There is a saying in the Seven Kingdoms about the King and the Hand:
The King dreams, the Hand builds.
Among the smallfolk, the saying is a bit more earthy: The King eats, and the Hand takes the shit.
King Robert Baratheon was a man of boundless appetites and energy, valiant and extraordinary in war.
But in peace, his energy found no righteous outlet. He spent his days drinking, hunting, whoring, and holding tourneys.
These pursuits satisfied his desires and consumed nearly all his energy.
Judicial arbitration, treasury audits, petitions from the populace—these rights and responsibilities of a king were things Robert loathed, often dismissing them as "counting coppers."
As his Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, nearly seventy, had governed the realm for his former foster son for the ten years since Robert's Rebellion.
The burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms rested almost entirely on the shoulders of this broad-shouldered old man who had lost half his teeth.
As High as Honor.
True to the words of House Arryn, for ten years this honorable old man had devoted himself entirely to the realm, neglecting even the governance of his own lands and the continuation of his line.
In the Small Council chamber of the Red Keep, the King's seat was empty, as usual.
"Ahem... ahem..."
Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat and pulled several letters from his sleeve, reporting news brought by ravens from across the realm.
"A raven from House Manderly of White Harbor brings word. They accuse the Lords of Pebble and the Paps in the Bite of condoning piracy against passing merchant ships."
Pycelle stroked his soft belly with a withered hand. His maester's chain, forged of many metals, hung from his neck to his chest. His tone was heavy.
"They also say captured crews are locked in crow cages, subjected to horrific treatment. This will lead to a decrease in merchant ships sailing to White Harbor. If not addressed promptly, the tariffs collected from White Harbor this year will shrink."
Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships, ground his teeth habitually, his expression cold and hard.
"If this is true, by the laws of the realm, these two lords should be put to death. Let me take the Royal Fleet to investigate."
"A death sentence indeed!" Renly Baratheon, the newly appointed Master of Laws, dressed splendidly and bearing a striking resemblance to a young Robert, shook his head with a smile.
"If I recall correctly, the Lords of Pebble and the Paps are bannermen of the Vale. Our Hand, Lord Arryn, the Warden of the East, has not yet spoken."
Jon Arryn signaled for Stannis to be patient and looked to the Master of Whisperers. "Lord Varys, have you received any news?"
"My little birds whisper that pirate fleets are indeed reaving in the Bite and off the Fingers, docking and resupplying on those two islands." The eunuch Master of Whisperers spoke in a soft, simpering tone, wearing an obsequious smile.
"The pirates on Pebble and the Paps lock captured captains in crow cages, but they also send some Braavosi captains back to Braavos. As for the crews and sailors, they are all shipped to Myr."
"By the Seven! Myr is a slaver city! They bring shame upon the entire Vale!" Lord Arryn slammed his hand on the table—a rare display of anger. His old, cloudy eyes flashed with a hawk-like sharpness.
"Consorting with pirates, trafficking in human flesh—this is a capital crime! There is no honor in this!"
"Lord Stannis," Jon Arryn commanded, "I order you to take the Royal Fleet to Pebble and the Paps immediately. Destroy the pirates and determine if the lords are complicit."
"Yes." Stannis nodded, his expression as cold as ever.
Seeing Stannis accept the order, Jon Arryn turned to the Master of Coin, a man he had personally promoted. "Gyloro, raise the funds for this expedition."
"Lord Arryn, you know the realm's finances have been tight these past few years. The treasury is already running a deficit." The current Master of Coin, Gyloro Grafton, reminded him with a troubled look.
"Two years ago, to quell the Greyjoy Rebellion, we borrowed heavily from the Iron Bank. This target is just two islands full of nothing but rocks and sheep dung, and pirates who can raise sail and run anywhere."
Gyloro Grafton shook his head continuously. "The budget barely maintains the current size of the Royal Fleet. It cannot support a long-distance voyage or a protracted campaign. I suggest resolving this through gentler means."
"If laws are not enforced, if justice is not served, others will follow suit, and the realm will perish." Stannis looked at Gyloro mercilessly.
"If you cannot raise the funds, we will find a capable man who can."
House Grafton of Gulltown was a powerful noble house in the Vale. Gyloro didn't back down from Stannis's insult.
"Gold Dragons don't magically appear just because you change the Master of Coin. They are saved, copper by copper!"
Just as they were arguing, Pycelle spoke slowly. "As Grand Maester, I must offer wise counsel to the realm. My lords, please hear me."
"There is a letter from the Three Sisters." Seeing everyone quiet down, the Grand Maester plucked a letter from the pile.
"Earl Godric Borrell of Sweetsister offers to quell the pirates plaguing the Bite himself. He also promises to send three shiploads of trade goods to the Iron Throne regularly."
"The Three Sisters are a den of smugglers." Stannis ground his teeth again, the words seemingly squeezed out through the gaps.
"Godric lights beacon fires at night to lure ships onto the rocks. I warned him that if he did it again, I would hang him. He is not to be trusted."
"What does he want?" Renly laughed aloud again, as if hearing something amusing. "If the terms are right, why not let smugglers and pirates fight it out?"
Pycelle peered at the letter again, his hands trembling slightly. "He demands the right to deal with the Lords of Pebble and the Paps who plundered his fleet, and the title of Guardian of the Bite, to prevent future piracy in the region."
"A letter and a raven." Gyloro Grafton's eyes lit up in agreement. "Not only do we save gold, but we also gain three shiploads of goods regularly. There is no better deal."
"Salvaging wrecks, like smuggling, is a crime." Stannis clenched his right fist on the table, knuckles white, his face stern.
"We should destroy them, not indulge them, let alone share in their spoils."
"My lords, according to my little birds," Varys, who had remained silent until now, spoke in his unique soft voice.
"Earl Godric has indeed been following tradition, but for the past year, he has also been engaging in legitimate shipping trade. They cooperate with a group of Braavosi captains, moving goods between White Harbor and Braavos."
"That is strange indeed." Renly glanced playfully at Gyloro Grafton and his brother Stannis.
"Even smugglers know to adapt and do legitimate business these days."
Jon Arryn scanned the Small Council. Everyone had made their stance clear, except Stannis, who still looked at him stubbornly.
In his heart, Jon Arryn silently recited his house words like a sigh: As High as Honor.
In the past, he would have personally led an army to drag these lords who disgraced the Vale from their castles, interrogated them, and executed them.
He would have mounted the pirates' heads on spikes along the coast as a warning to all.
But he was nearly seventy. He had experienced too much, compromised too much.
His wife had recently given birth to a frail son who needed his care, and the heavy burdens of state required his constant attention.
What the others said was also pragmatic wisdom.
Finally, under Stannis's angry gaze, Jon Arryn spoke slowly.
"My lords, I will write to Earl Godric Borrell. I authorize him to deal fully with the matters of Pebble and the Paps. If he can destroy the pirates and deliver three shiploads of goods to the Iron Throne regularly, I will name him Guardian of the Bite."
"Next is..." Pycelle pulled out letter after letter.
Varys's little birds spat out intelligence piece by piece.
The piracy off the Fingers was just one of many matters Jon Arryn and the Small Council discussed that day.