Jon Arryn felt old. His fatigued bones ached as he ascended and descended the many steps to and from his rooms in the Tower of the Hand. He had requested a simpler chamber conveniently closer to the council chamber, but Robert would have none of it. "You are like a father to me," he had declared when he dismissed Jon's appeal, "and you'll have every honour and comfort you deserve, beginning with the position as my Hand." Jon did not think being the Hand of the King was either a comfort nor an honour.

For days, he pleaded with Robert to recant his decision. "I am an old man and not worthy of the honour as Hand," he had said. "Find another, more worthy man to be your Hand. I will not last a year in office." Surprisingly, he had lasted fifteen years…for now. Days slowly slunk by and Jon begged resignation from the office of Hand; Robert refused.

"My lord Hand. You look rather wane today." Jon struggled to turn around as he heard the enigmatic voice of Varys the eunuch.

"Lord Varys." Jon acknowledged him with a nod. He detested the wily eunuch but had to admit he fulfilled his duty as the Master of Whisperers on a more than satisfactory level. Robert found him an extremely useful asset in his council and called him the Spider. Indeed, thought Jon, it seems the eunuch has eyes and ears in every nook and cranny in the Seven Kingdoms. "I hope you are here other than to comment on my health," said the Lord of the Eyrie, stifling a cough with a linen handkerchief. "I am a very busy man."

Varys tittered. "Indeed not, my lord Hand. Indeed not! I too am a busy man. A little bird told me you need my help." He smiled mysteriously at him. "Did one of my little birds sing true?"

As much as he hated the aid of a secretive eunuch, he s needed it. Jon slowly gestured for Varys to sit on the empty chair opposite him in his solar. Varys gave him another furtive smile before sitting down.

"Highgarden is a lovely place to be at this time of year," the Spider remarked, rubbing his plump hands together. "Have you thought of visiting it sometime, my lord Hand? A respite there may improve your health."

Pycelle had given me more herbs and remedies of late. "Whilst you feed and care for your…little birds, I am burdened with the task of ruling on King Robert's behalf," answered Jon. "I have no time to visit Highgarden. Besides, I have my son and daughters to care for." Guilt jabbed him as he thought of the three children he sired with Lysa Tully.

Their marriage was useful; military support during the rebellion and political support. Jon was no fool. He knew Lady Lysa hated him and she had every reason to. He was old and no knight in shining armour she probably thought and dreamt of from those ridiculous songs sang by minstrels in Riverrun. Jon hoped she had enjoyed the honour heaped upon her as the wife of the King's Hand and the sister of the queen, but it appeared she preferred living in the Eyrie than at court. If it made Lysa happy, so be it. Despite a number of miscarriages and stillborn infants, she had given him three healthy children: beautiful Sansa, his only son and heir Robert (named after the king of course) and sweet Alyssa.

All three of them were raised in the royal nursery – and then the schoolroom – alongside their Baratheon cousins at court. It pained Jon that they were so close to him yet he never had enough time to spend more than a few hours with them per day. State matters had always kept him away. Jon silently groaned as he saw the stack of letters at one end of his messy table. Sansa and little Robert were of age to be betrothed; no doubt a great many of those letters were marriage offers from other great lords.

Noticing Jon's glance at the mountain of letters, the eunuch's smile grew. "You must be proud of your lovely children," he said softly. "Beautiful Lady Sansa who is still living in her dreams…your heir coddled by his mother…sweet Lady Alyssa soon no longer a little girl…the Lady Sansa was most disappointed when you told her to remain at court rather than travel to Winterfell with the royal party. Even ailing Lord Tully permitted his eldest two Tully grandchildren to go to Winterfell with their royal uncle and aunt."

"What does this have to do with Highgarden?" said Jon testily.

"Everything of course…or nothing at all." Varys giggled. "Willas Tyrell is still in need of a bride…and the Lady Margaery is no longer a child."

The King's Hand frowned slightly. What Varys said was true. Finding the heir to Highgarden a wife was no concern of his, but the Lady Margaery Tyrell was a woman grown and Lord Renly Baratheon could finally claim her as his wife. He'd certainly waited long enough, mused Jon. Twenty one years of age and an almost precise version of a young Robert Baratheon, his brother Renly was much-loved at court…and still betrothed the Margaery.

"It is time the king's younger brother and the Lady Margaery are wedded and bedded," Jon agreed. "The line of succession is firmly secure with the king's own two sons, his brother Lord Stannis, Stannis's three fine sons and Lord Renly. It is the Tyrells I am concerned about. This has been a long summer by far, and we'll soon have a long winter. While all the regions are somewhat prospering, it is the Reach and the Riverlands prospering the most by far on the fields. When winter comes, there will surely be a shortage of supplies once we hit the heart of a long winter. By then, it will be the Reach the most prepared."

"The realm will need House Tyrell's grains and stores of food."

"Indeed, Lord Varys. If Renly and Margaery have not wed by then…"

"We will no doubt have Margaery Tyrell as the future queen in exchange for House Tyrell's…goods."

"There must be no more delay." Jon stood up. "I will summon the others for a meeting in the council chamber."

Varys remained seated. "Very well, my lord Hand, but before you do, you may be interested in what else I have to say."

Jon looked at him. "What is it?"

"My little birds twittered loudly…from Dorne."

"What of Dorne? There is peace – though uneasy – between the Iron Throne and Dorne. Prince Oberyn may be quite hot-headed and demanding revenge, but his brother Doran, the Prince of Dorne, agreed for peace when I went there at the end of Robert's rebellion."

"That was fourteen years ago, lord Hand. Uneasy peace can be brokered and broken in fourteen years."

If not less, thought Jon grimly. "How old is Doran's heir?"

"She will be twenty two in a months' time, my lord Hand. She is more than old enough to be a wife, do you not agree?"

Jon nodded slowly. Twenty two and unwed! And a woman too! "This matter of Dorne can wait. I am more concerned with the Reach. I will summon Lord Tyrell and discuss a match between his heir Willas and my eldest daughter Sansa. They won't accept anyone but a princess, a lady stocked with royal blood or the eldest daughter of a great lord." Surely the ambitious Lord of Highgarden could see the wisdom in an alliance with the King's Hand! Well, at least his mother would. "It is about time Sansa is betrothed," he said aloud, more to himself than to Varys. "She will not be my daughter forever."

Varys rose. "I'll leave you to it then, my lord Hand. A piece of advice: keep the news of Dorne to yourself. I will tell you more once my little birds whisper in my ear." He smiled for the third time. "I know how difficult it is for honourable men like you to hide a secret."


Jon summoned his children to his solar for the first time in days. His eyes widened in shock as he saw his son.

He instantly reached out and gripped Sweetrobin's arms. Fear struck him as he felt naught but thin bones. How was he to send his sole heir away for fostering if he was so small, pale and prone to illness? All his previous heirs were healthy and strong; Sweetrobin had been cosseted by women for far too long. When he had time to spare, he took his children to the Eyrie with Lysa. Lysa only returned with them to court when Jon insisted Sweetrobin continue his education with his sisters and cousins at court.

Sweetrobin's wane appearance worried Jon and his thoughts directly flew to the succession to the Eyrie. With Sweetrobin so ill…if only Lysa had given me a couple more robust sons! The prospect of Sweetrobin dying young or dying with no children of his own was quite high – Jon never blinded himself with lies when the truth shone in front of him – and his immediate heirs were his sisters Sansa and Alyssa. Valemen were ruled by female Arryns before and Jon was not at all worried about that, but with Sansa wedded to a Tyrell…Jon had already regretted suggesting the match.

"Is it true Father?" said Sansa excitedly, tossing her flaming auburn hair over her shoulder as she grabbed his arm. "Am to marry Willas Tyrell?"

Jon was taken back. "How do you know, dear child?"

"Lady Margaery told me before you summoned us!" Her bright Tully blue eyes glowed with eagerness at the prospect of marriage with the heir of a great lord. "I hope it is true!" she said, releasing his arm to clasp her white, soft hands together with joy. "Margaery will soon be my sister and aunt once I marry Willas and she weds Uncle Renly." She paused momentarily. "When do you think we will marry? Before or after Margaery's wedding?"

Jon always loved listening to his children's chatter, but Sansa's talk of her own impending betrothal disturbed him. "Lord Tyrell had not even agreed to his and your betrothal yet," he said gently.

Sansa frowned. "Why would he say no?"

He may want a princess for his crippled heir. "You are still a girl," Jon told her soothingly. "Willas is a man. Even if Lord Tyrell agrees, Willas will still be obliged to wait for you to grow up." It seems sweet Lady Margaery is more the Queen of Thorns than Mace Tyrell. Jon repressed a shudder. He disliked the growing Tyrell influence on his daughter, but what could he do? Both Margaery and Sansa were part of Queen Catelyn's entourage of ladies and as the former was only five years older and from what he heard, witty and clever, the impressionable Sansa would look to her as some sort of elder sister. Jon supressed a sigh. Mayhaps it would've been better if he accepted Hoster Tully's offer of fostering Sansa and Sweetrobin alongside his own Tully grandchildren at Riverrun.

"What if he thinks me ugly?"

Jon arched an eyebrow. His eldest daughter had inherited every physical trait from Lysa, from her vivid blue eyes, high cheekbones and glossy locks of auburn hair. Since she could walk and talk, he had received a flurry of proposals for her hand, one of which was from Walder Frey. Jon shuddered with revulsion at the thought of his beautiful, innocent Sansa wedded to a Frey.

"No one will think that," said Jon honestly. He patted her hand. "What do you think of going to Riverrun for a short time?"

"Will Cousin Melia be there?"

"No. She is on her way to Winterfell." As you well know, Jon wanted to add. It was still a mystery to him why the ill Lord of Riverrun would allow his grandson Hoster and his eldest Tully granddaughter, Melia, to freeze to death in the harsh, cold North. Then again, their mother Lady Leyla was part of the queen's ladies as their father Edmure remained at Riverrun by his father's side.

"Margaery invited me to supper," said Sansa unexpectedly. "She said that as I will be her future sister, it would be good for me to meet her grandmother." She smiled. "Margaery said there will be lemon cakes today." Jon loathed the Tyrells more and more every minute.

"Did you accept?"

Sansa nodded, beaming broadly. "You should have spoken to me about it first," Jon admonished quietly. "It would be more proper if Lady Margaery or her father sent us a letter. It is not right for you to dine alone with the Tyrells. Perhaps you should bring one of your cousins with you."

"Which one? All of them are on their way to Winterfell."

True enough. "I will have Ser Vardis Egen accompany you," Jon said, knowing full well that Sansa would beg and plead to allow her to attend supper with the Tyrells if he forbade her to go. "You are to never leave his sight and if the Tyrells order him to leave, he will be under my orders to remain at your side."

"What will the Tyrells say!"

What will the Tyrells say indeed. "Once the king and queen return, I want you to return to the Eyrie with your mother," said Jon, as the door opened and a grim Lord Stannis Baratheon appeared with his squire, a Seaworth. Knowing his brief time with his children were at an end, Jon kissed each child on the cheek before bidding them farewell. I should never have allowed Sansa to remain at court, Jon thought regretfully. At least she will be safe in the Eyrie…soon. He smiled at the middle Baratheon brother who nodded stoically back.

"You kept your elder sons here," Jon remarked.

"Not for long," Stannis Baratheon answered. "At dawn tomorrow, Lord Davos Seaworth will escort Steffon back to Storm's End. Robert will remain here as Ser Barristan's page. I doubt you are here to speak of my children, my lord Hand." He looked at him suspiciously.

"The king did not take Edric Storm in out of the goodness of his heart."

Stannis snorted. "If he did, I would believe the Others have returned. I know it was you and the honourable Lord Stark who were behind it. Why mention what had occurred eleven years ago, lord Hand?"

"What would you have done with the boy if we had not intervened?"

"Send him to Dragonstone." Stannis grew impatient. "Lord Arryn, what is with the questions? Do you think I am the type of man who will harm an innocent boy for the crimes of his womanising father and foolish mother? There is no justice in slaughtering innocent children. If there were, I would have killed the Targaryen children the day our ships assaulted Dragonstone." He darkened. "It still strikes me odd that Lord Stark had the strength to kill the Targaryen children – well, the boy at least. The girl died of the dampness in the black cells I believe. Would it be considered kinslaying as Robert gave the order?"

"My apologies for the questions, Lord Stannis. I need a favour…from you."

"Oh? Why me?"

Frankly, you owe me a favour for ridding you of Edric Storm. "You are the only man I know who may have a chance to turn my son and heir from a weakling to a strong, just man men will follow into battle," replied Jon. "I saw your son Steffon, and he is a boy who knows his duty and honour. My son had been pampered for too long by my wife; it is time he becomes a man."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Stannis looked astonished. He had ceased grinding his teeth and stared at Jon. "You want me…to foster your son," Stannis said finally. "That is…unexpected, Lord Arryn."

"I will consider it an honour if you agree to foster Swe-Robert at Storm's End. I do not feel comfortable for my heir to remain at court anymore. If I leave him in the Eyrie, his mother would only coddle him further. To Lysa, our Robert would always be her sick baby boy."

"I see. The king will think you a fool and say his court does not need any more little Stannises." Jon would have laughed if he did not glimpse Stannis's serious expression. He is perfect to foster Sweetrobin, he pondered. Sweetrobin needs a firm hand and who better than Stannis Baratheon? "My brother will recommend you to send your son to Winterfell," Stannis continued, scowling. "Maybe Robert wants your heir to wed a Stark too."

Ned did have a daughter a year younger than Sweetrobin. "Northmen will not think my son will survive to adulthood. As the only male Arryn – apart from me – I need him to reach adulthood in blooming health."

"Riverrun would be suited for his health."

"His grandfather Hoster Tully would only dote on him."

Stannis gave a short nod. "Aye. A terrible idea. A spoilt boy will be a weak man once he grows up. Like Renly." He scowled again. Stannis scowls as much as the Spider smiles. "I should not have allowed Renly to come to court," Stannis grunted angrily. "Once he did, he did not want to leave. I threatened to send him alone to Dragonstone but that craven of a brother begged and cried. Robert accused me of being cruel to Renly and removed him from my care."

"Lord Renly is quite popular at court."

"Lord Renly? Lord of what?" Stannis made a sound that was between a snort and a sneer. "He seemed to have Robert's habit of forgiving and forgetting. I will never forget. It seems Renly's closest companion is Loras Tyrell. A Tyrell. A fool, Renly. An utter fool."

Perhaps it is wise for Renly to befriend a Tyrell, Jon wanted to say. The Tyrells have been back in the king's good grace for over a decade and only you still hate them for their part in Robert's rebellion. Was it so wrong for them to side with the Targaryens rather than with Robert? "Renly is betrothed to Ser Loras's sister," Jon reminded him. For a moment, he thought he was in the Eyrie…a mere day before Brandon Stark met his death in King's Landing. "Rhaegar Targaryen is the crown prince," he had told a furious Robert. "You cannot go around ranting and raising your banners and declaring war for what he did to your betrothed."

"One Tyrell is enough," Stannis muttered.

"There is another matter I'd like to broach…"

"What is it?"

"A betrothal."

Again, Stannis looked taken back. "What?"

"I knew Robert Baratheon since he was a boy, and as much as he is a merciful king and an able warrior, he needs strong men with sense to quash his anger. I'm aware that you think the king does not value you much as a member of the small council or a brother, but believe me, Lord Baratheon, he does. Why do you think he did not take Dragonstone away from you and give it to Lord Renly now that he is no longer a boy?"

"What does that have to do with a betrothal, Lord Arryn?"

Jon glanced around cautiously and said softly. "Tyrells, Lord Baratheon. Roses have thorns…and roses grow and spread quickly. I know Lord Mace Tyrell. A fool he may be, but he has formidable soldiers and a hunger for power that can never be sated. Furthermore, the Reach has a large army they can use to begin a revolt any time the Tyrells wish. I do not trust them and I know you do not either. I'm certain we can work out the details of the betrothal contract at a later time, but what thinks you of a betrothal?"

"Between?"

"Your heir Steffon, and my daughter, Alyssa. I will provide a substantial dowry and give it to you in person."

Stannis nodded slowly. "I will consider it, Lord Arryn." He turned to leave. "I must go and speak to Lord Davos."

"One more request, if you will. Can Lord Seaworth take my Robert and Alyssa with Steffon to Storm's End?"

"Very well. Prepare them to board a vessel at dawn tomorrow." He left. Tired, Jon reached for a quill, a pot of ink and parchment and began to write, his hand shaking. All day, he had felt…strange. Something was amiss. I am an old man, the Hand of the King thought as he scratched his name on the paper. My fears…they are an old man's dread, nothing more.


Beginning Part 2 was slightly more difficult than I anticipated. I couldn't decide whose POV to start Part 2 and after writing a few different POVs, I settled with Jon Arryn's. It is currently 298 AC. This is the list of children mentioned SO FAR:

Stannis and Cersei's children: Shireen (11 years old), Steffon (9 years old) and Robert (7 years old)

Jon and Lysa's children: Sansa (10 years old), Robert (6 years old) and Alyssa (4 years)

Edmure and Leyla's children: Hoster (11 years old) and Melia (10 years old)

More children will be mentioned soon as Part 2 progresses. I know many of you may not be happy that Sansa isn't a Stark in this story, but I hope you will enjoy what I planned for her. I assure you, I will try and make her as similar to Sansa Stark in the books and TV show as possible...the very girly side of her that is.