Chapter 84: The Hand's Concern
Rain hammered softly against the windows of the Tower of the Hand.
The skies above King's Landing had remained grey for nearly three days now, covering the capital beneath damp winds and cold air blowing from Blackwater Bay.
Inside his solar, Jon Arryn sat alone beside the fire, quietly reading reports that had arrived over the past month.
White Harbor trade manifests.
Merchant complaints from the Reach.
Missing ship reports.
Notes from Varys' informants.
The old Hand rubbed tired eyes.
At first, the stories had sounded absurd.
Another northern legend.
Another sailor's tale swollen by fear and ale.
But legends did not disrupt grain markets.
Legends did not alter shipping forecasts.
And legends certainly did not cause merchants to lose entire ships chasing rumors beyond the known seas.
Jon Arryn slowly leaned back in his chair.
The North was changing.
And for the first time in generations, it was changing without southern permission.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter."
The door opened quietly.
Varys entered with soft steps, hands hidden within flowing sleeves.
"You wished to see me, my lord?"
Jon Arryn motioned toward the chair opposite him.
"Sit."
Varys obeyed smoothly.
For a few moments, silence filled the room except for rain against stone.
Then Jon Arryn finally spoke.
"What do you truly think of Jon Snow?"
Varys smiled faintly.
"That is a dangerous question."
"I did not ask for a safe answer."
The Spider's smile faded slightly.
Then he answered honestly.
"I think Westeros is underestimating him."
Jon Arryn studied him carefully.
"Explain."
Varys folded his hands neatly.
"Most lords hear stories of giants and hidden kingdoms and immediately think of raiders, barbarians, or madmen chasing glory."
He paused briefly.
"Jon Snow behaves nothing like them."
That matched Jon Arryn's own conclusions.
Varys continued calmly.
"He does not raid southern shores."
"He does not demand crowns."
"He does not send threats."
His eyes lowered slightly toward the reports.
"He builds."
That single word lingered heavily within the room.
Not conquering.
Not looting.
Building.
Roads.
Trade.
Industry.
Food security.
Military organization.
Jon Snow was behaving less like a warlord and more like a ruler preparing for generations.
That frightened Jon Arryn far more.
A knock interrupted them.
Then without waiting for permission—
The door burst open.
Robert Baratheon entered laughing loudly while carrying a wine cup larger than most goblets.
"Gods, the entire council looks like widows lately!"
Robert dropped heavily into a chair beside the fire.
"What is it this time? More stories about the giant bastard beyond the Wall?"
Jon Arryn sighed softly.
Robert had heard the rumors already, of course.
Everyone had.
The king drank deeply before grinning.
"Seven hells, I heard one fool claim the boy commands ice demons now."
Varys smiled politely.
"Men exaggerate what they fear, Your Grace."
Robert barked another laugh.
"They always have."
Jon Arryn exchanged a glance with Varys.
Then he spoke carefully.
"The situation is becoming more serious than rumors."
Robert waved one hand dismissively.
"It's grain and merchants."
"It's independence," Jon Arryn corrected quietly.
That slowed Robert slightly.
The king frowned.
Jon Arryn continued.
"The North is reducing Reach grain purchases."
"White Harbor's influence is growing rapidly."
"And no one can reach Winter's Heaven."
Robert leaned back slowly now, listening more carefully.
Jon Arryn handed him one of the reports.
"Multiple ships attempted following the Titan."
Robert scanned the parchment briefly.
"They vanished?"
"Yes."
Robert snorted.
"Fools chasing gold through cursed waters."
"That may be true," Varys said softly. "But the result remains the same."
Robert looked toward him.
"No one can follow Jon Snow home."
Silence settled for a moment.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
Finally Robert exhaled heavily.
"So the stories are true, then."
"Some of them," Jon Arryn answered carefully.
Robert stared into the fire thoughtfully.
Then suddenly—
He laughed quietly.
"Gods…"
Jon Arryn frowned slightly.
"What?"
Robert shook his head slowly.
"I remember the ravens."
The room quieted.
Robert leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing with old memories.
"Years ago," he muttered. "Back when the boy was still in Winterfell."
Varys listened silently.
Robert rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"There were stories even then. Strange stories."
Jon Arryn nodded once.
"I remember."
"So do I," Robert said.
The king took another drink.
"People called him the blessed child."
The words felt oddly heavy spoken aloud after so many years.
Robert laughed softly again, though this time without humor.
"Gods, I had forgotten about that."
He looked toward Jon Arryn.
"Ned kept sending ravens explaining things."
Jon Arryn remembered those letters well.
Strange weather.
Animals following the boy.
Northern villagers whispering about the old gods.
At the time, most had dismissed it as northern superstition.
Robert shook his head slowly.
"And then the boy vanished."
"He left Winterfell," Jon Arryn corrected quietly.
Robert grunted.
"A six-year-old child."
The king stared into the fire again.
"Back then, I thought Ned had gone mad letting him leave."
For a brief moment, genuine confusion crossed Robert's face.
"Yet Ned sounded… calm about it."
That part had always bothered him.
Eddard Stark was not careless.
Not emotional.
Not foolish.
And yet he had allowed his six-year-old son to walk away from Winterfell into the unknown.
At the time, Robert had assumed northern nonsense clouded Ned's judgment.
Now?
Now the king was no longer certain.
Varys spoke carefully.
"The North believed the child was touched by something greater."
Robert snorted softly.
"The North believes many strange things."
"True," Varys agreed.
Then his voice lowered slightly.
"But most northern legends do not return commanding hidden kingdoms."
Silence followed.
The fire crackled softly between them.
Finally Robert leaned forward heavily.
"So tell me plainly."
His blue eyes moved between Jon Arryn and Varys.
"Should I fear this boy?"
Jon Arryn answered first.
"I do not believe Jon Snow seeks war."
Robert frowned.
"But?"
The old Hand sighed softly.
"But a hidden kingdom with disciplined armies, wealth, independent trade, and food security…"
He looked toward the rain-covered windows beyond the chamber.
"…should never be ignored."
Robert's expression slowly lost its amusement.
Not fear.
Seriousness.
That alone changed the atmosphere of the room.
Varys noticed it immediately.
The king leaned back again, quieter now.
"He hasn't attacked anyone."
"No," Jon Arryn agreed.
"He hasn't threatened anyone either," Robert added.
"No."
Robert stared into his wine for several long moments.
Then finally—
"He feeds the North."
The room fell silent again.
Because that was the true heart of it.
Not armies.
Not giants.
Not the Titan.
Food.
Stability.
Loyalty built through prosperity.
Robert understood war better than politics, but even he understood what hungry people became when someone fed them consistently.
Loyal.
Jon Arryn's voice grew quieter.
"If this continues…"
Robert looked toward him.
"The North may eventually stop needing the South entirely."
The fire crackled softly.
Rain continued against the windows.
No one spoke for several long seconds.
Then Robert finally asked the question none of them truly wished to answer.
"And if the North stops needing us…"
His voice lowered slightly.
"…what happens next?"
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