"You're right," Arys said after a moment of silence. He seemed to decide there was no longer a point in hiding it. "We never should have let the Mountain Weasel escape alive. We thought he hadn't discovered anything, but then Black Falcon threatened us shortly after."
Arys changed the subject. "But you've never been to Taman Village yourself, have you?" Or you wouldn't have gotten out alive, he added in his thoughts.
"Fortunately, I quickly found other clues, so I didn't need to take such a risk."
"What clue?"
"The pitifully slow speed at which you were moving your 'Blackfyre Treasure'."
Arys looked confused. "Hm?"
"You only have one 'caravan', this small group of men, and you can barely manage to transport the 'treasure' you have? How did you move all the goods you plundered in the first place?"
"They could only be accumulated temporarily in the village," Arys answered sullenly, knowing it was the only logical possibility.
"At that point, I formed a new theory," Ian said. "That the so-called Blackfyre Treasure doesn't exist. The goods you were transferring to the abandoned fishing village were simply the valuables you had plundered. It was that guess that suddenly made everything clear."
"I don't understand."
"I've said enough," Ian stopped him. "Think about how many questions you've asked in this conversation. If you want to know what happened next, I'm afraid you'll have to answer one of my questions first."
"You bastard..."
"Once you move your goods to this abandoned fishing village, a ship will come to collect you, correct? Where do you plan to go?"
Hearing this question, Arys's previously relaxed posture vanished, and he became instantly alert.
"You are resisting the question. You don't want to answer," Ian noted calmly. "That won't do, my friend. We are playing a game according to the rules you set. I am showing you respect by following them. If you do not show me the same respect, then we will have to follow my rules instead."
Arys took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "To Gulltown, of course. Where else would we go? We planned to sell the goods there and make our fortune."
"A lie," Ian said softly. He stared at Arys for three long seconds until the knight finally lowered his head.
"We planned to go to Braavos," Arys said after a moment's thought. "We wanted to use the funds to form our own mercenary company, to carve out our own world. You know my brother and I are bastards, and Daeron is only the second son of Lord Grafson. None of us were born with the right to inherit."
"A great reason," Ian said pleasantly. "But I know you're still lying."
"That is not part of the game's rules," Arys forced a smile. "I am only responsible for answering. Whether you believe me or not is your own affair." He must have sensed he was on thin ice, because he quickly added, "But what I said is the truth."
"Very well. The game continues," Ian said, clapping his hands together.
Arys looked at Ian in disbelief, shocked that he had passed the test so easily.
"Then continue with your answer from before," Arys pressed on. "What did you realize after you concluded that the goods we were transporting were merely plunder, not the so-called Blackfyre treasure?"
"It solved an old question that had been bothering me for a long time: where did the idea of the Blackfyre Treasure even come from?" Ian gave a wry smile. "From the first time my mercenaries mentioned it, to my questions for Black Falcon's adopted son, to my conversations with Sir Wylis—everyone seemed utterly convinced that such a treasure existed."
"But after I compiled all the clues and inferences about this treasure, I was surprised to find they all originated from the same person—your brother, Sir Symond."
"Coincidentally, when the Black Falcon mercenaries first asked the local lords for help with the bandits near White Wall, all of you ignored them."
"But after Sir Wylis saw the black dragon emblem on his opponent's armor during a battle, House Darry, which had remained aloof for years, suddenly sent reinforcements."
"Then, Sir Symond, arriving on behalf of Castle Darry, quickly floated the idea of a Blackfyre restoration treasure. This brilliantly captured everyone's attention, and at the same time, it 'proved' that Sir Wylis wasn't wrong that night."
"He needed everyone to believe that what Wylis saw on your breastplate was a black dragon, not a red one!"
"Seven Hells! Wylis remembered?" Arys was stunned.
"No. That was just my inference," Ian said. "Now, can you tell me why you painted a red dragon on your breastplate, Sir Arys?"
"Is that your new question?"
"Let's count it as part of the old one."
"Hah," Arys gave a bitter laugh. "I didn't paint it. That is the plate armor of my uncle, Ser Jonothor Darry. He was a knight of the Kingsguard to Aerys the Second, the Mad King. He fought to his last breath for Prince Rhaegar at the Trident."
"How did you get his armor?"
"King Robert appreciated my uncle's loyalty and ordered his body returned. The plate was of exceptional quality and wasn't badly damaged, so my father kept it."
"That does sound like something Robert would do..." Ian thought, and then it hit him. Wait. What did I overlook? He slapped his forehead.
He realized he should have noticed something strange about House Darry long ago.
Previously, he had sent Cass and two local sellswords to buy armaments at the Crossroads Inn. At the time, they had gone to Castle Darry first, and only after finding nothing there did they ride for Harrenhal. His first reaction had been simple: House Darry was loyal to the Targaryens, so the new regime must have suppressed them, seizing their arms.
There was nothing wrong with that line of thinking. Any new ruler would be wary of die-hard loyalists.
But he had forgotten that the new ruler of Westeros was Robert Baratheon.
Not the fat, rotting old king from the stories, but the young, charismatic leader who could make even his enemies admire him. Robert Baratheon wouldn't bother disarming a surrendered foe; those who bent the knee to him would follow him into battle willingly.
And the men traveling with Cass were local mercenaries. Why would they go to Castle Darry first? The only reason was that the last time they'd needed to buy arms, weapons were for sale there.
But when his men went this time, there were none. So where did all of Castle Darry's surplus armaments go?
Of course, Ian realized with a jolt. They could only have been used to arm these 'ghosts' who appeared out of thin air!
Such an important clue, and I just ignored it? Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated with himself. If he had noticed that earlier, he could have avoided so many detours.
He sighed softly and looked at Arys. "Alright. I have no more questions."
"No more? Are you sure?" Arys looked as though a great weight had been lifted from him.
"Do you think you've successfully saved your family?" Ian asked, a hint of pity in his voice.
"Why wouldn't I have? I am just a bastard. Simply turning robber can't possibly implicate my House, can it?"
"But you didn't just 'turn robber'."
"Oh, Sir, you already said you had no more questions. The game is over. As promised, you must let my family go."
"I truly don't need to ask any more," Ian shrugged. "Because you already answered the most important question right at the beginning."
"I asked if you wanted to distance yourself from your family to avoid implicating them. You did not deny it. That means what you did was something that could implicate your House."
"This..." Arys felt a cold dread creep into his heart.
"Think about it," Ian continued softly. "What crime must a bastard commit that would drag his entire noble family down with him?"
At that moment, Arys looked as if he had been struck by lightning.
After a long silence, he muttered a single word. "Treason."
"If my guess is correct," Ian said, laying the final piece into place, "after you loaded your supplies onto that ship, you were planning to sail directly to Pentos to defect to Viserys Targaryen. After all, he is about to marry his sister to a certain... invincible Horse King."
"The restoration of the Targaryen dynasty is the last hope for House Darry and House Grafson to regain their former glory."
"How do you know about the Horse King? Daeron obviously said..." Arys stopped mid-sentence, his eyes wide with horror as he realized he had just walked into the final trap. The color drained from his face.
Across from him, Ian was equally shocked. The theory about defecting to Viserys had been his boldest, wildest guess, based only on the conclusion of "treason." He knew it took months for news to travel from Vaes Dothraki to Pentos, but it was plausible that Illyrio Mopatis, the Targaryen siblings' protector, might have hinted at the arrangement a year in advance, and that the rumor had reached Daeron's ears.
Still, he hadn't truly expected it to be true. So this is why they never appeared in the original story, Ian thought. They were caught before they could even start.
As Ian processed this, Arys's voice, now a strained whisper, came again. "Can I ask one last question, Sir?"
Ian gave a slight nod.
"Who are you?"
Ian reached out and grabbed a fistful of Arys's matted hair, forcing the knight to look him in the eye.
"If all goes well," Ian said, his voice low and steady, "I will be Ian Rivers. Your brother, and Sir Symond's, by blood."
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