Jon Arryn I, Viserys III

Jon Arryn

Red Keep

Ned had told him how peaceful godswoods can be; now, standing in the Red Keep's godswood, Jon couldn't help but think how right his former ward was. Even though he was a devout follower of the Seven, he could not deny the tranquility the place provided. The peaceful surroundings had brought him temporary respite from the chaos of the court.

Seated on a rough-hewn bench, Jon felt the cool embrace of shade provided by the towering ancient trees. The air was cool and fresh, filled with the earthy scent of nature. Birds chirped melodically, their songs intermingling with the rustle of leaves, creating a symphony that soothed his soul. He could see the heart tree in the distance, with a solemn face carved into the bark; though he doubted Ned would consider it one, as it was just a large oak tree with a face carved on it.

The rebellion was won. The Targaryens were all but defeated, with only Dorne and the remnants of the royal family in Dragonstone standing in the way of Robert's complete ascension to the throne.

Jon had many plans for the surviving Targaryens: he envisioned betrothing Princess Rhaenys to Robert's heir to further solidify his rule. The two princes, Viserys and Aegon, could be given to the Faith or sent to the Night's Watch when old enough. As for Princess Elia, returning her to Dorne seemed a wise move to secure her brother's allegiance to the new regime and ensure peace. However, these carefully laid plans crumbled with the arrival of news from King's Landing.

After the Battle of the Trident, Ned had ridden ahead, leading the vanguard to besiege King's Landing, only to find it had already fallen to Tywin Lannister. Tywin had declared for Robert after the news of their victory had spread and had taken the city by surprise, sacking it under the guise of securing it for the new regime.

The mad king was dead, Jaime Lannister had broken his vows and killed Aerys Targayen; however the incident that disrupted his plans were the horrific deaths of Princess Elia and her children.

His gaze shifted to Meagor's Holdfast, which was visible from where he was sitting. He could see the scorched stones; the part that had been damaged in the fire.

The fire that claimed the lives of Princess Elia, Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon.

The Lannisters had claimed the princess had set the blaze herself, but some whispers spoke of a more sinister truth. Rumors swirled that Gregor Clegane and Jaime Lannister had brutally murdered the princess and her children, leaving their bodies amidst the flames.

So far, they were able to recover the charred remains of what they believed was Princess Elia. They were not able to find the remains of the children, he doubted they would.

'Or perhaps they were never in the chamber' a part of his mind whispered.

He quickly put those thoughts aside, focusing on the facts at hand. The implications of the Lannisters' actions weighed heavily on Jon, knowing full well the political ramifications it could have. If the Martells believed the Lannisters were responsible for the horrible incident, they would not submit to Robert's rule and that would only prolong the conflict.

"My lord" he heard a familiar voice say he turned around to see Symond his squire approaching him with hurried steps.

"Symond, I wished to be left alone. This had better be important," he said sternly.

Symond bowed apologetically. "My lord, forgive the intrusion, but our men at Rosby have intercepted a raven. It's from Dragonstone." He held out a scroll, sealed with the sigil of House Targaryen.

Jon's growing frustration turned to surprise. He took the scroll, examining the seal. "From Dragonstone, you say?"

"Yes, my lord.," Symond replied.

He broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, his eyes widening in shock as he read through its contents.He carefully re-rolled the scroll, his mind racing with the implications of the message on the scroll.

"Symond," he called after his squire,"find the king and tell him I request his presence in the small council chamber in an hour."

Symond nodded and left swiftly to carry out his orders.

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As Jon walked through the Red Keep towards the small council chamber, he noted how crowded the halls had become. Lords from all corners of the realm were arriving, eager to secure their places in the new order, especially after Ned had lifted the siege of Storm's End and secured the surrender of the Reach.

He quickened his pace, his mind preoccupied with the contents of the scroll. He passed many lords who tried to catch his attention, calling out to him or attempting to engage him in conversation. He acknowledged them with a brief nod or a curt word, not allowing himself to be delayed.

Inside the small council chamber, Jon found Robert pacing back and forth. Stannis sat at the table, his expression as grim as it always had been. He still showed signs of weariness from the siege he had endured. To his surprise he saw Tywin Lannister sat opposite him assessing the room with a calculated gaze; he should have expected this as Tywin never seemed to leave Robert's side for the past few weeks. Grand Maester Pycelle and several other lords were there as well, waiting for him to arrive.

As he entered, Robert spotted him. "JON!" he called out, his tone a mixture of relief and urgency. "What's this all about? Is this about Ned? Has he found Lyanna?"

From the corner of his eye, Jon noticed Tywin's slight grimace at the mention of Lyanna. The Lannister patriarch had been persistent in his attempts to position his daughter as the future queen.

Stannis, meanwhile, interjected from his seat. "Robert, calm down and let Lord Arryn speak."

Robert grumbled and took a seat, signaling Jon to do the same. He placed the scroll on the table and sat down.

"We've intercepted a raven from Dragonstone, heading to Sunspear," he said. The revelation immediately sharpened everyone's focus, drawing their attention to him.

Tywin was the first to speak up. "What does the message say?"

"It appears the Targaryens have realized their position is untenable. They are planning to flee to Essos and have requested the Martells' assistance in their escape," he replied.

This news caused a stir among the council members, prompting murmurs and exchanged glances. Robert, visibly angered by this development, leaned forward. "Where are they planning to flee to?" he demanded.

"Volantis," he answered, igniting further murmurs around the room.

"SILENCE!" Robert's voice thundered through the chamber, and the room fell quiet instantly. Robert then turned his focus back to him, his voice still tinged with frustration. "Why Volantis? What allies could the dragons possibly have there?"

Stannis was the first to respond. "It's possible the Targaryens might have familial connections there. The descendants of Saera Targaryen still reside in Volantis. They could be seeking refuge with them," he speculated.

"Lord Stannis is correct. The line of Saera Targaryen, though exiled, remains influential in some circles of Volantis. They could indeed have reached out to them for support," interjected Tywin, adding weight to Stannis's theory.

Jon could see the anger rising in Robert. He stood up abruptly, capturing everyone's attention once more. "STANNIS, I want that fleet ready now. They must not escape."

"Robert, the fleet still needs three more months to be fully prepared," replied Stannis.

"You have two months," Robert commanded.

Stannis, knowing better than to argue further, gritted his teeth and acquiesced to his brother's command. "As you command, my king."

Jon could see Robert's frustration growing as he made his way towards the door, but he stopped by his side, his expression softening slightly. "Jon, I want updates on Ned and Lyanna as soon as you have them," he said.

"I will ensure you are informed as soon as we hear anything, Your Grace," he assured him.

Robert nodded. "I need to hit something," he muttered under his breath before leaving the room.

One by one, the others followed.

He remained seated alone, deep in thought as the door closed with a soft thud behind the last of the departing lords.

Leaning back in his chair, Jon exhaled slowly as he contemplated the multitude of issues that now demanded his attention.If the Targayens were to establish themselves in exile with potential allies, they could pose a long-term threat to Robert's nascent reign. The idea of a Targaryen rallying old loyalists and new allies for a retake of the throne was not far-fetched and was a risk Jon knew they could not afford to overlook.

Then there was Dorne; he needed to find a way to best engage with Prince Doran. First, he would need to snuff out the rumors that the Lannisters were the ones who had caused the death of his sister and her children.

He would use the Lannister narrative: that the princess herself had caused the fire. Or he could use the explanation Robert had suggested when they first heard the news—that the Mad King himself had ordered their deaths. Fire was, after all, his favored method of execution.

With a weary sigh, he stood up. The game of thrones spared no one, least of all the Hand of the King.

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Viserys

Dragonstone

The balcony overlooking the docks was his favorite place in Dragonstone. He enjoyed the rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks and the cool sea breeze that brushed against his face, bringing with it the salty scent of the sea.

The view from the balcony also allowed him to see the vast expanse of the sea stretching out towards the horizon—a reminder of the vast world beyond this island, a world he planned to explore. He could see the entirety of the royal fleet anchored in the harbor, the ships bobbing gently in the calm sea. Though he knew it wouldn't be calm for long, as in two months a storm would destroy the entire fleet—the same day his sister would be born.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the table he had asked to be set up. On it there was an assortment of items he had asked to be gathered. They were simple materials: a needle, a handful of small magnets, and a shallow base filled with still water.

'Let's see if I can get this right,' he thought as he took a seat. Alton, his loyal guardian, watched in confusion as he always did.

He took the needle and rubbed it against the magnets, ensuring it was magnetized by stroking it in one direction multiple times. Once he felt the needle was sufficiently magnetized, he carefully placed it onto a small, flat piece of cork, then gently put the cork with the needle on top into the shallow water-filled base.

The needle and cork twitched momentarily before the needle slowly aligned itself along an invisible line. Patiently, he watched as it finally settled, pointing steadily towards what he knew was the northern direction. He marked the cardinal directions directly on the rim of the base using a small piece of charcoal. He labeled each direction accordingly: North, South, East, and West.

"I did it," he said out loud in triumph as he stared at his finished work. He could see Alton standing behind him, quietly observing what he was doing.

"Al, I feel like you have questions," Viserys said, not taking his eyes off the makeshift compass he had managed to make.

"What is that, Your Grace?" Alton asked.

"It's a device that always points north," he replied nonchalantly, his eyes still on the floating needle which had now stilled, unwaveringly pointing in one direction.

Alton's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Always north?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. "How is that possible? How do you even know how to make something like this?" he asked in quick succession.

"Since all the valuables are being moved, Maester Gerald and I have been going through old Valyrian documents. That's where I found the instructions for making this—what they call a 'compass.'"

Alton stepped closer, peering at the device with a hint of wonder. "That is remarkable," he admitted, his initial skepticism fading into intrigue. "Could be quite useful, especially at sea."

"Exactly," he nodded. "It could change the way we navigate, making travel by sea less reliant on the stars."

"Why did we not know of this before?" Alton questioned, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and wonder.

Viserys shrugged. "It seems it was lost to us, forgotten in the chaos of our history. Valyria had many secrets, and after the Doom, much of that knowledge was lost. We're only scratching the surface with what was left behind," he explained.

"But someone might have rediscovered it or known about it," Alton pressed.

'He is really not letting this go,' he thought but then an idea popped up in his mind. He leaned closer to Alton, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret.

"This knowledge might have been known to some, even before we rediscovered it," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Who would know about something like this and not share it?" Alton asked aghast.

"Think, Al, think. The Velaryons, particularly during the time of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. They were the most successful and wealthy seafaring family then. What if he knew about this device? What if he used it to navigate better than anyone else, and kept it a secret to maintain their dominance over others?" he lied trying to convince Alton about his supposed rediscovery.

Alton's eyes widened, the gears in his mind turning as he considered the implications. "You mean they might still know about it... and they're keeping it hidden even now?"

"Now… no, I don't think so. I believe the knowledge was lost to them during the dance; otherwise, they would be as wealthy as they were then,"

Alton's gaze once again went to the compass. "This would change everything we know about navigation and trade,"

As they continued their conversation, Viserys noticed his gullible Hand of the king walking them. Pausing their discussion, he gestured for Alton to follow as they met Lucerys halfway.

"Lord Hand, it's good that you are here. Come, let's go to the docks," he commanded.

"Lead the way, Your Grace," Lucerys replied, nodding politely as they started walking towards the docks.

As they walked, Viserys cut straight to the matter at hand. "Has the treasury and the valuables reached Braavos yet?"

"I was coming to inform you of it, my king. They have safely arrived," he replied.

"What of the people I requested?" he asked.

"The people you requested to be brought along will be leaving in two days," Lucerys confirmed. He was referring to the blacksmiths, artisans, and other skilled workers essential for establishing a base in Essos.

"Excellent," he nodded with a small smile. "And what of our plans for the fleet? Is everything prepared for the fake mutiny?"

Lucerys's expression turned serious. "Everything is in place, Your Grace. The men are informed and understand their orders. We've also placed loyal men in key leadership positions to ensure everything goes according to plan."

"We shall begin when you say the word," Lucerys finished.

Viserys's smile widened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction at the news. "Good, good. Let the mutiny happen gradually, one by one, starting next month. We don't want to give any hints to the rebels that we might be vulnerable."

"I remember you mentioning this before, Lord Hand," he added.

"Ah… yes, I did, didn't I… um, yes, we shall proceed with the utmost discretion."

"You're doing an excellent job, Lucerys. I knew my father was right to trust you," he praised.

He saw Lucerys visibly puff up at his compliment. "Thank you, Your Grace. I am honored to serve you."

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Leaving Lucerys at the docks, they approached the castle. He could see ravens circling above the rookery in the distance. Ravens were something he had become quite familiar with in recent months. During his first week here, he had requested lessons from Maester Gerald under the guise of learning about ravens and how messages were sent.

However, his real motive was to gain access to the rookery and control the flow of information leaving Dragonstone. This move allowed him to manipulate the messages being sent out, especially those directed towards Dorne. He had also ensured some were 'accidentally' sent to the wrong destinations, creating a network of misinformation that would help him stay undetected in Braavos for at least a few years.

As they walked through the empty halls, Viserys could hear his steps echoing off the barren stone walls, which had been stripped of their usual adornments and valuables, all of which had been sent ahead to Braavos with the treasury. He was heading to Rhaella's room; she had been confined to her bed for the last three months.

He entered her chambers to see her resting. Seeing her pale, weakened form stirred a deep sadness within him. He did not know much about pregnancy to help her; it seemed he would not be able to do anything to save her from her fate. He could see toys scattered across the bed—a wooden dragon, a cloth doll. It looked like Rhaenys had been here earlier.

Her face brightened as she saw him enter. "Viserys," her voice was frail but filled with warmth.

He took a seat by her bedside. "Mother," he greeted softly, taking her frail hand in his. "Was Rhaenys here?" he asked, glancing towards the toys.

"Yes, she just left," Rhaella replied, her voice a whisper. "Her maid took her for her nap. She was telling me all about the dragons she's going to ride when she's older."

He chuckled. "How are you feeling today, Mother?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Good... better, now that you're here," Rhaella managed a smile, squeezing his hand.

He stayed by her side, talking to her, playing the part of her seven-year-old son. It was the least he could do for a dying woman.