Chapter 15: Ned VII & Viserys I (AC 289)
Ned VII
In the south the spring was well advanced but in the North it was barely taking hold. Robert, thankfully, was generosity incarnate and a trickle of ships had carried food north to supplement the stockpiles. Ned had a quiet suspicion that his father would have made a better job of preparing the North for the winter but the shipments of grain, salt meat and even fruit from the Summer Isles had warmed the hearts of the northerners to both Ned and to his foster-brother.
Even Roose Bolton received some of the credit, for his new wife brought him ties to the Easterlands and the first fruits of the Stokeworth lands had been shared with the Dreadfort.
Even so, Ned had gone to the godswood and prayed that the first harvest would be a good one. If it wasn't then even established holdings would be suffering. Despite Benjen's hard work around Queenscrown he was already seeing a trickle of disenchanted bannermen. Lyanna hadn't said as much about the Longlake villages, but they had more northerners amid them. Barristan's Holdfast was somewhere between the two and he knew that Lord Selmy had dug deep into his pockets to have additional food sent north from Oldtown and Arbor.
"Our ways of farming haven't changed in centuries, and they've seen us through many a harsh winter, my lord." Martyn Cassel had reported to what Ned still thought of as his father's solar to discuss options for the next planting. Having lost his sword arm, the former master-at-arms had taken up the plough instead, assisting Ned in managing the Stark lands around Winterfell. "If these suggestions from the south go awry, we could seriously reduce our food supplies for next winter."
"You're right to be concerned, Martyn. And even King Robert advised trying these cautiously. But this is the best opporunity we'll have - once our first harvest in, we should still have at least a year before the next winter. If we clear new fields and try these methods on them, we'll know in a year or two if there's merit to them?"
"And if there's none?"
"If there's none, Martyn, we've put time and effort into trying to better feed our people. If I ignore this and even one of the methods suggested in this book -" Ned thumped the slim volume "- would have worked, then people may die next winter that we could have saved. It's worth a try."
Martyn scratched the stump of his arm. "Well, King Robert's ships have helped. Not many Kings have done as much for us. Saving the Stark Kings, of course," he finished quickly.
Ned deicded to ignore the comment. "We'll also see about expanding the glass gardens. Pulling that old tower down has given us some space to work with and every little helps."
There was a knock on the door of the solar.
"Come!"
Maester Luwin pushed the door open. "Your pardon, Lord Stark, a raven's arrived from King's Landing."
"It's only been a week since the last," Ned said in surprise. Robert was meticulous about writing regularly, sending ravens once a month - just another way that becoming King had changed him. Although his handwriting was still terrible.
Without a word, Luwin placed the thin parchment upon Ned's desk for him to read.
A chill crept into Ned's bones as he did so and he saw Martyn pale at the sight of his face. "I see. I'll need to send some messages of my own, I hope the ravens are well fed and watered, Luwin."
"They are, my lord."
"What news?" asked Martyn.
Ned glanced down at the message again. "War," he said simply. "Robert is calling the banners."
"Is it the Dornish or the Reach?"
"Neither. Balon Greyjoy has attacked the Westerlands."
"I don't suppose the King can let that pass."
Ned gave him a patient look.
"I suppose our coasts could be next," he admitted grudgingly.
"Maester, I need two sets of letters drawn up. Firstly, to the western Houses, warning them to watch for raiders. Include House Reed in that. All the other houses are to send their forces to muster at Moat Cailin." He grimaced. "We'll need to rebuild some of the walls there - if the Ironborn come up the Fever River they might be able to attack it from the north."
"If I take a hundred men south now we could reach the Neck in a matter of days."
"No Martyn." Ned looked his friend in the eye, careful not to let his eye go to the stump of his arm. "I need you here. Catelyn's with child and there are young Robb and Sansa to think about. Rodrik will ride south with me this time, I'll be entrusting you with my family."
Viserys I
The usurper sat behind his desk, one heaped with parchments. Other than Ser Gerion of the Royal Guards - Viserys forced himself to cool disdain towards the treacherous Lannister - they were alone.
"Do you know why I've called you here?"
Viserys grimaced. It was the same question he'd been asked on every other visit he'd been called here. A not inconsiderable number of those visits had ended with Viserys in tears of pain and humiliation that he had to wipe away before being marched out of the tower to make a grovelling apology to whoever he was deemed to have wronged.
As much as he hated it, he'd learned to keep the dragon's wrath chained. The fury of a stag was thus far armed with a stronger arm and more immediate support.
Still, he couldn't recall anything he'd done that seemed likely to draw the usurper's eye. "I'm sure you have your reasons," he said neutrally.
"Most everyone has a reason, good or bad, for their actions. It seems you've learned something of the art of making bland statements to cover for ignorance. Not a bad skill to learn around the court." He frowned. "Tell me about the Iron Islands."
Viserys blinked. "...there are seven major islands with twenty four smaller ones around them. They were part of the Kingdom of the Isles and the Rivers until my ancestor Aegon burned Harrenhal and ended the line of the Hoares. Although the Riverlands bowed to Aegon under the leadership of the Tullys, the Isles resisted for two further years before Aegon invaded them and forced their submission. The House Greyjoy have ruled the isles since then. Unless you're interested in their mines there isn't much of interest there."
Robert nodded. "Also fighting seamen. Like them or loathe them, there are few cowards on the Isles."
"Oh, they don't worship the Seven or the Old Gods," Viserys remembered. "There's a Drowned God they worship."
"Some of them, yes." The usurper poured out two goblets of wine and pushed one over to Viserys. "Drink, boy."
Viserys took the goblet cautiously, swirled the contents and then sniffed it before drinking. It was well watered but drinkable.
"Balon Greyjoy does not worship any gods. He worships what he considers the Old Ways: reaving, ravaging and raping. Have you heard of the iron price?"
"I don't recall it."
"To pay the iron price, as the Ironborn would call it, is to take with your own hand from the body of your victims. Men who believe in that way are famine, plague and ruin on a prosperous kingdom. House Hoare, the most successful rulers of the Islands, cared very little for the Drowned God or for the 'old ways'. It isn't a lesson that this Greyjoy has learned, unlike his father."
"Quellon Greyjoy supported you," Viserys remembered.
"Little and late, but yes. His sons persuaded him to raid the Reach once your brother was dead and the war was all but won. Quellon died and I had no cause then to move against Balon."
Viserys rolled that around his mind. There was something... "But you do now?"
"But now I do. He has named himself king and fought a battle at Lannisport. Do you think I should allow this?"
The last Targaryen lord frowned and said nothing.
"Hmm. I must remember to ask that when you're making a fuss. I can't, of course. Let Greyjoy go on his way, fail to support my loyal lords and soon enough Westeros will collapse into a good half-dozen realms. This is not a challenge I can refuse." Robert smiled thinly. "I'm told you're a decent rider and show some promise with a sword."
The better to end you, someday. "I'm told so."
"I expect no less from my squire."
"Your squire!"
Robert shook his head, long black hair shaking loose from the braid he had worn of late. "I would think you have more reasons than one to learn of war, cousin. Just as I have more than one reason to teach you on that subject."
"And if I decline to fight for you... cousin?"
"Why then I shall express publically my disappointment that you lack the courage of your more valiant ancestors. You would not want that reputation, would you?"
"I would not," Viserys managed, through clenched teeth.
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