(Jon Arryn’s POV)
Looking down at the various reports from around King’s Landing and beyond that had been collected for him to examine this morning, Jon Arryn had to fight back a sigh. At seven and seventy, and four and ten years as Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon, he was growing tired of having to hold the realm together. That wasn’t to say he wished he’d never defied Aerys when he had demanded the heads of his wards, just that managing the realm was a role for a younger man.
It had been over ten years since he had last held court in the Eyrie, and it was past time that his son, Robert, grew up away from King’s Landing. If not in the Eyrie with Jon and his lady wife at his side, then at least as a ward of one of the Vale Lords. While none had directly asked about taking Jon’s heir as their ward, Jon was learnt enough to be able to read between the lines of ravens sent from Lords Gerold, Lyonel, and Yohn to know they along with others wished for Robyn to grow up in the Vale and not King’s Landing. The issue rested with Lysa.
Jon’s wife was overly protective of their son, almost to the level of Queen Cersei with her eldest Joffrey, and whenever Jon attempted to discuss Robyn leaving to serve as a ward of another lord, she had grown loud and aggressive. If he were half his age, Jon would not have withdrawn the topic, but when combined with the daily task of keeping the Seven Kingdoms and King’s Landing running, he no longer wished to face the fury of Lysa Tully when the day ended. Still, he continued to wonder how he might arrange for the boy to ward, and how to arrange it without Lysa learning of it until after the fact.
That matter though, for all it continued to rattle around his aged but still sharp mind, was minor when compared to all but ruling the Seven Kingdoms in King Robert’s Name. Robert had been a great wartime leader, but in peace he was ill-suited to lordship, to say nothing of kingship. The one saving grace was that Robert understood this and allowed Jon, along with the other members of the Small Council, to rule the Kingdoms in his name.
That task had grown more arduous in recent years. Not only was the influence of House Lannister at court and in the city growing stronger, but piracy in the Narrow Sea had increased to the point that trade vessels had to sail in fleets to ensure their safety. The only upside of the latter issue was that, in the last year, Robert had returned to the yard. While Jon believed the King knew he would not be leading an army to smash the pirates in the Stepstones or beyond, the fact he had pulled himself – at least partially – from drink and whoring was a relief. At least in the sense of him siring any more bastards.
Jon knew of at least five within the city walls, though unlike Mya Stone and Edric Storm, none had been claimed by Robert as his baseborn children. That was a good thing for them as Queen Cersei was, among other things, fiercely protective of her children, and considered Robert’s various bastards threats to her children. Or at least to Prince Joffrey.
While the Queen loved all her children, she spoiled the heir to the Iron Throne so much that no matter the actions the boy took, she never scolded him. Not even after he had presented a pregnant cat that he’d butchered to Robert. Robert’s response to that, of striking the young Prince, had been warranted if light, but it paled in comparison to the complete lack of concern over Joffrey’s actions that the Queen displayed.
In the last few moons, whenever Jon's thoughts strayed to Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella—the latter two as sweet and kind as children could be—they would invariably drift toward the thorny issue of their legitimacy. Lord Stannis had, in the strictest confidence, expressed his concerns about the conspicuous absence of Baratheon features in the royal children. Jon had sought to reassure him, outwardly confident that the children were indeed of true Baratheon blood. Yet, in his heart, doubts festered. Mya Stone and Edric Storm bore the unmistakable markers of their lineage, with thick black hair and piercing blue eyes. The royal children, however, were undeniably Lannister: fair-haired, green-eyed. Myrcella, in particular, brought to mind a young Queen Cersei, while of much higher concern both boys had the look of Jaime about them, rather than Robert.
As he did each time they came to mind, Jon pushed those thoughts aside. The matter was one he would look into, but only after he had examined the missives that had arrived during the night, and then met with the rest of the Small Council after midday meal. However, before he could resume examining the letters that covered his desk, there was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” He called, pleased to be granted distraction from the missives. Though what little hope for a gentle discussion with whoever had arrived slipped away as he caught the hint of lavender. A moment later the one most known for such a scent in the Red Keep, Varys, moved around the door.
“I do hope that I am not disturbing you this morning, Lord Hand,” the Essosi in a voice that, to those unaware, sounded entirely unthreatening. Jon knew well that for all his plump look, the Spider was anything but unthreatening.
Varys carried himself with a grace that few men half his bulk could achieve, and though a man of little physical threat, his network of contacts, spies – little birds, as he called them – and probable assassins in his hire made him one of the most dangerous men in Westeros.
“Not at all, Lord Varys,” Jon replied with a friendly smile, though the emotions behind the smile were anything but jovial. “How might I be of assistance this morning?” Jon detested the Essosi, and not just because of his ability to seemingly know everything before anyone else. Varys had arrived in Westeros a few years before Robert’s Rebellion and had served as Aerys’ Master of Whispers. Robert, once he assumed the throne, had allowed Varys to remain in the position, and while Jon could not deny that the reports Varys brought to the Small Council had helped snuff out most threats before they became anything but a bushfire – the Greyjoy being the one instance where that wasn’t the case – Jon had grown to detest the eunuch. An opinion shared by Lord Stannis and Ser Barristan, though none would speak such words in the presence of any but the other.
"My little birds have recently brought something to my attention that I feel the Small Council needs to be made aware of," Varys intoned as he slipped into Jon's chamber. The plump man moved with surprising swiftness and a near-silent grace across the tiled floor. "It concerns the matters we face in the Narrow Sea.”
Jon’s brow rose slightly, wondering what Varys’ birds – children really – had learnt. He wondered often where Varys found the children he used for spying, as every census of King’s Landing’s orphanages year-on-year reported roughly the same number of children in their care. Wherever they came from, Jon knew to be wary of any child he saw around the Red Keep or while out in King’s Landing for concern they might be of the Spider’s little birds.
Jon indicated the seats on the other side of his desk, and Varys offered a nod of thanks as he moved to sit. “And what, pray tell, is of such importance that it could not wait until we meet this afternoon?” Varys slipped into the chair, seemingly collapsing into the seat as if glad to be off his feet. The routine was well practised, and many would miss the grace of Varys gliding around the edge of the chair without catching it. “Might I offer you a drink?” Jon added, playing along with Varys’ little routine as the large man exhaled in joy to finally be off his feet.
“Thank you,” Varys replied with another lowering of his head. “The climb to your chamber is an arduous one for even the most capable persons within the Red Keep. Never mind one of my girth.”
Jon bit back a snort, aware that the Spider knew of passages and shortcuts that ran through the walls of the Red Keep. While there was likely not a quicker way to the Hand’s chamber in this tower than the staircase that ran up its centre, Jon knew Varys was quicker on his feet than most would ever realise. “I find the effort needed to climb them ensures that nought but the most important issues are brought to my attention by those championing the cause.” As he spoke, Jon poured some wine into a goblet.
“Indeed, and that is why I am bringing this matter to you before the Council meets later today.” After speaking, Varys took the goblet Jon offered and took a long sip. Then, he passed a slip of parchment—the size of something a raven might carry—to Jon.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Opening the small scroll, Jon read the contents. A frown formed on his brow, and he read it again, then once more before looking back at Varys. “This is slightly troubling,” he said slowly, placing the parchment on his desk, “and yet, given the closeness of Dorne to the Stepstones, along with the increases in trade between Sunspear and the North, it is not unexpected. Though Prince Doran risks angering the Free Cities with such actions.”
“I do not believe the Prince intends to take all of the islands, my Lord Hand. Instead, I suspect he merely wishes to drive back the piracy that has hampered Dorne’s eastern coast for generations.” Varys took another sip of his wine, which allowed Jon to add a thought.
“Perhaps that is so, but with the new Dornish fleet he has purchased from Braavos, and the trading fleets that sail between Sunspear and White Harbour, I would have expected most pirates to curtail their actions.”
“As would I.” Varys placed his goblet down, careful to not place it on any of the missives that littered Jon’s desk, though Jon did see Varys’ eyes drift to a handful of them. Those he would look at once this unexpected meeting ended. “It seems, however, that the pirate who controlled Dustspear simply saw the larger forces as a greater potential reward.” Varys paused there and looked around. If they were outside, Jon might suspect he was looking for spies belonging to others, but as this chamber was pressed against the wall of the Tower of the Hand – bar the door that led to the staircase – it was doubtful that any could spy upon them. “This self-styled Grim Prince even managed to target ships that carried members of the Martell household.” Jon’s brow rose in surprise at that, as such a move would draw the ire of Prince Doran. To not strike back would be seen as a sign of weakness among the other Lords of Westeros. “However, it is here that the matter turns interesting. Both times that a member of the Martell household was threatened, Cregan Sand was present.”
Jon blinked, taken aback by the mention of that name. He had encountered the bastard during the Greyjoy Rebellion when he was but a boy. The tale of how a child of seven had slain Lord Dunstan and his son, and claimed the Valyrian steel blade Red Rain, had been the talk of Casterly Rock when His Grace and the hosts of Lord Tywin and Lord Eddard had gathered there. Indeed, Robert had boldly proclaimed that the young Cregan was the bastard of Brandon Stark. Had Eddard and Robert not been brothers in all but name, such a claim might have stirred the ire of the Warden of the North. Instead, Eddard had been pleased to see his nephew’s deeds celebrated by others.
Jon recalled that Cregan’s name had been a subject of conversation again, though this time within the walls of the Red Keep. News of Cregan and Robb Stark discovering and raising direwolf pups had set many tongues wagging among the nobles and gossip mongers of the city. While most had dismissed the notion that the Starks might have a direwolf for their heir, Eddard had confirmed by raven that the rumours were true. When Robert had learned of this, he had expressed a desire to see the beasts, though the matter had soon slipped from His Grace’s attention after several flagons of wine.
“I hope that you are not suggesting that the bastard son of Brandon Stark, and one whose actions draw His Grace’s attention, has turned to piracy?”
“No, Lord Hand, he has not. Indeed, after the first time he was assaulted by pirates, Oberyn Martell knighted Cregan when he was but a moon shy of turning five and ten, upon their return from the North with the direwolf in tow.”
That voyage returning to Dorne was one Jon had known of for some time. Hearing that Eddard’s second son, his bastard daughter, and Wylla Manderly would foster in Sunspear was a matter that Varys had brought to his attention around the time the fleet would have been passing Blackwater Bay. That Cregan Sand had been knighted on that voyage though was fresh news to Jon.
The growing bonds between Dorne and the North were indeed encouraging. The North, remote from King’s Landing and seldom embroiled in the politics of the southern kingdoms, maintained a close connection to the Throne through Eddard and Robert. Dorne, while acknowledging Robert’s claim to the Iron Throne, had remained aloof. Even after Jon had journeyed to Sunspear to ensure that Prince Doran harboured no ill will towards Robert for the grievous acts that had led to the death of Doran’s sister and her children during the sacking of King’s Landing.
“Impressive,” Jon remarked, noting the knighting of Cregan Sand so that he might mention it to Robert. Though His Grace might not be swayed by many things, he had shown interest in the boy he had dubbed the Bloody Wolf. Perhaps the news of the boy’s knighthood and his current campaign in the Stepstones might serve to keep kindled Robert’s enthusiasm in the yard. “I recall hearing from my nephew about Ser Cregan’s triumph in a squire tourney in Gulltown a few years past.” Young Harrold Hardyng, the spare for House Arryn, was a source of such tidings, relayed to Jon via ravens sent by Lady Anya Waynwood. “He spoke highly of Cregan’s prowess, and the two seemed to have remained close. Yet I remain unclear as to why you have raised the matter of Ser Cregan.”
“I do so because it was he that Prince Doran tasked with taking the island,” Varys responded. “The young knight did so ably and returned to Sunspear with bountiful treasure. Prince Doran publicly thanked him for his service though it seems that while Prince Doran is fond of the young wolf, the wolf’s loyalty belongs to Doran’s firstborn.”
Jon felt one of his eyebrows rise. “Princess Arianne has taken him as her paramour?”
“Yes, though from what I am told, she is merely one of several who share his bed. Including, and this was a shock to me, Asha Greyjoy.”
Jon coughed, taken aback by this revelation. “That… is unexpected. I would have thought the Greyjoy girl would resent Ser Cregan due to his father.”
“As would I,” Varys conceded, “but it seems that much like his father and Prince Oberyn, Ser Cregan possesses a certain way of finding himself in beds best left alone.”
“But were we so fortunate,” Jon muttered, reminded how thankful he was that it was Eddard who had fostered with him instead of Brandon. “Still, the closeness of Ser Cregan to Princess Arianne might explain why Prince Doran assigned him the task of defeating this pirate and clearing Dustspear.”
“Holding Dustspear, my Lord Hand. While it is true that Ser Cregan emerged victorious, the most recent message I received stated he was sailing back to the island with a small force. Two, perhaps three hundred men with the intent of both developing the island and striking against other pirates in the Stepstones.”
Jon sighed deeply. “This complicates matters,” He said slowly, even past seventy his mind still sharp. “As a bastard, Ser Cregan taking Dustspear is of minor importance, but with his closeness to Prince Doran and his heir, and his plans to strike at more pirates in the islands, this could risk the Seven Kingdoms being drawn into war with some or most of the Free Cities.” Tyrosh and Myr would never stand for the Iron Throne controlling the Stepstones. Nor likely would Lys or Volantis, but if assurances could be given to the Lyseni Magisters and Triarchs – possibly ones paid for in coin – they might allow the cleansing of piracy in the Stepstones by forces from Westeros.
If they did not, or Tyrosh and Myr acted before Jon could open communication with the Archon and the Myrish Magisters, then the Seven Kingdoms might find themselves drawn into another war. Jon knew that Robert would fully approve of that, but Jon feared the cost. Already the crown was deeply in debt to the Iron Bank and Lord Tywin to the tune of five million Dragons. War in the Stepstones would only hasten the growth of that debt, though at least it would stop Robert from being so generous with coin the Throne didn’t have for tourneys and other matters.
“Indeed, which is why I felt the matter must be brought to you this morning,” Varys’ comment drew Jon out of his mental rummaging.
“And for that, you have my thanks, Lord Varys.” The man might not be a Lord but because of his position referred to him as such. Those who understood the power the eunuch wielded were doubly careful to not end up angering a man who, according to rumour, knew of assassins from the Wall to the Ruins of Valyria. “I will ensure that the matter is discussed at council this afternoon and then brought to His Grace. While I doubt Prince Doran intends to conquer the Steps or drag Westeros into war with Essos, it is something we cannot allow to continue unabated.”
“I would agree that Prince Doran’s intentions are not so grandiose, but one can never be too careful with the Dornish.” Jon nodded in agreement, and with that, Varys stood.
The man slipped easily from his chair, far more so than one would expect from someone of his bulk, and Jon watched the Master of Whispers exit his chamber. He stayed still even once the door was closed, listening for any hint of sound that might suggest that one of Varys’ little birds – or someone in the employ of others – was listening. Once as sure as he could be that he was alone, he sighed deeply, and his head fell into his hands.
Doran’s move against Dustspear, and even attempting to hold it, was of little concern to the Iron Throne. But the potential for war was there, and it would take considerable effort to assure the Free Cities – save perhaps Braavos who would back any action taken against slavers, which most of the powerful pirates in the Stepstones were – that this was not a move to expand the Iron Throne’s borders. Attempts to take and hold the Stepstones had occurred often even after the Targaryens united Westeros. None had succeeded, and those that had come close had often failed because the Free Cities, the Iron Throne, or a combination of both, didn’t want anyone but them controlling the islands.
If Ser Cregan was working alone and lacked a strong connection to one of the Great Houses of Westeros, then there would not be an issue. However, Ser Cregan had been raised in Dorne and according to Varys, was the paramour of the future ruler of the land. The chances that any in the Free Cities wouldn’t, once they learnt of Ser Cregan’s history, assume it was an invasion sanctioned by the Iron Throne were small. Hells, even knowing it wasn’t currently an attempt to take the entirety of the islands, Jon feared that Robert might support the move, even going so far as to join the fighting himself if he could.
Wanting to clear his thoughts of possible war, Jon stood and moved to the main window of his chamber. The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed off the walls of the Red Keep and carried up to him, making Jon wonder if Robert was in the yard today and if so if he was sparring with Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, or a combination of the two. While it was good to see, after over ten long years, the Robert of old re-emerge, Jon now just feared it might lead the crown to ruin.
Though perhaps, he realised as the sound of training continued to reach his ears, he could use this to have Robert train his children. Joffrey, unless withdrawn from the Queen’s clutches, was perhaps a lost cause. Tommen, however, had the potential to be shaped into a man worthy of the Throne. If – Jon knew the chances of it were slim at best – Jon could convince Robert to have Joffrey and Tommen foster away from King’s Landing, then he could resume discussion with Lysa regarding their son fostering with a Lord in the Vale.
… …