Chapter 5: Myr
"The second batch of five ships will begin construction soon," Uncle said.
"What of the men to man them?" Lelouch asked.
"The squadron will join the command of Lord Dromin Chaseman. Captain Moreo has picked out some old hands that have a head for the tides to give captaincy to. As for the crews, we have green boys lining up in Hull for the chance to serve."
"It's good to hear that things are progressing smoothly on that end," Ser Morren Tallfield said.
Lelouch sighed. "Problems with coin again?"
"Aye," said Ser Morren. "We've already taken out loans with the Iron Bank to see us through, but the debtors will come collecting soon enough."
"Something must be done about the financial situation before things become… dire," Maester Banneth said.
"Let us save these discussions for later. What other matters of import?"
"Your father has ordered another voyage to Myr," Mother said.
"Preparations will be made at once," Uncle said.
His mother turned her eyes towards him. "For this voyage, he insists Lelouch be present."
Lelouch frowned. That is unusual for Father.
"How soon can you depart?" Mother asked.
"I did not expect another trip so soon after returning from Myr just last month. Seafyre and my own ship are moored in Hull, but the Blood Orange and Westerwind will need to be recalled immediately," Uncle said, "Seven willing, we can leave in three days. The trip to Myr itself will take another seven days if the gods are generous with the wind, ten if they aren't."
"Has Father said anything else on the matter?" Lelouch asked.
Mother shook her head, sending strands of black hair swaying. "The only other thing he has written of is that King Aegon and his royal party will hold court at Summerhall within a fortnight."
"Is Father going?" Lelouch asked.
"No, his health worsens. Besides, the crown prince will remain in King's Landing with his son, and they will need counsel. Your father thinks it a test."
That meant Princess Rhaella, and more importantly his sister, would be going to Summerhall too. Father will be displeased that Alarra will have less time to spend with Prince Aerys, Lelouch thought, but so will all the other ladies at court vying for his affections. It could be worse. Father staying behind though… that seems to me a play to cement ties with Prince Jaehaerys. Perhaps the trip to Myr is connected somehow?
"What of our granaries and warehouses?" Lelouch asked.
"I am nearly done with my count, and it pleases me to say we overshot our expectations. Our people will have enough food to see them through this winter without issue, and I doubt even the poorest will go hungry this year," Maester Banneth said.
"That is welcome news," Ser Morren said.
"Finally, a dispute of some consequence has arisen between a merchant and Lord Bryne," Maester Banneth said. "From the accounts gathered, it appears Ser Beren Bryne has accrued significant debt these past few months."
No surprise there.
"Is Lord Bryne unwilling to pay?" Mother asked.
"He is willing," Maester Banneth said.
"Then he ought to pay the merchant. This does not seem a matter for us to meddle in," Uncle said.
Lelouch raised a hand. "Peace, Uncle. Let Maester Banneth finish his piece."
"The problem arises from the means of payment," Maester Banneth said. "The merchant insists on coin, while Lord Bryne only has goods to pay with."
"What sort of goods?" Lelouch asked.
"I believe he offered salt and cheese."
Lelouch steepled his fingers. "It occurs to me that our three problems may need but one solution," he said.
"What do you have in mind?" Mother asked.
"Firstly, we will pay the merchant his coin, and Lord Bryne will give to us what is owed in goods," Lelouch said. "We have three days before departing for Myr. That will give us time to load the salt and cheese on the ships at port. Then we can sell the goods in Myr for a profit, and alleviate some of our financial burdens."
"I have other business to attend to than shaking hands with the magisters. Will you take charge of selling these items?" Uncle asked.
"I will," Lelouch said.
"A fine plan, my lord," Ser Morren said.
Uncle snorted. "So be it. We can inform Lord Bryne and the copper counter of our decision when we hold court on the morrow. I have business in town if that is all for today?"
"I will walk with you to the stables, Uncle," Lelouch said, jumping to his feet.
"Before you go, my lord, you have a letter from your sister," Maester Banneth said, handing him a sealed scroll.
"Thank you, Maester," Lelouch said. He left the room with his uncle and walked in silence for some minutes. "She is eight months along, is she not?"
"She is," Uncle said.
"Are you still set on raising the babe here?"
"It is my blood. I will not leave him or her out there, when I can offer better," Uncle said.
"It will be painful," Lelouch said. "Not only for you, or Aunt Eunice, but also for the child. We have seen what happens with Donnall. You are not around often enough, and the children become the object of Aunt's scorn. I do not say this to dissuade you, but that you be aware there will be different pains to bear."
"I know," he said. "She will not be a distraction."
Lelouch nodded and stopped before the main doors leading to the courtyard. "Aunt Eunice will return a month after the birth. We ought to be ready for it."
He let his uncle go and broke open the wax seal.
"Dear Lelouch,
Since I last wrote to you, Princess Myriah of Dorne arrived at the Red Keep. She is becoming fast friends with Princess Rhaella, though remains distant to myself and Lady Joanna…"
-ZeroRequiem-
The silk seahorse flag flew overhead.
Sculptures of Red Bull, and Black Goat, and Night Lion guarded the waterfront. Divinities foreign and familiar were worshipped in Myr freely. It was the way of merchants to mislike risk, so it came as no surprise that in the great wager of the soul, a city of merchants had hedged itself against every deity with every other deity.
"Fools, the lot of them," said Ser "Spend-all".
"I didn't take you for a religious man, Ser Bryne," Donnall said.
"I'm not, but a people who believe in all the gods believe none of them in truth. To have faith is to risk," Ser Bryne said. "Besides, most gods I know of are petty and I've certainly never heard of one that looked kindly on the worship of another."
"I don't know about any of that, but I am famished," Donnall said, flipping a silver Myrish craft. It landed atop his wrist, and he slapped his other hand over it. "Ship or slave, Cousin?"
"Slave," Lelouch said.
Donnall's face scrunched. "How do you get it right every single time."
"The better question is why don't you know better by now?"
Ser Spend-all stiffened alongside all sworn swords gathered. Uncle Adamm, flanked by Bluebeard, walked onto the deck with a hand on his hilt. "We will be splitting up," Uncle announced.
Lelouch, already aware of the arrangements, took the time to study the men raised to die for him. There were men from all their bannermen present, and more than a few were led by a brother, or cousin, or second son of the seven lords sworn to Driftmark.
"Keep your swords in their sheaths unless we fall under threat of death. We are not some war party on grim business," Uncle said. "Essos is a different beast from our home, sers. They do not recognize kings here, nevermind us mere lords and lordlings."
"I will not let it be said that I left you lot to fall into their nets with your eyes shut." Uncle's eyes swept through them. Those who'd never strayed from Westeros could be picked out by the visible unease etched onto their fresh faces. "The magisters may heap you with lavish gifts, but do not forget that they are merchants. Even sacred guest rights and courtesy are transactions to them."
"I will lead the first party," Uncle said, "to collect information for my brother, your liege lord. Lord Lelouch has business of his own to attend to and will need a proper armed escort."
Ser Spend-all grimaced, and hung his head.
"The sailors will remain under command of Captain Moreo." Uncle pointed to Bluebeard behind him with his thumb. "A third of them will be on ship at all times in case a situation arises that sees us depart posthaste. Keep that in mind in case some among you get lost in the brothels."
The lordlings Swyftfoot, Tallfield, and Harrock flushed. Ser Goodchair laughed. Lord Wells rolled his eyes and Ser Chaseman looked scandalized that highborn might mingle so intimately with their lessers.
The gangplank was thrown down. "Decide for yourselves, quickly," Uncle said, and shared a few words with Bluebeard before descending. Wells and Harrock followed without a second thought, and Tallfield took a moment before scuttling after them. Goodchair seemed to consider it, but took too long and soon Uncle was out of sight.
"Not curious what he gets up to, Donnall?" Lelouch asked.
"And leave you defenseless in this city of heathens?" Donnall shot back.
Chaseman growled. "That is no way for a bastard to speak to a lord."
"It was said in jest, Ser Chaseman," Lelouch said, before turning to Donnall. "We'll be in that tavern over there. Grab something to eat quick and join us as soon as you can."
Where there were taverns, there were sailors on shore with news from foreign shores and nothing attracted traders more. Where men saw famine in Tyrosh as a tragedy, merchants saw opportunity.
"See, Westeros has much to trade despite the winter, and in a few years, we'll be ladaen with summer yields as well," Lelouch said to Orthos. "A warm winter such as this is good indication that the coming years will be good to us. Our ships at dock have cheese and salt, but in Driftmark alone we have much grain, and my father has the ships to see them safely through the Stepstones."
"That is quite the prospect you've painted me," Orthos agreed. "Though your salt will not do you much good here. Magister Zoutos controls much of the market, he may as well set the price. His last competitors he bought last month. That is a man that does not tolerate dissent in his territory."
"That pains me to hear," Lelouch said.
Donnall walked in with a three-sided pie that he folded in half and took a bite, strings of cheese stretching out as he pulled his mouth back.
"What is that thing?" Goodchair asked as he reached their table.
Donnall swallowed. "They call it a Myrish pie. Cheese, herbs, and some salted meats on a piece of bread."
"I've never heard of it before," said Ser Spend-all.
"It is a new thing to come to the city," Orthos said, "and has brought great wealth to Magister Rasporos Basil."
"It seems a simple enough thing to me," Lelouch said. "Would you not need an oven and a few ingredients to make such food?"
"You speak true, but Magister Rasporos was first, and there is value in that though others have learned to make his craft," Orthos said. "He owns more than half the food sellers who can make the pie, and different flavors of pie are unveiled monthly at his manse. In fact, he ought to have one within the sennight."
"Is there perchance a means to obtain an invitation to the good magister's manse?"
Orthos' grin was all teeth. "Anything can be bought for the right price."
It did not come down to coin in the end. All that it might buy the magisters had plenty of for their wealth made most lords look to be beggars. But some things gold could not buy easily or quickly, such as a Valyrian sword or the ear of great men.
Lelouch had none of those things, but between the heir of Driftmark and the brother of Lord Velaryon, they held enough sway to together be considered the Lord Velaryon in truth. The same Lord Velaryon who was master of ships to the Iron Throne, and whose house had married into the dragons.
The same Lord Velaryon who was privy to the king's thoughts and held sway over the rate of tolls and tariffs.
It was, in truth, a thin sliver to work with, but Magister Rasporos was not the greatest of their order and had need of an honored guest - for what magister could call themself such without one when opening their manse? Orthos spent two days and two nights petitioning the magister with the opportunity before him, something Lelouch could not do or else look desperate and diminish his own worth.
His price for his service? To be with the Velaryons on the night in question, and in doing so gain the attention of powerful men.
The ceremonies to enter the world of magisters were not wholly unfamiliar to Lelouch, save that the Myrmen were much more honest about the true nature of their dealings than Westerosi highborn.
"I leave you alone for a few days and you come back with invites to a magister's manse," Uncle said. "If I return in a few weeks, will it be to see your coronation as king of the penny pinchers?"
Lelouch scoffed. "A mere city is far too small for my demesne."
Magister Rasporos' manse was situated on the gently sloped Lense Hillock, which overlooked both the port and the dragon road at its peak. A quartet of Unsullied with their bronze spiked caps and green lace cloaks stood guard. The one with two spikes on his cap and an obtrusive belly barked something in a guttural, bastard dialect of Valyrian Lelouch couldn't quite decipher.
Orthos replied with the same harsh sounds, gesturing in wide, sweeping movements that made the silver rings adorning his arms rattle and clink.
Uncle grimaced once they passed through the gates. "Gods, how do you fight for men who've taken a knife to your balls and slapped a collar on your neck?"
"It's all they've ever known," Lelouch said with a frown, "and I suppose those who didn't listen died early."
Multicolored flower petals snaked across the torchlit courtyard, guiding guests through the gardens to a glass pavilion crafted like a giant's gemstone. "My friends," Orthos said, "please allow me to make the proper introductions befitting the honored guests." He stepped forward, snatched a goblet from the waiting slave girl and raising it high in toast.
This time, Orthos' words were Myrish. It was a sensual tongue, not entirely unlike the dialect of a Lysene courtesan.
"I present Lelouch of the House Velaryon, heir to Driftmark and son of Lord Jaron Velaryon, who is Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord admiral of the Royal Fleet of Westeros, and Master of ships. With him comes Adamm of the House Velaryon, Captain of the Tides and…" Orthos continued for a full minute, listing every ship in their floatilla before reiterating the titles of Lelouch's father once more as if to make a point.
Orthos punctuated the end of his speech by throwing down the goblet, showing it to be empty. The others did likewise.
"That was mouthier than the king's honors. Do you all talk like this?" Uncle asked after Orthos finished to polite applause.
"Only for honored guests, and only for their introduction," Orthos said. "We merchants understand brevity when it suits."
Unlike feasts in Driftmark, there was no high table here, or seats for that matter. Instead, the pavilion was filled with standing tables only large enough for six people to gather around if they squeezed. Some of them held cyvasse boards of ivory and jade.
There was a snapping of fingers, and serving slaves streamed in through the entrance carrying platters of Myrish pie topped with dried fish, cheese, and olives.
A dark-haired man dressed in a lace dress of fine silk strands and golden arm bands approached. Orthos tipped his head towards the olive-skinned man, and turned to them. "This is Magister Rasporos." Unlike many of the golden-ringed men in the room, his figure was lean and his face unwrinkled.
"I welcome you to my manse," Rasporos said. Orthos repeated his words in the Common Tongue for their benefit. "Enjoy the tastes and sounds of my household tonight."
"We thank you, magister," Orthos said, translating for Uncle. "It pleases us to see the business in the Disputed Lands has not hurt the prosperity of your house."
Rasporos waved his hand. "It is of no concern in the grand weave of things. The Golden Company's contract with Lys will end soon enough. When it does, we will join hands with Tyrosh to buy it back, and sweep aside the Jolly Fellows."
Uncle frowned. "Do you not fear they will march on your city?"
"They may try, but they will fail. Our ships still hold the Sea of Myrth. Besides, the Liomond Lashare leads a great host in our name and has made his camp unassailable by the River of Myrth," Rasporos said. "Ah, the sounds are here!"
Men carrying round wooden devices had set up on one end of the glasshouse, and made sharp sounds by beating on them with sticks. The lively beat served as background to a woman's lovely serenade of the song "Driftdance".
"I see that you are a fan of cyvasse, magister," Lelouch said.
"I dabble," he said. "I did not know the great game has reached the Sunset Kingdoms."
"My uncle bought me a set last year for my nameday," Lelouch said.
Rasporos' eyes lit up. "Then we must play at least once before you depart from the city!"
"Perhaps when your other guests have left."
"I will hold you to that, young lord," Rasporos said. He held out his hand and a wine glass appeared in it. "We will drink."
Lelouch received his own glass of the pale green drink that smelled like sweetened halemin flower.
"To the great game."
"...and so the drunk slept in the sea!" the singer belted out the last lines of Driftdance.
Orthos made them do rounds around the pavillion at least thrice, shaking hands and sharing drinks with another three of the city's nine ruling magisters and countless other merchants. Their novelty soon wore off on the Myrmen, and Orthos wandered off at that point. Left without a fluent translator, there was little they could do on their own.
"Why the interest in the Disputed Lands?" Lelouch asked as he tore out another slice of pie for himself. "It seems… unlike Father to keep an ear to it rather than the ongoings of the Three Daughters or Braavos."
"The Golden Company is led by a Blackfyre again," Uncle said. "Maelys the Monstrous."
"Does the Iron Throne fear another rebellion?"
"The Iron Throne is always in fear of another rebellion," Uncle said, "but this Maelys has gathered an unlikely band of three to his banner. Pirate lords and exiled princes flock to him and call themselves his allies. Already the Disputed Lands are overrun, and no force sent against them has mattered."
"A dangerous threat if left unchecked," Lelouch said.
Uncle nodded. "I should go. The city might yield more news of substance I can bring back to Jaron. Will you be alright on your own?"
"Go, don't worry about me. I may not be the best hand with a blade, but these merchants have never held one in their lives," Lelouch said.
"They wouldn't have to. They'd send their bravos or slave soldiers after you," Uncle said, "but while you are an honored guest you're safe as you can be, I suppose. Still got your dagger on you?"
"Always."
"Good. Stay safe," Uncle said.
A standing party did not cater to the tastes of the magisters and their generous bellies for much longer. They were ushered into the main house where a score of cyvasse boards could be found. A servant dressed in the green liveries of Rasporos showed Lelouch to where the magister was waiting.
Rasporos barked out an order that Lelouch roughly recognized as calling for a translator.
Then the green-haired witch of his dreams appeared. "A woman would be honored to serve as your voice tonight," she said, pausing as Rasporos said a few more words. "Do you have a preference to the color?"
Lelouch's throat dried. "Black," he croaked, keenly aware of his heartbeat all of a sudden. It's impossible, he thought. She is of another world. Yet he was here, and so was she it seemed.
"Would you consent to playing the form without fog?" she asked.
"I don't know what that means," he said, wiping his brow.
"Instead of having a barrier in the center during setup, each player takes turns placing tile and piece that the other can see."
"That is… acceptable," Lelouch said. "Thank you…?"
"A woman's name is Cici," she said. "Thanks are not needed, honored guest."
He nodded. The first tiles dropped in quick succession, and a series of mountain ranges with narrow passes were forming on Rasporos' side of the board. Lelouch opted to keep his mountains guarding his flanks while all four river tiles hampered any advance towards his half. Two of his six mountains were not placed, allowing for rapid movement along the edge of the board.
Even her name is the same, but it could just be coincidence, Lelouch thought. She has not hinted that she knows me, and she speaks differently from my dreams.
Coincidence, it could be coincidence.
Both of them opted to place their hills and forests on the second rank, though Rasporos left no space to place his fortress there. All the tiles were set. If he placed his fortress on the second rank, Rasporos would have to yield the privilege of order or place his king in untenable threat. They both knew it, and the magister's army took on a defensive stance, spears and elephants front and center to weather any charge of horse for these could only be taken by horse in select circumstances. Rabble packed tightly around his ranged, and his own horse and dragon massed to one side in reserve.
Though Lelouch's rabble and ranged were similarly placed, he preferred to keep his dragon and a light horse on a separate flank from the rest of his cavalry. His mains in spear and elephant were slightly off center, staring down the enemy horse.
"Magister Rasporos may have the first move," Lelouch said.
Rasporos' eyes widened and he stroked his chin, deep in thought.
"I have seen some of your pies in the city," Lelouch said as Cici repeated his words in the Myrish dialect. "You must have need of much salt for the meats."
"You speak truly," Rasporos said, finally moving his spear two tiles forward, right outside a mountain pass in the middle rank.
"I understand Magister Zoutos controls the salt of Myr. Does he see to your needs?" Lelouch asked, moving his dragon along the contours of the hexagon until it could advance no further or risk the catapult.
Rasporos scowled and positioned his dragon next to his catapult to check the advance. "He does, but he gouges me for it. Monopoly is a great evil of trade." His pieces now controlled the middle rank and the bulk of their armies stared each other down from across a river.
"Then perhaps something should be done about it," Lelouch said, probing the position with a rabble. It was taken quickly by another rabble.
"Men have tried," Rasporos said. "Men have failed."
"Are these men magisters?" Catapult took rabble.
"Admittedly, no," he said, looking down at the board. "I believe this game will be drawn."
"We shall see," Lelouch said, horse moving up on both sides. "So if someone could offer you a steady supply of salt for a lower price, you would consider it?"
Rasporos smiled and moved his own horse to support his forward position. "Only if they could supply enough to meet all my needs and that is no small feat. Zoutos will cease selling to men who dare buy from another, to either cripple their growth or force their hand."
"Clever," Lelouch said. "Vicious, but clever."
"Trade across the narrow sea will carry greater risk too," Rasporos said. "We would need many ships of trade and war to keep even Old Mother or the Saans wary. That would require a great deal of gold."
"There is no business without risk," Lelouch said, "and my family has ships and good men to crew them. You have merchant fleets at your beck and call. We might accomplish much together."
"And of supply?"
"If the Brynes cannot make enough, we will just have to buy from the Saltpans. In any case, it would still be cheaper by far than what Zoutos offers," Lelouch said. His horse collapsed on the center, causing great havoc.
"We may fail."
"We might, but oh how much gold we might make."
Rasporos considered the board. "There are many merchants with good heads in this city. Do you know why I am a magister and they are not?"
Lelouch tilted his head. "That you know when to take risk, when the reward is sufficient?"
He scoffed. "A man who does not understand that loses his gold quickly. No, my father had a story he'd tell me as a child. A merchant commissioned that a ship be built, but there was a flaw in the design. It could not float."
"A poor ship, that," Lelouch said.
"So what is a merchant to do then?" Rasporos asked. "He could walk away from it, writing off the gold as lost, or he could sink more of his wealth into the venture, and hope to recover some losses. But how could you walk away from it when you've already spent so much coin, and with just a little more you might reap your reward?"
"The merchant failed to recognize that the gold spent was already lost," Lelouch said, "and should not even be considered."
"Exactly," Rasporos said. "I yield."
A warning that if this proved costlier than it was worth, the magister would not hesitate to pull out.
"Another round?" Lelouch asked. "I shall play a weaker hand."
Rasporos tilted his head in assent.
"I have barrels of salt and cheese in the harbor. Perhaps you might visit, and see for yourself."
"In three days' time," Rasporos said. "You are welcome to reside with me until then. The meagre offerings of the wharf are not proper lodgings for a lord like yourself."
"I would be glad to, but my uncle might worry for me."
"I will send word to him."
The practicalities of life with a magister were not so different from being a guest of nobility, except no one cared if you did not practice with the sword in between all the drinking, feasting, and social niceties. The Basil Manse had plenty of books too, easily surpassing the pitiful tomes of Driftmark in quantity and scope. Here, he could read of the naval voyages that swung around the ruins of Old Valyria, to far off Yi Ti and the Saffron Straits where the Sea Snake made his fortune.
I was born in the wrong continent, Lelouch thought wistfully.
He saw little enough of Cici though. "That does not surprise me," Magister Rasporos said through a bald dark man over supper one night. "She has many duties in the manse, and has a skill for remaining hidden when she wishes. If you have need of a translator, I can send for another."
Magister Rasporos himself was away most days. He had many meetings as a member of the Council of Magisters, the elected order that led Myr. While any free man could stand for election, it was not by accident all the magisters were merchants of great wealth. It took much coin to be known by the average Myrman, and more still that they might be inclined to favor you with their vote. Each magister served for six years, with a third of the magisters chosen every two.
Three days passed quickly, and they took an ambling path to the docks, surrounded by a score of marching Unsullied spears. Cici trailed after Rasporos.
"If you will forgive me for asking, Lord Lelouch," Ser Chaseman said as they walked, "but surely there are men better suited to dealing with these copper counters than yourself."
"Who else would have the authority to speak for my father?" Lelouch asked. "My uncle is busy, and no one else with us bears the name Velaryon."
"You might ask one of your lords to handle terms, or perhaps that bastard cousin of yours would be more appropriate," Chaseman said.
Lelouch frowned at him. "Terms that they'd have to bring to me to approve."
"Of course."
"Would that not be unnecessarily roundabout, ser?" Lelouch asked. "After all, I am not so busy with other matters that I cannot spare an hour or two to speak with the magister. Besides, it may cause offense."
"He is a merchant, what does it matter if it does?" Chaseman asked.
"He is a merchant with enough gold to finance a small war," Lelouch said. "I'd say it matters quite a lot."
"You could be spending that time better, like practicing with the sword," Chaseman said.
"Enough. We will speak more of this later if you are still unsatisfied," Lelouch said.
The barrels were brought out to shore. Rasporos stuck his fingers in one of them, feeling their texture.
"A quality product, is it not?" Lelouch asked.
Rasporos licked his finger. "It is… adequate for my purposes. It remains to be seen whether the other barrels are of similar make."
"They are," Lelouch said. "You know, Magister Rasporos, it occurs to me I cannot accompany every voyage."
"No way to run a business that," Rasporos said.
"Perhaps I will need a permanent translator in my employ."
"That would be prudent," Rasporos said. "I have a few myself, though Magister Glossos owns the finest tongues."
"I do not know Magister Glossos," Lelouch said, looking at Cici. "I know you."
She raised a brow at him.
"I would like to employ this one," he said.
She translated and Rasporos' face scrunched. "Cici? I'm afraid that is not possible. She is quite dear to me."
"Come now, let us not speak of impossibilities. Everyone has a price."
He shook his head. "When you have as much gold as I, you'll realize some things cannot be bought," he said. "Now—"
"Master! Master!" A slave dressed in green ran up to them.
"What is it? I am in the middle of business," Rasporos snapped.
"It is Liomond Lashare, Master!"
Rasporos frowned. "What of him?"
"The Lord of Battles is at the gates of the city. He demands entry, and to speak with the Council."