Chapter Text
Rickard II
276 AC
The fading golden sun streamed across the only room in Casterly Rock that wasn’t gaudy gold all over, and if Ric squinted hard enough he could almost see the cerulean waters from his vantage point. He sipped his Northern ale quietly and contemplated Tywin and Jon Arryn across from him.
They were seated in Tywin’s office, each of them with cup in hand as they contemplated matters of the realm, and the state of this budding alliance. Tywin had invited them to Casterly Rock to attend a tourney in honour of the birth of Prince Viserys Targaryen, a premature celebration in Ric’s opinion, given how many of the royal offspring had passed moons after their birth. It would have been wiser to wait for the babe’s seventh nameday before holding a large celebration in a political masterstroke of involving the Faith of the Seven.
Still, while the tourney would turn out to be in poor taste if this child did not survive, it served to bring the King to the West, and into the hands of Ric, Tywin and Jon to plot some more away from the other Lords of the realm.
Tywin deposited another scroll on the desk in his solar before strolling casually back to the seats they occupied. He took a small sip from his heavily watered-down wine as he sat.
‘It is impossible to direct any integration efforts with the Mountain Clans as you did the Wildlings?’ He directed this question to Ric.
Ric nearly scoffed but schooled his face at the last minute – just because they were all First Men and supposedly followed the Old Gods did not make them kin, and certainly not Northerners – and said instead. ‘I don’t believe their grievances would ever allow it. The gap between the larger North and the Freefolk is not so great a chasm to breach. The Mountain Clans would never bow to House Arryn.’
‘And I don’t see any way that is not a political disaster to try and bring them into the fold of the Vale.’ Jon Arryn folded his arms in slight annoyance. He had come here for help in figuring out how to solve his big problem with the clans and Ric was no help; he didn’t feel particularly sorry for the Andal Lord, and he held no loyalty to him beyond cursory ties through marriage to his cousin Branda. Now if the man’s son Jasper had been Lord of the Vale at this time Ric would have felt a little more inclined to try.
‘Nevertheless, we must increase patrols and security if we ever want to start mining in the Vale,’ Tywin reminded them.
Indeed, they must. As the North prospered so did many other regions in the realm, and particularly the West and the Vale due to their proximity to each other’s ports. The Vale was even growing more food than ever, thanks to adopting more reliable farming methods. Still, the silver mines in the Vale would bring them even more wealth and the Mountain Clans were proving an immovable obstacle to larger coffers for them all. Ric wasn’t worried, they would find a way.
Jon Arryn stood up. ‘Allow me retire for night, we face our esteemed King tomorrow.’ He let himself out of the solar quietly.
‘Do we trust him?’ Tywin didn’t trust anyone besides family, and even Ric was uncertain how much trust the man truly had in him but at least their interests were deeply intertwined due to blood. They just needed to keep it that way.
‘I trust Branda, and the way she’s raised her children.’ The message was understood.
Ric didn’t see the need to beat around the brambles. ‘Do you think Aerys will accept your request?’
Tywin didn’t miss a beat. ‘He must see that Cersei is the best option he has. Her lineage, money and connections will make her a perfect Queen.’
Ric didn’t want to even mention the other possibility, he didn’t know what Tywin would do if that unfortunate scenario came to pass. Didn’t want to know what it would mean to his wife.
Tywin sipped his drink again. ‘His slights increase with each passing day. He resents that the Lords whisper that I’m the true power behind the Iron Throne; they claim that I truly rule these realms. The whispers anger him.’
The whispers weren’t wrong, Ric mused. Tywin ruled as Hand with near absolute power. Aerys bent to all his suggestions – and sensible suggestions they were – and all at court feared his name and power. Were it a perfect partnership Aerys would recognise this and play to his strengths: the silk glove to Tywin’s steel gauntlet. The realm would only prosper for it.
‘His paranoia grows,’ Ric broached the topic, shifting in his seat. ‘I hear that even the Queen’s breasts are subjected to a taster before the new Prince can suckle. He is not a man that trusts easily and his failure to secure his House has made him a careless man.’
Unlike House Lannister, House Targaryen was down to the royal couple and their, for now, two sons. With their difficulty in producing more heirs if anything happened to them their House would be extinguished and the realms plunged into chaos.
‘Marrying Cersei to Rhaegar would secure his reign. He owes me that, if nothing else.’
Ric said nothing to that; Kings cared not for debts that did not threaten their rule, and he was uncertain this King understood a threat when he saw one.
They assembled swiftly when word of the royal party’s arrival reached them. A royal visit had necessitated the attendance of the entire nobility of the West. Ric and Jon Arryn were here under cover of the tourney to talk of business, a lot of which they had settled the previous night. The Vale was folding nicely into their little alliance, and that started with Tywin supporting them with better trade and taxation laws, while Ric looked to ways to increase trade with the eastern ports and cities of the North and the Vale.
Marriage was not off the table as a tool either, although Ric and Tywin were already bound by blood. Tywin had not broached the topic of Lynara for Jaime, and it seemed he might not bring it up again, especially since Rhea Arryn was in attendance of this tourney, and a rather enticing marriage prospect for many.
Tywin stood to his left, tall, straight and unsmiling as ever. He was bedecked in his house colours, a red doublet and breeches with the roaring Lannister lion on his left breast, the badge of the Hand on his right. Jaime and Cersei stood to his left in similar attire. Ric stood on his right dressed in the grey and white of House Stark, with Cregan and Edric on his right. Jon Arryn and Branda were in attendance with all of their children, and they stood to Edric’s right. As the highest-ranking members of the land they stood at the front, with the Lords of the Westerlands and some from the North and Vale behind them.
It didn’t take long for the royal entourage to spread out from the Lion’s Mouth. Royal guards in Targaryen black armour followed by the enamelled white scaled armour of the Kingsguard, with their pristine white cloaks flapping in the wind, led by Barristan the Bold and the Sword of the Morning with Dawn strapped to his back.
Aerys the Second followed sedately on his pure white steed, looking slightly uncomfortable on it. Ric hadn’t seen him since the 10-year celebrations of his rule, 4 years past and his Grace had certainly changed. Ric couldn’t put his finger to it quite yet but Aerys looked a tad darker. Nothing overtly physical – the man still had his resplendent silver-gold hair cut short with pale lilac eyes, with high cheek bones and too sharp chin – but his demeanour had changed. Something malicious glinted in his eyes and a feeling of deep unease came over him.
Somewhere deep in his mind, from as far away as the Kennels, he felt Midnight shift uneasily too. While he sometimes ignored his instincts, Ric had learned that the direwolves had impeccable feelings and he trusted his wolf implicitly.
At seven and ten, Prince Rhaegar was a tall youth that had inherited the famous Targaryen beauty. He followed his royal sire, flanked by Ser Gwayne Gaunt, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Jonothor Darry at his back. The King’s party came to a stop in front of the gathered lords who had all fallen to their knees as soon as the King crested the stairs of the Lion’s Mouth.
‘Rise.’
They all rose.
‘Casterly Rock is yours, Your Grace.’ Tywin’s voice did not waver despite the anger Ric knew was surely brewing underneath that calm demeanour. Even Ric felt the sting of the slight meant for his goodbrother: The King’s party had settled into the courtyard and the Queen and the young Prince meant to be honoured were nowhere to be found.
‘Tywin.’ Aerys acknowledged him with a barest nod of his head.
Tywin was not a man given to exaggeration but even Ric had found it hard to believe it when he described the disrespect with which the King treated him. ‘Envy and mistrust.’ Tywin had put it briefly that morning, and it was plain to see it on the Targaryen monarch’s face.
‘Lord Stark.’ The King unceremoniously turned to him, after a cursory glance and no nod of acknowledgement of Cersei and Jaime.
‘My King.’ Ric inclined his head as much as etiquette allowed, and no more, before straightening and looking him in those unnatural eyes.
‘And this must be your heir.’ To his surprise, Aerys turned and nodded at Cregan who promptly bowed. Ric braced himself for a slight of his own as Aerys turned to Ned.
‘And your second son, Edric, is it?’
Ned bowed. ‘It is, Your Grace.’
‘Fine young lads, Rickard.’ Aerys actually smiled.
So that was his game. Without glancing at Tywin, they had discussed the possibility of this happening the night before, Ric put on his most charming smile. ‘It’s an honour to attend this Tourney, Your Grace. We pray earnestly to the Old Gods for the blessing of another son for your House.’
Aerys smiled even more. ‘Yes, I’m hoping to catch up to you soon enough.’ He turned behind him. ‘Rhaegar, come and greet your hosts.’ The King proceeded to greet Jon Arryn while his heir turned to the others.
The young Prince stepped forward and greeted Tywin with the respect his station deserved. Then he turned and asked Jaime to show him his muscle, and Ric’s young nephew obliged with a confused glance at his father. Cersei blushed furiously when the beautiful Prince kissed her hand.
For a second, Ric thought he imagined the intense interest with which Prince Rhaegar regard him before the young man schooled his features into neutral interest and greeted him and his sons.
The feeling of foreboding intensified in his gut.
The first day of jousting was a riot of colour as they gathered to witness the finest knights in the West test their mettle against each other. Lannisport played host to this entertainment as the stands had been raised beneath the walls of the town. Ric sat stoically in his seat next to Tywin, Jon Arryn and the King at the top of the stands and watched impassively as Aerys waved off the start of the competition.
Rhaegar was participating in this joust, and he took the field to the greatest applause Ric had heard in a long time; thunderous and echoing off the distant Casterly Rock it seemed the smallfolk loved their future King. The Targaryen Prince faced of Ser Tygett in what was sure to be an incredible opening match. They couldn’t have looked more different; Ser Tygett is polished and gleaming golden armour with Lannister red plumes from the top of his lion’s head helm. Rhaegar adorned black armour with the Targaryen three-headed dragon on his chest in a pattern of brightly shining rubies. His helm was a practical, unadorned black with Targaryen red at the top.
They hoisted their lances and the first pass began.
Ric couldn’t help the thrill of excitement through his heart as Tygett’s lance splintered against Rhaegar’s left flank as he passed him. The crowd groaned as the hit landed but quickly changed to a loud cheer as the Prince kept his seat and the jousters came around to prepare for another pass.
Rhaegar would win, Ric mused. Despite his young age he sat his horse with a comfort and skill that few men could boast, and Ric knew incredible horsemen and women when he saw them. Skill with a lance was an added advantage but jousts often went to the better horseman during the tilt.
Ser Arthur Dayne’s victory was rather well deserved - on the last day of the jousts - and the feasting outside Lannisport and Casterly Rock that night was raucous and thunderous. Ric had given his sons strict instructs on how to comport themselves and then made a quiet beeline for Tywin’s office.
The King had reacted rather sedately at his son’s defeat at the hands of his Kingsguard, despite Rhaegar’s felling fifteen knights including Barristan the Bold. In fact, Aerys seemed so unconcerned by the end of the tourney, and rather preoccupied by something else that he’d left the feast as soon his subjects were too drunk to care. Rhaegar had been the same way the entire tourney as well, and that was easier to notice the more time you observed the prince.
Ric followed Tywin silently through the thin passages that ran through the walls of the Rock, unsurprised that the Lannisters would spy on their own guests, and especially royal ones. They settled in quietly at some unseen grate that looked up the royal guest chambers where Tywin’s household had reported Rhaegar and Aerys’ secret gathering while they thought everyone was preoccupied.
While he had found this sort of thing distasteful, when the North had started to prosper even more, and the eyes of the South and the Ironborn had started to wander too far North for his liking, Ric had seen the necessity in it. However, this had to be the first time he was doing the spying himself, and he couldn’t help the queasy feeling of being misplaced.
Aerys looked almost haunted in the dim firelight, eyes glinting in a disturbing and unholy manner. He was pacing maniacally while Rhaegar sat contemplating something deeply while leafing through a thick tome. From what he knew of both characters, Rhaegar tended to give his sire the necessary subservience to ensure he wasn’t deemed a threat. It seemed odd to be in these positions, and that was how Ric knew something terrible was about to happen.
‘Are you certain, Rhaegar?’ Aerys barked at his son.
Rhaegar stopped flipping through the book. ‘As much as I can be with only a few days of observation, and without any direct questions: The Starks are wargs.’ His declaration sent a chill worse than any Ric had experienced North of the Wall fleeing down his legs and into his boots.
‘And you think this is something children can inherit through the mother?’ Aerys’ tone had taken on a sort of dark longing, sickly sweet and possessing.
‘It’s all here, Father.’ Rhaegar brought his book closer and Aerys stopped his pacing to lean over his shoulder looking at it.
‘The Starks defeated all their enemies when conquering the North. And all those that had some magic of their own – the Warg King or the Marsh King – they took their daughters and married them to their bloodlines. That’s how they introduced new magic into their bloodline.’
Aerys was focused deeply on the poisonous words his son spewed, and in that moment, Ric saw a snake rather than a dragon. He wished dearly that Tywin wasn’t here to hear this, especially because he was almost certain it was entirely true. His ancestors had very cleverly strengthened their own warging and skinchanging abilities by taking to wife their enemies with similar abilities. It also helped that he knew Jasper, Rodrick and Rhea Arryn had inherited some skinchanging ability from Branda – no wolves yet, thank the gods, but Jasper was now known to be very good friends with some falcons that resided in an eyrie within the Eyrie. Whatever magic was in Stark blood was deeply potent and it appeared that the newest generation was blessed to have all inherited some ability.
‘Cregan Stark also wanted a Targaryen Princess for his heir when he could have given a daughter and received a grandson for a king instead’
‘They wanted our magic,’ Aerys breathed, face struck in horror.
‘Well, they shall not have it!’ he reached out and flung a wine cup into the wall where it shattered.
Rhaegar got up from his seat and knelt before the King.
‘The Starks have the right of it. Let us do as they do, Your Grace, and take their power for our own. Unite Ice and Fire in your grandson, the Prince Who Was Promised. Perhaps with this fresh blood we shall accomplish what your grandsire King Aegon could not, and bring dragons back into the world.’
Ric stood there, mind racing at the implications of this conversation. He barely heard when Aerys assented to his son’s words, and turned to leave before Tywin attempted to break through the wall and strangle them both. The only sign of his goodbrother’s anger was his face that was as crimson as his banner.
The pieces moved faster than Ric would keep track of.
He thought of old tales of dragon hoarding dragons in the caves of old valyria, full of greed and the viciousness of a she dragon in protecting their wealth. Either that or Aerys secretly haggled with the merchant class or fishwives for how hard a bargain he drove.
When he got his mind to it, the King asked for much and it took a lot of restraint not to punch the silver haired cunt in the face.
There was no legitimate reason to refuse an offer to make his daughter queen, and sit a grandson on the throne. Nor could Tywin protest because his niece was being honoured, and a worthier queen besides for her two distinguished bloodlines to Cersei’s one - it was another insult Ric knew would never be forgotten nor forgiven.
The gold of the dowry was affordable because they had years to pay it out. And extracting a charter for a town in salt harbour had sweetened the deal. A few lessened taxes on northern timbre had sealed the financial haggling.
Unfortunately, the king wanted more. Specifically, he wanted their eldest sons to be close to him in the capital. Ric had felt Midnight stir in agitation - or perhaps that was his inner direwolf coming through - and a surge of anger so fierce he nearly jumped across the table to take the man's head off. Ric had argued vehemently that Cregan’s future was entirely in the north, and he had already spent years setting him up for success as the future lord to risk it all now.
In the end, he'd been forced to give up Ned - with the concession that he'd foster with Tywin in the red keep - and Jasper Arryn would be with him as well. Ric knew not the character of Robert Baratheon but he hoped he took after his father. All three boys would foster in the Red Keep, and have the honour of being guests of the Hand, and more importantly close to family. Meanwhile, Jaime would receive the great honour of squiring for Ser Barristan the Bold, news of which has sent him into fits of ecstasy that ended with him sent to his chambers to 'find some decorum' as Tywin had put it.
The situation was not ideal, with so many of the great heirs of the realm, and a spare as well, fostering in the red keep. It was unheard of, and Ric immediately understood this was Rhaegar's way of getting his hands on one of his sons, or having him as close as possible to study him. They had to work with what the king was offering, and manoeuvre their way within those bounds - Ric had to trust Tywin to teach Ned how to manoeuvre the Red Keep, and the direwolf would not be left behind - on the insistence of both king and prince.
The only happy one that left that room after the negotiations was Jon Arryn (but Ric knew Branda would be unhappy to lose her son) and the rest we're all seething. The signs of a good compromise, Ric had come to learn.
'Are they wargs?' Tywin had asked in low tones. While the information had been a deep secret at this point, and Genna had disclosed it to Joanna before she died, Ric didn't think Tywin had believed them. He simply wasn't the kind of man that believed in a power other than that bestowed by birth and ability. His explanation had gone well, and Tywin had nodded and retreated into himself to think.
In fact, Tywin had taken the news better than he expected, which was saying nothing as he didn't have a choice even as Hand. In the end, they reaffirmed their commitment to each other as family - North and West united - and Tywin decided to send Cersei North to Genna for she was the only other Lannister he trusted to raise his daughter. She would be educated and raised alongside Lynara. Ric privately wondered how she would feel about being reunited with Tyrion, especially after the things Lynara had told him she had said about her little brother. One way or the other, she would have to learn to at least tolerate him, because Ric had come to love his nephew as if he were his own, and so had their entire household.
The closing feast for the tourney had taken on a new life when the betrothal announcement had been made. Aerys was in a particularly good mood considering the location of the announcement, and he'd made sure to remind everyone that Lynara was also a child of the West. Tywin had gripped his cup violently at that, and for a moment Ric thought he'd have to restrain his goodbrother before he committed regicide.
In a final insult to Tywin, the ravens had flown from Casterly Rock’s rook bearing the news of the betrothal of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the Lady Lynara Stark.
Ric watched through the eyes of Midnight as a murder of dark wings bore dark words to the realm.