283 AC – King's Landing: Ambitions and Arsenal Woes
The outer fortification of the Red Keep is vast but its innards, Maegor's Holdfast, was only designed with the comforts of the Royal Family in mind. Correspondingly it was fast proving too inaccessible and spacious for me to conduct my business. I still keep my personal rooms there but I've moved my work space out to the outer edges of the Red Keep. In addition to the location being much easier to access, both from and to the city proper, it cut down on the grumbles I accrued of allowing minor nobles to attend me in Maegor's Holdfast.
Taking advantage of a careless remark by Robert I took hold of an entire hallway worth of chambers, right near the entrance of the Red Keep. I had the majority of the rooms, those intended for the retinues of visiting dignitaries converted into offices. Robert still had plenty of space left for the hangers on of his court nobles but they would all have to get used to the noises of honest work in the morning.
My day usually begins an hour after dawn when I'm woken by my page, Beric Dondarion, the six year old Lord of Blackhaven and current best friend of my littlest brother Renly Baratheon. Generally, soon after being woken, Renly comes rushing into my room to have a quiet breakfast with little Beric and myself. It depends on Renly's own busy schedule whether he sticks around to follow me in the mornings. I have the lad running from tutor to tutor, together with Beric, interspersed with copious 'play time', which I tell Robert is actually Renly's inexorable march to dominating the youngest generation of court nobles, which amuses Robert enough to abstain from interfering in his education.
The page was a relatively recent development. Poor Beric had lost every single male relation he had and his grandmother wasn't in an position to take care of him. Traditionally this never works out well for Houses, or the lonely children in charge of them, so I took a hand in seeing them through. I sat with him through the funerals, introduced him to Renly, and made sure to shower the poor kid with affection.
Today is no different save for Renly and Beric's appointment with the Ghiscari history tutor. As I made my way to my offices I found myself fairly rapidly accosted by this or that lordling. My system of signing in for an appointment with my staff was grossly disregarded on a regular basis. Mostly they wished for naval commissions, which I steadfastly refused, and would grudgingly accede to my assurances that their kin would be accepted on the same terms as everyone else. It was yet another area in which I was pissing off more than a few people but I refused to entertain the notion of bought commissions.
Now it was my grandfather, Lord Gunther Estermont, the newly confirmed Master of Whispers on the Small Council. I hadn't exactly avoided the man but I'd certainly not gone out of my way to connect with him either. Perhaps it was the lack of information I had about the man, or maybe I was giving way to Stannis' vague disliking of the man, but I'd only started speaking with him after Robert gave him the Small Council seat.
"Stannis, how fares your morning?"
I return his extended hand and reply with a bright smile, "As well as can be hoped, grandfather. I hope your night hasn't been overly disrupted of rest?"
With a quick wink he said, "Good for you, Stannis, breaking free of the discomfort of asking your aging grandfather whether his wife still performs!"
Oh, you son of a...
I didn't let my smile waver when I replied, "I was, of course, referring to the noise of last nights festivities."
Another wink, "Of course you were, my boy. Now the pleasantries have been attended, I should like to discuss certain matters with you."
We turned around a corner leading to my row of offices, stumbled into Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Hoster Tully talking to my staff, and immediately worrying thoughts racked through my mind. What the shit do those two want? They seemed to be asking questions, gawking at the busy hallways and the high volume of scribes running around, and trying to figure out what their tasks were.
Almost absentmindedly I asked Gunther, "Such as?"
His reply came swift, "When you intend on surrendering your unlawfully network of spies to me, of course!"
What.
As I was dealing with that mess dropped onto my lap it seemed that the two other elder statesmen focused on me and loudly greeted my grandfather and I. Did they all set this up? What makes Gunther think I'll hand over anything to him?
"Lord Stannis, Lord Gunther, good morning to you both."
Lord Arryn's sentiment was echoed by Lord Tully, "Likewise, my Lords."
Guther gregariously thundered, "I'm walking the halls of my grandson, the King's, Red Keep. What do you think, Hoster?"
I did my best to tune out the nattering of the old men and after extending my own greetings I turned to the Stormbringers standing at guard. The nearest man, a lean but tall fellow, looking the poster child for massively muscled black haired and blue eyed Stormlanders nodded at me.
While I might not know the names of the entire ten thousand strong levy of Storm's End, I have managed to memorize those in my personal retinue, "Good morning Lomar Strongarm."
Their reactions when I address them as always good for a laugh. Most men had gotten used to me chatting with them but a few, like Lomar, still somewhat stuttered when addressed.
"L-likewise, m'lord."
If only I could put the lot of them through elocution classes. Still, there was nothing stopping me from bringing the conversation to more solid ground. There were plenty subjects all men could converse about. From the highest lord to the meanest peasant.
"How is your family settling in, Lomar?"
The beginnings of a smile danced around his lips as he responded, "Really good, m'lord. Mari, my wife that is, is enjoying her new duties, m'lord."
Wonderful. With the arrival of Lord Sebastion Errol came a veritable horde of wives, sons and daughters, of all my Stormbringers in the capital. More than a few brothers, cousins and nephews tagged along as well to represent those Stormbringers who remained in Storm's End.
Storm this, storm that, I'm starting to regret the naming patterns.
Each of them soon found a position working for one of the hundreds of enterprises I've set up. The majority have moved into the paper industry, which has fairly preposterously expanded along the Wendwater and into the town I've been building, and has started chewing up more lumber than my fucking navy. Obviously, this was one of the things Robert shouldn't know about it.
"Excellent." I smiled even wider at the man and continued, "From my reports I'm hearing that little Reina is doing rather well in her classes. She's taken more than a few prizes home."
Now the spearman's smile threatened to break his face, so vast it was, "Aye, m'lord. Me and Mari are very proud of her! She learns so quickly it makes my own effort look pale, m'lord!"
I couldn't help myself, "Maris and I, Lomar."
The man blushed again but nodded and said, "Aye, m'lord."
"You'll be alright, Lomar, keep doing what your doing."
Again he responded, "Aye, m'lord!"
Finally I turned back to the collection of elderly men who'd been staring at me for a while. I felt more than comfortable enough to calmly finish my conversation with the Stormbringer and they'd gotten used to my idiosyncrasies by now. Gunther simply smiled and pointed to my own office with another wink. They all followed me in and I quickly made my way over to my desk to read through my mercantile reports.
Was I throwing my weight around?
Hell yes.
Was I still pissed that Lord Hoster tried to get Renly fostered in Riverrun?
Fuck yes.
Unfortunately my pretense at getting up to speed on news was undermined by my grandfather's casual perusal of my office. The man confidently strode up sliding walls I had erected and bared the mess of tangled webs behind it. The wooden fixture bore a somewhat crude map of Essos with pins and threads connecting various important locations. I had tried to fill out as much information as I knew about the continent, its power players and various factions in Free Cities, and the relationship they all had with each other. Cross Free Cities or otherwise.
It painted a chaotic mess of intricate and ever shifting alliances but I was satisfied there was little chance of a unified Essos any time soon. Or even a plurality of Free Cities looking to expand west. Lord Hoster and Jon followed suit with Gunther and loudly speculated about the possible meaning of the threads.
Clearly my ploy to seem busy and important failed utterly. Damn you Gunther.
Jon Arryn coughed delicately and said, "Forgive me if I'm reading this wrong, but are you claiming there is an invasion underway to Myr?"
I gave up my pretense and replied, "Yes, the convergent sell swords in Pentos are marching on Myr, soon. They'll have great support from Tyrosh and some nominal support from Lys. Oberyn Martell has gone missing from the Second Sons but everyone else of note seems to joining the march. Then again, the Martell couldn't really be seen hanging our with the Dragons anymore."
Jon piped up again, "Are you sure?"
That they are Mopatis' Dragons?
"As certain as I can be. I'm always keeping an eye on Essos."
Gunther spoke up next, "Which brings me, at least, to the reason for my visit, Stannis. When should I be expecting the remnants of the spy network of Varys the Eunuch to report to me?"
I quickly looked over at Jon and Hoster, neither seemed surprised but that might not mean anything, and turned back to my grandfather, "I was under the impression you were to set up your own for your office, grandfather?"
His response came quickly, "Would you truly make your aging grandfather start from scratch, my boy?"
I smiled as I said, "Ah, it might come across as cold, grandfather, but you'll be the better for it."
Almost word for word what he said about Stannis' childhood pet. It clearly had some effect on him as he was taken aback but quickly rallied into a loud bellowing laughter.
"I imagine you've been sitting on that remark for a while now, Stannis."
With a wider smirk I replied, "Eight years and change, yes."
Gunther's voice softened significantly when he said, "Do you still hold it so against me, my boy?"
What could I do but shrug?
A deep sigh followed but Gunther rallied again, "Even so, you do understand you're not entirely backed by either custom or law? By all rights the Royal Information Network should report to the Master of Whispers. Nobody here is trying to get you to fork over your own men, Stannis, just the ones you pilfered from the Master of Whispers."
Hoster joined in, "Unless of course you're eager to keep such power in your own hands?"
Was this the part where I fell over myself to show my loyalty to Robert?
I fixed Hoster with an empty smirk and said, "What if I, in fact, do want to keep such power firmly in my hands, Lord Hoster? I would have thought that all and sunder would have soured on the notion of a singular spy master?"
Lets see how they respond to that challenge. I needed to figure out why they were doing this. It seemed fairly unlikely they'd assume to receive full and complete control of something as easily malleable as a spy network. I could have them satisfied with droplets of information, much like Varys did, and have it seem that my lord grandfather is in control.
Surely they realize this?
This time Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, was the one sighing deeply, "Stannis, I'll be frank with you. Robert enjoys the idea of keeping a separate collection of little birds singing of secrets but for the interest of stability I would ask you to relinquish the remnants of the royal spy network."
Before I could respond Gunther spoke up, "You're unduly strengthening the office of Master of Ships, my boy. The town you've built, Godsgrief, is fast approaching ten thousand souls that all work directly for the Arsenal. Those..." He hesitated for a brief moment, "Factories of yours line unending the Wendwater and from what I gather you also own most of the commercial ventures in said town."
It was evidently Hoster's turn, "You've sown chaos in King's Landing, quietly taken over the western Crownlands, made common cause with the merchants and lowborn alike."
The barrage just kept coming as Jon took over, "You've set up strife in the Reach causing the Tyrells to lean on you, courted the Westerlanders and Riverlander lords alike, and sent off your quarrelsome bannermen to tire themselves out on the Dornish borders while you took a personal hand in training your remaining lords."
What is this? A list of my 'wrong doings'? I stayed quiet to see where they would take this even if I wanted to point of the army went to Dorne on behest of Robert. Not that I didn't take advantage of it. All the difficult Marcherlords are busy fortifying the border, and fortunately ignoring their hinterlands, while the remaining Stormlords, those east of Summerhall, I kept under command of Ser Harbert Baratheon.
Hoster slid in to the conversation again, "Somehow you've wrapped the Septons around your fingers and you've been stealing my people from me!"
Before I could even begin to formulate a response to that Jon calmed Hoster down, "We aren't here for that, Hoster, and he broke no laws." The Hand turned to me, "And yet it is another instance of you accumulating wealth, even if its in souls."
Now I started to worry a little bit. I did, actually, send out men to the ravished areas of the Riverlands to go recruiting for smallfolk willing to emigrate. It wasn't exactly illegal but it was heavily frowned upon. Far more than anything else I had done.
Was this what set them off?
Did I finally push too far?
My grandfather was seemingly next, "As these two venerable, but aged old men, seem unwilling to broach the main thrust of the matter, I shall. You've been growing powerful rapidly Stannis and they don't like it. Especially since Robert is nowhere near as energetic as you are and they're starting to feel their ages."
Hoster muttered, "I've only got but a single nameday on you, Estermont."
Now, wait a minute.
I decided to break my patient silence with a quiet but chilling reply, "Everything I do has been in his service, Lord Gunther. Unless some highly upsetting accusations are about to be made?"
Jon replied quickly, "No, nothing of the sort, Stannis. Even if your actions look, on the surface, to be highly unorthodox. I've seen nothing that would indicate any maliciousness or that you would ever harm your family."
Then what's the fucking problem?
Gunther took over again, "Taken as a whole your actions are worrisome, my boy, but not upsetting. Nay, what brings us here is your ruthless campaign against the Lord Trout himself."
"I object to the charact-."
Gunther waved Hoster away, "Oh, gods be good. Hoster, you're upset Stannis is, rather successfully, undermining you in the Riverlands. Jon is worried that this growing enmity between the two of your will spill over to others." He waited for a heartbeat or two before he rounded on me and continued, "And you, my boy, have neatly sown up the Reach and the Westerlands in your own grip."
Oh. Suddenly the picture this whole ambush painted was growing ever clearer. Hoster fucking Tully had gone to Jon fucking Arryn to complain about my effective, but underhanded, means of securing allies in the Riverlands. Over the past two months I'd reached out to the Mootons at Maidenpool, the Mallisters at Seagard, and Ser Wilhert Knight the of Stoney Sept. All of them urbanized areas with nearly access to major rivers or outright access to the sea. I intended for these lands to become another center of economic pull and the beginnings of trade routes set up by yours truly. Once you run out of materials and your workers sit for days waiting for the next shipments to come in...you become more than a little bit proactive at securing resources.
It was an extension of my deal with Tywin Lannister. The canal he'd help me build would cut the travel time to Lannisport by weeks and I was less so hopeful for the Riverlands.
Lord Tully clearly did not enjoy my efforts and more than once proved his mettle in attaching higher prices to my ventures than I'd otherwise would pay. Be that in tariffs, legal shenanigans to delay property exchanges in the towns, and even subsidies for competitors if they stuck to their old paymasters.
I'd made great stride and kept the Trout's gaze firmly on his rivers but, far too often for my liking, he'd strike back in the Crownlands and suddenly walk away with portage rights in Duskendale. Or with a competitors bid for marriage into Buckwells at the Antlers. Or a grant of land, near Riverrun, to a second son of the Brunes at Dyre Den leading me to lose priority shipping in yet another port.
It got...messy and admittedly wasteful.
Jon sighed, again, and said, "Our grand alliance has been sundered in two, Stannis, and we cannot afford anything that could possibly threaten the stability. Not in the face of Dorne, the Dragons, and whatever else may come in the future. Tell me you see how precarious the realm is balanced?"
I still didn't get it, "Which requires me to hand over a significant portion of my hard earned network of spies? Nobody else seemed interested in the remains of Varys' little birds. Even when I was otherwise engaged."
Fancy way of referring to almost dying via Varys. Or...at least if they buy into it. Neither Jon nor Hoster had made any indication they knew anything shady was going on. Best to keep it that and remind them that I did, in fact, bleed for them
As far as they knew.
Gunther answered, "It would be but a gesture that you're willing to work with the Hand or others and not around them, my boy."
This must be some cultural clashing at play here. Was I being willfully blind or did they have a point? Was I really such a chaotic mess? Still, lets see what they are willing to offer for the 'empty gesture' of handing large slices of Varys' men to Lord Gunther.
"And in return for...soothing certain personalities, I would get?"
Hoster harrumphed loudly but Jon waved him down, "Lord Hoster would refrain from interfering in the Crownlands, which you would, officially now, administrate on behalf of Robert until the final conclusion of the war, and you would gain a reasonable say in naming the replacement for Master Staunton as Master of Laws."
Well, for the little loss I was taking it seemed superb. Which clearly meant I was missing something here. The mention of the duration perhaps? The knowledge that Jon could overrule me at will?
Instead of point those things out I nodded and asked Gunther, "Let me see if I understand. You're all worried that I am...rocking the boat we call the Seven Realms too much?"
"Aye, Stannis."
"That I'm doing too much without...what? Attempting to work within the established means? "
Jon replied this time, "Precisely. Forgive me for saying so but you're unpredictable, even more than Robert ever was, and as his brother...few would dare deny you overmuch. Which means they all come to me, Stannis. I assure you, you've made quite the impact."
Hoster once again made himself known, "What I would like to know is how precisely I've offended you, Stannis! You've been nothing but good to the Lannisters, to the damned Tyrells, and everyone who was scorned by the Dragons. Why have you so fixated upon me?"
That was easy.
"You tried to take Renly."
And it took the wind out of his sails immediately. Only for him to rally and thunder, "Are you implying that fostering Renly would be too good for me!?"
I narrowed my eyes and bit out, "You went to Robert, Lord Hoster. Robert. As if I haven't been a father in all but name to Renly!" I stood up and glared at Hoster, "You're one of the more dangerous Lord Paramounts, Hoster. I know the others don't see it or refuse to see it, but I do."
Dead silence.
I continued, "I would have little issue with allowing Renly the opportunity of observing you up close, for a good long time, but then you tried to simply rip Renly out of my hands."
Another bout of silence. This time broken by Gunther, "Well, lets ignore the implication that you'd send Renly to sniff out Hoster's weaknesses but it sounds like this is just a misunderstanding."
Hoster attempted to reply but Jon took over, "It does seems so, shall we set aside the past as bygone and allow for better relations from now on?"
What does that even mean?
As far as I'm concerned they are trying to tie my wrists behind my back. What happens the next time I do something they don't like? Admittedly...the prize is still appetizing. Public acknowledgment that the Crownlands must deal with me while Robert finishes up the war?
All but getting to name the next Master of Laws? I'd almost immediately call up another five hundred Stormbringers, send five hundred levies home, and set them up in the Gold cloaks. I'd never have to bribe them again.
Should I still continue with Mooton? Meh, probably. He's still receiving a Royal Naval base near his town. I might as well keep leveraging my ties with him. The thought crossed my mind that I could reach out to Mace or Tywin but I quickly discarded it. It's too soon for that and Jon already seems to have acknowledged me as a fulcrum for them.
It's probably best not to let them find any purchase. Now I just needed to make sure they didn't sniff out my reluctance by appearing to honor my deal with Lord Mooton.
I looked straight ahead at Hoster, "How reasonable will you be if I need something from you?"
The man raised an eyebrow and said, "As reasonable as you shall be, should I."
That meant less than nothing.
"In practical terms, Lord Hoster, I plan on ensuring Westeros becomes prosperous enough to stem the tide of gold flowing to Essos and hopefully reverse it some time in the future."
The man nodded and said, "Convince me on the necessity and I will not stand in your way." A heartbeat later he continued, "Your dealings with my Riverlanders?"
"Provided you do not penalize those that have already made agreements?"
He hesitated slightly but nodded again, "Aye."
"Consider them done. Your backing of the Vances for the Antlers?"
It burned. Losing to him that is. Well, I wasn't losing, per se. But I certainly wasn't winning either. Still, if I had a correct read of the situation this was simply the first step of reaching out by the older lords in front of me. I was, more than a little bit, aware of what might happen if I didn't choose to play ball here.
Would they have escalated?
Hoster quietly acknowledged it and asked, "Consider it evaporated. Your-." Next he bit almost bit out, "Agents working in the Riverlands?"
This one hurt considerably enough that I was unwilling to give way. The war, Robert's Rebellion, had devastated the Riverlands. I imagine that Hoster started reconstruction but plenty of smallfolk lost their homes. The man even put two different settlements to the torch in the aftermath. All in all...plenty of refugees looking for homes and I've been building plenty in Godsgrief.
"Those people were already on the way to King's Landing. I can't apologize for affording them better opportunities."
Lord Tully twitched around the temple but slowly nodded, "Very well. Lord Mooton?"
This, too, I'd invested too much in. Maidenpool was too important for my plans and I was unwilling to give up the opportunity. Besides, they seem somewhat concerned with keeping me on my good side. Lets see how much I could extract from this.
"Construction hasn't begun yet on Maidenpool...which would give you plenty of time to mend your own relations with the man."
Heh, unlikely. I don't know why he hates Hoster but he does. I plan on taking as much advantage from it as I can. Before the Riverlander Lord Trout could formulate a response someone delicately, but insistently, knocked on the door.
"Yes?"
A head of one of my scribes peeped through, "Forgive my intrusion, Lord Stannis, but you commanded we let you know once the shipments came in?"
"Ah, have they, Emyr?"
"Aye, my Lord. The armors, save for Grandison-Fell and Cafferen, have all come in. Those others are still being worked up, my Lord."
"Alright, thank you."
"Most welcome, my Lord."
Gunther was the first to speak up, "Armors?"
I briefly debated not telling him but quickly decided it wasn't in keeping with the new 'peace' we'd just arranged for.
"I found a smith that can imprint House sigils into steel, in their correct colors, and with small crowned stags on their shoulders. I've had them made for every last Stormlander House, knightly or otherwise, that fought for my brother and myself."
All three elder Lords quickly exchanged glances with each other until Jon said, "That sounds like a mighty expensive venture, Stannis."
He wasn't implying anything untoward was he?
Only if you don't already have access to thousands of high quality plate armor. They just needed to be modified.
I shrugged, "Indeed."
Gunther just smiled, "Sometimes I forget that you and Robert are, in fact, cut from the same cloth."
I chose to ignore that and instead focus on my new circumstances. Did I bring this on myself? Did I really have them worried or is this but a ploy? Was Jon actually working for the benefit of the Realm or did he see an opening to cut me down? Did I benefit on a whole from this?
I'd have much to contemplate but it appeared I wasn't getting the time as Jon and Hoster made a move to leave. I couldn't let that happen without testing the boundaries of my newly acquired limitations.
"My lords, one last thing."
The Hand of the King was the first to respond, "Yes, Lord Stannis?"
Lets see how willing to share information he is, "Robert has been rather resistant to giving Summerhall to Renly. Any idea why?"
His pokerface was perfect but it was the smooth transition from impatient and curious to 'carefully considering' that gave it away. Holy tits, it's him. He's the one whispering in Robert's ears.
Motherfucker.
He cleared his throat and said, "Robert wishes for more time to consider giving it to his heirs, should he be blessed with superfluous sons."
Motherfucker.
I smiled widely, just as plastic as Jon's own, and replied, "Fair enough. Say, in the interest of our concerns freshly aligning, a small personal boon might not be too much to ask?"
He hesitated, his gaze flicked over to Hoster, before asking, "Such as, what?"
Plastic smile still firmly plastered on my face I say, "Robert has already given me comprehensive rights over the parts of the King's Wood that fall in the Stormlands. Since I've been extensively...developing those lands and could reasonably claim to perform my lordly duties for them, I'd like to have this ratified. On paper. With your seal and Roberts."
Not that big an ask but I was thinking ahead to Roberts heir. If 'sortofJoffery' would prove to be a giant cunt I wanted the law on my side as I denounced him for being tyrant. I saw the skin on Jon's forehead tighten but beyond that he didn't react, "I'll bring it up with Robert but I don't imagine this will prove an obstacle."
Now I smiled even wider but Lord Gunther interjected before I could, "Ah, clever, Stannis. Keeping it in reserve for little Renly I see."
Hoster noticeable relaxed but Jon's expression might as well be carved from granite. I wanted to direct my next small boon to Hoster but Gunther spoke up again, "I imagine we've settled what we came for. Now, if you two old men could leave me with my grandson. We have fond memories to comprehensively reminisce about."
Foiled.
The two men made their goodbyes and soon I was left with my lord grandfather.
"Well done there, Stannis. Truly, I especially enjoyed the spanner in the works you threw when you claimed Jon couldn't see how dangerous Hoster was. I imagine both of them will be looking askew at each other for a while. Couldn't have done it myself, so natural your act felt."
What?
Is he claiming to be on board with me now? Looking back on the conversation, as annoying as pledging to play nice was - and the crushing reminder that I had plenty of peers with powers on par with mine-, Gunther seemed to have shepherded it neatly.
I shrugged and said, "He is dangerous. If you knew half the horrors I do know about him you wouldn't be so chummy with them."
Gunther sighed deeply, and theatrically, while shaking his head, "Oh, I do know which is exactly why I am so 'chummy' with him. How else would one keep an eye on him?"
The way I do. By liberally bribing the families of his men. Much, much softer targets than his men themselves. But I got his point. The question was now, would he point out his actions have been to help me or wait for me to make that realization.
"Regardless, you came out of this well enough."
I shrugged again, "It's going to be rather difficult to enforce any of this."
Now Gunther shrugged as if mimicking me, "Which would be the point. Neither of those men is interesting is limiting the power of Lords Paramount. This was the lightest possible rebuke I could arrange, Stannis, I do hope you know that."
I nodded, "Yes, grandfather. I have indeed surmised that and yet I'm still troubled. We've accomplished little today beyond establishing that all the old men who fought together in no less than two wars are still closely tied."
"Nonsense, the complete opposite in fact. Grievances have been aired, addressed, and mostly smoothed over. Not to mention the precedent that's set about your reasonable and practical approach to governing. What I do feel compelled to mention is that you brought this on yourself. Why would you antagonize Lord Tully when he could have been your loudest supporter?"
I frowned but Gunther continued, "A man surrounded by disloyal vassals would be certain to look to the crown, but you've wasted that opportunity. I see now that you've paid far too much attention to your granduncle Ser Harbert, fine a warrior as he is."
What's happening here?
"I really should have taken a closer hand. Let us go over your recent actions, Stannis, and I'll point out where you've gone horribly right or wrong since there seems to be little middle ground with you."
What-.
"Perhaps you should tell your attendants you'll be busy today. The Starks are coming back, my boy, and you need to be ready to catch Robert before that girl of theirs spins him out of control."
283 AC – Godsgrief: Lord Gunther of Estermont – The Tour of the Stormlords
After long talks with my grandson I finally had him convinced he should play the game, on established terms, at least when he is dealing with lords. Each of them, no matter how small or inconsequential their holdings might be, are prickly and prideful. Every last one of them would hold grudges that could be avoided and it was that last argument that seemed to sway him.
I was under no delusion that I had wheedled out most, or even a significant portion, of his goals and ambitions but I did have a solid grasp on his most immediate. His mind was firmly set on acquiring a certain level of conformity among the Stormlords and he was at times eloquent enough to sway even me. Unfortunately his proposed methods would alienate far too many aged, and prideful men, lords who needed to be courted. Courted and seduced, and bribed as well as fawned over. And then they might all fall in line without certain demonstrations.
Stannis wasn't pleased in the slightest.
But eventually he agreed that diplomacy should, indeed, must be the first step. Which brought us to this spectacular outing. It was on remarkably short notice but there wasn't a lack of interest. Every Stormlord in King's Landing, and a few of the more malleable younger Crownlander lords, boarded the Argilac's Pride. August figures such as the Lord Cafferen, Lord Buckler, Lord Penrose, the young Lord Errol, and even the little Lord Dondarion and many more were all present. Most of the eastern and southern Stormlords themselves were eager to get to know their new overlord that has been so generous to their sons.
Too generous by some of their standards.
Despite Stannis' enthusiasm for sailing with his band of younger lordlings I convinced him they were best served manning the other clippers. I'd seen the clippers in the harbor but standing on them you're truly struck by their sharp angles. They are not much larger than the new war galleys but a great deal faster. Stannis insisted on calling them clippers but could not explain why when pressed. Another one of those little peculiarities of his.
According to him they were the end result of many hours of cooperation between various prominent shipbuilders, architects from White Harbor and the Arbor, and a liberal helping of certain drawings. Of the latter he would only say he drew his dreams. I've informed him he should keep that to himself before men start whispering the Smith speaks to him in his sleep.
I didn't like the smirk that followed.
Lord Aenys Bollin of the Point, a young man of age with my eldest son, couldn't help but note, "Well, the Evenstar is certainly taking his words back."
I smiled widely in return, "Aye, and lose his gold as well. I've certainly learned not to bet against Stannis when he speaks of the workings he helps craft."
Aenys merely raised an eyebrow, keeping the rest of his vaguely Baratheon features amused, "But on any other subjects?"
I wasn't about to entertain this line of thought.
"In turn, he too, is learning valuable lessons."
The Lord of Bollin nodded and seemed content to let the subject lay. The object of today was more than merely showing off Stannis' new ships, their construction site, or his new town. Today was his opportunity to convince the greatest part of the Stormlands strength that his way was simply put better for them.
And then to quietly step back as they collectively rushed headlong into whichever direction Stannis would care to send them in. On the way to King's Landing I'd already visited the budding town of Godsgrief. Once they see the surroundings, the many many carved Stags and other Stormking influences, all would feel the faintest stirring of ancient hopes with the subtle shades of black and gold. The busy town with its teeming market places and singers accompanied by musicians, paid for by Stannis, that sung of days long past when all was well before the Dragons came.
It was a pleasant fiction, and one that would only hold fast for the smallfolk, but I got the sense that Stannis only wished to convince them of certain matters. Such as his innovations merely being a return to past glory rather than a complete shift in the workings of our world. To help smooth their fearful natures.
Even if I was of mind to halt its changes I wasn't willing to oppose my grandchild. Nor was I entirely convinced we could. Not as long as Robert would look at the new ships, both new clippers and enlarged galleys alike, with remarkeble fondness. And again, I wasn't willing to wish Stannis ill fortune even if I knew quite a few of the lords wouldn't mind seeing him humbled.
The Evenstar of Tarth came upon us, somewhat subdued, "Fourteen knots! And Lord Stannis claims it can do better once the sailors get used to the vessels handling! Good gods!"
Lord Tarth, slightly mystified, continued, "Our fastest galleys can hold at six knots for a full day. This vessel doesn't even have oars! We've even left those new wargalleys, those that do have oars and sails, behind hours ago..."
Lord Sebastion Errol lightly cleared his throat, "Its speed is derived from a few points, my Lords. Its sharp angles for one, the twenty two different sails all working together to make the most of the wind, and the copper sheeting lining those parts of the vessel that lay underwater."
Lord Fell loudly asked, "The ship is plenty fast, aye, but it can hardly carry more than two hundred men and handles less cargo then most others. What would you use it for?"
Lord Errol replied, "Lord Elias, you're right in the sense that these clippers will not hold overmuch cargo. Thus their limited space shall be put to use for what Lord Stannis calls 'small volume, high profit' trading goods. It will mostly be various dyes, spices, teas and other produce that are light and small of nature. With these ships our merchants can sail from King's Landing to Volantis sooner than the old vessels could reach Gulltown from King's Landing. Speed is everything, my Lords."
A light applause rang across the deck as Stannis took over, "Of course, their uses for war cannot be underestimated. The new wargalleys might be, in their own right, faster than anything else on the seas but these clippers will let us send our navies further than ever before. A fleet of them could sail to Qarth a full year faster than is possible now. We could trade directly with Norvos and Qohor on the other side of Essos in the time our current ships would take to reach Braavos fighting against the currents from King's Landing."
His smile sharpened into a grin when he continued, "I assure you all, my Lords, that I will greatly profit from all of this. My grandfather urged to come with honeyed and gentle words but I must admit that is simply not in my nature. My father taught me that Stormlords follow strength and wisdom. I cannot claim wisdom, that will come with time and advice from my elders, but I dare any of you to test my strength."
Oh gods, must he look so predatory? What are you doing, Stannis? A quick look around told me that the gathered lords were all looking intrigued but I didn't think it would last if my grandson missed the tone. Since I couldn't do anything else I simply sat back and waited.
"I neither want, nor need, men who are convinced by gentle and meek talk. We need the might of the Stormlanders and Crownlanders alike and the bravery of our united people! For a mere three centuries does not unmake the past! We need the will to take risks for all that we want! This..." He waved around with his arms and pointed to the ships, "Is merely the beginning. The world is ours for the taking, my Lords. For the first time in our long, long, history we carry all the advantages on the seas."
Another theatrical pause came as he gazed upon his lords, "All of our knights and levies already train to work together as one army and their united discipline is magnificent. Men have always spoken of the courage of our Stormlords but now we can honestly say even that even our well armed men-at-arms are worth a dozen of any others." His smirk became even sharper, " Our future glory in Westeros is all but guaranteed by my regal brother but I stand before you and call on you to grasp for our glory on the seas! All the seas! Every last fucking one of them!"
This is exactly what I cautioned him against. Why must he be so damned forthright? Granted, the Stormlords are nowhere near as gallantry obsessed as some of the other great lords but is some decorum too much to ask for?
Must everything be a great endeavor for my grandsons?
Still, the applaud was loud and the cheering was convincing. Even the sailors, momentarily caught up, unleashed some terrific howling. I even found myself braying along with the others but still I worried. He's quite unnecessarily setting a high bar for success. Now the poor lad must perform.
How many wars will we dragged into?
I looked across the desk and was struck by the thought that only the men I came into my lordship with are holding back. The others, those younger – even if that is a relative term for me-, seemingly had little reservation. Wonderful for Stannis but it would only bring me headaches.
Stannis nodded to Lord Errol who in turn smiled widely and loudly spoke, "We can build one clipper every seven days. War galleys, the new ones we saw earlier this morning, can be made every three days. Certainly we've not yet reached the fabled speeds of the Arsenal of Braavos but we're getting closer by the ship. When Godsgrief is fully finished the town will provide all the labor for our own Arsenals and I have no doubt that someday we'll outpace even Braavos."
The lad fell silent for a moment, drawing attention just as I had seen Stannis do dozens of times, and theatrically continued, "One day, my Lords, we'll be spitting out multiple ships every..! Single! Day! Lord Stannis is right, the world is changing! No longer will we look to Essos and wonder when they will come for us again. Let them, my Lords, and we'll catch them on the seas on our terms."
Only with the most iron of wills did I manage refrain from bending Stannis back over my knee. Why did I spend hours talking to him if he still won't listen?
Now Godsgrief best not appear underwhelming. The high morale of the Stormlords might not last if it did.
Suddenly I was shaken out of my worries are Stannis waved over his head, thrice, and loudly bellowed out, "Hold on, my Lords, and my captain shall show you how fast the clipper can turn around! Don't let go! We're about to heel deep!"
Oh gods, he wasn't lying and I held on for all I could.
283 AC – Godsgrief: Lord Gunther of Estermont – The Tour of the Stormlords
We were almost at Godsgrief. The town that sprang up overnight and set the tongues of Crownlander and Stormlander alike wagging. Even before you reach the town you're struck by the sheer oddness of it all. On one end of the river workshops, so called factories, dot the Wendwater with their imposing wheels spinning and churning. The river boat we all gathered on was oared and making decent pace getting us up the river.
On the other end of the Wendwater a most peculiar mode of transportation played out. Long lines of copper, though I'm told it is most parts wood covered by copper, rounded planks lay next to the river. Upon these planks, rails they call them, interconnected wagons are pulled by teams of horses at fair pace.
Though none faster than a regular horse and wagon I could appreciate the astounding volume of cargo they pulled with them. The produce of these factories, whatever they might be, are thus carried to either the Wendwater port or Godsgrief where they can be sent off to their final destinations. My grandson was walking around with a faint smirk as the other lords tittered about the various uses they could find for this.
I chose to ignore that.
Marius Herston, Lucius' second son, continued with his elaborations, "Roughly three tons of supplies, of whichever nature they might be, are transported by this particular rail network. Others tie Godsgrief together with the Arsenal with a different kind of wagon designed for the shipbuilders."
Of course his cantankerous father couldn't help himself, "What happens when some ruffian breaks a rail or two?"
The younger son nodded in acknowledgment and replied, "Then it shall be repaired with the many spare parts we have in storage. The...ruffians would get caught by the Stormbringers and sent to the mines, the wall or the gallows."
Another titter of approval came from the Stormlords of the plains but it seemed this one didn't quite manage to draw a smile from Stannis.
Interesting.
Lucius, however, did not yield to the argument, "And yet this network would fall flat until it has been repaired. Whereas our rather tried and tested methods would keep going without a worry."
I glanced over at my grandson again to see how he'd take the challenge but he moved nor spoke. His silence however did speak to plenty of confidence that Marius would handle matters. And indeed the boy responded.
"Hollowed wagon wheels shaped for rails still perform adequately for short distances, father. Unless you're claiming...ruffians would take miles and miles worth of rails without being noticed?"
That would be quite the feat indeed. Fortunately the elder Herston quieted down after that and the younger continued, "Further line construction has begun in Storm's End, Haystack Hall and Bronzegate. We're very hopeful networks will tie off into each other before the year is done."
Next I knew we'd come across the Woodworks. A large enclosure in the King's Wood that provided the majority of the wood for both Godsgrief and the Arsenal. When I asked Stannis why he wouldn't simply use the woods around his town he answered far too frankly. I immediately urged him to find another reason rather than keeping it looking nice and appealing for the townsfolk.
Sometimes I wonder what's gotten into that boy. Was the siege truly that horrific? Save for the brief moments of battle, none of those involved tend to speak about it. Perhaps I should look into it some more.
Marius spoke up again, "This, my Lords, is the Woodworks. An enclosure like no other. Trees get cut down, stripped and cut into standard sizes, and stored for the teamsters to transport to its destination. Everything in either Godsgrief or the Arsenal that might require wood sends for it from the Woodworks."
Stannis chose then to interject, "Several innovations, the two-man swing saw, among other types of steel blades and new practices make logging, faster and more profitable. The might even be, if not safe than at least much safer than previous practices. Since we Stormlanders don't have all that many smallfolk, I believe we shouldn't waste those we do have, and keep our experienced men around to teach their sons."
I mightily resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He had to know that such sentiments wouldn't be respected?
And indeed Lord Cafferen, the onetime loyalist, challenged him, "Are the smallfolk those you're basing your strength on, my Lord?"
A hush came over the riverboat but Stannis didn't let it linger, "I'm basing our economy upon the smallfolk, as all of you do. If they prosper, we prosper."
I could tell he was losing them but Lord Morrigan jumped into the fray, "I've heard rumors, my Lord, that your workers have a stake in your endeavors? That you have made them your partners?"
Oh, darn. I was so hoping to get to that over dinner. Not out in the open here.
With a damnable wide smile Stannis blithely responded, "Aye, they share in a small fraction of the profits so that they may feel more invested in my undertakings. After all, men work harder for what is theirs. Why do you ask?"
Lord Morrigan shrugged and said, "Men already call you the Merchant-Prince, my Lord. Will they call you the peasants-Prince soon?"
A deep silence feel over the barge that put the previous one to shame. Thankfully Stannis didn't let this one persist either, "How many men does Lord Mace Tyrell command, Lyonel?"
Oh, I admit. That might work.
Lord Morrigan, ever a grumpy and stubborn lord, spoke, "They say a hundred thousand, if all his banners respond."
With an incongruous smile on his face Stannis replied, "When only six out of even ten of their men came to our lands, Lyonel, and the vast majority of our host met them at Ashford...do you recall what occured?"
Stannis didn't let him reply, "Even with a skilled commander such as my brother leading our thirty eight thousand? We came upon their front guard, of equal numbers, and were driven off, Lyonel. Imagine if the full might of the Reach came upon us?"
Now my grandson turned around to the other nobles and said, "Would mere pride have kept our fields unburnt? Our people not ravaged?" With burning contempt he continued, "We're outnumbered by the Riverlanders and the fucking Vale both of whom can raise ten thousand more men and afford to equip them better than we can. The Westerlands have an army that never disbands and always grows in strength! The Reach dwarfs us and could take us apart on a whim."
Stannis stared at his gathered lords intently with a burning gaze, "In the face of working against that, what do a few errant whispers matter?"
Next he continued, "Let them call me whatever the fuck they want, Lyonel, and I'll sleep just fine knowing that when the next war comes we'll be a hundred times stronger. I'll tell all of you now that I care little whether I have to beg, borrow or sack cities in Essos for the coin to remake our strength!"
He quieted somewhat down when he continued, "However strong my brother's throne, at some point we will we be called upon to defend our claim. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that the Stormlands can stand among all the others and fear none of them."
He slowly, ever so slowly, stalked up to Lord Lyonel of Morrigan until he stood face to face with him, "Will you let matters of pride and pathetic whispers stand in the way of that, Lyonel?"
The middle aged Lord of the Crow's Nest didn't retreat but certainly didn't seem at ease either. A fact that was rather well noted and perceived by the other lords.
"Nay, but I-."
Stannis simply interrupted him, "Empty words from those who are neither Storm nor Crownlander? Tell me, does that truly mean so much to you?"
"Nay, my Lord."
Satisfied my grandson turned around to the others, "We have a Baratheon for a King and for the first time in centuries a true place of power in the Realms. Those of you who have sons that served with me in Storm's End during the siege, and later in that vile nest of King's Landing, know how generous I am to those that serve well."
Slowly he looked from Lord to Lord and continued, "I won't order a single one of you to mimic my endeavors but I'm more than willing to lend a warm and welcoming hand to those that will look to the future with me."
He ended it with, "Those that are timid and prone to seek refuge in glories of the past will have little of my compassion once they see their braver neighbors prosper." With he smiled he finished, "Ah, we've reached the Glassworks, Marius."
The young Herston lad nodded and smoothly took over, "Here for the Glassworks we've acquired samples of any and all fruits, vegetables and other produce from as far as we could reach. Dornish bloodoranges, apples from the Reach, and everything else you can think of can be grown in these. Through pipes containing heated water, and various implements we call sprinklers, we can mimic the circumstances of most climates. It's a progress in the works but we're confident that soon we can expand these enough to feed the rapacious appetites of King's Landing."
It wasn't a perfect transition but it certainly caught the attention of the lords. Again, this was entirely predictable, to the point where I specifically told Stannis. Why does he have to be so headstrong?
How many of these challenges can he weather?
"On the other side of the Wendwater you can see the Stoneworks." The Herston lad chuckled and said, "The names aren't all that imaginative but better ones will follow. Still, they tend to be plain descriptors. In any case, this is where the sand and mud are cooked into flat, square pieces of tiles. Due to some over enthusiastic production we've had to hurriedly sell to King's Landing to get rid of our surplus. Since then we seem to have whet the appetite of King's Landing for more than food."
At least the promise of abundance rings true.
"Next we'll come across the Dye Factories, our most priceless gems. They produce most of the colors that can be found in Tyrosh, in the same quality, though not for all, but with much higher volumes, and more color recipes are found every day. A tenth of a tenth of the factories do nothing but tinker with various combinations and have already rendered us many unique colors that are unmatched elsewhere in the world. More than anything it is these ventures that pay for most of what you see."
With another chuckle he said, "The rest of the gold seems to go to shiny armor for your heirs, my Lords."
With their laughter the last of the unease finally left the barge and I breathed a deep, but silent, sigh of relief.
283 AC – Godsgrief: Lord Gunther of Estermont – The Tour of the Stormlords
We'd been shown most of the town and even I had to admit it didn't disappoint. When you recall that its barely been three and a half months since construction began you can't help but be impressed with what already stands. The streets are broad, extremely so, and every set of buildings are laid out in squares. Every group of sets of buildings lead to small open clearings, which like the streets are paved with baked stone, and are used for market places or a variety of other endeavors. Musicians play on every corner, in what I can only call a gross showing of opulence, for the benefit of the town folk. And yet I could not deny the good cheer that pervaded the streets.
Lord Morrigan, still somewhat chastised, whispered to me, "Are those Stag eyes following us?"
I couldn't contain a snort but quickly reassured Lyonel that his eyes were playing tricks on him. On most corners man-sized statues of metal rampant crowned Stags graced the streets. They were each painted with black, and a marvelous imitation of gold, and served as a reminder that my grandson was keen on his family sigil.
I'm sure he has his reasons, which would undoubtedly be somewhat compelling if I let him explain, but it tasted of sheer arrogance to me. Still, they were lovely to look at and a damned sight better than the monstrosity that dominated the center market place. A truly massive statute, that was still under construction, and was supposed to represent the last of the Storm Kings Argilac the Arrogant. Wisely, few of us mentioned that the visage looked remarkably like Robert Baratheon. Other decorates that lined the walls of buildings were massive paintings, made on wooden panels, that depicted scenes from the storied past of the Stormslands. I'm hopeful their quality will improve in days to come.
Lord Erwyn Wylde of Rain House quietly made his way over to me to ask, "Why are all the buildings the same? And I mean, precisely the same?"
It appeared my grandson heard him and explained, "It was easier to build them as such." A heartbeat passed before he continued, "And I told all the builders and carpenters that they would get to pick their own homes last."
That was amusing enough for me to join in with the laughter of the other lords. Suddenly bells loudly rang, simultaneously across Godsgrief, and my grandson urged us to head for the keep. We soon arrived in what seemed to be a sparingly decorated garrison fort but it wasn't likely to hold off much more than errant bandits. Then again, asking for a full fledged keep in less then five years seemed a fair bit much.
When we were all seated comfortably on the third floor of the main building we learned just why Stannis ushered us inside. Only a little while had passed but suddenly the streets were absolutely filled with workers.
Marius was the one to explain matters this time, "The bells are a sign that the workers are allowed their break. They all hop on the wagon rails and have two hours free to eat with their families. The various learning institutions and trade schools, ran by the Septons or the Merchants Collective, let their students home for the same period."
Stannis took over, "When their parents go back to work the children are sent to several places. Some go the fields for them to play ball sports in, in tournaments organized by the Septons, as well as music classes or other activities, group or otherwise, which are overseen by either Septons or Septas. The tremendous profits from the dye trade pay for most of these indulgences and it keeps the peace in the town when even the children are too tired to pester their parents at night."
Again I joined in with the laughter.
"Of course, the benefit of having plenty of children who can read and write, do their numbers, and have been taught by their parents that House Baratheon is responsible for their improved lot in life cannot be overstated."
With a sharp grin he said, "If, at some point, your own smallfolk start making comparisons between our lands I urge you to remember my words. Keep them fed, keep them happy, and give them the opportunity to provide better lives for their children. You will never find better servants."
Many looks were exchanged but I got the sense there was little in the way of opposition to the sentiment. Were they simply waiting things out or was another out burst coming?
Either way, Stannis managed to head it off by arranging for all the youngsters, and all of the Crownlanders, to go hunting with him. The other lords, those that simply claimed age or tiredness, stayed behind and I was well aware they were my target. Darn you, my stubborn grandson. He simply expects me to smooth out his messes and I'm going to just let him. When all the energetic lordlings made their way to the stable I made my rounds, to figure out how the elder lords were taking matters.
I noticed that Bollin, Musgood and Fawnton had few concerns and were watching bemusedly at Cole and Herston arguing about 'the affront to noble dignity which our liege lord is intent to inflict upon us'. Interestingly enough Lord Morrigan was not part of that particular debate.
It let their argument rage for a while, took note of those who appealed to the sentiment of giving our energetic young lord a chance, and of those who were reluctantly willing to as such. More worrying were those that proffered to wait and assess whether Storm's End would benefit from Stannis' innovations. They seemed more than willing to take the initial loss to benefit in the longer term from Stannis' actions. Both from his mistakes and successes.
Those men were my targets.
I cleared my throat until they all looked over at me, "Let me share with you some of my insights regarding my grandson. You've all seen how stubborn he is, which is nothing new, but you haven't understood how that boy's mind works."
What little I understand of it, at least.
Lord Fell scoffed and said, "Are you telling us we should be worried?"
I smiled a brittle grin and replied, "In short? Yes."
He didn't expect that. I took advantage of his momentarily distraction and went on, "He's right when he said you're all damned well aware of how open handed he is. Yet, have you taken note of how he deals with those he deems enemies?"
I had all of their attention but I needed a way to make them see without making them entirely fearful. None of them respect merchants, save for those with close connections to King's Landing, but all understand them to some extent. It would have to do.
"A while ago my grandson came up with one of his inventions. A way for scribes to churn out books by the dozens in hours when previously they would take months. He's made the Guild of Scribes one of the wealthiest in King's Landing in less than a month."
I slowly let my gaze wander over theirs, "Many other Guilds have benefited from a relationship with him. One of the recurring factors in any deal my grandson makes is that both sides tend to profit, extremely so in fact. Which brings us to the Dyers. They got greedy and Stannis destroyed them without lifting a single sword."
Lord Buckler knew this story as did Lord Tarth, Wagstaff, Mertyn and Herston. The others however I knew I held entranced.
"He started by taking their members, offering them better terms than the Guild ever could. When they agitated and attempted to take a violent turn he simply had them watched, at all times, by his men and the Gold Cloaks. He gave them no rest or time to recover while he took over their contracts from their buyers."
If I wasn't careful I might start enjoying this, "Devoid of young men to work their vats, without the contracts upon which they base all their plans and policies, Stannis finished things up by paying their suppliers to cease supplying the Guild! Now they lay enfeebled, lacking any means to regain what they once had, and finding themselves without any friends. Unable to get even a modest loan or extension on those they already labor under."
I let a smirk creep along my lips, "In less then a month a half...a Guild that held sway over King's Landing since time immemorial was broken and encumbered with crippling debt. Stannis purchased their inventory, buildings and everything else they owned for a tenth of a tenth of their worth."
I made sure to slowly lean back into my comfortable seat, take a swig of my wine flagon, and watch with mild amusement as the message started sinking in. I knew one of them, probably Cafferen or Fell, would push one last time before we would move on to making practical plans.
And indeed it proved to be Lord Cafferen, "I do not doubt his ability to cow merchants, Gunther, but we are Stormlords."
"No, we are not merchants, my Lord of Cafferen. And yet, you and those of your opinion, do not like the manner in which my grandson acquires funds for the benefit of his people. And do not misunderstand me, he is certainly not spending it on himself. Tell me, my Lord of Caffered, would you prefer if he held more to the mold of his late grandfather, Lord Ormund Baratheon?"
Loudly Lord Fell brayed, "Aye, we'd not worry about men calling him the Merchant-Lord! And we'd be led well!"
I waited for the precious few lords that agreed with him to settle down and continued, "Ormund would have simply taxed you. Taxed us all, until we paid for his roads. For his ships. For everything Storm's End could need. Do yo recall those temporary hikes in taxes? Those to pay for the Dragon King's campaigns in the Step Stones?"
Coldly I asked him and by extension the others, "Have they been temporary?"
Fell remained quiet, as did Cafferen, but the others loudly booed.
I let my grin grow wider, "Let us be content that our liege is finding coin elsewhere, and let us not cause him to grow irate with our complaining. Let us be pleased we have a Lord of Storm's End that takes his duty seriously and if in his mind he extends those duties to his smallfolk...so be it. And besides, what does his behavior matter when Stannis already owns the hearts of all our sons and grandsons?"
They were confused but soon I saw comprehension dawn when Herston bit out, "Aye, he does. My son has grown bold in his service."
I shrugged, unwilling to uncover the annoyance in his voice, and said, "They'll grow more than that. My other grandsons, too, labor for Stannis. Don't tell me you all have not noticed. How our sons come to us and ask what we think about these many changes?"
A loud hum agreement followed, "How excited our boys are and how they carry those stars in their eyes none of us seem able to extinguish?"
"Aye!"
"Indeed!"
I let them shout for a moment but soon they calmed down, "My Lords, we are already lost."
And that took the rest of the wind out of their sails. While they still lay confused I struck again, "How long before our boys look at Stannis, compare him with ourselves, and wonder to themselves why we oppose him?"
Lord Aenys Bollin immediately spoke up, "We don't oppose him and I resent the-"
I waved the man down and interrupted him, "My apologies, I did not mean how things are. I meant how they will seems to our heirs, and for some of us, and our heir's heirs. Will they not take note of our lack of enthusiasm?"
Another veritable chorus of agreement.
"Will they not see us hesitate and wonder to themselves what we are so blind for? You all know the nature of young men and even though it has been a long while...we still remember. I know I do! I remember King Jaehaerys Targaryen braying for Blackfyre blood in the Step Stones and I've never felt more alive since!"
That too was loudly hailed.
"My Lords, Stannis is just that to our sons and grandsons. They shall look upon him, even as he stumbles and learns from his mistakes, and see their own glory reflected in him. He likely meant every single word he spoke on top of his marvelous vessel. One day our heirs and heir's heirs will look upon us and only see old men. Old men standing in the way of their glorious future. And they will wonder."
The silence that followed was damning but effective.
Eventually Lord Gower spoke, "Damned if we do, damned if we don't, change we must. I already hear Marcel quietly whispering with his friends why his father is so intent on shackling his glorious House to the past. When did we get so old, Gunther?"
Lord Herston bitterly bit out, "When did our sons grow so gods be damned ungrateful!? I certainly didn't raise a half-Stag!"
I smiled at the Herston Lord and said, "I did." I shrugged, "It's not so bad. My grandson is King, you know."
And their pained grimaces and groans as I gave my final, deliberately clumsy, attempt at humor resounded through the large hall. My next quip didn't land so flat though.
"Now, where's the bell that calls the servants? I'm out of wine and Melynda is not here to moan about my consumption."
And there was their laughter again. Oh, my people. Predictable until the end.
AN: Long chapter, I got carried away. Feedback and commentary appreciated. Please let me know what you think!
AN2: The clipper isn't actually a clipper. It's the best approximation Stabby can make and its still faster than everything else. Nowhere near as fast as potentially 18/20 knots, but still an improvement.