Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story!Pat*eon : CaveLeather
The next morning – Dragonstone Harbor
Jon Arryn and Ser Barristan Selmy stood on the warship's deck, watching the crowd on the dock see them off. Both men felt a quiet emptiness settle over them.
With everything here wrapped up, it was finally time to sail back to King's Landing.
They had said their goodbyes to Stannis the night before. He hadn't tried to keep them. His real goal had already been met.
The morning fog was thicker than usual. Dragonstone's outline drifted in and out of the mist, its tall workshop chimneys rising like giant fingers pointing at the gray sky.
On the dock, Stannis and Pierce stood side by side, sending off the two guests from the Iron Throne.
Stannis was still dressed head to toe in black, his face as stern as carved stone. Pierce wore deep-blue traveling clothes, a polite smile fixed in place.
"Lord Jon, Ser Barristan," Stannis said, his voice half-lost in the sea wind, "thank you for coming—even under these… circumstances."
"Take care of yourself, Stannis," Jon answered, his voice hoarse. His face still looked pale, the shadows under his eyes even darker than when he'd arrived. "Remember, no matter what happens, you are a Baratheon. You are one of the pillars of this realm."
Stannis gave a small nod but said nothing.
Pierce stepped in smoothly. "Lord Hand, please give my warmest regards to His Grace. Dragonstone will always be a loyal vassal of the Iron Throne. Lord Stannis and I will do everything in our power to support the kingdom's strength and stability."
Jon looked at the young man for a long moment. The words were flawless, but something in Pierce's calm gaze unsettled him.
It wasn't deceit. It was a depth of quiet certainty, as if the boy had already seen through everything—including the storm raging inside Jon right now.
Jon had lived a long life, yet this was the first time a man so young had ever made him feel this uneasy. The Seven Kingdoms had never lacked for gifted people, but talent that sharp often burned out too soon.
The Young Dragon had been exactly that kind of man—brilliant in every way, yet undone in the end by inexperience.
Pierce checked every box Jon could want in an ally. And that was exactly why he felt a chill.
"I'll pass the message along," Jon said at last. "Lord Pierce, what you've achieved here on Dragonstone and at Crackclaw Point is… remarkable. Keep it up. The realm needs men like you."
After a few more simple words, the warship slowly pulled away from the dock. Jon and Barristan stood at the stern, watching Dragonstone Harbor fade into the morning mist.
The neat quays, the busy workshops, the smoking chimneys—all blurred into a gray silhouette.
When the island finally vanished from sight, Jon turned, leaned against the rail, and let out a long, tired sigh.
"Are you all right, my lord?" Barristan asked, concern clear in his voice. "You don't look well."
Jon shook his head—not denying it, just exhausted. "Barristan, what do you make of Stannis these days?"
The old knight's face grew serious. "Lord Stannis is a man of iron will. We all saw that during the siege of Storm's End—"
"I know," Jon cut in gently. "We all know who Stannis is and what he's given to the realm. I'm asking if you've noticed anything… different."
Barristan fell silent. He had felt it too. The old Stannis had always seemed rigid, almost inhuman. Back on the small council he had once demanded every brothel in King's Landing be shut down. Robert had shouted him down in front of everyone.
Barristan had agreed with the idea in principle, but he also knew it would never work. Frustrated men would simply turn to worse things, and the city's streets would run red.
But lately… Stannis felt changed. Not in any single act, but in some deeper way. It was the kind of instinct an old knight who had served three kings developed after seeing too much.
"Perhaps the losses have simply hit him hard," Barristan said carefully. "He finally had an heir, and then both mother and child were taken so suddenly. You may be reading too much into it, my lord. Try to rest easy."
Jon caught the careful wording. He almost spoke, then held back.
He knew Barristan was staying silent out of respect for Stannis's rank. The knight had only sensed a change; he didn't know the full truth.
Jon desperately wanted to share the weight crushing his chest. The pressure had been building for days, threatening to break him. But he could not tell Barristan.
The Lannisters' grip on King's Landing grew tighter every month. Their men were everywhere around the Iron Throne.
If the truth ever came out, Jon could not even imagine the carnage. The entire realm might tear itself apart in a single heartbeat.
Jon closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples. A steady throbbing pulsed there, like tiny hammers inside his skull.
"And then there's Dorne," he continued, voice even wearier. "Princess Arianne spoke with me privately. She offered a marriage alliance."
At least this much he could share. Maybe Barristan could help him think it through.
The old knight's eyebrows rose. "Dorne offering marriage to the royal family? That… that is real progress."
"With conditions," Jon said with a bitter smile. "She wants either Myrcella or Tommen. If King's Landing agrees to bind House Baratheon and House Martell through marriage, Dorne will stand with us forever. She even pointed out that Dorne could help keep the Reach in check."
Barristan thought for a moment. "Strategically, that's valuable. Dorne and the Reach have been enemies for centuries. If Dorne openly supports the crown, the Tyrells will have to watch their southern border and won't dare move."
"I know," Jon said. "From the realm's point of view, this is the kind of blessing the Seven rarely grant. After Robert's Rebellion, Dorne kept its distance. Now they're offering an alliance. This could heal old wounds."
"But?"
Jon opened his eyes. The pale blue gaze was full of deep worry. "But the timing is wrong, Barristan. It feels… too convenient. I can't tell if they truly want this marriage or if they're just buying time."
"Lord Jon, you're overthinking it!" Barristan said, trying to reassure him. "This is good news—for the entire Seven Kingdoms!"
Barristan didn't know the full picture. To him, Dorne finally reaching out was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
He still carried quiet guilt about Dorne. He often wondered: if he had stayed in the Red Keep and protected Rhaegar's family, maybe everything would have turned out differently.
"No, you don't understand," Jon pressed. "We tried for years. They always gave polite but empty answers. Now they're the ones proposing marriage…"
His mind raced. He thought of Stannis, of the dark-skinned baby, of the implications. He couldn't shake the feeling that Dorne's offer was somehow connected. Yet they hadn't asked for Stannis himself.
"Why not Prince Joffrey?" he muttered. "He would have been the more obvious choice…"
"You're seeing shadows where there are none, my lord," Barristan said gently. "Maybe Dorne really does want peace. Their enemies are many. If you're worried, we can take our time. Once we're back in King's Landing we can call a small council meeting and discuss it properly."
"I don't have time, Barristan!" Jon's voice cracked with sudden age and frailty. "I can feel my body failing. Every breath is harder than the last. Every heartbeat feels like it might be the final one. There are still so many things I haven't fixed, so many problems left unsolved… and time is running out."
Barristan looked at the old man and felt a wave of complicated emotion.
Jon Arryn truly was old. Sixty-eight years was ancient in this world. But it wasn't just age; the endless burdens of ruling had worn him down.
As Hand of the King he had to manage every crisis in the Seven Kingdoms, clean up Robert's messes, keep the small council from tearing itself apart, and balance the great houses' endless schemes.
"My lord," Barristan said softly—this was the gentlest tone he had ever used with the Hand—"your body can still carry you. You're simply exhausted. Once we reach King's Landing, rest a few days. Let Grand Maester Pycelle mix you something—"
"Pycelle," Jon repeated the name with quiet scorn. "That old fox. Tell me, Barristan—how many people on the small council are truly loyal to the realm instead of their own pockets? Varys? Littlefinger? Pycelle? Even Stannis and Renly… everyone has their own game."
He paused, then added quietly, "Sometimes I think I should just resign everything and go back to the Vale. Maybe Robin's health would improve."
Barristan didn't know what to say. He understood. This old man had given everything for the Iron Throne.
In his eyes, Robert's greatest fortune wasn't winning the crown—it was being raised by Jon Arryn. Without this man, Robert would never have become the most powerful king in the Seven Kingdoms.
The old knight knew Jon carried crushing pressure, but he had no real advice to offer. He himself felt lost, unsure what the future held.
The sea wind suddenly sharpened. The warship pitched hard. Jon gripped the rail, his face turning even paler.
"My lord, you should go below," Barristan insisted. "The wind is too strong out here."
Jon shook his head, but the motion was weak. "I can manage… and I want to watch the sea. In King's Landing we only see filth and smell lies. At least out here the wind is clean."
Maybe these few quiet moments on the ship were the last peace he would ever know.
The moment he stepped back into King's Landing, the webs would close around him again—tightening slowly until he could no longer breathe.
He tried to stay on deck, but the rolling waves would not let an old man like him endure much longer.
In the end Barristan helped him back to the cabin. Jon lay on the narrow bunk, staring at the low ceiling while memories crashed over him like waves.
He remembered young Robert—hammer swinging at the Battle of the Bells, unstoppable.
He remembered Stannis's stubborn courage during the siege of Storm's End.
He remembered Renly's joyful face the day Robert granted him Storm's End.
He remembered the Mad King, Prince Rhaegar, and the rebellion that changed everything.
He remembered the oath he had sworn when he helped Robert take the Iron Throne: to bring peace and prosperity back to the Seven Kingdoms.
And now? The realm looked peaceful on the surface, but dark currents ran beneath. Robert drowned in wine and women. The small council schemed against one another. The great houses sharpened their knives. And worst of all, the Iron Throne itself might rest on a lie.
"I failed," Jon whispered in the empty cabin. "I let down Steffon and Cassana. I didn't raise their sons the way I promised."
The ship rolled again, as if answering his guilt. Jon closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, but his heart beat heavily in his chest, each thump bringing fresh pain.
On the edge of sleep, two images kept flickering behind his eyelids: Stannis staring coldly into the funeral pyre on the cliffs… and Pierce speaking with that gentle, knowing smile.
The two faces blurred together into one unsettling premonition.
Whatever came next—whatever happened to the Iron Throne—these two men would stand at the center of it. And Jon was simply too old, too tired, to stop the storm that was already gathering.
All he could do now was try to prepare the realm as best he could… or at least protect the people he still cared about.
Carrying that heavy thought, Jon Arryn finally slipped into an uneasy sleep while the warship rocked beneath him.