The raven arrived at dawn, its wings beating a tired rhythm against the grey King's Landing sky. Aaryan was already at his desk, the events of the past two weeks a complex tapestry in his mind. He broke Kaelen's seal. The message was as brutally concise as the man who wrote it.
Cove secured. Target neutralized. Asset acquired. Awaiting instructions.
A cold, thin smile touched Aaryan's lips. It was a perfect victory. His plan had been executed without a single flaw, his men performing as the disciplined, lethal instruments he had forged them to be. He now held a high-ranking Dornish agent, a captured Ironborn warship, and the complete, terrified submission of House Westerling. He held all the cards.
He did not ride west. A Warden's power was best demonstrated by the reach of his will, not the speed of his horse. He sent his instructions back to Kaelen at Casterly Rock via raven, his script precise. "The asset is a spy, not a soldier. I do not need his screams; I need his secrets. Inform him that we know of the Volantene envoy. We know the name of his ship. We know of the dragon hunt. Make him understand his Prince has left him to die in the dark, and that the only sliver of light is to tell me everything else he knows. His life depends on his utility."
With the interrogation underway, Aaryan turned his focus to the political stage. He had won the battle in the cove; now he would win the war in the capital. He called for a special session of the Small Council to report a matter of grave importance to the security of the West.
He stood before them, the very picture of a vigilant and capable lord. "My lords," he began, his tone somber. "I bring both troubling and heartening news. My new Warden's Men, while on coastal patrol, intercepted a rogue Ironborn longship engaged in piracy near the Crag."
He let the word 'piracy' hang in the air. It was a familiar, uncomplicated evil.
"These reavers," he continued, "were attempting to extort the noble House Westerling. A battle ensued. I am pleased to report that my men were victorious. The pirate threat was eliminated, and their ship was captured."
Ser Davos's face shone with approval. "Excellent news, Lord Aaryan! A decisive blow against those saltwater thieves. This is exactly what the Warden's Men were created for."
"Indeed," Aaryan agreed. "Lord Westerling was so grateful for his rescue that he sent a full confession of his ordeal, and his thanks for the Crown's swift protection." He produced a scroll, sealed with the Westerling sigil, and handed it to a stunned Tyrion. It was, of course, a confession Aaryan himself had dictated to a broken and terrified Lord Westerling.
Tyrion read the letter, his eyes narrowing. The story was perfect. Too perfect. A single ship of pirates, defeated with such ease? He knew there was more beneath the surface, but Aaryan had presented him with an ironclad narrative. The confession, the captured ship currently being refitted in Lannisport—the evidence was absolute. He was utterly outmaneuvered.
"A fine piece of work, cousin," Tyrion said, his voice tight. "You have the council's thanks."
"My only goal is to serve the realm," Aaryan replied smoothly.
He now had to deliver a message to the true players. The Dornish would hear nothing. The sudden, complete silence—the disappearance of their agent, their Ironborn allies, and an entire shipment of weapons—would be a terrifying mystery that would breed paranoia and fear far more effectively than any accusation.
For Yara Greyjoy, however, he required a more direct approach. A raven flew from King's Landing to Pyke that afternoon.
Queen Yara,
One of your ships, the 'Sea Vulture', was recently involved in an act of piracy upon my coast. My men were forced to deal with the matter. I am now in possession of the vessel, its captain, and its logs. I trust this was a rogue element acting without the authority of the Iron Queen. I look forward to your prompt explanation.
As a gesture of goodwill between our regions, I am prepared to return the ship once this unfortunate matter is clarified. I am certain you would not want the King, or your dear friends the Starks, to be troubled by the unsanctioned actions of your captains.
It was a declaration of war disguised as a diplomatic courtesy. He was offering her an escape route—blame a dead captain—while simultaneously holding the evidence of her treason over her head. He was blackmailing the Queen of the Iron Islands, isolating her from her Dornish co-conspirators, and reasserting his absolute dominance over the western coast.
He had managed the crisis to perfection. He had neutralized the immediate threat, solidified his political standing in the capital, and thrown his enemies into disarray. He sat in his solar as dusk fell over the city, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over him.
Another raven arrived, this one bearing Kaelen's seal. A single sheet of parchment was inside. The interrogation of Vorian Sand was complete.
Aaryan read the report, his composure hardening into something cold and dangerous. Vorian, faced with the reality that his secrets were already known, had confessed everything. He confirmed the alliance between Dorne, the renegade Ironborn, and the envoy from Volantis. He detailed their plan to use the weapons to incite a rebellion in the Stormlands while the main Volantene force prepared their fleet.
But it was the final detail, a piece of information Vorian had given up in a desperate bid to prove his value, that made Aaryan's blood run cold. The Volantene envoy they were trafficking was not merely a diplomat seeking an alliance. His true purpose was far more terrifying.
He was a Dragonbinder.
He was one of the shadow-binders of Essos who practiced the blood magic of Old Valyria, a man who claimed to possess the knowledge and the artifacts necessary to bend a dragon to his will. His meeting with the Prince of Dorne was to be the final step before their expedition sailed east.
Aaryan stared at the wall, the world shifting around him. Their plan was not just to find Drogon. It was to enslave him. The threat had escalated beyond his darkest calculations. It was a race for a weapon of mass destruction, and his enemy believed they already held the key to turn it on the entire world.