ASOIAF: The Rise of House Ashenblade.

Elton Caron chose Lyman Tauha because Lyman was weak, a distinction his steward did not understand until the secret envoy had already left Nightsong. They stood in Elton’s private study while pinewood cracked in the hearth and warm wax cooled beneath a harmless letter of introduction.

”There are stronger houses with grievances against FireStorm,” the steward said carefully. ”Why Tauha?”

Elton looked at the letter. It promised only that its bearer spoke for Nightsong on matters of water, trade, and a private loan. ”Because I do not need a good sword. I need a knife I can throw away.”

House Symon profited from trade and would not risk a useful market because Elton promised future favor. House Waywood carried grievances against Nightsong and would rather watch two rivals weaken one another than become Elton’s obedient weapon, while several other lords were cautious enough to remember Renly’s previous rulings.

Lyman was different. Tauha’s stories were full of service to House Baratheon, but the present lord had inherited little except those stories, a poor mountain holding, and the expectation that old blood should somehow substitute for coin.

His family’s lands lay near a spring shared with FireStorm, where arguments over water had lasted across generations and two Tauha men had died in the previous winter’s violence. Tauha held the higher ground, FireStorm drew from the lower course, and every dry season revived accusations that one side had diverted more than its share. This autumn had been wet enough that neither holding actually lacked water, which made the grievance useful precisely because it could be argued without being true in the present moment. The dispute was real enough that another clash could be dressed as an ancestral quarrel instead of an attack directed from Nightsong.

More importantly, Lyman wanted too much and possessed too little. Tax officials could pressure his traders, richer lords could ignore his invitations, and a bad harvest mattered to Tauha in a way it never did to Nightsong, leaving humiliation and scarcity to work on the same man.

”He wants land,” Elton said. ”He wants a title. He wants men who ignore him today to stand when he enters a hall tomorrow. Give an ambitious fool a crown in his imagination and he will bleed himself trying to reach it.”

The steward glanced toward the note. ”And if he fails?”

”Then Arlan spends men, grain, and attention breaking him. Tauha takes the blame, and I lose nothing I cannot replace.”

”If he succeeds?”

Elton smiled without warmth. ”Then I decide how much of my promise remains convenient.” Each term had been selected for a reason. Three hundred acres of FireStorm’s western land appealed to Lyman’s poverty, a promise that Storm’s End would recognize a richer lordship appealed to his pride, and one hundred sets of steel weapons, fifty stones of grain, and twenty warhorses made immediate mobilization possible.

The future share of southern trade was sweeter still because it cost Elton nothing unless Arlan had already been removed. Fifty gold dragons traveled with the letter as earnest money, enough to make the rest of the promises feel tangible inside a poor hall.

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The envoy memorized the terms and carried no written order to invade. He was to speak about water rights first, dead Tauha men second, and FireStorm’s wealth only after Lyman had convinced himself he defended an ancestral claim. If asked, Elton offered mediation, supplies, and influence at Storm’s End, never Caron troops beside Tauha’s banners. The letter could be shown to any court without admitting more than lawful negotiation; the criminal purpose lived in the sequence of payments and the words spoken behind a closed door.

Elton prepared a second line of pressure at another desk, because Lyman alone was never intended to carry the whole design. The smaller lord could force Arlan to spend blood and attention in the hills; court suspicion could make every response afterward look more dangerous. Together, the two pressures were meant to narrow FireStorm’s choices before a larger army ever moved. The letter intended for King’s Landing asked for inquiry into FireStorm’s troops and foreign trade, its language measured enough to survive being read aloud before Robert.

In it, he professed loyalty to the crown, offered observations about Renly and Tyrell influence in the Stormlands, and mentioned a young border lord whose sudden wealth, rapid military growth, and rumored interest in old Targaryen matters might deserve attention.

The letter was directed toward Ser Jaime Lannister through channels likely to place it before Lannister eyes. Jaime served in the Kingsguard, but Elton cared less about his office than about having the queen’s brother hear Arlan’s name beside the word Targaryen.

”Do you believe House Ashenblade has such connections?” the steward asked.

”I believe men hear what frightens them.”

That answer ended the discussion; Elton wanted suspicion rather than a written alliance. A rumor whispered by the right courtier could do work that a signed promise never could, particularly while Robert Baratheon was preparing to visit a region where old Targaryen loyalties remained an easy accusation.

The mounted envoy reached Tauha lands the following night with the note of introduction, the gold, and a story carefully shaped to make Lyman believe his oldest grievance had finally become a path upward. Elton had chosen the timing before fuller accounts of FireStorm’s new defenses could reach the tower, leaving greed to speak before caution had fresh facts to use.

At Nightsong, Elton stood by the window. He had no affection for Lyman and no intention of raising House Tauha beside House Caron; the smaller lord was useful precisely because his defeat would cost Nightsong almost nothing.

That was how Elton understood power. Men beneath him were walls, purses, witnesses, or blades, and loyalty was merely the polite name weaker men gave to dependence when they hoped dependence would be rewarded.

He reviewed the military accounts once more. Weapons were leaving Nightsong’s armories faster than they returned, grain stores were being redistributed, and messengers moved among allied households under harmless pretexts, yet nothing still amounted to a formal declaration of war. That ambiguity protected Elton in two directions: he could encourage every pressure placed on FireStorm while claiming that each event belonged to bandits, tax officers, offended neighbors, or overzealous retainers acting within their own rights.

That was intentional. A declared war invited Storm’s End to decide who was right, while a water dispute invited Renly to sigh, send letters, and demand that minor lords settle their quarrel while preparations for Robert’s visit occupied the court.

Months earlier, Elton had thought FireStorm worthless. Then its young lord refused to die, the village survived, refugees came, glass and strong spirits turned poverty into coin, and men who should have remained scattered began accepting Arlan’s orders. That was the true offense; Arlan had made obedience to Nightsong optional.

Elton stripped identifying marks from the weapons sent to Tauha. Two Caron agents received separate verbal tasks and disappeared among Lyman’s men: one would encourage false testimony if Tauha won; the other would carry the first accusation to Storm’s End if he lost. Neither man knew every payment route or every promise.

Elton had always forgiven petty personal insults more easily than dangerous examples. For the moment, however, he needed only one thing from the envoy riding toward Tauha: Lyman had to believe that every promise spoken beside a lawful letter had been made for his benefit.