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Preface:

Some see chaos as a ladder.

Grace sat contemplating the figures of the last moon, noting another windfall, another high increase in goods sold. Her vault had grown once more, as had her inventory. Not only did she earn almost another shipload of gold, she'd also been able to shore up on sharp steel again. The prize for good arms had been dropping for moons now.

It did not make any sense; most slave companies had made their way north to Qohor since the call went out for war on Khal Zekko six moons past. Yet there were more weapons and new slaves available for cheap now, despite the steep demands for both of them. Everyone was buying in bulk, what with the prizes so low. Three goods had been flooding the market recently, so Grace had taken notice.

More slaves had been dropped with the high tide today again. Few Unsullied came in for purchase, of course, but if Grace remembered the numbers correctly from her training in Yunkai, the cities in Slaver's Bay should start running low on common pit slaves in another three moons, as well as slaves of other stock. The Masters would need the Dothraki to win in Qohor and return south quickly for their supplies to stabilize again. It was distasteful, the woman who was once named Blossom knew. She felt her cheeks ache again, the tear-shaped scars burning.

But it helped. Fresh slaves, cheap arms. Many companies on their way north were chasing the easy money, taking many tested and broken slave soldiers with them. The newer ones tended to be unrulier now since the last full moon, showing they'd only been freshly caught.

It was all a little suspect. The slaves were too cheap. The prize for penned people had dropped too low. Volantis looked to soon have seven slaves per free man, not just five anymore. And yet the Old Blood was richer than before. The merchants, too. And not just a little richer, Grace had seen her gold more than double in the last six moons. She'd managed to buy a lot of people, and set them free the last week again.

Sales went incredibly well, too. The Old Blood was selling off property in bulk. Most shipyards had sold all their vessels, and a group of foreigners were paying premium for produce and luxury. The luxury goods were shipped off, but it had become obvious that someone was stocking up food in the warehouses by the harbor. It was usually a difficult market to break into, but by the amount these people were spending they were likely in control of almost two thirds of all the food in Volantis already. Already they must be running terrible losses.

The strangest part was they were giving it out in large amounts as alms for the poor daily. They had taken the charity away from the Red Temple, distributing cheap meals from their ware houses whereas the priests of R'hllor had not given out free food for two moons now. The red priests had been silent since their visions ceased seven moons ago, too.

A shame, seeing as the people were now turning away from R'hllor slowly. And the new High Priest, Benerro, had been so promising since he rose to his office a decade ago now. The man was a gifted speaker and had been receptive to her cause. Maybe their revolution could have started already with the new influx in slaves and arms and with the departure of most Volantene slave soldiers beholden to the Old Blood. If only her husband was still alive…

Regardless, she was to meet with the Light of Wisdom today. Grace was of the opinion Flame of Truth was not an apt title for Benerro now, seeing that R'hllor did not guide his flock through darkness and terror anymore. Of course that knowledge was kept from the majority of the followers, though Grace did notice the rumor spreading for some time now even amongst the lowest slaves. The bald, almost sickly thin man came by an hour before she was done with her inventory, a mistake he had never done when he still saw visions in his flames.

"High Priest," she greeted him as he was led into her parlor, "I was most surprised when I received your missive yesterday asking for a meeting. It indicated there was an internal problem in your church…? Why are you here to bother me with cleaning your house?"

The man stared at her, zealotry burning in his eyes like the flame tattoos covering his face, before he made to speak. Benerro obviously did not like to be left standing as Grace finished business before deigning to talk to him. He disliked her brusque confrontation even more. Too bad he did not have the clout anymore to demand her immediate attention.

"Yes, Lady Grace. We need your help. Two score of the Fiery Hand have disappeared in the last week. It is most disturbing, since we know neither the followers of the Goat nor the heretics of the Stars are responsible. Nobody knows where they disappeared to, they simply did not return from their patrols. All of them went missing somewhere in the slums, and you have the best eyes and ears in those quarters."

Blossom's old skills helped put a masking smile on Grace's face, even as she seethed internally in fury. Counting cattle. A slave he may be himself, but Benerro saw himself above others shackled. He did not see them as his sworn brothers, bound to the same masters. Grace doubted the man ever saw the shadow of the leash or heard the echo of the whip. He would not count his brothers and sisters by score if he had.

It was a problem with temple slaves, they did not know despair. They knew purpose and certainty and faith. Grace could not think of more broken slaves, except the pleasure slaves living in the Shade. But at least blue lips were not an infection, not the way dogma was. It was not a point to fight over, as Benerro knew she would help. Grace had to. The Fiery Hand was bound like she had been, and if slaves disappeared in her back yard, Grace would get her answers and find the culprit.

"Do you know who else has a motive to seek quarrel with you? You might not feed the bellies of the poor anymore, but they still remember you fondly. Most would help you in your search. Forty men is not a small number, and the Fiery Hand is too recognizable to miss."

Benerro almost scowled at Grace's question. The loss of prestige in the slums had hurt the Red Priests deeply, the bulk of their followers came from there. Benerro should count himself lucky that it was only a band of merchants giving out free food. If it was another church there'd be open fighting in the streets, and wars of the faiths did not tend to end. They only lost the people's stomachs, not the people's souls.

"A few crime lords have disagreements with us, but they would not risk antagonizing us in such a way. The flames are still silent. It cannot be a major problem, else R'hllor would guide us."

He spoke with such conviction. The mob probably ate every mouth from his lips, breathed it. But Grace knew. There were stirrings to the east, in Qarth the balance of the powers had been broken. The House of the Undying had stopped receiving visitors and the healers of the Lazareen saw more people die than live nowadays. She knew it would incense the man across from her, but when her brothers and sisters were in danger, Grace did not have a care for Benerro's sensibilities.

"The power of your magic has been ebbing recently, or has it already dried out? Do not take your lack of answers for an isolated problem. The Warlocks have been silent as of late, and the few news I have of Asshai have me shivering, Benerro. Tell me which crime lords you've had disagreements with."

"I will not stand here and listen to you blaspheme the One True God by comparing his miracles to the parlor tricks of charlatans!" Benerro's voice was thunderous as he raged. "I should not have come to you, for I thought you a believer in our cause. It is sad to see you are truly nothing more than Vogarro's whore, clinging to the last vestiges of his wealth."

Grace had to take a deep breath, closing her eyes at the appellation. Her guards, Luzon and Cebu entered immediately as they heard the screams. They looked as angry as Grace felt. The Widow of the Waterfront did not stop the two as they grabbed the High Priest and pushed him from the chair to his knees, though she gave them halt when Cebu made to pull his scimitar.

"Listen here, you little cur." Grace had few triggers left, but you better not touched those with even a feather. "I have entertained you because our cause aligned in so far as giving the people freedom from their earthly master. But that is where we part. I want to see every slave a free man. I do not care if they style themselves as Slaves of R'hllor after, but I mean to give them a choice first. Even your priests, even your servants, even your guards in the Fiery Hand, as far as the lowliest temple prostitute you keep in the Temple of the Lord of Light.

"I do not care for your sympathy. I do not care for your respect. I do not care for you, Benerro, and as fellow slaves you could not be lower in my eyes. You will NEVER AGAIN take the name of my husband onto your tongue or I will see it torn out. Your own priests will tear you apart if you cannot be the R'hllor's Voice to the people anymore. So you should better care for what you say in the future, for it may be your last words.

"Now. Do tell. Which of my competitors has quarrels with the priests of the Lord of Light?"

Benerro seemed to want to interrupt her in the middle, but the grip of Luzon on his shoulder kept him quiet. He was not stupid, after all, only frenzied in his faith. When he spoke again, his voice was back under his control.

"The Fourth Yearling. The Father of Orphans. The Slum Dog Keeper. The Prince of Knives. Except for these four, no crime lord has any major conflicts of interest with the Red Temple."

Grace, the Widow of the Waterfront, thought about which of her four competitors was the most likely to strike out into burning coals after only a few moons of weakness. She owned the Slum Dog Keeper and had him taking out slavers that were going to sell their shackled to the different faiths. She had given him orders not to mess with established religious militias. Either he followed her orders or he'd need to be replaced.

The Father of Orphans was on friendly terms with her, with most anyone in Volantis' underbelly actually, dealing only in information, pickpocketing and beggary. He did right by the strays he collected, and some of those strays he freed from their former chains, but he did not have the men that could make patrols of the Fiery Hand disappear.

The Fourth Yearling did little business in the poorer districts of Volantis. Even if Grace did not know his name, she was sure he was a freeborn of noble blood. His territory was the Old City and none of his agents could take out guard patrols in the slums unobserved. Grace knew his racketeering schemes had recently lessened for an unknown cause, but whatever he was hired for was definitely not an operation on this side of the Long Bridge.

The Prince of Knives was the most likely subject. His assassination squads had at times been thwarted in their hits by prophecies from the flames. However, he was too much of a professional to hunt for members of the Fiery Hand without compensation. And the Prince would not be forthcoming with information if his client paid him enough to risk operating on her turf.

Grace dismissed Benerro without a word as she set to having patrols of the Fiery Hand shadowed by her own thugs. Not three days later they ran afoul a squad binding a patrol of five men with flame tattoos on their faces. Though they managed to kill two of the Prince's men, the rest was able to escape with their captives.

It came as a surprise when Batanes the Bloody Blade, the Prince's right hand man came with an offer for parley the next day. Benerro was in bad luck, it seemed. The Prince offered her a tithe to the price of six slaves for every member of the Fiery Hand he captured in the slums. His employer was definitely paying him enough to operate on Grace's turf. Six new free brothers and sisters was a price Grace was willing to accept for the infringement on her area and the kidnapping of the church guards. It was even enough to buy her silence against Benerro.

A few days later the kidnapping spree was over, as Batanes delivered a last payment to ensure another 30 chains were broken forever. It became yesterday's news the next week over, as the Fourth Yearling started what he was apparently paid to do. Allegedly, of course, for Grace believed there were less than five people in all of Volantis to know him as the perpetrator.

On Monday, Tiger candidate Arrezo Saegon was killed campaigning in the Braavosi Bazaar with a crossbow-bolt to the heart. The man was of middling importance, to be truthful, and his prospects to be elected were slim. The killer escaped unseen, leaving only behind a crossbow of Myrish make that was most commonly used by sell sword from the city of its origin, though this specific model had been sold to foreign collectors as well.

On Tuesday, Tiger candidate Aqqorran Aegyal was found stabbed to death in his bed by his servants, pinned above his head a not proclaiming sorrow. However, the note was written in High Valyrian instead of Qartheen, making for a poor imitation of the modus operandi of the Sorrowful Men. As Aqqorran was known to propose closer alliance with Qarth to pressure Slaver's Bay for prices, it was apparent that it was not in the interest of Qarth's nobles to kill the man.

On Wednesday, Tiger candidate Verraqrux Ryelaryo, the only female Tiger running for office, was abducted in along with her carriage. Later the same day the carriage was found, Lady Verraqrux inside with a head that had been flayed, though in an amateurish manner. The woman had been decently popular for here connections to several Elephants and was seen as a preeminent head of a more moderate Tiger faction. By the time this news broke, the Tigers were baying for blood. Even the Elephants condemned the attacks and promised military retribution should the culprit be found.

On Thursday, General Brevanno Tagaros was poisoned with a strong dose of the Tears of Lys. He died painfully the same day. The man was a heavyweight within the radical Tiger faction calling for a reconquest of the Three Daughters. His family had lost a lot of prestige since the Century of Blood, but the name Tagaros still demanded respect. Especially grievous to the nobles of Valyria was the fact that the direct line of the Tagaros' blood stood to die out with the next generation, as Brevanno only yet had a daughter of seven and ten. He had been the last of the male line and the loss of an ancient family of dating back to Valyria threatened to his compatriots to bring the Volantene army down on the city to enforce martial law.

On Friday, Enezzio Lavayto, the governor of the Selhorys, the northernmost tributary city of Volantis, was set to arrive. Only his carriage was found with the man dead inside, branded black with an iron in the shape of a goat's head. The man had been feuding with the governor of Aqob, the southernmost tributary city of Qohor. He had received ample support from wealthy Tigers with an eye for expansion.

On Saturday, Merriano Fraetor, the last Tiger candidate except for the incumbent triarch, was found drowned in blue dye in his bed, the sticky substance dried to his corpse. Afterwards, the Long Bridge was closed and all gates into the Old City were barred. The whole assembly of the old blood was crying for the murderers.

On Sunday, the spark that set the tinder alight was the assassination attempt on the incumbent Tiger Triarch for ten years, Malaquo Maegyr. The wily man of fifty had been visiting the grieving daughter Orianna Tagaros when a group of thirty assassins were slain by his guard. Discovered among the dead was the head guard of Doniphos Paenymion, making it impossible for the man to be reelected despite his discernably truthful proclamations of innocence.

Malaquo, in a singular political master stroke, went on to betroth his nephew to Orianna Tagaros with the allowance for the young man to take on his bride's name. His only condition was gladly met by Orianna Tagaros and she announced her intent to run for the office of triarch herself the next day, making her a clear favorite for the position. It became almost a certainty that, for the first time since the Century of Blood, the Tigers would be the ones ruling Volantis. Only two moons were left until the next election, but already the old cats in the city were sharpening their claws and gearing up for war.

Whatever madness had gripped the world; Grace was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it d did. Both the Prince of Knives and the Fourth Yearling were discovered dead not a week after. The upper echelons of their organizations were wiped out, too. And the world drowned in chaos when most of the warehouses of the merchants buying out the food stores of Volantis were burned down in a coordinated strike the next night.

After the fires died down, only ashes could be recovered. Along with the corpses of the guards of the larders, seemingly locked in combat with soldiers of the Fiery Hand. News of similar attacks in Volantis' subsidiary cities trickled in over the next days. In a single night, more than 70% of the entire harvest and food reserves of Greater Volantis were destroyed.

The army was still in the city to ward against more assassinations that never came, keeping the Old City secure. On the other side of the Rhoyne the poor people in the slums felt hungry after a few days, and thousands left the faith of the Lord of Light. The priests were unable to prove their innocence and found itself in a street war against the angry mob of Volantis. Small riots were starting to appear all around as people tried to plunder any food still available.

Grace knew the despair of her people. However, she also saw the opportunity present for her cause. The poor soon realized the only way out as well. The old blood in the Old City still stocked enough supplies for some, though not enough for all of Volantis. But even for the poorest man living on the wrong side of the Long bridge, a sword had suddenly become cheaper than a week's worth of food.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos awoke to the welcome sight of Nuuigi sleeping beside him. His most recent pleasure boy had revealed himself a worthwhile investment, Nuuigi had shown the flexibility of a contortionist. Xaro rose from his silken bedding as the sun broke through his curtains, the sun playing an enticing game with Nuuigi's shining lean muscles. Xaro was almost tempted to remain a while longer, yet he knew good business waited for no man. And for a few moons now business had been great.

Recently, trade in ships had become the most profitable business. Xaro had divested himself of the majority of his fleet. The amount of gold he had been paid were worth thrice the flotilla he'd sold. Out of formerly 42 ships in his possession, only five remained now. Trade to the west had become chaotic since the slave uprising in Volantis three moons ago, yet it had let to more ships bringing in goods from as far as Westeros in greater quantity.

It seemed those selfsame merchants from another continent came to recognize Qarth for what it was, the greatest city that ever was or ever will be. More and more they purchased holdings in the city. And they were rich. Filthily so. Yet for their great wealth they were poor merchants, with little ability to drive a good bargain.

The Westerosi were picking the city clean of spices, luxury goods, ships and real estate, but the profits Qartheen merchants achieved with the influx of gold might even see them rich enough to employ an YiTish warlord against the Dothraki and reclaim the glory days of the Qaathi.

The one commodity that would come into demand in the near future was not even contested by the new blood from the west. The Westerosi did not trade in slaves, not even now where Slaver's Bay could only sell their wares in Qarth. The waters around Volantis had become too dangerous to risk. Vogarro's whore controlled the western city of Volantis still and captured every slaving vessel to brave those waters.

Xaro knew the Tigers now controlling the city would call the rabble to heel, but the old blood was heavily outnumbered and it would take time until order was restored to Valyria's oldest daughter. Consequently, the price for slaves had dropped yet further in Qarth even as the Masters of Slaver's Bay were starting to run out of fresh meat. The only question was when the Unsullied would finally be sold in greater numbers.

To the north a Saathi host of sell swords had decimated Khal Zekko's khalasar in a pincer attack with the Qohori conscripts. Their combined forces were now pushing east along the Sarne, likely to reach the ruins of Sarnath within the next two moons. The dosh khaleen had called for peace between all khalasars to combat this challenge to their dominance of the Great Grass Sea.

War was all around, with only Qarth a pool of tranquility within, with only Qarth to profit. By now it was almost safer to circle around all of southern Essos via Sothoryos and the Summer Isles. Tyrosh had recently even pacified most of the Stepstones after a new pirate had grown increasingly bold for a short time. The pirate had not even lasted half a year, yet Tyrosh was reluctant to claim Stepstones as the situation to the west was falling into the deepest chasm of chaos since Valyria's downfall. It seemed all of Essos west of the Bone Mountains and Westeros were simultaneously descending into civil war. Xaro had to cry a little, thinking of the business booming all around.

He was a little surprised when one of his former captains asked for an audience. The man had been a good sailor, but Xaro knew him to have struck out on his own after he had sold his house in Qarth to buy his own ship to trade in the troubled waters to the west. They had parted in good terms, yet the man had left only a little over two moons ago and was not supposed to return for another six.

Captain Akhab was a lean and mean Qartheen, though mixed with the coppery hues of his rapist Dothraki father. His twice broken nose gave him a rough edge, and Xaro as always yearned for Akhab to push Xaro down and take him roughly without care. Nuuigi gave him pleasure as he asked, but Xaro wanted to experience pleasure being taken from him. Alas, the man had a wife and the sea and whores to keep him. He probably did not even realize Xaro's attraction.

"Prince Xhoan Daxos," Akhab addressed him quickly, an expression of uncertainty on his face, "I need your advice on a discovery of mine off Gorosh that led me to cut my voyage short. You have recently sold the Vermillion Kiss along with many other boats of your fleet, have you not?"

"Indeed, captain Akhab," Xaro knew his face to carry a wan smile and a trace of tears, "it was great business all in all. I stand to rebuild my fleet within the next decade through YiTish shipwrights and have doubled my wealth in the last year alone. The flood of sunset landers have brought me great fortune. You have profited from this yourself, have you not?"

Akhab seemed to weigh each of his words as he spoke, an unfamiliar habit for the gruff sailor.

"Aye, prince. The Westerosi seemed foolish or spendrift at the time, yet what I've seen breaks the realm of foolishness and has left me in doubt to their purpose."

"It cannot be too bad now, can it Akhab? Qarth is unassailable from without and they swelled the coffers of the Thirteen, the Tourmaline Brotherhood and the Ancient Guild of Spicers all. Us merchants need not even compete for them, they pay us all. Only the purebloods see their influence wither further, but is that not to be welcomed?"

Xaro could not imagine a better year for trade. Qarth stood to rise higher and higher.

"Yes, my prince, and yet… I have seen the Vermillion Kiss scrapped near the coast of Sothoryos. Not because of an outside attack, the damage must have been inflicted by the ships own crew. It was wrecked along with most of the boats of your former fleet with more than a thousand other boats in the same spot. I cannot make heads or tails of it. Why did the Westerosis buy all those boats, just to destroy them?"

Akhab looked at Xaro in askance, yet the merchant prince could not supply an answer. Why would anyone ever destroy their own wealth? That was as good as sending their gold directly to the ocean floor. Why, if you have to be foolish, trade your gold for goods beforehand and not simply throw it over boat? Why even overpay on those boats? The Westerosi might have just as well gifted all the gold to the merchants of Qarth.

Oh.

Oh no. Was that even possible?

"Captain Akhab," the man looked wary as Xaro spoke up, distress evident in the merchant prince's voice, "can you tell me if all the ships were Qartheen?"

The captain seemed confused at the question, yet answered none the less.

"No, prince Xhoan, it was a pretty even split of Volantene and Qartheen ships, with the odd vessel of different make in between. All thoroughly trashed, none salvageable."

No no no no no!

"Do you know if anyone else has made the discovery of this… of this graveyard of ships, captain?"

"No, my prince. It was not along the normal trading routes. A storm had blown me off course and the rocks beneath the sea are treacherous in the area. Good captains tend to avoid the area. Bad captains die there."

"Captain Akhab, let me give you an advice and a warning. Spend your gold as soon as possible. Buy goods, trade it for silver, just get rid of it. Before it is too late. And do not tell anyone else of what you have found!"

The good captain looked scared at Xaro's words, as scared as Xaro felt. All thoughts of Akhab's deliciously sculpted muscles had left Xaro, and the merchant prince was feeling anxious and elated. Xaro knew this feeling, it had the smell of peppers and cinnamon, of fortunes to be won. Xaro had just been given the best chance to increase his wealth yet again, but chaos loomed that Xaro could not even imagine.

As soon as captain Akhab had left, Xaro left to consult the warlocks at the House of the Undying. A score of his guard came along, and he brought enough gold to bribe Pyat Pree thrice over. The magic might have left the warlocks dry, yet they still commanded the knowledge of ages. And none had dared approach their halls since they closed their doors almost a year ago now. Why should anyone, really? Business had been booming, fortunes ever on the rise.

At the House of the Undying, not even an acolyte came out to receive Xaro. But the merchant prince needed answers, so he let himself in. It was the first time in his life that he dared not to wait for one of the warlocks, fear of something almost greater driving him. Maybe not greater, but something infinitely more corporeal than the sorcerers of Qarth had been in the last year.

There was no one to offer him any shade of the evening to see and the truths of the unknown, yet Xaro pushed on. Through the serpent's mouth, the wandering the innards of the grey ruin of old, Xaro did not stop, Xaro was never stopped. For the first time ever, Xaro arrived at the center of the snake's coil. But when he entered the inner sanctum of the warlocks, Xaro realized this old bastion was not the House of the Undying anymore. Only the House of Dust was left.

Blue lipped corpses welcomed him. Acolytes at the entrance, warlocks further in, the mummified Undying Ones at the center. Whatever had happened in these haunted halls, Xaro did not care to find out. He fled, along with his guard, and never dared to look back. Qarth was not safe from the chaos of the west. Xaro knew it now.

He started buying ships again. He did not make losses, no, he had earned too much gold beforehand, and he did not discern for quality like he used to. A moon later, Xaro had gotten rid of almost all the gold he had received from the Westerosi. He knew he should have left when he heard of the first Pureblood dead. The first of many.

Xaro knew it to be the Westerosi that had left the open contract with the Sorrowful Men, the one with a ridiculous bounty for each Pureblood killed, yet he had no proof. There was no motive. And the only other people to have enough gold to buy the assassins' services in bulk were the many times over enriched merchants, the ones that had been pushing for a new distribution of power in Qarth for a few moons now.

Yet for all the merchants' gold, the Pureblood still had influence with the city guard. The members of the Ancient Guild of Spicers were the first to be hunted by the troops of the nobles. Yet the open contract for pureblooded heads did not stop. And soon enough the Thirteen, the Spicers and the Brotherhood started buying the services of sell swords to meet the city guards in the streets.

Only to see these prices for the sell swords' services rise by the day when the cut throats realized that the merchants of Qarth had no ships to leave Qarth with their wealth and an overabundance of gold. A few companies just tried taking the gold over time, without any services. But for all that mercenaries like to get paid for doing nothing, they like to spend their pay more still. And when the gold reached the larger populace of Qarth in large quantities, Xaro for the first time in his life saw the value of gold dropping.

Xaro boarded his ships soon after, loading all the goods and valuables they could carry as the fighting in Qarth grew more and more chaotic. In hindsight it turned out to be the smartest decision of any individual west of the Bone Mountains in what came to be known as the Second Century of Blood. Xaro Xhoan Daxos was the only merchant from Qarth or elsewhere to escape to Yi Ti with most of his wealth intact. Xaro's life regained a semblance of normalcy as he established himself in Yi Ti. As ever, business was booming for Xaro Xhoan Daxos.

Not soon after the now former Merchant Prince left the city, Qarth closed the Jade Gates for all seafaring vessels going east or west. It was a measure taken to protect Qarth against foreign attacks as it clawed itself apart, anarchy reigning throughout its streets. The conflict between the purebloods and the merchants would see Qarth devastated for years to come, not to recover its prestige and status for more than three decades after the dust of the fighting settled.

Even as an old man Xaro Xhoan Daxos knew it had been his greatest stroke of fortune to leave for Yi Ti when he did. He never returned for Qarth, nor for any other place to the west of the Bone Mountains as the carnage of the Second Century of Blood ran its course. Instead Xaro Xhoan Daxos rose to be the wealthiest exile in Yi Ti with the goods and the gold he took with him from his last days in the greatest city that ever was.

Bonus:
So I had this idea for a fun snippet. That just ballooned into the 500+ words semi-chapter below. Enjoy. (As ffnet deleted my strikethrough formatting, just think of all underlined words that follow as ones that have been crossed out)

Hello dairy diary,

We have returned from the Stark-Tully-Wedding. Well, actually we have not returned. That is, we have returned, just not from the wedding. There was no wedding. So our trip was just like a little family vocation vacation. That we did not return from, I notice now that I write about it. At least not all of us. Bal's gone. But that it ok, because Bal turned out to be a fucking cunt. He even called me fucking cunt!

Bal returned before us because dad did not like his raving reaving. On second thought, dad also did not like Bal's raving. So Bal's gone now, to rave and reave in the Septstones Stepsons Stepstones. Are there any septs in the Stepstones? Deftly definitely not after Bal's done reaving. Though I do not think Bal will manage to reave much, he's only got eight longboats. That is not even a proper raid team. And those eight boats are half-empty.

Though, Bal's taken Rodrik and Maron. But it's ok, they're 13 and 12 now, proper time for a first reave. Makes me nosa- nostla- nostagl- remember my first reaving. And Bal says he'll become King of the Stepstones. Father says Bal will die before he accomplices accomplishes that, though. Euron says the same. Most people that Euron says will die usually die. And Bal would have become King anyways because dad is now king. Except that Bal will not become king because dad said so because Bal wanted to reave.

I don't really get it but we're now all royalty royalty except Bal -(I wrote royalty right the first time! I just wasn't sure.)- because dad is now the Salt King of the Iron Islands. But there's like a king above dad. Not the crazy dude on the Iron Throne, Aerys. The king above dad is Rickard Stark. Does that make Rickard Stark royal royalty? Super-royalty? Uber-royalty? Royaltity? … heh, tity! Readless regardless, Rickard Stark is like a king king. That sounds right. So now we Greyjoys are kings and the Starks are our king kings.

I also met my new crown prince prince, Eddard Stark. Ned. We're friends now. He's cool, he gets me. Won't go whoring with me, but if I was him I wouldn't either. Ned's got, like, the most rashing ravishing wife. She's beautiful. And nice. More importantly, beautiful. I don't know how Ned ever manages to leave his bed. No, wait, not his wife yet, in like a moon they'll wed. I've been invited to Winterfell for their wedding. Because Ned's my friend. And Bobby. Bobby is my friend now, too. Sadly, Bobby wouldn't go whoring with me either. I understand Bobby, too, though. Because he is spoused supposed to marry Rickard Stark's daughter. And Rickard is scary and a king king besides, and it would be stupid to offend a king king.

And that's all that's happened since we left for Riverrun. Now dad is sending some boats to help the Lannisters with something and people North to live there. And build ships. Lots of ships. I am now mostly playing with Urrigon and Aeron and Robin and Asha and Theon. Alannys can't care for them because she's missing Rodrik and Maron and crying all the time. She is not missing crying all the time, she is crying all the time. Anyway, Asha, Theon and Alannys leave for Castle Casterly Rock soon. So now I play only with Urrigon and Aeron and Robin because I don't have much else to do before the wedding. Where Ashara becomes my crown prince prince's princess princess. That sounds wrong, but I counted and it's right.

Goodbye dairy diary,

Vic

Notes:

So obviously, it took some time getting this whole thing written. Plus, real life stuff, but neither do you actually want to hear about that nor do I want to talk about it in this forum.

In conclusion: I'm not dead, and my fics aren't abandoned.

Now the important parts:

CHARACTER NAMES
The majority of all characters you've met until now or that have been name-dropped exist in canon. Or we know they exist dynasty-wise and I have given them a name. Exceptions in earlier chapters: Rickard's spy in the Riverlands, several of Rickard's guard, Bessie (kinda)
This chapter there are more. E.g. the crime bosses in Volantis, Captain Akhab the muscled merman and the killed Tigers. Most of the names are entirely made up, yet some have dynastic connections to preexisting characters. Just FYI

VICTARION'S DAIRY DIARY
This started as a snippet. Then it ballooned. I love it. Should I make it a recurring thing?

Review responses

Daude4592d: Well, as you can see, even more parts in Essos are in deep shit. Whoever could be responsible, and what could possibly be their aim? Religious storm sounds about right though. Will it start in the Vale? Somewhere else? Will it only start in one place? As for Lyanna in the Stormlands: The plans you know regarding the she-wolf are from a time pre-trial. Are they still valid? Stick around to find out.

Ruki88: Glad to elicit such responses.

magnus374: Well… it seems like you called it?

Topone: Thanks!

Guest: Thanks

Guest: Thanks

JRW123: Still the same chapter here, in a way. You won't see Rickard again until chapter 22. Hope these characters keep you interested, though. Glad to see someone else thinks Cersei hasn't always been a shit show waiting to happen.

NightlyRowenTree: Gladly J

SoulGamesInc: Maybe. Though Robert never forgave Rhaegar for allegedly raping Lyanna even after the man died, and Brandon in canon wasn't too légere about it either. Here, early on in my story, Rhaegar raping Lyanna was one of Rickard's worst fears. So while the culture might be more forgiving, Brandon's immediate party definitely isn't. And that party includes both his victim and the victim's SO. Also, Brandon's fall from grace by disinheritance makes him a prime target for mockery and personal attacks. And I've tried to portray Rickard as a person that always takes advantages of people's perceptions and especially enforcing the negative ones (e.g. practically buying his future good son a companion for the night). Also, regarding the dishonor Brandon's actions bring on house Stark: His own family forces the former heir on a Walk of Penance to the family of his victim. The younger brother stands as a paragon of virtue, enhanced through Ned's role in the song. The Starks are the perfect image of the noble savage now. It's all about storytelling for the politician in Rickard. And he's got the spy network to disseminate the news in a way that fit him. I liked your two cents. I enjoy these discussions with you guys – they even brought me to place Ashara's first POV early. So continue sticking around and enjoy the ride J

InfinityMask: Thanks. Of course the war is bigger there are more factions. Not enough, though, never enough factions… I am surprised a struggle within the Faith isn't used more often, seeing that Baelor the Blessed moved the center of the Faith from Oldtown to King's Landing during his ten-year-rule. The Starry Sept was the seat of the High Septon for more than a millennium. And the Reach accepted such a loss of power without discontent? Unlikely. It's the perfect recipe for a schism. And yes, Brandon allegedly also had his hand in the construction of the High Tower.

FuryJow: Thanks!

Greatazuredragon: Thanks. I like the old title, too. It's just… I've written more than 100k words, and mostly about people that were definitely neither idiots, nor lackwits, nor imbeciles. And seeing a humorous title might scare people off just as it drew you in, or people expecting a funny story throughout will find themselves disappointed by the second half of chapter 2. It's difficult finding the right balance, so right now I'm thinking to go with the new title and give a preface before the first chapter about the old one. Though I'm open for suggestions if someone's got a title that fits both the first few chapters and everything after.