The Iron Throne was cold.
Damon Targaryen sat alone upon the twisted seat of swords, his violet eyes fixed not upon the great doors of the throne room nor upon the banners hanging from its pillars, but upon the dancing shadows cast across the walls by dozens of flickering braziers.
The shadows shifted constantly, one moment they resembled dragons; the next, grasping hands. Kings, traitors, ghosts...Each seemed to carry another burden waiting for him.
Outside, Kingslanding was silent.
Inside, the work of ruling had only begun.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"Not even king yet..."
His fingers drummed lightly against one of the iron armrests. "...and the problems keep coming."
A faint smile slowly appeared. There had been a time when all he had needed to think about was surviving.
Now he had dragons, now he possessed the capital; now every lord in Westeros was riding toward King's Landing, and His problems had multiplied.
His thoughts drifted first to the coronation. Tywin had thrown himself into the preparations with almost frightening efficiency.
Nothing escaped the Lord of Casterly Rock's attention.
Damon almost admired it.
Almost.
He wants proximity, influence, and trust.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he would receive all three. Not because Tywin had earned them.
But because he was useful.
Tywin Lannister would be Hand of the King. No man in the realm understood administration better. Better still...
Keeping Tywin beside the throne meant Damon could watch him every day.
A lion roaming freely across Westeros was dangerous.
A lion sleeping beneath the dragon's gaze was manageable.
His thoughts shifted.
The small council was still incomplete. Only Tywin and Varys were sure to have a seat so far.
He had once considered ruling without one altogether. The idea had appealed to him, fewer voices.
Yet the more reports crossed his desk...
The more petitions arrived...
The more disputes demanded judgment... The clearer the purpose of a council became.
No king could personally oversee everything.
Delegation was not weakness. It was necessity.
Some positions would become rewards. Others...
He would fill with competence alone. Loyalty mattered, but ability mattered more.
Another shadow crossed the wall, the Iron Islands.
His smile disappeared.
Dozens of reports had arrived during the last week.
Each described unusual movements.
Damon closed his eyes. Quellon Greyjoy.
A rare man among ironborn, practical and forward-thinking. He had attempted to draw the Iron Islands closer to the mainland. Many hated him for it, and didn't agree with him.
Most of all. His son Balon.
Damon already knew how history should have unfolded. Quellon was supposed to die fighting in the Reach, but history had already changed. The rebellion had ended before that campaign ever occurred.
Which meant...
Balon no longer needed to wait.
Perhaps the son had decided to remove the father himself.
Or perhaps...
Damon's letter had accelerated events, as Quellon must have wanted to come and Balon disagreed.
Either way... Civil war among the Ironborn suited him.
So long as it remained contained.
Finally, the trials.
Those were simple. Or at least... Simpler.
Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn, both of them would die.
Their executions would serve a purpose greater than vengeance. Every lord in Westeros needed to understand one truth.
Rebellion against the Iron Throne carried consequences.
Mercy had limits.
Ned Stark... Was different, not because Damon liked him. Not because he pitied him, but because the North needed him.
Benjen Stark was young, and unproven.
The Boltons waited like wolves smelling blood.
Remove Ned, and add the punishments Damon intended to put on the North, and the North might descend into chaos.
Chaos invited opportunity.
Opportunity invited ambitious men.
Damon had no interest in creating another rebellion merely months after ending the first. Though he doubted it would ever reach that far.
But still better to leave Winterfell in capable, predictable and controlable hands.
At least... For now.
A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts.
The great doors opened.
Ser Harold Waters entered first, behind him walked Eddard Stark. Chains bound the Lord of Winterfell's wrists, despite weeks of imprisonment...Ned still carried himself proudly. Tired, and grieving but unbroken.
Harold stopped several paces away.
"Your Grace."
Damon nodded once.
Harold hesitated only long enough to bow before withdrawing to the edge of the chamber.
Far enough to grant privacy. Close enough should his king require him.
Silence settled.
Finally, Damon spoke.
"Our families became enemies because of one mad king..." His eyes remained fixed upon Ned. "...and because two young fools believed themselves in love."
Ned's expression hardened.
Damon continued.
"Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna."
For the first time...Ned truly reacted. Only a slight tightening around the eyes.
Harold's head turned sharply toward Damon. His face betrayed complete disbelief. But the knight remained wisely silent.
After several moments...
Ned answered quietly.
"My father and brother were murdered, burned alive."
"They were."
Ned met Damon's gaze.
"So do not speak to me of love, Your Grace. This war began because a madman burned innocent men alive."
Damon inclined his head.
"I do not deny my father's crimes, but neither can you deny your own."
Ned frowned. "My own?"
"You raised banners. You marched south. You laid waste to loyal castles. You killed thousands. You helped kill my brother!"
Ned's voice sharpened.
"We sought justice."
A faint smile touched Damon's lips.
"Justice?"
He rose slowly from the Iron Throne. Each step echoed through the vast hall.
He stopped before Ned.
"Justice did not ride beneath your banners."
"Nor beneath mine."
"It rode beneath whichever banners remained standing."
Ned's jaw tightened.
"You truly believe that?"
"I believe kingdoms survive because someone decides what justice becomes."
Damon's voice never rose.
"When rulers cannot enforce judgment..."
"They no longer rule."
"You lost."
"I won."
"History will remember my judgment as justice because history belongs to kingdoms that endure."
Ned stared at him.
"I pity you."
Damon almost laughed.
"Do you?"
"I do."
"Because despite everything..."
"You still think power alone makes a king."
Damon looked toward the towering windows.
"No."
"It creates peace."
"Peace allows prosperity."
"Prosperity creates legitimacy."
"Everything else is poetry."
Silence returned.
Then Damon spoke again.
"Your sister is dead."
Ned froze.
"She left behind a son." His breathing stopped.
"A bastard son with Targaryen blood."
Even Harold stared openly now.
Damon watched every change in Ned's face.
Fear, disbelief, and then...Acceptance.
"How..."
Ned whispered.
"How do you know?"
"I know." The answer came simply.
"The boy lives." Ned swallowed.
"He is safe."
The Lord of Winterfell's shoulders sagged. Not from defeat.
From relief.
"He..."
"You have him?"
"I do."
Ned closed his eyes. For a long moment.
Neither man spoke.
Finally...
"What do you intend?"
"The same thing you intended."
"He will remain a Snow."
Ned slowly opened his eyes.
"If anyone asks questions, if anyone discovers his parentage..." Damon's expression hardened.
"Winterfell will cease to exist."
No anger. No threat.
Only certainty.
The words carried greater weight because of it.
Ned believed him.
Every word.
"Why?"
"Why What?"
"Why spare me and let me continue to rule Winterfell?"
"Because you are presently the best ruler available for the North."
Ned blinked.
Damon continued.
"Benjen lacks experience."
"The Boltons possess ambition."
"I would rather deal with a Stark than spend more time crushing the Boltons ' spirit to turn them into loyal men."
"And what do you expect.... gratitude?"
"I expect competence."
Damon stepped closer.
"You will accept whatever judgments I pass upon the North."
"You will rule Winterfell."
"You will keep the boy's secret."
"In return..."
"Your house survives, and so does your family."
Ned searched his face.
"And Robert?"
"He dies."
"Jon Arryn?"
"He dies."
Ned closed his eyes once more.
"You've already decided."
"I decided before this conversation began."
"Then why summon me?"
"Because I prefer allies to enemies."
The words surprised Ned.
"You think I could ever become your ally?"
"No."
"I think you can become a loyal subject."
There was a difference.
Both men knew it.
Damon returned to the Iron Throne.
"I'll give you several days."
"If you refuse..."
He looked directly into Ned's eyes.
"I will recognize another house as Wardens of the North. The Boltons have proven remarkably ambitious."
Ned's face darkened.
"You wouldn't."
"I would."
"And when they inevitably destroy every Stark they can find... I will not interfere."
The silence stretched.
Finally Damon nodded toward Harold.
"Return Lord Stark to his cell."
Harold stepped forward. Ned lingered another moment, then quietly turned away. The heavy door closed behind them.
Alone again, Damon smiled. He had a way to create a new lord paramount house to rule the North, but it would take years and require an enormous amount of deaths.
Deep beneath the Red Keep...
Robert Baratheon immediately stood.
"What did he want?"
Ned remained silent.
Jon Arryn watched carefully.
"Ned?"
No answer.
Robert stepped closer.
"What did the bastard say?"
Ned simply sat against the wall.
Looking somewhere far away.
The silence answered more than words ever could.