Chapter 30

Pov Lord Stark

The stone walls of Winterfell, which had always seemed to Rickard a symbol of unwavering strength, this time did not bring him the usual comfort. At last, a letter had arrived from Hoster Tully—still sealed with the river lord's sigil, it lay before him on the table. Beside him sat his eldest son, Brandon, burning with impatience.

Rickard slowly broke the seal. This marriage, like sending Eddard to Arryn, was part of his plan to strengthen ties with the South. As he read Hoster's letter, he paid close attention to each word. The polite, almost apologetic phrases subtly concealed the truth.

Tully had refused, offering his deepest apologies and a token compensation for breaking the betrothal. But beneath the carefully chosen words lay a cold hint—the cause of this was rooted in dragons.

Hoster did not dare to say it outright, but Rickard, being an experienced lord, understood immediately. The Targaryens, their southern intrigues, were once again wrapping their clingy fingers around his plans.

"They are breaking off the betrothal," Lord Winterfell said, setting the letter aside and raising his eyes to his son.

"What?!" Brandon exclaimed, his voice trembling with the burning rage he had never learned to control. "How dare they? Catelyn... To hell with her, I wasn't eager to marry her anyway! But to humiliate us like this?!—the fists of Winterfell's heir clenched, and his eyes continued to blaze with fury. "I'll make that bastard regret ever disregarding us."

Rickard did not respond immediately, carefully choosing his words. He understood the impulsiveness of his eldest son, but now he needed Brandon to recognize the dangers of such a rash reaction.

"Calm down," the Keeper of the North's voice was firm but calm. "This is not a matter of pride that you so want to defend, and certainly not just about one woman. This is politics, and in it, we must think before we act. The hint in the letter is clear—the Targaryens are behind this. And dragons, as you know, can burn those who come too close."

Brandon gritted his teeth, his face remaining grim, but the storm inside him began to slowly subside. He understood that his father was right, even though his nature demanded immediate action.

"We cannot afford to rush," Rickard continued. "The Tullys are playing their game, and the Targaryens are already involved in it. We need time to understand what is happening and prepare our response."

"And what do you suggest? Just sit back and wait while they wipe their feet on us?" Brandon asked, frowning in disappointment.

"I suggest we think. We can always show them our temper, but what is far more important is what consequences that will bring," Rickard's voice became steely. "The North remembers. Our independence is not only a strength but also a weakness. You are my heir, and you must learn to look ahead. Even the Ironborn have begun to interact much more with the other regions."

"You want to take a lesson from those filthy pirates?" Brandon asked distrustfully, earning a heavy sigh from his father.

"No," Rickard stood up and walked to the window. "I want to understand their game and secure the North. But to do this, we need something more than blind fury. Trust me, the Tullys will answer for the insult they've given. I will personally see to it, but in my own time."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of an opening door, and the children rushed into the room. Young, full of energy Lyanna dragged her little brother by the hand, who, although not resisting, looked clearly tired.

"Father, you promised we would go hunting today!" the girl exclaimed joyfully.

"Lyanna, didn't Lyarra teach you not to barge into my study?" Rickard asked lovingly but with a restrained sternness in his voice.

"Maybe she did say something like that, but I think I fell asleep during it," the mischievous girl giggled.

Brandon burst into loud laughter and scooped up his sister in his arms. "What will you grow up to be, sister?"

"A knight! Put me down, you hog!" Lyanna squealed, kicking her brother with a smile on her face.

Rickard felt happiness swell within him as he watched the children, but thoughts of Tully and the Targaryens still gnawed at him from within. The North, as always, must be prepared for any threats.

Pov Aeryon

Near the capital, the leader of one of the outlaw bands, who had struck fear into the hearts of merchants traveling along the Kingsroad, was being led to his execution, screaming for mercy. His hoarse voice echoed across the clearing, but no one paid any attention to him. The Golden Cloaks gathered at the foot of the hill silently watched the impending death of yet another criminal. His knees, stained with mud and blood, sank onto the cold ground before the prince.

Aeryon, seated on a large stone, cast a quick, indifferent glance. He had seen this scene many times before—scum brought to execution, their frightened eyes and foolish pleas.

"My lord, allow me to go to the Wall!" the robber shouted, trembling in his voice as he clung to his only chance of salvation. "I'll take the black, I will serve in the Night's Watch!"

Aeryon barely turned his head, coldly replying, "I did not allow you to speak."

With a resounding swish, the prince's sword sliced through the air, and the bandit's head fell to the ground, rolling down to the foot of the hill. Manly Stokeworth, a stocky man with a stern face, approached the Targaryen.

"Prince, shall I order to put the head on a pike?" he asked.

Aeryon looked at Stokeworth silently, recalling a recent conversation with Fell. Public cruelty was starting to tarnish his reputation. Fear helped strengthen power but only worked in the short term. It was time to look to the future.

"No," he replied tersely, waving away the suggestion. "Leave it as it is. There's no need to make it worse."

Manly nodded. His face gave away no emotions, though he was clearly surprised by such a decision. Waiting for further orders, he lingered until Aeryon asked, "How are things progressing with the Brotherhood of the King's Wood?"

Manly sighed heavily. "Difficult, my prince. They are growing too quickly. Common folk hide them, feed them, and protect them. The Brotherhood is already accepting any runaway criminal willing to serve them. Many Golden Cloaks are afraid to patrol the woods. Everyone fears encountering the Smiling Knight."

Aeryon raised an eyebrow slightly. He had heard that name before. They said he was mad, but very skilled in battle—a knight who kills with ease, as if dancing, and always with a broad smile on his face.

The prince fell silent for a long moment, contemplating what he had heard. The King's Wood was gradually turning into a hotbed of rebellion and crime. If decisive action wasn't taken, his power could be threatened. But how to deal with such an enemy? Simple suppression with force no longer resolved all problems. Something more was needed...

"We must put an end to this," he spoke quietly but resolutely, looking into Stokeworth's eyes. "Wait for my orders."

"As you command, my prince," Manly replied, bowing his head.

Aeryon gazed at the sky, where clouds were gathering, and his gaze grew firm. Soon, he returned to his office, where the Master of Coin, Qarlton Chelsted, was already waiting for him. This man was known for his cunning and ability to find profit in any situation. His eyes sparkled with barely concealed impatience—he, like many others, had seen the rapid rise of the prince and sought to secure his favor.

"My prince," Chelsted began, bowing low. "I wanted to discuss the latest reforms you implemented regarding the increase in the number of Golden Cloaks."

Aeryon sat down at the table, casting a tired glance at the piles of parchments stacked in the corner, then returned his attention to his interlocutor. Qarlton continued speaking, trying to choose words that could flatter the prince.

"Increasing the garrison to three and a half thousand men was quite an expensive endeavor. However, as the master of coin, I can proudly say that we have managed to find the funds for this. It was not easy, but your project is a brilliant strategic solution, and I wholeheartedly supported it."

Aeryon nodded, but without much enthusiasm. He was already accustomed to such conversations, full of hidden flattering hints and attempts to win his favor. Chelsted, noticing the lack of warmth, quickly changed tactics.

"However, my prince," the master of coin continued, lowering his voice, "I have something that I believe may interest you much more. Information... quite important."

The Targaryen looked at him with a mix of interest and irritation. "Speak."

"It turns out that Prince Rhaegar didn't leave for Dragonstone just for the sake of it," Qarlton leaned slightly forward, pausing. "He's meeting with Cersei Lannister there. Tywin sent her there right after your brother's arrival. This... is more than just a visit."

Aeryon raised an eyebrow, and his gaze darkened. Rhaegar, who had hurriedly left the capital, now seemed to be weaving his own intrigues. Of course, the prince did not expect a submissive acceptance of defeat from his brother, but such an open alliance between him and the Lannisters looked dubious, especially considering that Aerys had already rejected the mighty lion.

"Cersei..." Aeryon repeated quietly, contemplating what he had heard. If Tywin and Rhaegar dared to defy the king, presenting it as a great love... no, that was too foolish. Perhaps... a child. If Rhaegar dishonors Cersei, he would have no choice but to marry her.

But how could he prevent this? He needed to act quickly and carefully. The prince slowly rose from his chair and walked to the window, through which the towers of the Red Keep were visible.

"What do you think of Tywin Lannister?" he suddenly asked, not taking his eyes off the horizon.

Chelsted was a bit taken aback by the question but quickly found an answer.

"A wise man, extremely dangerous. He always puts the interests of his family above all else."

Aeryon nodded. He knew that the lion's actions had always been driven by his desire to strengthen his house's influence. Now this alliance could give him that opportunity.

"Thank you for the information, Qarlton," the Targaryen said, turning back to the Master of Coin. "You have been quite helpful."

Chelsted smiled with satisfaction and bowed again before leaving the room.