Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucas Strong side-eyed his sister as they watched Lord Stark dispense his justice. Lydia’s brown eyes were keen as she observed the court, the Red Keep throne room taken up primarily by Northernmen. The two Riverlanders had joined the Northern host to show the support of House Strong when the army had marched through the ruined Riverlands. Since they were young they had begun planning for this day, adjusting and readjusting how they would handle this pivotal moment in Westeros history. Hopefully, by the end of the day, Cregan Stark would be in agreement of their suggested changes, and not instead thrown into the Black Cells as traitors.

Of the two of them, Lydia was the braver one, fearless in taking on this new world they lived in head on. Lucas was happy to follow her lead, as well as point out flaws in her decisions or ideas, redirecting her intense focus onto what was important or needed. She was the hammer to his chisel, and they were the perfect team in fixing Westeros.

When court finally wound down, Cregan began his trek to his temporary rooms. The pair watched him leave, Lucas murmuring into his sister’s ear, “We’ll need to catch him soon, there will be many vying for his attention.” Particularly Alsyanne Blackwood, who was eyeing the older man speculatively. Already knowing how that was going to go, neither had plans to change that, it was not important for them.

Softly, Lydia hummed in agreement and began to leave the throne room, Lucas a half step behind her. She walked with poised grace, head held up high enough to show confidence but not arrogance. It was amusing to observe, he had never had sisters in his first life, only brothers, so it was a new experience on top of everything else. Bearing in mind the war that had just finished, Lydia wore neither the green or the red colours of their house, instead dressed in a deep blue with white accents, Lucas having been directed to do the same. They made a complimentary pair, the twin Strong siblings, the last remaining grandchildren of Lord Simon Strong and only heirs to the house.

It was a miracle that the three had managed to survive, Alys having been kind enough to convince Aemond Targaryen to not execute them for joining with Team Black in the war. That was primarily due to the twins having done their best to endear themselves to Alys as they grew up, the odd young woman like an aunt or sister to them. She told them many stories as they grew up, and in turn they themselves gave ‘warnings’ about small things, which she solemnly took as truths. They were, but she did not need to know how they came about such information. Let her think them greenseers or god-touched, either worked for them.

Unfortunately, their two much older brothers had been killed by the Targaryen, and though they had been raised distant from them, Lucas and Lydia held an ache of grief in their hearts. The men were not bad men, and did not deserve such a fate. Alys had done her best, but she could not completely change her past lover’s mind in his thirst for death. Lucas was just all too happy that that man was dead and gone now.

When they reached the rooms where Lord Stark had taken up residence, Lydia and Lucas paused before the guards, his sister doing the talking as she curtsied before them, “Begging your pardon, I am Lady Lydia Strong. My brother, Lord Lucas Strong, and I wish to request a meeting with the Lord Stark.”

One raised a brow at them, unmoved by the polite smile Lydia flashed their way, “Most do,” He drawled, “For what reason?”

“We have information that may be of use for the Lord Hand as he goes about dealing out justice to the traitors of the realm.”

The man eyed her after the explanation, then turned to his partner who gave a nonchalant shrug. The first guard looked back at them and ordered, “Wait here.” The guard then knocked and slipped inside, door clattering shut behind him. Calmly, the twins did so, Lucas feeling his heart beginning to pound with anticipation. If they were denied to even have an audience with the Lord that would make their plans far more difficult to implant. Lord Cregan Stark was key to the easy route, but they would go the more difficult route if necessary. Then again, even if they were granted audience and got to explain themselves, the man could still deny them. But they had a few aces up their sleeves that could give them a leg up in winning the man’s favour, so Lucas took a deep breath as the door opened again, deciding to not worry too much until necessary.

“Lord Stark will see you.” The guard announced, stepping aside for them to enter. Lydia gave another curtsy – Lucas following that motion with his own bow – before they entered the room. Lord Stark was sat behind a desk, appearing exhausted but keen-eyed as he watched them closely. Once the door was shut, the twins were quick to offer greetings, making sure to do away with the flowery flattering talk of the South, already figuring the man had no desire to hear that nonsense. After he waved them to sit down before him, he asked, “Well?”

Lydia straightened up, “My Lord, if I were to give you another possible option to how Westeros was ruled, one that was both fair and gave a voice to all, would you be willing to hear me out until the very end, no matter how treasonous it may sound?”

Grey eyes flashed, dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown as Lord Stark rumbled, “It would depend on the option you present before me, my Lady.” A warning which they both took gracefully, though Lucas desperately wanted to drag his sister behind him at the thunderous look that was brewing over the man’s face. This was the best option they had, but by the Gods was it a dangerous one.

As fearless as ever, Lydia did not falter, instead giving an understanding nod, “Of course, my Lord. Shall I begin?”

Lord Stark waved her on impatiently, “I do not have all day, my Lady.”

“Then I shall get to the point.” Lydia replied promptly, “Tell me this first, Lord Stark: Do you truly wish the Targaryens to continue to rule Westeros?” A heavy silence fell upon them hard, Lord Stark tensing. Lydia however continued on without giving him the chance to speak, “I will give you my thoughts on the matter before you answer. Lord Torrhen Stark was marching South with an army to fight against the foreign invaders, only to choose the lives of his people over his pride, and bent the knee. To me, that does not sound like a particularly devote and loyal man to the Targaryens. You rallied behind Team Black due to whatever the late Prince Jacaerys had offered you, but can that offer still be fulfilled now with his untimely passing?”

Another drag of silence before Lord Stark replied frostily, “No.” The stories had told that he had found the prince to be a dear friend, his death no doubt a heavy grief to carry. Lydia nodded softly, hearing what was not spoken and continued on, “Then I would like to bring up my suggestion: The last two sons of the late Queen are the only people standing between us and having a Westeros without Targaryen rulers.”

Grey eyes went frigid cold with anger. “If you are implying we kill children-”

“Never.” Lydia sharply denied at the man’s rumble, “I would never think to kill children over something that was not their fault. They are not their parents’ choices, but they are still beholden to a legacy of conquest and death. I would instead give them to a house that is loyal to the Targaryens, but not powerful enough to gather an army to rally behind them. House Massey, perhaps. And when they reach sixteen each, I propose they are given the option to either take the Black or join the Maesters. Maybe even the Faith, though I doubt they would accept them due to the nature of their birth. The daughter of Aegon the Second could be given over to the Silent Sisters, to prevent her being married off to continue the line.”

The man snorted, voice dry as a winter chill as he wondered, “And once they are no longer ruling, who would we install upon the throne? You?”

Giving a slight laugh, Lydia shook her head in denial, “Gods no! I would instead install a great council where there are representatives of every kingdom that make unified choices for the benefit of Westeros. There would be no king. There would be no ruling family, just a Parliament, as my brother and I have been fondly calling it.”

“No ruling family?” The man blinked, taken off guard, “And you would think the people would accept this?”

Tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder, the woman raised a sharp brow, “I think there is a greater chance the majority would accept it than dismiss it.” Lydia argued easily, “After all, though many of those alive at that time have passed on by now, I think the Great Council of 101 AC still lingers in the mind of the lords, having been shown that possibility in making leading decisions for their kingdom.”

Lord Stark said nothing for a long while, and Lucas could see Lydia’s impatience. She leant in and asked quickly, “Might I be blunt and drop courtesies, my Lord?”

A deep sigh, “Be my guest, my Lady.”

“Wonderful.” And Lydia stood up from her chair, beginning to pace as she was wont to do when she got particularly vexed and passionate over a topic. House Targaryen happened to be a certain topic she had many opinions on, and Lucas relaxed back in his chair, ready to watch the show. Lord Stark must have noticed the change in the siblings as he himself leant forward with subconscious anticipation.

“House Targaryen is a mess.” Lydia stated frankly, “They only intermarry to keep their ‘divine’ blood within the family, and when they do marry out, those children are treated as half-bloods, not good enough for their superior lineage. As if both Andals and First Men are not rich in history and our own ancient magic. Not to mention, their family were once slavers, where many cities in the east revile the land of Valyria and the Valyrians as a whole still, as well as the fact that the Andals primarily came west to escape enslavement. And then what happens? The very people they ran from decide they have some divine right to conqueror our land! Yes, I know there are many issues with both the First Men and Andals coming to Westeros, as I’m certain the Children of the Forest were none to pleased-”

Lucas cleared his throat, hearing his sister getting off topic in her rant. She paused, took a breath to gather herself, and began again. “Apologies. As I was saying, why must we continued to heed to a rule we never wanted? Especially as they are now at their weakest? The family have done nothing but look down upon us, as if we are beneath them and not full of our own rich histories. They have caused problems, chaos, and have flaunted their disgusting traditions of inbreeding. One thing that both religions can agree on is how the gods look down upon incest, and I can say at the very least the Faith would be behind this change in leadership.”

Lydia took a breath, and Lucas took his small flask out and passed her it. She drank the water from it quickly – Lucas was not a fan of drinking – before passing it back to him with a grateful nod, then carried on, “What is a short hundred year legacy of ruling compared to the eight-thousand years that the Stark Kings had ruled? What of the many houses who have descended from Garth Greenhand? What of even Dorne and their Rhoynar history? And without their dragons, most having either been killed in the battle or have been destroyed in the desperate show of bravery from the Smallfolk when they stormed the Dragonpit, what do we have to fear from their fire now? Just two boys now and a daughter of Aegon. They hold no power any more, not with everyone so destroyed by the Dance. No one wanted them to rule truly, no one really had the choice! Bend the knee or burn to death? And even after that, after the Aegon the Conqueror, they never really tried to build ties to the rest of the Realm!”

Growing impatient though he had listened intently throughout it all, Lord Stark curtly demanded, “The point, my Lady.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Lydia faced him directly and declared boldly, “The time of the Targaryens is over. They have already done most of the work for us in destroying themselves, now it’s time to bring about a new era. They had one idea right, and that was unifying Westeros. Because I do believe we must be unified for what will come in the future.”

“And what is that?”

“Beyond the Wall. There is an older enemy.” Lucas held his breath at her declaration, glancing to Lord Stark who could have been cut from stone with how still he had become. Then, slowly, Lord Stark rumbled, “How do you know of this, my Lady?”

“Dreams.” Lucas chimed in, voice low with seriousness. He wanted to direct the man’s attention from his sister now, not wishing her to gain his ire. “We have had dreams of a future to come. A future that leads to ruin because everyone was so focused on the South, that no one was ready for what was coming from the North. It may not be this life time, but we must set down the foundations of a stable Westeros, to prepare for the Long Night.”

Lord Stark ran a hand down his face, before straightening up to level them with a sharp gaze, “Tell me more on this Parliament of yours.”

Lucas grinned, and swung the leather tube from off his shoulders, passing his flask back to Lydia first. Popping off the lid, he tugged out a rolled up piece of parchment, and presented it to Lord Stark. “Here is our Declaration of Unity. We propose thus: One lord or lady from the current Paramount House of each kingdom, chosen only due to their ability to actually represent their kingdom and family. They must be politically knowledgeable and fair, as well as devoted to their kingdom and care of their people. Then, the other lords of the houses of that kingdom – though not the Lord Paramount – must put to vote for more representatives they feel would be the best choices. They cannot vote for themselves. After a five year term of office, the lords and ladies of the land can put to a new vote of different representatives, especially if they feel that those in office are not representing them well.” Lucas took a pause, where it was Lydia this time who passed his flask over to him. He took a sip before continuing as Lord Stark read over the Declaration.

“Every kingdom, including Dorne, will be represented. Ironborn can join, only of course if they stop their raiding. Lords and ladies both can be a representative. When it comes to casting votes for anything it can be done discreetly through a voting box that an impartial judge – perhaps a maester – can read out the verdict once votes have been cast, or simply done by raising their hands in the meetings. The representatives would not only bring forth the needs of their kingdoms, but they would create and dissolve laws of Westeros. This parliament would be the leaders of Westeros, and there would no longer be a singular ruler where we are beholden to their biased opinions and their whims. War would have to be discussed first, offenders brought to court so that no innocent men are slaughters in a war they marched for against their wishes. There would still be individual ruling by the Lord Paramount as we have done under the Targaryens, but the idea of having this council would mean that there is a chance for the kingdoms to mingle and form better bonds. For kingdoms that may have never thought to form trading deals or even alliances to come together. It would be-”

“Unity.” Lord Stark interrupted, glancing up from his read of the Declaration. There was a fire lit behind his cold eyes now, exhaustion seeming to have slipped away during the impassioned speeches of the twins. He looked between them thoughtfully before leaning back. “If I put through this suggestion, hold a vote with the lords in order to keep with the fairness of this new governing, would you require yourselves on the council in exchange?”

Both shook their head, which appeared to have taken the man by surprise. Lucas spoke up once more, “I would wish to be one of the representatives, but I would wish to be voted in only. If we want fairness and unity, we must as be willing to demonstrate that ourselves. Each lord or lady who would want to put themselves forward would be given a short amount of time to give a speech on why they would make a good candidate to vote for. Votes would then be cast with slips of parchment – or in an effort to not waste parchment they give their choice in a short private moment with an unbiased representative, once more possibly a maester not affiliated with any of the houses – and then those votes would be tallied up on a single roll of parchment and announced. Votes would take place within each kingdom, and the voted in members would live in the Red Keep for the term. On top of their duties, they would also need to make sure that King’s Landing was running smoothly.”

“That, of course,” Lydia jumped in, “Would be discussed for another time.”

Lucas agreed with a sheepish nod at Lord Stark, “Apologies, but I do worry for the smallfolk, and they have been punished enough with this war.”

Lord Stark gave a gruff grunt of agreement and once more inspected the Declaration. After a moment, he tapped at a specific line in Lucas’ neat writing, “’No man or woman may put themselves up as king or queen, to rule over the kingdoms of Westeros as a whole. No man or woman may put themselves up as king or queen of their own kingdom.’”

“There is power in being a monarch,” Lydia softly answered when the man gave them an expectant glance, “But the power is too great, and comes with the ability to do great harm. There is always going to be injustice in the world, and there will always be those who rank themselves higher due to their standing. But even with their dragons, Targaryens died just the same. And we are now people without dragons. We are just people. What right did the Targaryens have to declare themselves kings? What right do we have to declare ourselves kings over others? The only difference between nobles and smallfolk, is that we have far more coin than they do. Coin is just metal, and metal can melt. We are all people, and fairness and respect can go a long way in creating a unified kingdom. And this time, we are not bending the knee out of fear, we are instead standing up and declaring that all have a voice.”

The Northernman began to think about it long and hard, Lydia coming back to sit down beside Lucas. She reached out and he took her hand in comfort and support. They have begun their first move to fixing Westeros, all they had to do was hope that their words and their honesty was enough to sway what was currently the most powerful man in Westeros.

They were told to leave not long after, Lord Stark requesting to keep the Declaration. Lucas replied back, “We have copies, if you are wishing to burn it, my Lord.”

The man appeared amused by his words as he waved them out, “I will break my fast with you on the morrow, and discuss my decision then.”

They bowed out and began a silent trek back to their temporary chambers. Lucas could see that Lydia was brimming with nerves, and the second they closed the door to their chambers, she was jumping in one place, shaking her hands as if to banish her anxiety as she cried, “Oooo, he was so fucking scary!”

Letting out his own exhausted chuckle in agreement, Lucas realised how shaky his legs were and decided to lay down on the ground in a messy sprawl. Lydia continued to try and burn off her pent up energy, now hopping around and wiggling her arms entirely. “So intense! What are they eating up there that makes them like that!?”

“Likely nothing, with how barren their lands could be. Maybe rocks, perhaps?” Lucas joked weakly, staring up at the stone ceiling. Lydia huffed a laugh, “Maybe.” Then stopped her jumping to melt down into a messy heap on the floor. She laid on her front and stared at Lucas. The pair made eye contact and a weighted look was exchanged.

“Do you think we did it?” She whispered, and Lucas rolled a few times to reach her, nearly rolling over the top of her, making her wheeze a laugh as she shoved him off. Grinning at his little sister, Lucas encouraged, “I think he was mighty convinced.”

“I think he was unnerved by my manic speech.” Was her dry response. Lucas smacked a wet kiss to her nose, making her scrunch up her face in disgust as she wiped the spit off. As she did so he frankly informed her, “You unnerve many people with your manic speeches. Next time, talk about the lack of innovation in Westeros, that’ll scare him.”

Lydia socked him in the arm in retaliation, to which Lucas manhandled her into a tight hug where she wiggled and struggled to escape it. Even with this shithole of a world they had been dumped into, Lucas was happy it was alongside Lydia. He never knew her in their first life – in fact they lived in two different countries and never likely crossed paths even in passing – but he wished he had, for he was certain he would have never been bored in that life. At least he won’t be in this new one.

Lydia had plans. She had plans upon plans, most not entirely full fleshed out – mainly due to her not having much experience in certain skills or knowledge in the topics – but she had plans. The first one was to introduce a better medical care system, as well as figure out how to unionise the smallfolk. Lydia had no idea on how, but it began with education and making sure they got workers’ rights. There was also the desire to strip away the mass amount of power the maesters held and give it over to the female healers of the world. The Citadel and their sexism was fucking bullshit and she had plans for a female only team of midwives and healers when it came to her own pregnancy.

Next was trading, which coincided with turning Harrenhal into a city instead of a keep run by a singular fucking house. She and Lucas had spent weeks mapping out the castle to the best of their abilities, and it could be described in two words: fucking bonkers. Everything about it, from the size, the state of it, the ghosts, it wall all bonkers. And she lived in the current time period where the Muppet Tullys existed and Lydia was forced to take them all seriously. Lucas unfortunately did an excellent Kermit the frog impression, and paired with Lydia’s own Miss Piggy, they knew when they finally met their Lord Paramount, they would be fucked. This entire world was a bunch of nonsense if one truly took a step back and observed it properly. Lydia unfortunately had the opportunity to do so in her first life, and now she was in the nonsense. It was terrifying and irritating all at once.

Sighing hard to herself, Lydia rolled over in the bed, finding her room difficult to adjust to. She never liked sleeping in new places in her first life, and it carried on into this one. Harrenhal just had a certain...vibe to it. And that vibe was severe hauntings. It had taken time as a child to adjust – Lydia had never been a fan of horror movies or anything scary – but Alys had been surprisingly comforting to them when they were younger. The older girl would sing her back to sleep when nightmares plagued Lydia, always seeming to know when to walk into her room at night and give her a hug just as she awakened from a terrible dream. Having never had a sister in her first life, it was nice to have one now.

But as she grew older, Lydia had learnt to adjust to the ghosts around the castle, and even started to find them humorous in the way they would terrify visitors. Grandfather never seemed bothered by them either, happily getting on with life and wearing fancy clothes. She loved him dearly.

When Lydia finally got some sleep that night, it was to odd dreams, which wasn’t that odd for her any more. A forest stood in front of her, trees white and leaves red as the rose above her. Behind her, a lake and Harrenhal at the edge on the other side. This dream was not unfamiliar, and with complete ease, Lydia entered the woods. Ravens cawed and fluttered about, some small flocks settling on branches to watch her walk below. Towards the Mother tree she went, the centre of the island and the heart of the network of weirwood trees around her.

The faces had many different expressions, some sad, some angered, some happy, but none terrified her as they wept their red sap. They were always crying, no matter their faces. To her, that made her think the gods were the kind of beings that cried at any sort of confrontation, a comfort for Lydia because she too would do that.

Out of the corner of her eye there was movement between the trees, but the kind where you could turn to look at it but there was nothing there. Lydia had tried to look many times, had even run after the shadows, but every time they slipped from her view. Now, after many years of this dream, Lydia did not bother to even look, instead kept on heading towards the Mother tree.

The Mother tree was unique. The oldest and tallest Weirwood on the island, this particular heart tree had four faces carved into its trunk. Each facing a cardinal direction, each face different. This time, Lydia had ended up approaching the East facing side despite having come from the north side of the island. But that was just how the dream worked. The faces changed every time she saw them, even if she came across the same side twice in a row.

This time, the face was smiling. It was no chilling grin, nor was it sad. It appeared gentle, content. Lydia had only ever seen this face once, and that was when she and Lucas had first began their plans of changing Westeros.

Stepping up to the face, Lydia sat down before it, tucking her legs under her and smoothing out the skirts of the plain dress she had on. It was always a plain grey dress, not that she truly paid much attention to it. With her brown hair unbound and free around her, Lydia looked upon the face and greeted politely, “Hello, Mother tree. Do you have need of me?”

A breeze tickled her face, leaves slowly raining down upon her as a voice spoke, ‘Wings of time have changed direction. No longer a clear path to soar.’

“I hope I have not made things difficult for you.” Lydia replied with an apologetic caress of the exposed root next to her. The branches groaned and creaked with the next words, ‘Difficulty was never the problem. Stubbornness halted change. Stagnation kills.’

“It does,” Lydia murmured with sad agreement. She laid down, curling against the roots that felt impossibly soft, “I want to save people, Mother tree. Is the course we fly upon now one that will heal the damage of the world?”

‘A planned punishment has been exchanged for an unexpected gift. Without the ones of fire and death to continue the cycle of stagnation and pain, lives will not be lost.’ Lydia closed her eyes to the sound of the chirping of birds that came with the words of the Mother tree. She took her time, contemplating them, before asking, “The Winter Fever was the punishment, wasn’t it.” It was a theory a septon had in the books, and Lydia wondered if it was true.

‘To lay with those of close blood is to breed sickness and madness. Our wrath is soothed with the new paths forming before us, and a reward shall be given for your diligence in changing what was to come.’

A leaf fell upon her cheek, Lydia opening her eyes to stare up at the red above her. In the spaces between, she saw eyes that stared back. They were unblinking, and she the same. “Will I know the gift, Mother tree?” She whispered softly, entranced as she always was by the eyes.

‘In due time.’

Feeling cheekily, Lydia grinned, “Not even a hint?” A hundred cries of ravens filled the air. They sounded like laughter. ‘All things come in three, young one.’

That was the only response she got, as a hand that crept in from out of her peripheral sank over her eyes, blocking her view and turning it into darkness. When Lydia next opened her eyes, it was to the bedchamber within the Red Keep. Harrenhal was days away, the Isle of Faces not at all within sight, but there on her pillow was a small cutting from a Weirwood tree, with three perfect leaves branching off of it.

Chapter Text

Lord Stark had agreed to their suggestion. However, he would need to talk with many of the lords individually or in pairs, to gauge how many would be in support of this plan. If the numbers were high, then he would move forward with it, announcing the decision to the court. Over the next few days, Lord Stark was in his temporary office, lords and ladies could be seen coming in and out of it every few hours looking baffled but intrigued.

The one that truly worried Lucas however, was Corlys Velaryon. The man was overly ambitious, had been determined to get his blood on the throne. He was concerned the man would push to have wardship over the two boys, and was fearful what he might do when denied. Lydia shared his concerns, though had said to him, “Perhaps the many losses he had suffered has destroyed any desire for the throne.”

It was a possibility, but Lucas did not hold his breath. However, what ever had been discussed between the two men had Corlys leaving King’s Landing without any fanfare. When Lord Stark had requested they join him for supper, Lucas had to ask about it.

The man replied, “He pushed for the boys to be in his care, I denied him of course. His men and his fleet have already suffered in losses and seemed to lack the will to fight.” Lydia had given Lucas a pointed look, to which he held back to urge to roll his eyes. She could be annoyingly astute in her observations of people, and always loved to shove that into his face. Not having noticed this exchange, Lord Stark carried on talking, “He should be punished for poisoning Aegon the Second, however after some long contemplation I realised I don’t actually care overly much that he did so. I did have plans for his execution but instead he will keep Driftmark, ordered to never leave his island for the rest of his life. Cannot even so much as step onto a ship.”

Lucas felt that was punishment enough, for a seafaring man. He nodded in agreement, Lydia then asking, “House Massey. Are they willing to take on the children?”

“One of the daughters of the Lord Massey, Elinda I believe her name is, was one of Rhaenyra’s ladies. She is grieving but she helped to raise the boys, and agreed to take them in.” Cregan explained, and Lucas nodded. He recalled seeing Lady Elinda in the throne room. She was frail and pale with grief, clawed marks down her cheeks from her own fingers. The recount of Mushroom was bullshit in this manner it seemed, as in the books Elinda had clawed her own eyes out at the death of her queen.

Sighing, Lucas nodded in understanding as Lydia continued, “If people do put up a fuss about keeping the Targaryen rule, the children could be made into figureheads without any actual ruling power, with them still not allowed to marry so their line would end with them either way.”

“Potentially,” Cregan agreed, “If it goes in that direction, they could be castellans for the Red Keep, as Parliament goes about its duties. There needs to be people that oversee the upkeep of the castle, as well as the peace of the city after all.”

“The men you brought with,” Lucas suddenly began, an idea coming to mind, “Most are wanting to stay in the South due to the Long Winter to come, correct? What would they think in taking up rolls of guarding the city and maybe turning the lands outside of King’s Landing into farming fields? It would give them work and as well as a livelihood, and solve our problem with making sure the smallfolk don’t fall into complete anarchy. Perhaps even give the smallfolk a chance to learn their letters and sums, maybe even train to join on to the city guard.”

Cregan was amendable to the suggestion, getting up from his chair to go to his desk, writing out a few notes as he stated, “I shall discuss with my men on the morrow. For now, I bid you both a good evening.” The dismissal was clear as the twins took their leave, stomach full and minds racing with information.

When the day came for the vote, the throne room had a large table brought in for the lords and ladies to arrange themselves around. Lord Stark took up the head of it, the Iron Throne behind him. Lucas and Lydia sat themselves in the middle of one side, not wishing to presume to sit so close to Lord Stark. It may have been their idea, but the Northern Lord was the one executing it. The Princes Aegon III and Viserys II were brought in with Lady Elinda, the woman’s cheeks reddened by the gouged lines but she stood firm with the boys on either side of her. Aegon was grim of face, no doubt already severely depressed at that point. One of the main reasons for wishing the children away from the throne – beyond their personal issues with House Targaryen – was that they were traumatised children, and they deserved to have a childhood that they never got. Ruling only made things worse of Aegon, even if Viserys turned out to be a good king after him.

The next to be led in was Princess Jaehaera, her hand tightly clasped in Alicent Hightower’s. There was silence as these children and women were stood on the other side of the table and presented before the court. Lydia reached out to grasp Lucas’ hand under the table. He gave her a reassuring squeeze as Lord Cregan stood up and began to speak, “Over the past many days, I have discussed with each Lord or Lady present on the future of Westeros. Now, we will put it to a vote and the fate of the Seven Kingdoms and the children of House Targaryen will be decided for. Let us begin.”

A pause as everyone sat up straighter, prepared for their vote. “All in favour of keeping House Targaryen as the ruling house of the Seven Kingdoms, to continue the House’s dynasty.”

Hands were raised, and Lucas’ heart thumped hard in his chest as he tried to quickly count them. A maester beside Lord Stark was doing the same, tallying it up on a sheet of parchment. Once he gave a short nod to Lord Stark, the man cleared his throat and said next, “Those in favour of forming a Great Council to oversee the ruling of Westeros together, without a ruling house, thus destroying to Iron Throne.”

Lucas and Lydia raised their hands, followed by what looked to be a good majority of the people within the room. Murmurs quietly broke out as many took in the numbers. The anticipation within the room appeared to heighten as they all realised that they truly were changing the fate of Westeros at that moment. The maester took a little longer to count the numbers, but when finished and all arms were down, he passed the score to Lord Stark who gave the parchment a long glance. Everyone seemed to lean in, breaths held for the conclusion of the vote. Lord Stark looked up, “The vote is in favour of the creation of the Great Council of Westeros.”

There were gasps of relief, some dismayed expressions, and a chatter erupted around them. Lord Stark gave them that moment as Lydia and Lucas shared twin grins of success. They had done it! They had truly changed Westeros’ fate, and could only hope it was for the better. When a loud rap on the table broke through the conversations, they all turned back to Lord Stark, who announced, “The fate of the children has been decided upon. For Lord Aegon and Lord Viserys,” It was very much noted the lesser titles used for the once princes, the people at the table turning to look at said boys who shrunk under the attention, “You will be given to House Massey. They will preside over your wardship, and when you each reach sixteen, you will be given the option of taking the Black, or joining the Citadel. You will be forbidden to marry or have children. And children you may create within the time before you make your choice will be deemed illegitimate and hold no power in ascending to a monarch.”

Aegon’s expression was as blank as it was before, though Lucas noted the slight slump in his shoulders. Either out of relief or upset, he could not say. Little Viserys did not seem to truly understand his fate, but clung on tightly to Lady Elinda nonetheless. Lord Stark then gave a short nod to himself and looked to Alicent Hightower and her grand daughter. The once Queen clutched tightly to the little girl, eyes wide and beseeching. Lord Stark was unaffected as he said next, “Lady Jaehaera will be given over to the Silent Sisters, where she will spend the rest of her days treating the sick and the dead, and will never marry. Lady Alicent will be confined to her childhood home of Hightower, never to leave.”

Lucas caught the way the Lady went to protest, but snapped her mouth shut as tears filled them. They were all soon escorted out of the throne room, leaving the lords and ladies all to return back to the matters of Westeros. One lord spoke up, “What of the Red Keep, Lord Stark? Who will run it without a ruling family?”

Nodding to the man, Lord Stark answered, “There are men that I’ve brought with me that will not be returning to the North. There was a planned Widow’s Fair in the Riverlands, and I will still be marching some to it upon our return. But there are many willing to stay behind to not only help the Red Keep stay running, but to be new city guards as well. I propose that those who wish to help on the matter, be it second or third sons, or even ladies, married or otherwise, from all kingdoms to provide their own assistance. Like with voting for the representatives, it will be the same for those taking over the roles in running the Red Keep and King’s Landing.”

Matters continued to be discussed, as well as a mention that no Hightower or Velaryon maybe be an option for a representative for the next three generations. Only after may they put themselves forward as a possible candidate. Many approved of that. It was a long few hours, with the decision to regroup in King’s Landing in five moons. During that time, votes will be held within the kingdoms for their representatives and prepared for the work to come. Those that would be staying behind to maintain the Red Keep would be stripping it of many of the dragon and Targaryan motifs to the best of their ability, as well as preparing rooms and sections of the castle to room the different representatives. Many would likely bring their own decorations to fit their preferences, but it was good to have it all ready for when the first real Great Council took place. Beyond that, it was organising and hiring servants and staff, it was building back food stores and sorting out the trading of the city. It was a lot of work to deal with, so they all had to make sure they chose candidates who could handle that heavy work.

There was a lot of back and forth, as well as who would be taking of the treasury left behind by the now disbanding House Targaryen. War had taken a toll on it, and would need to be replenished. Taxing the smallfolk would not work as they barely have any coin for themselves, and that would lead to another riot. It was decided that the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands could add together a sum to replenish the treasury – much to some of their displeasure but a good chunk of those houses had not been as severely hit by the war like the Crownlands and the Riverlands – which would be a good start to building back the finances.

“What of Dorne?” A lady of the Vale had chimed in. Lord Stark nodded in acknowledgement to her, “I have sent a raven to Dorne, explaining the current state of Westeros, as well as offering them the option to add their own representatives.”

There were some unhappy grumblings, one man almost loudly proclaiming how they were barely even part of the Seven Kingdoms at this point. There was a bit of back and forth on the topic, but most had begrudgingly agreed upon Dorne joining if they wished, though they would need to pay a sum towards the new treasury, as maintaining the capital was most pivotal in supporting the new Great Council. A Reachman then asked, “I’ve heard word of the Faith kicking up a fuss about the new ruler, wanting to prepare for a coronation.”

“We will need to inform the High Septon of the changes,” Lucas spoke up, and held back a flinch when eyes turned his way. Lydia held his hand tightly. “We could potentially have a Faith representative or two on the new council, as I’m sure they would protest in being left out on such matters. However, if so, then there should be representatives of the Old Religion as well.”

Murmurs spread across the room, some of the Northern Lord and Ladies taken off guard by that suggestion, but Lady Mormont stood up to proclaim, “We of the Old Religion have lost most of our old ways and practises due to the Faith denying our right to our own worship. There are some wisemen and women still about, quite reclusive but I’m certain they would be willing to come forward in taking on a representative role.” And she looked to Lord Stark for his approval where he grunted in agreement.

“As I have been recently informed,” The man stated, a discrete glance sent to the twins, “If we wish to strive for a fairness, we must also be willing to adhere to the rules set. It would be deemed unfair by those who follow to Old way to be without a religious representative if we only allowed the Faith to have their own. Either both religions get represented or neither, that is the choice. Shall we cast a quick vote?”

It continued on from there. The majority voted for both faiths to be represented, but only on the basis that they are not given full power as the lords and ladies, mainly as advisors for the smallfolk and with laws. A few maesters would be summoned from the Citadel to bring an unbiased council as well as to help with the votes. The rules were they could not be sons that had once been a part of a powerful noble house. Even with their vows, there was still a suspicion that their family might try something.

It was a long meeting, Lucas growing increasingly tired, but the productivity helped keep his mood light as the meeting was finally called to a draw. It was decided then that tomorrow they would have the candidates who would be staying behind to run the keep come forward, and then the lords would disembark back to the kingdoms for the selection and voting. In five moons, the representatives would arrive, and each would sign the Declaration of Unity. Copies would be made of it with all their signatures and given to each of the Lord Paramounts for their safe keeping, on top of one being sent to the Citadel. The origin would be kept safe in the Red Keep for archival purposes.

When the meeting broke up Lydia split off from Lucas who wanted to discuss something with Lord Oscar Tully and found Lady Mormont. The old grizzled woman gave her a bemused look as she curtsied before her, “I’m Lady Lydia Strong and I was wondering if I could have a private word with you, my Lady?”

“I suppose you may.” Lady Mormont agreed after a moment, beckoning her to follow. They walked quietly down the hall towards a small courtyard within the keep. There were no servants about, a few guards milling around, but it was as private as one could get in the Red Keep.

When the older woman gave her an expectant glance, Lydia began bluntly, “I have plans for Harrenhal, outside of it being a keep for a noble house. With how large it is, I wish to offer a portion of the keep to become something similar to the Citadel, but with only women.”

Dark brows flew up in surprise as the woman appeared to be taking a second glance over Lydia, as if she was reassessing her. “That is a large task to take on.”

“It is,” Lydia agreed amicably, “I wanted to know, as you spoke of wisewomen, if there are any wood witches, midwives, or other female healers North that would be wishing to join in that venture. It would not be for some time, as most of the keep is not liveable yet. However, my brother and I are working on that. But if you have any way of spreading the word, as the North tends to be quite secluded though I am hopeful with this new Great Council that the North would be brought more into the fold, I would greatly appreciate it. I’m already putting out the word for any women, noble or not, in the South who would like to join this venture.”

After a long minute of contemplation, Lady Mormon gave a slow nod, “I can see what I can do.”

Lydia beamed, “That would be wonderful, my Lady. And, if any women are willing to train other women in combat, I’m certain those teachers would be very welcome to join.”

“Wishing to build an all female army, my Lady?” The woman joked, but Lydia saw a hint of sharpness in her gaze. Whether that was meant to be as a warning or if the woman was secretly supportive, Lydia could not say in that moment, so she shook her head to reply honestly, “I just feel it would be beneficial if women had to opportunity to learn how to defend themselves.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Lady Mormont nodded, then she wondered, “What would the maesters think of all this?”

“What do I care what they might think.” Lydia immediately scoffed, folding her arms, “Most will mock the idea of women maesters, but those that would be concerned would garner more attention. What are they afraid of? That their skills and techniques are not beneficial? That most of their organisation is supremely biased and dismissive of midwives, who know far more about how a woman’s body works than a man could? Such an extreme reaction could make it seem as if they have something to hide, and they wouldn’t want that. Either way, they have no right in demanding us to halt this decision. They are not lords, they have no coin or proper power to stop us. And it takes place in my own keep, so we can decide what we wish to do within our walls.”

Her rambling had Lady Mormont’s expression growing amused by the second, until Lydia flushed and finally realised she should shut up now. When she pressed her lips tightly together, Lady Mormont gave a chuckle and patted her on the shoulder. It was a firm touch and likely would have made Lydia buckle if she hadn’t locked her knees. The woman was as strong as she was tall! “You’re quite alright, Lady Lydia. I agree with your words, and you hold a lot of passion. Nothing wrong with that.”

In this life time, Lydia and Lucas’ mother died during their birth. She was certain it was because the maester was fucking useless about it, but either way it meant that Lydia did not have a mother. She had a great mother in her first life and dearly missed having that connection. For a short moment as Lady Mormont gave her a kind and motherly look, Lydia felt her chest lighten and smiled at her.

Lady Mormont ended up joining Lucas and her for supper that evening, bringing along her two daughters and son. She had four other daughters and a few grandchildren back on Bear Island, and Lydia was amazed at how many children she had successfully given birth to in this time period. Over dinner, Lydia had leant in, “So what’s your secret to not dying in the birthing bed?” She made sure to say it quietly as the others went about talking. Lady Mormont snorted, “Actually go outside and not be shut up in a room. Also eat fish. On the island we eat plenty of it, and I’ve heard maesters say you shouldn’t but I’ve obviously turned out alright.” And Lydia couldn’t agree more. Then, Lady Mormont gave her a speculative look, “Would you be willing to marry my boy?”

Said boy was at least ten years older than Lydia, who was eighteen. Not too bad of an age difference but Lydia gave an uncertain shrug, “I’ve got a plan in mind for my own future children, but I’m not really looking to marry.”

“Planning on having a few bastards?” Was the woman’s mildly surprised question but not judgemental, which was nice. Lydia gave a nonchalant shrug once more, “We’ll have to see.” Which was when Lucas interrupted them, leaning over to mock whisper, “She wants to fuck a Green Man from the Isle of Faces.”

“Lucas!” She shouted, aghast, and went to stab him with her fork. He laughed as he leant out of reach, the conversation the others were having halting to see what the commotion was about. Lydia could feel her face heating up as she gritted out, “We are in polite company, you moron.”

Lady Mormon gave a bellow of a laugh and slapped Lydia hard on the back, “That’s the way to go, my girl! Half of my own children were fathered by a bear!” A few of said children groaned or rolled their eyes, turning back to their food. Lydia – with how bizarre this world was to begin with – was completely convinced that the Lady Mormont had in fact fucked a bear. That or it was a man who could turn into a bear. Shapeshifters or something, Lydia was certain they existed.

Even with the woman’s loud approval, she still kicked Lucas hard in the shin, where he held back a wince at the injury. Served him, Lydia huffed to herself as she speared a potato and shoved it in her mouth. Brothers were completely ridiculous.