When innocent dawn emerged to announce a new day, the old Lord of the Eyrie rose from his bed, feeling in better spirits than usual. It was not his health that plagued him – he was unusually robust for a man his age, according to a maester – but rather the Eyrie succession. His brother was long dead as was his son; his sister had died in childbirth at least twenty six years ago; and every Arryn heir he'd appointed died one after another within the time period of a year.
Now, it had all changed.
Sleeping peacefully on Jon's bed was his beautiful and fertile wife. After only a couple of hours of conversation yesterday, his fears of having a foolish and fearful maiden had dissipated. Lady Catelyn Tully was no foolish, fearful maiden. Slightly quiet, with a tint of hesitancy, which Jon had frankly expected. No young noblewoman would want to be married to a man twice her age. He felt a pang of regret. He wanted to be kind and gentle, he truly did, but how could a man turn back his age?
"Cat knows her duty," Lord Tully had assured him the day before he married his elder daughter. "She will not complain or weep."
"Your daughter does not deserve that fate," Jon had protested feebly. He had met the two Tully girls at Harrenhal a few weeks before. Both were exceedingly pretty; no doubt their heads were filled with songs, or so Jon assumed. "Lord Stark is a better match for Lady Catelyn," Jon had argued. The lady was betrothed to Ned's elder brother Brandon before he suffered a painful death in King's Landing – why not affiance her to Ned? She most likely knew him and even spoke to him a few times.
"Would you take my younger daughter Lysa to be your wife then?"
Again, Jon had attempted to renegotiate. "Wed her to a River lord," he had urged, "or a wealthy knight. Lady Lysa will find our marriage loveless; the Eyrie will be a prison to her, Lord Tully. Perhaps betroth Lady Lysa to Lord Stark then? By the end of the war, if Lady Lyanna is dead, Robert may marry Lady Catelyn." He was more than willing to wed the daughter of a River lord or mayhaps a Northern lord. Lord Hoster had contemplated the suggestion and was on the threshold of accepting…when Robert steadfastly refused. No one was able to change his mind, not even Ned.
His gaze softened as he looked at his sleeping son. He had never expected to be father once more. He had forgotten the thrill of delight at counting an infant's tiny fingers and toes; he had forgotten the joy of hearing a babe's giggling and gurgling; he had forgotten the excitement of imaging his child's future; and he had forgotten the bliss of watching the baby sleep. Ever since he fostered Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark as his wards in the Eyrie, he regarded them his own sons. Now they were men grown, the former a king and the latter a father. How time flies!
Jon gestured for one of his household servants to come closer. "My usual breakfast if you will," he whispered. "Bread, bacon, eggs and tea for my lady wife too." The servant nodded. He left and Jon quietly crossed the room to the table stacked with a pile of notes and letters that he had accumulated over the last few days. He picked up the first. It was a very brief note from Ned:
She is dead.
Jon heaved a sigh and clenched his fist. All for nothing…it was all for nothing. Oh why was Robert Baratheon so stubborn? If he had only listened or even considered-! If only Robert had listened, Catelyn Tully would be his betrothed, not Jon's wife.
The servant quietly returned with a large tray. Jon silently set aside Catelyn's cup and plates and looked forlornly at his own breakfast of scrambled eggs atop a slice of white bread with a few pieces of ham and a bowl of fresh fruit. He had lost about half his teeth; munching bacon and beef were no longer as easy as it once was. He was heartily tired of consuming soft food, but what could he do?
As Jon ate, his thoughts wandered to the past. By the time Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark arrived at the Vale to be his wards, he had given up siring children of his own. He named his nephew Elbert his heir and began devoting his energy into raising his wards to be the best of their potential. Robert had always been boisterous and loud; Ned Stark the opposite. Elbert should have lived, he thought sadly. If he had, he would have been a more fitting husband for Lord Tully's daughter. Like Ned's brother Brandon, Elbert was executed on the orders of the Mad King.
The Mad King.
Jon darkened as his fingers curled into a fist. King Aerys Targaryen the Second of His Name…and the last Targaryen ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Like many of his Targaryen predecessors, King Aerys was the product of incest. His father, King Jaehaerys, once said that with the birth of a new Targaryen, the gods would toss a coin to decide whether the child would be a genius or a lunatic. Clearly the gods found it fit to curse King Aerys with lunacy, Jon contemplated. Would the Targaryens still be in power if King Aerys II hadn't been embraced by madness? He shook those thoughts away. Robert Baratheon was the king now; the future could not be any brighter. I will guide him, Jon thought. I will guide and help Robert in every manner I can until my death. It is my duty to guide him on the right path of kingship.
"Jon…when did you wake up?"
Catelyn was at his side, with her dark blue cloak covering her white nightgown. She'd just woken up yet her lustrous locks of Tully red hair rested neatly over her shoulder in one long braid, a single curl escaping the silver clip that pinned her hair together. With a quiet yawn, she peered at the notes and letters on the table. "Forgive me." She blushed prettily as Jon raised an eyebrow. "I do not mean to pry my lord." There was no harm in Catelyn reading a few of the letters. Jon desired an intelligent wife he could discuss a bit of politics with during their suppers – Catelyn seemed the perfect candidate. Murmuring for her to sit down, Jon pushed a few plates of food towards her.
"Eat," he encouraged her. "Do you enjoy reading, Catelyn?"
"Of course," Catelyn responded, reaching for her cup of tea. "When my father and my uncle went off to war, I spent most of my time reading."
"Reading…songs eh?"
"I used to," she admitted with a sheepish smile. "When I was a little girl, I would read nothing but songs with my sister Lysa. I loved songs so much that for my seventh name day, my father commissioned a book for me – it consisted of all my favourite songs and had the most beautiful pictures to accompany them. I read the songs less the day I heard I was betrothed to Brandon Stark of Winterfell." She looked him boldly in the eye. "Since the day we married, I had never read another song."
"Reading songs are not too bad, Catelyn. At least you will know good songs to sing to our Robert when he cannot sleep."
Catelyn's smile brightened. "He slept well when we were in Riverrun."
"I hope he will sleep well here at King's Landing."
"I am certain he will, now that he is with his father."
"The king expects me in his first small council meeting shortly. I'm afraid I will not be able to introduce you to my household until supper. I do not wish for you to be bored in here, Catelyn. I have taken the liberty of inviting Lady Waynwood to come and keep you company for ah, a few hours or so. Houses Arryns and Waynwoods have a rather…close relationship and though Lady Waynwood is quite insistent on a little ceremony (you will find all Waynwoods like that), she is a kind woman who will help you know all the Vale lords and what will be expected of you as the Lady of the Eyrie. She is also a mother and grandmother," he added. "She will have sound advice for you."
Catelyn nodded calmly. "That is very kind of you. I am eager to meet Lady Waynwood – she is the Lady of Ironoaks is she not?"
"Indeed, Catelyn. You might like to befriend Lady Waynwood's good-daughter when you meet her. She is about your age I believe." He stood up. "I must go," he said, slightly apologetic. "I do not mean to cut our breakfast short."
"The king needs you, as do the Seven Kingdoms. You are fulfilling your duties as the King's Hand after all. Will I expect you for supper?"
"Yes. I hope. Do not fear if a few of my men come and remove ah, furniture or papers. They will be taking them to the Tower of the Hand, our new chambers." He hesitated for a second and quickly leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. Catelyn stared at him, stunned. Burning with embarrassment, Jon muttered farewell and hurried out. Did I kiss her too early? Was Catelyn disgusted by a kiss from an old man? Pushing those thoughts aside, Jon hastened to the small council chamber. It was the second time he had set foot in the council chamber – its richly furnished surroundings did not fail to impress him at all. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in a corner, a hundred or so fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smouldering in black marble faces.
Hovering around the council table with his soft white hands clasped together was the Master of Whisperers, the eunuch Varys. "Lord Arryn," he acknowledged with an oddly enigmatic smile. "I was wondering if anyone would appear today." Compared to the bald eunuch, Jon felt like he was garbed in peasant attire. Varys had elected to wear robes of purple made from the finest silk and embellished with intricate stitches. For the Master of Whisperers, Varys seemed to enjoy comfortable and ostensibly rich clothing.
"No one else is here Lord Varys?"
Varys giggled and spread his hands. "Do you see anyone here with us, Lord Arryn? It is just you and me, Lord Arryn. Lord Stark is still rescuing his dear sister, Grand Maester Pycelle is shuffling here as we speak, the king may have decided to go hunting again, and many other positions in the small council have not been filled yet."
Jon sighed. Robert was king; he should curb his love of hunting for a while at least. "I will speak to the king," said Jon heavily. "I assure you, Lord Varys, His Grace will attend more small council meetings very soon." He glanced around. The Red Keep was a snake pit. Everyone had eyes and ears everywhere. "I do not believe Lord Stark will accept the king's offer to be Master of Laws," he said softly. "He will wish to go home to Winterfell more than serving the king." Had he told Varys the Spider too much? "I suppose it's time we find new Masters of Laws, Ships and the Coin."
"A Lannister Master of the Coin will be splendid." Varys tittered again. "With a lord of Lannister in charge of the royal treasury, the coffers will never deplete again."
"The coffers are still full," Jon reminded him. Though King Aerys was mad, when he'd died, he left the royal treasury flowing with gold.
"For how long, Lord Arryn?"
The door opened and a yawning Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled in, accompanied by the clinking of two dozen heavy chains wounded together from his neck to breast. The Grand Maester was old; two years older than Jon to be precise. While Jon still had plenty of hair – though grey – on his head, Grand Maester Pycelle's white hair was sparse and ran around his bald, spotted head. Instead of wearing the customary grey robes worn by most maesters, Pycelle had elected to wear a red velvet robe with an ermine collar and golden fastenings, much to Jon's disapproval.
"Lord Arryn," Pycelle mumbled, dipping his head in his direction. "Lord Varys…" With a shaking hand, he pulled out a chair and sat down. "Am…am I late?"
"Late?" Varys chuckled a third time. "There is only the three of us here Grand Maester. You are not early nor are you late."
Grand Maester Pycelle pulled out a clasp from one of his many pockets and pushed it towards Jon. "I almost forgot," he muttered more to himself than to Jon. "Your…badge of office, Lord Arryn. His Grace had it specially commissioned for you." Jon picked it up and examined it. For a brooch, it was a little heavy, no doubt to represent the weighty duties he would face as the King's Hand. Made of silver, the clasp was fashioned into the shape of a hand. Silently praying to the Crone for wisdom and guidance, Jon freed the silver falcon brooch that clutched the folds of his sky blue cloak and replaced it with the silver hand, his new badge of office.
"My lord Hand." Varys's tone was as soft as his silk robes. "What will be your first ah, command? Will you order a tourney to celebrate the king's success?"
"No," said Jon, appalled at the idea of hosting a tournament so soon from the war. "I'd prefer to have all the offices in the small council filled swiftly." It was a pity that Robert had decided to miss what appeared to be his first council meeting. "I hope the next time we meet, all the seats will be filled," Jon went on, "and I'll do my utmost best to persuade His Grace to join us. As it is only the three of us today, I propose we keep this gathering a short one and discuss the most important matters at hand."
"A wise idea," agreed the Grand Maester full-heartedly.
"Most wise," Varys echoed. "I suspect Dorne will not be particularly friendly towards our Baratheon king, lord Hand. They must be dealt with quickly. Prince Doran Martell is more thinker than fighter, but his younger brother Prince Oberyn…you might know him as the Red Viper."
"Have you caught wind of any Dornish plots regarding poisoning?" inquired Jon.
"Not of yet, lord Hand. Once my little birds hear of one, I will inform you at once." He smiled mysteriously. "As the Dornish have not moved, perhaps it will be best if we leave them be. No plots, no need to rush to Dorne…"
"Very well." Jon reminded himself to think more of the Dornish matter at a later time. Varys might be content to leave Dorne alone, but Jon was not. "Is there any word from Lord Stannis and the royal fleet?" The middle Baratheon brother had been sent with the newly built royal fleet to seize Dragonstone, the last Targaryen stronghold. Throughout Robert's rebellion, Stannis remained at Storm's End, the Baratheon seat, in a long siege against vast forces from the Reach led by Lords Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne. It was a miracle that Stannis and his garrison held out against the Reachmen until Ned went to lift the siege. Admittedly, Jon hardly knew Stannis Baratheon, and understood Renly, the youngest Baratheon brother, even less.
"…there is a fierce storm brewing," Grand Maester Pycelle was saying. "The fiercest of storms in years, or so the maesters of Oldtown have told me. I doubt even the strongest ravens can survive such a storm."
"Ours is the Fury." The eunuch tittered. "It seems our king has sent all his wrath upon the island of Dragonstone."
"Is the king aware of the storm?" asked Jon.
"Not yet," Varys admitted.
"He must be told at once. If the storm is as brutal as Grand Maester Pycelle says, there is a chance that…that…" Varys nodded. "As you wish my lord," he said softly. Jon nodded gratefully. For a moment, the three of them said nothing and silence emerged. "I will go and find our king," Jon said finally, unable to deal with silence's presence any longer. "I'll discuss potential Masters of Laws, Ships and Coin with him. Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys, I thank you both for coming."
"Not at all, lord Hand." Varys gave him another enigmatic grin. "Shall I go and inform His Grace about the storm or will you, my lord?"
"I suppose I will, Lord Varys. Do you know where His Grace is?"
"I thought you wished to go and find our king, lord Hand? If you desire to save time, I am happy to tell you that the king is in his chambers, preparing to go for a morning hunt. He will be hunting with Ser Barristan the Bold today I believe."
"Ser Barristan Selmy? He has recovered already?"
"A fast healer, Ser Barristan is," the Grand Maester mumbled. Jon stood up. "We will reconvene at a later time," Jon decided. Once every seat is filled, he planned to arrange a time every day for a small council meeting – with the king present. When Robert was his ward, he never enjoyed learning a little about politics; it was about time he did. Not all kings could go around ruling with a warhammer.
Leaving the ancient Grand Maester and the eunuch behind, Jon headed quickly down to Maegor's Holdfast, a massive square fortress deep inside the heart of the Red Keep; it was snugly behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes. In his youth, his own father described it as a castle-within-a-castle. The four Baratheon guards present in front of the king's bedchamber nodded respectfully at him before one opened the door. A smile automatically appeared on Jon's face when he entered the king's room. Never had he expected Robert Baratheon to be king.
"Jon!" said Robert warmly. "Just in time for a hunt!"
"Oh no Your Grace," said Jon swiftly. "My hunting days are over. They have been for a while now. I heard you will be hunting with Ser Barristan today."
Robert chuckled and wagged a finger. "I could never hide anything from you Jon. You knew about the girl in the Vale, the nights I went to the tavern, even that one time when Ned tried to cover for me. Ah, poor Ned. He tried."
"You and Ned were my wards back then. It was my duty to know everything. The girl is safe and will have a good life, Your Grace. I have arranged for her to be raised in Lord Nestor Royce's household and I am assured she will have a position in his service when the time comes. If she wishes to settle down and have children, Nestor has promised me that he will find a good match for her, no doubt another Vale lord's natural son or if she is fortunate, perhaps a man-at-arms in Nestor's household. Your Grace, you do not need to be concerned with your…your natural daughter's future anymore." Robert nodded a little too vaguely for Jon's liking. "There is a storm brewing," Jon said more quietly. "The Grand Maester said it will be the most fiercest storm in years."
"When will it come?"
"No doubt in a day or two. I pray it will be a quick storm." He paused. "Robert…we've not yet received news from Lord Stannis."
Robert's hands shook as he put his hunting horn back on the weirwood table. "He is a fair sailor," he said hollowly. "If Stannis could survive that blasted siege, he will survive a bloody storm. Death took my parents by the sea; it will not take my brother too. Was I a fool for commanding Stannis to take Dragonstone?"
"Stannis is a good man, Robert. He will not disappoint you. I dislike bringing you bad news, but you must know." He handed Robert Ned's short note. Robert glanced at it and shook his head stubbornly.
"It is the truth," said Jon gently. "You must accept it Robert."
Robert grunted something to himself that sounded like, "Fucking Rhaegar Targaryen." Jon patted him on the shoulder. "Ned will not come back in a hurry," he informed him. "I hope you are aware of that Your Grace. He must fetch his wife and child and bury all the bones of his father, brother and sister at the Winterfell crypt."
"She was to be my queen," Robert said distantly. "Ned and I were to be brothers…"
"You and Ned have considered each other brothers for years – I do not see why that needs to change now that the Lady Lyanna Stark is dead."
"She was so beautiful…"
"We will speak later, Your Grace? I understand you need some time alone." Jon patted him on the shoulder again and departed. "His Grace does not wish to be disturbed for an hour or two," he told the Baratheon guards. "His Grace may decide to go and um, train in the training yard afterwards." Knowing Robert Baratheon, after a few hours of isolation, he would vent out his anger on a training dummy.
Walking slowly back to his temporary chambers, Jon wondered if Robert Baratheon was the right choice to be the king. He was the only great lord of the rebel forces to have a reasonably strong claim to the Iron Throne; he had a booming voice that was ideal on the battlefield; and he had a rather special gift in befriending his enemies. Robert was an excellent warrior and commander, but when it came to politics? Jon shuddered. Robert had almost crumbled the fragile Baratheon-Stark-Tully alliance at Riverrun. Baratheons and their stubborn tempers. Jon shook his head and sighed. Why Robert? Why could you not agree to a mere betrothal to Catelyn Tully? Even if it was a temporary one? Now that Lyanna Stark was dead, no doubt it would be up to Jon to locate a suitable bride for his former ward. There were two hurdles he already visualised: finding a highborn maiden from one of the great houses and convincing Robert to wed her. Neither of those tasks sounded particularly simple to accomplish, especially now that Robert was in mourning of his dead betrothed.
It would not be an easy task at all.
As Jon turned a corner, he caught sight of a disappearing scarlet cloak. A Lannister. It was quite unsettling. It was the Lannisters who sacked King's Landing in the name of King Robert Baratheon, Jon reminded himself. It was the Lannisters who ordered the vicious rape and murder of the Mad King's good-daughter the Dornish princess Elia Martell and the brutal murder of her children. Every time Jon saw a Lannister red cloak, the dreadful image of the bloodied bodies of the two Targaryen children wrapped in crimson cloaks would appear. The poor children. What horrified Jon more was Robert's satisfaction and relief over their deaths. "Dragonspawn," Robert had said, a faint smile materialising on his ruddy face. Jon had felt ill.
Shaking that terrible memory from his mind, Jon paused in front of his chamber door. He quietly pushed it ajar and smiled when he saw Catelyn chat enthusiastically to Lady Anya Waynwood, who seemed equally pleased to talk to her. With the heavy burden of advising and aiding King Robert, Jon needed a strong, thoughtful wife for support – Lady Catelyn sounded more and more ideal by the hour.
I'm glad you loved Chapter I :) After I started writing, I loved the ideas I thought up for this story so much that I continued writing and I have the next chapter ready too :D Littlefinger will definitely have a role to play (still thinking about that), yes Jon Snow will be in this story and there will definitely be at least one Lysa chapter. I can't say much about how many children there'll be yet, but each child that Catelyn and Lysa have will have hopefully important roles to play. I had never felt so excited in sharing this story with you! :D