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Game of Thrones: Nero King of Knight
House Tully was probably the weakest ducal house in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Even before Robert was gored to death by that boar, the Tullys had never truly commanded the Riverlands. Take House Frey, for example. They were Riverlands vassals, yet old Walder Frey styled himself a lord paramount and clearly didn't give a damn what the Tullys thought.
But now it looked like they were going to fight on the same side again.
Edmure Tully stared at the twin-tower banners of the Twins and felt something strange twist in his chest. The black three-headed dragon that had once been trampled underfoot was flying again.
Following Jon's example at Casterly Rock, Edmure had set up a proper flag platform. The Targaryen three-headed dragon flew highest, with Riverrun's blue trout banners on either side a little lower. On the opposite side hung House Frey's twin towers.
This time the Frey force was led by Rhaegar Frey and Black Walder, but Stevron Frey had come along as well. For an alliance this important, House Frey needed to show real sincerity.
Rhaegar Frey had gone home and told old Walder everything Jon had said. The old man hadn't hesitated for a second. He threw his lot in with Jon without a second thought for the grandsons, great-grandsons, and grandsons-in-law still serving in King's Landing.
They were just grandsons. Old Walder wasn't close to any of them. With so many sons and grandsons running around, he probably couldn't even name half of them.
Not every lord spoiled his children the way Mace Tyrell did.
Old Walder's decision wasn't just about the bright future Jon had painted. It was because Jon delivered. Whether it was the campaign in the Westerlands or the fight against the Iron Islands, Jon had brought the Freys real gains. When the books were settled after each war, they hadn't lost coin — they'd made a profit. Both times.
It was almost embarrassing how well things kept turning out for them.
Right now Jon still held the stronger hand in Westeros. Stannis sat on an empty Iron Throne with no real army of his own and no true legitimacy. His failure already felt inevitable.
Old Walder had also received solid news: Jon's newborn son had silver hair and purple eyes. Classic Targaryen looks.
The old man's mind worked as fast as anyone else's. He reached the same conclusion most people did — Jon was almost certainly the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Once you stopped forcing the "Eddard's bastard" story, a lot of things suddenly made more sense.
In other words, House Frey now had a real chance to get their blood into the veins of a dragon king.
What the hell were they waiting for?
Old Walder emptied his coffers. He left barely a hundred guards at the Twins and sent three thousand men straight to Riverrun. They brought their own weapons and their own grain. The old man even played a little game — he made Rhaegar bring Roslin along.
Word was that after Margaery got pregnant, Jon had spent most of his time on campaign and, unlike Robb, hadn't fathered any bastards on the side. That told old Walder the man was holding himself back. Which meant now was the perfect time.
Let Roslin serve Jon. If she got with child again, old Walder swore he would cherish that grandchild — especially if it came out with silver hair and purple eyes.
So three thousand Freys, twelve thousand from Riverrun and the other Riverlands lords — fifteen thousand men in total — had gathered at Riverrun waiting for Jon.
They didn't have to wait long.
A column of cavalry appeared on the horizon. Even though Jon had raised the Targaryen banner again, he hadn't abandoned his black wolf standard. He'd given it to his heavy camp to fly as their own battle flag.
That heavy camp had grown again — three thousand strong now. Eight hundred heavy cavalry and the rest heavy infantry, every man trained to shoot a bow from the saddle or the line. Their pay and privileges were unmatched anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Once they aged out of the front line they dropped straight into command positions. Retirement came with double the usual pension lands, plus marriage arrangements. The loyalty that bought was absolute.
Three thousand was the limit for now. Jon couldn't afford more. But for making an impression, they were perfect.
The army in shining plate looked like a naked blade. As they drew closer, the Riverlands lords found themselves breathing slower. Some had to fight the urge to duck back inside the castle walls.
When reason reasserted itself, they remembered these men weren't here to kill them.
Edmure, however, had a different problem. What the hell was he supposed to call Jon?
They were both dukes on paper, but Jon had raised the dragon banner. Did that make him "Your Grace" now?
Before Edmure could decide, Rhaegar Frey and Stevron Frey hurried forward with their attendants and dropped to one knee.
"Your Grace," they said together.
"Rise, sers," Jon answered calmly.
Sandor's hard stare swung toward Edmure. Under that pressure the Lord of Riverrun stepped forward and knelt as well.
"Your Grace, the army of Riverrun swears fealty to you."
"Rise, Lord Edmure," Jon said. It was as good as confirming Edmure's own title.
Edmure stood. The other Riverlands lords who had brought men knelt in turn and swore their oaths. Lyman Darry was there — taller than the last time Jon had seen him — and so was Mandon. When they learned Jon was truly a Targaryen they reacted the same way Martin had: pure excitement.
It had to be fate. Why else would House Darry have chosen to follow Jon when he was still just a bastard? Lyman, who was sliding deeper into that dramatic phase boys sometimes hit, was convinced this was destiny. He shouted his oath louder than anyone.
Jon looked over the kneeling lords. Most of them had fought against the Targaryens during Robert's rebellion. He could see the unease in their eyes.
He cleared his throat.
"My lords," he said, "calling me 'Your Grace' is a little premature. I haven't taken the crown yet."
They glanced at one another. Waiting until he actually claimed the throne before using the title would look disloyal.
Jon went on. "I was a son once. Now I'm a father. I'm still a subject, but I'm walking the road that leads to kingship. What does that relationship really mean — father and son, king and subject?
I believe a father only earns a son's respect when he acts like a father. A king only earns a subject's loyalty when he rules like a king. My uncle — my foster father — was an honorable man. He sacrificed his own honor to protect me. He showed me what a father should be. So I followed his will. I killed the false king Joffrey. I placed Stannis on the throne. I convinced Robb to give up his crown. I crushed Balon's rebellion on the Iron Islands.
My grandfather Aerys turned his back on his family and listened to flatterers instead. He didn't act like a king, so he was overthrown. The truth is, I never wanted the crown. If Stannis had put the safety of the realm first — if he had prepared the Seven Kingdoms for the Long Night that's coming — then he would have been a king worth following. Opposing him would have made me a traitor. But he didn't. Instead he demanded I send my newborn son to King's Landing as a hostage. If I had done that, I wouldn't have been a father worth the name. So I came here."
Jon laid it out plainly. The old Riverlands lords heard what they needed to hear.
Jon wasn't going to punish them for choosing the wrong side during Robert's war. That alone was a relief.
And this Targaryen with Stark blood sounded calm and steady. Ice and fire balanced in one man. Maybe the future wouldn't be so bad after all.