord Velaryon thought of ships that might sail the Shivering Sea. Varys thought of everything he refused to say." I laid my gloves upon the table and drew a chair close to them. "Tywin thought of Arthur."
At Arthur's name, Ashara straightened in her chair. The immediate attention upon her face made Elia glance at me and suppress a smile.
Elia placed one hand upon her belly before leaning toward the table. The gesture was so subtle it nearly vanished beneath the folds of her gown.
"And the Dreadfort?" she asked, running her thumb along the edge of the closed book. "Tywin would not spend an entire afternoon discussing only a dead man."
"Rickard kept the lands whole and granted them to Arthur." I allowed the news to find its own place between us before adding the rest. "The legitimization decree reached Winterfell before the ceremony. Arthur is now Arthur Stark, Lord of the Dreadfort."
The smile appeared upon Ashara's lips before she could stop it. It began small, almost hidden at the corner of her mouth, but grew when I repeated the title. The expression transformed her face in a way neither candlelight nor sunset had managed.
Elia regarded that smile with the satisfaction of someone who had just discovered the final piece needed to win a game.
"A lord," my wife said, turning slowly toward Ashara. "And not one of those lords who rule three huts, six goats, and a broken bridge. One of the North's principal castles, vast lands, rivers, villages, and a coast near White Harbor's routes. It must be very pleasant news for any lady fond of the cold."
Ashara withdrew her hand from the board and folded her arms across her gown.
"I am pleased because a friend received the recognition he deserved," she replied, meeting Elia's gaze with a dignity that would have convinced almost anyone. "Arthur risked his life for his family and the North. It would be strange if I did not rejoice."
"Naturally," Elia agreed, tilting her head. "It was friendship that made you ask about his wounds before asking about the fall of the Boltons. Friendship also makes one smile as though she has been given half the castle."
"If you continue teasing your lady companion, you may need to find someone else willing to lose at cyvasse for you," I warned, though I could not keep the amusement from my voice.
Elia placed a hand upon her breast and assumed an offended expression.
"I was winning before you entered," she declared, pointing at the board. "Ashara sacrificed a fortress for reasons that now seem far easier to understand. Perhaps she was thinking of another one."
Ashara finally laughed. She brushed a lock of hair from her face, and the faint flush upon her cheeks kept her answer from sounding as severe as she intended.
"The Dreadfort is hardly suited to romantic thoughts," she said, picking up the piece Elia had abandoned. "Even its name sounds like a threat."
"Arthur has always had a habit of finding broken things and imagining what they might become," I replied, remembering the way he had looked at Dark Sister before placing it in my hands. There had been no greed in his eyes, though he carried a blade for which kings had killed. "If he remains long enough, perhaps even that place will learn to mean something else."
Ashara lowered her eyes to the elephant. The smile did not disappear entirely.
"Rhaegar," Elia called, closing the book with both hands before setting it upon the cyvasse table.
The change in her voice stripped the remaining humor from the room. Elia had placed both hands upon the book, but her gaze remained fixed upon me. We knew one another too well for her to feign calm. The wariness was there, accompanied by a hope she would entrust to no one else before entrusting it to me.
"What happened?" I asked, drawing my chair closer. "Did you feel any pain?"
"No." Elia set the book aside and laid her hand upon my forearm before I could summon the maester. "The Grand Maester examined me this morning. I asked him to remain silent until I had spoken with you."
Ashara rose. She did not move away, but left the chair to give Elia more room. Elia looked at her for a moment, received a small encouraging nod, then turned back to me.
"I am with child," she revealed, holding my gaze while her fingers closed around the edge of the blanket.
For an instant, the Red Keep ceased to exist around us. I heard neither the footsteps in the corridor, nor the crackle of candles, nor the last birds above the walls. I watched my wife search my face for the joy and fear I had not yet managed to separate.
"Are you certain?" I asked, moving the chair until our knees nearly touched.
"Pycelle is as certain as any man can be before the child begins to kick," Elia replied. A cautious smile formed upon her lips. "It is still early. He prescribed rest, fewer stairs, and no riding. He also spoke long enough to make pregnancy sound like an illness he intends to treat personally."
A brief laugh escaped me, born more of relief than surprise. Elia answered with one of her own, and for a few moments we were again only the two young people who had learned to face the court's silences together. Then I pressed her hand between mine. We did not yet know if the child would be a boy or a girl, but it had already altered the shape of our future.
Joy came first. Fear followed before I could prevent it.
Pycelle had already warned that Elia's delicate constitution would require caution throughout the pregnancy. He had spoken of fevers, bleeding, and other dangers with the same composure he used to discuss the weather. King's Landing added its watched corridors, my father's temper, and a summer that trapped the stench of the gutters against the city's walls.
"We will return to Dragonstone," I decided, lifting my face. "As soon as the maester considers the journey safe."
Elia tilted her head and examined me in silence.
"Was that a suggestion or a prince's command?" she asked, keeping my hand clasped between hers.
"It was the request of a friend who also happens to be your husband and would rather face a storm upon the Narrow Sea than spend the next several months wondering what my father might do every time you cross a corridor." I included Ashara in my gaze. "Dragonstone has cleaner air, quiet chambers, and men whose loyalty I know. The child will be born far from court. You will have the island's maester, your own ladies, and as many of my guards as you desire."
Elia squeezed my hand. The teasing she had offered Ashara vanished, leaving only the weariness of a woman who understood the risks better than any maester. There had never been between us the passion celebrated in songs; there was something less dazzling and, to me, more dependable. Friendship, respect, and the certainty that neither of us would need to face alone whatever the crown demanded of us.
"I want to leave as well," she admitted. "I simply did not wish the decision to seem like flight."
"Sometimes stepping away from a fire is only good sense," Ashara said, retrieving the fallen blanket beside the chair and placing it around Elia's shoulders. "Especially when the man holding the torch believes every shadow conspires against him."
Elia took one of her friend's hands and then looked back at me.
"Ashara will come with us," she declared, without shaping the words into a question. "I will need her. You will too, though you will probably try to spend half your days among parchments and stone dragons. And it would be cruel to leave her in King's Landing now that she has discovered there is a young unmarried lord in the North. On Dragonstone, at least the ravens will depart from a nearer island."
Ashara released her hand and stepped back.
"My princess is tired," she announced with feigned solemnity. "The pregnancy has already begun to impair her judgment."
"My judgment is excellent," Elia retorted, settling the blanket. "I have just won at cyvasse, discovered your secret, and secured a journey away from the Red Keep before supper. Few people at court have enjoyed so productive an afternoon."
Ashara's laughter filled the chamber again. I watched them for a few moments while Elia's hand remained upon my forearm and the news of a new life altered every plan I possessed.
Tywin's warning remained with me as Ashara returned the elephant to the board and Elia guided my hand to her belly. There was no movement beneath the cloth yet, only the warmth of her palm and the caution with which she held my gaze.
I thought of Dragonstone's chambers, the island's maester, and the men I would choose to accompany the journey. Elia asked how long the preparations would require. I promised her an answer after speaking with Pycelle and remained beside her until the candles had burned halfway down.
The following morning, I ordered the ships prepared and sent Ser Barristan to fetch the Grand Maester.
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[ POV Arthur Stark ]
My father placed the final account book upon the table and asked Luwin to read the sum reserved in my name.
The maester stood surrounded by records removed from the lower vaults and three tablets covered in figures. The documents divided the fortune found in the crypt into two portions. Winterfell would retain more than four million dragons, along with the silver, unminted bars, jewels, ancient objects, and seven golden statues. Five million had been placed beneath my seal.
"After the expenses already entered in your name, the balance is four million, nine hundred and eighty-seven thousand, four hundred and sixteen dragons," Luwin reported, adjusting his sleeve before touching the parchment. "That sum belongs to Arthur Stark. Winterfell's reserves are recorded in the book beside it and will not be mingled with the Dreadfort's accounts."
I studied the figures. The hundred thousand dragons sent by Rhaegar had seemed a fortune when Ser Willem opened the chest. The amount before me was large enough to alter wages, prices, and trade routes across every land I had just received.
"Five million represents an enormous share of the coins we found," I reminded them, keeping my fingers away from the quill. "Brandon, Benjen, and Lyanna belong to Winterfell as well."
Rickard placed his hands upon the table. He had expected the objection and prepared his answer before summoning me.
"Brandon reviewed the division with Luwin and me," he said. "He will inherit Winterfell, its revenues, lands, reserves, and the portion of the treasure kept beneath this castle. Benjen and Lyanna will have fortunes of their own when they are old enough to administer them. None of them has been robbed of a future to build yours."
Luwin placed another document upon the map. The text recorded the five million as the personal property of Arthur Stark and listed the assets that remained the property of House Stark of Winterfell. Beneath it, a separate clause dealt with the two hundred thousand dragons publicly assigned to the reconstruction of the eastern lands.
"The first hundred thousand of that fund will come from Winterfell's reserves," the maester explained. "The other hundred thousand corresponds to the gold delivered by Ser Willem. In the records accessible to scribes and the Crown's collectors, both portions will originate from Winterfell. The prince's contribution will remain protected."
"And the nearly five million?" I asked, tracing the line that bore my name.
"They remain yours even if you decide not to spend a single coin at the Dreadfort," my father replied. He straightened, casting the shadow of his shoulders across the map. "I would rather see them put to work in the North, but the decision is yours. Buried gold adds nothing to fields, roads, or granaries. Spending it out of impatience would be as foolish as leaving it beneath the dead."
Brandon had signed as a witness before the meeting. I recognized the uneven pressure of the quill and the small blot where he had probably been distracted by some quarrel in the yard. The presence of his name removed my last reason to treat the division as a choice made by our father alone.
"I will use the fund of two hundred thousand for immediate needs," I decided. "My personal fortune will finance anything beyond that amount, always in separate books. Rhoslyn will have authority to halt any unrecorded expense, including those ordered by me. We will take only what is needed for the first few months. The rest will remain under my seal at Winterfell until we build vaults capable of protecting it."
I took the quill and signed. Luwin added the date, checked the amount, and placed his own name below Brandon's and Rickard's. My father waited for the sand to absorb the excess ink before gathering the documents.
"Build for men who will need to live there after you die," Rickard advised, pushing the map of the east toward me. "Pay for completed work, account for every coin, and do not let haste bring walls down upon your workers. An expensive ruin is still a ruin."
I closed the book corresponding to my fortune and left open the record of the two hundred thousand intended for reconstruction.
"Now I will gather my men," I replied. "Before buying stone and iron, I need to decide who will answer for each part of what we build."