[Chapter Size: 3000 Words.]

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Third Person POV

North, 297 AC.

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Beyond the North, in the Riverlands, Lord Stark’s raven had also reached the Tullys’ seat. Catelyn’s father grabbed the scroll, hardly believing what he was reading.

Hoster Tully didn’t even know how to react at first to what he heard about his daughter. The request for divorce, or even the news that his daughter was traveling south regardless of the High Septon’s decision, meant that Catelyn would no longer be welcome at Winterfell after what had happened.

“What’s wrong, Father?” Edmure Tully asked, noticing his father’s tense expression.

“Read this, and you’ll find out for yourself…” Hoster murmured as he handed the letter to Edmure.

“Cat… no… They dare to humiliate my sister like this?!” Edmure murmured slowly, his anger and indignation becoming evident.

“I can’t say I’m pleased with this either, Edmure… but we must tread carefully in how we respond to this,” Hoster said with a weary tone.

“What do you mean by that, Father?! They’re humiliating Cat just because of a bastard! We must seek justice for this; that scoundrel must pay!” Edmure exclaimed immediately.

“But don’t forget, we’re dealing with someone who destroyed the royal fleet and spared the king out of mercy. Furthermore, all of our men who passed beyond the Wall—none of them returned. We aren’t just dealing with the Starks here… Lord Stark is also acting out of fear of an attack from the North,” Hoster spoke cautiously.

“What’s the matter, Father? Are you afraid of the savages hiding beyond the Wall too?!” Edmure retorted in an impassioned tone, looking at his father with indignation.

“You sound like a fool. Did you not see the size of their fleet the last time they sailed? They didn’t even have 200 ships when they destroyed the royal fleet. Now there are more than 500 of them!” Hoster snapped, trying to instill some sense into his impulsive and disappointing heir. He hoped Edmure would handle things better before his own death.

Hoster wasn’t calm about his daughter’s situation and wished he could be as indignant as Edmure. But he also knew he had to act carefully. If it had still been Winterfell’s bastard, he would have gone to Winterfell himself to demand Eddard Stark retract his accusations and publicly apologize to Catelyn. But things were different now… They were dealing with a bastard who had somehow gained immense power alongside the wildlings beyond the Wall, someone who had put all of Westeros in a precarious position. After all, there was a new player in the game of power—one they couldn’t understand and who had already caused significant damage to Westeros nearly three years ago.

“Aren’t the Ironborn building a fleet to face him?!” Edmure asked.

“That’s another thing I fear… Edmure,” Hoster murmured with a tired tone. “The Ironborn aren’t trustworthy, and I was against it when the king and his Hand allowed them free rein to build another fleet. Westeros has no fleet left if they decide to attack us as well. Then we won’t just be dealing with the Articans beyond the Wall but also a second Greyjoy rebellion…” he said.

“…” His son couldn’t respond to this, appearing lost.

“So what are we going to do? Are we just going to stay silent while our sister and our house are being defamed by the North to all the Seven Kingdoms?” Edmure demanded.

“I won’t remain idle over this…” Hoster admitted before continuing. “First, the High Septon will never accept Lord Stark’s divorce… They hate Jon Artica deeply after what happened in Oldtown… But even so, Lord Stark must already be sending Catelyn south at this very moment,” he commented.

“Our sister was expelled from her own home. What’s your plan, Father?” Edmure asked with a dry, ironic tone. His father’s lack of solutions only frustrated him, though Hoster shot him a hard look for the interruption.

“Let me finish, Edmure,” he said angrily and continued. “Jon Arryn will not accept this either. The king must also bear resentment after the battle at sea against the Artican fleet… We can seek support in the North. I’ll send letters to the major houses, but I’ll also be traveling to King’s Landing. I’ll demand justice for Catelyn’s humiliation at court,” he said, leaving Edmure in silence.

“Are you satisfied, son? It’s not as if we can call our banners and march north, or even wage war against Artica while they’re likely producing more and more ships at this very moment,” Hoster said.

“I can still go north and demand the Lord of Winterfell apologize,” Edmure replied stubbornly.

“And what will you do to achieve that? Challenge him to a duel?” Hoster mocked. “Don’t forget that he defeated Arthur Dayne… One of the greatest swordsmen Westeros has ever known,” he reminded his reckless son.

“Do you think I don’t know how to wield a sword? I can beat an old man,” Edmure said angrily. “I’m going out for a while.” He didn’t even wait for his father’s response before leaving the room abruptly.

Hoster only sighed and called for his maester.

“I’m here, my lord…” the maester said as he approached.

“I want you to summon my brother back. I need him to lead an escort to meet my daughter halfway and bring her home again,” Hoster instructed. His brother, Brynden Tully, was dealing with some banditry in the region, so he hoped the nearby castles and their banners would deliver the message to him as he passed through their lands.

“I also want you to send a letter to King’s Landing. I’ll be leaving the castle to travel and meet with the king in a few days…” Hoster added, and the maester nodded before leaving the room.

Left alone, Hoster continued pondering what to do. He didn’t like Jon Artica. In fact, he despised him—for being a bastard, for killing maesters and septons alongside the High Septon while they were unarmed, and for humiliating his daughter so publicly. No lord in the South would do such a thing to his own wife to protect a bastard. In fact, no one would care if the legitimate wife killed the bastard. If that had happened, Hoster would have supported Catelyn. But now he was dealing with someone with immense power, and he had to tread carefully while the North sought to preserve itself.

In the West, things weren’t faring well either. A letter from spies in the North had arrived immediately after the events in Winterfell.

“Well, it seems not all families are as pure as they claim,” Tyrion commented as he read the scroll in the solar of Casterly Rock.

The only other person there was his father, who shot him an accusatory glare. Tywin knew Tyrion shouldn’t have read the letter, but his son had simply taken it as soon as Lord Tywin Lannister had received it from a servant and placed it on the table after reading and contemplating its contents. They had been in the middle of a discussion about the sewer system Tyrion had been developing in Lannisport over the past few years.

Tywin wished it was his brother there to discuss such matters instead of his dwarf son, but he had no one else to share his thoughts with, so he didn’t immediately dismiss Tyrion from the solar.

“What? It’s truly fascinating to think that the Starks—or rather, Lady Catelyn—acted this way. Not that I can’t understand; after all, bastards and dwarves are never well-treated in Westeros, are they, Father?” Tyrion said with a tone of irony, though Tywin refused to dignify him with a response.

“It seems Lord Stark is trying to salvage his relationship with the king beyond the Wall,” Tywin commented, inserting himself into the conversation.

“Which isn’t too hard to understand. After all, no one would want an enemy with hundreds of ships so close to their doorstep, especially when the only thing dividing you from them is a giant wall of ice that can be bypassed by sea,” Tyrion quipped.

Tywin, lost in thought, finally responded: “We need someone who has returned from the North after seeing this kingdom beyond the Wall. But no one has returned. We should have received some information. That’s why we sent so many men, expecting to lose most of them, but not all… We’re blind, and even the Watch refuses to send more men beyond just maintaining their area.” Tywin ended up venting to Tyrion.

“Perhaps you could try marrying Myrcella to their king. I’m sure you’d be invited to the wedding,” Tyrion suggested with a smirk.

“I highly doubt that will happen now. Your sister has influenced your daughter’s thinking. She sent me letters, pleading not to marry the savage, as she now believes him to be…” Tywin replied.

“It’s so typical of Cersei… I know,” Tyrion said calmly.

“I’ll have to go to King’s Landing to sort this out. We cannot afford to become enemies of this group when we’re not even capable of attacking them. Our royal fleet has been destroyed, and we can’t advance by land, as the entire army vanished without a trace. We don’t know what weapons they have besides that damned wildfire… We should be negotiating an alliance, not seeking further conflict,” Tywin said gravely.

He was aware of the rumors and what his spies had uncovered about what Jon Artica was doing with the Iron Bank of Braavos. Beyond becoming a direct patron among the twelve keyholders, Jon was also supplying food to Braavos alongside other products. This was beginning to affect some houses that relied on their land cultivation.

Many were still indifferent, but Tywin knew it wouldn’t be long before crowds of nobles began flocking to King’s Landing to demand the king take action. This would devastate the main trade of the Riverlands and the Reach.

“Even so, you’re still building a small fleet in Lannisport,” Tyrion quipped.

“I’m doing it to protect us. The king granted permission to all houses with coasts to build naval forces,” Tywin replied dryly.

Three years ago, in addition to the Greyjoys starting to form their fleet, all houses were given clearance to begin producing warships, incentivized with tax benefits to create a new naval force to prepare for the enemy. The people in King’s Landing were trying to replicate the Artican weapons, incorporating wildfire into their ships, to be launched via scorpions.

Under Tywin’s command, Casterly Rock quickly produced over 100 ships in the last three years, all in Lannisport. This was also a precaution against their neighbors. The king and his Hand had been too radical in allowing the Greyjoys to rebuild their fleet. This could become another threat to the kingdoms, forcing Tywin to remain vigilant. After all, they might launch a second Greyjoy rebellion.

Tywin hadn’t forgotten how he lost an entire fleet during the Greyjoys’ first rebellion twelve years ago.

“I doubt you’ll convince Myrcella. Now, thanks to Cersei… your daughter is terrified of the Articans, especially with the rumor that Jon Artica abducted the Dornish bastard…” Tyrion said.

“Even so, Dorne isn’t sending forces to Artica. There’s something strange about that, but I want Myrcella to fulfill her role. The enemy is now powerful—militarily and economically—and the North has realized this. That’s why they’re sending letters to everyone, publicly apologizing, expelling Lady Catelyn, and attempting to divorce Lord Stark…” Tywin replied.

“I hope you’re right, Father,” Tyrion murmured as he began leaving the room, having nothing more to discuss with Tywin, leaving the lord of Casterly Rock alone.

In the Reach, the Queen of Thorns reviewed the letters that had arrived at Highgarden a few days earlier. She, too, had spies in the North, and as information spread rapidly, everyone was becoming aware of what was happening.

Holding the letter with a pensive expression, Olenna Tyrell watched her grandchildren—Margaery and her elder brother—strolling through the garden, which now boasted far more flowers than before. Many of these flowers had been gifts from Jon Artica during his visit over three years ago. Her granddaughter had blossomed into a dazzling beauty, perfect for a queen.

“I wonder if she could enchant Jon Artica…” Olenna murmured, though it was a thought she quickly dismissed.

The Kingdom of Artica was proving to be a power far beyond what anyone initially imagined. The disappearance of 16,000 men, a fleet of 500 ships, and the trade routes being established with Essos… All of this left many lords of Westeros deeply concerned.

Olenna could feel the onset of a headache as she realized her son, who should have been handling these matters, seemed largely indifferent. Even so, rumors had already begun to circulate that Artica was trading food with Braavos and had become a minor buyer from them—still a buyer nonetheless. Although not their largest client, the prices she had heard were concerning…

Her mind began to race. After all, she realized it would not be wise to make an enemy of Artica. Now that everyone had witnessed the failed attempt to send troops beyond the Wall, the initial anger many felt toward the Articans was beginning to wane.

On the contrary, it was being replaced by something far more dangerous: fear.

“Perhaps Lord Stark was right to try reconciling with Artica and seeking justice for the Artican King’s name, but our situation is a bit more complicated,” Olenna murmured.

After all, Jon Artica had attacked the Seven Kingdoms’ main port city and the seat of the Faith, along with the Order of Maesters, sacking and killing them. “They would never forget such an atrocity,” Olenna thought as she tried to devise a way to deal with the growing threat of Artica.

“Artica is a powerful enemy for any kingdom.”

She considered the possibility of sending her granddaughter to Artica to become queen and forge an alliance through marriage. However, it would not be simple. The Artican King already had three wives: after abducting the bastard daughter of Doran Martell, there were also strange rumors about the Articans harboring a girl with platinum hair in some Free Cities, guarded by Artican soldiers. These claims came only from local sources, as no reliable spies had reported it, so Olenna initially dismissed the matter.

“Could it be the surviving Targaryen girl? Nonsense… Perhaps a new queen we have yet to learn about,” she mused, setting the thought aside. Things couldn’t be that dire. After all, if Jon Artica could claim the Iron Throne by having children with a legitimate Targaryen, the game would change entirely.

And though Olenna disliked the idea of granting more power to the Lannister family by making Tywin’s granddaughter the Queen of Artica, it could stabilize relations between the realms.

“Perhaps I’m overthinking. Let’s see what unfolds in the coming years,” she concluded, setting the matter aside as she placed the letter down and sipped her tea, watching her grandchildren converse in the Highgarden gardens.

In King’s Landing, Littlefinger read the news from the North, surprised by what had transpired. He had been advising Catelyn to take steps that could benefit him. One such suggestion was to place Arya Stark under the care of House Arryn, sending her to be protected by her aunt. This would provide a significant advantage against Jon Artica, having Arya as a hostage.

“How could that Northern savage do this to Catelyn?” exclaimed Lysa Tully, her voice sharp with irritation, while Petyr Baelish sat with her in her chambers, hidden in the Tower of the Hand.

“It seems the wolf of the North has shown his claws and preferred a bastard over a true lady,” Baelish murmured, venom dripping from his words.

“I’ll speak with Jon. He can’t allow this!” Lysa said indignantly. To her, this was a personal affront and an unprecedented disgrace to her house.

While Lord Stark sought justice for a bastard—a notion she believed had no merit—Lysa seemed oblivious to the fact that the bastard was now a king, a formidable military power who had already defeated King Baratheon in battle.

“We can’t do anything about it except wait. If we had Arya Stark in our hands, we could have leverage against that king beyond the Wall. After all, he seems to care about his sister. But now that Catelyn is leaving Winterfell, with or without the divorce, there’s nothing more we can do,” Petyr replied with a tone of regret.

The scar on his face still haunted him—a reminder of the day he was attacked by Jon Artica through what the man called “animal sorcery.” Littlefinger sought vengeance, harboring a deeper resentment than he had ever felt for Brandon Stark. Oh, how he hated that family… yet they seemed more out of reach than ever. At least now, he saw a glimmer of hope: the chance to finally have Catelyn, the woman he had always loved, now that she was being rejected by her husband.

“My father won’t let this slide. He’ll do something,” Lysa said, her anger evident.

“I’m certain he will, my Lysa,” Petyr replied, stepping closer to her and gently caressing her face, calming her as she melted into his touch. “I’m also certain they won’t accept the divorce. But let’s see what happens. For now, I must go. I have a meeting with the council, and once again, we’ll attempt to decide how to deal with Jon Artica once and for all.”

Petyr spoke calmly as Lysa watched him leave the room through a secret passage. He disappeared into a concealed corridor, reemerging in another part of the Red Keep.

Heading to the council chamber, where the lords were gathered, Petyr knew they would once again discuss how to handle Jon Artica. But he also knew the likely outcome: the same as always—no concrete solution to counter the growing influence of the king beyond the Wall in Westeros.

Raccoon Here: I’ll skip forward six months since the events of Game of Thrones will begin in about a year. Should I write another chapter focusing on the council?

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 230 – Greywater Watch.

Chapter 235 – Some conversations and setting out for Essos again.

Chapter 245 – Time to return home.

Chapter 254 – An Offer to the Free Folk 01.

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