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The hour was late, very late. Dawn had not even broken yet the Small Council was once again in session. The members, most of them puffy-eyed and yawning, took their seats. Tyland Lannister, Master of Ships, set his golden marble in its slot and lounged lazily in his chair.
“What is it that could not have waited an hour?” he asked. “Was Dorne invaded?”
He looked around the table for signs of laughter at his joke but was met with stony faces, the stoniest of all being that of Alton Stark, the Master of Laws. Of course, Tyland had not expected any glimmerings of humour from the cold and stoic Northerner, but he had a bet going with Lord Beesbury that he could get Stark to laugh at least once and so far he’d failed in that for nigh on six years.
“Obviously we would not have summoned at such an hour unless there was something extremely important to discuss, Lannister.” Alton Stark growled in a voice much like the wolf on his family’s banner.
“Aye, what is the matter that had me drag my old bones out of bed before dawn?” Lord Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin, asked.
All heads turned to the Queen, Alicent Hightower, and the Hand of the King, her father Otto. The former had a dead look on her face whilst the latter seemed to be combining sadness with some kind of hidden glee.
“The King is dead.”
The words were spoken bluntly and at once the atmosphere in the room became tense, the languid smile on Tyland Lannister’s face vanishing in an instant. Lord Commander Westerling’s shoulders fell as the old knight came to terms with the announcement, Lord Beesbury bowed his head and muttered a quick prayer to the Seven and Alton Stark squeezed his knuckles together.
“I see.” he said. “Unsurprising, given his health recently, but regrettable all the same.”
The Northman’s statement got a couple of disapproving looks, but by and large they were all used to his bluntness by now so it was allowed to pass.
“We mourn the death of Viserys the Peaceful, our sovereign and friend.” Otto Hightower went on.
“A great loss indeed.” Grand Maester Orwyle remarked.
“A formal announcement should be made once the sun has fully risen.” Alton Stark began. “And Princess Rhaenyra should be informed. Grand Maester, prepare your ravens to-”
“Thank you, Lord Stark, but there is something else we need to discuss before we make any formal announcement of the king’s death.” Otto Hightower interjected.
“And what is that?” Tyland Lannister asked.
Otto Hightower exchanged a glance with his daughter.
“My daughter, the Queen, has informed me that with his last breath Viserys impressed upon her his final wish.” he said. “That his son Aegon should succeed him as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”
There was a ringing silence that greeted these words, broken by the sound of Alton Stark’s throat being cleared.
“If this is your idea of a joke, Lord Hand, it is not funny,” he said. “King Viserys made it very clear that upon his death, his daughter Princess Rhaenys was to succeed him.”
“It is no joke, Lord Stark.” Otto Hightower replied. “My daughter heard it with her own ears that Aegon was to succeed the king.”
More silence, this time broken by Tyland Lannister.
“Then we may proceed now with the full assurance of his blessing on our long-laid plans.” he said.
“What do you mean?” Lord Beesbury asked. “What plans?”
“Yes, there is indeed much to be done.” Otto Hightower said, ignoring the Master of Coin as he took his seat. “Now, there are two captains of the City Watch who remain loyal to Daemon who will need to be replaced with men loyal to us. Lord Lannister?”
“The Treasury is well in hand.” Tyland Lannister replied. “The gold will be divided for safekeeping. One third to remain in King’s Landing, another third to be sent to Casterly Rock, another to Oldtown and a final third to be sent to the Iron Bank of Braavos.”
“Good.” Otto Hightower replied. “Let ravens be sent to our allies in Riverrun and Highgarden-”
Queen Alicent got to her feet.
“Excuse me, my lords, but am I to understand that members of the Small Council have been plotting to install my son as king without me?” she demanded.
“I find it rather difficult to believe that you were unaware of this, my Queen.” Alton Stark said. “Considering how many times you and your father attempted to subvert Rhaenyra’s inheritance and get the king to name Aegon instead.”
“I concur with Lord Stark.” Lyman Beesbury said. “Ever since the birth of your son, you have sought to supplant Rhaenyra with him and now you would claim that on his deathbed, Viserys decided to do just that?”
“I have already explained that my daughter-” Otto Hightower began.
“To the Seven Hells with what your daughter said!” Lyman Beesbury stormed as he shot to his feet. “Do not hand me a goblet of sheep’s piss and call it Arbor Gold! This is unacceptable! This is-!”
“Hold your tongue, Lord Beesbury!” Otto Hightower said.
“I will not!” Lyman Beesbury retorted. “How dare you speak of supplanting the true heir!”
“Rhaenyra is a woman.” Grand Maester Orwyle interjected. “And by the laws and traditions of the realm, a woman cannot inherit over a man.”
“As Master of Laws I disagree, Grand Maester.” Alton Stark said. “Rhaenyra is the first-born child of King Viserys, therefore she is the rightful heir.”
“That is not what the lords of Westeros will think.” Grand Maester Orwyle replied.
“Many hundreds of lords and knights, my own father included, swore an oath to support King Viserys’ decision to appoint Rhaenyra as his heir.” Alton Stark said.
“That was over twenty years ago and many of those lords and knights, your own father included, are dead.” Tyland Lannister pointed out. “The oaths no longer apply.”
Alton Stark scoffed.
“By that logic, Lord Lannister, the oath of fealty that my ancestor Torrhen Stark swore to Aegon the Conqueror no longer applies.” he retorted. “What would you all call it if I were to write to my nephew and order him to declare Northern independence on the grounds that our oath to the Conqueror no longer applies with his death?”
“I would call it treason, Lord Stark.” Otto Hightower replied.
“Precisely.” Alton Stark said. “So do not sit there and presume to commit the exact same treason by supplanting Rhaenyra with Aegon.”
“Lord Stark is right!” Lyman Beesbury agreed. “As to the veracity of what you claim Viserys said in his last breath, I refuse to believe that he said this on his deathbed alone with only the boy’s ambitious mother as a witness!”
“Lord Beesbury.” Otto Hightower said warningly.
Alton Stark got to his feet as well.
“I will not have any part of this dishonourable conduct!” he said. “In the North we do not swear oaths lightly!”
Ser Criston Cole cleared his throat from where he stood behind Lord Beesbury.
“We are not in the North, Lord Stark.” he said. “Think carefully on that before you utter your next words.”
The Master of Laws turned his head to glare at the Kingsguard knight and let out another, remarkably wolf-like growl as Otto Hightower rapped the table with his knuckles.
“Lord Stark, Lord Beesbury, know that we are all in agreement that Prince Aegon will succeed King Viserys.” he said.
“Well I do not agree, ser!” Lord Beesbury proclaimed. “I shall not be a party to- Urkh!”
A sword blade suddenly appeared as if by magic through Lord Beesbury’s chest, breaking the bee clasp of his cloak in the process. The old lord looked down at it in astonishment, and the rapidly spreading stain on his front, before it was suddenly yanked out and the Master of Coin crumpled forwards onto the table, knocking his ceremonial marble loose from its niche to send it clattering to the floor and revealing Ser Criston Cole standing behind him. There was a moment of horrified stillness as everyone in the room stared at the dead body of the Lord of Honeyholt, lying on the small council table in a spreading pool of blood, before Alton Stark reacted.
“You-!”
He went for his dagger, only to be held on the point of Criston’s sword, still stained with Lord Beesbury’s blood.
“Go ahead.” Cole snarled. “Give me a reason.”
Alton Stark glared daggers at the honourless knight standing before him as Lord Commander Westerling drew his own sword.
“Lower your blade, Ser Criston.” he ordered in his gruff voice.
“Only when Lord Stark surrenders, else I’ll run him through.” Cole replied.
“Don’t be a bigger fool than you already have been, lad.” Westerling cautioned. “Lord Stark is the uncle of the Lord of Winterfell; kill him and the entire North will march south to claim your head.”
“I will suffer no threats or insults to the Queen in my presence.” Cole retorted, his eyes never leaving Alton’s.
“There was no threat nor insult, Ser Criston.” Queen Alicent said. “Lower your blade, please.”
Criston reached out and took the dagger from Alton’s belt, tossing it to the side before finally lowering his sword. He did not sheathe it, however. Alton glanced at the body of Lyman Beesbury, still sprawled over the table.
“Lord Beesbury was the head of one of your most prominent bannermen, Lord Hightower.” he said to Otto. “They will demand answers and heads for their lord’s murder.”
“We shall deal with that when we come to it.” Otto Hightower replied. “In the meantime….”
He snapped his fingers towards Criston Cole.
“Ser Criston, remove Lord Stark and take him to the dungeons.” he ordered. “Then gather some men and arrest his household guards.”
“What if they resist, my lord?” Criston asked.
“Kill them.” was the sole reply.
Alton’s guards, brought specially from Winterfell to protect him, did indeed resist and were slaughtered to the last man, though they took many of their attackers with them. Alton was consigned to the dungeons, where he was soon joined by many other lords and ladies who had previously sworn fealty to Rhaenyra. How long he languished there only the gods knew, before he finally received a visitor.
“Lord Stark.”
“Lord Larys.”
Larys Strong, known as Larys Clubfoot, Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Confessor, limped into the cell leaning heavily on his cane, a necessity given the deformity that gave him his name. An unassuming man, he’d come into his position after a mysterious fire at Harrenhal claimed the lives of his father and older brother and Alton had never trusted him.
“Come to hear a confession?” Alton asked. “I’m afraid I’m not in a talkative mood.”
Larys sat down heavily on a chair, setting his cane aside.
“The king has sent me to give you an offer.” he said.
“The king?” Alton scoffed. “I know you’re the queen’s creature through and through. She’s the one who really sent you.”
Larys inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
“Very well.” he said. “You are to be publicly executed tomorrow morning on the steps of the Dragonpit. The queen has, however, convinced the king to spare your life if you publicly denounce Rhaenyra and swear your fealty to him as the true heir to the Iron Throne.”
Alton listened to this in silence before letting out a snort of laughter.
“I will not.” he said. “My house swore an oath of fealty to recognise and support Princess Rhaenyra as the heir. I will not break that, especially not to a drunken, raping wastrel!”
“Is your oath worth more than your life, Lord Stark?” Larys asked mockingly.
Alton jerked forwards aggressively, making the Clubfoot jump in surprise.
“Listen to me, worm!” he growled. “I’m a Stark of Winterfell, and a Stark of Winterfell is trusted above all else to keep his word when he gives it! Perhaps here in the south oaths may be made and broken as easily as a fucking wine-glass, but in the North we keep to our words! And I will not sully the name of my family by breaking my oath to save my life!”
Larys watched him dispassionately.
“House Stark of Winterfell.” he said after a long pause. “Very old. Very respected. Very strong. And…….very small.”
Alton glared at him.
“And presently led by a man of only nineteen name-days.” Larys continued. “Your nephew, Cregan, I believe his name is. You, him and one son barely a year old, all that remains of House Stark. Such a fragile state for a Great House.”
Alton lunged again and was kept at bay only by his chains, which nevertheless strained to hold him.
“You die, your nephew dies and his son dies.” Larys went on. “Poof! No more House Stark. But if you bend the knee and swear your loyalty to the king, House Stark remains and can grow stronger.”
He reached for his cane and placed both hands atop it so he could rest his chin atop them
“You are not a man overly given to displays of emotion, Lord Stark, but it is clear to me that you care greatly for your nephew.” he said. “Enough so that you went against your own older brother when he refused to give up his regency and helped your nephew claim his birthright as Lord of Winterfell. If you continue to profess your allegiance to Rhaenyra, you will die and Cregan will follow sooner or later. Your beloved nephew will die, his son will die and your whole house and line will be ended. All of this depends on what choice you make tomorrow.”
Alton continued to glare at him, but the Clubfoot distinctly saw the rage and defiance leave the old Northerner’s eyes. He got to his mismatched feet.
“See you tomorrow, Lord Stark.” he said, and left the cell.
Alton was left alone with only his thoughts that night and being devoid of a heart tree to pray to, even the Old Gods knew not what they were. As noon approached he was finally removed from his cell and dragged through the corridors of the Red Keep, bundled into a wagon and then ferried through the streets until they reached the Dragonpit. A massive crowd was assembled on the steps that led up to the gargantuan construction, wide enough that forty people could stand abreast on the steps, all looking up to the top.
There, clad in golden armour worn over green silk, stood the new king, Aegon II. There were dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to occasionally sway where he stood; drunk, no doubt. As he was brought closer, Alton noticed the sword sheathed at the pretender king’s waist; Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror. And on his brow was……… well, it had originally been worn by the Conqueror but it had also been worn more recently by Maegor the Cruel, which should have been the first sign to the smallfolk of what awaited them under this boy.
All the rest of the Greens, as they were informally known, were gathered off to the side. Dowager Queen Alicent and Hand of the King Otto Hightower, along with the remaining members of the Small Council and Larys Strong. Prince Aemond One-Eye, Aegon’s younger brother, a patch over his missing eye and a hungry look in the remaining one; Helaena Targaryen, Aegon’s sister-bride, a nice if rather odd girl; Criston Cole, still in the white cloak he’d sullied; Arryk Cargyll, devoid of his twin brother for some reason. There was also a man whom he did not recognise who was clad in the robes of a septon and two other lords in chains as well: Lord Merryweather of the Reach and Lady Fell of the Stormlands, both of whom seemed to have refused to bend the knee as well. When Alton had been brought to stand next to the guards, Otto Hightower stepped forwards.
“Citizens of King’s Landing!” he called out. “Lord Alton Stark, former Master of Laws, has been brought before you today to answer for his treason against the king! He refuses to acknowledge His Grace as the true heir to the Iron Throne, instead proclaiming loyalty to the false heir and usurper, Rhaenyra Targaryen!”
A chorus of boos and hisses rose up at his words.
“Fortunately for him, His Grace in his infinite mercy has consented to offer Lord Stark a chance at clemency.” Otto Hightower continued. “Do you, Lord Alton Stark, renounce your oath to the false heir Rhaenyra and pledge your fealty to Aegon II, the true king?”
Alton Stark did not reply immediately, merely stared at his feet with his head bowed, clearly in the grip of some awful internal agonies. Finally, his mouth began to open.
Historians aren’t quite sure how things would have gone in the Dance had Alton Stark spoken at that moment, but they generally agree that it would probably have gone a lot better if Septon Eustace hadn’t decided to open his big fat mouth.
“And do you also swear to forsake your false tree gods and turn to the path of the Seven-Who-Are-One?” he called.
Many of the Greens glared angrily at the septon, so much so that if looks could have killed then Eustace would certainly have dropped dead on the spot, but the damage was done. Alton froze on the spot, mouth half-open, then began to shake with silent laughter. Finally he raised his head to stare at first the crowd, then the Greens.
“In response to both, I have but one thing to say.” he said.
And he spat heavily on the ground before them.
“May the Others bugger your Seven-Who-Are-One!” he snarled. “And the false king as well!”
There was a second of shocked, shivering silence before the crowd became an uproar. Aegon, going purple in the face with rage, drew Blackfyre and pointed it at Alton.
“I will have your head for that, traitor!” he screamed.
Goldcloaks attempted to calm the crowd as Alton was manhandled forwards, still bound in chains.
“Lord Stark has refused to bend the knee!” Otto Hightower bellowed. “The charge is treason, the sentence death!”
Alton was forced to his knees as Aegon moved to hand Blackfyre to his brother Aemond, only to halt as Alton laughed.
“You think yourself a king, eh?” he sneered. “Then prove it! If you’re going to pass sentence on me, swing the sword yourself as well!”
Aegon looked shocked at the man’s daring, glancing at the sword he was holding and going pale and then green. He glanced at his allies, his fellow Greens, seeking advice. His mother’s expression was unreadable but Otto Hightower, after only a second’s hesitation, nodded stiffly. Swallowing heavily, Aegon placed Blackfyre point down next to Alton.
“If you have any last words, traitor, speak them.” he hissed.
Alton raised his head slightly to give him a contemptuous glare.
“You are the traitor, you and all these lickspittles who put you on that throne!” he said. “You may take my life today, but my kin will have yours in return! This I swear by the Old Gods!”
He turned his head to glare at the Greens and then at the crowd.
“Winter Is Coming, for all of you!” he shouted. “Pray that you are dead before it gets here!”
His final piece said, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. He heard the false king swallow heavily again, heard the point of the Valyrian steel blade scrape against the stone as it was lifted up, heard it whistle down…………..and then, nothing.
Edwyle, the maester of Winterfell, almost expired in horror when he read the message that had come by raven from King’s Landing. Once he’d finally gathered his wits he made immediate haste to the Great Hall where Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was holding court with many of his senior bannermen. Though they’d supported Cregan when he deposed his regent uncle Bennard, who’d been a power-hungry wretch it had to be said, his youth and inexperience meant they weren’t fully convinced by him. At the very least they wished that the boy’s uncle, Alton Stark, had stayed in Winterfell to provide support and guidance instead of involving himself in southron politics. Edwyle pushed his way through the rambunctious lot and reached the throne upon which the young lord sat, Cregan sitting up as the maester approached and held out the raven scroll with a shaking hand.
“A r-raven from K-King’s Landing, my lord.” he puffed, out of breath.
Cregan eagerly reached out and took the scroll, hoping it was news from his uncle. Alton, having never married or had children, had treated Cregan like the son he’d never had and Cregan had latched onto him after his own father Rickon died and his other uncle, Bennard Stark, became cold and aloof as regent. Alton had been of great help to Cregan when he first took up his lordship of Winterfell and the North, providing advice and counsel when needed and he wished that his uncle had not accepted the offer to become Master of Laws in King’s Landing, even if it was tempered with pride that the snobbish southron courts recognised his uncle’s aptitude for law and judgement. His eagerness quickly vanished as he read the scroll, to be replaced with shock, grief and rage all in one. The Northern lords, concerned as their lord went pale and then purple, began shouting questions. Cregan did not reply other than to let the scroll fall from his fingers, where it was picked up by Maester Edwyle.
“What has happened?” demanded Lord Dustin of Barrowton.
“King Viserys is dead and his ambitious wife and goodfather have put Aegon on the throne over Princess Rhaenyra!” Maester Edwyle announced. “Lord Alton Stark refused to break the oath sworn by his brother, Lord Rickon, to support Princess Rhaenyra and the new king executed him for treason and has ordered Lord Cregan to come south and bend the knee, or else all of House Stark will be attainted as traitors.”
There was silence at his words, but not for long. The assembled Northern lords erupted in furious shouting loud enough that Maester Edwyle glanced up in fear of the rafters coming down, shouting about honourless southern oathbreakers and calling for blood. Yet all went silent as Lord Cregan, who’d been slumped white-faced on the throne, shot to his feet and looked around at them all with an iciness that could have rivalled winter itself.
“My lords!” he called. “My uncle has been murdered by traitors who would have the North break its oath to Princess Rhaenyra and I will not stand for it! Will you?”
“NO!!!!!”
“Good! Return to your holdfasts!” Lord Cregan ordered. “Call your banners! All of them! We march to war!”
The resultant cheers were loud enough that dust and soot fell from the ceiling, whilst Lord Cregan turned to Maester Edwyle.
“Maester Edwyle!” he snapped.
“My lord?” Edwyle asked.
“Prepare two of your swiftest ravens at once!” Lord Cregan ordered.
“Of course, my lord.” Edwyle replied. “Where will they be going?”
“One to Dragonstone, to inform Princess Rhaenyra that House Stark will remain true to its word and support her claim as the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“And the other, my lord?” Edwyle asked.
“To King’s Landing.” Lord Cregan replied. “Tell them that the North remembers. Tell them that House Stark will not become an oathbreaker. And tell them……….. that Winter Is Coming.”
Indeed it was. For in killing Alton Stark, the Greens had incurred a blood debt to House Stark that would be paid back in blood.