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Chapter 266: Aftermath of a Crown Forged
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 12:29:17 +0000 UTCAsha Greyjoy’s ascension as ruler of the Iron Islands did not draw much attention in the Seven Kingdoms, as another event had completely captured the realm’s focus—one that shook the foundations of Westerosi politics. Lady Nymeria Footly, Lady of Tumbleton and wife of Lynd Tarran, had declared the establishment of a Rhoynar kingdom in Essos, naming it Rhoyne. She crowned herself queen, with Lynd as prince.
A vassal declaring themselves a king in foreign lands was an act rarely seen in Westerosi history, the only precedent being Daemon Targaryen, who once proclaimed himself King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones.
At first glance, Nymeria’s actions seemed strikingly similar to Daemon’s, but the key difference was that Daemon had no land within the Seven Kingdoms when he made his claim. Nymeria, on the other hand, controlled Tumbleton, one of the most vital territories in Westeros.
Tumbleton had grown into one of the most prosperous inland cities in the realm and had become the second-largest grain producer. Nearly half of the food consumed in King’s Landing and the Crownlands came from its fields.
But that was not the most concerning part. The real issue was her husband—Lynd Tarran. As the Lord of Summerhall and Prince of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones, Lynd's status was equal to that of the Wardens of the Seven Kingdoms. However, unlike the Wardens, he had absolute control over his lands, as he had never granted lordships to vassals. His actual power far exceeded that of any Warden.
So when word reached Westeros that Nymeria had crowned herself queen in Ny Sar and had bestowed the title of Prince of the Rhoynar upon Lynd in front of countless witnesses, speculation ran rampant. What would Lynd do next? Would he challenge the Iron Throne?
...
“They have already violated the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. We must reclaim the lands of Nymeria Footly and Lynd Tarran,” Stannis Targaryen declared at the Small Council meeting, his voice as firm as his convictions.
Renly smirked and said, “I quite agree with my brother’s suggestion. And since it was his idea, it seems only fitting that he should carry it out. Why don’t you lead the fleet from Dragonstone, take back the Stepstones first, and then move on to reclaim Summerhall and Tumbleton? I imagine it should be quite an easy task for you.”
Stannis clenched his fist beneath the table, his knuckles whitening. His glare at Renly was so cold it seemed to strip away any notion of brotherly affection.
“Enough!” Robert Baratheon growled, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t want to hear your petty squabbles. We’re here to discuss strategy, not to listen to you two bicker.” He turned his gaze to the rest of the council. “What are your thoughts? Speak up, don’t just sit there like a bunch of mute monks. You are my Small Council, not a pack of Silent Brothers.”
Petyr Baelish, known as Littlefinger, leaned forward and said, “At this moment, both Prince Lynd and Lady Nymeria are far away in Ny Sar, and there is no one truly in charge of their lands. If Your Grace wishes to take action against Summerhall, now would be the perfect time.”
Varys spoke softly, “Lord Baelish, I fear you may not have studied the power structure of Summerhall closely enough. Its governance differs entirely from that of any other territory in the Seven Kingdoms. Even if Prince Lynd and Lady Nymeria remain absent for a long time, the region will not fall into disarray. Its military is not only capable of defending against invasion but could even launch offensive campaigns. The recent success of Asha Greyjoy in securing the Iron Islands is a testament to this.” He paused briefly before adding, “More importantly, if we were to strike Summerhall now, there is no telling what its legions and garrisons might do in the absence of Prince Lynd’s command.”
“I also oppose military action against Summerhall,” Grand Maester Pycelle said unexpectedly. He rarely spoke unless necessary, but now his voice carried weight. “The Great Spring Sickness has only just passed. The lands of the realm are still recovering, and none of the great houses have the strength to lend forces to the Iron Throne. Nor does the throne itself have the means to wage war. But the more crucial matter is that Lynd Tarran—this so-called ‘Chosen One’—commands an astonishing level of devotion among the people. To the vast majority, he is a savior. If the Iron Throne were to move against him, I have no doubt that the moment our army marches from King’s Landing, the city’s own people would storm the Red Keep and tear us apart.”
Silence fell over the room.
Pycelle’s words had struck a nerve. In their earlier discussion, they had all overlooked one undeniable fact—Lynd’s influence had grown far beyond what anyone could have imagined.
Recently, statues of Lynd Tarran had begun appearing across the realm. In the Starry Sept, the Redemption Sept, the Miracle Sept, and the Great Sept, the septons of the Faith of the Seven had erected a likeness of him beside the emblem of the Seven, resembling the statue of the Storm God but accompanied by a sacred beast, Glory. Many other septs across Westeros had followed suit.
Only the Great Sept of Baelor had yet to erect a statue of Lynd Tarran, due to the Iron Throne’s influence. But even so, the people of King’s Landing continued to petition the sept to build one, their voices growing louder with each passing day.
All signs pointed to one undeniable fact—Lynd Tarran’s influence had reached the highest level a mortal could achieve. His ties to the Faith of the Seven were so deeply intertwined that he and the Church were practically inseparable. A war against Lynd Tarran would be tantamount to waging war against the Faith itself.
Even more pressing was the political reality: if the Iron Throne moved against Summerhall, it would not have the unanimous support of the Seven Kingdoms. The Reach and Dorne would outright oppose it, while the Stormlands and the Riverlands had grown close to Summerhall in recent years. Even if their ruling lords pledged allegiance to the Iron Throne, many of their vassals would likely resist—or worse, openly betray them in favor of Summerhall.
At this moment, Summerhall was like a slumbering beast. The best course of action was to leave it undisturbed. If awakened, the one to rouse it would surely become its prey.
...
Jon Arryn, having only recently recovered from a grave illness, had remained silent throughout the discussion, simply observing the others. Once the room fell quiet, he finally spoke.
“Nymeria Footly has declared herself queen in Ny Sar, founding a kingdom of her own. This act is a direct violation of the laws of the realm and cannot be ignored. She must be stripped of her lands.”
His words left the council momentarily stunned. Had the Hand of the King fallen asleep during the discussion? After so much debate, they had just reached the conclusion that attacking Summerhall was not an option. Yet now, Jon Arryn had seemingly brought them back to square one.
Just as Robert was about to interject, Jon Arryn continued.
“Lady Nymeria is already married to Prince Lynd. By extension, her lands, including Tumbleton, have become part of Summerhall. What we are stripping is only Nymeria Footly’s legal ownership of the territory—it does not affect Prince Lynd’s control over Tumbleton.”
Realization dawned on the council. Jon Arryn had, with a single stroke, devised a solution that punished a breach of royal law without offending any major power. His approach ensured that the realm’s laws were upheld while avoiding a confrontation with Summerhall.
One by one, the lords nodded in agreement.
Jon Arryn then made another proposal. “Your Grace, since Prince Lynd’s son is already betrothed to Princess Myrcella, perhaps we should send the princess to Summerhall for a time. It would allow her to grow accustomed to her future home and strengthen ties between House Baratheon and House Tarran.”
Grand Maester Pycelle nodded approvingly. “I believe this would indeed be an excellent way to foster closer relations between the two families.”
Varys and Littlefinger remained silent, their eyes fixed on Robert. Stannis and Renly, however, exchanged dark looks.
Robert, without hesitation, dismissed the proposal. “No. Myrcella is too young to travel that far. We’ll consider it when she’s older.”
Seeing that the king had made his decision, Jon Arryn did not press the matter further.
...
When the Small Council’s ruling was made public, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Many had feared that the Iron Throne might act recklessly and launch an attack on Summerhall, an act that would have led to disastrous consequences. Instead, this resolution struck a perfect balance—Nymeria was punished for claiming a crown without permission, but Summerhall itself remained untouched. The Iron Throne retained its authority, and the laws of the realm were upheld.
...
In the queen’s palace in Ny Sar, Lynd received a letter from Summerhall detailing the decision.
Jon Arryn truly lived up to his title as Hand of the King, Nymeria mused as she read the letter. “A simple ruling, yet it resolves the issue perfectly. It seems the transfer document I had prepared will no longer be needed.”
Lynd studied her expression. “Losing Tumbleton doesn’t trouble you at all?”
Nymeria smiled. “Is Tumbleton not still in your hands? What difference does it make?”
Lynd regarded her for a long moment before turning away. He stepped onto the balcony and gazed down at the city of Ny Sar.
It was unrecognizable from what it had once been. The ruins had been restored, the overgrowth of moss and vines cleared away. Crumbling streets had been repaved with freshly cut stone from nearby quarries. The fountains flowed again, canals had been rebuilt, and bridges connected parts of the city that had long been severed. The docks had been fully restored, the river cleaned, and now hundreds of boats sailed through its waters.
The city, once silent for centuries, was alive again.
“I know what you're thinking,” Nymeria said as she walked up to Lynd, wrapping her arm around his. “I won’t deny that I’ve been influenced by the memories of my ancestors. My thoughts and personality have changed in some ways. But I am still Nymeria Footly, your wife. That will never change.”
Lynd remained silent, simply gazing at her. This time, he viewed her through his special sight. To his eyes, Nymeria radiated a powerful magical aura—one strikingly similar to Willas’s. The only difference was that her aura had not taken the form of an avatar of the Queen of the Rhoynar.
It was clear that after arriving in Ny Sar, the hidden power within the statue had transferred to Nymeria. Under normal circumstances, she might have become another Willas, an incarnation of her ancestor. However, something had gone wrong during the transfer. The dragon rune necklace she wore had interfered with the process, altering the flow of power. Instead of simply channeling it, the hidden force from the statue had fused entirely with her.
Now imbued with this secret power, Nymeria had gained extraordinary abilities. Any person of Rhoynar descent—no matter how distant the lineage—would instinctively feel drawn to her, experiencing an immediate sense of closeness, as if reuniting with a long-lost relative. The longer they remained in her presence, the stronger this bond would grow. This, more than anything else, explained why she had been able to so easily unite one hundred thousand descendants of the Rhoynar under her rule.
Her abilities extended beyond this subtle influence. Like the ancient Rhoynar water mages, she could command the waters of the Rhoyne itself. If she willed it, she could summon floods with ease. In Dagger Lake, she had already demonstrated this power, submerging caves on an island and drowning the river pirates who had hidden within them.
Though she had not become an avatar of any particular being, and had instead retained control of her own fate, the power she absorbed had still changed her in subtle, irreversible ways. The greatest of these changes was her perception of home.
Once, her only home had been Tumbleton—the land her mother had left her, the place she would have given her life to protect. Now, however, she regarded Ny Sar as her homeland. That was why, when she learned that she had been stripped of her ancestral lands and that House Footly's lineage had come to an end, her reaction had been so muted.
Lynd still wasn’t sure how deep the hidden power’s influence over Nymeria ran. He didn’t know whether it had already completed its transformation or if it was still working upon her, subtly shaping her thoughts.
...
“In a few days, I’ll be returning to Summerhall,” Lynd said suddenly. “Augustus will stay by your side.”
“You’re just going back?” Nymeria’s expression darkened slightly.
Lynd sighed, explaining, “Asha has become the ruler of the Iron Islands. If she’s to succeed, massive reforms are needed. Otherwise, the Ironborn will never abandon their pirate ways. I need to oversee the situation from Summerhall and make sure the changes take root.
"And then there’s the Disputed Lands. If we want to hold on to them, we must enact a series of political reforms. I won’t repeat the mistakes of those who came before me—conquering territory only to lose it within days.”
Nymeria placed a hand over her stomach and said in a calm, steady voice, “I’m pregnant.”
Lynd looked at her in surprise.
“It’s twins,” she added.
Her fusion with the hidden power had given her another advantage—her body no longer needed any adjustments or preparation to conceive. She had become pregnant with Lynd’s children almost immediately.
For a moment, Lynd simply stared at her, then at her stomach. The hard edge in his eyes softened.
“I’ll be by your side when the time comes,” he said gently. “For the months leading up to their birth, I’ll be here.”
Hearing that, Nymeria said nothing more. Instead, she tightened her hold on his arm and stood beside him, watching as the night lights of Ny Sar flickered across the river below.
