Braavos
Aenar's Manse
120 AC
Aenar POV
"Well, good sers, what shall we do then," began Aenar, addressing his friends gathered in his solar.
"King Viserys's proposition is interesting to say the least," replied Harrold who was held aloft by the comforter at the far end of the solar, feet propped up on the centre table before him.
"A poisoned chalice is what it is. A rather bare faced attempt to bring you back under his thumb and tie you to House Targaryen through lands and fealty," rebutted Nelos.
The Crownlander knight and the Braavosi banker had been at odds over Viserys's proposal since Aenar had shared its contents with them half a turn of the moon ago.
"I wouldn't go that far, Nelos. The situation in Essos is tenuous. There is little work to be found. It was a blessing that we got paid as well as we did for the Red Valley campaign and that also was primarily due to the rather longer payment period that we agreed to. Unless we want to bloody our swords in the Disputed Lands, there is little work to be found for a sellsword company of our size and skill," added Morelos.
"And so we should just up and move to Westeros," said the disgruntled banker, "do you even understand the magnitude of financial losses that we would incur in such an endeavour? The sheer number of assets and investments that we would have to liquidate at short notice all over Essos? The losses alone would be enough to buy a lordship in Westeros."
"I cannot claim to be wise in matters of gold as you are, Nelos. But why can't Aenar maintain his assets across the Narrow Sea. I understand we would have to sell off some of them. But surely it would not be that bad?" replied Harrold.
"There are rules to Lordship, Harry. Even in Westeros. Once Aenar swears fealty to the King, by laws dating back centuries, he would not be allowed to invest more than nominal sums in Essos," Nelos snapped back.
Seeing the almost clueless looks around the room, Nelos decided to elaborate, "It's rather complex. But the laws work both ways. Many of the Free Cities do not allow investment from Westerosi nobility beyond a certain limit to ensure that their nobility may maintain a monopoly over trade and power. Similarly, Westerosi lords are not allowed by the Crown and the Lord Paramounts to invest more than nominal sums in Essos and vice versa to curtail the Free Cities' influence in westeros. There is also the fact that the Faith does not like and actively discourages any financial investment in Cities which actively promote and engage in slavery."
"But surely we have a good rapport with the Faith. No one can accuse Aenar the Liberator of promoting slavery," replied an incredulous Morelos.
Nelos frowned in thought, "Perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that once we are in Westeros, we would be bound by Westerosi law, and many of our investments, which would otherwise be very profitable, would be taxed heavily by the Free Cities due to Westerosi ownership. As a sellsword company, not sworn to any banner, we have enjoyed certain benefits. Benefits that would be lost were we to move to Westeros."
"Viserys is King, surely he could waive the restrictions for Aenar at least temporarily, giving us the time needed to liquidate our assets," rebutted the Quartermaster.
"Even if Viserys could, which I doubt, for these laws have been preserved and upheld by Westerosi Kings even centuries before the Conqueror stepped foot on Westeros, it would be an empty gesture. Once the Essosi nobility realise that we are liquidating our investments, it will not be too long before they connect it to our move to Westeros. And thereafter, we will be lucky to sell our assets even at the cost at which we had purchased them," the banker finished with a sigh, leaning back in his padded chair.
"So the financial losses will be substantial," interrupted Aenar, finally stepping into the conversation.
Nelos hummed in thought and took a sip from his cup, "A hundred thousand dragons at the very least. It would be much higher, but if I move quickly and plan it correctly, I should be able to get a decent price for most of our holdings before word starts spreading. And even then, I'd be forced to burn many of the bridges I have built over the years. My reputation as a banker would be heavily tarnished to say the least, and that's not even considering the number of catspaws that will be sent for my head."
The Dragonlord waved his hand, "We will keep that in mind, Nelos. Worry not, I shall see to it that you shall be well cared for in Westeros," turning to his second in command, Aenar continued, "Morelos, what of the Company. Have you made the inquiries?"
The former slave grimaced lightly and leaned forward, placing his arms on the desk and spoke, "Well I had to be fuckin' discrete. Can't have word spreading that we are considering a move to the Sunset Lands. Spoke to some of our more trusted captains. Tis only a fair guess on my part, but I'd say that around half o' the men would probably accompany us with their families."
Harrold let out a low whistle at that his eyes wide, "That'd still be near a thousand and five hundred fighting men. The Lords will piss themselves."
"Fuck the lords," said Nelos, who was in contrast to Harrold, white in the face, "do you know how much it will fucking cost us to transport a thousand and five hundred men, their families, possessions, weapons, armour, equipment, wagons and another thousand fucking horses to Westeros?"
Aenar idly noted that towards the end his voice was so high pitched that it almost reminded him of one of the opera singers who could shatter glasses in his previous life.
"I'm assuming it'll be a lot of gold," offered Harrold, naively offering himself up as the target of Nelos's ire.
The said banker sat straight-backed, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the Westerosi knight, his lips quivering as he mustered the inevitable barrage of curses that would fall, and then, almost instantly, all the rage left his body and he collapsed back in his seat.
"Yes Harry, a lot of fucking gold," responded the near despondent banker.
"Excellent. Nelos get back to me with the numbers once you've figured it out," replied a cheery Aenar, as he stood and extracted a large scroll from the case behind him.
Unfurling it carefully, the men gathered in the room were confronted with a map of Westeros.
Aenar spoke first, "So, which part of Westeros should we claim as our own?"
That was a loaded question. Of all the lands sworn to his brother, there were few unoccupied Lordships, those that were unoccupied also needed to be in politically viable places. Preferably places with economies of reasonable potential. Of course, the area he settled in would also have to be accommodating to his scaled partner.
"I'm assuming Dorne isn't an option?" piped up Harry.
"No Harrold, we are not going to conquer Dorne," replied Aenar almost chidingly.
"I'm assuming we can only go for lands that currently possess no Lord?" Nelos commented, deep in thought.
Aenar snorted, "Yes, Viserys is not stupid enough to displace and disenfranchise a noble house in favour of his bastard brother."
Harrold grinned, "And I'm assuming you're not up for marrying and taking on the name of some maiden who's the last living heir of her House either?"
Levelling an incredulous stare at the Darke Knight, Aenar deadpanned, "Let's call that plan B."
"The Riverlands have some good options. Fairmarket is held by a knightly house if I recall correctly. The surrounding lands are disputed and more or less directly governed by Riverrun," said Nelos.
"Aye, Oldstones as well. The Keep is in ruins and the lands are fairly populated with just a handful of landed knights with some wooden keeps collecting taxes. Would require a bit of work and gold to fix up, but we have plenty to spare."
"I am not going to bend the fucking knee to Grover fucking Tully. I am the blood of the dragon. Hell will freeze over before a dragon kneels before an upjumped fish lord," growled Aenar, effectively ending the discussion.
"Alright then if we eliminate the entirety of the Riverlands, then the Reach….."
Aenar cut in, "Not the Reach. I'd sooner kill myself than find myself anywhere near the Hightower and that cunt Otto."
"Well I'm not as well versed in Westerosi affairs as you lot are," said Morelos, "but the North seems plenty large to me. Lots o' land there."
The table paused slightly at that looking over to Aenar, who seemed almost pensive.
It was a tempting thought, the Starks were perhaps the only Great House that Aenar would be willing to bend the knee to. The North produced hard men. His own men, survivors in every sense of the word, would settle well in the North. And there was little in terms of courtly politics there. Settling in the North would see to it that his interests would remain well protected no matter how the Dance ended. But still, the dangers of winter, cold and famine were much too great. Especially considering he would basically have to grow his lands, economy and industry from scratch.
"Not the North. Too cold. Too isolated. The men would suffer. It would cost too much for us to develop. The Cannibal hates the cold anyways," dismissed Aenar.
A brief silence fell over the room as the gathered men pondered the quandary before them. There was much to be considered in this situation. Availability of lands and incomes was of course first and foremost. The economy, status of industry and population were also major considerations. Climate, relations with neighbours and of course with one's liege were also critical factors to consider.
"Well the Crownlands would be perfect in that case, as the weather is mild, it's fairly well populated and industry and economy isn't all that bad either. And you'd only have to swear fealty to Viserys, but I don't think there are any viable options there," replied Nelos eventually.
"Actually, that's not exactly true," said Harry as he stood and leaned over the map, his fingers tracing the coast of Blackwater Bay before finally landing on his choice.
Crackclaw Point.
Sealord's Palace, Braavos
A few days later
"The fish is exquisite," commented Aenar, slowly slicing a piece for himself with an ornate knife. In his past before his arrival in Essos, even as the bastard brother to the King, he'd received little education focused on courtly etiquette, something he had been forced to pick up quickly in Essos once his wealth and fame grew.
"Thank you Aenar. I shall pass on your compliments to the cooks. I'm sure they shall be pleased to hear praise from the Breaker of Chains himself," replied the Sealord of Braavos, a light smile on his face, almost teasing in nature.
After almost a decade of working together on reform, policy, campaigns and wars, Arretto Acherion and Aenar Waters had formed a friendship of sorts. A camaraderie born of similar political thoughts, shared goals and common hatred of established hierarchies. Many years ago, when the two had first met, both had little to their respective names. Yet they shared a common desire to break the wheel and drive real change and reform. Now over a decade later, they had achieved much of what they had set out to do.
Under Aretto's leadership, Braavos had carved out an empire. Making more gains in the former Dothraki Sea than the other Free Cities. It was almost akin to colonisation in his previous life. Much like the European Monarchs of old, the Free Cities had also proceeded to carve out territories and establish settlements in the Dothraki Sea, even as Aenar had proceeded with his campaigns.
Braavos, being the first on the scene, and largely due to Aenar's own relationship with Aretto, they had been able to expand faster than even Qohor, Volantis and Norvos who were better positioned geographically.
Much and more was yet to be done, but with each passing moon, there was little and less for Aenar to do. A dragon was a blunt instrument, and now was the time for delicate negotiations and diplomacy among the Free Cities of Essos much as there had been between the European powers when they had carved up Africa.
That was the very reason that brought him to the Sealord's Palace.
"How go the preparations for the Summit?" asked Aenar, finally broaching the main reason for their meeting.
Aretto stilled lightly at that, and then slowly laid down his knife and fork which had but a moment ago been used to carve a slice of meat from the roast deer that was the centrepiece of today's meal.
"Many are concerned," replied the Sealord eventually, "a Summit such as this has never been held in Essosi history."
The Dragonlord nodded, "Aye. I can hardly imagine. Everyone wants a piece of the pie."
"Indeed. And yet, despite my assertions, my councillors and advisors are leaning towards a policy of appeasement and rapprochement."
"Appeasement and Rapprochement! Have they taken leave of their senses? Braavos's military strength is immense. Your presence in the Dothraki Sea is unmatched, as is your naval might. Tell me that you are not swayed by their words, old friend," replied an incensed Aenar, barely concealed frustration and anger bleeding into his voice.
"Your words are true, but wielding the biggest sword does not mean that you use it all the time. As of now, our enemies are disunited, beleaguered by their own disputes and spats. If we were to attempt to project our strength to influence the outcome of the Summit too greatly, it will give them the reason they need to unite against Braavos. To unite against the only bastion of liberty and freedom in Essos."
"And what of the millions more who you would condemn to slavery in the Dothraki Sea by appeasing the Free Cities," countered Aenar, "for surely by allowing them greater presence and holdings, you would all but ensure that all those that were liberated there, will slowly but surely fall back under the yolk of slavery."
"Perhaps, but my hands are tied. I must look out for Braavos's interests first and foremost. And it is not in Braavosi interests to have our enemies unite against us."
"Let them come then! See how they fare against the Cannibal's fla-"
The sentence was left hanging as Aenar realised the folly he was about to commit. Silence fell across the room as the two men processed the situation. Over a decade ago, Aenar had committed that he would never fight for or against another Free City. It was that oath, and his actions thereafter that was the primary reason for his continued survival in Essos.
"I would be careful with my words, Aenar," replied Aretto, his tone cautionary, "there are no prying ears in this room. And for that you must be grateful. I need not tell you the adverse impact words such as those could have on your health if unfriendly ears were to hear them."
The Black Dragon just nodded curtly at that, internally cursing himself for his slip.
"The upcoming Summit is of great importance to Braavos. There is little doubt that its outcome will reshape the political landscape of Essos for centuries to come. Leaders and representatives of every Free City shall be in attendance. Feasts shall be held in your honour. They will laud you as the man who scourged the Dothraki. You will receive great honours," said Aretto as he brought his glass of wine up to take a sip.
"I strongly recommend that you do not attend," finished the Sealord of Braavos.
Aenar gripped his own glass tightly at that. There was much he had hoped to accomplish at the Summit.
"And why would that be?" he asked finally.
"Because, and as much as it pains me to say this, with the exception of Braavos, the one thing all the other Free Cities agree on, is that you are the single greatest threat to their power and way of life. You must not attract too much attention to your personage."
"That was the case ten years ago as well. Many sent catspaws. Many attempted to take my life. Among them my own brother. I am still here. I don't see a reason why that would change now. The Dothraki may be dealt with, but there is still much that the Sons of the Dragon have to offer to the Princes, Magisters and Masters of Essos."
"I concur, yet until now, no one of significant power has believed that the benefits you bring to them are outweighed by the threat you pose. With the Dothraki gone, soon rumblings will begin, of the threat posed by the Black Dragon. Men will whisper in dark rooms, how long will it take before the Bane of the Dothraki becomes the Bane of Slavery. How long before the Liberator declares for Braavos?"
"I swore an oath, Aretto. I do not take that lightly," said Aenar.
"I know that. And yet, to the rest of the world, words are wind. Since their oaths are worthless, they assume, so too are yours. I am afraid, my friend, that unless we take action, Essos will soon become a rather hostile place for you."
"And what action are you suggesting?" asked Aenar.
The Sealord sighed, "Braavos will stand with you Aenar. Never doubt that. This city owes you too great a debt. Few in the history of Essos have done more to fight slavery than you have. And we will honour that. You can live out the rest of your days in Braavos if you wish, in which case of course you will have to disband the Sons of the Dragon."
Aenar was about to protest before Aretto raised his hand to silence him and continued, "Or you could take your men, your dragon and your wealth and assume the position of Governor General of Sarys where you would have considerably more freedom to do as you wish…..as long as that aligns with the interests of Braavos," finished the Sealord.
Aenar leaned back in his seat as he considered the proposal, "I thought that the other Free Cities would be unhappy with me aligning with Braavos."
"It does come with a few caveats, but Sarys is a newly founded colony. The city is being rebuilt. The people there are primarily former slaves, slaves that you liberated. You would have the might of Braavos at your back and surrounded by your own men. Any attack on you would be treated by Braavos as an attack against the Sealord himself. You could truly carve out your own legacy in Sarys. A legacy that would last for centuries, far greater than anything you could if you returned to Westeros to serve your brother," his old friend smiled in conclusion.
"You heard about that then?" chuckled Aenar.
"A Kingsguard wandering through Braavos for half a moon like a lost puppy would hardly go unnoticed," smiled Aretto.
"Subtlety was never Ser Steffon's strong suit," agreed Aenar wryly, his lips curling into a smile.
The offer was a good one, thought Aenar. Sarys had been among the first colonies settled by Braavos. Its position on the coast ensured that it promised to be a hub of trade and the Sarne delta was extremely fertile. By all reports, Braavos was hoping to develop it into the bread basket of its new empire, with trade facilitated across the Shivering Sea. It was a great offer. Too good in fact.
"Sarys would require a lot of investment to truly rebuild," said Aenar eventually as he realised the true intent behind Aretto granting him the position.
"Indeed," nodded Aretto, "Millions probably."
"And if I venture a guess, the Governor General would be expected to offer a considerable investment in the region."
"That would also be true."
It was still lucrative, Aenar had plenty of money to spare.
"And the investments made would result in my own line possessing significant ownership in the colony?"
"It would not surprise me if your family were to hold on to the position of Governor General for quite some time," agreed the Sealord of Braavos.
"That sounds like a good deal," offered Aenar.
"There are a few caveats. Ones that you won't like," said Aretto as Aenar motioned for him to continue, "well firstly you will have to renounce any allegiance as a Prince of House Targaryen to King Viserys or whosoever may sit the Iron Throne after him."
Aenar remained impassive at that. Although he was slightly surprised that Aretto had already learned of Viserys's decision to legitimise him, he had learnt not to underestimate his friend. And while renouncing House Targaryen would have hardly bothered him in the past, doing so now would mean that he would never be able to return home.
"Furthermore, upon your death, your children, should you have any, legitimate or otherwise, will not be allowed to claim the Cannibal or any other dragons whatsoever."
A pause. And then fury.
"You would deny my children their birthright!" raged Aenar. A dragon was far more than just a symbol of power, or a weapon of mass destruction to wield. In his previous life, he would never be able to comprehend the depth of the bond that dragon and rider shared. But now, he knew what it meant. And he knew that it was something he prayed his children would also one day experience.
The Sealord winced, "You must understand Aenar, a single dragon in Essos, already upsets the balance of power greatly. And even then, when it is wielded in temperance by one such as you. While we will support you as allies and friends, neither I nor Braavos can vouch for any children that you may have, or their children. Essos cannot afford a dynasty of dragonriders one day deciding that like their ancestors, they too could conquer an entire continent," said Aretto, calmly but firmly.
"And so you would deny my line their rightful heritage? I do not expect you to understand the bond a dragon and a Targaryen share Aretto, but it is an experience I would never deny my child. You ask too much, my friend."
"And even so some would say that I offer you too much. Others argued for you to be exiled altogether, some advised that you be ordered to send the Cannibal back to Dragonstone before assuming your position. You do not understand the pressure being placed on Braavos by the other Free Cities over you."
"And so after everything we have accomplished you would capitulate to the demands of slaver scum? What happened to breaking the wheel Aretto? What happened to the dreams of two lads who sat by the canals and said that they would change the world?"
Aretto replied softly, "The lads grew up, Aenar. And the world changed as well, just not fast enough. We all have our duties. I have a responsibility to Braavos, my friend. And this is the best I can do. Either way, should you choose Sarys, or spend the rest of your days in Braavos, upon your passing, there can be no more dragons in Essos. I am sorry, my friend."
Aenar spat, "It is hardly a choice, my friend. You ask too much."
Aretto gave his friend a sad smile, when he spoke it was barely a whisper, "I wish it were not so."
Aenar's Manse, Braavos
Two moons after Steffon's arrival
Aenar's manse was a little over the top in the Kingsguard's opinion. Compared to his own spartan accommodation it was an extravagance few could afford. Aenar happened to be part of those few.
The melancholic boy he had cared for in his youth had turned into a man of means and skill at arms, that thought filled Steffon with nothing but pride.
He followed the servant dutifully leading him to where his old squire resided, the occasional guard garbed in black and bearing the dragon, eyed him warily as he did so.
He and the servant made a final right turn before ascending an ornate staircase carved of mahogany.
Steffon walked forwards with the confidence borne of decades of experience and knocked thrice on the door, the servant disappearing soon after.
A familiar voice sounded from within, "Come in."
He pushed the door open, footsteps echoing lightly on the stone. His first impression of the room was its messiness. Parchment and books appeared on near every available surface.
The Solar was located on the highest level of manse, providing a view not only of the orange trees and gardens, but also of the surrounding city.
Steffon approached hesitantly, unsure of how well he would be received by the man he once mentored. The Dragonlord looked up from his work and motioned for him to sit down. Steffon took the offered chair, unsure as to whether or not it would hold his weight.
The two sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while, neither willing to be the first to speak. Eventually, Steffon began, "The first time I was here, we were too focused on other matters, but it is good to see you hale and healthy, Your Grace."
Aenar frowned for a moment before smiling, "It's good to see you, Steffon. How do you like my house?"
Deciding honestly was the best course, he replied, "A bit much if I'm honest."
His words were met with a hearty laugh, "I'm inclined to agree. The Braavosi, I've come to know, are not fond of subtlety."
Steffon allowed himself to smile, "It seems you aren't either, oh Great Liberator and Scourge of the Dothraki."
Aenar chuckled embarrassedly, idly pouring two cups of a golden liquid, placing one before Steffon, "I did not come up with the titles, but I take your point. So, what's been going on in Westeros? I'm assuming you've heard from King's Landing since we last spoke?"
That question was a difficult one to answer for the Knight, did he leave his answer vague or should he tell his former squire of the intrigues of King's Landing.
"Things are much the same as they've always been, it is the threat on the horizon that causes His Grace to seek you out."
"And what threat might that be?" The Dragonlord raised a brow.
"Family issues, I'm afraid."
Aenar snorted loudly before chuckling, "Its just like Viserys to send a summons after a decade of exile so that I can assist him in fixing the family he fucked up. "
Steffon winced, but wasn't surprised by the derision, "That is a matter I'd best keep my nose out of."
"Aye. You've fulfilled your duty, ser," replied Aenar as he pulled a sealed scroll from his desk, "here is my response. I am sure you will take this back to the King with all haste necessary."
"That I will. As grand a city as it is, I've had enough of Braavos to last a lifetime. Believe it or not, I almost miss the smell of King's Landing."
Aenar chuckled, "Viserys should be glad to have you back. From what I've heard, he needs loyal men around him."
"Aye. That he does Aenar. That he does," the elder man responded with a smile.
There was a pause in conversation before his once-squire began once more, "I heard he appointed Otto as Hand again."
"Ser Otto Hightower served the King capably in the past," replied the Kingsguard in a neutral tone.
"Otto is a cunt."
A beat, and then, "That he his," replied the Kingsguard wryly. The unlikely pair chuckled lightly at that. A rare moment of levity between two friends at a critical juncture of life.
The two spoke for hours, exchanging stories of years past, Aenar regaling the white knight with tales of campaigns in the far reaches of Essos, of seeing ruined cities and freeing slaves and of clashing swords with horselords all over the Great Grass Sea. In turn, the Kingsguard told Aenar of his days in the Red Keep, of Aenar's family. He spoke of Helaena's first steps, of Aegon's first day in the yard and of Jaecerys claiming Vermax and Lucerys's shenanigans with Joffrey.
The hour was late and the moon shone brightly in the sky. The pair sat in relative silence, simply staring up at the night sky. Minds slow with the brandy they'd consumed over the hours previous.
Steffon's eyes were heavy and he knew it was time to leave, no matter how much he wished otherwise, the older man looked across to the Valyrian, taking a moment to search for the words, "It's been a pleasure to see you again, Aenar. I hope to see you soon."
The Dragonlord gave him a small smile, "I hope so too."