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"Son, might I take a look at Dawn?"
Jon Arryn spoke suddenly, breaking Arthur's train of thought.
Arthur nodded. Penrose quickly entered the room, the greatsword Dawn strapped to his back. Beads of sweat dotted the young squire's forehead; clearly, the weapon was a heavy burden for him.
"It certainly... has some weight to it." Old Arryn struggled to pull the blade from its sheath, his eyes fixed on the milky-white, glass-like steel. "Throughout history, those who wielded Dawn and bore the title 'Sword of the Morning' were the mightiest knights of House Dayne. They were not only peerless swordsmen but men of honor, deeply revered. Its previous master, Ser Arthur Dayne, was a legend who kept his vows until his dying breath."
Jon Arryn sheathed the blade and spoke solemnly. "Lad, cherish this honor."
"I will." Arthur strapped Dawn back onto his back.
"Go on, then." Arryn returned to his desk, burying his head in his work. "Stay within King's Landing until the day of the inquiry."
After Arthur left, the old man picked up a letter from his desk and read it again. It was signed Eddard Stark.
It had been many years since he had seen his former foster son, now the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. A smile touched Old Arryn's lips.
---
Walking out of the Tower of the Hand, Arthur mulled over Arryn's advice. To face a strong enemy, one must find allies.
During the War of the Usurper, Jon Arryn had done exactly that. He raised his banners first, then sent his wards—Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark—back to their own lands to call their bannermen. Then came the marriages: Jon to Lysa Tully, and Eddard taking Brandon's place to marry Catelyn Tully. This forged the great alliance of the Wolf, the Falcon, the Stag, and the Trout that toppled the Targaryen dynasty. Later, as Hand of the King, he secured the Stag-Lion marriage, solidifying the realm.
He even traveled personally to Sunspear to make peace with Prince Doran.
It could be said that Jon Arryn's diplomatic brilliance was the foundation upon which the Baratheon dynasty was built and sustained. Even with King Robert spending his days hunting, whoring, and drinking while ignoring the realm, the kingdom continued to run smoothly as long as the Old Hand's alliances held firm.
Now that I think about it, Arthur mused, I've been relying too much on my own talent and the 'Tactical System' interface to solve problems. I've neglected the importance of alliances.
If he had secured powerful allies before marching on the Reach, he wouldn't have had to be so cautious, constantly worrying about the defense of Starfall, which tied his hands and prevented an all-out offensive. Or, if he had possessed strong allies before Redwyne attacked the Peach Orchards, perhaps that attack would never have happened at all.
"History has taught us countless times: nobles who pursue love and free marriage rarely meet a good end."
Arthur recalled Lord Anders' warning after Arthur rejected his offer of betrothal, and he thought of Arianne Martell's anxiety about her succession rights as Quentyn's allies grew in number.
Arthur felt a sudden clarity. Finding allies and forming blocs was indeed the fastest path to expanding one's power.
But what was done was done. There was no point dwelling on it.
Even if the situation was grim, Arthur still held many noble captives from the Reach. And, as a last resort, he had trial by combat.
Trial by combat was the ultimate method of settling disputes in the eyes of gods and men: the two parties fought to the death, and the survivor was deemed righteous.
One could lack allies, but one must possess iron-hard personal strength.
"So, you're the new 'Sword of the Morning,' Arthur Snow?"
A mocking, frivolous voice pulled Arthur from his internal brainstorming.
He looked up and immediately recognized the knight blocking his path: tall, handsome, golden hair flowing, clad in white armor and a white cloak.
The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister.
In his 'Sword Vision,' Arthur had once seen his uncle, Arthur Dayne, use Dawn to knight this very man.
Arthur shrugged. "Unless there's a second Dawn in the world, I suppose I am the Arthur Snow you're talking about."
Jaime shifted his gaze from Arthur to the greatsword on his back, looking entranced for a moment.
That boy... he grew up wanting to be Arthur Dayne, but somewhere along the way, life took a sharp turn, and he became the Smiling Knight instead.
He hid the bitterness in his smile. "The world has truly fallen, if a Snow can wield Dawn and call himself the Sword of the Morning."
"Is that so?" Arthur smirked. "In a world where a Kingslayer can serve as a Kingsguard in a white cloak, why is it so surprising that a Snow can wield Dawn?"
"You have a sharp tongue, Snow." Jaime crossed his arms over his chest. "Your father, Brandon Stark, was the same. He came here shouting threats, but what happened next made him regret it bitterly."
"He was taken hostage by the Mad King, and your grandfather, Lord Rickard, was summoned to answer for him."
"Lord Rickard demanded a trial by combat, and the King granted it. That day, Stark dressed in full armor, expecting to face a Kingsguard... perhaps he hoped to face me."
"Instead, he was taken to the Throne Room and suspended from the rafters. The Mad King's pyromancers lit a fire beneath him. The King told him: Fire is the champion of House Targaryen. If Lord Rickard wishes to prove his innocence, he need only... ha, not burn."
"As the flames rose, Brandon was brought in. His hands were bound behind his back, and a wet leather cord was wrapped around his throat, attached to a Tyroshi device the King had bought. He was free to move only his legs, and his sword was placed on the floor, just out of reach."
"The pyromancers roasted Lord Rickard slowly. They turned him, basted him, careful to let the fire do its work evenly. First his cloak caught, then his surcoat, and soon he was nothing but metal and ash."
"The cooking would continue, Aerys promised... unless the son could save the father."
"Brandon tried. He fought so hard, but the more he struggled to reach the sword, the tighter the cord strangled him. In the end, he strangled himself to death."
"The Mad King's madness is known to all," Arthur said quietly, having listened to the entire gruesome tale. "Kingslayer, you've said all this... do you expect me to thank you for avenging my father's murder?"
Thank me?
The scene flashed before Jaime's eyes—the Mad King ordering the pyromancers to ignite the caches of wildfire buried beneath the city.
The entire population of King's Landing should thank me for killing him.
When he drove his sword through the Mad King's back, the man was still screaming.
"Burn them all!"
"Burn them all!"
Jaime's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. "Fight me, Snow. Let's see if you're worthy of that blade."