Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arthur Snow stood in Winterfell's map room, his enhanced senses tracking multiple pieces of information simultaneously while his hands remained still on the table's edge. Before him lay reports from across the realm—some arrived by raven, others through Redna's network, a few delivered personally by travelers whose routes had been carefully arranged to appear coincidental.
"The Tyrell-Hightower marriage negotiations are progressing," Redna reported, her finger tracing a line on the map from Highgarden to Oldtown. "Mace Tyrell travels to meet Lady Alerie within the fortnight. If the match proceeds, it creates a southern economic bubble strong enough to challenge northern trade dominance."
Arthur nodded, his expression revealing nothing. "Expected. The South adapts to changing circumstances. What else?"
"The royal party departed King's Landing eight days ago." Redna's finger moved to the routes leading toward Dorne. "Their declared path runs through the Prince's Pass. Storm's End has offered additional escort—Lord Steffon himself will lead two hundred men to supplement the King's own guard."
"And young Stannis?" Arthur asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Accompanies his father. Robert Baratheon remains in the Vale but is expected to lead the return escort after the Dorne visit concludes." Redna paused, consulting her notes. "Lord Arryn judged him not ready for the diplomatic complexities of the journey to Sunspear, but capable of handling military security for the return."
Arthur's lips quirked slightly. "Jon Arryn shows wisdom in his assessments. The boy has potential but lacks discipline. Putting him in a position where his strengths matter while his weaknesses are less relevant... sound strategy."
"There's more," Redna continued, her voice dropping slightly. "Multiple reports of Ironborn activity along the western coasts. Not raids, exactly—more like reconnaissance. Ships that appear, observe, and withdraw before engagement. And the royal party's route to Dorne has been leaked by merchants—possibly with Lannister connections."
"Patterns," Arthur murmured, his eyes tracking the coastlines on the map. "Not random piracy but coordinated assessment. Someone is gathering intelligence about naval movements and security weaknesses. And someone else is ensuring that intelligence reaches the right ears."
Maelen, who had been silent in the corner, spoke up. "The animals sense wrongness in those waters. Unnatural purpose. They're preparing for something larger than typical reaving."
Arthur's hand moved across the map, his finger tracing the royal party's route, the Ironborn sightings, the merchant networks connecting Lannisport to the Iron Islands. To an ordinary observer, it might appear as random data points. But Arthur had spent lifetimes learning to see patterns that others missed, to recognize when seemingly unrelated events were actually coordinated pieces of a larger design.
"The royal party travels to Dorne," he said quietly, speaking more to himself than his audience. "Their route—supposedly secret—becomes known through merchant channels with Lannister ties. The Ironborn, who normally raid for plunder, now conduct systematic reconnaissance. Meanwhile, western naval attention is conveniently drawn away from the royal convoy's path. And throughout the realm, houses jockey for position, preparing for instabilities they sense but cannot yet name."
"You think the Lannisters are coordinating with the Ironborn?" Redna asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Arthur's expression darkened slightly. "I think information flows along channels that benefit certain parties. Whether the Lannisters actively coordinate or simply create opportunities others exploit... the effect is similar. The Crown's vulnerability becomes more pronounced when their movements are predictable and their route is compromised."
"You think they'll strike at the royal party?" Lyanna pressed.
Arthur was silent for a long moment, his mind working through implications and consequences. When he finally spoke, his voice carried an odd quality—controlled but edged with something darker. "I think the Ironborn are not fools. They understand the Crown's current weakness—a mad king whose stability is questioned, heirs who are young and vulnerable, naval forces dispersed to protect a traveling royal family. And when someone conveniently provides them with detailed knowledge of that family's movements, such opportunities don't arise often."
"Should we send warning?" Maelen asked. "If you believe the threat is real—"
"Warning requires evidence, not supposition." Arthur's tone was measured, clinical. "We have sightings of ships and reports of increased activity. These could mean anything—seasonal fishing patterns, merchant convoys, pirates seeking easier targets while the navy is occupied elsewhere. Crying alarm based on nothing more substantial would mark us as fearful or manipulative."
Lyanna, who had been reviewing reports from the Hollow Vale, looked up sharply. "You're saying we should do nothing? If the royal family is in danger—"
"I'm saying that intervention requires careful consideration of consequences." Arthur met her gaze directly. "The realm is a complex system, Lyanna. Change one element and everything else adjusts to compensate. Sometimes those adjustments are beneficial. Sometimes they accelerate problems we cannot yet perceive."
He turned back to the map, his expression unreadable. "The King travels with substantial escort—his own guards, Storm's End's reinforcements, whatever additional forces the Dornish provide once he reaches their territory. If the Ironborn are foolish enough to attack such a convoy, they will be destroyed or scattered. The threat, while real, is manageable through existing resources."
"And if those resources prove insufficient?" Lyanna pressed.
Arthur's pause stretched longer than usual, his eyes distant as if calculating variables far beyond what lay on the map before them. When he spoke, his voice carried a strange quality—neither quite evasive nor fully revealing. "Then those responsible for the realm's security will need to reconsider their arrangements."
The words were neutral, but something in his tone made Redna's eyes narrow. She exchanged glances with Maelen, both sensing the situation beneath the surface they couldn't quite name.
"You see something," Garron said from the doorway, his massive frame filling the entrance. "Something you're not sharing."
Arthur's expression remained unreadable, but a slight shift in his posture, suggested acknowledgment. "I see patterns." He paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "The Ironborn aren't acting randomly, and the timing of the royal journey creates certain... vulnerabilities."
"Then we should warn them," Lyanna said immediately.
"Warn them of what, exactly?" Arthur's question was gentle but pointed. "That ships have been sighted? That I sense something wrong? On what evidence would the Crown act upon such warnings—and more importantly, what would they think of the North that sends them? And even if I do, do you think the other parties, those not in our favor, would support us? No. They're waiting for a reason to spark disruption—and to make us the prime suspects."
He turned back to the map, his finger tracing routes with an almost unconscious precision. "The technique I used on Aerys brought him clarity—temporarily. But trauma has a way of reasserting itself, especially when new stresses emerge. A mind that fragile, a realm that unstable..." He didn't finish the thought, leaving it hanging like smoke in still air.
"You're preparing for something," Garron observed. "Not just responding to threats, but positioning us for specific outcomes."
Arthur's lips quirked slightly, but the expression held no humor. "I'm preparing for reality. The realm's foundations are shifting whether we acknowledge it or not. My responsibility isn't to prevent every possible crisis—that's beyond anyone's capability. My responsibility is ensuring that when those shifts produce their inevitable consequences, we're positioned to respond effectively."
"Respond," Redna repeated, tasting the word. "Or capitalize?"
The question hung in the air for a long moment. Arthur met her gaze directly, and for just an instant, something flickered in his eyes—ancient, calculating, utterly foreign to the young face that housed it.
"Sometimes," he said quietly, "the line between those two things is thinner than we'd like to believe. And sometimes the greater good requires walking that line even when it feels uncomfortable."
Lyanna felt something cold settle in her stomach. This was Arthur as she'd never quite seen him before—not the teacher who patiently guided their training, not the warrior who defended against threats, but something else. Someone who saw further and deeper than she'd realized, who calculated in dimensions she couldn't fully grasp, who held knowledge he chose not to share for reasons that remained frustratingly opaque.
"What aren't you telling us?" she asked directly.
Arthur turned from the map, his expression softening slightly. "Many things, Lyanna. Some because the knowledge would be dangerous, some because certainty is illusion and I may be wrong, some because..." He hesitated, seeming to struggle with an internal decision. "Some because the future becomes different when too many people know what it might contain. Observation changes outcome. Intervention creates cascade effects. Sometimes the most responsible action is maintaining careful distance from events that must unfold in their own time."
"That's not an answer," she pressed.
"No," he agreed quietly. "It's not. But it's the only one I can give you right now."
The silence that followed was heavy with implications none of them were quite ready to fully examine. Arthur's gaze returned to the maps, his mind clearly working through calculations he didn't share, seeing connections invisible to everyone else in the room.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice carrying a weight that made them all listen more carefully. "The northern lords arrive within days. That's our immediate priority—demonstrating value, building alliances, securing the North's foundation. What happens in the South, with the Ironborn, with the Crown..." He paused, "What happens there will unfold according to forces already in motion. Forces I can observe but not easily redirect without risks I'm not prepared to take."
"Not yet," Maelen murmured, catching something in Arthur's phrasing.
Arthur's glance at the young Stark was sharp, approving. "Not yet," he confirmed. "Timing matters. Action taken too soon is often worse than action taken too late. The difficult part is knowing which is which."
He began organizing papers, his movements precise and economical. "Umber will raise concerns about the Wall—he's been seeing things that disturb him. We address that seriously, offer concrete solutions. Bolton will probe for weaknesses, looking for ways to exploit our techniques for his own purposes. We remain carefully vague about certain details while appearing cooperative. Manderly will want trade considerations and economic benefits. We provide those generously—he's already positioned as an ally."
"And the others?" Garron asked.
"Each house will have specific concerns based on their circumstances and temperaments. We've prepared responses for all likely scenarios." Arthur's confidence was absolute but not arrogant—simply the certainty of someone who had planned thoroughly. "The assembly will conclude with the northern lords understanding that cooperation benefits them more than opposition, and that House Stark's innovations represent strength rather than threat."
"What about the southern developments?" Maelen asked. "If the Tyrell-Hightower alliance forms, if the Citadel continues its opposition, if these Ironborn activities escalate—"
"We adapt," Arthur said simply. "The South's response to our growth is predictable—some will oppose, some will seek to emulate, some will attempt infiltration or theft. We've prepared for all of those scenarios. The key is maintaining momentum while managing external pressures carefully enough that no single faction can successfully coordinate against us."
He looked around the room at his closest allies, seeing their various expressions—trust, concern, confusion, determination. "I know some of what I'm proposing seems opaque. Observing patterns without fully explaining them, preparing for contingencies I won't detail, calculating in ways that make you uncomfortable..." He paused, choosing words carefully. "This World taught me that idealism without preparation is merely vulnerability waiting to be exploited. We're building something better, but we can only maintain it if we're willing to make difficult decisions about when and how to act."
"You're walking a dangerous line," Lyanna said quietly.
"I'm walking the only line that leads where we need to go." Arthur's gaze was steady, unwavering. "I don't enjoy keeping information close, Lyanna. But I'm responsible for everyone who depends on the systems we're building. That responsibility requires seeing clearly, even when sharing that vision might compromise our ability to act on it."
The silence that followed was heavy with implications none of them were quite ready to fully examine. Finally, Thom spoke from his position near the hearth.
"The lords begin arriving tomorrow. Karstark and Umber both sent word they'll be here within two days. We should finalize demonstration plans, review protocols, ensure everyone understands their roles."
"Agreed," Arthur said, seeming grateful for the shift to practical matters. "Lyanna, coordinate with the household staff—we're hosting the largest gathering Winterfell has seen in years. Garron, security arrangements for the assembly. Redna, continue monitoring southern developments but keep it subtle. Maelen, maintain your surveillance networks but don't overextend—we need you focused for the demonstrations."
As the meeting dispersed and his allies moved to their various assignments, Arthur remained alone with the maps and reports, his mind working through patterns and possibilities. The Ironborn would likely strike—the opportunity was too perfect, the Crown too vulnerable. Whether they succeeded or failed, the aftermath would reshape political alignments throughout the realm.
And in that reshaping, the North would need to be ready. Ready to respond, ready to demonstrate value, ready to secure its position in a realm where traditional powers were being tested in ways they didn't yet understand.
The world is barbaric, he thought, studying the maps that represented so many human lives and their interconnections. It always has been. The strong dominate the weak, the ruthless outmaneuver the honorable, the prepared outlast the idealistic.
But perhaps, with enough power and careful planning, that barbarism could be directed toward less destructive ends. Enhanced capabilities meant enhanced security. Superior training produced superior defenders. Economic prosperity created stability that reduced desperation-driven violence.
The means remained uncomfortable. The calculations required cold assessment of probabilities and consequences. But the alternative—allowing chaos to unfold without any attempt to guide it toward better outcomes—that seemed far worse.
Arthur rolled up the maps and extinguished most of the candles, leaving only a single flame burning. Outside, Winterfell prepared for the gathering that would determine how much of the North embraced or resisted the changes he'd set in motion. And beyond the castle walls, forces moved toward collisions that would test everything he'd built.
The game continued. Pieces moved across the board. And Arthur Snow, who had learned strategy in worlds where losing meant death, played for stakes higher than any of his opponents yet understood.
Tomorrow, the northern lords would arrive. Within weeks, the South would face crises that revealed the inadequacy of traditional responses. And in the spaces between those events, Arthur would continue building the foundations of something that might—just might—prove strong enough to weather the storms approaching from all directions.
If he calculated correctly. If his allies proved as capable as he believed. If the variables he couldn't control didn't cascade into disasters beyond his ability to manage.
Too many ifs. But that was the nature of strategy in a complex world—you made your calculations, positioned your pieces, and hoped that when chaos arrived, your preparations proved sufficient.
Arthur extinguished the final candle and left the map room in darkness, carrying with him the weight of decisions made and consequences yet to unfold.