The Red Keep — Small Council Chamber
The small council chamber never changed much, regardless of who sat within it—the same long table, the same tall windows overlooking the bay, the same smell of candle wax and old parchment that clung to every important room in the Red Keep.
Jon Arryn sat at its head, as he had for years now, feeling every one of those years settle into his bones as the council filed in.
Grand Maester Pycelle took his seat first, his chain clinking softly as he reached for the reports before him with the exaggerated care of a man who wanted everyone to notice how diligently he worked.
Renly arrived next, newly returned to the capital, dressed a shade too finely for a council meeting and trailed by the faint scent of something floral that made Jon Arryn’s nose twitch.
Littlefinger slid into his chair last, as he always did, as though arriving precisely when it suited him was its own small victory.
Lord Jason Mallister, the new Master of Ships, was also present, quietly reviewing reports of the royal fleet.
Varys entered without announcing himself, as he always did, his soft-slippered feet making no sound at all.
“My lords,” Jon Arryn began, “let us begin today’s small council. Present your reports.”
His eyes moved toward the Spider.
“Lord Varys, anything new in the realm?”
Varys folded his hands into his sleeves, his smile pleasant and unreadable as ever.
“Indeed, my lord Hand. There is always something new in the realm. The first news comes from the Iron Islands. It appears the ironborn have returned to their old pirate activities more often than usual.”
Jon Arryn’s expression tightened.
“Do they have no other hobbies to pursue? They will not rebel again, but the damage they can do will still be immense.”
The lords around the table nodded in agreement.
“I do not believe we need worry too much, my lord,” Varys announced.
Jon Arryn raised his eyebrows.
“And why is that?”
“It is related to my next news, which comes from Dragonstone.” Varys’s smile remained in place.
“It seems young Lord Alric has returned home from his latest voyage—his last, by his own declaration, though I confess I have heard that particular promise from him before.”
A few quiet chuckles moved around the table.
“And?” Jon Arryn prompted.
“What relevance does that have?”
“And, my lord,” Varys continued, “it appears his return was accompanied by rather more excitement than usual. A battle with an ironborn raiding party—several longships burned, and a number of reavers put to the sword. I think the ironborn may put aside their hobbies, as you call them, at least for a time.”
Jon Arryn nodded.
“Yes, that is good news for both the Crown and the realm. Alric was always a good boy. It relieves me to hear he has grown into such a capable young lord and has helped keep the realm safe.”
“Do not be so hasty to judge, my lord,” Varys said.
“From what my little birds tell me, he has also returned with considerable anger directed at the Crown.”
“Anger,” Jon Arryn repeated flatly.
“Over what, precisely?”
“The ships, my lord Hand. The ones recently taken from Dragonstone’s harbor into royal service. It seems the young lord has finally returned home long enough to notice their absence in full, and he is not one bit pleased to find his fleet reduced.”
The table went quiet for a moment.
Pycelle cleared his throat, the sound wet and unpleasant.
“Surely the boy understands those vessels were built with Crown gold, for Crown purposes. Lord Stannis himself would have understood the necessity, whatever grief the boy carries.”
“The boy,” Littlefinger said mildly, examining his fingernails, “is sixteen now, if I recall correctly. I imagine he understands the necessity perfectly well. But understanding rarely stops a young man from being angry about it. There isn’t enough glory in being understanding afterall , My Lords” he said with his usually clever smile.
“He has no grounds to be angry,” Pycelle said stiffly.
“The Crown’s needs—”
“The Crown’s needs,” Renly interrupted, leaning back in his chair with the easy confidence of a man rarely contradicted, “have apparently left my nephew’s island with only a fraction of its fleet, along with a number of knights and skilled men reassigned here. I have met the boy. He will not forget a slight like this.”
Renly glanced at Jon Arryn.
“But you would know him better than any of us. He grew up here, after all.”
Jon Arryn rubbed at his temple, feeling the beginning of a headache he suspected would remain with him until nightfall.
“I know how stubborn he can be. I spent enough time settling his fights with Prince Joffrey.”
“And he is not entirely wrong,” Lord Jason Mallister said.
The new Master of Ships had been silent until then, but the matter affected him more than most men at the table, except perhaps the Hand himself.
“We took command of the royal ships long before this,” Mallister continued.
“I advised you, my lord Hand, that taking more ships from Dragonstone would create an awkward situation for the Small Council given he is the Nephew of his Grace.” Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“Yes.” Jon Arryn sighed.
“He is within his rights to be aggrieved. Whether he is within his rights to do anything about it is another matter entirely.”
He turned back toward Varys.
“How deep does this anger run? Is it a boy sulking over lost toys, or something that requires our attention? We need those ships, especially if the ironborn are going to become a problem again.”
Varys’s smile did not waver, though something in his eyes sharpened.
“That, my lord Hand, is difficult to say with certainty. Which brings me to a related matter, if I may.”
“Go on.”
“My information from Dragonstone has grown thinner these past years. Considerably thinner than I would like.” Varys spread his hands in a small gesture of mild helplessness.
“Where once I had eyes among the servants, dockhands, and even a few members of the household staff, those sources have dried up one by one.”
“And why is that?” Jon Arryn asked, though something in his gut already suspected the shape of the answer.
“It seems the young lord has taken a particular interest in controlling Dragonstone population and information that goes outside especially orphans and unclaimed children over the years—gathering them, housing them, and training them in various skills from childhood. Sailing, smithing, letters, arms. Dragonstone has never had much population to spare, my lord, and Lord Alric keeps whatever children remain close, under his own supervision or that of men he trusts absolutely.”
“Meaning,” Littlefinger said, catching on immediately, “the children who might have grown into servants, dockhands, and idle mouths ripe for a coin and a friendly ear have instead grown up loyal to him, controlled, and too well trained to be easily bought or manipulated. Looks like you have been beat my friend.”
“Not Precisely, Lord Baelish but close enough. Fewer young birds to teach new songs, as it were, when the young lord has already taught them all to sing his tune. Of course, even he cannot control every soul on the island, no matter how small its population may be. But it has become much more difficult to find little birds there.”
Jon Arryn sat back, considering this.
He remembered Alric well enough.
The boy had never cared much for courtly lessons, except for training.
Other than that, he mostly concerned himself with irritating Prince Joffrey, though Jon Arryn had always suspected the boy did it more for amusement than any real hatred.
“Interesting,” Jon Arryn said at last.
“Keep working at it, Lord Varys. I would know what sort of man this boy has become before he decides to do something we all regret.”
“Of course, my lord Hand.” Varys inclined his head, the very picture of obliging cooperation.
“I do so look forward to seeing what young Lord Alric does next. He has always been rather more interesting than most boys his age considering his time at here Kings Landing.”
Renly said nothing, but he was smiling faintly into his wine cup.
Jon Arryn found he did not entirely like what that smile suggested.