Chapter 100 97

Lord Axel Arryn.

When we returned, we settled a number of smaller details. I was required to provide a written declaration of intent, witnessed by lords from both sides. Several conditions were also added: I would not enter the war, would swear fealty to no one, would not supply Stannis's enemies, and so forth.

Stannis Baratheon had not forgotten the people who had drawn him into the Vale in the first place. The stag pressed to have Robert placed under his guardianship until the moment of his enthronement. He received a categorical refusal, naturally. Robert Arryn, my younger brother, is a natural rallying point for disaffected lords, a powerful lever of pressure against me, and the heir to the Vale should I die. I had no intention of handing him to Stannis.

Lysa Tully served as the Baratheon's consolation prize. I would have dearly loved to refresh the interrogation techniques of Barad-dur's torturers on her, but one must make concessions. I had to demonstrate that Stannis's dignity was not something I dismissed lightly. Putting the Rotten Fish to the question had been my desire from the very beginning of her rebellion, but it was not to be. I was not especially troubled. Westeros is small enough. We would meet again.

Two weeks later, Stannis and his army departed from Gulltown by sea, bound for the Riverlands. For the king's send-off itself, all the important lords and sers had gathered. Stannis served as the pretext for assembling my supporters in a single place and resolving the affairs of the Vale.

Watching the ships recede across the water, I could finally acknowledge it to myself. The civil war in the Vale was over. The Rotten Fish had written letters urging the lords to rise against me, but who would take counsel from a deranged woman? She had once been backed by the great houses of the Vale, by renowned and respected commanders, and by a king. Now my principal opponents, the Tolletts and the Graftons, had been destroyed. Ser Brynden Tully was dead. King Stannis had been compelled to leave the Vale. Her remaining supporters held no particular warmth for her and had no desire to die for a lost cause.

The "neutral" lords appeared like mushrooms after rain, men who had taken no side in the conflict. The Belmores, the Lynderlys, the Coldwaters, and a number of smaller houses arrived to swear fealty to the "true lord of the Vale," to pay their respects, and to offer their services, gifts in hand. The standard tactic of those who sit on the fence: preserve your strength while others cut each other's throats, then arrive once everything is settled and buy your way back in with a token contribution to the winning cause. It generally works, though it earns no one's affection. The Freys are the most obvious example.

With me, that old proven tactic of neutrality had misfired. Ordinarily there are victors and vanquished, and both sides have bled their resources dry, leaving them unable to make excessive demands of those who kept themselves whole throughout the fighting, for fear of driving them into the enemy camp. A winner grinds his teeth and accepts the symbolic offering, leaving the opportunistic lords untouched. But since the opposition was, for all practical purposes, dead, I had no need to worry about them defecting to any enemy. I knew it. The neutrals knew it. Which was why they were scrambling to soften my displeasure. My army, my reputation, and the fact that I had extinguished two ancient Vale houses added a certain piquancy to the situation.

A letter had recently arrived from the Moon Gate. Ser Nestor Royce had intercepted Lysa Tully and Robert Arryn in the act of attempting to flee the Vale. He had taken them into custody and was asking, in return, for leniency toward himself, his men, and their families. Nestor had allowed Brynden Tully to pass through the Moon Gate into the Vale, but he maintained that he had known nothing of the planned rebellion and had always been faithful to his oath. With certain reservations, I believed him, and I was prepared to grant his pardon.

With Stannis's departure, I had invited those present to assist me in determining the future course of the Vale.

...

The great hall of what had once been the Grafton seat was filled with dozens of men of no small power, wealth, and influence in the Vale. Though the fighting had unofficially come to an end, the region's problems had not. And now these worthy men would address them.

"My lords, sers, I thank you for answering my summons with such speed. Today I will need all of your wisdom and experience, so that together we may decide the path the Vale will take." The assembled company, feeling the weight of the moment, straightened and listened more closely. "We will begin with Ironoaks."

"In the final battle we captured Ser Morton Waynwood, heir to Waynwood, and his younger brother Wallace. They surrendered without resistance and are currently being held under guard." Morgan moved at once to share the relevant information. He had been assigned to the most tedious but essential tasks, among them the management of noble prisoners.

"Execute the traitors and be done with it," someone offered.

"I disagree. The rebellion is suppressed on paper, but not in fact. We need to show that surrendered rebels will not meet the fate of the Tolletts." Unlike the soldiers, Symond Templeton had a grasp of politics.

"What has become of Lady Anya Waynwood?" asked Uncle Yohn. He had always maintained a cordial relationship with her.

"As I understand it, Ser Morton took the rebels' side against his mother's wishes. He locked Lady Anya away and assumed the role of head of house himself." Morgan was glad to clarify the point, though it raised another question in my mind about the Waynwoods.

Morton Waynwood was a grown man of sound mind, with a wife and children, yet he was not lord of his own house. Why, in a patriarchal society, was an elderly woman of more than fifty years the head of a great family? That might be appropriate in Dorne or the North, but hardly in the central regions of Westeros. Even Olenna Tyrell, the most capable woman of her generation, had understood the problem and did not openly transgress the authority of her son, Mace Tyrell. Most likely Morton had been inflamed by the promises of the trout, Lysa Tully, while Lady Anya had been opposed. Eventually his patience had given out, and he had staged a coup within his own house. There was a fairly straightforward solution.

"Send letters to Ironoaks and the Moon Gate. Ser Morton Waynwood, for his treachery, is to be sent to the Night's Watch. His descendants will be barred from inheriting Ironoaks. Let Ser Donnel Waynwood come to me within three weeks of receiving this letter to swear fealty. In return, I will name him Lord of Ironoaks." However one looked at it, it was the best answer I had arrived at.

I trusted Andar's judgment, and Andar had spoken well of Donnel. It was also not insignificant that the middle Waynwood brother had taken no part in the rebellion. As for why I did not restore Lady Anya's authority within the house: whatever the particulars, House Waynwood had openly risen against me, and Lady Anya had failed to prevent it. She had lost my trust. There would be reparations, but purely symbolic ones. Most of those present were satisfied and raised no objections to this course of events. Even Uncle Yohn.

"Next, we have the matter of the refugees from the Grafton domain..."