77 AC
Kings Landing
Third Person Pov
Two days later, within the familiar confines of the Small Council chamber in the Red Keep, the usual business of the realm was underway. King Jaehaerys presided at the head of the table, his expression thoughtful as Lyman Beesbury detailed the latest trade figures. Suddenly, the heavy oak door creaked open, and a nervous acolyte, clutching a sealed parchment, requested permission to enter.
Grand Maester Benifer, his chains clinking softly, nodded his assent. The acolyte approached the table and presented the letter, its stark white parchment bearing the unmistakable direwolf sigil of House Stark, to the elderly maester. A hush fell over the council as the sigil was recognized.
King Jaehaerys' eyes narrowed slightly upon seeing the direwolf. "Grand Maester," he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of anticipation, "that will be all. Give the letter to me."
Benifer, his brow furrowed with a flicker of apprehension, carefully handed the Stark missive to the King. All eyes in the chamber followed the exchange, the earlier discussion forgotten as the council members waited to learn the contents of Lord Stark's reply.
A tense silence descended upon the Small Council chamber as King Jaehaerys broke the seal of Lord Stark's letter. His eyes scanned the parchment, moving swiftly across the Northern lord's words. As he read, a visible transformation swept across the King's face. The initial pallor gave way to a flush of red creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. His jaw tightened, and the red deepened, morphing into a shade of angry purple that spoke volumes of the fury brewing within. His knuckles whitened as his grip on the letter intensified, the parchment crinkling slightly under the pressure. The other council members watched this dramatic shift in the King's countenance with growing unease, sensing the gravity of Lord Stark's response.
With a guttural roar that startled the assembled Small Council, King Jaehaerys slammed his fist onto the polished table, the force of the blow making the inkwells jump. His face, now a deep, furious purple, contorted with rage. He then snatched the letter from his trembling grasp and hurled it across the chamber. The parchment fluttered through the air, landing unceremoniously near the feet of a startled Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin.
"Insolence!" the King bellowed, his voice shaking with unrestrained fury. "Utter, unforgivable insolence!" His chest heaved with each ragged breath, his violet eyes blazing with a dangerous light. The Small Council members recoiled slightly, their faces pale with shock at the King's sudden and violent outburst. The usual decorum of the royal council chamber had been shattered by the raw, untamed anger of the Dragon King.
Lyman Beesbury, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly, cautiously approached the discarded letter. He bent down, retrieved the crumpled parchment, and with hesitant movements, smoothed it out. His eyes scanned the stark, defiant words scrawled across the page. Clearing his throat, he read aloud to the stunned silence of the Small Council:
"NO"
"From Theon Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell."
The simplicity and outright rejection of Lord Stark's message hung heavy in the air. The boldness of his self-proclaimed title, "King in the North," sent a fresh wave of shock through the chamber. The implications of this direct defiance were immense, and the faces of the council members reflected a mixture of disbelief, anger, and a dawning realization of the perilous situation they now faced.
A stunned silence hung in the air for a heartbeat after Beesbury read the stark refusal. Then, as the audacity of Lord Stark's reply sank in, the Small Council erupted into a cacophony of disbelief and outrage.
"King in the North?" Septon Barth sputtered, his face a mask of righteous indignation. "Blasphemy! This is open rebellion! The man dares to usurp the King's title, to declare himself sovereign in his frozen wasteland?"
Grand Maester Benifer, his chains clinking with agitation, shook his head in disbelief. "Unprecedented! In all my years serving the Crown, I have never heard such defiance. This Stark has gone mad with pride!"
Lord Redwyne, usually more concerned with naval matters, looked aghast. "This cannot stand, Your Grace! Such insolence will embolden others. The realm will descend into chaos if we allow this to go unchallenged."
Prince Aemon, his brow furrowed with concern, spoke with a more measured tone. "Father, this is a grave matter. Lord Stark's defiance, his claim to kingship… it suggests a deep-seated resentment, a belief that his grievances are beyond resolution through peaceful means."
Prince Baelon, his hand instinctively moving towards his sword hilt, his eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint. "There is only one way to answer such defiance, Father. With steel and fire. We must march north and remind these frozen lords who the true king is."
Lyman Beesbury, his face pale, wrung his hands nervously. "The cost, Your Grace… a war with the North… their lands are vast, their people hardy. It would be a long and bloody affair, draining the royal treasury."
Septon Barth slammed his fist on the table. "Cost is irrelevant when the very authority of the Iron Throne is challenged! This is not about coin; it is about divine right! Stark must be made to kneel, to beg forgiveness for his treasonous words!"
Grand Maester Benifer stroked his beard thoughtfully, a worried frown etched on his face. "We must consider the implications, Your Grace. The North is not easily conquered. Their winters are their greatest ally. A prolonged war could weaken the realm, leaving us vulnerable to other threats."
Lord Redwyne pondered aloud. "Their fleet… Lord Manderly commands a considerable number of ships. And what of these rumors of… other creatures in the North? Ice dragons, some whisper? Surely mere fanciful tales."
Prince Aemon interjected, his voice urgent. "Father, before we speak of war, have we truly exhausted all other options? Could we not send envoys, offer terms… understand the root of this defiance?"
Prince Baelon scoffed. "Terms? He has declared himself a king! What terms are there to offer a rebel but the edge of a sword?"
Lyman Beesbury gulped. "The other lords paramount… how will they react to this open defiance? Will they see it as an opportunity to assert their own independence?"
Septon Barth pointed a trembling finger towards the discarded letter. "There is no room for parley with such blatant treason! Every moment we delay, Stark's arrogance will only grow!"
Grand Maester Benifer sighed heavily. "This is a dark turn of events, Your Grace. The peace we have strived for… it now hangs by a thread."
Lord Redwyne stroked his chin. "If these rumors of ice dragons are true… that changes everything. We have no comparable force."
Prince Aemon pressed his point. "Father, a swift and brutal response might quell this rebellion, but it could also sow seeds of resentment that will fester for generations. We must consider the long-term consequences."
Prince Baelon stood, his hand now firmly on his sword hilt. "Long-term consequences are for historians, Aemon. Now is the time for action! We must crush this rebellion before it spreads!"
King Jaehaerys, who had remained silent throughout the initial uproar, his face still flushed with residual anger, finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Silence!" The command cut through the frantic discussions, silencing the council once more. All eyes turned to the Dragon King, awaiting his judgment.
King Jaehaerys turned his gaze, sharp and decisive, towards Lord Redwyne. "Manfryd," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument, "you will prepare the royal fleet for war. Every ship, every galley, must be made ready to sail north at my command. Furthermore, you will dispatch ravens immediately to Houses Velaryon, Hightower, Lannister, Greyjoy, and Arryn. Inform them of the Northern rebellion and instruct them to ready their own vessels for war. Their fleets will join the royal navy. We will descend upon the North with the full might of the sea."
He then addressed Septon Barth, his expression stern. "Barth" the King stated, "Send letters to all the Lord Paramounts of the Seven Kingdoms. Inform them of the treasonous actions of House Stark and the necessity of a swift and decisive response. They are to muster their armies and prepare to march. The designated meeting point will be the Twins, and they are to assemble there in two moons' time. We will crush this Northern rebellion with the combined strength of the South."
King Jaehaerys turned his gaze, sharp and decisive, towards Lord Redwyne. "Manfryd," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument, "you will prepare the royal fleet for war. Every ship, every galley, must be made ready to sail north at my command. Furthermore, you will dispatch ravens immediately to Houses Velaryon, Hightower, Lannister, Greyjoy, and Arryn. Inform them of the Northern rebellion and instruct them to ready their own vessels for war. Their fleets will join the royal navy. We will descend upon the North with the full might of the sea."
He then addressed Septon Barth, his expression stern. "Septon," the King stated, "your task is equally crucial. Send letters to all the Lord Paramounts of the Seven Kingdoms. Inform them of the treasonous actions of House Stark and the necessity of a swift and decisive response. They are to muster their armies and prepare to march. The designated meeting point will be the Twins, and they are to assemble there in three moons' time. We will crush this Northern rebellion with the combined strength of the South."
Prince Baelon, ever the warrior, his hand never straying far from his sword hilt, stepped forward, a suggestion of brutal efficiency in his voice. "Father," he began, his gaze intense, "why not take our dragons? Fly north and burn their precious Winterfell, their upstart king, just as Aegon the Conqueror did with Harrenhal. A swift, decisive strike would break their spirit before they can even truly rebel."
Queen Alysanne, who had remained a silent observer throughout the council's heated discussions, finally spoke, her voice calm and measured, a stark contrast to the fiery pronouncements of her husband and son. "Baelon," she said, her blue eyes meeting his, "even if we possessed the strength to burn every keep and castle in the North, what then? Rule over ashes? A kingdom built on fear and hatred is a kingdom destined to crumble. We seek to restore order, not to create a wasteland."
King Jaehaerys, though his initial fury had been palpable, considered his queen's words. Alysanne's wisdom had guided him through many difficult decisions over the years, and her counsel often proved sound. He let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Alysanne speaks truly," he conceded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Burning the North to the ground would be a victory bought at too high a cost. We seek to bring them back into the fold, not to obliterate them."
He then turned back to the assembled council, his earlier resolve now tempered with a more pragmatic approach. "The course is set. Manfryd, the fleets. Septon Barth, the letters to the Lord Paramounts. Aemon, Baelon, your men must be ready to march within the week. Let no one doubt the Iron Throne's resolve." He paused, his gaze sweeping over them all. "Begin your preparations at once."
With the King's final instructions given, a sense of grim purpose settled over the Small Council chamber. The immediate shock and anger had given way to the cold, hard reality of the task ahead. One by one, the members bowed their heads in acknowledgment and began to depart, each carrying the weight of the impending war and the urgency of their assigned duties. The room slowly emptied, leaving King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne alone once more, the silence heavy with the unspoken implications of the path they had now chosen.