BOOK 3: THE GAME WE'VE ALL BEEN PLAYING

PART I: Curious

King's Landing

300 AC

Precisely at dawn, the great orange beams of golden light had cracked above the edges of the Narrow Sea.

Outside the Tower of the Hand, the crackling pelt of snowflakes melting against the pink stone gave a slight tingling sensation to the skin, a pleasant feeling that was akin to sitting beside a fire curled up in a warm blanket and with a hot mug of tea.

There were some clouds in the sky, darker ones as they tended to be during winter. That was to be expected, but for the rest of the day, it would be no surprise to the inhabitants of the Red Keep, nor to the millions of souls in the city of King's Landing if they indeed got their fair share of sunshine as the day progressed. They would feel naked without it.

As for Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, it would no doubt be another busy day filled with stacks of papers that he'd not gotten to in weeks, and perhaps another round of meetings with messengers from both House Tully and House Lannister.

Jon Arryn did not expect anything else. Robert was off hunting again, and wouldn't be back until after midday. Until then, it was Jon's duty to "hold down the fort" so to speak.

As the saying went: "The King shits and the Hand wipes."

Jon had been so preoccupied with his work that he hadn't noticed the passage of time between his light breakfast just before dawn and the moment when the sun had begun to rise on the thin white line across the Narrow Sea. It was a mesmerizing sight, strangely enough. It was one of those odd things that could calm a man down to the bone, even if he were just about to go to war. All the stresses of the world would be forgotten in a single moment.

Of course, Jon Arryn was more used to these types of moments as he continued to age. Perhaps it was the old strains and injuries of his youth catching up to him, or maybe it simply was the overwhelming stress of his position that he'd grown accustomed to over the years.

And yet, despite these morbid thoughts concerning his mortality, Jon Arryn had not imagined himself feeling any younger than today. He was approaching eighty years of age, and somehow he had been as spry as any elder knight just past his prime. He had no illusions that he could keep up with warriors the likes of Jaime Lannister or Barristan Selmy, but Jon knew he could still swing a sword just fine. If anything, he knew he at least had one good war left within him.

He still had his strong broad shoulders and impressive height for a man his age. His once blonde hair had fallen out completely when he'd begun tearing it out by the roots over the countless decisions he'd made in the name of Robert Baratheon. Even better, he still had his sharp, aquiline nose. A remnant of his youth that had reluctantly stayed with him over the years.

Jon gave a quiet sigh to himself as he looked back over his desk and the piles of untouched documents and forms that needed to be filled out. Soon enough, he'd need to let in the petitioners. He could get to the paperwork later.

Jon steadily rose to his feet and stretched like a cat. Though his abdominals and joints had creaked, he soon felt the energy return to them. It was then that he walked past the large diamond glass window that gave him a grand view of King's Landing right from the Iron Gate straight to Jaehaerys' Square and to the River Gate. He strode across the cold stone floor, humming privately to himself an old tune he'd heard when he was a boy and had left the Hand's Chambers.

The climb down the stairs put the rest of the life back into him. It revived his knees and shins, warming them for the long day ahead of him. As he walked the halls of the Red Keep, he'd mentally prepared himself for the daunting few hours of listening to the petitioning peasants. It would be dull, but that's what the job called for.

He was pleasantly surprised to see his lady wife walking towards him on the opposite end of the hall, holding hands with both his son and his daughter. They must've just come from breakfast.

Catelyn had smiled brightly at him, her red hair flared with the golden rays of sunlight that crept in through the high windows. "Husband," She greeted warmly just a few feet apart from him.

"Papa!" His two children cried happily, breaking apart from their mother and running over to him. Jon Arryn had braced himself so that he would not be tackled to the ground by the short bundles of muscle and energy.

Jon Arryn had other children of course. His oldest, Robert, was ruling the Eyrie in his stead. And only at the bright age of seven and ten. The lad was sharp and robust, with Jon's own blonde hair and light blue eyes. He even had the same Arryn nose. Jon knew that his oldest boy would be a killer with the pretty girls in the Vale-if he wasn't already that is.

His second oldest was currently being fostered in Riverrun with her aunt. Sansa was an absolute dear, and she had taken after her mother what with her blooming red hair and deep blue eyes. Jon pondered the idea of matching her with Loras Tyrell. They were both of the same age. Or perhaps with one of Ned's own sons. He'd not thought seriously on the matter, as he was reluctant to let the charming girl go.

And here were his two youngest children of five years. They were both twins, only having been born eight minutes apart from one another. Pelinal and Anastasia were their names, and they seemed to get more energetic with each passing day that Jon got greyer behind the ears.

He'd secured himself well enough on the pink marble floor, as both of them had crashed against his waist with a slight jolt. Jon was impressed that he managed to hold firm and quickly found himself returning the embrace.

"Father, I saw Uncle Jaime sparring in the yard with Ser Barristan! Do you think I could be that good with a sword?" Pelinal had asked.

Jon chuckled. "Of course, lad. Why I think we ought to have you practicing with Ser Jaime soon enough." He said, ruffling the boy's blonde hair. "How about tomorrow? I hear Ser Jaime is taking on a new squire."

"Really?" Those blue-almost turquoise eyes had lit up like the stars in the night sky. "Do you think I could be as good as him?" he repeated his question.

"I expect he'd want you to be better than him. More like Arthur Dayne, I should think."

Pelinal was filled with renewed energy. Catelyn gave him a pleading glance, knowing that soon enough, their youngest son would be bouncing off the walls.

But no sooner had Anastasia stolen his attention. She pulled something out from behind her back and thrust it in his face. "Papa, look at this!" She said.

Jon focused on the object. It was a quilt, made of blue silk and threads of silver velvet. The velvet was stitched into a series of elegantly curved lines that made up the shapes of three falcons. It cast an image of the three birds flying in the crisp morning, cloudless sky.

Anastasia continued with her toothy smile. "Myrcella and I made it! Do you like it?"

Jon had kissed his youngest daughter on the forehead. "It's lovely, sweetling. I'm sure your sister would love it as well were she here." He said, standing upright. As much as he wanted to spend time with them, he could do so later today. Right now he had to get to the petitioners.

Catelyn had sensed this, as she usually did. "Come, little ones. Time for your lessons. You can tell your father about your adventures at luncheon."

"But mother!" The twins had whined.

"No buts." Catelyn's gaze was stern.

The two blonde-haired children had pouted again. But this time, they said nothing.

Jon gave his wife a thankful smile. She came up and kissed him lovingly on the cheek. "See you soon, my love." She said softly and took the waiting hands of their children once again, walking down the hall where Jon had come from.

He smiled at the pleasant sight of his wife's backside. Jon had once thought their marriage to be a strange affair. What with Catelyn being younger than half his age. At first, they knew their duty and had brought Robert into the world. Jon needed an heir after all.

But after Robert, their marriage had begun to turn warm, and they had learned to love one another. Jon had considered himself lucky in this regard. He supposed he could've been stuck with a frigid woman in his twilight years.

Jon turned away and began marching to the throne room. It wouldn't do to think about his lady wife's figure, not when he was supposed to be helping the common folk with their particular problems.

He had turned down the next left corridor and entered into the grand sweeping hall of the Red Keep. It was practically a cathedral with the mighty four stone pillars that were as wide as three horses, and the curved ceiling about fifty feet high. Then there was the dip in the marble flooring in the center of the room, where the petitioners would stand once they were let inside. And just twenty feet beyond it lay the gargantuan abomination of iron and steel.

The Iron Throne was a ghastly, ugly thing that Jon knew the Seven Kingdoms could do without. Yet it was needed, as the lords believed it held a sort of supernatural power over them all. In the end, it was just a bloody big iron chair and an uncomfortable one at that.

The great seat had stood up about fifteen feet high, and leading up to the chair portion of the iron mound were precisely thirty-three steps that narrowed as one ascended them. The whole way up you were still prone to be cut by one of the unruly iron blades that stuck out of the melted pile if you weren't careful. Once you were at the top, you could finally sit down in the iron casket, feeling a sharp prick through your clothes. The maddening part was that it wasn't sharp enough to draw blood, but just enough to annoy the ever-living shit out of anyone who sat on the Iron Throne.

Jon wondered how exactly Aegon the Conqueror could manage to sit on it without going mad. Sometimes he wondered if that was partially the reason for Targaryen Madness, or perhaps if the Conqueror had ever regretted his decision to make sure that "a king should never sit easy"

He had shrugged to himself. It was hardly important at the moment. Now it was time to get to work.

Standing on either side of the great iron monstrosity were two men wearing the white armor and cloaks of the Kingsguard. Jon had felt the familiar inkling of warmth when he saw both Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy. He deeply preferred to be around the two of them as opposed to the other five in the order of seven.

"Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan." He greeted them warmly.

Selmy had nodded back with a smile underneath his helmet. Lannister had gone without his helmet and gave Jon that usual arrogant grin. "Good morning, Lord Hand."

Jon had stopped just at the foot of the great throne. "I thought the Queen summoned you to accompany her through the city today? Did she change her mind?"

Lannister's smile had flickered. "I was training at the time, so I sent along Ser Mandon in my stead. He'll see to our queen's safety."

Jon nodded. "Well, I'm certainly thankful you're here." He said, then beginning to climb the steps. "Bring them in."

It had been strange. Even Jon Arryn had noticed the strained relationship between the Queen and her brother. It was perhaps more damaged than that of Cersei's kinship with her other brother, the Imp. The Queen at times would be infuriated with Ser Jaime, and other times request for him to accompany her on her outings through the city or through the Red Keep. Always, Ser Jaime had found some kind of excuse or the other to get out of it.

He wondered what exactly was going on there, as he usually did when he noticed these kinds of things. But he doubted he could get Lannister to open up about it. Jon respected the younger man enough to not pry into personal details.

Perhaps it would be better to have Ser Jaime resign and send him off to Casterly Rock. Gods knows that Tywin Lannister would be pleased, and perhaps would be willing to lend the crown more money so they could pay off their outstanding debts to the Iron Bank.

Jon shook his head with a grunt. Another misgiving of Robert's that he had to clean up. The man was practically throwing a new tourney or feast every other moon at this rate. Jon doubted that his foster son was wholly aware of his lavish spending. He would have to deal with that later today, perhaps once Robert had returned from his hunt.

Jon's thoughts were soon filled up with the time-consuming dullness that comes with solving the smallfolk's problems. It would not have been boring if Jon had had to come up with new solutions, or if he faced a challenging problem. It was the creative sorts of challenges that he really preferred to sink his teeth into. The stuff that made the old gears in his head turn and grind to life once again.

The old cattle wagon had been stolen. A squadron of gold cloaks would be sent to find it. There was a notorious thief in Jaehaerys' Square taking coin from the pockets of the rich and redistributing it among the poor. A new contingent of guards would keep watch of the square. Mountain clans were seen roaming down from the Mountains of the Moon. Highway patrols would be installed along the Kingsroad.

Jon Arryn supposed it couldn't have been all that bad. After all, it was better than the cases of raids and burning fields he'd been hearing about less than a year ago.

Thankfully, his most recent negotiations between Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister had helped calm the friction between the two great houses. Both men had agreed to pull back their forces from each other's lands on the basis that Jon was to conduct a full investigation into who had really poisoned Edmure Tully.

Jon remembered the red-haired boy from Harrenhal. He was a good lad, with lots of potential as well. He might've been Lord of Riverrun one day perhaps. It was a shame he'd been snuffed out before he could rise to the occasion. Only the Seven knew how tight he'd had to hold Catelyn when she cried in his arms over her dead brother.

At least now, he was making some progress towards peace between the great houses. If only he could enlist Robert to aid him in the endeavor…

Jon had sighed tiredly. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed when he'd glanced down to the foot of the iron stairwell and saw a servant politely bowing to him. Jon recognized him as one of Varys' people, a young boy dressed in a simple tunic so as to protect him from the cold winter air outside.

On the far end of the throne room, Jon had seen the eunuch standing by the twin oak doors he'd come from. The plump, soft, bald man was gazing impassively at him. Even from atop the Iron Throne, Jon could smell the thick stench of perfume and rosewater.

But the interruption meant something had come up. Something important. Varys would normally wait until Jon was finished with his sessions before approaching him. So this time, it simply had to be of dire importance.

"That's all for today." He announced across the great hall. The petitioners had bowed their heads respectfully one by one, some of them had even issued silent curses that they'd not gotten their audience with the Hand of the King. The gold cloaks did their duty and showed the smallfolk out of the throne room.

Jon stood up from the iron chair, feeling the pinprick leave his ass as he descended the thirty-three steps. He spoke now to Jaime and Barristan. "You both may return to your duties." He glanced at Lannister. "And I don't suppose you'd mind showing my boy how to swing a sword one of these days?"

Lannister smiled. "I'd be honored."

Jon gave a bow to both Kingsguard and left them at the foot of the Iron Throne. He then followed the young boy all the way to the infamous Spider himself.

"Lord Arryn, my deepest apologies for interrupting you," Varys bowed. Jon felt himself almost recoil at the insincere, flowery words. "But my findings are most pressing to the needs of the realm. Perhaps we could discuss it where the walls do not have ears?"

Jon Arryn had stiffened and nodded. "Of course, Lord Varys." He said. "Does the Tower of the Hand suit you? And perhaps we should make it brief. I wish to have luncheon with my children."

"It does," Varys said with a thin smile. "We won't be long, I assure you."

And so he'd gone back the way he came. Through the wide corridors of marble and pink stone, through the long hallway where he'd seen his wife and children, and back up the tall winding staircase to the top of the Tower of the Hand.

Jon had huffed upon taking the last step to his chambers. A light sheen of sweat coated his brow and his mouth was parched dry. At least there was a slight breeze that drifted in from the open balcony door in his office. And there was a jug of water he'd left on the bedside table just the night prior.

"Lord Arryn, are you alright?" Varys had asked with genuine concern in his voice.

Jon had nodded. "Just catching my breath. Not as young as I once was, you know."

Varys had giggled at that. "I know all too well, I'm afraid."

The Hand of the King ignored the comment and straightened himself. Then he opened the door to his chambers and stepped inside, with the Spider crawling in after him. Jon made his way to his desk but searched the room for the jug of water. Strange… He swore he left it on the table next to his bed.

Jon shook his head. Perhaps he'd drank it all down. He offered the seat across from him to Varys.

The Spider had graciously accepted the chair. The plump man had smiled thinly at him, waiting for Jon to bid him to speak.

"Well? What's this all about then?" Jon said, taking a seat in his large oaken armchair.

"A certain friend of ours has shared some new information with me across the Narrow Sea," Varys said plainly. "Ser Jorah Mormont sent word about Daenerys Targaryen."

Jon scoffed. "That's all? Surely it could've been mentioned during a small council meeting." He said, rubbing his throat to get rid of the dryness within. It didn't work. "And we've already settled the matter of the Targaryen girl. She's not to be harmed."

"Not even with three fully grown dragons?"

Jon Arryn nearly burst his heart upon hearing the lax sentence from the Spider. He widened his blue eyes. "What did you just say? Three fully grown dragons?"

"Indeed." Varys nodded, though he seemed unconcerned by this new information. As if he'd known it for weeks. "Though it seems she's still…" He paused when Jon had given a dry cough. "Are you alright, my lord? Perhaps I should call for refreshments?"

Jon had nodded in agreement. He could do with water or some strong coffee. "Make it coffee. We have much to talk about, it seems." He cursed himself for ignoring the issue of the girl moons ago. Now it had come back to bite him in the ass.

"Yes, we do." Varys had smiled kindly at him. He stood up and made his way out of the Hand's Chambers. He came back a few minutes later and took his seat again. "Coffee is on its way." He said emotionlessly.

Sure enough, another servant had arrived. This time with the steaming jug of swirling black liquid. Jon had eagerly picked up the cup closest to him and poured himself a mug of fresh coffee. He offered the other cup to Varys, who had taken it and filled it.

When the servant was gone, Jon had blown at the steaming mug and sipped the black liquid, his dry throat fighting against the scalding heat and winning. He was pleased to see Varys also drink from his own cup.

"So," Jon began with a heavy sigh, placing down the mug on his desk. "What's this business about dragons? How come we never heard about it until now?"

The effeminate eunuch had smiled his thin smile. The dark black eyes had turned soft and crinkled. "Oh, it's simply because I chose not to tell you until now. Matters of state and all that."

"But-" Jon had felt the numbness begin to creep up his hands and into his body. He found himself struggling to speak, if only for the moment.

He looked brazenly at the mug of coffee just within reach. It still steamed its delicious scent. No! It must have been poisoned. But how? Hadn't the Spider drunk the coffee himself?

Jon Arryn made to stand up, but this time, his knees had failed him. He fell back into his seat and slowly began to feel the cold hand of death creep up from his legs and into his chest, into the beating heart and chilled lungs.

"W-Why?" He managed. "T-They'll know it was you." He said.

"With what proof exactly, my lord?" Varys sighed sadly. "It will, of course, seem far too easy to blame me for your death. But for what good reason would the Master of Whispers poison the Hand of the King? The inquiry will take place. They will find not find the poison that had been rimmed on the edges of your cup, and neither will they find any traces of it in your body. It is a most clever invention, taken from the Ashlands of Asshai, you see. It kills by paralyzing the central nervous system-or so the Maesters say. There will be no pain, of course. I'm not cruel enough to do that to you." He explained delicately watching as Jon continued to rasp in his seat. "I had asked to speak with you privately, of course. With the promise of new information on Daenerys Targaryen. You obliged and we spoke in your chambers. Then, suddenly, your heart had given out. It was only a matter of time seeing as this shocking new information has come to light about three live dragons. With the other stresses of ruling and your approaching old age, it was bound to happen. When you suddenly stopped moving, I decided to call the guards and summon the Grand Maester."

Varys seemed almost embarrassed by what he had done. He dipped his head in a short bow. "I am glad the poison is working as intended and that we are in the Tower of the Hand. Having your children and lady wife watch you pass in front of them would have been tragic indeed." He paused briefly. "Lord Arryn, please forgive me if you can, for I bear you no ill will. This act was not born out of malice but of need. It is for the good of the realm, for the children."

Jon tried to struggle to his feet once again. He had to call for the guards. Perhaps Pycelle could-

Jon realized he couldn't feel his legs. He wondered if they moved at all. Slowly, he tried pulling up his hand. Gods, his fingers were as wide as sausages!

"This pains me more than you might think, my lord," Varys said. "You are a good man, better than most. And it is unfortunate that you were also in the service of a foolish brute of a king. But you were threatening to undo all the good work that Lysa Tully had done in the Riverlands, to mend the wounds between Casterly Rock and Riverrun, unite the Seven Kingdoms underneath Robert's rule, so…"

For the third time, Jon Arryn attempted to rise to his feet. His sword was only ten feet away, laying on the table next to his bed. If only he could end this traitor before he…

But there was no movement this time in the great oak armchair. Jon Arryn knew then that he could do naught but sit and listen to the Spider spin his story.

"Lord Tywin will no doubt suspect that it was Lysa Tully who had orchestrated your death. She will, of course, blame the Lannisters in turn. Your dearest lady wife will naturally side with her own sister, bringing the Vale into the boiling pot as well. Someone somewhere will likely find a way to blame Dorne. And…" Varys chuckled fatly. "I suspect that in an attempt to control the chaos, Robert will likely bring the Starks into the fold. They too will point their fingers at the Lannisters." He waved his hand aside. "But the effort will be for naught. Doubt, division, and mistrust will sow the ground your fat king walks on. War will break out with King's Landing right at the center of it. All the while Aegon and Daenerys will raise their banner high from Dragonstone, with three live and fully grown dragons at their command, and the lords of the realm will have no choice but to gather around them and kneel or be burned in Dragonfire."

"Aegon?" Jon had rasped out of his numb mouth. The air was leaving his lungs. He felt the beat of his heart slow to a snail's pace. It would go out forever, soon enough, and him along with it. "H-He's d-d-dead…" He said, remembering the crimson Lannister cloak that covered the mess of brain and bone all those years ago.

"Not so, my lord." Varys clicked his teeth, his voice getting deeper. "He is here, very much alive. Aegon has been shaped to rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Robert believes that kingship is his personal whorehouse. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them." He said. "And his aunt likewise. She has grown up knowing what it is like to go without food, to be a moving target. Daenerys has spent time among the Dothraki and even commands a great host of them, some sixty thousand or so. Perhaps more." Varys smiled wistfully at Jon Arryn. "It is almost poetic, isn't it? The Conqueror came with three dragons and united the Seven Kingdoms. So too shall Aegon and Daenerys."

Jon Arryn could no longer feel his hands. He couldn't even move his head to look at them. His eyes strained with immense effort to not close shut completely. So that the darkness would not take him away.

Varys had stood sharply from his seat and looked kindly upon Jon. "I am sorry, you know. But your fate was sealed." He gave a low sigh. "Oh well, it's time I fetched the guards. The poison will finish you off soon. Perhaps I should say you were feeling ill? Or should I run towards them? I will figure out which." He said as he walked calmly away from Jon's desk.

Jon Arryn died before the eunuch had made it to the door.