“A raven came from Dragonstone.”
Jon Arryn looked at it without touching it.
“From Maester Cressen?”
“No, my lord.” Pycelle’s voice was soft as a hand on a bruise.
“From the Lord of Dragonstone. Under his own seal, and I believe in his own hand.” A pause, perfectly measured.
“It is addressed to you, my lord. Not to His Grace.”
Jon Arryn suprised and took the letter.
“That will be all, Grand Maester.” said Jon Arryn after taking the letter.
Pycelle bowed, or performed the shuffling stoop that passed for one, and made his slow way toward the door.
It took him a very long time to get there.
Jon Arryn did not break the seal until he heard it close.
Then he read.
It did not take long.
Whatever else could be said of the letter, it was not padded — no scripture, no flourishes, no lengthy preamble about the bonds between Dragonstone and the Iron Throne.
It was A strict and blunt demand for the return of every keel and every man taken out of Dragonstone’s harbor.
And at the end, in a hand that pressed too hard on the downstrokes:
Return them, or I will come and take them.
Jon Arryn set the parchment down and let out a long breath through his nose.
It is a trouble brewing in his mind.
A youthful child with too much energy and pride, he couldn’t ignore it.
So it made him tense.
He rang for his attendant.
“Send for Lord Varys,” he said.
“And Lord Jason Mallister. My solar. Now, if they can be found.”
They could.
Varys arrived first, of course, gliding in as though he had been waiting in the stairwell — and possibly had been.
Jason Mallister came a few minutes behind him, still in riding leathers, smelling faintly of the stables.
Jon Arryn passed the letter across without a word.
Varys read it with his hands folded in his sleeves and his face arranged in mild, sympathetic interest, the expression of a man being told about someone else’s toothache.
Mallister read it over his shoulder, and Jon watched the Lord of Seagard’s jaw set.
“Gods,” Mallister said, and sat down heavily.
Mallister exhaled.
“Though I cannot get past, my lord. Any other man in his position would have written to Robert first and let his uncle do the shouting.”
“Yes,” Jon Arryn said though he might have an idea but he let it slide not wanting to go into a spiral and turned to move the conversation.
He turned to the eunuch.
“Lord Varys. I assume you have something for me.”
“A little, my lord.” Varys set the letter down and touched his fingertips together.
” My birds are small and the bay is wide.”
Varys with his faintest of smiles.
“It seems We are not the only ones to have received such a letter. The same demand — near enough the same words, I am told, though the sums differ — has gone to every house sworn to Dragonstone.”
Jon Arryn sat very still for a moment.
“Continue,” he said.
“House Bar Emmon has already submitted.” Varys’s voice remained perfectly level.
“Lord Duran sailed to Dragonstone within the week. He knelt, accepted the deal without argument, and even has pledged his house’s swords besides.”
Mallister snorted.
“Well. That much I could have told you without birds.Lord Duran is fourteen, it is certainly not an outcome that is any suprise.”
“Fourteen,” Jon Arryn agreed.
“Who else?”
“House Velaryon.”
The cup stopped halfway.
“House Velaryon has also accepted the terms in full,” Varys said.
“He promised to Every ship returned. Every dragon repaid, with gold above the sum offered freely as amends. Driftmark’s yards and stores placed at Dragonstone’s disposal.” A small pause, exquisitely placed.
“And even son of Lord Monford, Lord Monterys Velaryon has been summoned from Driftmark.”
Nobody spoke.
Jon Arryn set his cup down without drinking from it.
“Monford Velaryon,” he said, “accepted.” In shock and suprise.
It was not a question.
He knew it was not a question even as it left him, and he asked it anyway, because some part of him needed to hear the words again in order to believe them.
“Willingly, by all accounts. And rather quickly.” Lord Varys said
“That clever fox.” Mallister was shaking his head slowly.
“My lord, I have dealt with that man over shipping rights and I would sooner wrestle an eel. He has never taken a loss on a deal in his life — not one, not ever. If Monford Velaryon is paying gold he does not owe and handing over his own heir, then he has done his math and decided it is worth it. It is certainly not as same as Lord Bar Emmon.”
The silence that followed was not a comfortable one.
Jon Arryn rubbed at his eyes.
He was too old for this, and the realm was too poor for it, and there were nine other things on his desk that also could not wait.
“The rest,”Jon Arryn asked
“The minor houses will fold, my lord.” Varys sounded almost apologetic about it.
“of course they haven’t yet. But two great houses have already submitted, and I don’t think they will have much of a choice in this. So they will eventually. Ofcourse they will try thier best to make it not happen but nothing they can do.”
“And Celtigar? Sunglass?”
“Ah.” Varys’s fingertips touched again.
“There, my lord, we have a different tale altogether.”
“Go on.”
“Lord Ardrian Celtigar has ordered a total denial. Not a negotiation, not a partial return — a flat refusal, He considers the demand an insult from a green boy.” informed Lord Varys.
“That is madness.”said Jason Mallister, “Lord of Dragonstone is still His Grace nephew and a part of Royal family.”
“That is Ardrian Celtigar, my lord. He has been arrogant.” Varys shrugged, a small liquid motion.
“Lord Guncer Sunglass is considerably more smart. He intends to stall. He will grieve, and explain, and offer his own accounts, and require clarification before any honest man could sign. He will surrender the ships eventually, when there is no other road left. He does not intend to surrender the gold at all.”
“He wants Dragonstone to tire,” Mallister said.
“So they will eventually agree to atleast gain something, Not a bad Strategy And both of them,” he said slowly, “are counting on you, My Lord.” He said pointing on Lord Jon Arryn.
“Lord Jason?” Jon Arryn
“They are counting on the Crown to intervene.” Jason Mallister siad.
“Celtigar refuses outright because he assumes King’s Landing will step between him and Dragonstone. Sunglass stalls because he assumes the same thing, only he intends to be still politely negotiating when it happens.”
” And They are not wrong to think it, my lord,” Mallister said carefully.
“No. They are not.” Jon Arryn’s mouth thinned finally understanding where Lord Jason is pointing at.” They know what we did.
” He looked up.
“How am I to lecture them about it when my hands are dirty for the same? He would laugh in my face, and the realm would laugh with him.”
Mallister said nothing, because there was nothing to say.
“Your own actions have given them their courage, my lord,” Varys observed mildly.
“They believe the Crown cannot move against them without becoming a hypocrite in front of the whole realm. So they have concluded that you will be forced to mediate,”
“It is a mess.” He said it flatly.
“It is a mess, and I made a good half of it myself.”
Mallister leaned forward.
“I advice to take it to His Grace, My lord, the boy is his nephew.”
“No, we can’t.
One word from that man,” Jon Arryn said, “and every ship goes back to Dragonstone by the next tide.”
Closed it.
“You know it as well as I do, Jason of how much we can’t afford to do that ” Jon Arryn’s hand closed slowly on the arm of his chair.
“Copper Counting he calls but we are the one who need to feel the impact of his careless behaviour.”
He rose and went to the window.
Below, the city smoked and stank in the afternoon heat.
“We need those ships. Not want. Need.” He did not turn around.
“The ironborn are beaten, not gelded, and across the narrow sea there are still Targaryens breathing — .” He shook his head.
“We cannot build new hulls. The Crown is in debt to the Lannisters and the Iron Bank and the bloody Faith. We could not lay a single new keel this year without borrowing to do it.”
“A difficult position, my lord,” Varys said, for the sake of having said something.
“It is a position where every road loses something.” Jon Arryn came back to his desk.
“So we will lose as little as we can, and we will take our time about it.”
He sat.
“We will Write to Dragonstone. Courteous — genuinely courteous, and Request the full reaccounting of the vessels and the expenses claimed against them, so that the Crown may verify the sums properly.” A grim flicker.
“We need to check what they have and what we have in papers and try to come up with something.”
“But The men we return, we have to cut our loses somewhere. We need to give Alric satisfaction of winning somewhere.” Jon Arryn looked at Mallister.
“The sailors and the crews taken out of Dragonstone — we will need send them home. Jason, you will see to it personally.”
Mallister frowned.
“That will thin our crews badly. We also need men.”
“Then we need to hire more” He rubbed his temple.
“But it is an acceptable deal for us.”
“I will see to it, my lord.” Mallister hesitated.
“But will it end there?”
Jon Arryn did not answer.
“No man can say how the young lord will respond,” Varys said into the pause.
“He is sixteen, and sixteen is not predictable age. But we are fortunate in one respect, my lord.”
“There are two more houses yet to answer him.” Varys’s smile was small and entirely without warmth.
“Between the two, my lord, we shall learn a great deal — how will he react.” The fingertips touched once more.
“Let Lord Celtigar and Lord Sunglass discover the answer on our behalf. It seems a shame to waste them.”
Jon Arryn looked at the eunuch for a long moment.
“Yes.” He reached for the parchment and turned it face-down on the desk.
“Do it that way and observe. We need more information, Lord Varys.”
Dragonstone — Some Days Later
A council has been gathered for discussion of the present situation in the halls of Dragonstone.
Alric sat at the head, black and gold.
Cressen sat at his right with a stack of parchment squared neatly before him.
Lord Duran Bar Emmon had the seat beyond, sitting up very straight and trying not to look thrilled to be there.
Ser Willem stood behind him at the wall.
Across the table, a lean weathered man with a shortened hand and a face like a well-used boot: Davos, commander of Alric’s ships.
Lord Monford Velaryon looking like the only who has experienced this kind of meetings and like he belongs in there.
And beside Monford, quiet and watchful, nineteen years old and only two days off the boat from Driftmark: his son.
Monterys had not said a word since they sat down.
He had, however, been studying the Lord of Dragonstone and Monford was privately rather proud of him for it.
Watch him carefully, Monterys, he thought.
You are going to be following that man into the sea if situation arise, and I have wagered a little of things on him being worth it.
“My lords.” Cressen cleared his throat.
“The replies have come from All the places we have sent letter.”
He drew the first parchment from the stack, and the room went quiet.
“From Claw Isle—”