[ POV Tywin Lannister ]
King's Landing, the Red Keep
The king's seat stood empty at the head of the small council table. Aerys had refused to attend the meeting that morning. The message delivered by Ser Jonothor Darry said that His Grace had spent the night keeping vigil, searching for poison in a pitcher of water brought from the queen's chambers, and wished to see no man save the members of the Kingsguard. Tywin had not asked how many servants had been imprisoned during the search. The scream heard in the yard before dawn offered answer enough.
In the king's absence, the Hand occupied the chair to the right of the head of the table and conducted the realm's business. Tywin kept his back straight and his hands resting upon the dark oak. The years had taken the hair from the crown of his head, which he kept shaved, while thick golden whiskers descended along his cheeks to frame his jaw. His crimson wool doublet fitted his broad shoulders; small golden lions fastened it from throat to chest. Only his eyes, green flecked with gold, moved as he examined the assembled men.
Qarlton Chelsted had already separated three revenue reports, aligning their edges with his thumbnail. Lucerys Velaryon leafed through a list of merchant ships detained in Blackwater Bay. Symond Staunton held his quill above an open inkpot, though he had not written a word since the meeting began. Grand Maester Pycelle occupied the chair nearest Tywin, wrapped in a heavy robe, his long white beard spread across the links of his chain. Ser Gerold Hightower stood between the door and the head of the table, motionless in his white armor, one hand near the hilt of his sword while his eyes swept the chamber.
Rhaegar sat across the table. He wore black, with only three rubies fastening his cloak at the left shoulder. His silver hair fell loose to his collar, and his long hands rested together before him. The melancholy expression the singers deemed profound served better as a shield. The prince had learned early to hide his thoughts behind courtesy.
Varys was the last to enter. The eunuch glided into the chamber wrapped in plum-colored silk, bringing with him the scent of rosewater and perfumed powder. He closed the door with one soft white hand, then advanced to the end of the table with a roll of parchments concealed inside his sleeve.
"Forgive my delay, my lords," Varys said, inclining his smooth head in a calculated bow. A small smile remained fixed to his lips as he produced three messages. "The birds of the North insisted upon singing all at once. Some songs deserved comparison before I brought them to such important ears."
Tywin extended a hand. Varys placed the parchments before him without allowing their fingers to touch. The seals had been removed, though the broken impressions remained recognizable: a merman of White Harbor, a Cerwyn battle-axe, and the seahorse used by a merchant under Velaryon protection.
"Begin with the facts that appear in all three messages," Tywin ordered, smoothing the first parchment against the table. His voice remained low, forcing Staunton to lean forward to hear him. "Your informants' embellishments may follow."
Varys joined his hands before his rounded belly. The wide sleeves once more concealed his fingers.
"Roose Bolton is dead, my lord," the eunuch reported, addressing the Hand before allowing his eyes to pass over Rhaegar. "Lord Rickard Stark carried out the sentence with Ice in the Dreadfort's yard. Lords Mormont, Umber, Manderly, Karstark, Dustin, Ryswell, Cerwyn, and Hornwood witnessed the judgment. They found account books, correspondence, preserved human skins in the dungeons, and prisoners able to identify the men involved. The trueborn Bolton line ended with Roose."
The clink of Pycelle's chain broke the silence. The old maester pulled his beard through his fingers and frowned at the parchments.
"A House that ruled those lands for thousands of years vanished in a morning," Pycelle observed, letting his weight sink into the chair. "The Citadel must receive an account of the evidence and the witnesses. An execution of such importance will breed disputes for generations if the records are incomplete."
"Rickard Stark understands the value of witnesses," Tywin replied, turning the parchment to read its final line. The Lord of Winterfell might be moved by honor, but he had never been a fool. He had gathered his vassals before bringing Bolton down and forced every powerful House in the North to share responsibility for the sentence. "If eight lords saw the same crimes and recognized the same judgment, none of them can later condemn the decision without condemning his own word."
Symond Staunton finally set his quill to parchment. The point left a dark blot before it began to move.
"Did the Boltons offer battle?" the master of laws asked, keeping his attention upon the line he was writing. "An ancient House generally takes hundreds of men with it when it falls."
Varys's smile widened by a fraction. The gesture did not reach his dark eyes.
"The Dreadfort was sealed, provisioned, and prepared for a siege," he explained, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. "Roose expected to force Winterfell's host to spend months outside the walls. Arthur Snow entered before his father arrived, accompanied by thirteen men. They passed through the defenses, seized the gate mechanisms, and opened the fortress from within when the northern cavalry appeared."
"Thirteen?" the master of coin repeated, twisting his mouth as though the number had been entered incorrectly in an account. "The Boltons maintained one of the largest garrisons in the eastern North." Chelsted abandoned his revenue reports, and Lucerys stopped leafing through the shipping list, keeping a finger between two pages.
"My little birds count dozens dead near the gate and in the inner passages before the Starks entered," Varys continued, gently swaying his head. "The more enthusiastic versions speak of demons with iron faces, beasts made of shadow, and warriors passing through walls. One account from Cerwyn offers less musical detail: white cloaks worn over armor, an old passage, coordinated attacks against the sentries, and swift control of the gate chains. Arthur also reached Roose's chambers before the remaining books could be consumed by fire. He freed a hostage and delivered Bolton alive to his father."
Tywin read the second message. The merchant's informer described masked men emerging from within the fortress, a huge black beast attacking the wall, and gates opening at the precise moment Winterfell's warhorn sounded. Fear always added magic to the work of disciplined men. Even so, discipline did not explain everything. Thirteen infiltrators needed to know routes, guard rotations, locks, and objectives before crossing the first wall.
Arthur had learned to study fortresses as other boys studied horses at a fair, and had taught his companions to act with the same precision. Tywin had seen commanders waste thousands of men before walls that a handful of well-led soldiers might render useless.
"How many of the thirteen died?" Tywin asked, setting the parchment beside Chelsted's reports. His forefinger pressed the wood once and then went still.
"None," Varys replied, allowing the word to rest among the councillors. "One of his warriors suffered an injury to the shoulder. The others walked out. The northern lords remained in Winterfell until responsibilities had been divided and departed for their own lands several days ago. Before doing so, they recognized the extinction of House Bolton, Arthur's legitimization, and the grant of the Dreadfort to the new Lord Arthur Stark."
Rhaegar raised his eyes. The movement was slight, though Tywin had expected it from the first mention of the bastard. The prince kept his hands joined and his face composed.
Tywin had read every line of the decree before placing his seal below Aerys's. The legitimization allowed Arthur to inherit, receive lands, and found a House of his own. At the time, no property had been named. Rhaegar had defended those clauses on the strength of the services rendered to the Crown; the return of Dark Sister had weighed upon the king's willingness, but it had never been presented as the price of the Stark name. Now the young man possessed a fortress, vast fields, rights over rivers, and a position capable of controlling the eastern North. The distance between reward and power was usually measured after it was already too late.
"The decree left King's Landing before the fall of the Dreadfort," Chelsted said, looking from Tywin to the prince. His fingers resumed their restless movement against the edge of the table. "The choice of lands belonged entirely to Rickard Stark."
"It did," Tywin confirmed, holding the master of coin's gaze until his fingers stopped. "Rickard gathered the lords, preserved the Bolton domains intact, and placed them in the hands of a son directly tied to Winterfell. He prevented Karstark, Manderly, and Umber from beginning a dispute over roads, villages, and revenues. He also prevented the rise of a lesser House that would need to purchase a neighbor's protection. It was the most efficient decision available."
Lucerys closed the shipping report. Candlelight ran across the silver hair of the old Lord of Driftmark.
"The Bolton lands reach the eastern coast and lie close to White Harbor's routes," the master of ships assessed, resting his palm upon the document's cover. "The bastard son has already helped the Starks build shipyards and open new ports. If he repeats that work at the Dreadfort, traffic on the Narrow Sea will increase. Driftmark may profit from it. Braavos as well."
"And the North will collect revenue upon every cargo," Chelsted added, retrieving his reports. "Frostspirit and Icefyre have already reached the capital's taverns. The soapworks controlled by the same administrators sell their goods faster than merchants can transport them. Granting rivers, a fortress, and rights over mineral deposits that have yet to be confirmed could create another source of income beyond the royal treasury's direct reach."
Tywin turned his face toward Chelsted. The man perceived the warning before it was spoken and closed his mouth. "The taxes owed to the Crown will remain owed," the Hand declared, smoothing a crease from the cuff of his doublet. "Prosperity becomes a problem only when it strengthens hostile men or conceals resources meant for war. I want figures before I accept any conclusion on either matter."
Varys inclined his head, accepting the order without formally acknowledging that it had been directed at him. The sweet perfume seemed stronger whenever the eunuch stood silent.
Tywin turned to Rhaegar. The prince was studying the open third parchment, the one describing Arthur's recognition by the lords of the North.
"You were the one who argued for his legitimization," Tywin reminded him, using the same tone with which he discussed taxes. "Now the man you wished to reward possesses one of the most important fortresses in the North. Tell the council what benefit you expect the Crown to receive."
Rhaegar raised his face. His violet eyes remained upon the Hand, too calm for a young man caught unprepared by the question.
"A lord capable of keeping the roads clear, suppressing his own brigands, and defending the coast benefits the entire realm," the prince replied, running his thumb across the ruby fastening his cloak. "Arthur fulfilled the mission against the Kingswood Brotherhood, returned Dark Sister to my family, and went back to the North without demanding wealth or a place at court. The Crown acknowledged his services. Rickard Stark chose where to employ them."
The answer was clean. It was also incomplete. Tywin recognized the difference as easily as he found a missing coin in an account book.
"You consider him a friend," he said, watching the prince's thumb leave the ruby.
"I do," Rhaegar confirmed without resorting to a smile. "Friendship does not diminish the value of his deeds."
"It may alter the value a prince assigns to those deeds," Tywin replied, keeping his hands open upon the table. Aerys would see a conspiracy before the end of the first explanation. The king transformed every friendship of his son's into proof that men were gathering to replace him. Varys knew that weakness and chose carefully which suspicions to feed. "His Grace has not yet received this report."
Varys moved his eyes toward the empty seat. His smile grew smaller.
"The king was resting when the messages arrived," the eunuch explained, stroking the silk over his belly. "I thought it prudent to allow the Hand to examine the facts before tales of demons, wolves, and a fortress taken by thirteen men disturbed His Grace."
Tywin held his gaze. Prudence was a useful word for men who wished to conceal the choice made between two consequences. Varys might spare Aerys one fear in the morning and serve it to him with poisonous detail at nightfall.
"The king will receive a written account," Tywin decided, drawing a blank sheet toward the center of the table. "Pycelle will record the execution of Roose Bolton following judgment by his peers, the pacification of the fortress, and the grant confirmed by Winterfell. The stories of creatures and magic will remain outside the document until someone offers better proof than the terror of a sentry."
Pycelle reached for the quill with slow movements. His beard slid across his chain as he leaned forward.
"A sensible formulation, my lord," the Grand Maester agreed, preparing the first line. "I can add that the vassals have returned to their own domains and that no host remains assembled at Winterfell. That will demonstrate that the campaign has ended."
"Add it," Tywin authorized. Then he moved the first parchment toward Varys. "I want to know when Arthur takes possession of the Dreadfort, how many men he brings with him, and which former Bolton officers retain their posts. Watch the roads. Masons, smiths, seeds, horses, and weapons will reveal what he intends to build before his banners are raised. Separate facts from rumors before you return to this table."
Varys gathered the parchment into his sleeve and bowed, the silk sliding across his belly. "My little birds will be very cold," he lamented in a soft, almost affectionate voice. "Even so, I shall do my best to see that they sing clearly."
Tywin gathered the other two messages and aligned their edges before handing them to Pycelle. The realm could endure a talented young lord in the North. It might even profit from him. The combination of personal resources, loyal followers, and friendship with the heir demanded a vigilance that praise and stories of monsters could not replace.
Across the table, Rhaegar removed his hand from the brooch and closed it around the arm of his chair. In the corridor, hurried footsteps approached the door, followed by the sound of a spear striking stone. Tywin recognized the cadence of guards sent from the royal apartments and kept his eyes upon the wood until the handle began to turn.