Bringing the Dawn

LXI.

Robb Stark

Kings Landing, 301AC

Eight days.

That was how much time had passed.

It didn't seem like much at all but with everything that had occurred it sure felt like it was a lot longer than that. The dead had been rounded up and had all been burned by the dragons unless someone specifically asked for the bodies back because there were just so many. Some who wore sigils on their armour, some who did not but had fancy enough armour to say they were likely squires or lower Knight's, Goldcloaks, Redcloaks, and even those who were not in armies and had simply been caught in the crossfire of the battle.

The fires had finally snuffed out two days prior and even now the smoke and soot was still heavy in the air which made it difficult to breathe, but that was the least of their worries. How had they escaped? Why had they escaped? Why did they not even so much as consider it a possibility? Jaeron was right, it had been too easy. Far too easy. Whilst they had the numbers, numbers didn't win battles all the time. Yet they had gotten to the Red Keep itself with little to no issues and taken the massive red castle that had begun construction during the reign of Aegon the Conqueror and completed by Maegor the Cruel with minimal effort.

Whilst smaller than Winterfell, it was still impressive. Multiple floors high, seven drum towers topped with iron ramparts. He'd spent many days just wandering the many areas. From the Great Hall, to Maegor's Holdfast, the Royal Sept, White Sword Tower which Ser Arthur had taken up residence in which terrified the two Kingsguard who remained behind alongside Ser Loras and his uncle Brynden. Now that had all been done, they had work to do. That being find the Lannister bastard and the other lions and root them all out root and stem. Hopefully wherever the Kingslayer was he didn't get word on their escape and run to meet them. The sole fact they had Jaime as their hostage was why Tywin had been treading carefully with their movements. They didn't have him anymore, and all one had to do was look at Tarbeck Hall or Castamere to know what would happen to them if they joined together once more.

"My Prince, his Grace has called a war council."

Robb turned to face the elderly Maester whom as Arthur said- reeked of rotten eggs. Not quite understanding it and thought he meant it literally before he explained it was he who convinced Aerys to let Tywin's men into the city claiming they were coming to help, in turn being one of many responsible for the deaths of Princess Elia and Jaeron's older half-siblings. The last thing he wished to do was to converse with a Lannister lacky but what could they do? Grand Maester's are appointed by the Citadel and not by the ruler itself, although he suspected his brother had written to the Citadel to request a new Grand Maester on grounds of betrayal to House Targaryen. Whether the words would be heard was unknown.

So Robb stepped into line with Pycelle who was moaning in pain with every single step but he was listening intently. He'd heard Old Nan do the same and he always heard her cracking joints in pain, yet he did not hear them with this man which suggested it was all a ploy to appear weak. This city was full of snakes ready to strike. Venomous and poisonous alike, it was just a matter on whether someone struck first or his brother made a wrong move and died as a result of such a thing. That was a horrible thought, but he was in an incredibly precarious position now.

Whilst he hadn't yet taken the Iron Throne, he'd been proclaimed King all the same. No coronation had been held yet nor would one be held until their enemies were rooted out like the overgrown weeds they were. Entering the Small Council Hall and walking towards the table and taking his seat. Nothing was official yet, this was a temporary Small Council and Jaeron had been upfront there would be changes once success was ripe. Currently, he was standing in as Master of War, Ser Arthur Dayne as Lord Commander which is one that would not change, Lord Aurane Velaryon as Master of Ships, Willas Tyrell as Master of Coin, Lord Varys of Lys as Master of Whisperers which he'd heard he planned on potentially replacing with one of the wargs, Lord Howland Reed as Hand of the King, and finally Maester Pycelle as Grand Maester. Margaery Tyrell was there too, seated beside his cousin whom only now he noticed was wearing the crown of the Conqueror himself and the rubies stuck out brilliantly against the dark metal and his raven black hair.