Laughing in Northern

Title: Laughing in Northern
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: Game of Thrones/ASOIAF
Genre: fix-it
Relationships: pre-Eddard Stark/Cersei Lannister
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Canon-level Violence,
Author Notes: 1.) My working title for this was “Greenseer Lyanna.” 2.) I recognize that canon says Tywin avoided the Tourney of Harrenhal because of his conflicts with Aerys. That doesn’t make any sense though because Aerys was not supposed to go to the Tourney of Harrenhal so, as always, I have chosen to ignore canon’s nonsense.
Word Count: 3,581
Summary: A greenseer can change the fate of a nation if properly motivated. Even when those around them don’t know they are involved.

 

 

“My Lord Lannister.”

Tywin turned to see a young man, a year or two older than Jaime, dressed from shoulder to heel in leather armor. The direwolf-stamped gorget and long white and gray cloak identify him as a Stark.

“You are one of Lord Stark’s sons,” Tywin says more than asks.

“Eddard, the spare,” the young man says without any of the anger or jealousy many southron spares would have at such a statement.

The Quiet Wolf, Tywin knew little of. What he knew had led him to write the Quiet Wolf off as the Stark version of his brother, Kevan, but there was a fire in this wolf that Kevan did not have. An uncommon drive.

If he was the tactical genius the Whispers reported him to be, Eddard Stark would be a force to be reckoned with.

“I have heard tell that King Aerys will come to the tourney,” Lord Eddard told him without his prompting. “When he does, the King will claim Ser Jaime for his Kingsguard.

“I must tell you that disinheriting another man’s heir without incredibly, massive cause—cause that would have the entire House attained—is a great crime in the North. It is one of the only crimes that even the attempt would see a king immediately deposed among First Men.”

“King Aerys is not expected to come to Harrenhal. He has not, in fact, left the Red Keep in years,” Tywin pointed out.

“I know,” the boy agreed easily. “When he does come and when he does take your son, remember that North will ride with you and we have a history of stomping the south a new mudhole.”

Against his better judgment, Tywin liked this pup. He saw the makings of a king in him. A barbarian warlord sort of king. A throwback to the Age of Heroes. Should they be forced to overthrow the Targaryen Dynasty, he knew exactly who he would vote for as king in the Great Council that would surely follow.

As long as Eddard Stark took his daughter, Cersei, as his wife, of course.

“Are you betrothed, lad?”

“My father is in negotiations with House Dayne, my lord.”

Tywin could see the logic in such a move. The North had the Riverlands and the Stormlands tied to them in marriage pacts. There was presumably the bond of fondness between the North and the Vale due to the Quiet Wolf’s fostering. Should anything happen the Elbert Arryn, Lord Arryn could certainly make the case for young Lord Benjen to marry one of his sister’s many daughters and inherit the Vale.

That was four out of eight kingdoms, all marching to the Stark drum. That made the Stark offer to ride to war with him a highly valuable thing.

The Iron Islands only cared about what they could pillage and were untrustworthy. No one took them as allies.

Mace Tyrell of the Reach was a fool. He had massive numbers, but would never see a war coming. The true power of the Reach, Lady Olenna, would side with the Iron Throne just to spite Tywin.

The Crownlands were so deep in Targaryen pockets that they had not seen daylight in centuries.

That left Dorne. They were fierce warriors that never lost on their home turf. Splitting them, driving them to fight amongst themselves would be the best option for neutralization of their power. Their Paramount House, House Nymeros-Martell, was married to the Iron Throne and Princess Elia’s physical weakness would make her an ideal hostage to ensure House Nymeros-Martell’s good behavior.

House Uller, the second most powerful House in Dorne, had no legitimate daughters for a Stark to wed.

That left House Dayne, the third most powerful House in Dorne, and Lady Ashara was their heir. The perfect opportunity to an ambitious man with three sons. With an active Sword of Morning, House Dayne held more sway than the half-mad House Uller. If they managed to free Ser Arthur or convince him to flee the Kingsguard, Dorne would be eliminated as a threat to the Stark Alliance.

If Tywin ever managed to land the fish maiden for Jaime, the West would be part of the Stark Alliance in its own right and not require the kindness of House Stark for access to the alliance.

But.

Tywin would have his way.

One way or another.

“It is said that a single Northman is worth ten southron on the battlefield,” Tywin offered, probing.

“And a Stark of Winterfell?” Lord Eddard parried. Clever but understated.

A Stark of Winterfell was said to be worth three Northmen in battle.

Oh, yes, Tywin would have the Quiet Wolf for his daughter. If he could catch the Rose of Starfall for Jaime, all the better.

Displace House Targaryen for Cersei’s children. Displace House Nymeros-Martell for Jaime’s children, even if they had to take it under the Dayne name. Jaime’s children would also inherit the West as Lannisters. The Great Council could strip House Tyrell of their Wardenship and give it to House Dayne.

Two wardenships and a throne for his grandchildren. It was the strongest future he had foreseen for his House. Even before Aerys rejection of a match between their oldest children.

And it was the best revenge he would ever get on Aerys.

“Should it come to war, I would ask that my daughter, Cersei, be granted the shelter of Winterfell.”

“And Lord Tyrion?” the Quiet Wolf asked, almost gently.

It felt like a test. One Tywin could not afford to be honest on.

“Of course,” he agreed, as if the agreement did not burn like wildfire in the core of him, “if he would be welcome in Winterfell.”

“They can go home with Lya and Ben,” Lord Eddard said. Like it was nothing. “Does Lady Cersei ride? House Stark does not use wheelhouses.”

Tywin had never heard of such an uncivilized thing. “She does not.”

“Lya will fix that at Winterfell,” Lord Eddard assured him. As if his daughter being raised gently was something that needed to be fixed.

Tywin nodded to the young lord and left.

The more he thought about it—this scenario brought to him by the wolf pup—the less likely it seemed. Aerys had not left the Red Keep in an age, not since Duskendale. There was no way he would leave it now. Not for something so frivolous as a tourney.

And then. The day before the events began. A day of nonsense and pageantry and revelry.

Then.

An unusual flourish was sounded before Lord Whent’s herald could call the first knight forward to prance about the lists for the crowd.

House Targaryen’s flourish.

What little color Rhaegar had in his face, fled.

Aerys Targaryen had come to Harrenhal.

Tywin observed the crowd around him. The lower rank the lord or lady, the more surprise they showed. Not a lord or lady paramount showed their shock—some were more convincing than others.

Something about the older Stark boys caught his attention and held it. There was something feral and excited, but confident and controlled about them. Competent and deadly. Like a pair of wolves shaking off the snow before hunting a prey they knew they could take.

A gasp at his side snatched Tywin’s attention.

He turned to see his golden daughter staring at the Stark brothers with a desire no man wanted to witness in his own daughter.

“Cersei,” he chided her gently.

She looked at him, but her eyes gravitated quickly back to the Starks. “I want one,” she said boldly. “Why does a fish get one? Fish are not predators.”

Tywin snorted. “I will work on it.”

Particularly if Lord Eddard’s information proved true.

Tywin knew Ser Harlan Grandison had died in his sleep nearly two moons past. The tourney would be a fantastic opportunity to recruit his replacement. But that replacement would be Tywin’s son over his rotting corpse.

King Aerys, never one for ceremony and tradition, forwent any form of receiving line and took over the Lord’s Box entirely. No doubt with thoughtless words. Obviously, with several rude gestures as all present could see.

The king looked every inch as crazy as Tywin knew him to be. Long, unwashed hair. Nails so long they reached his knees and were curling in on themselves. So thin that his crown was sitting far too deeply on his brow. His clothes were rich clean, but that almost made his state look all the worse.

Aerys gestured absently for the herald to continue.

The herald proved to be made of higher quality steel than Tywin had expected. The man took a deep breath and began. He did not bother to check his list, beginning instead with all six now-present Kingsguard, starting with Lord Commander Hightower.

The procession went on and on: knight after knight was sure to salute their king. A man that neither appreciated nor deserved their gestures of honor.

Tywin had never hated his son’s preference for a white stallion more than he did as Jaime did his own circuit of the lists and salute to Aerys. He did not think the dapple-gray hindquarters would put Aerys off of his revenge against Tywin—because that was all stealing Jaime from Tywin was for Aerys. He was not honoring Jaime, no matter what he said. He was getting revenge on Tywin for being the better king between the two of them.

The smug look Aerys shot him as Jaime rode past him crystalized the certainty in Tywin’s heart.

Lord Eddard had been right.

“As you can see,” Aerys rasped. The entire tourney froze to listen to him words. “My Kingsguard is short a knight. But. One of them has recently knighted a young man worthy of my service.”

Tywin’s soul screamed a denial. Jaime had been knighted by the Sword of the Morning just two moons past. And. Ser Arthur Dayne was a member of the Kingsguard.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, come forward.”

Jaime rode back into the ring on his mount, Honor. Tywin could not even object, a knight was required to obey his king.

“He even rides a white horse, truly a sign from the gods,” Aerys observed, as Tywin had known he would. “Ser Jaime, you will join my Kingsguard. Make the oath.”

Jaime opened his mouth but Tywin beat him to it. “NO.”

Aerys laughed. “Is that treason I hear, my Lord Hand?”

“It is the law,” Tywin corrected. “By forcibly taking Jaime into your Kingsguard, you are disinheriting my heir without cause. Even attempting to do so is such a violation of First Man Law that your crown is forfeit and your House must be attained.”

“I am King!” Aerys roared.

“Per the Charter of the Iron Throne, no man is above the law—especially not the King,” Tywin countered.

“Traitor! Traitor!” Aerys screamed, pounding the arms of his throne with his fists. Spittle flying. “Seize him!”

Aerys’s six Kingsguard turned their horses to face him. Jaime interposed himself and Honor between Tywin and the Kingsguard. Several mounted men from the North, as well as knights of the West, quickly joined his son in forming a wall facing the Kingsguard.

When Tywin looked at those standing on either side of him, he saw he had a Stark man on either side—Lord Eddard and Lord Brandon. Lady Lyanna was standing almost curled into her brother, Brandon. Something about her pose made him think of nothing so much as a she-wolf pretending to cower to protect her mate’s neck in a fight.

As he watched, Cersei copied Lady Lyanna, protecting Lord Eddard’s front as much as she was claiming the man for herself.

Lord Baratheon and his younger brother Lord Stannis came to stand on the other side of Lord Edard from him. Lord Arryn came to stand on the other side of Lord Brandon from him, with Lord Royce immediately behind.

More knights streamed from the entrance of the lists to join Jaime’s mounted shield wall. Men of the Vale and the Stormlands, mainly, but also a mix of First Men from across the entire Realm. Men he never would have expected support from, but was glad to have on side nonetheless.

“As House Targaryen no longer has legal claim to the Iron Throne, the Targaryen Kingsguard must hereby disband,” Tywin ordered.

He had no idea if it would work, truth be known, but he had to try.

He could not have the greatest knights of the Realm cutting down his son.

Prince Lewen Nymeros-Martell was the first to move. He pulled off his white cloak and let it fall to the ground. White cloak was quickly followed by white shield.

Ser Arthur Dayne did the same, and Tywin was relieved. Any of the other Kingsguards, he knew Jaime could triumph over, but Jaime would lose to Ser Arthur every time because he would never defend himself against Ser Arthur. If the Sword of the Morning decided Jaime needed to die, Jaime would accept his fate.

Ser Owsell Whent followed Dayne’s example though his internal conflict was clear. Whent was a House of blended Andal and First Man culture. Tywin was relieved to see the First Man in Ser Oswell win out over the Andal.

That left Lord Commander Hightower, Barristan the Bold, and Jonathor Darry in Aerys’s service.

“Your vows are to the King,” Lord Commander Hightower reminded his sworn brothers sternly. “Not the Lord Hand.”

“You are correct, we made our vows to a king,” Ser Arthur allowed. “But most of us were not given a choice of making our Kingsguard oaths and Aerys Targaryen is king of nothing.”

The three former Kingsguards turned their horses to leave.

Ser Barristan blew out a heavy breath, looked to his Lord Paramount, and undid his own cloak.

“SELMY!” Hightower growled.

Barristan the Bold dropped his shield as well. “No one is above the law and I will not fight and kill my brother for a rapist.”

“He is king.”

“He is a monster,” Selmy denied. “He does nothing to aid the people of Westeros, as a good king should. He only finds pleasure in beating his sons, raping his wife, and burning innocents alive.

“Maegor may have been cruel and a kinslayer, but he was not half so twisted as that thing you call king.” And Barristan the Bold left the lists.

“Certainly, we can come to an agreement,” Prince Rhaegar tried. Tywin noted that the prince’s squires were carrying a fighting and screaming Aerys from the Lord’s Box. “My father is ill. House Targaryen cannot be blamed for his illegal actions.”

Tywin could have agreed with that, had Rhaegar not been wed with children and therefor unable to make Cersei a queen.

“Has your father been ill long?” Lord Eddard asked.

He sounded legitimately concerned. Tywin had to remind himself not to snarl at his closest allies for being fools. Especially not allies that brought so many of their allies to his side.

“Yes,” Rhaegar agreed hastily. “Since the Tragedy of Summerhall—”

“You were born at Summerhall,” Lord Eddard pointed out. “If House Targaryen has known of your father’s illness since that time, it was their duty to keep him off of the Iron Throne for the good of the Realm.”

Tywin was nearly shocked with the elegance of the trap Lord Eddard had laid. He had not seen it coming at all. Mayhaps this man was worthy of his daughter despite his so-called kindness.

“Failing that, you should have removed your father at your first opportunity,” Lord Eddard continued. “You have been a man grown for six years. That is six years of you failing to do your duty to the Realm. Why would we give you or your House more time to fail us?

“The attainment of House Targaryen stands.”

“I demand trial by combat!” Rhaegar tried. “A trial by Seven. So that the gods may decide the future of Westeros.”

“You think your Seven will protect you from the justice of the Old Gods?” Lord Eddard sounded sad, or mayhaps pitying. “The Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone care nothing for your statues.”

“Trial by Combat is the right of every man and every House, including House Targaryen. That is the law.

“Something we have all witnessed your fondness for,” Rhaegar concluded almost snidely.

“When you lay dead at my feet, your father will soon follow,” Lord Eddard promised the former prince. “I will personally feed him to a weirwood. Then we will hold a Great Council to choose a new Royal House for Westeros.”

“And when you lay dead at my feet,” Rhaegar countered. “You will go down in history as the man that had the Paramount Lords and Wardens of four Kingdoms of Westeros attained.”

Lord Eddard raised a single eyebrow. His doubt could not be more clear if he tried. “Robert, bring your hammer.”

“YES!!” Robert Baratheon roared.

In the end it was Rhaegar; the former Kingsguards—Ser Jonathor Darry and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower; Jon Connington, who was rumored to be desperately in unrequited love with Rhaegar; Lord Paramount of the Reach, Mace Tyrell and Rhaegar’s former squires—Ser Myles Mooton and Richard Lonmouth representing House Targaryen.

The only surprise there for Tywin was Lord Tyrell.

The man had a confidence in his abilities that was counter to any display of arms Tywin had ever seen from him. Tywin fully expected that Lady Olenna would viciously murder the Master at Arms responsible for her son’s false confidence when word of his death reached Highgarden.

On his side—supposedly his side though Lord Eddard was running things and Tywin was pleased to stand back and observe him as he did—were Eddard and Brandon Stark; the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Robert Baratheon; Jaime and Tygett; the Heir of the Vale, Elbert Arryn; and the winner of Lady Lyanna’s random draw, Jorah Mormont.

Tywin had not wanted Jaime to participate, but the moment Jaime had volunteered, he could not dishonor his son by denying Jaime a place in the trial.

“This all started over me,” Jaime had said—out loud, where everyone could hear him, dammit, “over my place as my father’s heir. It is my right to defend myself and my House.”

“Aye, it is,” Lord Eddard had agreed. Then he looked at Tywin. “House Lannister needs a second fighter so both chief belligerent Houses each have two representatives in the ring.”

“That would be me,” Tygett had said as he stepped forward.

Tywin had struggled to breathe around his gratitude. He and Tygett might not be close, but Tygett was the single best combatant House Lannister had been able to claim in nearly 200 years. Jaime was very gifted, but he was no Tygett.

Not yet.

The fight itself was fast and brutal.

Mace Tyrell caught Mormont’s thrown axe in the face, after the start was signaled but before he was able to drop his face plate.

The Starks stepped up to the remaining Kingsguard while Baratheon raced past them to go toe to toe with Rhaegar’s squires. Baratheon mowed them both down with Jaime’s assistance.

Rhaegar avenged the Fool Flower and took out the heir of House Arryn. Not a smart move for a would be king.

In the end, Rhaegar killed Baratheon—a kinslaying, if there ever was. The Quiet Wolf avenged Baratheon. Connington shouted an objection, killed Tygett, and threw himself at Lord Eddard only to land himself on the wolf’s sword.

A blood-soaked Eddard Stark was the last man standing. Tygette, Mormont, Arryn, and Baratheon were dead. Jaime had lost his sword hand but would most likely survive. Lord Brandon was going to lose a leg—below the knee, if he was lucky.

Cersei was the first one down from the stands.

She stepped over her former one true love Rhaegar Targaryen’s body with barely a glance to take hold of Eddard Stark’s arm. The Quiet Wolf pulled his helmet off with his free hand and curled down to rest his forehead against Cersei’s.

He said something that made Cersei laugh.

She said something in return—something clever in her mind, from the tilt of her mouth—that made him very nearly smile.

Tywin was sure of it then. That was the King and Queen of Westeros.

Now, he just had to make it happen.

But, first, Jaime.

 

 

B-B-B-BONUS ROUND:

“How did you make my brother laugh?” Lord Brandon demanded.

Cersei frowned as she tried carefully to extract herself from the Wild Wolf’s grip. “I have not made Lord Eddard laugh.”

“No,” Lord Brandon denied with the certainty of a man intoxicated on Milk of the Poppy. “I saw it. Ned laughed in Northern.”

Cersei looked to him, but Tywin had no idea what the man was talking about, either.

“In the ring,” Brandon was frowning, struggling to explain.

“The smile?” Cersei asked.

“Yes! Been trying— thirty years—”

Tywin decided to forgive the man is poor mathematic skills since he was only nine-and-ten and Lord Eddard only eight-an-ten. Clearly, the drugged-out man was exaggerating.

“He told me that he did not appreciate being manipulated in public,” Cersei said simply. “I promised that I would only manipulate him in private in the future.”

Lord Brandon released her and laughed—actually, southron laughed—himself to sleep.

“Laughed in Northern,” his brother, Kevan, shook his head. Then he looked up at Tywin. “Clearly, you have only ever laughed in Northern.”

Tywin found that he could not actually disagree.

 

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