Chapter 28: Bitter
The first time Lelouch arrived at King's Landing, after Summerhall, he'd been greeted by an angry sullen silence, while cloaks of gold and cloaks of white impeded him at every gate. The second time Lelouch arrived at King's Landing, after the Battle of Seafyre, he'd been greeted by half-hearted cheers from the young and bold, while cloaks of gold marched behind him and cloaks of white ushered him through doors.
This third time, he'd been greeted by a riot of clapping hands and the seven ringing bells of Baelor's Sept. Lelouch rode right behind Aerys, with the likes of Ser Gerold, Lord Baratheon, Tywin—while cloaks of gold and white and lords most high trailed after him.
A shower of scented petals fell wherever they went, almost masking the putrid odor of dead fish and shit and death.
You could not go ten paces without spotting a Targaryen dragon flying from the roofs or outside windows. Fair maidens born high and low giggled as they passed, and more than a few threw things at Lelouch that would make a septa's tongue crack like a whip. The young and old alike lined the streets, while septons shouted praises and prayers both.
The noise nearly drowned out the screams, and his mind's incessant, treacherous whispering: "What if…"
"The Seven bless Prince Aerys and House Targaryen!"
"Good fortune to you, Ser Lelouch!" cried a begging brother in his tattered brown robes.
"It's the White Bull, and beside him is the Seafyre!" said a little boy to his little friends. "The hero of Naqes!"
A hero, Lelouch thought bitterly. They called him a hero and he felt nothing like one.
What sort of hero condemns his own uncle to a fate worse than death? Tens of thousands dead, and in the end...
The Blackfyre cause was as dead as Maelys and the Golden Company. His Band of Nine too, save for the Archon of Tyrosh, and Lashare he'd beheaded with his own hand. Yet he felt no satisfaction from any of it.
You started this war to see your uncle freed, a voice whispered. Is he any freer now? Isn't he less free now?
All his enemies had lost more in the war, but that didn't mean he hadn't lost with them. The Dothraki savages under Khal Yaggo had already been on the move, headed back to their primitive grasslands well before the fields were drenched in blood. The first of the light cavalry Lelouch had sent out were found without their heads.
Lashare had poisoned the khal's ears… or perhaps this Yaggo had grasped what a threat to the slave trade Westeros was now...
Whichever the case, Yaggo's khalasar was already in the midst of crossing the Lhorulu, the Smiling Daughter of the Rhoyne, when the first live scouts returned with their reports. It was too far for the army to pursue, even for rested men, even if the crownland lords were willing to risk their lives for his cause.
Lelouch had two thousand men whose loyalty was to Driftmark, and another two thousand more ex-slaves, but the vast majority of these were on foot. These men were not the Golden Company, who might match horses by sheer will and grit, grinding them down day after day after day. They were just men.
As they reached the Red Keep, Gerold pointed out a tall, cream-skinned beauty with a head of spun sunlight leaning over the battlements. "Malora is here," he said with some surprise.
"Ser Leyton's eldest daughter?" Lelouch asked as they dismounted in the courtyard. Their procession continued on foot through the Red Keep. Tywin hobbled through it with some help and great dignity.
"Aye," he said. "After her last visit, I thought she'd have grown weary of this place."
"When was that?"
"Long before your sister arrived," Gerold said. "When Lady Jenny brought her dwarf friend to court."
Lelouch remembered his father mentioning it in passing once. "The woods witch?"
"If you could call her that. Malora certainly did. To me, she was just a mad, white woman with queer red eyes," Gerold said. "She'd not speak in the presence of men the few days she was here, and Malora returned to Oldtown not long afterwards."
"I haven't had the pleasure of speaking with Malora," Lelouch said. "She made herself quite sparse when I visited my brother."
"My grandniece always did prefer to keep books for company. You're as smart as any book though, so perhaps she'll like talking to you."
The oak-and-bronze doors of the Great Hall swung inwards, and Aerys led them forward, through the carpeted path left for them by the crowd of highborn. He came to a stop just at the base of the Iron Throne and all of them knelt before it.
"My lords, please, stand," the king ordered, and they acquiesced.
Aerys pulled out Blackfyre to the gasps of their audience. "Your Grace, in the midst of campaign Ser Lelouch, the Seafyre, came across this ancient blade of House Targaryen." He approached at the king's gesture, walking up that twisted, ugly thing of a thousand broken blades, and offering yet another sword to that monument of Targaryen legitimacy: force of arms.
"As its rightful wielder, I offer it to you now," Aerys said, "Blackfyre, the sword of kings."
The king grasped the blade in his frail hands, raking over its polish and splendor with keen eyes the match of Blackfyre. After a long while, he said, "House Targaryen thanks you for your faithful service, Ser Lelouch. May all present know that you have brought much glory and honor to House Velaryon in this last Blackfyre Rebellion."
"The king honors me with his words," Lelouch said, bowing. He could spot his father puffing out his chests and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at this pageantry. It wouldn't be proper.
The king turned to his son. "Blackfyre is the sword of kings, and kings to be. It is my will that you continue to wield this on my behalf. Keep it sheathed, but sharp at all times."
Those words were spoken more to the assembled lords than Aerys for Valyrian steel did not chip or dull or need sharpening.
"As you command, Your Grace," Aerys said.
"All hail King Jaehaerys Targaryen," said Baratheon, "the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!"
"All hail King Jaehaerys, long may he reign!" the crowd said.
King Jaehaerys stood at last. "The last of the male Blackfyres is dead, and their threat to all Westeros is at an end. House Targaryen is victorious!"
There are no winners in war, Lelouch thought, just people who lose less.
And afterwards, the celebration.
The king had set a midday table with the full bounty of Westeros on display, and judging by the constant stream of platters and pitchers streaming out the kitchens, it seemed there was enough food to see them through to supper. All the Lords Paramount sat with the royal family at the high table, yet it was Lelouch seated between the king's children, to Prince Aerys' right. To Aerys' left was Joanna, then Tywin next to her.
There was a stuffed suckling pig swimming in plum sauce, a rack of lamb heavily spiced, and platters of ribs slow-cooked into exceeding tenderness. Servants one after the other carried baked apples fragrant with cinnamon; a blood orange cake frosted with sugar; salads of sweetgrass sprinkled with a rich, grated cheese and crushed nuts; baked salmon and fried cod and lobsters dripping with buttery garlic. He even spotted some lean whale meat cut into strips of steak, seasoned with garlic and coriander; cumin and ginger, heavily peppered too in the way Tyroshi liked their gamier meats.
The king ate the whale, one bite at a time.
He was in deep conversation with Lord Baratheon to his right, likely over matters of state. Baratheon was still the Hand after all. Queen Shaera would interject from time to time besides King Jaehaerys. Meanwhile, Princess Rhaelle—the Lady Baratheon—was seated between her husband and Lelouch's father, who she'd engaged in a far less serious discussion about renewed trade in the narrow sea.
In front of Lelouch was a plate of crisp golden frog legs and cubes of bread browned in butter piled high and garnished with ground white peppers. As he scooped a piece onto his plate, Lelouch caught a faint whiff of lemon.
"It's cooked the way the Braavosi like it done," Rhaella said to him with a sagely nod, in a voice not her own. "They place it in a pot of water and raise the heat by a smidgen over the course of many hours. Done properly, the frog will just sit there, heedless of the heat. Then they chop it up and fry it."
It was clear the princess had never seen a frog cooked if she mistook the fable for fact. "Thank the Seven you were born a princess, for you'd have made a poor mummer," Lelouch said, rolling his eyes. "Who was that supposed to be? Your father?"
"How poor could I have been if you guessed it right?"
"It was either him or your mother," Lelouch said, "and you needn't try so hard if it were her." Who else would a princess be around enough times and be someone she couldn't avoid?
Rhaella stabbed her spinach salad with a fork, spearing through almond slivers and making red berries bleed. Then, she smiled all too sweetly at him. "Is that so?"
Withdraw or follow through? Had this been before the campaign began, commiting would've been the only feasible option as a means of standing out among all the lordlings vying for her hand. Now, Lelouch had his sterling military reputation and his friendship with Aerys to use as a crutch, if he preferred.
And yet… where would the satisfaction be in that? At every turn, he had gambled. He'd not always won—no one did—but great victories were not without great risk. Meekness was not his tried and true companion.
Perhaps that's why I was never meant to inherit the earth? he thought wryly. "Do you remember what I said to you last we spoke in this hall, seated side by side as we are?"
"That was so long ago. You aren't so important that I recall our… delightful conversations," Rhaella said with wide, round eyes, lips slightly parted and shimmering. She would look the picture of innocence if not for the treacherous twitching at the corners of her lips.
"I told you your hand was most sought after by all the lords of the realm," Lelouch said. "I did not lie to you then, I do not intend to begin now."
"Ah, but you did lie to me, my lord," Rhaella said, lips quirking upwards. "In one instance, at least. You said my brother would marry in a year's time. It is now a year and a week, and I've yet to hear of his betrothal… or does he have a secret bride in Essos? Tyrosh perhaps?"
Was she implying…? Lelouch's brow arched up as she grinned impishly. "No."
"I suppose you're right. Tyrosh would be far too bleak with all that black hanging about them."
She'd been casting shade not only on the deal he'd brokered with the Archon, but also implied Aerys would never take a Tyroshi bride given Blackfyre's history.
When did she learn to play this game? Lelouch leaned into his chair and smiled. "Alas, I thought too highly of myself even then. I still do, so men older than I say from time to time. You'll be glad to know, at least, that the monster who made a liar out of me is vanquished."
"By the bold Ser Barristan, I hear," Rhaella said. "He must be quite skilled with the sword. Would you happen to know anything about that?"
Joanna's old trick, come again in a different stripe. Either she's a quick study or Joanna is a better teacher than I thought. "I've never had the pleasure of witnessing it, but Ser Ronnel—I suppose its Lord Ronnel now—certainly did when he went down."
The new Lord Paramount of the Vale had suffered a nasty wound to the stomach while valiantly protecting the old one. It had not fully healed yet judging by Ronnel's sluggish motions, and his life might be at risk even now judging by how he wholly abstained from wine.
"I met your friend the other day," Rhaella said, tipping her head towards Lady Omorfia Ayas, as men were wont to call her now. It was politically prudent for her to be invited to this show of Targaryen majesty. "She told me such fine tales over a slice of pizza."
Lelouch looked down at his plate, then back to Rhaella. "Tales have a habit of growing with each telling," Lelouch said.
Rhaella hummed. "Even ones about a green-haired woman?"
"Especially ones about her," Lelouch said.
"Here I thought you were a slave to duty."
A dutiful nephew would have chosen ignoble peace over vengeance. He downed his goblet and grabbed the pitcher of Arbor gold with his good hand. Lashare hadn't quite managed to stab through his left hand like Yellow Teeth had at Myr, but the cut was still a deep one. "You will be wed soon, I imagine," he said, deflecting.
"You secured House Targaryen's throne with the sword," Rhaella said, "but Father says now is the time to secure it with vows."
"Peace is more difficult than war in some ways," Lelouch said. Like how he'd been forced to make peace with the need for patience. He had not the men to pursue the Dothraki this year, but they would be paid back a hundredfold in due time. "Who have you in mind?"
"What you're really asking is who does my father have in mind."
"I said I would not lie," Lelouch said. I already know that, if how we're seated is anything to go by. "I meant what I asked plainly."
"Why should my thoughts matter? Love has nothing to do with marriage, my lord."
Lelouch tilted his head. "I didn't think you saw it as I do."
"I suppose," Rhaella said, "that you would not be so terrible. At least the scars are on your hand and not somewhere important like your face."
"Scars make a man look rugged," Lelouch said.
"If you're well-built like my uncle, yes. A lean thing like you? Well…"
"Then I shall be glad my face is deemed passable in your eyes," Lelouch said dryly.
"You don't sound particularly enthusiastic about that," Rhaella said, narrowing her eyes. "So, this green-haired woman of yours…"
"Cici," Lelouch offered.
"Cici," Rhaella said, tasting the name. "You must really love her that even a royal match does not please you. "
Few women would be pleased knowing the man they might soon be betrothed to loved another. Yet, to deny it, with all the whispers abound… there would always be doubt there no matter how clever his words. Hadn't he just promised he would not lie to Rhaella Targaryen?
Once more into the breach.
"What I feel for her cannot be easily put into words," Lelouch said.
"That fleeting quickening of your pulse, that rapid rush of the heart? The fluttering warmth in your stomach, like butterflies on a summer day?"
"For such an unimportant, if delightful, conversation, you seem to remember plenty, Your Grace," Lelouch said. "What I feel for Cici is not that kind of love." He sighed. "It does not matter."
"In point of fact, it matters quite a bit to me," Rhaella said. Her tone turned almost wistful as she continued, "You know, when I first heard that the Lelouch Velaryon's heart had learned to love at last, I could scarcely believe it. It sounded just like the stories I read of, but life is rarely like the stories as Aerys tells me." She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "My father says you've waged this war to avenge your uncle, so you must be a man that loves deeply. What is the truth of things, I wonder?"
"I do love her," Lelouch admitted. "Not to wed her, or bed her… but if there is one thing I should hope to do in this life, it is to make her happy."
Rhaella raised her brow. "Yet, you will not marry your mistress."
"She is not my mistress," Lelouch said.
"What should we call the woman you share your bed with then?" Rhaella asked. "Do you honestly expect me to believe you haven't slept with her?"
"What we share is not that," Lelouch said, injecting some heat into his words. "It is more akin to what you feel for family, yet not entirely alike either. Like I said, it is difficult to truly explain. I wish to make her happy."
Rhaella seemed ponderous. "Will you set her aside then once you've married?"
Lelouch shook his head. "No more than I could set aside Alarra, or my brother, or my cousins. I could not do that to her again."
"Lady Omorfia tells me you met in Myr," Rhaelle said. "That was less than a year and four months ago, if memory serves me correct. You speak of her like one would a lifelong friend."
Lelouch graced her with a ghost of a smile. "Is time the sum of relationships?"
"It certainly helps," Rhalle said, a hint of curiosity glinting behind her eyes. "You would have her watch as you wed another?"
"She understands that this is about marriage, not happiness," Lelouch said.
"How callous," Rhaella said. "Why should who I want matter then?"
"Because love can be learned," Lelouch repeated. "Because to love is a choice. Marriage is duty, but it need not be without affection, or at the very least some measure of tolerance and understanding."
He glanced at his cousins, trueborn and baseborn, seated with the heiress of Myr's new Archmagister. "I've seen what happens when marriage is without these qualities."
The highborn of Westeros had dined, so now they danced. The Targaryens led them in this as in all things, but it was Aerys and Rhaella—not the king and queen—through whom the dragons displayed their grace.
With Aerys' seat empty, Lelouch found himself looking at Joanna when he turned to his left. Tywin, who ought to have been seated on her other side, was nowhere to be seen. "I'm surprised Aerys did not choose you for his first dance," Lelouch said.
"I could say the same for Rhaella and you," Joanna said.
Lelouch watched as Aerys twirled his sister round and round. "I fear I might have displeased her with my candor tonight."
"It was certainly a bold plot from you," Joanna said. "Yet, I think honesty will serve you well in the end. You do make for an interesting puzzle to her if nothing else."
Lelouch tilted his head to the side. "And you? I've not heard you say anything tonight that might've displeased the prince."
"He does it out of consideration," Joanna said.
"I see," Lelouch said, shifting in his seat. "This will be poor comfort, I know, but I am sorry about your father. Ser Jason fought bravely whilst under my command."
Her eyes met his for the first time, slightly watered and incredibly sad. "So everyone says." She blinked a few times before saying, "Who was it that killed him in the end?"
"It was Liomond Lashare that dealt the killing blow," Lelouch said, "but he was injured already before then. It was on my orders that the Lannister cavalry suffered great losses that day."
"Lashare… he has wrought great pain to the both of us then," Joanna said. "I'm glad you killed him."
Lelouch glanced at Donnall. "I would have died too, if not for my cousin. He defeated Lashare in the end, even if it was my dagger that slit his throat."
She was quiet for a long while. "Tywin tells me that that bloody charge secured my marriage to the prince."
"I cannot say I know the king's thoughts."
She pinned him down with her gaze. "I trust your judgment."
Lelouch took a deep breath. "If anything, it is your own charms and House Lannister's commitment to the war that has made you his queen-to-be. Only a blind, deaf, and dumb man could deny Aerys' fond affections for you, and King Jaehaerys has made his intentions clear with how he's seated us."
In a celebration as important as this, not even the seating was left to chance. One need only see the parallels in arrangement between the king, the king's sister, and the queen, to Aerys, Rhaella, and Joanna. It was plain as day to anyone who understood symbolic politics.
"Thank you," Joanna said quietly. "I worry for Tywin."
"He has lost a leg, and an uncle in the span of a single battle," Lelouch said. "That would be a blow for any man."
"He spoke with his sister right before this feast, you know."
"What did he say to Genna?" Lelouch asked.
"Not to pursue you any longer," Joanna said with a sad smile. "It's a shame. I really did think you would've been good for each other. She spoke fondly of her time with you at Duskendale."
"I found her charming as well," Lelouch said. Had he not been so wildly successful, had the Targaryens decided to marry Rhaella to someone else… "I wish her the best, truly. What does Tywin have in mind for her now?"
Joanna's eyes scanned the room, then she gestured with her head.
Genna wore a wool dress the way the river ladies liked it, with wavy patterns, but in an eye-catching Lannister crimson. When she spinned, she looked like a girl wreathed in fire. When she stopped, her bosom pressed against her partner's chest.
Hoster Tully looked absolutely smitten.
"Many would say that's a step up from some humble crownland lordling," Lelouch said. There were fewer ways to spite old Walder Frey then by giving the hand he sought for his sons to his liege lord instead.
"Not Tywin," Joanna said. She graced him with a hint of a grin. "Though, between this and the business with the Crakehalls, I think he means for old Walder's heart to give out from sheer spite."
Lelouch lifted his goblet in toast. The Crakehalls were a powerful house that secured the westerlands border with the Reach along the ocean road, while the riverlands would secure their east. "Tywin's mother is a Marbrand of Ashemark, isn't she?"
"Lord Alyn's only daughter," Joanna confirmed, then in a lower voice added, "and they hold no love for the Reynes after the murder of his cousin Denys six years prior."
Castamere and Tarbeck Hall were powerful fiefs adjacent to each other, but they were sandwiched between Ashemark and Casterly Rock. "You've heard the whispers," Lelouch said, "that the king might make Reynard Reyne a white cloak?"
"How could I not?" Joanna's full lips thinned. "Reynard was always the more cunning and charming of the brothers. He was the one who talked Lord Tytos into forgiving his brother's wanton murder of Ser Denys and his men… but Tywin has not forgotten, or forgiven." Her eyes glinted dangerously. "Neither have I."
He knew that look well.
"A reckoning is coming," Lelouch said. "I count you and Tywin to be my friends. If you should ever need help, you need only ask."
"I thank you," Joanna said, folding her hands on her lap, "but this is a matter House Lannister must settle on its own. We are prepared for what's to come."
They could not accept his help, else they'd look weak to their own bannermen, and they looked weak enough after years of Lord Tytos' misrule.
Lelouch nodded, and lifted his goblet again.
-ZeroRequiem-
Side by side walked father and son through the keep within a keep known as Maegor's Holdfast.
"You've done well, my son," Father said, his cane echoing loudly against stone. "No, more than well. You've accomplished more than I thought possible. We've not been held in such high esteem, nor honored with a Targaryen bride, since the days of the Oakenfist."
"I failed," Lelouch said. "No, worse than failed. Uncle Adamm is now a slave to some Dothraki savage, where he used to be just a prisoner of war! I set out to rescue him, and all I did was damn him in the end." Would that I'd not helped at all…
"I grieve for my brother too. He was my right hand in all things at sea, and I remember the days we used to sail together, when we dreamed of being pirate kings among the Stepstones," Father said. "His fate is not a kind one, but the fault for that is not yours to bear."
"How can it not be mine?" Lelouch asked, running a hand through his hair. "It was I that split our forces at Myr. It was I that spoke out against Lashare, after he'd warned me of what he'd do. I cannot claim ignorance as my shield. I knew what would happen to him if I spoke out, yet I did it anyway."
Father stopped walking to lean against the wall, breathing heavier than usual. "You waged a war for your uncle. Against the might of two Free Cities and the Golden Company and countless sellsword companies of no small renown—and you did it without hesitation."
"I waged that war against the Blackfyres for House Targaryen," Lelouch said.
"You used the Blackfyres as an excuse," Father said, "and the Sacred Struggle as well. From the start, this war was about your uncle to you."
"Then how can you stand there," Lelouch asked, "and say that I have done well?"
"There are few men in history," Father said, "who could have managed what you did, with what men you had to work with. You began this war as nothing but my heir, and somehow you gathered to yourself a coalition of unlikely allies from Myr to Duskendale. At every battle you were outnumbered and outmatched and you won."
Lelouch's fists tightened into angry balls. "Naqes was not a victory. The Battle of Three Armies was not a victory."
"Your part in Naqes was," Father said. "As for the final battle with Blackfyre and Lashare… you let your early successes cloud your perspective on what victory is."
"That battle was a slaughter."
"It was," Father said with a grim smile. "War is a horror not to be taken on lightly. Despite your best efforts, there will never be such a thing as an absolute victory."
He grasped Lelouch by the shoulders. "Yet, you led our family through this ordeal. You return to me alive and mostly unharmed, with Corwyn and Donnall. Had that been all you brought home, I would have counted that a bargain and thanked the Seven for my luck." His smile grew warmer and wider. "Instead, you return having won the friendship of Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella's hand is now all but certain. You have showered our house in so much gold and glory that even the Darklyns will look to us, to you for leadership in the coming years. That is not nothing."
"It is not what I wanted," Lelouch said.
"It is what it is," Father said. "You had a duty to your uncle, yes, but you also have a duty to the Iron Throne, and to the rest of our house. In these charges you have performed admirably."
"All I had to do was give up Uncle Adamm," Lelouch said bitterly.
Then Father did something he had rarely done before. His arms enveloped Lelouch in an embrace. "My son, the fault for that was not yours. It was Lashare who imprisoned him, then decided to give him into slavery. Did you point a sword at Lashare's throat and tell him to do it? Did you not expend every reasonable effort to free your uncle?"
Lelouch blinked back the tears.
"We will mourn my brother on the morrow," Father said, pulling away. "We will mourn him in the way of our people, among fires and family."
"He is not dead," Lelouch said.
"He is lost to us for some time at least," Father said. "I know you will not rest, nor let this end here, but you will need men and money in great quantities if you mean to bring the khals to heel. King Jaehaerys and Prince Aerys both think fondly of you; the Iron Throne is the quickest and surest way to gaining both." He straightened his back, drawing himself up to full height. "We will mourn Adamm not because he is dead, but because there is a need for closure. I will not have the memory of what could have beens weighing down the future of our house."
Father gestured for Lelouch to walk on ahead of him. "The king is waiting to see you. Go on."
"Aren't you coming?" Lelouch asked, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his clothes.
"He did not ask to see me," Father said with a kindly smile.
"It was implied," Lelouch said.
Father shook his head. "It is a test, and one I have faith in you to see through. You have made me proud, my son. Never doubt that."
Maegor's Holdfast was filled with courtiers in red livery, servants with plates and goblets, and knights in silver armor. Even this late into the afternoon there were still men dulling their senses with mead, maids and merriment. Wherever Lelouch went, men dipped their heads and girls smiled shyly.
At last he arrived outside the king's solar, guarded by the stalwart Ser Gerold and the newly-appointed Ser Barristan. The other two spots on the Kingsguard remained vacant still, but would be filled before long. Perhaps I should ask the king to make Donnall a white cloak? Lelouch mused. His cousin had deeds of his own to sing about, and it would be a great honor. And if he happened to snatch that spot from the Reynes, all the better.
The king's solar was richly decorated from the snow bear rug splayed out on the floor to a familiar Lysene tapestry hanging over the king's rosewood table.
"Kevan Lannister's squiring is at an end," Lord Ormund Baratheon said to the king. "By all accounts, he is a formidable warrior and would make a fine addition for the Order."
The Order? "You summoned me, Your Grace," Lelouch interjected.
"Ah, Lelouch," Jaehaerys said. "Come seat yourself. Would you like a drink? We've some fine vintages today."
"Thank you," Lelouch said, eyes raking through the selection on offer. "Mayhaps the Fossoway cider?"
"Afraid you've had a bit too much to drink, eh?" Baratheon asked.
"My father would be most displeased if I made a drunken fool of myself," Lelouch said. "A lack of foreseeable wars to regain my honor, you see."
Baratheon laughed, glancing meaningfully at the king. "Boy's got a good head on him, even now."
"How did you find the feast?" Jaehearys asked.
"I found the variety splendid," Lelouch said. "The fried Braavosi frogs and Tyroshi whale strips, in particular, were delectable."
The men shared a look.
"How much do you know about Braavos?" Baratheon asked.
"I know they're losing their war badly," Lelouch said. "From what I know about Essosi wars, they'll swallow a hard peace soon."
Baratheon nodded. "Pentos could soon rearm, and it will hurt Braavos even more to hand over swathes of their hinterlands. It will not be the end of them though."
"Wars are rarely the end of Free Cities," Lelouch said. The Sealord still had the largest fleets in the known world, and Braavos could not be taken without control of the seas surrounding it. Any losses they suffered could quickly be replaced by their famed Arsenal.
"Their quarrels are also endless," Jaehaerys said, sharp eyes boring into him. "It would be greatly distressing to my lords if I were to abandon all the gains we've made in Essos, yet it would equally be distressing to be drawn into another war after ending one so recently. Aerys' inheritance from me shall not be a string of wars. What would you advise?"
"Frogs and whales," Lelouch answered. It was the entire foreign policy of the Iron Throne laid out together with the king's orders about Blackfyre. "Keep our gains modest, that the Free Cities do not think the Iron Throne is a threat. Let them continue to make war on each other, and in making war with each other seek the goodwill of the Crown."
Jaehaerys nodded. "Modest gains… I take it you do not support the annexation of Lys? They have no real strength left to oppose us, and islands, even far off islands, are easy enough to hold. I might make you a Lord Paramount of that place."
"It is, as you say, a far off island," Lelouch said. "We could never hold Lys for long, and the damage to the Iron Throne's reputation would be severe. We cannot go back on our word with Volantis without a war breaking out, and Braavos will not love us for it either. To their merchants, contracts are everything." He drank, letting the taste of green apples linger on his tongue a little before swallowing. "The conquest of a Free City would be a grave overreach, and invite all of Essos to unite against us."
"Surely," Baratheon said, "the great commander who brought about victories like the Battle of Seafyre and the Battle Beneath the Storm is not afraid of some Essosi coin counters?"
Did they think to goad him like some green boy with a head full of summer dreams? "I fear them, and so should you, if you are wise," Lelouch said.
"We've humbled three of the Free Cities already," Baratheon said. "What are six more?"
"We humbled them that they'd rather make peace with us and hold on to their power," Lelouch said. "It is a mistake to think of our victory as a total one. Even then, we were fortunate that Maelys Blackfyre and their countless war had already left them spent."
The Free Cities were ill prepared for the sort of war Westeros brought to their shores, and it had still taken several months of targeted, widespread scorched earth tactics from Blackfyre and themselves to starve Lys, while the tributaries of Tyrosh fell more due to the short-sightedness and inexperience of those lesser ruling magisters. Had they decided not to hoard their food, it would have significantly delayed any slave uprising.
It was unlikely they would see similar successes with the same methods in the next war.
"He is as you said he is," Jaehearys said to Baratheon. "Your judgment remains impeccable."
"Thank you," Baratheon said, grinning ear to ear.
Lelouch breathed out. He had passed the test.
"You are correct, Lelouch Velaryon, that Lys will not be made to pay fealty to the Iron Throne, or any land on Essos itself for that matter," Jaehearys said.
"But the Stepstones are different," Lelouch concluded from his omission. The islands were difficult to govern and pacify for two reasons: the large pirate infestation in the region, and the competing claims of several regional powers. It was one nexus through which Volantis and Braavos made indirect war on each other.
"Far more feasible, though much of that will depend on how the coming talks go," Jaehaerys said. "When the current revelry is over, I mean to invite men from all over Essos to discuss the matter."
Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh were certain given their proximity, and Braavos too would be invited. Norvos and Qohor were too far, and their fleets were restricted to the rivers of Rhoyne and Qhoyne. Lorath was weakest among the free cities, and had not the wealth from great trading fleets to be a voice in such proceedings. Volantis had already promised not to interfere after the Peace of the Gateway was put to ink. Pentos was another possibility, for though they had no more than twenty war galleys currently, they might soon be freed from those old restrictions and become a minor power in their own right once more.
If powerful men could be made to see why Westeros' stewardship over these islands was more to their benefit, and arrangements were made, lasting peace might be had.
"The tolls are crucial," Lelouch said. "Sole power over its levying must remain with the Crown, for if every Stepstone lord could do with it as they wished, the Iron Throne's assurances would be worth nothing to Essos. That must be paired with keeping those places free of pirates too."
Arguing that the tolls would be a lesser financial burden than risk of losing ships only works if that risk could be reduced through Westerosi action.
"Many of whom you share friendships with, I'm told," Jaehaerys said.
"Mutually beneficial partnerships, Your Grace," Lelouch corrected. "We can offer the trustworthy among them a place in the new order of things, knighthoods perhaps or places in the new fleet needed to uphold the King's Peace. Those that refuse must be killed or driven off."
"I dare say you know those islands better than anyone," Baratheon said. "Do you believe it can be done?"
"We left strong garrisons on each island, I believe?" Lelouch asked.
"Maybe half a thousand men on each," Baratheon said, "and we intend to raise a new order of men to lead them."
Kevan Lannister being one of them, Lelouch thought. This new order of men would also likely become the lords of the Stepstones in time, though perhaps with less rights than most lords were accustomed to.
"It can be done," Lelouch said, "but when we strike, it must be decisive. Saintsport will be the hardest to take with its walls, but it is not a particularly well-fortified town. The other pirate dens will be easier to overrun." The hard part really was finding them, but if they were suddenly cut off from the local farmers and fisherfolk… well, the pirates could hardly live off of a diet of silks and spices.
"Good," Jaehaerys said. "Someone at least must remember the reasons behind our actions when it is Aerys' time to rule."
"With respect, Your Grace, would it not be wiser to tell Prince Aerys of these things?" Lelouch asked.
"Soon enough, Aerys will be told." The king's hands steepled. "Yet, when it is his time to rule, he will need advisors to guide him. You've a keen mind. I suspect he will choose you as his Hand at some point."
"We are not deaf to the ways he speaks of you," Baratheon added. "Friendships forged in the heart of war are like tempered steel and not easily broken."
"You will be his good-brother too," Jaehaerys said.
Lelouch bowed. "You honor me, Your Grace." He'd suspected, but to hear it straight from the king's mouth was only a short step from a formal announcement to the realm.
"Good service must be rewarded," Jaehaerys said, "and you have served better than most. Now, I suspect you have ambitions for Driftmark that go beyond a new castle?"
"I've plans to restore Spicetown to its old glories," Lelouch said.
"You will need a charter for a city." Baratheon crossed his arms. "Long have the Darklyns of Duskendale petitioned the Crown for one, but they have never received it."
I can argue precedent, Lelouch thought. Spicetown would not be a new charter, just the renewal of an old one… but while that might prove a reasonable excuse to offer to the Darklyns, it was not a persuasive argument from the Crown's perspective. "Duskendale would become a trade hub to rival King's Landing if given a charter, but Spicetown would not."
"Oh?" Jaehaerys' brow quirked. "Elaborate."
"Duskendale produces no goods that King's Landing doesn't already make," Lelouch said. "They would compete with you for Essosi trade as well."
"And Spicetown would be different how exactly?" Baratheon asked, always asking the questions the king wouldn't ask but wanted to know the answers to. It was a useful strategy that would deflect any ill will the questions raised away from the Crown, and the Crown in turn would shield the Hand from reprisal.
You've heard of the freed slaves I have brought to Driftmark?" Lelouch asked.
"The High Septon has mentioned it once or twice," Jaehaerys said. "He was impressed that you'd sacrifice your wealth to house these people and give them new livelihoods."
Lelouch shrugged. "It was not entirely altruistic, Your Grace. I intend to make Driftmark and Spicetown compete with Essos. The goods we will make will be carpets, laces, and mirrors like those in Myr, or sweetwater that the Lyseni would wear. I've dyers who'd see to making Tyroshi purples and blues; tapestries and paintings and miniatures in all the eastern styles, and all of these things would be sold to King's Landing first, then Westeros." He caught their eyes with his. "All that coin would be taxable by the Crown instead of being sent into the pockets of foreign magisters, and those who'd think to gouge us on prices will find their stranglehold shaken."
"A compelling argument, and I admire your ambitiousness," Baratheon said, "but all ambitions require gold. If you recall, the Iron Throne had to help finance your new castle's construction less than a year ago."
"It won't be a problem," Lelouch said. The sack of Lys had left him comfortably well-off even after his debts to Zoutos and the Iron Bank both were paid off in full. "I will arrange for a new line of credit from the Iron Bank if needed."
Baratheon nodded. "The charter would have to be worded carefully."
"Indeed," Jaehaerys said. "I would not see Rhaella impoverished. The charter will be her dowry, but you will set aside a portion of the revenue for her and her children in perpetuity."
[Center]-ZeroRequiem-[/Center]
A city of tents had been raised near the King's Gate to host all the men-at-arms and soldiery that could not afford to rent a room in King's Landing. Long rows of silken pennants waved in the wind, and the many knights in polished steel and gilded spurs walked about. There was feasting and fucking, and all that was left was some fighting to make it a proper tourney.
So of course, that's exactly what the king provided.
A row of pavilions was being raised along the Blackwater Rush, with a knight's shield and sigil hung before each door. A large arena was being cleared for the grand melee, while targets were set up at varying distances for the archery contest.
The Velaryons rode past it all, with Father leading them on upstream to where an old longship laden with hay and oil awaited. He'd traded for it with Quellon using a cog captured from Old Mother.
Besides Father, Corwyn rode in bright plate armor, his surcoat embellished with his personal sigil: the lance and longsword crossed over a silver seahorse. His heavy cloak looked like an approaching tidal wave with all its deep blue and white swirls aflutter behind him. Lelouch took up the rear, wearing a tunic striped silver and aquamarine. He looked almost out of place with Corwyn and Donnall—his rondels of sand-orange shells gleaming as it caught sunlight—dressed for play-war with the lance and sword respectively.
Kiren was red-eyed, but put on a smile for their sakes. "Afraid you'll look bad in front of the princess?" she asked.
"My hand is still injured," Lelouch said, showing her his bandages.
"It hasn't stopped you from signing up for the archery competition," Kiren said. "I know we've never really attended a tourney, but you realize only the winner of the tilts gets to crown a queen of love and beauty?"
"I prefer playing to my strengths," Lelouch said. The best jousters in all the Seven Kingdoms were sure to join—men like Lord Leyton Hightower and his uncle the White Bull, several knights and bannermen to House Arryn while their lord remained injured, Sers Tristifer of Tarth, Rodrick Cassel, and Oswell Whent to name a few. Sometimes, the only winning move was not to play. "I've plenty of glory already."
"Princess Rhaella will be crushed to know you won't even fight for her crown, and that you're happy to rest on your laurels," Kiren chided. "Not very knightly of you. You ought to ask for her favor at least."
"Like you said, there's not much point if I'm not joining the tilts myself." Lelouch said.
Her nails dug into his arm, eliciting a wince. "There is a point. It's to show everyone else who she favors, in case they haven't gotten the message yet. It's best to smother whatever lingering doubts they have before your betrothal is announced." She sighed loudly. "Seven preserve me, I should hope you're more proactive in finding me a good husband, or I'll die a maid."
Lelouch shifted uneasily on Seasmoke's back. It should be Uncle Adamm finding Kiren a husband, not me.
"I'll do whatever it takes to bring Uncle Adamm back." He had promised her, hadn't he? Then why had he returned with more of her kin dead instead of—
"Stop that," Kiren said, tearing her gaze away from him. "Stop that right now."
"I haven't done anything."
"You're thinking it," she said, wiping her eyes with the blue sleeves of her tunic. "I grew up with you, Lelouch. I can read your moods like a book."
"I could have saved him," Lelouch said. "When Lashare—"
"Don't," Kiren interjected sharply.
"I got your Uncle Dylar killed," Lelouch said instead.
She crossed her arms, glaring at him. "You think entirely too highly of yourself."
Lelouch blinked. "What?"
"Not every bad thing that happens is your fault," Kiren said. "This war with Blackfyre would have happened whether or not my father was taken at Myr. My uncle would have fought for House Targaryen, and there's every chance he would have died in some other battle too."
"I promised to bring him back," he said in a low voice.
"I made you promise there would be no peace," Kiren answered, looking up at the blue spring sky and the white seagulls flying overhead. "What ifs and should haves... there's no sense to that sort of talk. What's happened, happened. All we can do now is move on."
They arrived at a spot along the Blackwater where the waters did not eagerly rush out to sea. The longship carried a spear, a folded sail, and the boiled leather armor Uncle Adamm preferred at sea. The weight of the ship was heavy in Lelouch's hands, though Corwyn, Father, and Donnall all shared the load with him. They set down the boat on the banks of the Blackwater before the eyes of their lords, captains, and seamen.
The gentle current stole it away, and a piece of Lelouch with it.
Father handed him a bow, and Ser Beren Bryne stepped forward with a torch to light the tip of his arrow. Lelouch breathed out, steadying his shaking hands.
"Control your breathing," Uncle Adamm whispered in his ear. "You need to move with the wind and waves, not fight them."
His eyes stung as he let loose the shaft. Only a spark of the flame it carried survived the winds, but a spark was enough to light Uncle's pyre, burning everything but his body in a bout of orange flames. Lelouch did not know how long they stood there, but it was not long enough. The last flame flickered, then died, and the boat passed from sight.
When it was time to go, Father rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, and led him away.
All we can do for now is move on, Lelouch repeated to himself.