Blood And Iron (ASOIAF/GoT)

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-Pov of Jon arryn moon 289 AC

The fire burned in the hearth, but the cold in my bones had nothing to do with winter.

From my desk, surrounded by mountains of parchments, letters, and records of empty coffers, I tried to make sense of the disaster consuming us. Every corner of Westeros, every noble house, every village lost along the roads—they all shared the same prayer, thinly veiled as a plea:

Food. Gold. Security.

And the Crown… had nothing to give.

The weight of the realm had become unbearable. Even for me.

The Riverlands were starving, their fields turned to ash before the harvest,The Reach, under Prussian control, kept its granaries full—and locked,The Stormlands barely had enough to sustain their own people,Dorne was still licking its wounds after the sack of Planky Town.The Westerlands, once a symbol of wealth, now faced ruin along their coasts and growing hunger within their castles.

And the Iron Throne…

Broken.

Robert had emptied the treasury trying to stem the catastrophe. He had bought grain from Essos at impossible prices, paid for fleets to bring provisions that vanished before they even reached land—but nothing was enough.

Desperate petitions grew with every sunrise.

Peasants, turned beggars, clogged the roads.

Nobles accumulated debts they would never repay.

And Robert…

Robert was no longer the same.

He held no tourneys. He no longer roared at feasts. He barely hunted.

He drank. Silently.

Not with the old reckless energy, but with the weight of a man trying to forget.

I had tried to hold the kingdom together with him. I urged him to listen to the council, to rule with a steady hand, to take control of his own reign. But he was never meant to be a king.

A sharp knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

It swung open without warning.

Varys entered, his steps light, his robe flowing like a shadow across the firelit room.

He always brought secrets, intrigues, warnings.

But this time…

His expression was different.

Not the sly smile of a man who enjoyed the game, but the look of someone bearing a blow impossible to evade.

A letter.

My stomach tightened.

Varys extended it without a word.

I took it. Read it.

Read it again.

The world seemed to stop.

Robert… had abdicated.

My heart pounded against my ribs.

The words were there, written in his own hand.

Varys made no sound as he moved, but I could feel his gaze fixed on me as I read.

"The Seven Kingdoms deserve a true king..."

"I tried, Jon. I sat with you, I tried to learn from the Small Council, but I can't… I'm not a man made to sit for hours listening to people's complaints."

"The Seven Kingdoms need a king who can fulfill his duty. I am not that man. I never was."

"That is why I abdicate and leave for Essos, where I will make my way swinging my hammer, as I did in the old days."

"Considering Joffrey's age, my heir, and because the throne needs a firm hand, I pass my crown to my brother Stannis. Let him do what I could not."

The parchment trembled in my hands.

A weight settled on my shoulders—not of surprise, but of certainty. This had been inevitable.

I looked up.

Varys waited in silence, hands clasped over his belly.

"When?" I asked, my voice rougher than usual.

"Last night, my lord," he answered softly.

"Who went with him?"

"A few of his most loyal men… and more company than he should have taken."

Silence filled the room.

I sighed, setting the letter carefully on the table.

"This is going to be an incredible headache…"

The Lannisters would turn against us.

Tywin would never accept this. He had invested too much in his alliance with Robert, in his daughter's marriage, in his grandson's future. He expected his legacy to rule Westeros.

I ran a hand over my forehead, trying to organize my thoughts.

"This is a direct insult to Lord Tywin. A slight against his bloodline, his power. He won't stand idle."

Varys tilted his head slightly, watching me with his usual unreadable expression.

"Tywin Lannister is a patient man, but he does not forgive insults," he said in that ever-sweet tone of his.

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the pressure pulse at my temples.

And yet…

There was a kind of wisdom in this.

Joffrey was a child. He lacked the age, the patience, and the intelligence to hold together a kingdom in ruins.

Robert had known that.

And rather than hand the realm to the Lannisters, he had chosen to give it to his brother.

Stannis.

Cold. Inflexible. But just.

The only man who could rule without compromising his honor

The only one who wouldn't turn the Iron Throne into a game of ambition and betrayal.

"But will the nobility accept this?" I murmured, my gaze drifting back to Robert's letter.

Varys remained still, his lips barely curving into the ghost of a smile.

"Will Tywin Lannister accept being stripped of his legacy?"

I took a deep breath. The storm was coming.

Leaning over the desk, I read the letter one last time.

The final decision was mine.

If I ignored Robert's orders, the kingdom would continue as it was,there would be chaos, hunger, and disorder—but stability on the throne.

If I declared Stannis as king, the realm would fracture.

Tywin would never allow his bloodline to be cast aside. Not without a fight.

And Westeros could not afford another war.

The Riverlands were in flames,The roads were filled with beggars,The gold was gone.

But Robert had made his choice.

And I would not ignore the last will of the man I had governed for.

But it was the king's will.

The king I had raised, the man I considered a son.

I fought for him. I ruled for him.

And I was not about to betray his final command as king.

"Stannis Baratheon will be the new King of the Seven Kingdoms," I declared firmly, setting the letter down on the table.

"Summon Stannis," I ordered Varys, my voice dry and absolute.

He bowed his head with that enigmatic smile of his and vanished without a sound.

I braced myself for what was to come.

The whispers began within hours.

First, about Robert's sudden disappearance.

The questions followed immediately:

"Where is the king?"

"Why hasn't he returned from the hunt?"

"Why is the Small Council silent?"

Rumors filled the halls of the Red Keep like rats on a sinking ship. Some claimed the king had been murdered, others that he was gravely wounded, and the boldest whispered that Essosi mercenaries had kidnapped him.

But the real uproar came days later.

When no preparations were made for Joffrey's coronation.

The Iron Throne remained empty.

And Cersei did not take long to demand answers.

At first, she was subtle, wielding the polite smile she reserved for those she did not yet consider enemies.

Then, she issued direct orders—to the servants, the guards, the master of ceremonies.

But when no answers came, her patience ran dry.

One day, she stormed into my chambers without warning, her golden gown billowing behind her like a sandstorm.

"What are you doing, Lord Arryn?" she asked coldly, her green eyes as sharp as daggers. "My son is the rightful heir, and every day that passes without his coronation is an insult to his birthright."

I remained at my desk, unmoved.

"The Small Council has not yet reached a decision."

"It is not the Small Council's decision to make—it is the blood of kings!" Her voice rose, laced with restrained fury. "Joffrey is Robert's son. His coronation is a mere formality. Why are you delaying it?"

"The timing is not right."

I saw her tense. It was not the answer she wanted to hear.

"Are you delaying it on purpose?"

I did not respond.

"Or worse..." Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Do you think you can steal the throne?"

I met her gaze.

I knew that the moment Stannis set foot in the Red Keep, everything would become clear.

And so it did.

The day he arrived in the capital, his presence alone changed everything.

He did not enter with a grand procession, nor with fanfare or banners.

But he walked like a man taking what was rightfully his.

No noble dared to greet him with a celebration. No one stepped forward to pledge allegiance—until they realized what he carried.

Then, Robert's last will was read.

And chaos erupted.

The council chamber buzzed with murmurs. Nobles whispered among themselves, calculating their next move.

Some switched allegiances on the spot, seeing Stannis as their best chance to survive the coming storm.

Others withdrew, unwilling to commit.

And then there were those who knew there was no turning back, who saw in Stannis the only hope of holding the realm together in its darkest hour.

Cersei did not scream.

She didn't need to. The icy silence that followed said everything.

Her eyes moved from me to Stannis, filled with hatred and promises of vengeance.

And I understood immediately what was about to happen.

It didn't take a genius to know how Tywin Lannister would react when he learned his grandson had been stripped of the throne.

Nor did one need a prophet to predict Cersei's fury, already simmering beneath the surface, waiting for her moment to strike.

Stannis was now king. A king without powerful allies, without gold in his coffers, and with a realm on the verge of collapse.

I did the only thing I could.

I warned him. I told him everything I had done, the reasons, the dangers.

Then, I waited.

Waited to see if he would cast me aside or send me back to the Vale.

But before he could decide, something happened that no one expected.

Someone we never imagined seeing in the Red Keep again crossed the castle gates.

Maximilian.

The Prussian diplomat, the man who had once been the soft-spoken voice of his nation in Westeros.

But he was not the same man anymore.

There was no smile on his face, no courtesy in his stance.

His features were rigid, cold, hardened.

And his voice, when he spoke, was as sharp as a dagger.

"The King in Prussia recognizes Stannis Baratheon's claim to the Iron Throne."

Silence fell over the room.

We all turned to him, as if to make sure we had heard correctly.

The Prussians had never shown any interest in the struggles for the throne. And yet…

"As a gesture of goodwill," Maximilian continued, "the grain stored in The Reach will be made available to supply the rest of the kingdom under favorable terms."

I stopped breathing for a moment.

The famine.

The Seven Kingdoms were drowning in hunger, with nobles begging for provisions, with peasants dying in the streets.

And The Reach—the breadbasket of Westeros, now in Prussian hands—had kept its stores sealed.

Until now.

"Furthermore," Maximilian added without hesitation, "the King in Prussia will pay the Iron Throne's taxes in advance for the next three years."

I couldn't help but lean forward.

This… this changed everything.

From the moment Maximilian stepped into the chamber, I knew this was not just an act of loyalty.

The gold, the grain, the recognition of Stannis's rule… it was all calculated.

Prussia was not offering a helping hand.

It was ensuring that its enemy fell into the worst position imaginable.

The King in Prussia was not doing Stannis a favor.

He was ensuring that his greatest enemy suffered the ultimate humiliation.

And with that, the game board of Westeros shifted once more.

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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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