Chapter 193

The Riverlands, 300 AC

Axel Arryn

In my not so humble opinion, every capable ruler ought to have a team of his own, men with whom he can share the same ideas but different perspectives. Governing this way tends to work wonders for actually seeing plans through. But the method carries one fatal flaw, one that automatically weeds out some ninety percent of everyone ever given power. More often than not, the more capable a man is, the more ambitious he becomes. If a ruler cannot show enough inner steel to rein in an ambitious subordinate, he will very quickly stop being the Power. Oh, he might keep his titles and honors, true enough, but the real strength will already have settled into that ambitious man's hands.

That is why I chose my inner circle with great care. Robar, Waymar, Morgan, Eyris, Uncle Yohn, Desmond, Jasper: these were the men I would have trusted with my life. The rest simply did not meet my standards, or carried too little weight on the broader picture (common soldiers, mostly). Whenever some important decision loomed, I had made it a habit to talk it through with "the team." We did not always agree, but hearing them out helped me shape my next steps more fully. Most of them were still in the Vale, and there was no sense dragging them out here over this. That left, by simple process of elimination, only Jasper. I summoned him, and, smoothing over a few details here and there, told him everything there was to know about my squire Aegon and his unexpected brush with "Targaryen-ness."

"Wait. I've only just realized something." That was Jasper's first question once my little speech was done. "You never once guessed at this Aegon's 'origins,' and you went right on protecting him, teaching him, raising him?"

"That's right." At the time I had genuinely believed Aegon to be Connington's bastard, sired on some lady of Lys. Let us be honest with ourselves: there is no shortage of Valyrians in this world, and precious few of them are ugly. That Griff had gotten one of them with child would have surprised no one.

"You. The man who lives by 'I know that you know that I know.' Never once considered that particular outcome?" This was clearly delighting Redfort more by the moment. "Ha! And the boy's age never struck you as wrong, set against how long Connington's been in exile?"

"Hindsight makes clever men of everyone." Aegon did what was asked of him, and honestly, at that. Could he have betrayed me? Doubtful. The boy was simply too much of a knight for that. So I never went digging through his past; there were more interesting matters at hand. "What do you think?"

"Are you sure this Aegon is that Aegon?" My friend went straight for the heart of it.

"... Not sure at all." I had never once laid eyes on Rhaegar's son, so I had no way, not by sight, not by magic, to confirm or deny the claim either way. What proof there was of his origins rested entirely on symbols of power: a king's ring, the sword Blackfyre, a crown. Testimony from Varys the Spider, from Jon Connington, from a handful of minor, unremarkable knights struck me as thoroughly unreliable. Set against all of it stood one fact known with certainty: seventeen years ago, an infant's skull had been caved in and the body laid before the Iron Throne. Since then, not a word about Prince Aegon.

"Blackfyre, maybe?" Jasper offered the logical guess, and it would indeed have made far more sense than any "miraculous rescue."

"Anything's possible." I couldn't deny it. "But does it even matter?"

"I don't follow."

"Red dragon or black, a dragon is still a dragon. How many times in history has a name changed while the blood underneath stayed the same?" Many times. A lot many. People simply prefer not to speak of it.

The most famous case was the Baratheons, who replaced the Durrandons. Had Orys Baratheon not taken Argella Durrandon to wife, the stags would never have held the Stormlands so firmly. And because the Baratheons were kin to the Targaryens besides, the change of power after the Rebellion went that much more smoothly. A second, if less obvious, example were the Lannisters. Plenty of tales surrounded that house's founder, but the most believable one has Lann the Clever marrying into House Casterly and clearing away every other rival. Simple, tidy, and far more plausible than the alternatives, which frankly sound like nonsense. In the end, two Great Houses had simply stepped into their predecessors' place, leaning on the precedent of shared blood with the old rulers of those lands: the Baratheons replacing the Durrandons, the Lannisters replacing the Casterlys.

"Let Blackfyre carry the Conqueror's blood if he must. He would still rule under the name Targaryen. So far as bloodline goes, everything checks out." At that, Jasper only nodded thoughtfully, conceding the point.

"Setting aside blood and sentiment, surely there ought to be something more... material?" Ever so delicately, Redfort wanted to know what price I had been offered.

"Ten years free of taxes, priority in trade along with a few concessions that come with it, a seat on the Small Council of my own choosing, barring Hand, recognition of every conquest I've made beyond my own lands, a share of the reparations if we win, and a handful of smaller allowances concerning how I govern my territories." There was plainly more to be had, but Griff had not wanted to lay every card on the table just yet.

"Phew." My companion actually whistled at the sheer weight of "gifts" on offer. "Seems Aegon values you rather highly," he added, not without some venom.

"There's nothing strange in that. The Vale is the only region left that has kept its strength intact, and whose lands have gone untouched by ruin. If we throw in with Aegon's cause, that brings with it, as a matter of course, the loyalty of most of the Riverlands, and the chance to bring the West to heel quickly."

But it is not the Vale's strength alone that makes us formidable. I had, quite literally, held a blade to the throat of most of the Riverlands' lords. By now, only the poor and those who had bought their way clear remained free. Everyone else, everyone who did not fall under those two categories, was either resting in the ground or sitting in a cell, waiting out their hour. Subduing the whole region, in other words, would give me no trouble at all. The Westerlands presented an even more interesting case. I could make use of Stannis's labors and march the river road once more. However capable a steward Kevan might be, he would never manage to restore the West's defenses to their old strength in so short a time. A push through the Golden Tooth would be simple enough, and it would open the road straight into the heart of the Lannister domain. After that, it would be a matter of technique alone, and the West would be brought to heel.