A longer chapter to make up for the time in between! Hope y'all enjoy!
[Lannisport, 6th Moon, 299 AC]
Lucion had faced men who intended to kill him with considerably less concern than he felt watching twelve riders approach through the eastern gate of Lannisport.
They carried the red and gold of House Lannister, though no trumpets announced them and no larger escort rode ahead to clear the streets. His father sat at their head upon a dark brown courser, wearing a red riding cloak over mail and leather rather than plate, looking much as Lucion remembered him and yet older than the man his memory had preserved. There was more grey in his hair now, more tiredness around the eyes, and Lucion found himself wondering how much of that had come from age and how much from the last several months.
Lord Roland Crakehall stood beside him beneath the awning outside the guildhall, arms folded while Damion and his men crossed the square. He watched Lucion for a time before finally speaking. "You have been staring at that gate for the better part of an hour. I have seen condemned men show less concern for the axe, though I suppose the condemned at least know what the axe intends."
Lucion kept his attention on the approaching riders. "That is precisely the problem. My father wrote that he wanted to speak before duty made us enemies. I have spent half the night wondering whether we passed that point weeks ago and simply refused to acknoledge it."
Roland shook his head slowly. "If you had, Damion would still be inside the Rock with the gates barred, and you would be speaking to him through ravens instead of watching him ride into a city occupied by the army that defeated his house. He came with twelve men rather than twelve hundred and beneath your safe conduct."
"It means my father is not an idiot, which I was already aware of."
"A useful quality in a parent," Roland said, though there was very little humor behind it.
By then Damion had reached the guildhall. Lucion straightened as his father dismounted, and for several moments neither man moved. Damion looked him over slowly, taking in the mail beneath Lucion's surcoat, the sword at his hip, the dust worked into his boots and the scars of weeks spent campaigning.
"You've grown thinner," Damion said at last, his voice controlled but not cold. "I considered telling you that you look well, but that would have been a lie, and we already have enough difficult things to discuss without beginning with one."
Lucion almost laughed despite himself. "After months apart, a kingdom collapsing around us, and that is what you decide to begin with."
"I am still your father. I am entitled to dislike how badly you have been feeding yourself."
Alaric approached a moment later with Harald behind him. The Crown of Winter was absent today, replaced by a simple bronze circlet atop his brow, though that did little to make the Northern king less noticeable. Tempest followed several paces behind, drawing wary looks from Damion's escort, and Damion's own attention rested briefly upon the enormous direwolf before returning to Alaric.
"Ser Damion," Alaric said, stopping a respectful distance away. "You entered under your son's safe conduct, and it will be honored. Your men may keep their swords so long as they remain peace-bound within the city. Whatever passes between you and Lucion before the council reconvenes is your affair. I have no interest in standing between a father and son unless one of you gives me reason."
Damion studied him for a moment before inclining his head. "I had expected more conditions from a man who presently holds most of my country."
"I have already beaten your armies," Alaric replied without heat. "I see little purpose in frightening twelve men to remind everyone of it."
Lucion saw the corner of his father's mouth move slightly, not enough to become a smile but enough to show that the answer had surprised him.
Alaric turned toward Lucion and nodded toward the guildhall. "The upper chamber is empty. Use it as long as you need. The western lords can survive another hour without deciding the fate of their kingdom, and if they cannot, that may simplify matters considerably."
Lucion glanced toward the windows above them. "They have survived three days of arguing about the same questions. Another hour may finish several of them."
"Then we shall count it as progress," Alaric said before turning away.
Roland waited until the Stark king and Harald had moved beyond easy earshot, then glanced between father and son with an expression Lucion knew too well. "I believe that is my invitation to disappear as well. Damion, try not to disinherit him until after the council. It would make the afternoon unnecessarily confusing."
Damion gave him a tired look. "You have become more talkative with age, Roland."
"My sons are dead, my king is a prisoner, my country has been invaded, and I surrendered my sword to a Stark King half my age. I have earned the right to become irritating."
As Roland walked away, Lucion led his father upstairs.
The chamber had belonged to merchants before the Northern occupation and still smelled faintly of wax, old wine and ink. Lucion poured for both of them, though Damion left his cup untouched after accepting it. For a while they sat across from one another in silence, each seeming to wait for the other to decide how a conversation like this was supposed to begin.
Damion eventually leaned back in his chair. "I was told yesterday that Lord Crakehall spoke for you before the assembled lords. I was also told Lord Lydden asked whether you belonged to the Stark king or to the Westerlands, and that you gave an answer several men found uncomfortable."
Lucion rested one forearm on the table. "I told him that if he required those things to be opposites, then I could not give him an answer he would enjoy. I have northern friends. I fought beside them, and some of them have bled for me. I will not pretend otherwise simply to make them feel better."
Damion's fingers curled around his untouched cup. "Your mother would have approved of that answer."
"You used her in your letter as well," Lucion said, watching him carefully. "You always do that when you wish to tell me something you do not know how to say yourself."
Damion did not deny it. He looked down at the wine instead, turning the cup slightly between his hands. "When your mother was alive, she had an irritating habit of telling me what I was thinking before I had decided whether I wished to admit it. I disliked it then. I find I miss it now."
The mention of Shiera quieted the room for a moment.
Damion continued before Lucion could retreat into the silence. "I worried for years that you would choose the North over your own blood. Shiera never believed you would see matters so simply. She told me often that a man could love more than one place without betraying either, though I suspect she was speaking partly about herself whenever she said it."
"I did not choose Alaric because I hated you," Lucion said. He had thought the words many times before but had never spoken them plainly to his father. "I did not take up a sword beside him because I wanted to see Casterly Rock humbled or the West broken. I chose him because he trusted me, and because when the fighting began I believed in what he was trying to do."
Damion finally lifted his eyes. "I know that now. I did not know it when I first heard you had taken up arms beside him. I was angry, then frightened, though I preferred anger because it was easier to live with. I thought perhaps you had spent so long outside my reach that I had ceased being your father except by blood."
Lucion said nothing, simply taking a sip of his wine, allowing his father to continue.
"Then reports began reaching the Rock," Damion went on. "Houses surrendered and kept their lands. Prisoners were returned rather than butchered. Lannisport opened its gates because you gave your word that it would not be sacked, and the city remains standing. Whatever else you have done during this war, you have not behaved like a man trying to destroy his home."
Lucion rubbed his thumb along the rim of his cup. "Alaric trusted me long before anyone here had reason to."
"I know that as well," Damion said, and this time there was no accusation in his voice.
He sat straighter after a moment, and when he spoke again, the conversation shifted with him. "So I will ask you something plainly, Lucion. The men downstairs are preparing to place a crown before you. Do you want it?"
Lucion had expected the question since the previous afternoon. He had found a dozen answers during the night and disliked every one of them.
"I do not know," he said after a long pause. "I know what that sounds like, but I would rather answer badly than lie well. Six moons ago I would have laughed if you told me I might become King of the Rock. I wanted a place of my own, perhaps lands eventually, enough coin that I did not have to ask permission every time I wished to do something foolish, but I never spent my childhood looking at Casterly Rock and imagining myself sitting above everyone inside it."
He looked toward the window where part of the Rock could be seen beyond the city roofs.
"Now I have watched western armies die because men kept waiting for someone to tell them that nothing had changed. Jaime lies dead, slain by Alaric himself. Kevan and Stafford are also both dead. Lord Tywin is alive, but he is a prisoner. Lannisport surrendered because the Rock could not protect it, and half the lords of the West are downstairs asking what government remains to them. I do not know whether I want a crown. I know I do not want to watch all of this begin again because everyone is too prideful to admit that we already lost."
Damion listened without interrupting, his eyes resting upon Lucion for several moments after he finished.
"That is probably a better answer than telling me you always wanted it," he said at last.
Lucion breathed out slowly. "I considered lying."
"Your mother would have known." He laughed, rubbing his beard. "She always knew." A genuine smile appeared briefly on Damion's face before fading again. "I will not open Casterly Rock because you ask me to," he said. "I wrote that already, and I meant it. Lord Tywin still lives. I am his castellan, and an oath does not disappear merely because keeping it is hard."
Lucion had expected as much, yet hearing it still made his hand tighten around the cup.
Damion noticed and continued. "But if the assembled lords of the Westerlands declare that Joffrey no longer rules them, if they end this war and choose a ruler of their own, then the question changes. It ceases to be whether I obey Lord Tywin and becomes whether I use Casterly Rock to wage war against the entire country it was built to govern. I will not do that."
Lucion looked up sharply.
"If they choose you," Damion said, his voice steady, "and you accept, the gates will open. I will not surrender the Rock to an invading army. I will surrender its defense when there is no longer a kingdom outside its walls asking me to defend it against them."
[Later that day]
The western council reconvened before midday.
Alaric occupied the same ordinary chair he had used before, refusing the raised seat offered by the guildsmen, while Harald stood behind him and Robb, Jon, and Roland sat nearby. The Northern presence had been reduced deliberately. Lucion understood the intention as soon as he entered beside his father. Alaric had already won his argument with swords. What remained belonged to the West.
Lord Brax was the first to address Damion. He leaned forward over the table, his expression grave rather than hostile. "Ser Damion, you still hold Casterly Rock in Lord Tywin's name, and until this morning much of the discussion in this room depended upon what the Rock intended to do. Before we continue, we need to know whether anything decided here will matter once we leave Lannisport."
Damion remained standing while he answered. "Lord Tywin entrusted me with Casterly Rock, and I will not declare him faithless merely because he was defeated. I will not pretend he is dead while he still lives, nor will I cast aside years of service. But neither will I pretend that Lord Tywin can presently govern the Westerlands from captivity."
Several of the older lords shifted but did not interrupt him.
"His field armies have been destroyed," Damion continued. "Several members of House Lannister lie dead. Lannisport has submitted, and most of the houses represented here have already entered separate terms with King Alaric. Casterly Rock can endure a siege for years if necessary. If this council chooses to continue the war, I will return to my post and fulfill the office given to me. If the lords of the West instead choose peace and establish a government of their own, I will not turn Casterly Rock against them."
Lord Lydden studied him closely. "And if the king they choose is your son?"
Damion's gaze moved toward Lucion before returning to the table. "Then I imagine I shall spend many years complaining privately about his decisions. I am still his father, and I intend to preserve at least one privilege."
A restrained ripple of laughter passed through the room, enough to loosen some of the tension without breaking it.
When it faded, Damion added more seriously, "But the gates will open."
That ended more of the argument than Lucion expected, but not all of it.
Recognition of the North and Vale as independent kingdoms caused little difficulty now, while the end of western hostilities against the Riverlands required considerably more discussion. Reparations in coin, livestock and rebuilding supplies were unpleasant but acceptable to most. The possibility of permanently surrendering western territory was another matter entirely.
Alaric waited until the room had worked through nearly everything else before raising the matter of the Golden Tooth.
"I said yesterday that I have no intention of carving the Westerlands apart and rewarding Northern lords with western land," he said, looking along the table. "That remains true. There is one matter involving land which still needs settling, however, and I would rather speak plainly about it now than hide it inside a dozen pages of terms. Lord Leo Lefford is dead. His daughter Alysanne is his lawful heir, and I intend that inheritance to be respected."
Lord Brax frowned slightly. "No one here has disputed Lady Alysanne's right to the Tooth."
"No, but the Golden Tooth controls the principal road between your kingdom and the Riverlands, and the Riverlands have spent this war being raided, burned, and bled by western armies. I am also retaining the Twins for the North. Edmure Tully will have reason to dislike that settlement unless the final peace gives the Riverlands something more meaningful than apologies."
Several men around the table immediately understood where the conversation was going.
"Alysanne Lefford will be offered in marriage to Edmure Tully," Alaric continued. "She will not be dragged to Riverrun in chains, and she will not be stripped of her inheritance. She remains Lady of the Golden Tooth. The marriage joins her inheritance to Riverrun and gives both realms an interest in keeping that road peaceful."
Lord Serrett leaned back in his chair, plainly dissatisfied. "And when Edmure becomes Lord of Riverrun, are we expected to pretend the Golden Tooth remains wholly western because his wife happens to hold the title?"
"No," Lucion said before Alaric could answer, and the room turned toward him.
He leaned forward, resting both hands on the table. "We should not pretend anything. The marriage gives Riverrun influence over the Tooth. That is plainly part of its purpose, and I would rather admit that now than spend twenty years arguing. Lady Alysanne's inheritance will be guaranteed, House Lefford will not be dispossessed, and no Northern lord receives so much as a morsel of land. The exact obligations of the Tooth after the marriage can be written between the western crown, Riverrun, and Lady Alysanne herself before the wedding. I will not agree that a Tully lord may simply fill a western fortress with his own men whenever he pleases, but I will agree to the marriage and to the principle that the Tooth forms part of the peace."
He looked across the table toward Alaric.
For a moment the Stark king said nothing, then gave a single nod. "That is enough for me."
The discussion moved on.
Lucion noticed the difference immediately. It was the first agreement he had made with Alaric that felt less like accepting the judgment of a commander he trusted and more like negotiating with another ruler.
By late afternoon there were no major questions left.
Roland Crakehall rose slowly from his chair, placing both hands against the table before addressing the room. "My position has already been made embarrassingly public, so I will spare everyone another long speech. We need peace. We need a ruler. We need someone who the North trusts enough to leave, and the West trusts enough to remain. I therefore propose that the Westerlands withdraw its allegiance from Joffrey Baratheon and the Iron Throne, resume its ancient independence, and offer its crown to Ser Lucion Lannister."
The silence that followed was longer than Lucion expected.
Lord Lydden stood first, followed by Lord Brax and others.
Lord Serrett remained seated for several moments before finally rising. Others came after them, some readily and others with visible reluctance. Two men remained seated throughout, their faces set and unhappy.
Lucion found himself strangely relieved to see them.
At least no one could claim the decision had been effortless.
Roland turned toward him. "You have heard the lords of the West. We can argue among ourselves for another week if you wish, but eventually the question still returns to you."
Lucion looked around the chamber. His father stood near the wall. Alaric remained seated, hands resting loosely before him, making no effort to influence the moment.
"I will not promise to govern as Lord Tywin governed," he said, allowing his eyes to move from face to face. "If that is what you wanted, we did not need three days of councils to reach this point. I will not promise that I will always agree with you, and I will not pretend that becoming your king requires me to forget the men who fought beside me simply because they were born beyond the Neck or east of the Trident."
He paused, then continued more quietly.
"What I can promise is that I will govern the Westerlands for the Westerlands. I will keep the peace we make here. I will defend our roads and ports, preserve the rights of houses that submit to the law, and I will not spend your sons merely because admitting a mistake would wound my pride. If those terms are acceptable, then I accept the crown you offer."
Roland knelt first, followed by nearly every man in the room, along with his father
[Two Days Later]
The gates of Casterly Rock opened two mornings later.
Lucion had entered the Rock countless times as a boy, yet never in a procession like this.
Western banners led the way. Crakehall, Brax, Serrett, Lydden, Westerling, Banefort, Farman and the lesser houses rode beneath the great heights of the Rock with Lucion among them. His father rode on his right and Roland upon his left.
Alaric remained nearly thirty paces behind.
Lucion had questioned him about that before they departed Lannisport, confused about why he would position himself in such a place, considering he brought the west to heel.
Alaric had answered simply. "If I ride beside you through those gates, men will remember a Stark king bringing his chosen Lannister into Casterly Rock. If western lords ride beside you and I follow behind, they will remember bringing their own king home. Both accounts are true enough. But only one of those will help your rule."
The coronation took place that evening in the great hall.
There had been no time to forge an elaborate crown, nor did Lucion particularly want one. Damion, instead, had brought an old royal circlet from the Rock's treasury, heavier than it appeared and worked with small red stones around its rim, and an ancient thing from the looks of it.
It had been the crown worn by King Tybolt the Thunderbolt, a first man king of House Lannister. Quite fitting given his religious inclinations.
When the western lords gathered, Lucion knelt before his father.
Damion held the circlet in both hands and looked down at him for several seconds, his expression difficult to read. Lucion wondered whether he saw the child who had once run through these halls, Shiera's son, the knight who had ridden beside Northerners, or simply the man the West had chosen because too many others were dead.
Then Damion lowered the crown onto his head and spoke clearly enough for the hall to hear. "Lucion of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Rock and the Westerlands."
Lucion stood.
His father knelt before him, and one by one, the hall followed.
Alaric did not kneel. Kings did not kneel to kings, but he stood near the rear with Robb, Jon, Harald, Dorren and the other Northerners, watching in silence. Lucion found his eyes anyway, and Alaric nodded his head once.
And that was enough
[The Next Day]
Lucion had been king for less than a day when he discovered that kingship apparently included inheriting other men's career decisions.
He sat in a smaller chamber overlooking the sea with a parchment spread before him, reading the names for a second time before looking toward Alaric. "There are twenty-one men here, and nearly half of them are yours. I have been king since yesterday and already appear to be stealing another monarch's knights."
Alaric sat opposite him with one boot braced against the leg of his chair, far too comfortable for Lucion's liking. "There are twenty-two. One of the Riverlanders arrived after the list was written, and none of the Northerners are bound by inheritance or existing oaths that require them to return home. I checked before allowing them to approach you."
"That is not what troubles me. I am wondering why twenty-two knights have decided that following me is preferable to returning to wherever they came from."
Alaric's expression lost some of its amusement. "Then ask them. They have been following you for weeks already. Perhaps you should hear the reason from them rather than inventing one."
Lucion did just that.
They gathered in one of the smaller outer halls, twenty-two knights in campaign-worn armor, none dressed alike and few looking particularly ceremonial. Several of the western men stood beside Northerners they would have called enemies a month earlier, while two Riverlanders waited near the end of the line.
One of the northern knights spoke for the group. "We followed you before anyone called you king, Your Grace. Some of us have little waiting at home beyond elder brothers' halls, and some of the westermen here have served near you since surrendering. We thought it better to ask plainly whether you have use for men already accustomed to standing around you rather than return home simply because the campaign has ended."
Lucion looked along the line.
Damion stood beside him, watching quietly.
"I have use for knights," Lucion said after considering them for a moment. "What I do not need is another collection of men tied to twenty different lords who may someday decide another obligation matters more than mine. If you enter my service in this manner, it will not be as ordinary household retainers who happen to wear better armor."
The men listened closely.
"You may marry, and you may have children. You may possess wealth, horses, and whatever property that does not place another lord's command above mine. The Crown will pay you directly and well enough that I do not expect your wives or children to starve for the honor of watching you stand outside my doors. If one of you dies in service, your family will not be cast aside the next morning."
He let the words settle before continuing.
"But while you remain sworn, you will hold no lordship, no castle, and no landed title carrying feudal obligations that can divide your oath. If inheritance places one in your hands, then you will choose between that inheritance and this service. I will not have a knight guarding my children one month and riding away the next because some distant cousin died and left him three villages and a quarrel with his neighbor."
Several of the western knights nodded.
"You will protect the king, his lawful family and the royal household. You will keep the king's peace within his court, carry his commands when required, and stand around his banner in war. Southern knights and northern knights will be judged by the same oath. I have spent too long watching good men fight beside me to begin asking which gods heard the words that made them knights."
One of the westermen glanced down at the battered red shield resting against his leg before asking what such an order would be called.
Lucion had considered that since Alaric first showed him the list.
"The lion of House Lannister is gold," he said. "You will serve the Crown rather than merely the private household of House Lannister, and I would not have anyone mistake you for another company of ordinary Lannister retainers. Your lion will be white."
Damion glanced toward the assembled knights, then back toward his son. "The White Lion Knights, huh. I have to admit, it does have quite the ring to it."
Lucion considered the words for a moment and found that he liked them. "Aye. That will do."
The twenty-two men knelt together.
There were no white cloaks yet, no matching shields and no carefully written oaths as of yet. They were simply battered knights from three kingdoms kneeling upon the stone of Casterly Rock and giving their oaths to a king who had possessed his crown for less than a day.
[The Next Day… again lol]
By the following morning, orders were already leaving the Rock.
The peace terms made at Lannisport were confirmed. Submitted houses retained their lands except where later agreements concerning the Lefford inheritance required otherwise. Reparations to the Riverlands would begin after the harvest. Western armies were forbidden from raising men for Joffrey, prisoners would be catalogued for ransom or exchange, and the North and Vale were formally recognized as independent kingdoms.
Most importantly for Alaric, the Northern occupation would end.
Lucion found him in the lower yard before noon, where wagons were already being loaded, and Winter Guards formed marching columns beneath their banners. Robb stood nearby speaking with Jon, impatient enough that Lucion suspected he would happily ride through the night if it brought him to Ysilla and Edderion even a day sooner. Dorren crouched beside Shadow, checking one of the direwolf's paws, while Harald argued with a quartermaster over the order of the baggage train.
Off to the side, the Umber brothers were having an argument about gods know what.
"You waste remarkably little time," Lucion said as he approached.
Alaric glanced toward the busy yard. "My wife has been raising our children without me for three moons. Robb has never seen his son. Benjicot has beaten Victarion back, but the Ironborn still have ships at sea. I have very little reason to remain here now that the West has a king of its own."
Lucion carried the crown beneath one arm, having already discovered that he disliked wearing it unless ceremony required him to. "I suppose this is where I thank you, though I should make clear that I am not thanking you for the crown. I am beginning to suspect that may prove more punishment than gift."
Alaric looked at him with the beginning of a smile.
Lucion's expression became more serious. "Truly, Alaric, thank you for trusting me before any of them had reason to. My father understood that before I did. Half the men who now call me king first learned to bring their problems to me because you put me in front of them and expected me to solve something."
"You gave me reason to trust you," Alaric said. "I did not invent what they saw afterward."
"That sounds irritatingly close to something Ned would say, you know that?"
Alaric chuckled. "Aye, after having been raised by the man, I seem to have taken on some of his qualities."
Lucion smiled, though it faded after a moment as he looked toward the banners being prepared for the march. "We will disagree eventually. The Tooth, trade, borders, prisoners, some western lord insulting a northern lord because he thinks snow makes men stupid, or some northern lord deciding every western merchant deserves twice the normal tax because he wears red."
"Almost certainly," Alaric said. "And when it happens, we will argue, send unpleasant letters, threaten tariffs, and eventually remember that both of us have better things to do than begin another war."
Lucion nodded slowly. "Good. I would have worried if you told me friendship solved everything."
"It rarely solves anything by itself. It simply gives men a reason to keep talking after the argument becomes unpleasant."
Alaric offered his forearm, and Lucion clasped it firmly.
"Make this work, my dear friend," Alaric told him. "You have spent months proving what you can do when everything is collapsing. Governing once the collapse is finished will likely be harder."
"I was hoping you might wait until tomorrow before ruining the experience."
"You are king now. People will ruin most experiences for you without my help." he laughed heartily at his words, startling some of the men who have rarely seen their king laugh so openly.
Lucion released his arm with a laugh in kind.
A horn soon sounded from the gate, and the first Northern companies began moving.
Lucion remained in the yard as Alaric mounted, Tempest rising beside his horse while Cinder moved through the column farther back. Robb and Jon mounted nearby, and Stark banners began passing beneath the gates of Casterly Rock one company at a time.
Several of the newly sworn White Lions stood behind Lucion.
Their armor still bore old scratches and mismatched colors. One carried a western shield, another a northern shield, while a third still wore the mud-stained cloak he had used during the march from the Riverlands.
They did not yet resemble a true knightly order, but that would come later.
Alaric looked back once from beneath the gatehouse.
Lucion raised one hand, he thought back to all of the wonderful memories and times he had in the North before the war. All the times he but heads with the Umbers, when Jon once stole his trousers when he went to bathe, causing him to chase him throughout the camp in nothing but his towel.
He thought of the warm hearths and snowy landscapes of Winterfell. And Lucion also thought of his mother, of her warm smile and the godswood in Casterly Rock, one he would have to completely renovate to house a larger area.
He thought of all of the cherished memories, and continued to wave toward Alaric and the others, a small tear beginning to form before he wiped it out of existence.
Alaric returned the gesture before turning his horse toward the road, and for the first time since Lucion had joined him, Alaric Stark was leading his men toward home rather than another enemy.