บท 29: Chapter 29
(279 AC)
Five months have passed since the fall of Duskendale, and much has changed in the political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms.
POV Lord Hoster Tully
The Warden of the Riverlands sat in his study, contemplating a matter that had troubled him for many months. A sense of inevitability hung in the air—it was time to make a decision. Catelyn, his eldest daughter, who had been promised to Brandon Stark, had no idea that her marriage was now in doubt. The arrangement with the North seemed like a solid alliance: vast lands, strong armies.
However, the proposal from the Targaryen, made during the tournament at Highgarden, had overturned all his plans. Tully was a man who weighed every detail. A marriage to a prince wasn't just a union but an opportunity to elevate their influence to unseen heights. But with this came risks. Aeryon's character, as Hoster observed, was deceptive and dangerous. He was clearly not a man seeking peace and stability.
The prince aimed for more, possibly even the throne, and his ruthless methods were concerning. During the months he had served as commander of the City Watch, crime in the city had decreased, new orders and rules had been established, but it couldn't be said that life had become more peaceful for the common folk. Public executions and the prince's harsh methods had instilled real fear in the populace.
Lord Hoster feared that his family might be drawn into bloody conflicts and intrigues, which could tear apart not only his house but the Riverlands themselves. His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of his younger brother, Brynden, who entered the room with his usual air of unwavering confidence. The "Blackfish" had always been a man of action, rarely hesitating, preferring clear and decisive steps.
"Brother, I see you're brooding over these thoughts again," Brynden began, taking a seat opposite. "It's been over a year now. The North is growing impatient with our silence, and the Targaryen won't wait forever. I'll be blunt: no matter how much you weigh this decision, your hesitation has long since shown that you're leaning toward new opportunities. So what truly troubles you?"
Hoster looked at his brother and took a deep breath. "His ambitions. Aeryon doesn't just want an alliance; he wants something more... perhaps even the crown. If we support him and bind ourselves to this marriage, what will happen to our house when he goes too far? Catelyn... she will become a hostage in his hands, and that could cost us everything."
Brynden squinted, evaluating his brother's words. "You speak like a man who's afraid. An alliance with the Starks is certainly the safer path. But that's where the North's advantages end. Tell me, in times of winter or other hardships, who do you think they'll run to for help?"
Hoster frowned but said nothing. His younger brother continued: "The Targaryen, despite everything, is still a dragon rider, and his children might be as well. Not to mention the future marriage prospects. The prince isn't a fool; you've seen how quickly he's risen in just a year. If you accept his proposal, all doors will open for Catelyn."
The Lord of Riverrun tried to look at the situation from every angle. Aeryon's ambitions were vast, and he could see that. But would they be destructive to his family? Or would this marriage become an alliance that would not only protect but also bring prosperity to the Riverlands?
"What if he fails?" Hoster asked, clenching his fingers. "You've seen how quickly the political winds shift in the capital. The prince is becoming more important but also more vulnerable. Tywin Lannister doesn't forgive those who try to outmaneuver him. The Lord of the West is a dangerous enemy."
Brynden smiled. "Power always comes with risks, brother. But that's exactly why the Targaryen will value and depend on us. In time, we might even secure a place on the small council and have influence over the Seven Kingdoms."
Hoster pondered his brother's words. The stakes were high, and the decision he was about to make would determine the future of his house. He could no longer delay—too much depended on his next move.
POV Prince Aeryon
The flickering candlelight illuminated the pile of papers on the prince's desk as he rested his head in his hands, trying to soothe the pounding pain in his temples. King's Landing, once noisy and vibrant, was now nothing more than a source of endless problems.
He had taken on the task of ridding the city of crime, and he had almost succeeded—bandits had fled or been hanged. But the result was not what he had envisioned. The criminals had indeed left the capital, but now they had moved to the King's Road, attacking merchants. Some of them had even joined a bandit group in the woods. But this was only one of many problems.
"Do they really fear me that much?" the prince asked with a mocking tone and irritation as he turned to his friend Qwelton. "Do these fools not understand that I'm acting for their benefit? People should feel safe, not tremble when they pass by the City Watch."
Fell, who had been Aeryon's loyal and devoted advisor since the prince entrusted him with the position of his aide, had seen the prince's potential but also witnessed how the weight of leadership was beginning to wear down his friend.
"You've become too harsh, Aeryon," Fell said cautiously, knowing that bluntness could hurt the prince's pride. "The people see you as an executioner. Many think this is only the beginning. They see in you a reflection of Aerys. It seems Lord Baratheon wasn't wrong in forbidding us such methods."
The young dragon clenched his jaw and turned to the window, but then with a smirk, he replied, "My father... Only a blind man could compare us. Am I not a handsome one?"
Qwelton smiled, folding his arms across his chest. "Enough jokes. We need to fix this situation. The people see the criminals disappearing into the night. But what changes if new threats arise outside the walls? The Brotherhood of the King's Wood grows each day, merchants complain that their caravans are being robbed on the road. No one knows where to find peace anymore."
Aeryon frowned, feeling his frustration grow. The power he had craved so much wasn't bringing the desired results. The more he tried to impose order, the more chaos followed in his wake.
"What should I do?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "We drove the criminals out of the city, and now they're ravaging the lands and roads. How do I tame what lies beyond my walls?"
"No idea, that's your job, not mine," Fell quietly replied.
"All right, send patrols to the road," Aeryon said, thoughtfully rubbing his temples. Fell nodded, understanding the prince's intentions. But he also knew that there were many more difficulties ahead. For starters, not everyone was pleased with his appointment as Aeryon's right hand. The former commander of the City Watch, Stokeworth, had made several sharp remarks, and despite his loyalty to the prince, it was clear that his dissatisfaction was growing.
"Manly isn't happy," Fell remarked, breaking the silence. "He feels his place is now too far in the shadows."
Hearing this, the Targaryen merely waved it off. "Let him grumble. He was too soft on the criminals, and I won't tolerate weakness among my men. Although... let him command the patrol on the road. Maybe he'll prove his worth. Or at least die and spare us from unnecessary problems."
Meanwhile, deep within the castle, another, no less intriguing conversation was taking place. Here, away from prying eyes, stood Varys. His long sleeves concealed the smooth movements of his hands, and his gaze remained calm, as always. In front of him stood one of his trusted agents, bowing low in a gesture of respect.
"We've found her, my lord," the man spoke quietly, his voice muted as if he feared someone might be listening. "She fled to Myr, but we managed to intercept her. As expected, the girl knew of her sister's involvement in the conspiracy."
"And what did she reveal?" Varys didn't look up at his companion, his attention fully on the scroll he held in his hands.
"Everything she could, my lord. She overheard several conversations; the prince's name was even mentioned... but there's no evidence, of course."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on the round face of the Master of Whisperers.
"Evidence?" Varys chuckled softly. "Evidence is a luxury, not a necessity. One well-placed rumor can lodge itself in people's minds more deeply than any truth. But for now, we'll hold off."
Understanding that no further explanation was needed, the man remained in the shadows, not daring to ask any unnecessary questions.
"She's said all she can," Varys crossed his arms, staring into the distance. "Her existence has become an obstacle. Make it clean and swift."
"As you wish, my lord," the man nodded silently and began to leave, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Varys alone with his thoughts.
The Master of Whisperers knew the world was a web. Every new step was a weaving that required the utmost care and caution. And when the threads began to tangle, sometimes the only solution was to remove those who could unravel everything he had so meticulously created.
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