After The False Spring - King's Landing

[badgate]

[DKrol]

A Decree By Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Proctor of the Realm

It is my good and true will that my wretched son, Rhaegar of House Targaryen the Prince of Dragonstone, be declared a criminal and a traitor. For many years he has been plotting to remove me from the Iron Throne, an act of treason, and place himself upon it. His resent actions with the young lady of House Stark only serve to prove my earlier suspicions.

Further, it is my will that all titles, lands, and honors currently held by my son Rhaegar are stripped of him and given to my dear son Viserys, who shall now be styled Viserys, Prince of Dragonstone.

Further, it is my will that whomever may return my son Rhaegar to me alive will receive a bounty of 500,000 golden dragons and a seat on the Small Council.

Further, it is my will that whomever may return the young lady Lyanna Stark to her father at Winterfell will receive a bounty of 75,000 golden dragons.

Further, it is my will that Lord Owen Merryweather is hereby dismissed as a Hand of the King. The position is to remain vacant until such a time that a suitable successor may be found.

It is the will of the King.

[DKrol]

Aerys I

The King paced back and forth across his solar. His long hair clung to his head, matted with dirt and sweat, and his robs stunk with the deep stench of a body long left unclean. Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the King's Guard, stood in the corner, hand on sword, with a look of concern on his face. The King had not spoken for many hours, leaving the scuffs of his boots as the only sound as he paced.

"Fetch me a pail of water." Aerys said quietly, so sudden and subtle that Ser Gerold did not hear. "A pail, warm water. Some soap." He said again. The Lord Commander stepped out of the solar for a moment and shouted some orders at a maidservant before the room returned to silence. A small knock announced the arrival of the King's bathwater, carried in by two burly small folk who set it in the middle of the room, bowed to their King, and quickly left.

Aerys eyed the water for some time, watching the steam curl of of its surface. Then, in a series of slow, uncoordinated motions, cast his robes off to the side. He took a deep breath before stepping into the water, his first bath in some time. His long hair floated on the surface of the water around him, while his long nails filled the basin.

"Help me. Get the soap, Gerold, get the soap." Aerys muttered, almost embarrassed that he had let himself fall to such a state. Ser Gerold took of his leather gloves, picked up the bar of rough soap, and knelt next to the wash basin, scrubbing the knots out of his King's hair and giving a good scrub to his King's back. When all was done, Ser Gerold dried his hands on the King's dirty robes, reapplied his gloves, and resumed his post.

Aerys stood up in the basin, the water now brown and brackish with many moons' turns of filth, and allowed the water to roll of his back, his hair, and arms. He reached over to his robes and pulled out a small knife from its folds, the one he had taken up carrying since Rhaegar's rebellion. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and cut off a clean slice of his hair. Even Ser Gerold, one of the most stoic and composed men of the realm, could not hold back his surprise.

Ser Gerold gasped, leading Aerys to say "I know now that my only enemy was the one that I clutched at my breast as a babe, the one whom I was prepared to give everything, the one whom my kingdom rested upon. With Rhaegar's rebellion in the open, I have no reason to hide behind these long strands of hair and even longer daggers of nail." Aerys signaled for Ser Gerold to hand him a clean robe, which he did, and helped the King out of the basin.

"Send for a maidservant to help fix the rest of my hair and my nails, I look like a mummer."

...

Ser Gerold gained control of the chamber as Sers Berristan and Jaime led the King, dressed in clear, black robes, with short, platinum hair and neat nails, to the Iron Throne, with Sers Oswell and Arthur protecting the King's rear. Once the King was seated and the chamber silent, the Commander of the City Watch bowed deep before the King before unrolling a parchment, bearing the seal of the High Septon, and reading:

"Having prayed on this matter for seven days and seven night, the Seven have graced me with their divine inspiration. It is through their guidance that I have reached the following decision, and not through the clouded judgement of man. The marriage of His Grace, Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Rhaella, his sister, is hereby annulled on the grounds of treason against the Seven by Rhaella. She has been found guilty, by a trial by faith, of planting the seeds of rebellion in the ear of the former Prince Rhaegar, thereby inspiring a rebellion against His Grace, the representative of the Seven on this world."

Three members of the City Watch marched towards the Queen's throne, to the left of the Iron Throne, and arrested her, removing her from the chamber with haste. She did not fight them, perhaps she was glad for the escape from her many years of loveless marriage. Although Rhaella did not make a sound, the chamber exploded in noise. Stammers, gasps, cheers, and jeers filled the air, requiring Ser Gerold to remove several audience members before order was regained. Now the King stood.

"My most loyal subject, as you have seen, the seeds of doubt, worry, and despair that have plagued me for years have been removed. My treacherous son, turned treacherous by my sister, has been found out and his currently only minutes away from being captured and returned to King's Landing to face justice." Some polite applause was heard, although many more exchanged nervous glances. Where had Rhaegar been captured and why hadn't they heard of it? "My son and heir, Prince Viserys of Dragonstone, is now a boy of six years. It is time that he find his betrothed.

"It is hereby my decree that any Lord of a Great and Noble House in all the Seven Kingdoms who thinks himself to have a women in his House noble enough to marry either mineself of mine son Viserys should send her to King's Landing to be judged. These should be fertile, strong, and uncorruptible women who will make a fine queen for the Seven Kingdoms."

When the chamber stood in awestruck silence at what had occurred, Aerys shouted "Go, spread the word! The King and his prince are in need to brides! Go!"

[badgate]

Ser Barristan

Young Ser Jaime Lannister was pure talent and pure arrogance in a single sword stroke. The newest member of the Kingsguard parried fast and charged hard, but this sworn brother still had much to learn in the eyes of Ser Barristan Selmy. There in the courtyard of the Red Keep they went back and forth, training for hours in the defense of the King.

Here in the capital, Barristan noted, winter seemed to be waning. The sun was swollen red and for the first time in years he felt himself sweating in his training clothes. A refreshing breeze blew his white whiskers into his eyes momentarily, and he felt a sharp jab on his thigh. Tripping, he swung his shield wildly and made contact. He sat up and saw that he had managed to bring Ser Jaime down with him. "Well met, ser," Jaime said cockily once they had stood. Barristan clapped and said, "you're progressing every day, brother. But never think you are done learning."

"Trust me, Ser Barristan, if there is one thing you have taught me it is that old men always have new things to learn," the teenager quipped before making off to the White Tower.

As Barristan crossed the yard behind Jaime, the hot sun reminded him of the previous evening's events. Though he had not been called to stand guard, instead being assigned to Prince Viserys, it had been impossible to hear what had transpired in the Dragonpit.

Word was all over the city that after Rhaella Targaryen had been annulled as Aerys' wife, the King had ordered her taken to the Dragonpit atop Rhaenys' hill. There the king's trusted pyromancers had apparently burned her.

That morning Barristan had noticed a few of the Queen's handmaidens whispering urgently before fleeing his presence, and had seen no sign of Rhaella all day.

Inside the Red Keep, the knight found himself face to face with the Lady Ashara Dayne. A bulge rose in his throat to see how distraught she looked. "My lady, is anything amiss?"

"Amiss?" she stammered. "Ser Barristan, you of all people...don't you know?" And she had told him in whispers there in the back of the throne room. Moments later Barristan the Bold found himself standing guard before the Iron Throne and the Mad King who had burned his disgraced wife.

That day's business was dull and easy, and there was a refreshing crispness to the afternoon air when he left the Red Keep. Though the King's apparent healthiness after he refined his appearance had brought forth some positivity, it was apparent to the knight that tensions were still high among the lords of court who favored the now disinherited Prince Rhaegar.

Personally, Barristan felt himself sympathetic. He had much respect for the Prince, and was at a loss for words for what exactly was going on with Lady Stark. Having spent so much time with the man, though, he was sure the truth was being twisted by those with other objectives in mind.

At the White Tower he changed into fresh mail and pants. Though Rhaegar was not in King's Landing, Ser Barristan felt a yen to visit one of the dingy pubs of Flea Bottom that he had guarded the Prince at during one of his many musical performances for the smallfolk. He made his way into the city, white cloak billowing behind him in the winds.

The smallfolk crowded around him outside the gate, begging for food or coin or mercy. He brushed them aside and went deeper into the streets, heading for that same pub in Flea Bottom.

There in the darkly lit hall, he ordered a yellow ale and seated himself at the bar. Half-full, the voices mixed together in a cacophony to form a web of gossip, secrets, and jests. "What brings you in tonight, Ser?" the wizened old barmaid asked him not unkindly.

"I was wondering, Hedda, if you'd served the Prince before he left the city?" Barristan asked.

"No, last time he came here you was with him." She spat. Barriston sat up a little, uncomfortable by the act. Could it be the rumors of Rhaegar kidnapping Lyanna had shaded his reputation among the smallfolk? Hedda moved on to other customers and didn't speak to Barristan for the rest of his stay in the pub.

The moon was shining full and bright when he left hours later, and the temperature had dropped considerately since the spring-like sun had set. Now those winds that billowed his Kingsguard cloak were biting and cold. Mutters followed the cloak in its wake as he made his way up the road.

He passed by the gaggle outside the gates once again, and a man riding a horse hard almost bowled over him as he entered the courtyard. Before he could make for his quarters in the White Tower he found his path blocked by a sworn brother.

"Ser Barristan," Ser Arthur Dayne said. He held his torch up to his face and Barristan could see that the color had drained out of it completely. "You must come."

Could it be the beautiful sister of his brother? Heartbeat racing, Barristan followed Ser Arthur quickly into the castle. Soon he found that he was being led instead to the royal chambers.

Ser Arthur stopped outside the King's chambers, and stepped to the side to allow Barristan to enter. There in the bedroom were his sworn brothers Ser Jaime, Gerold, and Oswell, as well as Grand Maester Pycelle, who was leaning over....

"No," Barristan muttered. "How?"

Ser Gerold looked up at him. "Poison. Somehow got past the tasters into his supper."

Barristan felt his breath shortening in shock. Mad as Aerys Targaryen had become, he had certainly placed the most strict measures to prevent assassination of any regent Barristan had studied or served. Whoever had done this was very well connected in the Red Keep...very well connected indeed...

He crossed the chamber quickly to the window, where he let the bracingly cold air fill his lungs. Across the city, the bells of the Great Sept began to toll. The King was dead.

[Garlan Gunter]

Proclamation to the Lords, Knights, and Honest Men of the Crownlands



I, Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, by this hail and greet you.

House Greyjoy is leal and true to the named heir of the King that was, Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name.

Pyke declares for King Viserys, the Third of his Name. The so-called Lords Declarant who rise for the attainted rebel and traitor Rhaegar Targaryen with swords in their hands are no better than the wayward hothead they claim for their master.

Lord Tyrell, justly named Hand by the late King, has called for a Great Council, and House Greyjoy would not oppose such a course should it prove feasible. We well remember that our own Kingsmoots on the Isles served us well, for a time.

But when armed and treasonous lords are rising in the heart of the realm, our sweet young King and his great capital must be defended.

My powers are strong and crescent, but to take the fight to the foe and prevent their own insidious depredations, I shall not scorn any valiant allies. My army marches for Duskendale, where we know we shall find a glad welcome from the late King's trusty friend and servant, Lord Rykker. Should any man, great or lowly, seek to prove his fealty, he shall be well greeted at our muster there.

By the benisons of the gods of the greenlands and the one god of the isles,

Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, True Liegeman to King Viserys, the Third of his Name

[Garlan Gunter]

Blockade upon the Narrow Sea



Any vessels carrying sellswords bound to disturb the peace of the realm in the cause of rebels will be apprehended, defied and destroyed.

By the word of Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke and Master of Ships

Long live Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name

[Enduro]

Blockade upon the Narrow Sea



Any vessels carrying sellswords bound to disturb the peace of the realm in the cause of rebels will be apprehended, defied and destroyed.

By the word of Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke and Master of Ships

Long live Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name

An open letter to Lord Greyjoy and any who want to read,

Do you think that a blockade will end a war that has already begun?
Sides have been drawn, Lord Greyjoy, there is no peace in the land.

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell

[Lumine]

Dispositions of the Realm:

Royal Decrees

In the name of Viserys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm; Mace of the House Tyrell, Hand of the King, Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marshes, High Marshall of the Reach and Warden of the South is appointed Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm until the King’s coming of age.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Regarding Justice and War

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Regarding Gratitude

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Regarding the Small Council

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Regarding the City of King's Landing

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[Lumine]

To the Lords and Knights of Westeros:

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Mace Tyrell, Lord Regent of Westeros.

[Lumine]

Small Council:

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[Lumine]

Further Appointment:

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[Lumine]

A minor proclaim:

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[Lumine]

Regarding matters of accusations:

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OOC: Thank gods I managed to see the turn in time...

[Enduro]

Regarding matters of accusations:

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OOC: Thank gods I managed to see the turn in time...

Lord Tyrell,

I did act dishonorably to my friends, but now I want to make up for it before I leave.

I did incite rebellion against the crown, because it was why my son was dead, and my Lyanna was captured. A grieving Stark is a dangerous Stark.

The proof I present is a greendream, you can't give those to people to investigate, only warn people of their contents; what I'm wondering is why isn't the crown investigating Prince Martell? Why haven't you made any investigation into who killed the Mad King, do you care to find the murderor? If you do, he's Doran Martell, bring him to justice.

Finally, in no short time, I'll be either without a head, or on the wall. Why would I lie?

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell

[Garlan Gunter]

A Worthy Heir



Balon Greyjoy is herein named Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet.

By order of Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke and Master of Ships

[Garlan Gunter]

On Dornishmen and Dornish Maids

Whatever might be said of Lord Stark's honour now, he is a desperate man with little to lose, and the Starks of Winterfell are known of old for uncanny and ancient dreams.

House Greyjoy will not desist from the punitive siege of Ghaston Grey until the Prince of Dorne be cleared of the charge against him laid by Lord Stark, in court or by combat.

Besides, Lord Greyjoy notes that the Prince committed another undoubted treason, in defying the Master of Ships' wishes and blockade to smuggle in his foreign sellswords.

Lord Greyjoy also expresses concern that the ungodly and cursed custom of royal incest, leading as is well known to attested and grievous insanity, is continued by the Prince's counsel. But he accepts that the final decision on this matter lies with the Hand.

For ourselves, we of the Ironborn prefer wider ranging, stronger blood at large. Lord Greyjoy announces with delight the rock marriage of his youngest son Aeron to Allyria of House Dayne, a great honour for that old but lesser house, who have learnt too late that treason repented at the last minute is treason still.

Written at Duskendale in the name of the Eight Gods and the Old,

Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, Master of Ships

[Enduro]

A letter to Mace Tyrell,

I'll take the black, but heed my warning.

Investigate Doran Martell, or let Aerys' killer go free.

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell

[Lumine]

Regarding matters of accusations, II:

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[Lumine]

The Knight of the Rose II:

-Aye, m’Lord, they’re dead.-
-Yes, Slynt, I can see that plainly enough.-

Both men had been beaten to a pulp, then dismembered and thrown into the sewers. Or at least, the Lord Commander of the City Watch hoped that was the actual order. The news had come to him early in the morning, and despite the danger Quentyn Tyrell had rushed with a company of men into the outskirts of Flea Bottom to see the bodies. Two guards to the Tyrell Household, probably dumb enough to enter that part of town to whore or drink… and sure enough, they had made them impossible to recognize save for the two green cloaks almost turned to red from the blood. They had been the first to go, but Ser Quentyn figured they were far from the last. The news of Rhaegar’s death, far from welcome news, had proved detrimental in keeping the city safe, as the smallfolk still appeared to harbor feelings for the Mad Prince. To tell the truth, Quentyn had shared the joy of many at Court as Rhaegar had met his unlikely end, and Lady Stark had been saved from a gruesome fate at the hands of her captor.

-The people liked Rhaegar, m’Lord. – Said soldier Slynt, racing to walk alongside Quentyn –
-Aye, seems that way. – Quentyn made a complicated face, finding Slynt to be insufferably slimy –
-It will be hard to enter Flea Bottom from now on. – Slynt pressed – Surely the Lord Regent knows…? –
-I’ll be sure to tell him. – He answered back, his mind elsewhere – Did you… did you like Rhaegar, Slynt? –
-Me? No. – Slynt shook his head – Some liked to listen to his songs.-
-And you didn’t? –
-No, Lord Commander. Always thought of it as a cheap trick.-
-Yes… I suppose one can see it that way.-

Ser Quentyn gave Slynt his leave to go with most of the company and left for Visenya’s Hill with a minor escort, his mind racing ahead on the implications. He knew the Small Council to be well aware that there was trouble in the streets, and he had received plenty of help. But the uneasiness remained… he wondered whether they would actually do enough to turn the tide, or whether one of his officers, or worse, someone higher, would meet his end at the hands of an enraged mob. Given how busy and utterly exhausted he had been over the past days trying to properly lead the City Watch, he envied his successor at the head of the Tyrell host. Ser Desmond Redwyne’s most pressing concern was to keep the men out of the slums and make sure they were fed, whereas Quentyn had to keep a whole city in line.

-Damn you, Mace.- He muttered – I hardly asked for this.-

Quentyn found him a competent enough Hand, and he hadn’t been able to see him in full force as the new Lord Regent, but Mace’s insistence on what he considered to be the display of signs of power often had the knight struggling not to burst out laughing, and he had heard jokes from the officers too. That he had insisted on making his famous initial ride on that ridiculous helmet with a large green feather was one thing, but demanding of the Carpenter’s Guild that they built him a large, green, jewel incrusted chair for his use had been too much. Perhaps if Mace had kept it confined to the Tower of the Hand it might have been possible to take it as a simple curiosity, but the Lord Regent had the bloody chair moved from place to place inside the Red Keep… unless, of course, he had to sit at the monstrosity that the Iron Throne was.

-What a remarkable seat of power. – He had loudly proclaimed as the court had filled the room the very first day –

And sure enough, on that day Mace cut himself no less than three times with the Throne. Ser Alliser Thorne, the King’s Justice, had made Lady Dayne and the ladies attending Princess Rhaenys laugh to tears after complaining that Mace had broken Aerys’s record on open wounds per fortnight. Quentyn wisely chose not to mention it to the Spider, himself struggling not to laugh at his distant cousin not being the typical Hand of the King. Still, he had to admit Mace had been at least successful in keeping most things together, after the Realm had suddenly gone from fire to fire due to Rhaegar’s madness and folly.

-Lord Commander. – It was at the middle of the day when soldier Slynt came back for him – The Lord Regent requests your presence at the Tower of the Hand. A meeting of the Small Council has been called.-

The Small Council had gone under many changes over the past few weeks, and the least of all the changes was that the meetings had been sent to the Tower of the Hand. Gone was the Hand from the past year, Merryweather, now an outlaw soon to be crushed by the terror on a horse that Randyll Tarly was. Gone was the lickspittle Staunton, and gone were Velaryon and Chelsted – although Quentyn suspected Mace was likely to bring them back someday -, leaving but three of the old councilors to serve Aerys’s son. Pycelle was there, always there, giving advice that seem to be sound but clearly dreaming of someone else on Mace’s ridiculous green chair. Hightower was there, having remained loyal to the end and often obsessed on Viserys’s security more than the meetings themselves. And of course… the Spider. He never liked the Eunuch, and knew it for a fact most of the City well shared that feeling. But no one could deny that it has been Varys who had held together the Court for the most trying of times, and Mace had seemed perfectly content with putting Varys’s talents to further use.

-Lord Regent, if I may have a word. – Ser Willem began –

There were many new members of the Council, of course, but most weren’t there. The Greyjoy Admiral, for starters, who had promised to send Dunstan Drumm as his temporary replacement. Lord Tully had just been appointed Master of Coin, but Quentyn hoped for his speedy arrival given the countless preparatives to be enacted for Viserys’s coronation. And of course, Randyll Tarly, who was becoming an almost mythical figure to the young knight after he had heard Tarly had crushed four rebel houses in a matter of days. The ones there, save for Mace and Quentyn as the unexpected candidate, were one of the Reach Lords, the wise Lord Rowan, and Ser Willem Darry, not the most remarkable of the Targaryen supporters but a man loyal to the end. An odd collection of figures, yes, but aren’t all Small Councils the same?

-It is unacceptable! – Mace shouted – A greendream? A prophecy? When, my Lords, when has this Realm been governed by such notions? –
-I seem to recall, Lord Regent… - Pycelle began – Greendreams are supposedly revelations brought in dreams by Northerners. Yet I don’t recall them being used in the South before…-
-It’s nonsense, plain and simple. – Rowan pointed out – We’ll be a laughingstock if we start imprisoning people and fighting wars over prophecies. I thought the age of Kings was over.-
-Well, that is a curious thing to say, my Lord… - The Spider’s scent of lilies flooded the table – Especially when we’ve had… three Kings this year?-
-There is but one King, and one King alone. – Said Ser Willem – Aerys was the King, and Viserys after him is the King.-
-The timing could be considered suspect.- Lord Commander Hightower said, a usually silent figure – But it should be noted Prince Rhaegar gave some credence to prophecies.-
-And said obsession did not end well for the realm, did it? – Quentyn heard himself say –

The back and forth lasted for some time, but those present were mostly in agreement of how abnormal the whole predicament was. Mace drafted another of his pompous proclaims and asked Pycelle to have it sent by raven afterwards, making it clear he did not want the matter discussed, at least not until his new councilors were finally in the Capital. After all, Quentyn, Ser Willem and Lord Rowan had been invited to join the Council, but did not held the rank of an office like Tarly, Greyjoy and Tully did. After discussing other issues regarding King Viserys’s coronation and recent developments across Essos, Mace turned to an unexpected subject to close the meeting.

-One last thing. I have made dispositions for most of the lands held by these… Lords Declarant. – Mace almost spat, showing his displeasure at the actions of Merryweather and his rebels – Bitterbridge is by far the most important of the seats now available, and I would not have it go to someone I do not trust.-

Available? Quentyn looked down at the table. Typical of the Lord Regent, to make such an understatement. From what he had heard, Randyll Tarly and his fierce cavalrymen had stormed Bitterbridge the moment Old Lord Caswell had refused to yield, and after some brief fighting they had crushed the pride – and the lives – of House Caswell. No more Defenders of the Fords. And Quentyn felt a degree of sadness to know a long lived house was no more, even if that was the fate reserved to the traitors who sided with an utter coward like Rhaegar.

-Quentyn.- Mace looked at him, and signed a piece of paper -
-Yes, Lord Regent? –
-I have just signed the papers. Many congratulations. –
-On… on what? –

The Spider smiled, and Lord Rowan looked exasperated at Quentyn’s tardiness.

-You are Lord of Bitterbridge now.- Mace pointed out, opening a wide smile – May your rule prove a source of pride for House Tyrell, Lord Quentyn.-

Quentyn smiled, and sat back to his chair with a slow move of satisfaction that looked just a bit ridiculous. And for a moment, just for a moment, he allowed himself not to care about the thousand and one dilemmas that were smashing his head at the time.

[Garlan Gunter]

Justice



I demand that my third son Victarion of House Greyjoy be brought to the capital to face trial for attempted rapine and murder, as befits his rank, where the injured party, Lord Tully, the Master of Coin, I myself, the Master of Laws Lord Tarly and the Lord Regent may witness the decision. For myself I vow that I shall not appeal against any adverse verdict. And I hope that our princely friend in the south may profit from this example.

In the Name of the Eight Gods and the Old,

Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke and Master of Ships

[Lumine]

Regarding the recent attack on Lysa Tully and Lyanna Stark:

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[Lumine]

Regarding the Governance of the Realm

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Regarding the Kingsguard

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[Lumine]

Small Council:

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[Garlan Gunter]

Notice of Arrival

I enter the capital upon whose Small Council I was but lately invited with but two companions, Lords Botley and Drumm. I see and hear no sign of Lord Tully of Riverrun, or my son who is to be tried here by the Regent's command.

Could it be that, although so fervid to execute justice in his own dominions, the Lord of the Riverlands yet fears the capital, and justice there for an erring, but undoubted prince of the blood, murdered in haste?

I hope not, for I am most eager to see this trial concluded as soon as may be.

Announced in the Name of the Eight Gods and the Old, in the first year of the reign of King Viserys, Third of His Name,

Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke

[Enduro]

Notice of Arrival

I enter the capital upon whose Small Council I was but lately invited with but two companions, Lords Botley and Drumm. I see and hear no sign of Lord Tully of Riverrun, or my son who is to be tried here by the Regent's command.

Could it be that, although so fervid to execute justice in his own dominions, the Lord of the Riverlands yet fears the capital, and justice there for an erring, but undoubted prince of the blood, murdered in haste?

I hope not, for I am most eager to see this trial concluded as soon as may be.

Announced in the Name of the Eight Gods and the Old, in the first year of the reign of King Viserys, Third of His Name,

Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke

Lord Greyjoy,

Hosted Tully is busy laying siege to the Twins, with me. He'll arrive when our revenge is exacted; if your innocent like you told me, you'll allow the time to get this over with before the trial.

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell