A/N: Now a glimpse of what's happening in Westeros to see what's going on while our characters are chilling in Pentos.
Farwynd & Fire
By Spectre4hire
7: The Interlude: Hand of the King
John Arryn was already tired.
His day had only just begun when Varys visited him with a message that would turn his trying day into a terrible one. He thanked the Master of Whisperers and asked him not to share it with the king. Jon wanted to do that, but he needed some time first to brace himself for the storm Robert was sure to kick up.
He knew once he sent the message to Robert, that the king would react quickly and angrily. Very angrily. Jon did send the message to Robert's brother, wanting Stannis informed. He could always count on the Master of Ships, relying on him the most out of all of Robert's councilors to help run the Kingdoms. When Jon sent the message to Stannis, he sent him a request too, which was what he was waiting for before passing along the message to Robert.
A few words on a piece of parchment and it was more than enough to tilt King Robert Baratheon's world. Enough to drag a reluctant king who cared little for ruling to be the first at the next Small Council meeting. Enough to energize him in a way nothing has in these past twenty years. And all it took was a woman across the sea.
Princess Daenerys Targaryen in Pentos to marry ironborn suitor.
The name of the suitor was scribbled below the line: Dagon Farwynd.
A part of Jon was relieved when he read the suitor's name. This was no son of a Tyrell or a Martell, the sort who could lead kingdoms to war for his new bride's cause. This was no Tarly or Darry, Mooton or Redwyne, who had wealth or respect or a great lineage. Her suitor was the second son of some minor ironborn lord. Jon knew little about the ironborn even after going to war against them to put down Greyjoy's Rebellion, but he did not think he could be any great threat to the Seven Kingdoms.
Let the princess marry this ironborn, he thought, knowing the rest of the Kingdoms cared little for them. The Lord Hand could not see proud lords of the Reach or Riverlands happily raising an ironborn above themselves. It would be like if the princess married Littlefinger, Jon nearly chuckled at trying to picture that. The last Targaryen princess tied to someone as harmless as Petyr. But he knew Robert wouldn't see it that way . He's known the king since he was a boy, loud and brash, but always charming. Jon Arryn was already old when Robert and Ned came to him as boys to be his wards.
He pushed aside the wistful fog that tried to settle in his mind. Jon knew he'd need to prepare for Robert. I wish Ned was here, he knew he'd support Jon on this. Another voice to temper Robert's anger, his hatred, but Ned was in the north, in Winterfell. How long has it been? He mused; on the last time he saw Ned. Robert had gone up to Winterfell, what was it, two years past? To help handle the wildlings, but Jon had stayed behind to manage the kingdoms. He recalled receiving a few ravens from Winterfell these past few years, mentioning first betrothals and then marriages for Ned's children. He turned his thoughts away from Ned, to retrieve a small piece of paper on his desk which would rest atop his already tired shoulders like a great boulder these next few days.
"Lord Hand?" His squire's voice followed the gentle knock, "You have a visitor."
"Send him in," Jon rose to his feet to greet his guest. Watching the door open to show a familiar face step inside his solar. He saw Hugh hovering in the doorway, he dismissed his overeager squire with a gesture before turning his attention back to Ser Davos Seaworth.
"Lord Hand," He bowed his head, "You asked to see me."
"I did, Davos, please," Jon gestured for him to sit at one of the empty seats in front of his desk. "And thank you for coming so quickly."
"Wasn't aware I could dawdle a Lord Hand's request."
Jon chuckled, sitting back down, ignoring the stiffness in his back. He took in the slight man before him. He was Lord Stannis' man, but still dressed like he was a smuggler instead of a knight at the king's court. He found it charming, and saw no difference in the former smuggler's attire this morning, brown tunic, with brown trousers and boots, that looked as old as Jon. His eyes did linger on the small pouch that Davos insisted upon wearing, the bag that held the first joints of the fingers that Stannis had taken.
"I asked to see you, Ser Davos, because we received a message this morning. The Targaryen princess is in Pentos."
"Hasn't she been in Pentos for some weeks?"
"She has," Jon confirmed, "But now we know why." He was about to hold out the paper for him to read but caught himself upon remembering that he didn't know how. He apologized for the slip, but Davos waved it off with a cheery smile.
"The lady Shireen has tried to teach me, but" he shrugged, that smile remained, "I'm just grateful that my children will do better."
Jon returned the smile, agreeing with the sentiment of wanting better for your children. "It says that the princess is in Pentos to marry," he read, but his eyes were on his guest, "an ironborn suitor named Dagon Farwynd."
Davos blinked, taken aback by the news, but recognition of the name was plain to see on his weathered features. "Dagon?" at Jon's nod, he leaned back in his seat, eyes lost in thought.
"Do you know him?"
"I've never met him, my lord, but I know several who have, and have heard some tales of him."
"Do they speak of him being a Targaryen loyalist?" Jon had been hoping the former smuggler would have crossed paths with him, to get his honest assessment of the man. Disappointed that wasn't the case, he thought Davos would still have good insight into him, if by knowing those who did know this, Lord Dagon.
"No, my lord," Davos scratched at his beard, "That's one tale I haven't heard."
"And what have you heard?"
"My lord, the tales I hear are spoken in taverns and brothels, it's not the sorts that are spoken in," he gestured to where they were sitting, The Hand of the King's solar.
"Those are the sorts of men that still pick up their swords to follow their lords, the men who tend to their farms, and pay their taxes."
"Well, I don't know anything about them being farmers or respectable, my lord, but I understand what you mean," Davos who had smiled with his jest, slowly sobered, "It's just rumors and gossip, but I do know that men who serve with him are always the ones who come to the ports with the heaviest purses. The sort to spend freely on ale and women, which will sometimes loosen tongues."
"And what do they say?"
"That the ironborn who sail with him revere him as some sort of holy man, my lord," Davos held up a hand, "I mean no insult towards the Faith or the Seven, but you know these sorts don't worship in Septs, but on the sea, to their Drowned God."
Jon did and said as much to him.
"There's a sailor I know, Rowlf. I've known him for more than ten years. He went with Captain Dagon on his voyage to the Jade Sea. He returned a few weeks ago, from the venture, and spent his leave at a tavern. I sought him out, wanting to hear how it went.
Rowlf was grinning when I got there, looking like a prince amongst his dirty subjects, silk shirt, golden rings on his arms, an exotic silver pendant dangling from his neck. He was happy to tell me how it went, bought me my ale too, and all the tavern," Davos said, "and he smiled through most of his story until he got to one part."
"And what part was that?"
"He said on the voyage back, a pirate ship was hiding in an inlet, wanting to surprise the captain's ship, hoping to take it before the rest of the fleet could intervene but Captain Dagon knew that ship was there."
"How?"
"I don't know, my lord."
"And the ship? The pirates?"
"Rowlf wasn't on the captain's flagship, but they were the ship following it, and he says, Dagon sailed past where the pirates waited," He answered, "The pirates attacked and-" Davos paused, "You must understand, my lord, I've known Rowlf for a long time, he isn't one to spin tales."
Jon understood, gesturing for him to continue.
Davos dispelled a breath, as if unsure he should say what he was about to say. "He says on Dagon's ship, all the men were chanting something, a word. A name? He couldn't be certain, but something answered it."
Jon frowned. "What do you mean?"
"That he heard something and then he heard it, the pirate's ship, their hull cracked. The ship sank, all men lost."
"He just attacked the ship," Jon thought it was obvious. "He used scorpions to bring the pirates down."
Davos shook his head. "Dagon doesn't have scorpions aboard his ship, my lord."
Jon wanted to smile, the reaction you give after hearing a well spun story. That's what this sounded like. But he couldn't manage one or explain why he felt the slightest chill crawl up his back. His mind was quick to dismiss it, but in his gut, it lingered, the cold unease.
"Rowlf says, there are other stories, similar to his. About ships sinking, looking as if they were dragged to the depths by the hand of the Drowned God, Himself. They call him: The Demon of the Tides. They say their god has blessed him, my lord, given him gifts that have made him who he is."
Jon made sure there was no disquiet in his tone when he asked. "And who is he?"
"A very rich man," Davos answered, "I mean no disrespect when I say this, my lord, but he is likely richer than you, and all the Vale lords, and many others throughout the kingdoms, but you all don't see it, see him."
Jon was taken aback by the former smuggler's words, but not upset. Afterall, he had asked for the man's honesty. An ironborn to be that rich? It sounded absurd, something to be dismissed, until he took in the former smuggler in front of him. Davos' expression was earnest. He spoke the words truly, believing that this ironborn was one of the richest men in the kingdoms.
"You don't even recall his visit?" Davos asked, all but proving his point. "He came to the city a few weeks ago. The goods that he brought from the east, the frenzy it made at court."
It did come to him now that he was pointed at it. Even having overlooked it when Davos talked about his friend returning from said voyage to the city. But he remembered now, the silks and spices from Yi Ti and Leng, the decorative items, the gems, tapestries, screens, figurines. It was all the court talked about in the ensuing week, but never once was his name uttered, or mentioned of how they got all these expensive and rare items. It was as if he didn't exist, Jon had been no better. He must've gone to Pentos after visiting King's Landing.
"What did he do?" Jon asked, still trying to understand, to believe this.
"Lord Dagon? Nothing, he hardly leaves his ship when he docks," Davos answered, "He sells his wares, collects his cut, gives his men theirs, stays for a day or two and leaves."
"How many men does he have?"
"I don't know how many ships he has, my lord, but I do know that he has more than my friend, Salladhor Saan, and he boasts of over twenty," Davos answered, "A fact my friend was still whining about when I saw him a few weeks back."
That's a small fleet, the words from the letter only grew heavier on his shoulders. He wrote a small note to himself: to send a raven to Lord Grafton, to ask what he knows of him.
"He has other men beside ironborn, my lord," Davos revealed, "sons of lords and ladies, younger sons who were destined to the Faith or their older brothers' generosity."
Jon made two more notes, needing to know who these lords were, and if they were still with him.
"And to be truthful, Lord Arryn," Davos said, "if I was not Lord Stannis' man. My sons and I would likely be with him. That sort of chance for gold doesn't come around often for our sort," his hands then went to his pouch, "But we have Lord Stannis, and he's made me and my family. And we'll be his men till the end."
"Lord Stannis could not ask for anyone finer, Ser Davos."
Robert's anger was a storm in the Small Council meeting. He shouted and slammed his fists. His bearded face was red with rage. He moved surprisingly well and spoke without slurring.
He must have been told the news before he could get too deep into his cups, Jon thought, sitting quietly, and waiting for his king's storm to wane. He flicked his attention around the table to see how his fellow councilors were taking not just their king's reaction, but the news of the Targaryens. Renly, Robert's youngest brother, and Master of Laws, had his head propped up under his chin, taking in his brother's loud outburst as if it was just another birdsong from the godswood. Grand Maester Pycelle, old and hobbled, his sagging face showed his confusion. His open mouth resembled a fish out of water, while occasionally nodding and muttering something to show his vapid support for the king.
Petyr was looking down at his papers, with that same easy smile beneath his mustache, he always wore. Taking in Robert as a performer, with Petyr having already grown tired of the performance. Varys hid his hands in the sleeves of his robes and his thoughts just as well on their king's bellicose behavior. Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander just seemed surprised to be here, not attending many of these sessions since he was often with the king, who attended even less then he did.
Stannis, Robert's younger brother and Master of Ships, looked annoyed by his brother's behavior. And seemed to be just waiting for him to stop, so they could actually handle the problem instead of being delayed because of Robert's ranting. When the king took a breath to drink his ale, Stannis had had enough, stepping in before his brother could continue.
"Then what would you have us do, Your Grace?"
"Kill them," Robert ordered, "Blockade Pentos if you have to, but I want that whore and her ironborn husband killed," their king slammed his tankard down, splashing its contents on the grand maester's robes and snowy white beard. "More wine," he ordered, not even looking in the direction of either Pycelle or his timid squire, Lancel.
"Robert," Jon began, sensing Stannis' stare and its clear meaning: you speak to him, "We cannot blockade Pentos. That will be seen as an act of war."
"They're harboring enemies of the throne," Robert thundered, "My throne! I consider that a bloody act of war right there!"
"I agree action should be taken, Robert," Jon said, trying to soothe the king in this mood was as ineffective as scolding a thundercloud after it spat lightning. "Reasonable action," he added before Robert could rebut him with more talks of war with the Free Cities.
"Assassins," Renly suggested mildly as if he was picking a wine, "We should have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago," he looked up towards Jon, "But our dear honorable Lord Hand always spoke against it. She's not a child anymore, she's a woman grown, Lord Arryn," Renly added before Jon could defend his previous choices. "Who'll soon be fucked by her new husband with babes on the way, Targaryen babes."
"Lord Renly," Petyr Baelish sounded surprised, but he was still smiling, "I wasn't aware how well versed you were in the matters of the marital bed," he said, "being unmarried and all."
Renly flushed but was quick in his retort. "You don't need to own a brothel, Lord Baelish, to understand it."
"The whore must die," Robert cut in, before Petyr could respond to Renly. "My brother has the right of it," the king had gone from not partaking in drink as he raged to now asking for more and more of it, his squire trembling when he poured another glass.
"I don't see how a child of an exiled princess and an ironborn could pose a threat to your crown, Your Grace," Barristan spoke up. The Lord Commander of Robert's kingsguard had served for countless Targaryen kings, but Jon could not begrudge him his distaste at the thought of sending an assassin after a young woman.
"Her blood, her brother's claim," Lord Baelish listed them off, "her husband's gold, and I hear that Lord Dagon has lots of it," he then scratched his beard, "mayhaps, we should ask him to borrow gold for your next tournament, Your Grace."
Robert wasn't listening. He glowered into his tankard of wine, red flecks dribbled down his beard, but he didn't care.
Jon felt very old in his seat this meeting. For a flickering heartbeat, he thought back to the Vale, his home, the Eyrie, and wondered if he'd ever get to see his castle again. Feel the cool, crisp air wash over him, see the dizzying sights of snow capped mountains, or would he be here until the very end. He felt the twinge of a headache spark behind his eyes. "An assassin would be pointless," he found his voice, cutting off Pycelle who had been speaking about the good of the realm. "By the time we send one across the Narrow Sea, they'll likely be married and out of Pentos." And after speaking with Ser Davos, Jon found it hard to believe they'd be able to sneak an assassin on Dagon's ship.
That truth pierced Robert's quiet, grumbling like an approaching storm. "I don't care, I've tolerated that fool and that whore long enough, it's time to end it, Jon."
"Stannis?" Jon turned to the master of ships, "Do you think you could apprehend them?"
"Apprehend them?" Robert blustered before his brother could speak, "I said I want to end this, kill them, not arrest them!"
Stannis spared his brother a cool look before turning to Jon, and replied as if Robert hadn't just spoken. "While they're at sea?" at Jon's nod, he considered it, "Davos tells me he has a small fleet, but I doubt he has any war galleys. I wouldn't need the whole Royal Fleet." He then put forward what he thought he'd need for the plan to work.
Jon agreed. The Royal Fleet boasted several large and powerful ships including Stannis' Fury, Stag of the Sea, Lord Steffon, he did not think it possible that the ironborn could hope to match that strength. "Then it's settled," Jon decided, ignoring Robert's purpling face, "Lord Stannis, you'll lead the ships to seize them," he then turned to his king, "We keep the princess a hostage, Robert. She's a valuable tool for her brother, so we take her away from him. Let Viserys putter about the Free Cities, no one will listen to him, only laugh. While the princess remains with us, alive."
To Robert's credit, he seemed to be considering this, albeit with the same look, one had when eating something particularly sour.
"Do you really wish to proudly announce to the Seven Kingdoms that you killed a young woman?" Jon knew his words hit the mark at Robert's wince.
He sighed, sagging in his seat, one meaty hand around his tankard. "Very well," He turned to Stannis, "You heard the Lord Hand." He then thrust his tankard out, beckoning for more wine. "She'll go to either you or Tywin, Jon."
Jon did not think she'd last a sennight under Lord Tywin's care which he suspected was what Robert was counting on. "I'll accept her as my hostage," he then decided to add, "That way we'll know some Lannister will not try to marry her." Pleased, that possibility seemed to not only upset Robert, but sink in enough that he'd now dismiss the idea altogether of considering sending her to Casterly Rock.
"You hear that, brother?" Renly turned to Stannis grinning, "A chance for you to do what you couldn't do all those years ago," his grin widened at Stannis' glowering. "I'm sure it'll be a bit more challenging now that she's a young woman instead of a babe."
"Lord Stannis, your brother is unfair in his jests," Varys slipped in between the bickering brothers, "You are our most seasoned commander." Stannis looked as annoyed at the eunuch's defense as he had been by Renly's taunts. "When it comes to matters of the seas, the rest of us are a bit green."
Renly frowned. "How hard could it be?" He crossed his arms. "Stannis already said it. We have more ships than this ironborn." He was unimpressed at the idea that this mission would be some sort of trying ordeal. "We surround them, force them to surrender or we sink them."
Varys ducked his head to the Lord of Storm's End at giving offense. "I was simply-"
He was cut off by said lord. "Anyone of us could do this."
"Then perhaps we should have Pycelle lead them?" Petyr suggested, earning a giggle from Varys, but the jape only seemed to annoy Renly.
"Renly, Stannis-" Jon tried to intervene, but Renly didn't want to hear it.
"You don't think I can do this?"
"This isn't one of your tournaments, Renly," Stannis put in bluntly with none of Jon's placating tone, "There's no adoring crowds and waving handkerchiefs."
The more they doubted him, the more they dismissed it, the more Renly dug in. He didn't just look like Robert, he shared his brother's confidence and stubbornness. He looked determined now to be the one to lead this, as if to prove them all wrong, and to show them he could. What started out as a harmless remark was spiraling out of control. Jon tried desperately to right the ship, but Renly had seized control before he could.
"I could do this, Robert," Renly said, "send me."
Just as Jon feared, Robert took his brother's demands with roaring approval. "Just like a Baratheon wanting to take control," He laughed, "Stannis, you arrange the ships, and Renly will lead them." The King was either oblivious to the annoyance radiating off of Stannis or indifferent.
"Robert," Jon could see Stannis' clenched jaw, as the Master of Ships rose from his seat, but it was too late.
"Very well, Your Grace," He said stiffly, "I'll prepare for my brother's mission."
Jon sighed when Robert just waved his brother off, the humiliated Master of Ships left without another word.
Renly looked rather pleased with himself at getting the role that should have gone to his older brother. "What of the ironborn husband?" He had gotten out of his seat. No doubt eager to announce his important royal mission to his friends and followers at court.
"Kill him," Robert rumbled, and none of the councilors thought it or him important enough to argue.
"Gladly, brother," Renly didn't seem the least bit concerned about any of this. He walked with a confident stride, acting as if had already succeeded with his mission, and was ready to be celebrated for it. The Lord of Storm's End was nearly at the door when Robert stopped him with a loud- Wait.
"I want him brought back alive too," Robert surprising show of mercy raised some eyebrows until his next words, "So I can kill the fucker myself."
A/N: I may sprinkle more of these interludes to see how Westeros is going as the story progresses if this one goes over well.
I'm sorry if the characters are a bit OOC, it's been a while since I read the books, and couldn't remember all of Davos' mannerisms/voice. And like I've said before, this is my easy/stress free story where I don't put in the same level of research and time, like I do with others.
I kind of liked the idea that the old guard, old school nobility wouldn't really have any idea of who Dagon was. A nameless, faceless person who comes to bring the court luxurious items they can't live without while not even knowing or caring who he is, enriching and empowering him. Some lords would know him, those who did more trading, but I didn't think someone like Jon as busy and old as he was, would give it much thought. And I thought Davos being the one to point it out made the most sense.
This chapter is happening at the same time as the earlier chapters. Varys doesn't need to wait for ravens or his birds to learn that Dagon is in Pentos. He already knows that's why he can slip it in to pretend as if its breaking news to him.
Another example of the unreliable narrator is that these characters are working under the assumption that the betrothal is set and there is a wedding.
To not embarrass myself too much, I left Stannis' plan vague, b/c I couldn't figure out how many ships he'd send to confront Dagon's fleet, to try to force him to surrender.
Until next time,
-Spectrehire