In Casterly Rock the sound of weapons being forged never stopped. Fuel consumption had doubled, then doubled again. To prepare for the war that was almost certain to come, Jon had begun expanding his forces at a brutal pace.
His goal was to bring the Westerlands army to a full strength of twenty thousand men within half a month while simultaneously training another twenty thousand recruits. On top of that came the endless work of moving grain, shifting supplies, and drilling troops. The sheer volume of tasks was staggering.
Jon was busier than he had ever been, yet the maesters he had trained earlier kept the chaos from swallowing everything. The system held.
Mace Tyrell, by contrast, was walking on air.
He was safe inside Casterly Rock while his eldest son and mother kept Highgarden running. The business of raising an army could wait. The true Lord of Highgarden had set every other concern aside and spent every waking hour with his silver-haired grandson. He refused to leave the boy's side until the sun went down.
He even insisted on watching the child eat, claiming it made his own meals taste better. Alerie remarked that Mace had never been this happy when Margaery herself was born.
"Look at him! Just look! Tell me which child in all the Seven Kingdoms carries himself with such presence!"
"That hair! Those eyes! A true Targaryen through and through!"
"I saw Rhaegar once. This boy could be his twin!"
"My little Aegon… your grandsire will spend every last sword and every last coin of Highgarden to seat you on the Iron Throne!"
Mace laughed out loud every time he thought about becoming the grandfather of a king. The only thing that still annoyed him was that Jon had not yet taken the crown for himself.
The day he had walked into the birthing room and seen his grandson's silver hair and purple eyes, then learned Jon's true parentage, Mace had stood frozen for a long moment before breaking into helpless laughter. His cheeks had ached for hours afterward and he still could not stop smiling.
Catelyn had wept the night she learned Ned had risked his honor to protect his nephew. By morning she had pulled herself together. She might lose her head over her children, but her mind remained sharp. She believed Jon was almost certainly Rhaegar's son. She also understood that every day Jon delayed open war made his position stronger than Stannis's.
The real problem was the timing. The secret of the child's appearance could not be hidden. Stannis's own Hand, his most trusted knight Davos, and the red priestess Melisandre had all been present for the naming. If the boy had looked like a Stark or even a Tyrell, Jon might have kept the truth quiet longer. But there had been no choice.
Catelyn had made her position clear to both Jon and Margaery: Winterfell stood with them. If Jon's mother was Lyanna Stark, then the old excuses about "Robert's Rebellion" no longer applied. She had already written to Robb and sent riders to Riverrun.
Not every ally was so steady. The Freys had been playing both sides for weeks, hinting that one of their daughters had caught Jon's eye while also reminding Stannis they could help keep the Riverlands in check. Now they had to choose.
Because the Twins sat in such a vital spot, Jon met with Rhaegar Frey personally.
Rhaegar looked uncomfortable the entire time. Using the name of Jon's father felt wrong now, especially after everything Jon had accomplished since returning from the Wall. He had even considered changing his own name.
Jon did not demand an immediate oath. Instead he led Rhaegar to a massive map of Westeros and pointed to three red lines connecting the North, the Iron Islands, and the Reach.
"Once the Iron Islands threat is gone, the triangular trade I've planned can begin," Jon said. "Ships leave the North loaded with timber and charcoal, drop them at the Iron Islands, pick up steel, and carry it south to the Riverlands and the Reach. On the return they bring grain north again. It will be a mint that never stops printing gold and it will bind the North, the West, and the Reach together for a thousand years. There are no eternal friends in this world, only eternal interests. This interest can be shared for a thousand years."
Rhaegar swallowed. He understood the unspoken message. If the Freys stayed loyal, they would share in the wealth. If they did not, the Twins would be the first target.
"My lord," Rhaegar began carefully, "the Twins will always be Casterly Rock's friend, but—"
Jon cut him off and continued as if he had not spoken. "There is one problem with the triangle. Winter. The North already feels it. Once the rivers freeze, trade slows. But the Twins sit south of the Neck. The Trident rarely freezes even in the deepest cold. In winter the Twins become the new center. Northern timber and charcoal, Reach grain, Iron Islands steel—all of it will flow through your gates. The Freys will be wealthier than they have been in six hundred years."
Rhaegar stared at the map. He saw the shape of it now. Stannis's power base lay along the Narrow Sea. Jon's lay along the Sunset Sea. Two centuries of quiet rivalry between the western and eastern lords suddenly made brutal sense. The same fault line had split the realm during the Dance of the Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellions.
Jon looked him in the eye. "I do not want war with Stannis yet. But when it comes, Casterly Rock will be the new capital. King's Landing will be little more than a second city."
Rhaegar understood. Even without knowing the long history of western versus eastern lords, the logic was clear. If the Targaryens had ruled from Casterly Rock instead of King's Landing, Robert's rebellion would have ended the moment Aerys offered to step down. No army could have forced the Rock.
Rhaegar bowed as low as his aging back allowed. "I will report every word to my father, Your—my lord. He will make the choice that satisfies you."
"Good. And give Roslin my regards. Tell her I miss her."
Rhaegar tried to bow even lower and nearly toppled forward. Jon caught him easily.
"You bear my father's name and your son serves as my squire. Perhaps that is fate. You are not a young man. If there are questions of inheritance you need help with in the future, speak plainly."
Rhaegar's eyes lit up. Old Walder Frey stayed alive and in control precisely because he had so many legitimate sons whose inheritances were nearly equal. They all competed to please him. The thought that Jon might help clear a path for one of his own lines was intoxicating.
"I swear fealty to you, my—Your Grace!"
Jon smiled faintly. "Travel safely."
He watched Rhaegar leave, then spoke without turning. "You can come out now, Margaery Targaryen."