Of White Trees and Blue Roses

I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.

~X~

Chapter Forty Seven – The Young and the Old

Riverrun

The Stark host began to file onto the riverbanks surrounding the Tully home and stronghold, and Lord Eddard Stark promptly asked its imposing and stern lord for their hospitality. As soon as the formalities of bread and salt were out of the way, Jon Arryn took the opportunity to speak to his former ward in private. Though riders had been sent, there were finer details to discuss.

"Robert did well at Summerhall. You taught him well. Three battles won in one day and almost all the Stormlands on side."

Lord Arryn took a less optimistic view. "Robert was lucky, and the king badly advised in his approach. He underestimated him, and I doubt they will do so again. If I were plotting the king's next move I would not delay. I would hit Robert with force before we can join our forces with his. Every moment we dally leaves Robert exposed and alone. He needs strength and numbers, yet Hoster Tully will not commit to anything until both his daughters are wedded and bedded, try as I might to convince him that he risks making them widows so soon. I suspect he hopes we can put heirs in both their bellies, should that be the case.""

"Both daughters?" Ned gave a puzzled look. He knew he was to wed his older brother's former betrothed, but it was the first he had heard of a second bride. "But Robert..."

"You know as well as I do that Robert will never marry anyone other than Lyanna, for all the seven kingdoms and everything in them." Jon paused for a moment before he continued. "I am to wed the youngest. The gods know she is too young for me but I will do my duty. And you will wed the elder."

Ned nodded in silent agreement before adding, "It is a fair price to ask. We do ask him to rebel against the crown. He puts his head on the line along with our own." He seemed older than his tender years.

Jon stopped and rested a proud hand on his ward's shoulder, noticing that he now had to reach higher. "War is costly. Taking a young, pretty wife in return for a Tully army is no hardship. Though I suspect Lysa Tully might think it too much."

"And I am not my brother. My bride is like to find me a poor substitute."

Jon shook his head. "No, you are not your brother, Ned, but Brandon Stark no longer casts a shadow for you to stand in. You are your father's son, however, and you are Lord Eddard Stark. I know you better than anyone, and you will be as fine a man as anyone could wish to have as a husband." He could see Ned was unconvinced. "You are here and you will wed Catelyn Tully, as your brother was meant to. You will honour his promises for him and redeem the Starks in Lord Hoster's eyes. We wed as soon as it can be arranged. I will speak with our host immediately."

Jon knew Ned too well to miss the reluctance in the younger lord's assent, and to know that regardless of this, Ned would not hesitate to do as he should and honourably. Of that there was no doubt.

"Now go, enjoy your final hours as an unmarried man. Heaven knows there will not be much time to be festive afterwards. Robert needs us."

~X~

King's Landing

King Aerys, the second of his name, fidgeted as he tried to pay attention to the voices around him—his Small Council and his son's cronies, informing him of developments, telling him what he should do next, arguing, bickering, offering up names for the position of Hand...

He had been convinced to spare his now former Hand, Owen Merryweather, a fiery death and instead the traitorous fool had been granted the much less satisfying punishment of being stripped of his lands and titles, exile in the East, never to set foot in the Seven Kingdoms again. The betrayal stung. Lord Merryweather had always seemed so loyal, so pleasing, but now Aerys could see that he had never been the man for the job—weak and chinless, not a martial man. He had wheedled his way in through flattery.

And now through his incompetence the young lords Stark and Baratheon had returned to their seats as they should never have been allowed to do.

Stark had raised the North, they told him, and the wolves were marching down the King's Road this very moment to meet up with that old bird, Jon Arryn.

I will crush them, Aerys thought. I will bring Stark before me on a leash like his older brother, and then burn him just like his father, right here, in this room. The king felt the memory of heat on his face and the sweet thickness of the smoke old Lord Stark had produced. He almost smiled. Dry Lord Arryn would burn well too.

But then Aerys thought of the stag boy and remembered his prowess with his war hammer at Harrenhal. He had been the very picture of strength and virility. He didn't doubt a number of others remembered the image too. And now that boy with the warhammer was rebelling. They said he had won three battles on one field on one day, and the mental picture made the king nervous.

Aerys thought of himself. He had grown old—an ancient, wizened dragon breathing fire in his cave, his wings clipped, much less glorious than he had been in his youth.

The three lords Merryweather had tried to buy had switched sides at the drop of a hat. And no wonder, when they had been sent out to bleed for a few extra coppers and windswept rock by a fat old fool of a Hand who couldn't even trouble himself to leave the comfort of King's Landing.

Varys informed him that right this very moment Arryn and Stark were courting Lord Hoster Tully into joining their traitorous cause, no doubt to join up in the Stormlands and cut a swathe through Aerys kingdom all the way to King's Landing until he was brought to his knees and forced to back down. This could not happen. A dragon does not sue for peace. He burns all that stands in his way. The thought of being brought down to earth by a few upstarts was incomprehensible. If it happened once then too many great lords would find themselves emboldened...

What was needed was someone who would inspire his armies, a hero to stand against the young rebel and who would bring him Robert Baratheon's antlered head, and those of his friends.

Rhaegar had charisma, and he was loved by many, Aerys knew. The crown prince had won hearts and minds all over the realm, or at least he had until he had stolen the Stark girl away. But he wasn't here now...and did the king want to give his own successor that much power? His son's popularity suddenly detracted from his suitability for the post.

But he is a dragon, fruit of my own loins, pure of line, a voice in the corner of his mind counselled. All the creatures bow to a dragon— the lion, the wolf, the eagle, and the stag. All.

Aerys shook his head and said no, noticing the squabbling around him cease momentarily.

It had to be someone young, someone loyal, ambitious and competent, but not too close that the door could be opened up for a grab for power.

The king looked around the table, and steadily discounted everyone near but one. The flame-haired boy, one of his son's close friends—young Connington, who had brought news of the events at Summerhall and was standing nearby, upright and tall, his red and white griffin surcoat still soiled from the road. Aerys stroked his beard in deep thought.

His lands were in the Stormlands, Griffin's Roost, Aerys recalled, but he was so deep into the crown prince's circle that surely his loyalty to the Targaryen family would be beyond question. Maybe his Stormlands roots would be an asset should a void be left by the Baratheons and the young man proved himself worthy? The king examined the rest of what he knew about Lord Connington, trying not to become mesmerized by the orange fire dancing on his scalp. He remembered him on the tourney field—he had been unhorsed by Ser Barristan but that was no shame, as Selmy was one of his finest knights, and had more than earned his place in the king's guard elite.

Wasn't it said that he was headstrong and ambitious? Yes, but a bit of fire in his belly was a good thing if he could take the action required to earn his place.

It had been noticed the king was staring intently in the young man's direction.

"Your Grace..." he said confidently. This pleased Aerys.

"You, Connington, tell me what your next move would be. How would you put an end to this rebellion?"

Jon Connington began quickly, aware of the honour of being singled out and his opinion sought. "I would hit him hard and fast. I would send a raven to the Tyrells post haste and get them to meet him in the field without delay, as soon as humanly possible. Three battles in one day will have taken its toll. Catch him before he has time to pause for breath, before Stark and Arryn are able to join him. If you bring down Lord Baratheon, then maybe Lord Tully will think twice before aligning himself with their cause?"

"Merryweather tried the same approach. The three lords he sent went over to Robert Baratheon when they saw him on the field. How is this approach any different? I cannot have Highgarden against me too."

"House Tyrell will not go over. They do not owe the young whoremonger and his family allegiance like Cafferen, Fell and Grandison. The boy is nothing to them." Connington gave a sly grin. "And certainly not when they know I will be joining them with a Targaryen army to finish the rout at first possible opportunity..."

The king smiled, and felt truly satisfied at what he had heard. This was exactly what he needed to counteract glorious young Lord Baratheon. Someone strong, young, full of vigour, who did not leave it to others to get the task done.

To the shock of all his other councillors, he held out the badge of office. "Then Connington, I name you the Hand of the King. Now go. Put an end to Robert Baratheon and make his rebellion short lived and I will reward you well. Fail me and I will burn you and all you hold dear to the ground."

Lord Connington kneeled. "I will not fail you, Your Grace."