3rd day of the 8th moon, 269 A.C.
The Hour of the Raven (3 P.M.)
Lord Tywin Lannister, Pyke, Pyke
The difficulty of being the Hand of the King is something that everyone fails to consider in their greed for the position. You must not only resolve the conflicts of the crownlands, but also those of the other kingdoms.
Administering the realm in the King's absence was a constant and never-ending struggle against those who have much to gain from your failure. Everyone around you sniffs for signs of weakness that could oust you and replace you in your position.
And if you think the King suffers the same pressure or difficulty, you are a fool.
Unlike the King, the Hand does not possess total authority, and an unhappy subject can always try to go to the King and ask for a revocation of the Hand's decision, thus undermining his authority.
Something like this happened to me before. And before others began to dream of doing the same, I ordered his dirt to be dug out to find something to punish him and his house, sending a clear message to the court.
The Hand has the same responsibilities, but less power than the King.
But dealing with the conflicts of the seven kingdoms brought to him in court was only the second part of the problem. The true challenge, even less taken into account by the fools who think themselves capable of taking my position, was convincing the King not to create more problems.
Unfortunately, our current King has a strong tendency to make the most… problematic decisions. Not only did he have little consideration for how he spoke to the Lords, Great Lords included, but he also made decisions without thinking about the implications or the problems yet to be resolved.
The last three weeks alone were spent reunifying the Iron Islands and discovering which houses agreed with the rebellion but had not taken part in it, during which we discovered that there were no more fish in the Sunset Sea around the islands.
None. From small sardines to large salmon. They all disappeared.
This afternoon's discovery, made only when our supplies dwindled and we were forced to take from the villages, and they did not even have enough for themselves, had placed us in a difficult position.
Fighting against the remaining rebel houses, who did not believe their god had been defeated, while starving would be a disaster. Fortunately, reinforcements arrived with more supplies shortly after ours ran out.
The remaining houses were all suppressed a week after their arrival, leaving us alone with the new problem: the imminent famine of the Iron Islands.
With fishing, their only viable source of food, lost, the ironmen and ironwomen would begin to starve to death in less than two months if the crown did not do something.
With this disaster at our doorstep, we should have begun drafting plans on how we could prevent the death of an entire kingdom without needing to sacrifice much of the crown's gold, but Aerys thought differently.
Two hours ago, at the feast held in the hall of Pyke, in front of the Lords of all seven kingdoms, he announced the end of the Iron Islands as we had known them for centuries.
Before the curious gazes of everyone, including my own, since I was not informed of any announcement, he announced that the islands would be partitioned among the other kingdoms as a way to compensate for losses, and those who did not receive lands would be rewarded with the treasures of the islands.
He ended his announcement by saying that who would get what would be announced at the celebration tournament in King's Landing.
His words surprised everyone present. No one expected that because it had never been done. Ending a kingdom completely as a means of punishment is something unprecedented in the history of Westeros.
The guideline for punishments, even in the case of rebellion, was always to diminish lands, foster the heirs, and, in the most extreme cases, extinguish the house. Wiping out a kingdom entirely is a level of power demonstration that is totally different and has never been done before.
Aegon the Conqueror, declaring himself King instead of Emperor, was a deliberate choice. He knew that by sacrificing the power he would gain as an Emperor, he would bring more stability to the seven kingdoms by showing he was not a tyrant consumed by power.
By putting an end to the Iron Islands, Aerys basically spat on Aegon's implicit promise and created a precedent for making decisions at the same level of power in the future.
And as the seven kingdoms functioned on the basis of precedent, he opened a door that should not be opened.
There were not many, but those who also understood what that meant all had grim expressions. And I could already feel them plotting how they could take advantage of it.
"If you are so unhappy with my decision, you can wash your hands and let me give Pyke and Saltcliffe to the Reach," Aerys says, provoking me, knowing that I would never allow the Reach to cover me above and below at the same time.
Sprawled in the main chair in the old solar of Quellon Greyjoy, Aerys smiled at me, waiting for the answer he knew I would give.
In his right hand, he toyed with the unsheathed Nightfall, using it like a cane and twirling it from side to side by the pommel.
The Valyrian steel sword fell into his hands through a simple agreement with House Harlaw: They would surrender and give up their ownership of Nightfall, and, in exchange, they could continue to be the Lords of Ten Towers and would not need to send any of the male members to the Wall; though they still needed to send the heir to be fostered in King's Landing.
With more than ten thousand men in front of his castle, the old Lord Harlaw's decision was the obvious one.
And now, Aerys was showing off. Rubbing it in my face how House Targaryen had finally acquired a Valyrian steel sword after losing their own, something I have yet to achieve.
The fact that Nightfall's blade was black like Blackfyre only added more injury to his mockery.
I came here to offer my wisdom, to explain how his decision could leave the Lords apprehensive, and this was how he responded to me.
If I cannot prevent his folly, I must at least ensure the safety and interest of House Lannister.
"That will not be necessary, Your Grace. If dividing the Iron Islands is something that cannot be prevented, let them at least fall into the right hands."
"Perfect, I am sure you will govern them well." His smile grows, likely finding amusement in knowing the difficulty I will face with Pyke.
With Quellon's sacrifice, his heir, found among the prisoners of Redhall on Old Wyk, was allowed to remain the Lord of Pyke, the castle.
Even if the land of House Greyjoy has been reduced to the castle and a bit of the surrounding lands, and not the whole island, that was already enough to hinder any future attempt of mine to establish a strong Lannister presence on that island.
Saltcliffe had its lord stripped, but the island was small and of little importance to any future plan.
And yet, I must be the superior person and fulfill my responsibilities.
"I thank you for your faith in me, Your Grace, but I advise that you at least move the tournament forward. The famine of the Iron Islands must be resolved with urgency."
Aerys stops toying with the sword and reflects for a moment.
"How?"
The incompetence.
"We can hold it in Lannisport. We send the letters this very day, setting the date for three weeks from now."
"Three weeks is too little time to plan a tournament and gather the realm. And I have to show the bodies of those fish-men to as many people as possible; I don't want them doubting what we fought. Everyone must know of my victory against a god."
The lack of vision.
"Almost all men of importance are already gathered here at Pyke. Those who are missing are close enough to make the journey within two weeks. And although we are not as accustomed to wasting money on tournaments as those in the Reach, the West can very well put up a last-minute tournament. And we have enough corpses to send a pair to each kingdom. I myself will order that their bodies be impaled and displayed throughout the tournament. No one will doubt your conquest."
Aerys, stopping to think again, as if he had the capacity to come up with another alternative.
Scratching his neck with his left hand, the sleeve of his black doublet pulls back, showing red scales on his wrist; another source of headache, but this one is older, originating six years ago.
Since these miserable scales appeared on his body and his family's, I have had to insist almost every day that they were not a divine sign for the House of the Dragon.
Fortunately, the rats of the Citadel were more than willing to also convince him that the scales were not a sign from the Seven, choosing a more natural explanation that they could be an unknown type of greyscale.
It worked, initially. But with the undeniable return of magic, convincing him otherwise was no longer possible, and resisting his constant desires to summon the Mormont boy became increasingly difficult.
And worse, he is starting to walk without a glove to hide the scales as before, as if he wanted others to see.
"Very well, have the maester send the letter. But do not forget to include that the tournament is not merely celebratory; the future of Westeros will be announced."
"As you wish, Your Grace."
Leaving the solar of the Lord of Pyke and making my way to the Maester's solar, I do not waste my free time along the way.
Turning to one of my guards, I speak: "Go to Lord Mormont and tell him I am summoning him to my quarters. No matter how long I take, keep him there until my arrival."
It was time to deal with the fact that the House of the Lion lacked a Valyrian steel sword once and for all.
***
10th day of the 8th moon, 269 A.C.
The Hour of the Hearth (5 P.M.)
Seneschal Archmaester Arnel Flowers, Oldtown, The Citadel
It is a very common misconception for those recently initiated into our organization to believe that we are fearful of magic to a paranoid degree, but they all change their minds after a few history sessions with me.
The most constant factor of magic is that it always attracts disaster to the society that practices it. Always. In one way or another. Whether by giving a false sense of power, making them defy kingdoms or entities that should not be defied, or by having their own magic turn against them.
History is full of such examples. The Rhoynar, confident in their water magics, defied Valyria, but after their leader was defeated and dragged to his city to witness its destruction, he prayed to his goddess, who brought a fog that infected everyone with greyscale, destroying not only the Valyrian invaders but also his own city, Chroyane.
The mysterious Yeen, in Sothoryos, which, after some magic lost to time, became so uninhabitable that even the local fauna, which includes apes larger than elephants, lacks the courage to set foot in it. No one knows what happened, only that nothing and no one can stay there for long.
Gogossos, a former Valyrian penal colony where their greatest enemies were sent and tortured, and where imprisoned women were forced to breed with monsters and give birth to half-human beasts. By means of these dark magics, Gogossos became immensely powerful, even being considered the 'tenth Free City.' But after an abrupt emergence of the Red Death, a disease as deadly as greyscale, nine out of ten men died, making the island uninhabitable to this day.
And then there is Valyria, the most famous example. So well-known that I have never needed to explain its case; something our organization has been placing in the popular imagination for over a century, and which I have been helping to maintain in wise agreement.
Magic, and its constant need for blood and sacrifice, was something that slowly erodes the society that practices it. It is a plague and must occupy zero space in a society that wishes to endure.
The Essosi, who have been facing disaster after disaster since the return of magic, are the most recent example. Magisters being assassinated by shadows, Red Priests burning literal thousands of slaves in a single ritual, and Archons vanishing never to be found again.
Complete and unstoppable chaos. And, unfortunately, it seems Westeros is destined for the same end.
With the exposure of magic in the Iron Islands, which, according to our maester informants, involved even a fight against the Drowned God himself, it was impossible to convince those who witnessed such an event that it was not what it appeared to be.
Normally, when people encounter magic, and there is a risk of them opening their mouths, we can simply kill them, but since the number this time was in the tens of thousands, it did not matter how much I wished, for the greater good, that it were possible, because it was not.
To make matters worse, we have just received a letter informing us that King Aerys plans to expose the bodies of these 'Fish-Men,' the so-called Deep Ones of the Drowned Faith's cosmology, to all those present at the tournament he will hold in Lannisport in less than three weeks.
Now, all of us Archmaesters are gathered in the Round Room to discuss how to prevent magic from destroying Westeros. But, as always, Archmaester Marwyn showed himself to be the rebel. This time, far more boldly.
"All of this is useless," he said, rising from his seat and heading toward the door. "I have already spoken with Lord Hightower and will accompany him to Lannisport. While you stay here, discussing how to continue trapping our world in ignorance, in the past, I will be trailblazing our future."
Stopping in front of the closed door, he turns and glares at us all. His eyes are full of disdain. None of us said anything. We are far too accustomed to his sense of superiority to enter into a shouting match as we did years ago. Instead, we merely wait for him to finish his monologue with our own disdainful gaze.
"Even with constant vigilance and spying, over eighty maesters leaking information from the falling of a leaf to the death of a lord, you still failed to discover that a god was summoned and a boy, nearly a child, learned magics capable of summoning demons and lightning from clouds, until it was too late."
He was referring to the letter that arrived two days ago, sent by one of our informants, which reported all the magical sightings, including the feats of a boy named Alaric Mormont, who had already become a point of debate following the arrival of a letter sent by Maester Yves.
"Accept that times are changing or be left behind."
With that final warning, he opens the door and departs, leaving us behind.
"Has the time finally come to rid ourselves of him?" Archmaester Garret speaks, vocalizing what many of us, including myself, were thinking.
Has the time come for us, for the greater good, to rid ourselves of him as we rid ourselves of his predecessor?
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