~~~ Stepstones , Narrow Sea ~~~
~~~ One Week Before the Tourney of Harrenhal ~~~
Artys Arryn POV
"Sending them to their deaths, I see," Soryn murmured as I leaned against the railing, watching the huge war carrack sail south flying the royal banner, a crowned stag rippling proudly in the wind at the top of the mast.
"Those shits in the Stepstones will surely attack this ship," I said, a slow grin tugging at my mouth as I watched it disappear farther into the distance. "Once they do, Robert Baratheon will have no other option but to declare war."
"My lord?"
Ser Alric, one of the commanders of the Silver Knights, approached us with a grim expression. He stopped a few steps away before giving me a short bow.
"We lost twenty men during the surprise attack from the Triarchy," he reported.
It surprised me they'd even dared to approach us — my ship alone was over eighty meters long, and surrounding it were more than a dozen war carracks. Yet they'd attacked anyway.
It was surely meant to send a message, I supposed.
"Once we land, give the dead a proper burial. Then send a falcon to the Eyrie and order Ser Nestor Royce to send one hundred gold dragons, along with whatever other assistance is needed, to the families of the fallen."
"As you wish." He bowed again, but before turning away, he hesitated. "Should I also send word to King's Landing about the Triarchy?"
"No." My answer came immediately and coldly.
"There is no use. The Crown already has enough problems of its own to deal with."
"But it concerns the Crown as well, my lord. The Triarchy has re-emerged after almost two hundred years," Ser Alric argued back.
"One hundred and sixty-seven, to be precise," Soryn corrected.
Ser Alric glanced at him before looking back at me.
"Do not worry, Ser Alric," I said. "The Crown should already know. The Spider would have informed the king and the Small Council by now."
Varys did not get the nickname Spider for no reason. If something happened anywhere near the Crown's interests, I'd be more surprised if he didn't already know about it.
"Besides, the Triarchy's attack on us has nothing to do with the Crown," I added.
Ser Alric frowned. "But they attacked us, my lord. We were flying the banners of House Arryn. If we do not respond, it may make us look weak."
"Don't worry," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "I have plans. Just do as I say. When the right time comes, we shall avenge our fallen brothers."
The knight studied me for a moment, clearly trying to understand what I was planning, but eventually decided it was better not to ask.
"As you command, my lord."
He bowed once more before turning and walking away.
"So, what is the plan?" Soryn asked once he was out of earshot. "Use the Stepstones as an excuse to raise our banners?"
"Not quite," I said. "But you're almost there."
I kept my eyes fixed on the royal ship as it continued south.
"Remember, Robert asked me to build a fleet for him?"
I glanced at Soryn, a mischievous glint in my eye.
"Yes, I remember. He didn't even pay for it. He simply asked for the cost to be added to the Crown's debt."
Soryn snorted.
"Come on, don't be like this. Even the poor deserve some form of respect."
He looked at me for a moment before realizing I was mocking him. We both shared a brief laugh.
"Those hundred ships you ordered built in Gulltown for the Royal Navy?" he asked. "They're almost ready, and the Crown will ask for them soon."
"Yes. They are almost ready." I let a small, satisfied smile settle on my face.
"But if war starts, there are only two fleets large enough to properly fight the Triarchy. The Redwyne fleet and ours. The Greyjoys cannot be trusted, and the Velaryons—"
I shook my head.
"They are not even worth mentioning. They are not even a shadow of what they once were."
"As for the Royal Navy," I added.
"Ah. Not worth mentioning as well, I suppose," Soryn said, one corner of his mouth curling.
I simply nodded.
The Royal Navy had barely been looked after since the Greyjoy Rebellion. The Crown hardly had enough money to maintain it.
"But I'm still not getting the plan," Soryn said, his brow furrowing.
"I want to use this as an excuse to make sure those new hundred ships come with us to the Stepstones when the war begins," I said.
Soryn stared at me. "You're planning to take the Crown's new fleet into the war?"
"Of course. Once those ships are in the Stepstones, I could easily seize them once Robert dies and infighting begins across the realm." I turned toward him.
His expression changed slightly.
Then understanding began to appear in his eyes.
"Stannis?" Soryn asked, worry creeping into his voice. "If war starts, he'll be the one leading the royal fleet even if your father and the rest of the council manage to keep Robert from coming himself—"
"Stannis is sure to come," he added, his face set despite the flicker of worry in it.
Stannis was not someone to be taken lightly.
"Yes, but the crew on those ships would be ours," I said. "Of course, the soldiers would be a mix of other lords' banners, but the sailors would be ours."
There were only a few months left before the War of the Five Kings began.
Once Robert died, Stannis would move quickly.
He was the Master of Ships, after all, and one of the few men in the realm who understood the value of a proper navy.
I couldn't allow him to get his hands on those hundred ships.
If they remained in King's Landing, Stannis could take control of them the moment the realm began tearing itself apart. But if they were already sailing with my fleet in the Stepstones...
That problem disappeared.
And there was another advantage.
Robert had given me the perfect excuse to keep expanding my navy.
Normally, building another hundred warships after already possessing the strongest fleet in Westeros would raise questions. But when the Crown itself had ordered a hundred more, no one would look twice if I built even more alongside them.
Besides, I never intended to hand a single one over to King's Landing.
"Sometimes, my lord, I think you enjoy making things unnecessarily complicated." Soryn sighed.
"Sometimes?" I raised an eyebrow.
He rolled his eyes.
I turned my gaze back toward the royal ship, now little more than a dark shape against the horizon as it continued south toward the Stepstones.
The pieces were already moving.
But there was still one problem I couldn't decide what to do about.
Jon Arryn.
The old man had been more of a father to me than most men could ever hope to be. He had supported me when I was little more than a child, and even now he continued to support my ambitions despite knowing how dangerous some of them were.
Should I save him?
That question had been sitting in the back of my mind for months.
If Jon Arryn died, I would become Lord of the Vale.
But if I saved him, I would remain only his heir. The Vale would answer to him, not me.
And if he lived, the chain of events that needed to happen simply wouldn't. Stannis would never bring Jon Arryn's suspicions about Robert's true heirs to the king.
Ned Stark would never be called south to take the Handship. None of it would happen.
The old fool would never sit quietly while the realm burned around him.
Yet if I allowed him to die...
I would have the Vale.
Not as an heir.
As its lord.
I exhaled slowly.
"You've gone quiet, my lord," Soryn said, glancing sideways at me. "That's usually when I should start worrying."
"Just deciding what to do about someone," I said, offering him nothing more than that.
He studied me a moment longer, then let it go. He always knew when not to push.
There was still time to decide.
And Jon wasn't the only problem.
Daenerys.
I needed to send a few men to Pentos to get her out of Illyrio Mopatis's mansion.
I couldn't allow her to be married off to Khal Drogo. I needed her as my wife to solidify my claim. Her with her three dragons, mine with two — together we could bring back the glory days of the dragons.
And then there was Jon in the North, and Aegon with the Golden Company — both of whom would need to die as well.
They both had a stronger claim than mine.
I looked once more toward the southern horizon.
Too many pieces were moving at once. I only hoped the birds I'd sent out could find a white hart.
If I got my hands on one, it would lend real legitimacy to a claim that was already weak.
Maegor Targaryen or Brightflame, the ignored son of Aerion Brightflame who had been passed over during the Great Council of 233 AC, had fled to Essos, and it was only his descendants who eventually married back into House Arryn.
Resulting, eventually, in me being born.
It wasn't exactly a strong claim to begin with.
POV Ends