Chapter 21: Peace
Nearly two weeks after the Battle Beneath the Storm, Lelouch had ordered his men to deny their enemy Pryr through any means before they abandoned the island. Corwyn had said nothing at first, but Lelouch could tell he was bothered by it. It was only at Bloodstone, in the privacy of his tent, that his brother finally came to him.
"Something's on your mind," Lelouch said, looking up from the letter he'd just finished to Corwyn seated across him. "You've been sitting there for the past half hour in total silence."
"Your woman is still here," his brother said.
"Ignore her then," Lelouch said.
"Fine. The slighting I understand," Corwyn said. "It had to be done if we cannot hold the place, lest Tyrosh further fortifies it and our men die for that mistake. But to leave corpses in wells or unburied… the gods would be displeased."
"War is an ugly thing, Corwyn. The monsters we tell our children of at night—the ones we say no longer walk among us—they come to life here," Lelouch said, pressing a finger to his own chest.
"They come to life if we choose it," Corwyn said. "We all have a choice to make. Though it is the nature of war to be cruel and violent, from these dark times do honorable acts have weight."
Lelouch smiled. "I see Lord Hightower has taught you well in matters beyond the joust. I'd feared the splendor of those Reach knights too blinding."
"Father would not have fostered me with Lord Leyton if he thought him a fool."
"Where father fostered you depends less on what he thinks of the man than what he could gain from it," Lelouch said. "That Lord Leyton was wise is fortunate, but he could've been duller than a craven's sword and it would not have mattered. The Hightowers are undoubtedly great lords of the realm, second only to Lords Paramount in prominence, and not even all of them. Ask any hedge knight in Westeros and nine out of ten would rather be in Oldtown than Sunspear or Pyke. Leyton's uncle too serves as a white cloak of the king."
Corwyn opened his mouth, then paused, frowning. "You're deflecting."
"Am I?" Lelouch tilted his head. "Humor me a while longer if you would. Why are we at war? Answer plainly, this is no trick."
"Because the king commands it," Corwyn said, "and as his sworn bannermen, we need honor our oaths, just as he keeps his to us. Honor for fealty, reward for service, justice for obedience."
"What men ought to do, and what men actually do are two very different things," Lelouch said.
"If we do not keep to our oaths, would our knights and men-at-arms not think to themselves the same? Why should they serve us if our words are wind?"
Lelouch shook his head. "Right, yet wrong."
"How can something be right and wrong?" Corwyn furrowed his brows. "Those are mutually exclusive."
"Yes and no," Lelouch said, grinning as his brother's face twisted further. "You'll find that a great many things in the world refuse to be as maesters say they should be. But to return to the point: why has King Jaehaerys commanded us to make war then?"
"Blackfyre threatens to bring war and rape to all of Westeros," Corwyn said. "He cannot be Protector of the Realm if he does not protect the realm."
"And protecting the realm is a just and honorable thing to do, something the gods approve of?"
Corwyn nodded, though there was hesitation there.
"Fresh water is everything to an island, as you should know. If we leave Pryr merely slighted, Tyrosh has the means to more quickly restore their harbor if we leave the water untouched. That strengthens Tyrosh's position, and makes the threat of Maelys Blackfyre's crossing more likely," Lelouch said. "So what do the gods prefer we do? Protect the realm or respect the dead?"
"Both. We can protect the realm while respecting the dead," Corwyn said with crossed arms.
"Stop torturing your brother, Lelouch," Cici said, lounging as she always did on his bed. "Cynicism comes with age, but ideals are harder to find past youth. You should understand that better than anyone."
"Are you calling me old?" Lelouch asked, not turning around to look at her.
"It's all relative," Cici said cheekily.
"Why do you let this woman of yours speak to you so freely?" Corwyn asked.
Lelouch sealed his letter with a wax seal before calling for the guard outside to deliver it. "Hand this to Maester Beric, for King's Landing."
The guard saluted and left.
"Cici is hardly mine," Lelouch said.
"More yours than anyone else's," Cici said. "It's not been a year and you're already trying to get rid of me. What's a woman to do? Woe is me. Woe."
He ignored her. "And I let her do as she pleases, because I couldn't stop her if I wanted to. There is no greater mistake for a lord than an order that won't be followed," Lelouch continued. "Now, who among our lords and bannermen perished in the battle?"
Cici sighed.
"Lord Wells and Ser Morren," Corwyn said immediately, "three knights in service to House Harrock, one from the Goodchaits and… uh, the Bryne boy?"
"Ser Beren is alive. They merely found him unconscious, but he's since recovered," Lelouch corrected. "With Lord Wells' passing, who is now Lord of Evendim Ridge?"
Corwyn did not answer at once, then after a minute's contemplation shook his head. "I don't know."
"Lord Wells had only a daughter, Arra. She married Dorren Wells of Queenscrown four years prior, a distant cousin of hers from the north who now serves as Lord Wells' castellan," Lelouch said.
"Is Lord Dorren in line for a lordship in the north?" Corwyn asked.
He's asking questions, good. "Fourth or fifth in the inheritance. Not likely to come to pass," Lelouch said.
"I suppose he wouldn't have been sent south if he were," mused Corwyn. "It should be him then. That Lord Jon made Dorren his castellan and gave him his daughter's hand should make clear his intent. Confirm him as lord, and let their son squire with you, or a daughter as mother's lady-in-waiting."
Lelouch nodded. "What of Ser Morren then? He served faithfully as father's master-at-arms for years. He has a son and a younger brother, Ser Manren."
"Both seem too untested to be made the new master-at-arms," Corwyn said. "We find opportunities for them to prove themselves first. The son… perhaps a ship of his own if he's so inclined, and for Ser Manren a minor command in the near future."
Very good.
Lelouch continued to bring up each of the fallen by rank, probing Corwyn's thoughts on how honors might be allocated that would leave everyone happy. Ten dragons as weregild paid for each of their dead smallfolk—far too generous, five was plenty, but being seen as open-handed was important for a lord.
The sun was at its lowest when they'd finished and Corwyn left to sup with their men, still deep in thought.
"You're harder on him than usual," Cici said.
"He's my brother. I want him to make something of himself," Lelouch said.
"You're preparing him for a lordship, your lordship," Cici said. "You think you might die and soon."
"No," Lelouch said. "I might need him to rule in my stead, but I'm not so eager to leave you alone again. My successes have made me impossible to ignore once the war ends, and father's health is poor. Should he pass, it is probably I shall replace him in King's Landing and I will need someone my men will listen to during times of peace. Weren't you the one who told me I need not do everything myself?"
"I guess your brother isn't the only one who can learn. You've picked up some new tricks," Cici said, standing up. "The Battle Beneath the Storm? Used to be you contented yourself to triggered volcanoes and landslides. Disasters, yes, but ones you controlled."
"I'm rather short on trained witches at the moment, wench," Lelouch said drily. "What was it you said to me at Myr? Try water next?"
She shrugged. "You kept setting every alight, then brooding about it. Besides, this hardly counts as using water. It's a storm, and the wind would've caused those ships to capsize more than the waves."
"There's just no pleasing you."
"You're not a pizza," she said. "So, Blackfyre's crossing. You want to nip that in the bud."
"Best to be sure," Lelouch said. "I've planned some skirmishes to put the pressure on Tyrosh."
"But merely pressure," Cici said. "You want to bring them to the table, talk peace. Alequo Adarys works with the man who took your uncle."
"He did, and I want him back, but the war must end on our terms before that's possible," Lelouch said. "We besiege Tyrosh, it'll be years before it falls. We turn them, and Maelys' allies will see the cracks clear as day."
"Divide and conquer," Cici said, licking her lips, "Taking them one slice at a time."
"Is everything about pizzas with you? That was rhetorical, don't answer that," Lelouch added quickly, already knowing the answer when she grinned. "Adarys is a merchant. All we need to do is make this war unprofitable for him, then offer an alternative."
"You sound certain."
"Nothing's certain in war," he said. But one Archon or another, Tyrosh will be my ally.
-ZeroRequiem-
There were three targets that presented themselves, and Tyrosh's much diminished fleet could not hope to defend all of them at any given day, or risk being outnumbered. First, the Essosi coastline, which would most likely be patrolled after Averillys' slave revolt. Second, Pryr, which had so recently been attacked.
Third, Tyrosh itself.
Lelouch's scouts had glimpsed the fleet they'd sent after the Battle Beneath the Storm through Myrish far-eyes made by the finest lenscrafters in all the Free Cities… or so Magister Zoutos claimed.
Myr was still recovering from Lashare's coup, and many shops and tools were damaged in the fighting. Only recently had the privateers started returning with looted Myrish wares from the high seas. Whatever the case, there was at least some truth to his words as the things far outstripped anything Tyrosh had on hand to spot them from a distance.
Given recent events, it only made sense that Tyrosh would not be so keen leaving the first two targets undefended, and Tyrosh had strong fortifications that it couldn't be easily taken.
But he didn't need to seize the city to start a panic.
Lord Dylar Wendwater led their fleet on the first raid and smashed three Tyroshi patrol galleys, had the men jeer at the city, then left. On the second day, Lord Qarlton Stokesworth was ordered to scout the shoreline of any ships that no doubt would've been scrambling home. Third was Lord Josua Bar Emmon on a daring attack at Pryr, then Quiet Duram of Rosby tested it again.
Now that Tyrosh knew they were willing to hit any of the three targets and hit them repeatedly, it became a sea shell game with the Driftmark fleet as the pea. Rather unfortunately for them, Lelouch cheated better than a Pentoshi swindler.
It became ritual each day to stand at the docks and honor two among the highborn with command for the day's raids. Each would have a score of ships, three thousand good men, and a different target in mind. They'd then scope it out with their own Myrish far-eye, and if the conditions were favorable, attack. The odds were good one of them would find something to wreck.
Ser Symon Hollard stepped forward with his offering first, waiting to be addressed.
"Your catch, Ser Hollard?" Lelouch asked.
"Two purple banners, Lord Velaryon," Symon said, "taken from the war galleys Sapphire and Sunset before they sunk."
"Finely done, good ser. We've not caught two since the first sennight," Lelouch said, turning his eyes to the crowd. "Are there any here today who will best Ser Symon's catch?"
There was a roaring and thumping of chests and stomping of feet.
"Ser Manren Tallfield," Lelouch said, "your brother fought fiercely at Pryr and won us great glory. Will you lead the first of our ships on this day?"
"Yes, my lord. Thank you," Manren said, stepping forward to accept a ceremonial ivory scroll Lelouch had bought off Lysandro.
As for the second, has to be a crownlander. One of the smaller hosts, but with some experience at sea. Lelouch thought. "Ser Torgar Celtigar, the honor of onyx scroll is yours."
"My thanks, Lord Velaryon. I'll see our enemies smashed against the rocks today!" Torgar said.
"Then go forth, my lords, and bring home their banners," Lelouch said.
There was cheering, applause, and a few disappointed groans from the assembly of lordlings and knights, but they clapped nonetheless. At the rate things were going, each man knew their turn for glory would come sooner rather than later.
As the morning ritual ended, the highborn dispersed like a swarm of locusts, going every which way to empty the harbor of men into their ships, then emptying the harbor of ships into the sea.
From the corner of his eye, Lelouch spotted Cici's crown of green hair headed for him, coming from gods know where. "You've a guest coming," she said. "The speared sun of Sunspear, and another white cloak with him, the red salmon."
"How far off?" Lelouch asked.
"Not far," Cici said, tilting her head to the side, "but it might take them a while with one of them hobbling."
Lelouch blinked. Mooton had to have come from King's Landing and unless there was fighting there, that meant Lewyn was injured. "Oh very clever."
The witch preened. "I thought so. They're this way."
Like everything else about the city, Saintsport's "roads" were less the careful work of a stonemason and more just commonly trod dirt trails. One could tell which were the main throughways simply by observing how level the ground was.
As they moved through the nine-sided public square, Cici paused to greet the gravedigger who also doubled as a butcher. Lelouch raised his brow as a small sack of coins—silver coins he guessed by their high-pitched cling-ing—changed hands.
"I think you'll be pleased, m'lady," the grave-butcher said. "Found cha' a real nice head, 'n did like ya asked."
"Wonderful," Cici said. "What'd he do?"
"Tried ta stab Cap'n Mercy over a whore last night," he said. "Bloody fool. I'll bring cha' the head tonight."
"Excellent, please do," Cici said.
"Do I want to know?" Lelouch asked.
"You're very forgetful in your advanced age," she said. "I need a gift to bring the Archon of Tyrosh tomorrow. It's customary in Westeros for a host to be given gifts by his guests, is it not?"
"Sometimes," Lelouch said. A head though? She has a story planned for it, has to be, and Alequo won't know the difference. But what lie to tell? Threat? "It's not observed so frequently."
"We need to show our new friend how seriously we take this matter," Cici said.
No, a threat would not scare Alequo to the table any more than the defeats we've inflicted on him already. A promise then, to tempt him to treat. A cease to the raids—all raids, if peace and common cause is found. Lelouch nodded.
She grinned as they reached the speared son of Sunspear and his companion.
"Greetings, Ser Mooton, Prince Lewyn," Lelouch said, nodding to each in turn, before gesturing to Lewyn's pierced leg. "I had hoped to find you in better health. What has come to pass?"
"Scarwood fell easily to us, too easily, and we grew bold," Lewyn said, scowling. "The prince was permitted to take to the field at Guardian Island, but the fighting turned fierce. We were cut off, Ser Redfort was felled, and I took a spear in defense of His Grace, before we could rejoin the main host."
"Prince Aerys is unharmed?" Lelouch asked with a tinge of worry.
"He is," Lewyn said.
Lelouch sighed. "I thank the Seven for that, and you as well, Prince Lewyn. I suppose Ser Mooton is here to replace Ser Redfort then?" Lelouch asked.
"Among other things," Mooton said. "I've a message for you."
From the king went unspoken. A kingsguard messenger meant discretion was sought, but also that he had tacit approval from the Iron Throne. "Cici, you know what to do."
"Guess I'll be needing that head sooner than I thought," she said, walking off.
"I found your victory at the Battle Beneath the Storm most commendable. I see your father has taught you well," the king said though it sounded of Mooton's gravelly voice. "As for the other matter you brought up, it is a daring proposal, but perhaps daring is what we need now."
"I'm confident he can be brought to our way of thinking," Lelouch said, taking care not to name names in public.
"You understand," Mooton said, "that if this fails…"
"It will be on my head and no one else's," Lelouch said. No doubt the letter he'd sent had been burned by now to ensure there was no proof the king knew. If Lelouch failed, he'd be disavowed as having negotiated without the king's leave. Disgraced and shut out of power, but he'd keep his life probably. "If I succeed…"
"You would have changed the course of this war," Mooton said. "I am not blind to your contributions."
"Thank you, Ser Mooton," Lelouch said. "You should be by His Grace's side now."
"I think you're right," he said, leaving Lelouch and Lewyn alone.
"That was certainly cryptic," Lewyn said. "You understood every word of that?"
"Spoken and unspoken," Lelouch said. "You shouldn't be walking if you were sent back to heal."
Lewyn snorted. "Hypocrite. I saw you training several times with your injured hand. Besides, I get restless lying in bed all day."
"Do you? A shame that," Lelouch said.
"I may be injured," Lewyn said with an impish grin, "but I still prefer doing the spearing than being speared. Perhaps you'd like a taste now? I did promise you a spar."
"A different sort of spar for a different sort of war," Lelouch said.
"All spars are not so different," he said, then his face turned serious. "I came to you for more than that though, much as I'd enjoy it."
"Yronwood is in command with you gone," Lelouch said. It wasn't so hard a guess given the relative power of House Yronwood to the rest of the Dornish bannermen. "Is he doing well?"
"Better," Lewyn said. "It was him who saved us at Guardian and he leads a force to the Golden Haven while the rest of our armies sail for Redwater and Larazor's Rock. The pirates had quite a considerable stash of looted goods."
"Anything that stands out?"
"He intends to return with a tapestry from Lys spun from golden weave," Lewyn said. "You understand this cannot reach Her Grace unchallenged?"
Because the Yronwoods would be too large a threat to his sister's rule with a royal marriage. Lelouch nodded. "What I don't understand is why you told me and not Ronnel Arryn." Or any of Rhaella's other suitors.
"You're the better choice," he said. "and Dorne needs friends beyond Dorne."
-ZeroRequiem-
Despite the truce leading up to the talks, the sennight passed in the blink of an eye.
When Lelouch first made camp at Bloodstone, it had been a loving, laborious reconstruction of the works of Old Ghis and their lockstep legions. The earthen walls and wooden palisade, the perimeter watchtowers, the neat squares and rectangles of tents and pavilions—no detail had been overlooked ensuring his camp would be an exemplary testament to order and efficiency.
Then everything changed when the main host arrived. Baratheon's stratagem of a lightning war demanded short term speed over long term efficiency; so the camp mutated like a Mantarian, growing odds and ends, mutating to accommodate numbers it was never meant to, deforming itself.
With most of the army away, Cici busy with the Tyroshi magisters, and his men idle, it was as if the gods wanted him to set things to right.
The walls were expanded, latrines dug, and proper spacing for the roads seen to. And to make sure his work did not go to waste the moment Lelouch left for the talks, he'd even planted flags and markers where each region should encamp.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'll keep your camp in order and make sure the lords don't trample over those pretty straight lines you've drawn," Lewyn said before Lelouch embarked on the Seafyre. "Speaking of your pretty little head, are you sure you've brought enough men to keep yours pretty and on your head?"
Lelouch glanced at the flotilla of ten assembled to depart, of which only the Seafyre and the Saltbreaker would beach. Along with the Season of Tides that had accompanied Cici and Alequo to the strip of coast near Averillys, that made for only three ships and some one hundred men-at-arms, retainers, and courtiers. Tyrosh had been bargained down to just bringing two score more armed men than Westeros in recognition of the fact that they would have to prepare the location and to assuage their fears of another highly unlikely slave uprising.
It also helped if Alequo thought them weak barterers for what was to come.
"My men will be in full plate and hauberks, while his wear hauberks or brigandine," Lelouch said. "At the table itself will be six people, and none of the Tyroshis sitting will have trained with the blade. Should this be an ambush, I'll survive it, and all men will know what faithless men reside in Tyrosh."
"Fair winds to you then," Lewyn said, stretching out his arm. "Or as your sailors like to say: tides take you where it flows."
They clasped arms, and then Lelouch left.
From Saintsport to Averillys took the better part of two days. Two days where Donnall tested his steel against him, taking breaks only to face Corwyn too. His cousin proved the better sword still, though Lelouch could keep him barely checked with his spear.
Finally, the coast came into view on the second day, with a few hours of light left.
The eyes of every lord were drawn to the Rainbow Pavilion just beyond the sandy beach, fit to host a hundred men of noble stock and all that that entailed, while lesser tricolored pavilions dotted around it. The place teemed with well-dressed—which is to say, barely dressed—slave women, all fine and fair and sizable assets. They cooked and cleaned; danced and sang under the kiss of a warm spring.
"Splendid!" Josua said.
The worn silks were rather obsolete however you sliced it. If it was to protect their modesty, you'd have to gouge out the eyes of every man present. If it was to tempt them, Alequo should have left the women naked for all the goods their clothes did them. Wet with sweat, silk and cotton were the same.
If they'd disrobed already, at least that'd save them from having to rip their clothes off.
Though I suppose some men enjoy that part too, Lelouch thought.
"I mislike this," Donnall murmured. "Bright and colorful trinkets blinding us to lurking danger."
"There is no danger," Lelouch said, pointing to the Seahorse and Dragon banners fluttering.
"A message?" Donnall asked.
Lelouch nodded. "From Cici. If she wanted me to flee, she'd have flown the Seahorse and the Ship of Myr."
"I still don't like it."
"Good," Lelouch said. "You might be the only man besides me to keep his wits about him. We'll be drowning in bastards by nightfall."
Donnall spat to the side. "Where do you want me?"
"By my side," Lelouch said.
"Why? You're the talker between us. I just swing the sword."
"I need a third."
"There are plenty of other lords more important," Donnall said. "Even your brother would be better if you wished to keep the glory among kin."
Lelouch shook his head. "Corwyn's head is full of songs and he's grown high with the Hightowers. Mayhaps he's grown their pride too? That's a weapon Alequo will wield like a knife to our back, if we let him. No, it has to be you, cousin. I trust no one else with what will be said, to keep quiet in spite of provocation, and to keep both eyes open."
"I'm with you, wherever you need me," Donnall said.
"Just like old times, eh?"
Donnall grinned. "Just like old times."
Before they left the ship and headed for the Rainbow Pavilion, Lelouch pulled Corwyn to the side.
"When you have sex," Lelouch started.
"Brother!"
"When you have sex," he said, sterner this time, "you will make sure the girls drink their moontea, and that you don't get too drunk that you forget."
"Do you think so lowly of me?" Corwyn said.
"You're nearly a man at fifteen," Lelouch said. "I've been around seamen long enough to know what that means."
Corwyn crossed his arms. "They're lowborn."
"They have cocks same as you," Lelouch said, "or are you Baelor the Blessed come again?"
"It—"
"I don't care how many times you swear it won't happen or to which gods you swear them to," Lelouch said. "You plant your seed in one of these flowers and I'll have to explain to father why you married a Tyroshi slave."
Corwyn wilted. "It would be the honorable thing to do…"
"That's always what men say after they've made a mistake," Lelouch said.
"How would you know it would be a mistake? I could come to love one of these maidens."
Donnall snorted. "You don't even speak proper Valyrian, nevermind the bastard shrieking this sorry lot uses."
"I could learn it."
"Three years with Maester Banneth and you didn't pick up a single word of Valyrian. Somehow, I doubt it," Lelouch said.
"Fine, fine! If I sleep with a girl, I promise to make them drink moontea after, now will you please go?" Corwyn said.
They disembarked.
Cici stood alone among the Tyroshi delegates and the swarm of poisonous flowers.
"Welcome, my lords," said a man with a pink beard with purple stripes cutting it diagonally. "Your voyage must have left you weary. Please, partake of the fruits Tyrosh has to offer." At his word, the flowers swayed forward—
—Donnall stretched his arm out, palm first, and they stumbled to a stop. Or perhaps it was the way he gripped his sword like a coiled snake that made them hesitate?
Lelouch kept silent, glancing at Pink Beard, the women, and then resting his gaze on Cici expectantly.
Her eyes twinkled. "Presenting Lord Lelouch of the House Velaryon, the Seafyre, the Stormcaller, Protector of the Myrish-in-Exile, the Master-in-Fact of Driftmark, Knight of the Crown Prince, Captain of a Hundred Ships, Leader of Ten Thousand Men, and a Principal Commander of the Host of Westeros."
A good mix of titles and cognomen highlighting his victories and his responsibilities, while avoiding any mention of being heir to anything. That would put his authority to negotiate in greater scrutiny, and he had no proof for Adarys but his word and reputation.
"Of course, be welcome, honored one," said Pink Beard.
"I've come to bargain," Lelouch said in Common. Cici repeated his words in the Myrish-Valyrian dialect. "Where is Alequo Adarys, the Archon of Tyrosh?"
"He is in his tent still," the Tall Man said in a rough accent Lelouch couldn't place. He didn't look like a man of Leng or YiTi, perhaps from a smaller city to the north? "I am Captain Maz Aleximar, Captain of the Last Sons of Sarnor, in the service of Tyrosh."
"My thanks, Captain Aleximar," Lelouch said, tilting his head by a fraction to show acknowledgment but not enough that they'd think to have deference from him. "I will be waiting in the Rainbow Pavilion for the talks to commence."
Pink Beard cleared his throat. "We had thought to hold the talks on the morrow, when we've all had a chance to rest."
Lelouch raised his brow at him, and walked off. He heard Cici respond, "We can rest when we're dead," before she fell into step besides him. There were barked orders to the women and the scurrying feet of hurried messengers.
"How was your week?" Lelouch asked.
"Pleasant," Cici said. "The warm flower baths of Tyrosh are to die for after months of camping."
"I'm sure," Lelouch said, then tugged at his ear. Is anyone listening in?
"Clear," Donnall said.
"You'll be my translator throughout," Lelouch said.
"And you boys will play the sword and the lord," Cici said. "I've had words with the opposition. There are those who would welcome a new Archon."
"Let's call that the wildfire option," Lelouch said. An Archon installed through foreign force of arms would be no more legitimate than Adarys, but without the tenure. The Tyroshi wouldn't take kindly to more meddling in their internal affairs. "Who am I speaking with?"
"Other than Adarys? Pink Beard is a yes man of his," Cici said.
"Ignorable save as a mouthpiece then. Their third?"
"Magister Sarys, who speaks for Alequo's most powerful enemies," Cici said. "If they do not buy in to what is agreed here, neither can Adarys."
"His hold is that tenuous?" Lelouch asked.
She tilted her head. "You did your job too well."
Donnall leaned in. "The Tall Man is trailing us. If it comes to a fight, he's got a reach advantage on me."
"Aleximar is a nasty fighter," Cici said, "unconstrained by silly rules and dangerously pragmatic. I'm not too good with their tongue, but he passes as a lord among the Sarnori from what I've gathered. He won't break truce though, sets a dangerous precedent.
"Especially in Essos," Lelouch said.
They entered the Rainbow Pavilion smelling of roast pheasant and suckling pig. The grease and spices made for a heady aroma, a fat man's poison that would take twenty years to seize you.
Maz Aleximar entered after them and approached. "Forgive me. I had to speak with you myself. You are Lord Seafyre," he said in a halting Volantene dialect.
Lelouch glanced at Cici. "He thinks Seafyre is your name," she said.
"I'm just a man like any other," Lelouch said and she translated.
"Not like any other," Maz said. "You are a warlock, a powerful one."
"I wield no magic," Lelouch said. "Cut me and I'll bleed. Stab me, I'll die."
He narrowed his eyes. "How could I come after you? You would drown me with storms. Burn me with green fire. Steal even my thoughts."
"If you believe me so powerful, then why stand before me at all?" Lelouch asked.
"Because I need to know if the gods have sent you as friend or foe to my men," Maz said. "If I do not do this, who will?"
Lelouch felt a stirring in his soul, a common kinship with this man standing over seven feet tall. "If the king does not lead, how can we expect his subordinates to follow?"
Maz smiled. "So you do understand."
"What have the gods told you?" Lelouch asked.
"I am no prophet that they speak to me. Merely a man," Maz said.
"Taller than any man I've seen," Lelouch said.
"A Sarnori man then," Maz said with a nod. "Humble your heart, for the gods bring down low those who overreach, Warlock." He took up a spot on the opposite side of the high table, standing watch without a sword.
"They found a loophole," Lelouch said to Cici. "Only our men would be armed, but with a man like that on their side, he could use this whole damned table as a weapon."
"Are you complaining?" Cici asked.
"That this finally became interesting?" Lelouch said. "Never."
There was a sharp burst of bustle as the pavilion's entrance flapped open, and Alequo Adarys entered with his delegates.
Like everything about the talks, their seating was predetermined. Lelouch was led to the side of the table facing east and was seated in the center, while Adarys sat opposite him. Next was Pink Beard seated on Adarys' right, across from Cici, and finally Donnall and Sarys took up the last spots.
When all were seated, a crier was brought in to announce each in turn, beginning with Adarys as the host. Among his honorifics were "Sovereign of the Unified Stepstones", "Guardian of the Twin Straits of Tyrosh", and "Archpatron of the Verdant Heel", each of which would've sent a Lyseni, Braavosi, and Myrman into a frothing rage were any to be found present.
Cici chose the simpler "Mayor of Myr-In-Exile and the Mistress of Pizza" and Donnall was given, to his visible chagrin, "the First Sword of the Seafyre".
Pink Beard, real name Magister Kalamnys Paryen, was the self-proclaimed Master of Ships for his ownership over a plurality of shipwrights. His profits had swelled greatly by Alequo's military contracts. It did not pass Lelouch's notice Paryen held a title that his father did, and all that that implied of his own position.
They think me less than Alequo's second.
Magister Sarys, on the other hand, was the Many-colored Man despite his rather plain, by Tyroshi standards, yellow beard. He had significant holdings in the dye trade.
Lelouch gestured for Cici to lean in. "My High Valyrian is rather rusty, but is Adarys not king?"
The corner of her lips tugged upwards. "Lord Lelouch wishes to know if the Archon is a king with a name like Adarys."
The mere mention of kings made even Kalamnys fidget, while Sarys outright scowled.
"I am no king," Alequo said quickly. "It is true my family name is derived from the ancient darys which means king, but adarys is more accurately translated to 'like a king' or 'a man of wealth and power'. A magnate, if you will."
"Tyrosh has no kings," Sarys said with gritted teeth.
"Ah, my mistake. I saw some similarities, is all. I hope I did not cause offense," Lelouch said, utterly without remorse. It was a cheap blow, an easy blow, and he was playing to win.
"The first order of business," Alequo said, ignoring his apology, "is a matter of authority."
Here comes the parry, Lelouch thought.
"Are you not here in your capacity as Archon?" Cici asked.
"He is, but it is Lord Lelouch's authority that Tyrosh questions," Kalamnys said.
"The matter was settled before we left Tyrosh," Cici said. "If there was a shred of doubt left, you would've never agreed to these talks."
"I agreed to hold a feast for my fine friends from the west, as you called them," Alequo said. "Let it not be even whispered that Tyrosh's hospitality was lacking. But if the outcome of these talks are to have any worth, the Iron Throne must be behind you."
"It's rather difficult to move it, but we could arrange," Lelouch said, eyes hardening, "to have these talks across the sea with the Iron Throne behind me, if you really prefer it that way."
"He's daft," Kalamnys muttered in a Lorathi dialect that shared little with its southern bastard cousins. The man would've been right to assume no Westerosi would know the tongue given
how little trade Lorath had, but Cici was no Westerosi.
She leaned in close and repeated Kalamnys' words in a breath.
Lelouch smiled brightly at him and Kalamnys returned it.
"Does your king know of these talks? " Alequo asked.
"He does," Lelouch said.
"But have you any proof?" Kalamnys asked. "A letter or perhaps the messenger, provided the man was of high repute?"
"The letter I do not have on me. I did not think my honor would be questioned when we agreed on this," Lelouch spat out, palms pressing against the table. "As for the messenger, he is not known to you, but he had other duties to see to like the safety of my future king."
"So in truth, you have no proof," Kalamnys said with a raised finger.
"War has been a scourge in all its forms." Lelouch pushed himself up. "Have not enough good Tyroshi men died for you to see that? Have not enough fathers lost sons, and wives lost husbands? If there is a fraction of a chance, nay a fraction of a fraction of chance that what takes place here can put an end to so great an evil, should we not seize it with both hands? This is an opportunity we cannot ignore."
"I admire your passion," Sarys said at last, "but in business, I trust in logic, not passion. What good is peace if it does not last to see the morrow?"
"What good is your coin if we're all dead?" Donnall asked.
Cici looked to Lelouch searchingly, then she repeated the words.
Sarys narrowed his eyes. "Is that a threat?"
"I don't make threats," Donnall said. "I only do as I'm commanded."
Alequo raised his hand, and an angry silence descended on the table. He put down his hand, and looked Lelouch in the eye. "Some wine to soothe our spirits?"
The women outside were all fine bedwarmers without exception, but the ones that brought them the goblets of gold almost too heavy to lift were consorts fit for a king.
"Perhaps there is merit to peace, here and now," Alequo said as the wine was poured. "I trust the Seafyre is a man of honor. It peace prevails, Tyrosh profits. If it lasts a sennight, it remains beneficial."
"Beneficial," Lelouch echoed, as he let his eyes linger on the silver haired maiden with a dowry to match Genna Lannister. It'd give the Archon a desperately needed reprieve, time to train men and refill his coffers.
"Before we can even think of peace," Sarys said, "we must first address the titles used by the members of this august body."
To contest a title was to provoke ire, but to acknowledge them in a setting like this was an admission of their legality.
Kalamnys sipped from his cup and set it down with an audible thud. "Are you, in fact, Lord Lelouch of House Velaryon?"
"Is his identity in doubt?" Cici asked.
"No, not his identity," Kalamnys said. "Tell me, when did Lord Jaron Velaryon die that his heir uses his title freely and formally?"
"Lord Jaron remains alive and the Lord Velaryon," Cici said, "but in Westeros, it is called a courtesy to let honored members of the family take on the styling of lord."
"So in truth, the title has no basis beyond courtesy?" Kalamnys asked.
"My father's health is poor as of late," Lelouch said. "I will be lord of my house soon enough."
"Soon enough? How long is that in days? Months?" Kalamnys asked.
Donnall's face scrunched in disgust. "You'd ask a son to guess his own father's death?"
"He can use years, if he likes, though in Essos we do not consider that 'soon enough'," Kalamnys said, twining his fingers in front of him. "No answer? We cannot acknowledge a title based on what might come to pass. That is called gambling, and gambling is no certainty."
Got you, Lelouch thought. "Acknowledge me as Ser Lelouch of House Velaryon then, for I am an anointed knight, given that title by the crown prince himself. You think I wear that title with any less pride?"
"I do not claim to know your feelings, Ser Lelouch of House Velaryon," Kalamnys said. "Now the Seafyre—"
"—you not only deny," Lelouch interjected, "that I will be the future lord of House Velaryon, you also deny things which have already been written into the annals of history? Did the Battle of Seafyre not occur? Did your defeat at Pryr beneath a storm not come to pass?"
"The events occurred, but the names they are called differ," Kalamnys said.
"I'm told by my translator even your marines call me by those names when my countrymen do not," Lelouch said, breath hot. "These are Tyroshi given titles, but if you think so little of your own people, then I will call myself the Victor of Seafyre and the Battle Beneath the Storm."
Kalamnys leaned forward. "You may keep those honorifics then. As for the rest…"
"Statements of fact," Alequo said. "His father is too busy to run their demesne, and he protects the Myrish runaways. There is no need to haggle over these terms any longer unless you disagree, Magister Sarys?"
"The rest of his titles change little politically and I did not make my fortune wasting time," Sarys said.
"Then it's done with," Alequo said, offering him a warm smile. "Now, we were speaking of peace—"
He must think so little of me, Lelouch thought, to think I'd believe Kalamnys not a mere puppet. "We were speaking of titles," Lelouch said. "And if you are done with me, then it is your turn to face inquiry, Archon."
His smile faltered ever so slightly. "Are any of my titles in doubt?"
"Sovereign of the Unified Stepstones," Lelouch said. That title could not be acknowledged, not if the king had designs on the islands after the war. "My memory fails me at times. When was it last that the Stepstones were unified under Tyrosh?"
"That claim is inherited by Tyrosh from when the Valyrians still ruled," Kalamnys said with a frown.
"So over three and a half centuries ago, and under a different polity too," Lelouch said.
"We held dominion there too in 100 AC," Sarys said.
"As part of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, of which you are only one," Lelouch said. "So you are, at best, Sovereign of a Third of the Stepstones. Ah, but how can that be? There are fourteen islands and you control only two. Sovereign of a Seventh of the Stepstones?"
Donnall drank deep from his cup. "It's not quite as catchy."
"When your war with Blackfyre is over," Alequo said, "you will leave and the pirates will return. It will be left to Tyrosh to bring order to these islands."
"How long will it take?" Lelouch asked.
Kalamnys exhaled loudly. "It will be soon."
Alequo winced, realizing the trap, but too late.
"Soon?" Lelouch asked skeptically. "How long is that in days and months, if you would."
"Are we prophets to know the future?" Kalamnys asked.
"You can use years, if you like, though in Essos, you do not consider that soon," Lelouch repeated. "No answer? We cannot acknowledge a title based on what might come to pass. That is called gambling, and gambling is no certainty."
"You could extend us the benefit of the doubt, like we did your other titles," Alequo said, though from the look of his face he'd surrendered the point.
"So in truth," Lelouch began, "the title would have no basis beyond courtesy? We will acknowledge that you believe you have a claim and no more."
Cici rested a hand on his arm. "There is also the Archpatron of the Verdant Heel to consider," she said first in Common, then in Tyroshi.
"I'm not familiar with this place," Lelouch said. "Is it known by any other name?"
Kalamnys gritted his teeth. "It is also called the Disputed Lands."
"Now that," Lelouch said, "is a name I know. But forgive me, is the Disputed Lands, as the name implies, not disputed?"
Kalamnys turned beet red, and though his mouth opened and closed, there was no sound to be heard. His hand grasped for his cup like a man craved air.
It was a grievous misstep to underestimate him, to think he was a boy who knew war, women, wine, and nothing else. He understood how this game was played too, for it was a war of words instead of swords, but a war all the same. They thought him daft, distracted by pretty things, so they pushed and pushed to poke at his pride, to force mistakes through his anger. Then Alequo would offer reprieve from the questioning and expect Lelouch to thank him for it.
They should have heeded Maz's counsel. Greed was ever the downfall of men, and now the Archon would pay for it twice over.
"It is disputed as you say," Sarys answered. "The claim is shaky, but better than the Stepstones. We have at times ruled up to half of the lands, the most recent some three years prior."
"Then we will acknowledge it with one correction. To us, you are an Archpatron of the Verdant Heel," Lelouch said.
Rapid staccato words were shared between the three men, but in the end they agreed. Faces visibly warier now, the conversation turned back to peace.
"If agreement is reached," Alequo said, "can we agree to the resumption of trade between our two lands and an end to open hostilities?"
Open hostilities, not all hostilities. "We can," Lelouch said. "But my king would seek more than merely peace. We would have Tyrosh be our friend and our ally. Together, much might be accomplished and much can be given for faithful conduct."
"We have plenty of coin already," Kalamnys said, finally recovering from his stupor after several cups.
"There is more to life than coin," Lelouch said.
The Tyroshi delegates stared at him like he'd grown two heads. "It all comes back to coin in the end," Sarys said. "Slaves? To earn more coin. Swords? To protect your coin. Luxuries? To enjoy your coin."
"Then you could earn plenty more coin," Lelouch said. "Imagine what Tyrosh could accomplish with more than their hinterlands and Pryr."
"You bargain with what is not yours to give," Sarys said. "The Stepstones are not yours."
"It is Westerosi men who hold the islands and Westerosi ships that patrol their waters. Possession is nine-tenths of the law," Cici said.
"You'll have peace of us, and friendship too," Alequo said, "but alliance? I've already bled my city for one dragon. Why would I bleed it for one of a different shade? Red or black, this is a quarrel your people must settle among your own."
"I cannot change your mind?" Lelouch asked. "As a gesture, I will even reaffirm your claim over Pryr."
"We thank you, but no," Alequo said firmly. "You need us more than we need you."
Lelouch's brow rose. "I beg your pardon?"
Alequo blinked, then he grinned. "You have not heard? Lys has fallen to Maelys Blackfyre. His Golden Company sacked and held their hinterlands, while the Old Mother's fleet ravaged what ships carrying food roamed the sea. The Magisters of Lys surrendered rather than starve."
"Does that mean he marches back here?" Lelouch asked.
Alequo nodded. "I suspect your friends will fare no better than the last time you landed. If he reaches us before we come to an agreement, the war will resume."
That… that changed things.
"We must adjourn for nightfall," Kalamnys said. "Any talks of peace at night are talks the gods do not witness."
The delegates stood to leave, but as they did Cici whispered into his ear. "I've arranged a private audience with Magister Sarys after dinner."