This is historically grounded. Henry Bolingbrooke of Lancaster, Richard Duke of York, Edward of York, there was a long tradition of exiles making a landing and then claiming that they were only intent on reclaiming their family lands and bygones be bygones.
While almost always a cover for a coup, it was a good bit of political cover, because feudalism being what it was, the nobility were generally in favor of lands staying in the family and looked with deep suspicion on the monarch taking people’s lands (indeed, in the case of Henry Bolingbrooke, one of the main reasons why his coup succeeded was that the nobility really did not like Richard II seizing the Duchy of Lancaster from Henry as a matter of precedent and principle).
Thus, it made it difficult for the monarch to go all-out against the invader, in part because their vassals might be quite slow to respond to the call.
Well, democratic and meritocratic are not the same things; got to be careful when thinking about virtues and political systems, because a lot of people from 18th century liberals to the present day fox themselves by blurring those categories.
So I’m torn between my Team Smallfolk side and my historian’s side. My Team Smallfolk side says we go full Wat Tyler, let the nobility rebel, and then crush them like we’re Flemish artisans. My historian’s side says that revolutions can go backwards and that change is often gradual and long-term (but also that it often goes in a process of “punctuated equilibrium” where you have to push as far as you can in the moment, but always being careful that you push for what’s sustainable).
I would say that you build on existing institutions:
First, institutionalize the Great Councils of Westeros, as a quasi-representative body that embodies an alternative principle of legitimacy beyond the right of blood or conquest, and which seems to operate under the principle of all lords being equal (that’s something you can build off of. (Likewise the Kingsmoot, the elections of the Night’s Watch, etc.) Eventually, build the Great Councils into something akin at least to the Tudor Parliament if not yet at the level of the Parliament of the 17th century.
Second, extend the tradition of “any knight can make a knight” and the quasi-revolutionary natureof the knight’s oath. On a cultural level, encourage storytelling about Ser Duncan the Tall and other knights who expressed their virtues by defying their superiors rather than obeying them. Expand the class of knighthood down into the elite of urban society by making guild masters, burghers, etc. knights. This should create a class of people who have something to lose from the old order coming back, who can mobilize other people to fight counter-revolution. Eventually, give all knights representation on the Great Councils – although the principle of “one lord, one vote” might have to shift to something more elective, because getting everyone in one room is hard enough already.
Third, restore the reforms of Aegon V, whatever they may be. Really work on enforcement, so that the law is uniform whether it’s under the king’s eye in the Crownlands or out in Dorne or in the far North or out in the Westerlands. Work to extend royal justice vis-a-vis the right of pit and gallows, perhaps compromising with the local lords by letting them recommend candidates for justiceships. Eventually, work to expand the idea that individuals and communities have inalienable rights – perhaps building off of the ideology of the Seven that we’re all children of the Gods, etc.
In the heat of debate over Rhaenrya, people keep forgetting that Aegon III was the son of Daemon Targaryen, younger brother of Viserys I, uncle of Aegon II, and son of Baelon Targaryen the chosen line of descent by the Great Council of 101. Since Aegon’s sons were dead by the end of the Dance, under the legal precedent that he himself had based his claim to the throne on, his rightful heir became the eldest surviving son of his brother (yes, Daemon died at the Godseye, but the principle that the heir of the heir inherits had also been established at 101).
It was a lucky accident that the Dance ended in such a way that both sides could think they had won: the blacks could be happy that Aegon II was dead and that Aegon III was king, but the greens could console themselves that the legal principle of Salic Law from the Great Council had been upheld. After all, if the Dance had established that women could inherit, Aegon II had a daughter left alive (who was carefully betrothed to Aegon III to prevent that sort of thing causing trouble), and Daemon had two daughters who were older than Aegon III. (While we’re at it, it is interesting that GRRM has the Dance wipe out all three of the “strong” Velaryon boys so that Aegon would be the one to inherit)
At the end of the day, then, I think it calls into question how much those victorious armies were Rhaenrya’s, if they were so cheerfully willing to strike her name from the roll of monarchs (which was probably all to their advantage, given how hated Rhaenrya was after her brutal occupation of King’s Landing led to the storming of the Dragonpit) and abandon the cause she had given her life for, or whether by that point they were fighting for vengeance and to overthrow the green faction and replace them in the halls of power.
King of the Trident is probably the oldest title, a bit like Kings of Winter. It represents a claim to the defensible interior of the Riverlands, the part that would have been the hardest for the Westerlands or the Vale or the Reach etc. to conquer.
King of the Rivers and Hills is a more expansive title. The Hills portion represents a claim to the hill country that runs from Pinkmaiden to Harrenhal, the portion I’ve described as the “southern Riverlands,” which is the vulnerable underbelly of the kingdom because it’s not sheltered behind the riverrine walls of the Trident. The Rivers portion is not only a repetition of the claim to the Trident, but also a maximalist claim to all the rivers of the Kingdom, including the God’s Eye River and the Blackwater Rush, and thus might well represent a claim on the northern Crownlands, since King’s Landing and Rosby (and Duskendale, conquered by Benedict II, who may have been the first to use that title) are quite close to the Rush, Cracklaw Point is quite close to Maidenpool and borders on the Trident as it opens into the Bay of Crabs, etc.
River King is the colloquial term. If the two above are the titles that a Justman monarch’s court would use, I imagine River King would be the term used by the smallfolk or by foreigners to differentiate these kings from the many other kings of Westeros.
If the families were well-known to each other and their interests likely to align – the most common scenario we’re talking about is neighbors looking to consolidate their estates – you’d probably be pretty frank about it.
If on the other hand, the two families are not well-known to one another, they’d probably get more subtle about it: have the two sides meet at social occasions, see how the young people in question get along (this is why formal balls and dances were created, and why it’s very strange that cotillion culture still exists), then bring it up in such a way that neither side could lose face, probably as a hypothetical or something.
On the other hand, we have plenty of examples in Westeros of people being very blunt about offers out of the blue and rejected offers leading to hurt feelings, so…
I think it’s more vast than you think, given how many different areas of land it includes:
Lord Jonos drained the last of his ale and tossed the horn aside. “What of the lands and castles we were promised?”
“What lands were these?”
“The east bank of the Widow’s Wash, from Crossbow Ridge to Rutting Meadow, and all the islands in the stream. Grindcorn Mill and Lord’s Mill, the ruins of Muddy Hall, the Ravishment, Battle Valley, Oldforge, the villages of Buckle, Blackbuckle, Cairns, and Claypool, and the market town at Mudgrave. Waspwood, Lorgen’s Wood, Greenhill, and Barba’s Teats. Missy’s Teats, the Blackwoods call them, but they were Barba’s first. Honeytree and all the hives. Here, I’ve marked them out if my lord would like a look.” He rooted about on a table and produced a parchment map.
Jaime took it with his good hand, but he had to use the gold to open it and hold it flat. “This is a deal of land,” he observed. “You will be increasing your domains by a quarter.”
Bracken’s mouth set stubbornly. “All these lands belonged to Stone Hedge once. The Blackwoods stole them from us.”
“What about this village here, between the Teats?” Jaime tapped the map with a gilded knuckle.
“Pennytree. That was ours once too, but it’s been a royal fief for a hundred years. Leave that out. We ask only for the lands stolen by the Blackwoods. Your lord father promised to restore them to us if we would subdue Lord Tytos for him.”
The entire bank of a river, two ruined strongholds and one ruined town, a valley, four villages (maybe five depending on whether Honeytree is a village, a town, or a stronghold), a market town, two woods, three hills…and all of this is just the disputed lands between House Bracken and House Blackwood that would represent a fourth of House Bracken’s current holdings.
To me, this suggests that House Blackwood probably holds most of the lands between the Red Fork and the Blue Fork (there’s not a lot of other Houses from that region – notably Fairmarket and Oldstones don’t seem to have houses associated with them) and a fair bit of land on the southern bank of the Red Fork, given Lord Bracken’s complaints. For their part, I think House Bracken controls most or all of the hill country east of Pinkmaiden and west of Harrenhal and from the south bank of the Red Fork to however far north Harrenhal’s demense runs.
In other words, between them the Bracken and Blackwoods likely control most of the central Riverlands, making them extremely difficult to control, especially if they temporarily band together against an outside intervention.
Jon would probably feel very different about Robb’s will from Stannis’ offer.
“Jon.” Melisandre was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. “R’hllor is the only true god. A vow sworn to a tree has no more power than one sworn to your shoes. Open your heart and let the light of the Lord come in. Burn these weirwoods, and accept Winterfell as a gift of the Lord of Light.”
When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them … I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there’s only me. All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his…
You can’t be the Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said…but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.
Accepting Stannis’ offer would have meant taking Winterfell without the leave of the Starks and betraying their gods. If one takes the position that death releases Jon Snow from his vows, then Robb’s will not only gives that consent but makes it a command, and Jon would be under no obligation to burn the weirwood.
However, there’s going to be tension regardless, because there’s going to be Sansa and the army of the Vale, Rickon and the Manderlys, and possibly Bran as well if the most recent episode of the show is any indication.
Quite right. Scutage was supposed to be a sometimes food, and abusing scutage by both raising the rates and imposing it in peace-time was a direct cause of the First Baron’s War and the creation of the Magna Carta.
And while we’re on the topic, let me answer this ask from @kuvirametalbender:
Tagging @racefortheironthrone on this in case I missed something, to add something, or just to dunk all over this question because this is something he understands very well.
Scutage itself evolved in the High Middle Ages where kings would levy the tax in lieu of feudal service, so during peace time, the military wasn’t much different from the levy model, in peace time the scutage wouldn’t be collected any more than the levies would be called. King Richard I would exercise a royal prerogative, deciding whether a tenant would be liable for levies or for the scutage. However, increasingly, the scutage became levied in peacetime, King John the Softsword often levied a two-mark scutage every year, this was one of the big bones of contention with him that led to the First Baron’s War when he levied an unprecedented three-mark scutage in 1214. The Magna Carta forbade scutage save by “the common counsel,” which was the Great Council, a council of barons, bishops, earls, essentially the tenants-in-chief which gradually evolved into the Parliament of England. In 1217, Henry III would often levy the scutage but usually after formal buy-in from the barons. This method of taxation lasted until the early 13th century, when royal taxation became more standardized and better enforced under King Edward II.
Typically in the time period, kings and nobles would have a small retainer who would be in their direct employ, men that they paid to help keep the peace, enforce edicts. This was an obligation, hence why the knight’s fee was the actual level of income needed to provide equipment for the retinue to fulfill the feudal obligation of military service. Depending on the king in question, they would often mandate a certain level of military readiness among the population, such as equipment and drill days, which were enforced to varying degrees of success and set by property holdings and wealth. Key to this was the yeoman class, who ranked below knights, squires, and other landed gentry but above pages. Yeoman, a distinct medieval middle class, were professional or semi-professional warriors often serving as bailiffs and constables, as well as the franklins, who were freemen and often served as aldermen or mayors, and usually required by different royal edicts to maintain a certain degree of equipment. As such, there was a very distinct hierarchy of class that factored into military readiness. The first full-time professional army in the medieval era in western Europe is typically identified as being in France, the army of King Charles VII of France, in 1445.
Thanks for the question, Anon.
SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King
Once scutage was more commonly practiced, what did Nobles did with their time, not having to go to wars? Also in the case of an invasion, of a noble’s land was the King expected to use the tax money collected from other nobles to defend the area under attack? Are nobels not expected to raise their own banners anymore since they’re paying a military tax?
Well, some nobles still went to war – after all, war was still for the elite a way to gain royal favor, land, money, and fame, whereas scutage was primarily useful for small landholders who couldn’t afford the costs of campaigns (and who would be unlikely to gain royal attention and favor in battle, given their lowly standing) – but it was now more at their discretion.
But in the most part, the nobility occupied their time by managing their estates, entertaining themselves, socializing and gossiping, or engaging in local, regional, and national politics, just as they had always done.
Finally, yes, the king was supposed to defend any part of their kingdoms from invasion – it’s not really the case that they would refrain from doing so because someone hadn’t paid their taxes because it was still a huge loss of prestige and invasions are rarely that discrete.
(Throwing two title related questions together for avoidance of repetition.)
I wasn’t able to find GRRM lamenting that – indeed, I think he finds the simplicity of the titles one less thing he has to worry about, like the gender of horses and the width of hips.
But if we were going to start over from scratch, I think I would avoid copying historical systems too closely – baron, count, duke, earl, etc. all have specific cultural meanings that don’t necessarily work in Westerosi contexts.
Rather, I think I’d like to build on existing Westerosi terms and just use them more systematically – so no referring to Ned Stark as “Lord of Winterfell” or “Lord Stark” but rather “Lord Paramount” or “my lord paramount” being the correct form of address – so you’d have Lords Paramount, Lords Principal, Lords Ordinary, and then landed knights and masterly houses (which I would also clear up a bit – if the title of “master” is going to be a recognizably northern thing, there should probably be more than two examples in the series, and I feel like they could have sprinkled in some more masters among the ranks of Robb’s bannermen).
What is the correct use of the honorific “my lord”? We see it used as a general term to refer to anyone socially superior, used uncontroversially to refer to Tyrion and Jaime, but apparently controversial when applied to Edmure before Hoster’s death. What is the correct usage?
The controversy shouldn’t be over Edmure being called “my lord” – that is right and proper as befitting the heir and immiment next Lord Paramount of the Riverlands – but over him being referred to as “Lord Edmure” before the death of Hoster Tully in ASOS.
As you say, “my lord” is used to refer to social superiors as a matter of courtesy, but it’s not a title with legal rights and privileges in the same way that “Lord” is.
The difference is whether we consider the bank a legal entity in its own right, one that can enter into contracts, sue and be sued, etc. Even today, with quite liberalized systems of general incorporation laws as opposed to requiring charters to incorporate, you still need to file paperwork to establish an LLC or an NGO or the like.
So to give a modern analogy, let’s say I decide to open a bank – I rent some office space, hire some people to help me run the bank, put out a sign saying “Bank of Steve now open,” etc. If I don’t do the paperwork to establish the bank as a formal institution, I’m going to have some serious trouble if someone defaults on a mortgage, because the “Bank of Steve” can’t sue someone in court and the defaulter didn’t borrow any money from Steve Attewell personally.
Moreover, banks do more than just give out loans. They also borrow money and invest money, they own real estate and other forms of property, they act as depository institutions, they act as financial middlemen, and so on and so forth. You need some legal framework to legalize these functions and to formalize how disputes that arise from these functions could be resolved.
So in the Westerosi context, without a royal charter that sets out the structure, rights, privileges, and limitations of the Bank, there’s no way to resolve major questions like: can the Bank own land? Who owns the lordship of that land, since “nulle terre sans seigneur”? Can the Bank be summoned to fight for the liege lord of that land, and can it be convicted of a felony if it doesn’t show up? (Likewise, can the Bank summon people to fight for it, and can it convict people of felonies for not showing up?) If someone who’s defaulted on their debt dies, does the Bank inherit their land or the eldest son of the defaulter?
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