Game of Thrones Iron Stark

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CaveLeather

"What? You want to go to the Wall too?" Robert roared with laughter. "That's my boy! A real man charges into battle!"

Cersei's face turned to ice. "No. He's the prince. He doesn't throw himself into danger."

Of her three children, Joffrey was the one she loved most. The idea of him marching north made her blood run cold.

Joffrey smiled at his mother, calm and confident.

"Don't worry. I won't be fighting on the front lines. But a prince on the battlefield lifts everyone's spirits. Our family's prestige will soar. The realm will see House Baratheon leading from the front."

He had ideas far ahead of his time—centralized power, a single royal army, standardized laws, proper schools so every child in the Seven Kingdoms spoke the same tongue and prayed to the same gods.

Robert waved Cersei off. "It's settled. Joffrey goes. But he'll have three Kingsguard and the Hound riding with him. No arguments."

Joffrey pressed further. "Father, war needs more than swords. We need maesters and advisors. Tony Stark should come with us."

Robert snorted. "Tony's already going north. Every lord will bring his own maester. Don't worry about it."

---

At Tywin Lannister's lavish manse in King's Landing, Tony walked into a private dinner alone. His guards waited outside. Inside sat Tywin, Kevan, Tyrion, Jaime, and Grand Maester Pycelle.

"Pycelle," Tony said, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The old maester chuckled like a kindly grandfather. "Fate works in mysterious ways, young Stark."

Tywin signaled for the feast to begin.

Dish after dish arrived—rare delicacies from across the realm, the kind of spread even Robert rarely saw. Tony ate without ceremony. The others used perfect noble manners.

When the plates were cleared, Tony presented the five suits of armor he had forged. Tywin tried one on, nodded once, and handed over a signed IOU for several hundred thousand gold dragons.

Tony tucked the paper away carefully and stood to leave.

Tywin's voice stopped him.

"Ser Tony. What do you think of Myrcella? Just a sweet little girl?"

The room went quiet. Everyone watched Tony.

Tywin continued. "Robb Stark will one day rule the North. Why not bind our houses? You're a bastard, but that doesn't matter to me. Marry Myrcella. Your son could inherit the Westerlands. I'll speak to Robert myself."

Tony stared at the old lion for a long moment, then laughed.

"You're offering me the Westerlands through my children? That's bold, my lord. But I'm still a Stark. 'The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.' I belong with my family."

He turned to go.

Tywin's next words froze him mid-step.

"Don't you want to know who your mother really was?"

Tony turned slowly, eyes cold.

"Be very careful what you say next, my lord. Some lines shouldn't be crossed. We're leaving."

Gendry—now dressed in full armor with a bull helm—fell in beside him as they walked out.

"You looked angry, my lord. Say the word and I'll gut every last one of them."

Tony shook his head. "If they cross that line, I'll make them regret it in ways they can't imagine."

---

Back in his own chambers, Tony poured a cup of oat wine and read the letter Diana had brought.

Littlefinger had hired Obadiah Stane and Ivan Vanko from Mark's Company—two of the best sellswords money could buy—to guard Joffrey on the march north.

Diana's hands worked the knots from his shoulders.

"Master… Little Pepper took what job?"

"Littlefinger paid a fortune to protect Joffrey. The prince is going to the Wall too."

Diana's voice turned sweet and dangerous.

"That's perfect, Master. When he's out there on the road… we can finally do Joffrey. Quietly. No one would ever know."