Chapter 6

9 years later

10 years, Tyrion Pryde thought. Ten long, yet at the same time oddly short, years had passed since the day he and his brother had left their former home in the Westlands. And, for those ten years, their fortunes had thrived exponentially. He rubbed the small gold and silver studs that dotted the ridge of his nose, as was his habit when he reminisced. Like the shadar-kai, many humans who lived in Ikemmu, whether shadowborn or not, had adopted the custom of using piercings to denote societal status. Also, as an unintentional effect of Ikemmu's atmosphere, he and Jaime's skin had also taken on a very light grey pallor.

From the moment he and Jaime had bought that small pleasure den, the Whispering Chain, in the Fettered Wards, their star, or rather Tyrion's, though he made sure to share the wealth with Jaime, had done naught but steadily rise. As the pleasure den's reputation and clientele grew and improved through the usage of Tyrion's clever wit, renovations, and more broad variety of "entertainment" (and in no small part to Jaime's protective sword arm, mostly for the usage of "escorting" out those clients who had had a drop too much), Tyrion had gained enough money, and discreetly dispatched enough rivals if the need ever arose, to either start or buy up several trading companies, pleasure dens, and inns both large and small throughout Gloomwrought.

With his political deftness, and no small amount of luck, Tyrion swiftly skyrocketed to becoming one of the wealthiest, influential, and feared nobles in the city, rivalling that of Dedrek Harskel and Olisk Carradh. Oh, he knew they probably plotted his demise in secret, even as they smiled and shook his hand in public, but, to be fair, he was plotting the same towards them. It was a game that Tyrion excelled at, and even relished playing, and oh, how they played it in Gloomwrought. And through it all, the dealings, the buyings, the galas, balls, and so on, Jaime was always there. Stalwart, brave Jaime, always by his side.

The war in Westeros had come as a shock to the two brothers, and were worried for their estranged family. When news had returned that the Targaryen dynasty had been thrown down, with aid from their adopted nation no less, and that their sister was now King Robert's bride, their feelings were...difficult to explain.

"Uncle Tyrion", a small voice said. Tyrion looked up to see the face of his oldest niece, a small 8 year-old half elf named Mialee. Tyrion had been very happy for Jaime when he had married his wife, a lovely dusk elf with chestnut hair and porcelain skin named Gwyndelyn. She and Jaime had met a year after he and Tyrion had bought the Whispering Chain. She was a scion of a minor noble house, the Oakleaves. Her family had been on a trading venture from one of the Deep Cities. They had met at on the street, and Jaime was smitten.

As the Pryde brother's fortunes grew, so did Jaime's infatuation with the elf lady. He had courted her for a year, through letters of correspondence, to which she and her family responded well, and they were married at the year's end by a priestess of Sune, the goddess of love. (As for Tyrion, well, there was always that dwarf brothel, the Strongbone, as he recalled.)

Mialee, the first of the couple's three children, with a fourth on the way, was a smart and lovely child who Tyrion loved as much as any uncle loved his favorite niece. She had his brother's golden hair and emerald green eyes, and her mother's fine features, with her slightly pointed ears pronouncing her own half-elven heritage.

"Uncle Tyrion", she said again a little more forcefully, shaking Tyrion from his musings. He smiled. "Yes, Mia, what is it child?"

"There is a man waiting for you in the hall."

"Ah, that must be the envoy from house Harskel with that business proposition. Thank you, little one." He said with a smile as he got down off of his specialized chair. The term "little one" was a joke between him and Mialee, who was slightly taller that he was. He gestured to his two goliath guards, Charr and Olend, who followed him and his niece out of his study as silently as they could manage, given that fact that they both wore heavy armor and carried large shields and swords sheathed at their sides.

As the four passed through the hallways of The Citadel of New Beginnings, the home of House Pryde and their seat of power, Tyrion took a moment to observe his new house's banner; a field of white emblazoned with a large pile of gold and silver coins, upon which rested an unsheathed sword. Their motto was neither one without the other. He then shook his head fondly, and continued on to the great hall with his small entourage.

The Harskel man was waiting there, as Tyrion had expected. The man himself looked remarkably unremarkable, with only a few nose piercings to his credit, and had the look that one would expect of any "everyday" noble; disdainful of everything he considered beneath him, over-confident in his own abilities and supposed "charm", and dressed in fine clothing with a gaudily bejeweled rapier belted at his waist that he had probably never used on an actual person, at least, not without 5 cronies on his side. Tyrion took a deep breath, and cleared his throat to get the man's attention. When the man looked at him, a condescending sneer began to form upon his lips, one which died when he beheld Tyrion's goliath guards standing sternly behind him.

"Yes, I am a human dwarf. Now that that is out of the way, shall we get down to business?" Tyrion asked without missing a beat.

The Harskel man blinked stupidly for a moment, then shook his head and began to speak. "Er, yes, we shall. As you may know, Lord Harskel has sent me to you to negotiate a new trade agreement, the benefits of which could help both our houses immensely."

He pulled out a large map which he unfurled on a table. "If our houses can combine our resources we can have the both the largest trading fleet and collection of forges and caravans, both mundane and magical in Ikemm. With trade routes to The Reach, The Vale, Dorne, Asshai, Braavos, Meereen, the Deep cities, and others, our houses could, if united, potentially corner the market on goods both imported and exported."

Unlike any of the other kingdoms, all that Ikemmu really traded and sold were weapons and armor, mostly non-magical of course, except for minor strengthening spells, along with a few species of shadowbred animals Still, their quality and training made said items become in high demand throughout the Six Kingdoms, the Free Cities, and beyond.

Tyrion considered the man's offer. On the surface, it seemed a reasonable deal, one that could boost his family's fortunes even higher than they already were. Of course, underneath its benign façade, Tyrion could detect a more ulterior motive regarding this hopeful alliance Dedrek was pushing forwards.

"If I am be so bold lord…" "Harwin, Lord Tyrion. I am Harwin Harskel." "Yes. Anyway, as I was saying, if I may be so bold, what would Harskel's supposed hypothetical profit gain be from this alliance if compared to my supposed hypothetical profit gain?"

"Lord Dedrek would be satisfied with 55 percent of all profits that would be gained from this alliance, as it is his idea in the first place, and since he will be providing most of the ships, both seafaring and others, necessary for such a joint venture. You, of course, would provide the required amount of sailors needed for the crews, and workers for the forges."

"But Harskel would provide the captains and first mates, and the overseers?" The man nodded. That would be a win in Harskel's favor, as their captains and overseers could potentially sway away Tyrion's crews and workmen to Dedrek's employ. That would be a low blow. One that Tyrion could not afford to take.

"I have a counter proposal. Why don't we divide everything up evenly, with an equal number of ships and work crews per house? Your house's captains and crews on your ships, and my house's captains and crews on my ships. As for the profits, 45 percent for my house, 45 percent for your house, and the remaining 10 percent for the sailors and workers." If they accepted, this policy would help to espouse his "charitable" virtues to Dedrek's crews and workforce, and hopefully win them over. A lure under the guise of monetary benevolence.

Harwin considered Tyrion's counter offer, then nodded. "Very well, I will take your offer to Lord Harskel. We will send a reply via courier."

Tyrion honestly wondered if Dedrek Harskel would even consider his offer. As Harwin left, Tyrion turned to his young niece, who had been silently observing the exchange the entire time, and smiled. "Now then Mia, why don't we go find you father, mother, and siblings, and see about having dinner?"