Chapter Text
Jon Arryn skimmed over the next few missives that were waiting for him and nearly groaned.
Gods, he rubbed his eyes, weariness threatening to settle over him like a heavy blanket. He loved Robert, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could faithfully serve as his Hand. My last years hunched over a desk, he lamented such a fate, fearing the slow creep of time that stalked him like a hungry shadowcat. The days were long, but the years were short. His dreary thoughts were momentarily halted by the arrival of Colemon, and then completely forgotten at the maester's message.
"A raven's arrived from Winterfell, my lord."
He immediately brightened. He didn't allow himself many distractions since his duties as Hand of the King kept him so busy, but a letter from Ned was more than enough to grant himself a small reprieve. However, he waited until Colemon left before breaking the direwolf seal. He felt himself smiling upon seeing Ned's familiar scrawl. A memory of Ned as a boy patiently working on his letters at the Eyrie filled his vision in a flash before disappearing.
My namesake is married. Jon read on; his eldest nephew had married Lord Manderly's youngest granddaughter. My nieces and nephews, still partly tickled at how his life and his family had become so entwined with Ned's. Jon had wanted to attend the wedding. It had been some time since he had seen Ned, but duty kept him in the capital. And if I go, Robert will surely follow. Turning what could've been a quiet, refreshing trip for him into a raucous royal affair that he was too tired to manage let alone experience.
I will see Ned soon enough, he reminded himself, not wanting to sour his good mood. Ned's eldest daughter would be coming to the capital next year upon turning ten and seven to marry Prince Joffrey. Despite some reservations about the young man, Jon had encouraged the match when Robert broached it before his trip to Winterfell two years past. A lady's touch should soften his sharp edges. Jon told himself, believing the crown prince still had time to grow and that a lady wife would be good for him. Besides, even if he spoke out against it, Jon knew how desperately Robert wanted to unite his family with Ned's.
When Ned comes to the capital to see his daughter married, the seed of an idea was coming to him. I'll see if he'll stay in the capital. Jon thought it through, to replace me as Hand of the King. He knew Ned would be against it, but Robert would want it. Ned's eldest sons were men grown and more than capable of ruling the north in his stead. Allowing him the opportunity to stay with his daughter for a time helping her settle in at the capital as she begins her new life.
Renewed, he returned to the letter, pleased to read matters were going well enough with the settled wildlings. Two years ago, they had raised their own king and had marched on the Wall, seeking better prospects. Robert had gone north to sort it out, but to his disappointment the wildlings chose peace. Ned was left responsible to soothe the festering tensions between his bannermen and the wildlings where centuries of bad blood had hardened old hatreds. And those duties extended to his own family, his second son, Robert's namesake was married to a wildling princess and was given his own lordship and lands within the New Gift to oversee the newly settled wildlings.
Speaking of Jon learned that the wildling turned Ned's good daughter was once more with child, having already given Ned his first grandchild. Ned next spoke about his eldest daughter, Sansa, at how smitten she was with her betrothed, and was eagerly counting the days until she could wed him. Ned continued at how the two were exchanging letters, which helped to quell the small gathering of unease that lingered in Jon's chest at his growing disappointment at the man the royal heir was becoming. Sansa will be good for him. She had to be.
Then Ned was writing about his other daughter, Arya who had returned in time for her brother's wedding, coming from the Rills where she had stayed for a time with her betrothed, Lord Ryswell's grandson. The two are quite fond of riding, Ned wrote, their chaperones do not share their fondness. He was just about to read on about Ned's other sons when a sharp knock pulled him away. Did I not tell them no interruptions? He allowed only a tiny bit of heat from his ire burn in his tone when he responded. "Yes?"
"My Lord Hand," The guard's hesitant tone conveying that he knew of Jon's instructions. "Apologies, My Lord Hand," he started again, "It's Lord Varys, he said that you'd want to see him."
Jon sighed, not wanting but needing to put down Ned's letter. The guard spoke true, he had given the master of whisperers a delicate task. "Send him in," He slipped the letter inside his desk before Varys had a chance to step inside.
"My Lord Hand, forgive my intrusion, " Varys bowed his head, "I imagine there are gladder tidings that you'd rather hear than mine." His hands were hidden within the sleeves of his robes, "those delivered by a different sort of bird."
"What of your birds?" Jon didn't want to discuss Ned's letter with Varys. It was for him, and him alone. "Did they find an answer to my question?"
"I did, my Lord Hand," Varys replied, "I found her."
"Where is she?"
"It would seem the gods like to play their little jokes, Lord Arryn," He giggled, "Because she's in the company of Lord Dagon Farwynd."
Jon blinked, the first thought to come to him was that he had heard wrong. He was not proud to admit it, but there were times where he had needed to hear a servant's question or a lord's remarks a second time, because their voices sounded so strange and muffled. But Varys's voice had come to him clearly, but instead of clarifying the matter, it only served to further confound him. How could she have reached him? Why would she have gone to him? It made no sense for Robert's bastard to find herself across the Narrow Sea and of all places to be, for it to be with him. "Tell me everything you learned, Lord Varys."
The first news to reach them from the east came from a recently arrived ship, who claimed to have spotted a shipwreck on their way to King's Landing.
The ship had turned out to be one of theirs. The part of the ship's hull that had the painted name Lionstar was found bobbing in the water as if it was a sign for a nearby tavern. And according to the merchant there had been no survivors by the time he neared the wreckage. 'Only the dead and the hungry scavengers,' he had said, 'And I dared not linger,' the captain had shuttered at the memory.
When Jon pressed Varys for more details, he had little to confirm or offer.
"My Lord Hand," Varys said meekly, "I don't have little fishes," he smiled, deflecting blame, "Only my little birds. And it takes time for them to travel across the sea."
Afterwards, Jon had invited the master of ships to his solar. "What do you think?"
"That my brother is a fool," Stannis said brusquely. "And he has as much business leading a fleet as Patchface."
"And the Lionstar captain?"
"He's competent. He's been a captain in the royal fleet for a few years."
Then it must have been a storm, Jon reasoned, before a creep of the memory came to him. The one with Davos and the stories he told of this Farwynd. Tall tales, Jon dismissed them as soon as they came. This would be the worst news they'd hear from the mission. He told himself.
He would be wrong. A week later Renly Baratheon's body arrived.
"How did you come across the body of my brother?"
Jon stood in the shadow of the Iron Throne. He had wanted to do this quietly, bring the captain and his crew aside to interview them. Preferably in the presence of the small council before handing them over to the black cell gaolors for sharper questioning. Robert had refused. So blinded by his anger at the news of not just his brother's death, but at the delivery of his body, he demanded the captain be brought to him and questioned in front of all the court. What should have been a discrete questioning had turned into a needless spectacle.
"Your brother?" The Pentoshi captain paled. The guards hold on him was the only thing keeping him from falling over. "Your Royal Majesty," Westerosi decorum and titles unknown to him. "I didn't know he was your brother."
"We are not accusing you of this terrible crime," Jon intervened, ignoring Robert's grumbling from atop the throne that came down to them like thunder on a mountaintop. "We are merely curious as to how one of our great lords, Renly Baratheon, the king's own brother came onto your ship."
"My ship was two days out of Pentos, my great lord. We were traveling north to Braavos to sell our wares when we were set upon by his ships."
The his sent a tizzy through the court, hushed whispers and murmurs. Jon ignored them, annoyed that Robert not only allowed this, but was the reason for this audience. "Dagon Farwynd?"
"It was," the captain hurried to answer, before hastily adding, "my great lord." His continued bungling of their titles brought amused titters from the noble onlookers. "My ship was escorted to where he was waiting. We traveled through a sea of blood and the dead." His face displayed complete and total dread while recalling the memory. "A watery graveyard the likes I've never seen. The dead were in the hundreds," he shuttered. "Everywhere you looked you saw them. These mangled bodies, floating in the red waters, with just as many sharks feeding on them." Somewhere in the crowd, a woman fainted so overcome at the captain's harsh descriptions.
"And in the middle of this watery hell, was his ship," the captain appeared ignorant of the reaction his words were stirring from the captivated court, as he described the ship that Farwynd was waiting on to receive him.
It came to Jon with sinking horror that it was Fury the Pentoshi captain was describing. The revelation was not just his as more and more came to the same conclusion, setting off an even louder wave of reactions from the court. Jon stepped forward to try to quell this before it could worsen any further. "The captain will be escorted out-"
"No," Robert refused, rising from his throne. "I will hear all of it, and I will hear it now," He demanded. "I will not be chased off my throne by gossip."
Reluctantly, Jon continued. "Why did you accept this task if you were not in league with him?" He needed to raise his voice so it could be heard over the noisy buzzing of the engrossed court. "You could've lied and gone on your way to Braavos." He watched the captain's eyes widen at the suggestion.
"I couldn't." He shook his head. "He said he'd know if I didn't go and that-" he licked his lips, "his god would find me if I failed and punish me."
The captain's fear was met with laughter from the court. The queen was the first, which encouraged many others to join her. A few contemptuous shouts followed which were directed at the captain, mocking jeers of him being a craven or a fool. Jon was pleased by the reaction, but when he looked around, he noticed there were still several who weren't laughing.
"The Drowned God is a lie," The High Septon proclaimed from where he sat on his cushioned seat. Too fat to stand for long stretches of time, he now pushed himself up. Dressed in colorful and bejeweled finery. "The Drowned God can not hurt you," he lectured the captain. "The Seven watches over us and protects us." He then turned to the Iron Throne, "And the Seven has blessed your reign, Your Grace." He announced, "and no other."
The pentoshi captain looked around the court, as if seeing them for the first time. His face flushed, embarrassed by their reaction towards him being so obviously tricked by an empty threat. "You don't know the truth," he said to the sneering High Septon. "But I do," he insisted, "The Demon of the Tides," the captain then muttered something in valyrian. "The Hand of God." He made a gesture with his hands as if to ward something off. "And his reach is inevitable."
Ser Loras Tyrell was still standing vigil over the body of Renly Baratheon when Jon Arryn arrived. The body which had been prepared by the silent sisters was currently at rest in the Red Keep's Sept. Tomorrow, it would begin the journey back to Storm's End where Renly's remains were to be buried in the tomb of his ancestors.
Jon wouldn't forget seeing the body for the first time wrapped snugly within the Targayen banner. The three headed red dragon had specks of dry blood around its maws as if they had feasted on the corpse. Nor would he forget Robert's reaction, the dismay that turned to rage, and the angry howl that followed, further stroking his bloodlust against the Targaryens. The wounds on the body were ugly and savage. Deathblows of a sort Jon had never seen before. He had asked Pycelle and Colemon what could've made them. The former believed they came from an animal while the latter believed it came from a crude sort of club.
"Ser Loras," Jon greeted the knight, "I thought you'd be packing for the journey."
Lord Tyrell's youngest son had volunteered to be one of the escorts that would be taking Lord Renly's body back to Storm's End. "I'm already packed, my lord." In the dim candlelight the knight's eyes looked red.
"And your grandmother?" Jon would be remiss not to ask after her. "How is she?"
Loras had received a raven urging him to return to Highgarden because his grandmother, Olenna Tyrell had fallen deathly ill. A message that ended up saving his life. Loras had been planning on traveling with Renly to apprehend the princess before he was called away. Instead, he arrived at the capital to learn not of Renly's victory, but of his death.
"She recovered," Loras answered, sounding relieved that he didn't have to mourn his grandmother on top of his friend.
"I'm glad to hear it," Jon meant it. "She's a strong woman."
There was a beat of silence between them before Loras broached it. "My lord?" He said tentatively, and at Jon's encouraging nod, he continued. "What will happen now? Will you be sending the royal fleet to hunt this ironborn dog down?"
"The king is considering his options," Jon answered carefully, since the small council had yet to reach a consensus on the best course of action. "I didn't mean to intrude, Ser Loras, but the king is on his way," Jon said, revealing the reason for his visit. "And will wish to mourn privately before his brother's body leaves in the morning."
Loras stiffened. He opened his mouth as if to argue before deciding against it. "I understand." He looked back to where Renly lay. "If you will excuse me," He was still looking at the body. "I will take my leave to give the king his privacy."
"Ser Loras," Jon called after him. "Renly was fortunate to have a good friend like you."
A flickering scrutinizing expression passed over the young man's face before it smoothed away, and he gave a tight nod. "Thank you, my lord."
"We've lost more than a dozen ships," Stannis informed the small council, seemingly more bothered by the mess his dead brother left behind than of Renly's death itself.
"We can rebuild them," Jon didn't know how they'd pay for that hefty investment, but he trusted Petyr to find the funds. He always did.
Stannis wasn't mollified. "And who is to crew these new ships?" He asked. "We've lost hundreds of sailors. These were good, experienced men who followed my brother to their deaths." As master of ships Stannis likely knew many of those men who were lost at sea, but Jon knew it was the loss of Davos Seaworth that hurt Stannis the most.
"I have something to add, that will affect our master of ships," Petyr said, slipping himself into the conversation. "It seems that many men already a part of the royal fleet will not be eager to sail if it means going against Farwynd."
"This is whore's gossip," Stannis dismissed. "The men will follow their orders."
"It's true that my information comes from my whores, but they do serve so many of your men, Lord Stannis," Petyr said with a sly smile. "And this latest news has rattled them. Farwynd having sunk or captured so many of their ships including Fury. Their suspicions run deep, I'm afraid."
"It's all just stories and lies," Pycelle muttered from where he sat hunched over in his seat. "The ignorance of the smallfolk who follow portents instead of facts."
Baelish shrugged, before smiling in agreement with the grand maester. "Alas, they crew the ships," he pointed out, "Unless the king decrees we fill the ships with learned men such as maesters and nobles." Baelish stroked his beard. "Does the citadel forge a link for seamanship, grand maester?"
"Thank you, Petyr," Jon intervened before Pycelle could respond.
The master of coin gave a small bow of his head. "I'm happy to serve, Lord Arryn."
"Varys, any news from the procession?" Jon turned to the eunuch. When Renly's body went back to Storm's End, it was accompanied by the new lord and lady of Storm's End, the prince Tommen Baratheon and his betrothed and cousin, lady Shireen Baratheon. With them both being only ten and four, a regent had been named to help them rule until Tommen reached his majority.
"Yes, my lord. They've arrived at Storm's End."
Renly's body hadn't been in the city for an hour before the queen had made her push that Tommen should be given the now vacant lordship of Storm's End. Concerned, over the growing rift between the king and his surviving brother, Jon had suggested a betrothal between Prince Tommen and Lord Stannis's daughter, Shireen. The queen immediately refused, considering it a great insult while wrongfully insinuating Shireen was likely barren, and the girl should see it as a blessing. Fortunately for Jon, Robert sided with him, but he suspected it was a close thing.
The Storm's End issue may have been resolved, but there was still the matter of who would replace Renly as the next master of laws. Jon expected it to be a struggle to fill the empty seat since the queen would have her own candidates, all of whom would be kin or kith to her. The Royal Court was already filled with so many Lannisters, draped in their house colors and decorated with their golden lions, visiting foreign dignitaries could mistakenly think that the Lannisters, not the Baratheons, were the royal house of the Seven Kingdoms.
She'll likely work even harder after the Shireen betrothal. Only the queen would take her second son being named heir to such a coveted lordship as an insult merely because she also wasn't allowed to pick his bride. Jon had a few lords he thought would serve admirably in the role, but each time he tried to bring them to Robert's attention, the king refused to discuss them. He had taken Renly's death hard, and to Jon's chagrin seemed to drink even more now to cope with the loss of his youngest brother. His worries over Robert were dispelled when the doors to their council chambers suddenly opened. "The crown prince," announced Ser Preston Greenfield who had been assigned to stand guard outside.
Jon and all the other councilors immediately stood at the unplanned arrival of the prince. At ten and eight, Joffrey Baratheon looked every bit a prince, with his golden hair and handsome features. He was wearing a red tunic with gold stitching, proudly displaying the roaring lions of his mother's house. Robert would have waved them to sit back down as soon as he entered, almost annoyed by their deference, but not his son. The prince enjoyed it, seemingly basking in their obeisance. Even after he took the empty seat that had once been his uncle's, he waited a few long seconds before finally allowing them to sit back down.
"Prince Joffrey," Jon greeted him politely to mask his surprise at his unexpected appearance. "What brings you to us?"
"I've come to take my place on this small council," he then brandished a piece of parchment, taking in their surprised reactions with a pleased smile. "I'll be serving as the new master of laws."
This was the queen's doing. Jon realized in an instant. Despite, all she's been given, and all the positions, Robert allowed her to fill, it still rankled her, she was denied a spot on the small council. Always wanting more, Jon thought distastefully, but now she's sent the perfect substitute to serve as her mouthpiece. His eyes went to the bottom of the page to see there it was the king's seal, approving of Joffrey's position on the small council.
"This is wonderful news, my prince," Pycelle welcomed him with a broad smile, "We are sure to be honored by your noble wisdom and whatever royal insights you will give us."
"Pycene humbles me," Joffrey smiled at the praise. "I've already enacted some changes," He gestured to his sworn shield, the scarred Sandor Clegane who had slipped inside behind the prince, coming closer, Jon noticed he was wearing a gold cloak. "I've named my loyal Hound as the new Commander of the City Watch," he announced, surprising Jon and seemingly all the others. "We need to clean up this city. The old Commander Slynt was a corrupt craven, whose loyalty was in the wrong places."
"Well done, my prince," Pycelle once again was the first to voice his support towards the prince despite him getting his name wrong. "Slynt was too low born to be trusted."
"Exactly, Pysock," Joffrey said, "and my next task as master of laws is to bring justice to the ironborn who killed my uncle."
"How would you do that, my prince?" Jon asked, wanting to believe that Joffrey was finally taking an interest in governance, but he was skeptical. The disinterest in ruling was one of the few traits he shared with his father.
"We go after him," Joffrey answered as if it was obvious.
"Farwynd is sailing east," Stannis said, "Instead of chasing him across the Summer Sea and beyond, we should wait until he returns from his eastern journeys." The master of ships pointed out. "It would give us time to build new ships and to get crews for them. As well as prepare the perfect trap to take Farwynd and his Targaryen bride."
"We wait?" Joffrey frowned. "He could be gone for years!" He shook his head. "We can't look weak, Uncle."
"Waiting isn't a weakness," Stannis replied firmly. "The royal fleet needs time and-"
"That's why we don't send the royal fleet," Joffrey interrupted, annoyed that his words were being argued with instead of obeyed.
"What are you proposing?" Jon asked.
"We send the Iron Fleet after him," the prince was clearly pleased with himself for coming up with the idea. "We make the ironborn pay for it, by blood and by gold. We have Greyjoy's heir as a hostage, do we not?"
"We do, my prince," Varys answered. "He's at Winterfell."
"Then what else do we need?" Joffrey asked, "We demand Greyjoy bring in his unruly bannermen and prove his loyalty or his heir will face our displeasure."
"That is a bold plan, my prince," Jon said neutrally, but Joffrey took it as praise. "And one we will consider."
Stannis didn't have Jon's tact. "The Iron Fleet?" He scoffed, "Greyjoy is more likely to join him than apprehend him."
"He won't."
"What makes you so sure?" Jon was surprised by the measure of confidence in the prince's tone.
Joffrey didn't answer but instead turned to Varys.
The master of whispers understood. "The Targaryen bride was not Farwynd's only asking price when it came to joining the Targaryens in this alliance."
That took Jon aback. "What are you talking about?"
Varys flashed him an apologetic smile. "The message is new."
"Why wasn't this brought to me?" Wondering why this was the first time he was hearing of this, and that it was coming after the prince had been informed.
"The King has ordered that all news of Farwynd was to be brought to him first."
Jon hadn't been told of any such order. It's starting to become a list, he thought disquietly, of the things that Robert wasn't telling him.
Varys passed the message across the table which Jon accepted. Unfurling it as Varys revealed the contents of it.
"Farwynd was promised Pyke and the Seastone Chair. He plans on replacing the Greyjoys as Lord Reaper of the Iron Islands."