The Lord Hand

Jon signed and leaned back on his chair, almost slouching in a way he never would with someone else present in the room. Robert had named him his Hand of the King but only the solar and bedchamber was currently being used in the Tower of the Hand. It was in this solar that he was crafting a document for Lord Tywin, engaging in the futile task of making it look like less of an insult.

A messenger interrupted his vain attempts to do the task. Jon opened the scroll as he dismissed the boy and read aloud the message. "House Tyrell chooses peace and prosperity over war and devastation and bends the knee to King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name." One less kingdom fighting against them at least made offending Lord Tywin Lannister less suicidal. He had hoped Robert would be able to achieve this, considering how his friendship with Silveraxe started after him killing the latter's father. Still, it had been prudent to send Lord Horton Redfort to ensure Robert didn't start warring with the army besieging his home.

Jon momentarily closed his eyes and tried again to frame the words for Lord Tywin in his mind. Robert had decided in his infinite wisdom to remove Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard and return him to Lord Tywin. Jon even remembered his exact words, so often he had re-examined their conversation. "I may have slept more than studied during the Maester's lessons, Jon, but even I will not have a man known as the 'Kingslayer' guarding my kingly self," he had told the Vale lord before going to Storm's End to relieve the siege despite his protestations. Moreover, as Ned had stormed off after the entanglement in the Throne Room, Robert had been convinced that removing Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard for breaking his oath would serve as recompense for Ned. Robert's voice said it but those were not his words, Jon knew from a decade of raising the boy. I need to find out who has dug his claws in Robert already, Jon thought. He knows nothing of the games played in the capital and a king used as a pawn does not live long. While he could believe Robert doing it for Ned's sake, it would not be believable to Lord Tywin or worse, would be seen as an insult, as Robert did not yet have a reason to do him such a blatant favour. Even pointing out that Jaime would work as an efficient hostage against his father didn't work to dissuade his king. To be fair, it did not work for Aerys either and Robert is of the opinion that he can simply smash a few heads with his warhammer to rectify the situation, if need be.

Jon looked at the map he had had hung up near his desk. The Westerlands had the Golden Tooth and Deep Den, making any invasion impossible. Any army that wasn't lost there would still have to contend with Casterly Rock. He had seen the Lannister fortress with his own eyes and, though he loved the Eyrie as any Arryn should, had been formed to admit the former was more formidable by far. A seat fit for kings, he had concluded then, and its lord is no less than one. Jon Arryn shook his head, as if to remove those thoughts from it. They were not at war with the Lannisters and, if the Seven were merciful, they never would be. He just had to ensure the returning of Lord Tywin's heir was seen as an honour and a favour, not an affront. His eyes travelled downwards as they came to rest on the newly-surrendered Reach and unyielding Dorne.

An idea struck him then and as he thought it over, he could see no harm in it. If it worked, it could get them Lord Tywin's goodwill and Dorne would not have a reason to despise them at the very least. Only outwardly though, the Martells were notorious for holding grudges.

Once he was done thinking the proposal through, he called for a scribe to come and write it. "Address the first document to Lord Tywin Lannister. State that due to King Aerys' unlawful taking of his heir Jaime Lannister and as a reward for House Lannister's support against House Targaryen, His Grace King Robert will honourably discharge Ser Jaime from the Kingsguard. Additionally, His Grace would appreciate Lord Lannister's complete co-operation in bringing the renegades, who murdered Princess Elia of Dorne and her children against the orders of their lord to justice.

Address the second document to Prince Doran Martell. Share my condolences for the unfortunate deaths of his sister, the Princess Elia, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. Declare that His Grace neither commanded nor condoned the murder of Princess Elia and her children. The renegades who did so during the chaos of the Sack of King's Landing are swiftly being investigated and punished, with the assistance of Lord Tywin Lannister."

And was that true? Did Lord Tywin truly not command those deaths? Did he even want to know? No, he knew with bone-deep certainty as he closed his eyes for a second, I do not want to know.

"King Aerys' madness and Prince Rhaegar's ignoble actions have cost us all dearly," he continued, willing Elbert and Denys' faces out of his mind. He had loved the two boys and mourned for them as much as for the loss of his heir. "But it is our hope that under the banner of House Baratheon, peace and prosperity can return once more to these lands." He motioned the scribe to end it there, with a subtle threat that peace would only return with them submitting to Robert Baratheon.

"Send the first proposition to Lord Tywin Lannister," he instructed. "If he affirms it, as I think he would, send the second to Prince Doran at Sunspear."

The Lord of the Eryie considered if he was forgetting anything. He did not look it but his slightly failing memory showed all of his six and three years. Ah, I almost forgot what I decided this morning.

As the scribe packed up his things to leave, he added, "And send Ser Alaric to me as soon as possible."

When his steward arrived, Jon instructed him to arrange a feast for His Grace's lifting of the siege of Storm's End. Knowing Robert, he would want a feast and instead of trying to dissuade him from it, it would be best to simply arrange it to be less expensive.

Tomorrow, he would arrange for the Red Keep to welcome his lady wife from Riverrun. Lady Lysa Tully had shamed her house in losing her maidenhead, unfortunately an all too common tale in the Seven Kingdoms. Still, he would not hold it against her. The young needed age to bring maturity and temper that unruliness. He hoped his foster son and king would learn that soon as well. Ned's sister, if she was anything like him, would help with that, he assured himself. The poor girl must've suffered enough, I will make it clear to Robert that he is to treat her well and let go of his past indulgences.

And who knew how long it would take Ned to even find her? With the Master of Whisperers dead— Jon could not help but feel glad of the execution of the sinister eunuch—they had no inkling of where Prince Rhaegar could've hidden her.

As the Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon the First of His Name, Lord of the Eryie, Defender of the Vale, and the Warden of the East retired for the night, he wondered if he would have a dream similar to the one he had the previous night.

And he did. Not only on those two nights for Jon Arryn continued to have the dreams, blessings from the Crone for a week. The wisest face of the Seven had patiently guided him, as he himself had taught Robert and Eddard.

I will need her guidance to do my duty and make this dynasty thrive in the days to come, he thought, looking at the message he had just received.

Lyanna Stark was dead.

—

Somewhere north of the edge of the world, there resided a stillness in the woods. Even the northern wind, with no mistress living or dead, dared not tread in the woods as the snow smothered all life like a mother luring a child to sleep in her arms. From time to time a raven would fly overhead, big black wings slapping against the cold air. Else wise the place was silent.

Shadows stretched against the hillside, black and hungry. All the trees were bowed and twisted by the weight of ice they carried. Some hardly looked like trees at all. Buried from root to crown in frozen snow, they huddled on the hill like giants, monstrous and misshapen creatures hunched against the icy wind.

Under the white trees, black sky and red leaves, the world was different. It flowed, relentlessly, perfunctorily, murmuring perverse prophecies and jumping over timeworn rocks that stored minds. One of the rocks contained the mind of the three-eyed raven, as his ramblings attracted the mind of another. "Why not simply use the first one? He was easy enough to mould."

"His clay is too weak, and will shatter should I do the casting too much. His blood is strong but he does not have the gift. He will never be as us."

"Do you wish you could grant it to him?" The youngborn was left unanswered. "Do you wish you could grant it to the ones of your first water? You had many."

"There were many I knew. Four knew me. A brother I loved. A brother I served. A brother I despised. A woman I desired."

The younger looked at the river. "How far have you brought it all?"

"Not enough. It must continue unrestrained."

"We will ensure it is kept so."

The oldborn shook his head. "The rot spreads within as it has already scarred without; their way will see our destruction. They are too ignorant to know what their ambitions will cost us in the end."

"Oh, they know all that it will cost us. They just don't care. I'm not sure why you do," the words were said with alacrity.

If the elder could narrow his eyes, he would have. "You will serve me in this, regardless. Remember who raised you up."

"I remember everything. Why do you distrust us all?"

The raven closed his eyes, losing himself to a vision or a memory, he couldn't say. "I grew up in King's Landing."