PART II: The Great Game
The Red Keep
300 AC
Jon Stark wanted to go home.
He'd barely been a week in King's Landing, and already, he felt sick in his gut at the thought of living another day in the wretched capital.
Not because of the people, but because of those who were in charge of them.
As with all of his mornings-Jon elected to keep a brief physical routine in the early morning-he'd train for an hour with his father. Then the day of routine meetings would begin. He would normally accompany his father throughout the city or the Red Keep, but today was a far different matter.
"I'll be in my office with Lord Tywin and Lady Lysa," His father had told him in private. He seemed to be wearing the new stress quite well, in spite of having a slew of fresh issues dumped onto his lap. "I want this meeting to go well, so we might have more time in the coming weeks to clean up everything else on our plate. And with this food crisis…"
Jon heard the haggard exhaustion in his father's voice. He's not gotten much sleep recently.
True enough, there was the matter of a looming food riot. The Riverlands had stopped sending its regular shipments of grain, meat, and fish. The Riverlords claimed that it was because of the regular raids from the Westerlords. Jon knew that there was some truth in that claim, however more likely it was that the Riverlords were doing so on the orders of Lysa Tully.
And then the Crownlands had suddenly become quite difficult. They too sent rather deficient orders of pork, beef, chicken, and vegetables grown from their glass houses. Some of the most recent batches had actually contained spoilt goods, though the Crownlands lords sent their utmost apologies, along with promises of better-timed shipments or higher quality foods. More hassle lay at the feet of the Hand of the King, and Jon by extension.
Jon Stark knew that not a single one of his father's bannermen would give Eddard Stark such difficulties, and neither would they cease sending regular shipments of grain or gold. Even if they were poorer than dirt, they would hold their word to House Stark.
The comparison only further sullied the shape of the Seven Kingdoms and King's Landing in Jon's eyes. What kind of corruption had been wrought throughout the infrastructure of the city during Robert's reign? Or more accurately, during the reign of his Small Council?
It was more than a simple matter of right versus wrong. And Jon knew that on some level, every organization was corrupt. Yet the current system in King's Landing was so underhanded to the point that it was outstandingly costly and inefficient.
Jon didn't want his father to run himself ragged, though. What was the point of Jon being there, if not to help his father run the Seven Kingdoms?
"I can handle that," Jon said. "While you get those two to come to an agreement, I can put to rest any notions of a food riot. Would you summon the Small Council? I can take your place for the day."
His father scratched his chin and said nothing. Then he nodded. "I'll have it done. Would be nice to get away from Varys."
As Jon walked the halls of the Red Keep, with Ghost at his side, he'd wondered just how much of the corruption in the city needed to be uprooted.
A better place than any would've been the Small Council itself. Even in the last few days, Jon had not been ignorant to the cautious gazes they'd given to his father. No doubt, the inhabitants of the Red Keep were wondering if the Hour of the Wolf was to be repeated, with them as the intended victims. They all have something to hide.
The walk to the Small Council chambers had been brief-Jon's father had changed the meetings to the original chambers once he'd solidified his position as Hand of the King. Ser Barristan Selmy stood outside the entrance, flanking on either side of the old knight were two identical Valyrian sphinxes. Two pairs of garnet red eyes glared back at him as he approached.
He nodded respectfully to Barristan Selmy, who smiled lightly at him. "Lord Stark," The Kingsguard stepped aside and pushed open the doors for Jon.
Jon stepped inside the wide square-shaped room. Dull sunlight poured in through the tall glass windows on either side of it. Red Myrish carpets lined the floors, and tapestries hailing from Norvos, Lys, and Qohor were dotted along the walls. There were even some paintings of strange feline beasts from the Summer Islands.
Seated in their usual four seats were Littlefinger, the Spider, Pycelle, and Renly. Both the King's seat and the Hand's chair were empty. Then, surprisingly enough, there was the Queen Mother and her eldest son, Joffrey.
Jon Stark had not liked the younger man all that much. He reminded Jon somewhat of Theon Greyjoy, though Jon knew that at the least, Greyjoy could swing a sword. Joffrey on the other hand was petulant, pouty-lipped, and an arrogant pretty boy through and through.
Jon had not heard of the boy prince having attended any Small Council sessions before now. Joffrey was probably there because of the Queen, likely some sort of half-witted attempt to impose her will on Jon's father. Jon didn't see the point behind it, though.
In spite of his views on Joffrey, it seemed the younger man harbored a good deal of admiration for Jon. Joffrey wanted to emulate him, whether it was going to train in the yard, the way he walked, or even in how he spoke to his father's men. All the while, Joffrey had occasionally whispered in his ear during feasts, commenting of what it would be like to open up one of the servant's corpses and see their innards displayed on a wall.
Jon liked food too much to sit next to Joffrey Baratheon, so he'd come up with an excuse to sit beside another of his royal siblings, both of whom were far more likable.
Even as Jon entered the Small Council chambers, the Baratheon boy had stopped leaning on his chin and sat upright in his chair, almost excited that his best friend had come to the meeting. Jon didn't look at him as he walked to the Hand's Chair and took his seat.
"Is Lord Stark not coming?" Pycelle asked, looking hesitantly at the ginormous white wolf sitting behind Jon.
"My father is speaking with Lord Tywin and Lady Lysa at the moment," Jon informed them. "He's sent me in his stead. I trust this is not an issue?" He asked with his best poker face. Behind him, Ghost began snarling.
All of those present had shaken their heads. Joffrey seemed half-excited and half-scared at the sight of the direwolf's teeth.
"Good," Jon said. Ghost quietened. "Now, down to business. What's going on with these food shipments?" He asked, looking to Varys.
The Master of Whispers gave Ghost a once-over and then looked at Jon. "The Riverlands cannot uphold our current agreements with them, as per the raids from the Westermen. And with winter settling in, they are preserving what food they do have." He said.
"And the Crownlands?"
Pycelle shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "They've been lacking on our most recent shipments, only in the last two moons."
Littlefinger nodded in agreement. "They sent barely enough grain to last a moon. Normally it would be fit for half a year."
"When will we need to raise the prices of bread?" Jon asked.
Baelish shrugged. "A few weeks." He said nonchalantly. "With the number of soldiers in the city, food is draining quickly. Perhaps soon enough, this bad business between House Tully and House Lannister will be put to rest?"
Unlikely.
Jon strummed his fingers against the table in silence for a few moments. "Perhaps," He mused. "Perhaps not. Who else have you asked to send in more food?"
"We sent word to the Reach a few moons prior," Varys informed. "Though Lord Arryn had no luck in moving Lord Tyrell. They said that they were preparing for a harsh winter."
Unlucky. Jon thought. How does this continent even function if every Great House does not pay its dues to the Crown? What was to stop all the houses from simply ignoring the Iron Throne? They might as well have seceded.
And Jon knew the Tyrells well. No doubt it was the Queen of Thorns who'd refused Jon Arryn all those moons ago. She'll come through for me, he knew. Margaery had likely sent word to her grandmother about their betrothal. Why wouldn't the Queen of Thorns support the man who her granddaughter was to marry?
"I'll speak with Lord Mace, then," Jon said. "The sooner we can get more grain into the city, the better."
Littlefinger laughed. "Would the Tyrells be so kind to you, Lord Stark?" He asked. "If Lord Arryn could not sway them, how could you?"
"I'm marrying Lord Mace's daughter," Jon answered calmly. He decided to move on to his next question. "Can your friends in Gulltown supply us with fish and grain, Lord Baelish?"
"I have a few friends here in King's Landing who may be able to help us, Lord Stark." The little man bowed his head. "I will see what I can do."
"Good," Jon said. "Are we all in agreement, then?" He glanced at each of the members of the Small Council.
All of them nodded their heads. Jon watched their expressions like a hawk but was mildly frustrated that they'd given nothing away.
Baelish looked rather amiable to the plan. Pycelle and Renly held no objections, and Varys was the picture of civility.
It was the Queen who had spoken next. "Should we not consult your Lord Father on these matters first, Lord Stark?" Despite her warm smile, her cat-green eyes did not match it. Jon could feel the poison in Cersei Lannister's voice.
A test. No doubt she thought he was a green boy still wet behind the ears. A child flaunting his weight around because his father was Hand of the King. Not today, Lady Lannister.
Jon slowly acknowledged the Queen. "You are more than welcome to ask my Lord Father for his input on the matter, Your Grace. But I'm sure his answer will be the same as mine." He sat back in his seat. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to have an angry horde of peasants barge into the Red Keep and do what they do best?" He did not need to spell out the implications for the older woman. I'm not the greenboy you take me for, my lady. Neither am I some uncouth northern savage. You ought to have learned not to underestimate Northmen by now. "Your Grace," He added.
"Lord Stark is right," Joffrey nodded in agreement. "We should…err, follow his plan." He looked to Jon for encouragement.
Jon did not consider himself lucky for receiving Joffrey's endorsement, but he knew that at the very least, the Queen loved her first-born son. If having Joffrey on his side meant getting Cersei Lannister off his back, then so be it. He gave the younger man a thankful nod.
The Queen only nodded to Jon, surrendering since she was now outmatched. She probably harbored all sorts of resentments towards him, because of his mother and father, because of who he was, and likely because he was going to be marrying Margaery Tyrell, a woman who was more or less thought to be betrothed to the boy sitting next to Jon. Or at least to the male heir of another Great House.
Instead, Margaery would become his wife. No doubt Cersei Lannister thought that the Rose of Highgarden was a more suitable match for one of her own children.
"Seems we're all in agreement." Jon stood up from the table. It was time to grab some lunch. "Well then, I'm sure you all have important matters, so I won't keep you any longer." And with that, he began making his way around the long table, Ghost following behind him.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Jon did not fail to notice the small searching look he was given by Varys. It was gone just as soon as it had come. "The rot in your grandfather's reign began with him." Gerold's voice had reminded him.
The Spider puzzled Jon the most out of them all. Varys was the picture of politeness. Jon figured the eunuch must've had experience with acting or some kind of mummery. He was strangely capable of changing the tone of his voice at a whim, as well. Jon decided to keep an eye on the bald man.
What are you hiding, Spider?
Lord Mace,
Firstly, I wanted to inform you that I fully intend to wed Margaery once my father and I are finished conducting our business here in King's Landing. I'm sure she's sent word about everything from Queenscrown.
Secondly, I have a request for you. Consider it an early betrothal gift.
The food situation in the capital is quite dire, as I'm sure you're very well aware of how the Riverlands have ceased their regular shipments of meat and grain.
As such, I ask that the Reach supply the city with whatever you can give us if only so we can further prepare for the coming winter. As well as put to rest any notions of a food riot,
Your help would greatly aid my father and I, as well as give the people of King's Landing peace of mind knowing their southern neighbors are looking out for them.
If there's anything I can do to repay such kindness on your part, do not hesitate to let me know.
Your future goodson,
Jon Stark
After Jon had directly sent the letter from the rookery, he'd climbed down from the rookery and began making his way to the Queen's Ballroom for luncheon.
As he stepped outside into the cool midday air, he was soon approached by a hurried-looking Lord Baelish. The smaller man smiled deprecatingly at him in earnest. "Lord Stark, I'd been hoping to catch up with you."
"It's not like I'm going anywhere, Lord Baelish." Jon looked up towards the light blue sky. It was not as cloudy today. "What is it?"
"I was able to contact a few of my friends in the Vale. They happened to be in the city, so I thought it prudent to speak with them."
"And?"
Baelish smiled politely. "We can expect some thirty ships carrying more dried goods, vegetables, and grain in the coming weeks." He bowed his head gracefully.
Jon nodded. "Thank you, Lord Baelish." He said as he started walking toward Maegor's Holdfast. He'd hoped that would end the conversation, but Littlefinger had decided to keep up with him still. "What else is on your mind?" He asked, hiding his annoyance expertly.
Baelish paused briefly for a moment. "I feel that I have offended you, Lord Stark." He said with a smile. "Perhaps we have started on the wrong side of the bed?" Baelish laughed. His gray-green eyes did not share the same mirth.
Jon glanced curiously at Petyr Baelish, giving nothing away. "What might give you that impression, Lord Baelish?"
"Oh, who knows? Little mice do talk, words are shared in confidence. A Spider spins his web…" Littlefinger said simply. "I worry that you have heard little good about me."
So that was why he was here? Jon couldn't afford to make upright assumptions about these top players in the Game of Thrones. Without a doubt, each of them wanted to pick the brains of the Starks who had come to the chessboard.
The presence of the two-thousand Northmen in the city did not help matters much. Combined with the Tullys and Lannister forces, along with the City Watch, there were somewhere just under ten thousand fighting men all jammed into King's Landing. Armies won wars, and it was quite feasible that those who were corrupting the system were fearful of what might happen. The last time the Starks had come south, they'd won a war. And long before that, during the Dance of the Dragons, Cregan Stark had come south to restore order and place Aegon III on the Iron Throne.
Arthur's words had replayed in Jon's mind, history does not repeat itself, but it certainly rhymes.
Jon already decided that Baelish was guilty because Oberyn had implicated him as one of the likely suspects in Jon Arryn's assassination, or perhaps the mastermind behind the Tully-Lannister conflict. And from the small man's background, Jon knew that he had been rather close with Lysa Tully in his youth. And now, Lysa Tully was on the brink of starting a civil war. Not exactly a good look.
At the same time, it was very clear that everyone else in the Red Keep trusted Littlefinger. He was friendly enough, helpful even, judging by how he'd just approached Jon after performing a small service for him. From what Jon had heard of Baelish from the others, he'd always managed to raise money from somewhere-
How does he get the gold for a feast, if there's nothing in the royal treasury? Jon wondered to himself. He'd forced himself to continue walking in the direction of Maegor's Holdfast.
More questions entered his mind. And when did the treasury run out of gold? Surely the Greyjoy Rebellion took a large chunk out of it, but just how quickly did the Crown sink into debt? And when? He'd need to check the books later, albeit discreetly.
Jon decided that calming Baelish would be the best play ahead of him. If only to make the smaller man believe that Jon was gullible per his age. "Forgive me, Lord Baelish if I came across that way. Our voyage was taxing, and Lord Arryn was dear to my family."
He didn't know if Baelish bought it or not. "Of course, Lord Stark. I only ask because your Lord Father is Hand. If there is anything I can do to aid you both, you need only ask."
They made it to the drawbridge outside of Maegor's Holdfast. Jon heard a touch of sincerity in the small man's voice. Still, he knew that trusting anyone in this pit of vipers was like building on quicksand.
Perhaps, it would be wiser to feign confidence in the Master of Coin. Jon considered it and decided to act on it. "Well, there is a riddle you might be able to help me with," Jon said, pursing his lips so as to not act too trusting. "But I'm unsure if you're the right man to go to…"
"You're wise to distrust me, Lord Stark." Baelish grinned. "No doubt you have questions surrounding Lord Arryn's death. Very tragic circumstances, of course."
"A few," Jon admitted. He saw the watchful figure of Ser Balon Swann on the other end of the drawbridge. Then, he looked back to Littlefinger. "How did he die?"
Littlefinger inched closer. "Failure of the heart, according to the Grand Maester." He said dryly. "But Lord Arryn himself was as fit as a horse during a parade. I believe he still had at least five years left in him. Indeed, his passing seems quite sudden…"
"Sudden?"
"Almost unnatural, Lord Stark."
That confirmed it then. Nobody believed that sham of a story from Pycelle. Everyone inside the Red Keep, and likely the rest of the nobility keeping an eye on King's Landing, knew full well that Jon Arryn had not died by natural causes.
"What else did the Grand Maester say?" Jon asked.
Baelish stepped away and smiled. "Only that Lord Arryn's eyes had been closed shut. The rest of his body was tense, completely still."
Tense? Jon thought to himself. That was strange. When a man died, the muscles in his body had completely relaxed to the point that he'd shit himself.
So why was Jon Arryn's death any different? Old age certainly was out of the equation. There was a missing link, something that was there, but a piece that Jon could not see. Was there a poison that had such an effect on a man? Marwyn might know. Jon decided he'd summon the Archmaester to court if he wasn't off somewhere in Essos at the moment.
"Sounds strange," Jon said. "What was Lord Arryn doing before he passed?"
At that question, Baelish had snickered. "Lord Arryn had met with Varys. He passed during the middle of their meeting. I wonder if what the Spider told him in confidence was what did it for Lord Arryn's heart." He said. "Truth be told, though, I believe he was looking into an old tome he borrowed from the Grand Maester, something to do with lineages. Whether he found anything with it…" Baelish shrugged apologetically.
Jon nodded. It was a lead, but one that this man had purposefully given him. Why do you want to send me down this path, little man? "Is the book still with the Grand Maester?"
"I doubt the old man has missed it. With any luck, it's still in the Tower of the Hand."
"I should like to take a look at it." Jon scratched at his growing beard. "What about Lord Stannis? Do you know why he left for Dragonstone?"
Baelish shook his head. "Unfortunately, I could not tell you, Lord Stark." He glanced behind him quickly and leaned closer. "Lord Stannis was spending quite a bit of time around the Street of Steel. Perhaps, you might find something there."
When Baelish leaned away, he bowed to Jon. "Well, Lord Stark. I best be on my way. There's some business down at the docks that I must attend to."
Jon watched the smaller man walk off back to the main gates of the Red Keep. He turned around and made his way across the drawbridge, passing wordlessly by Ser Balon Swann, and stepped inside Maegor's Holdfast.
This man Baelish was good, perhaps too good. He was small, weak, and agreeable. Everyone in the Red Keep trusted him. Upfront, he seemed powerless. He was friendly, and very helpful, despite Jon's cold reception to him in the first place. To everyone else, Baelish did not seem to have a single ambitious bone in him.
Jon felt that nagging thought at the back of his mind. Baelish is a snake, and so are all of these lions and stags. None can be trusted except your father and the men under your command. They wish to lead you astray so that you don't see what they're doing.
Jon Stark was dead-certain that everyone in the Small Council-Renly included-had some sort of hustle going on. Their allegiances did not lie in their King, as they should, but in their own agendas. How this country was able to function at all was a bloody miracle.
Was this what peace had brought? It seemed far more likely the more Jon thought about it. Good times bred soft men, and soft men led their people into hard times.
None of these men had a place on the Small Council. Pycelle served the Mad King, and Varys was guilty of the same crime. Supposedly, before Baelish arrived, the treasury was overflowing with gold and the Crown was not in debt to both House Lannister and the Iron Bank. Renly had never spoken on laws or seemed to do anything on the Small Council but sit there and make benign comments.
The more time Jon spent around these people, the more he'd grown used to cynicism in place of his once youthful optimism. The whole system needed to be cleaned out. Uprooted and replaced with new minds dedicated to a single cause.
How in the Seven Hells am I going to make that happen? Jon looked to the sky above and hoped that the Old Gods were watching.
"Are you listening?"
Author's Notes:
I kept it simple with this chapter since there are many events and secrets that we're going to unpack during Jon's time in King's Landing. It's going to be a bit more packed than Starag's journey in the Vale.
The main goal was to capture that level of political intrigue you feel when reading Eddard's chapters in A Game of Thrones. Jon, while an intelligent and competent young man, is traversing a cesspit of professional liars with their own agendas,
And he knows this quite well, but he's stuck asking questions and is left with few answers.
Another thing that stuck out to me was how Littlefinger is actually viewed by others. He's literally trusted by everyone in the books because he's super friendly and helpful. But he's shown to be a complete snake in the show. Jon almost doubts his prior suspicions of him because he's not really much of a threat (at least not conventionally).
Next up is Mormont and Tyrion's arguments about dwarves, booze, and books (Starag hates books) as they climb the Giant's Lance up to the Eyrie.
TheScottishLegend: Thank you 💪💪 My main focuses are delivering high quality AND high quantity at the same time. This is because I'm the single best producer/writer on the planet.
Why take years to write a book? Stephen King pumps his stories out in months. Multimillionaire.
Ltbutterfly287: That's precisely what I was aiming for with the title. If I'm being honest, I'd even say A Drop In The Smoking Sea is my personal favorite of the Mormont Saga so far.
And you're right about heavy plate armor. I read about that after I'd written Chapter 7, so I decided to keep it and have Starag get corrected by an armor expert later on.