Varys bowed from his seat. "Your Grace, my lords, my little birds in the Disputed Lands have sung me songs of a great gathering of sellsword companies forming along the southern coast of the Disputed Lands, in the area claimed by Lys. The Golden Company is, of course, most prominent, but the Second Sons, the Windblown, the Long Lances, the Company of the Cat, and the Stormcrows have also come to the gathering, among others."

"How in the seven hells are they all still alive?" Tarly asked. "The Company of the Cat and the Windblown hate each other, and none of them trust each other any further than they can throw them."

"They appear to have sworn a truce for the duration of the gathering, my lord, with the Golden Company empowered to enforce the terms thereof," Varys answered. "But what concerns me, my lords, is that a bird of mine in Volantis sent me a song of a fleet of cogs putting out to sea with empty holds. That song reached me four days ago. Given the time it would have taken to travel from Volantis to my ears, that fleet may have reached the Disputed Lands by now."

"Perhaps sooner, with favorable winds," opined Stannis Baratheon. "At the least, they would have made Lys by now under any conditions but terrible ones, and while it may be winter, the Orange Shore and the waters around Lys are not usually stormy."

"So several of the largest and most powerful sellsword companies in the east are gathering on the coast, and a fleet of empty Volantene cogs may be in the area," Kevan Lannister mused. "I submit, Your Grace, that we may have some cause for concern."

"Quite," Aegon said. "My lord Stannis, have your ships in the Stepstones increase their alertness, and send word to Prince Oberyn in Tyrosh apprising him of the situation and bidding him be vigilant." How Stannis and Oberyn maintained their friendship only the gods knew, but Aegon did not argue that it seemed to produce results. They had successfully prosecuted the siege of Myr, for one, and beaten Randyll Tarly on the Wendwater during the Rebellion. "Ser Eddard, send ravens to Sunspear and Storm's End, warning them to be alert to a possible invasion." Prince Doran was bedridden these days, but his eldest child Princess Arianne was so far proving herself an able successor and one who took a keen interest in the security of her principality. And Robert Baratheon was still as fearsome as ever, while his wife Lyanna was his equal in vigor. Aegon could almost pity the man who tried to besiege Storm's End with Robert and Lyanna commanding the defense. "Any other business? No? Very well, then."

The Small Council members stood, bowed to Aegon, and gathered up any papers they had brought. Kevan Lannister invariably brought the most; the Treasury produced almost as much paper as it did gold, it seemed. Varys, on the other hand, only rarely brought any; the eunuch prided himself on the keenness of his memory. Eventually, as the others filed out, only Jon Arryn remained in the room. "Quite the display you put on for the High Septon, Your Grace," he commented. "I hope you realize that you have made an enemy of him."

"When the Faith has shed as much blood for the Realm as the North has, then they can prate about unseemly favor," Aegon replied, pouring himself a glass of lemon water from Stannis Baratheon's decanter. "Until then, I will be the judge of what the North is owed. Is there something you would like to discuss, my lord Hand?"

"I think I will retire within the next year, Your Grace," Jon Arryn said, looking unqualifiedly old for the first time in Aegon's memory. "Such storms as these are too much for an old man to endure, and there are matters I must put in order in the Vale before I die."

"Regarding your succession?" Aegon asked, to which Jon Arryn gestured agreement. "You have an heir of your body, my lord, and while Robin is a boy still, he is at least as active a boy as he can be. I foresee little difficulty with your bannermen."

"It is not my bannermen I foresee being difficult," Jon Arryn said heavily, "but rather my grandnephew, young Harry. The boy was stung by the hornet of ambition at a young age, it seems, and Elbert writes that there are those in the Vale who agree with him that the heir to the Vale should be one who is undeniably fit for the position."

And where Robert Arryn was sickly, pale, and thin, Harrold Arryn was robust, vigorous, and strong. Aegon nodded. "I see," he said. "Whatever decision you make, my lord, know that it will have the full backing of the Iron Throne. Have you given thought to who you would like to see replace you as Hand?"

"Stannis Baratheon," Jon Arryn answered immediately. "He's able, loyal, diligent, and has close enough connections with the Royalists that they will not be able to object too much. Which leaves only one matter I would see settled before I depart Your Grace's service."

"My betrothal, I assume?" Aegon asked, to which his Hand nodded. "If you have found someone that I can marry without alienating either the Councilists or the Royalists, I await enlightenment."

"I have discussed the matter with Randyll Tarly and Ser Eddard, who have consulted with Lord Mace and Lord Brandon," Jon Arryn said promptly, "and they are in agreement that there is one course Your Grace might steer that would leave all parties satisfied. If Your Grace betroths your aunt Daenerys to young Artos, the Starks would have no objection to your wedding Margaery Tyrell."

Aegon paused in raising his glass, lowering it as his mind raced. It would nicely balance the factions, he conceded, while leaving the Royalists assured that the Starks are still too distant from the throne to press the claim they would gain thereby. For a son of a cadet branch to press a claim through another cadet branch would strain the bounds of inheritance law to the breaking point, even without the special provision that the Iron Throne could not pass through the female line; getting that accepted in Rhaenys' case had used up much of his mother's family's political capital at the Great Council of 284. That being said . . . "And what does Tywin Lannister think of this?" he asked.

Jon Arryn shrugged. "Tywin Lannister sat out the Rebellion, he can sit out the division of the fruits thereof," he said placidly. "For what it's worth, Kevan has indicated that Tywin's ambitions at this point do not encompass the Iron Throne as much as ensuring a smooth transition of power from himself to his eldest grandson when the time comes."

"Which I assume will likely leave me a very pretty mess to sort out when it finally arrives," Aegon commented tartly. Lyle Crakehall was unlikely to take kindly to being passed over like that, even if it was in favor of his own son, and Tyrion would almost certainly press his own claim as fiercely as he could. The Lannisters were possessed of a well-equipped, loyal, and capable army, but armies could only do so much for so long before they were exhausted. He swirled the lemon water in his glass. "There is another reason I have been reluctant to marry," he confessed slowly. "The High Septon touched upon it, just now."

"Ah," said Jon Arryn, a look of dawning comprehension on his face, "that does explain a lot." He paused for a moment, bowing his head upon his chest in thought. "Your Grace," he said finally, raising his head, "may I speak freely?" At Aegon's gesture of permission, he continued. "I have watched you grow from the infant you were to the man you have become and believe me when I tell you, you are not your father any more than you are your grandfather. Aerys would have had the High Septon arrested on the spot for that threat he made, and he would have burned him within the hour. And if any of the beauties we have at Court has been unable to turn your head in all these years, I doubt you will find any to induce you to forget your marriage vows. I have every confidence that you have nothing to fear from the Targaryen madness, Your Grace, and I say that as one that has made a study of it, over the years. And if Your Grace needs further convincing," he went on, fixing Aegon with an aquiline stare, "I would remind you that it is your positive duty to produce a legitimate heir of your body, for the good of the Realm. Whatever was decided at the Great Council of 284, there are those who will deny that any child of Rhaenys or Daenerys may claim the Throne. Far better for the peace of the Realm that that argument be stifled before it arises."

Aegon sat, hope and fear tearing at each other in his heart, for a long moment. Jon Arryn is convinced that there is no taint in me, he thought wildly. From Ser Gerold or Ser Jaime I might dismiss it as the flattery of a servant for his master, but from Jon Arryn . . . Aegon could not remember a time when his Hand had not loomed over his life like a guarding tower. Insofar as the concept of grandfather meant anything to him, it wore Jon Arryn's face. If he believes that I am free of it . . . Eventually he shook himself. "My lord Hand," he said formally. "Inform Lord Tyrell and Lord Stark, through their representatives, that we accept this compromise, for the good of the Realm." And as thou pleasest, thou gods, continue to show your mercy to me and mine, for I cast myself and my Realm upon it.

Author note: So that's the next round of high-level marriages in King's Landing set up. One more chapter, and that will be it for this uploading spree.