AKD 2: Daeron I
I was looking forward to our supper.
Daeron rolled his eyes as he tucked the chair back under the table. Of all the nights it could have happened, it was the night Daeron had planned to spend with his wife.
Very well, duty calls.
After bidding a small farewell to his sister, he trundled over to his dressing room and changed into formal wear. He chose a simple navy doublet embroidered with his quartered coat of arms. The stitching was made with silver and light blue threads, and he wore a silver chain on his neck. Over his doublet was a long black jerkin, and on top of that was a thick navy cloak, and his breeches and boots matched his doublet.
I have a black jerkin with yellow details somewhere - I shall leave that for the funeral to show my respect for Lord Lyman.
Despite Daeron serving on the council for years alongside the late Master of Coin, he hardly knew the man. It was likely due to him being so many years older than Daeron but also because Lord Lyman had probably begun to forget half of what he knew before Daeron was even born.
And yet he still wasn't replaced…
Daeron knew the reasons why but still felt it was foolish, from whatever angle he looked at it. Was trying to avoid insulting (which was already a harsh accusation) the Beesburys more important than placing a competent man in the position, or even using the position to forge an alliance with another house?
Hells, it would have been more preferable for me to take up the post for a while.
He did suggest that to his mother a few years ago, which she promptly rejected for various reasons, which Daeron eventually understood and agreed with.
"The entire reason you shall attend small council meetings is to learn to become a king, not to learn to count the realm's coppers," she told him.
"Aye, but the heir usually serves on the council, as was tradition," Daeron then countered. "Prince Aemon was the Master of Laws for the Old King."
"You are correct, but you taking up a spot on the council reduces one avenue of alliance," explained Mother. "Offering a seat without an actual position on the small council means much less than an actual role, especially one of Coin."
"Isn't keeping Lord Beesbury doing the same thing, in essence?" asked Daeron.
"You shall have to ask your betrothed's grandfather about that, then," she simply chuckled.
Ser Otto would never admit it, but keeping Lord Lyman allowed him to have more direct control over the realm's finances while having another Reacher on the council.
Daeron met his mother in the halls of Maegor's Holdfast, where they would make their way to the small council chamber across the Red Keep. She was donned in a silver dress that was tight around the waist but flowed like a stream across the ground. On her neck was a silver necklace studded with a black crystal, matching the ones hanging from her ears. She kept her hair loose, with a small cloth-of-silver escoffion sitting on her head, dotted with tiny blue and purple crystals.
They greeted each other with a friendly smile and began to walk across the halls and down the staircase, trailed by two knights of the Kingsguard.
"Took him long enough," sighed Mother, her voice full of her usual scorn.
"You are not wrong, Mother," Daeron whispered in return, stifling a chuckle. "But now that he is gone, who would you feel is a worthy replacement?"
"We shall have to wait for who your grandfather proposes in the meeting?" she dismissively said as they exited the holdfast, feeling the chill of night greet them with a bite.
Of course she wouldn't want to put the best man for the post.
"Surely you would have to have someone you would consider fit," Daeron sighed, pausing on the drawbridge, the thin, retractable plank of wood being the only thing separating them from the spikes of the dry moat. "And Grandfather and you must have spoken of this beforehand. It's not as if Lord Beesbury was well of health until a few hours ago."
"We have spoken on it, for certain," agreed Mother, putting a gentle hand on his arm and ushering them to continue walking. "Moving Ser Vaemond from the Blue Cloaks may be an option, or maybe another cousin from Driftmark. Whatever your grandfather proposes, we shall follow, and we would have the majority of the-" she shrugged, before frowning at Daeron. "Don't give me that look, Daeron. Otto Hightower is just as likely to nominate one of his cousins."
"Oh, I am certain about that, too," nodded Daeron, clicking his teeth.
"I wouldn't let his lessons about duty to the realm cloud your judgement - he is just as likely to fill the hole in the council with one of his allies."
"Are we not all allies, Mother?" he sharply asked, leading her to sigh.
"Of course we are, but-"
"Then surely there is no gain in placing another ally in the council, be it Velaryon or Hightower," interrupted Daeron. "It would not aid the kingdom financially compared to putting the most competent within the post, nor would it gain any extra allies compared to putting someone from either Driftmark or Oldtown."
"You're not wrong, there," laughed Mother, almost nervously. "But I know you are not foolish enough to doubt that placing a Hightower cousin shall be the angle of Otto Hightower, and thus our angle shall be that of another Velaryon, otherwise the rest of the council shall be swayed to his words."
Yet if you and Grandfather support placing a third option, with my support, the others in the council would no doubt prefer that to Otto Hightower's proposal.
"You do realise that lately, when we have been at an impasse, it is usually my voice that breaks it?" Daeron simply said. "You said it yourself, Mother."
"You are correct; I did," she conceded, her voice somewhat proud, and a grin appearing on her face.
They remained silent for the remainder of the walk to the small council chambers. Passers-by, ranging from knights to servants to lords, nodded at them as they passed. Off in the distance, the music and chatter of the city could be heard. The Red Keep, meanwhile, was relatively hushed.
The air was cool, licking at Daeron's hair and neck. He pulled his cloak to cover him slightly more. Mother had the same idea, subtly increasing the pace of her walk until they finally reached the chambers, sitting adjacent to the Tower of the Hand.
Inside, Ser Otto Hightower was already there, pacing back and forth across the room. He greeted them both with a nod and finally sat in his assigned seat, to the right of the monarch's chair. He had a thick grey cloak covering him, with his dark green doublet underneath barely visible. As he sat down, he adjusted the hand-shaped brooch on his cloak, making it dazzle in the dim candlelight.
"Ser Otto," nodded Daeron, sitting across from his wife's grandfather.
"Your Graces," he said, his voice heavy.
Mother didn't greet Ser Otto, nor take her seat just yet. She just chose to remain standing, her arm resting on the back of Daeron's seat.
Shortly after that, Grand Maester Orwyle arrived in a hurry. The maester was frowning and bowed his head gently as he sat beside Ser Otto. Once sat, he looked to his right and frowned again, tracing his fingers across the empty seat that Lord Beesbury would have sat.
Following the old maester, Jasper Wylde arrived, his face not showing any signs that he was moved by Lord Beesbury's passing. He calmly walked over to his chair and took his seat, dusting his grey sleeves as he did.
If anything, he looks somewhat annoyed at having to attend this council meeting.
Anyone would be annoyed at such a late meeting, but the Master of Laws had recently married and had recently spoken about how much he'd been enjoying his fifth wife's company and wished to have a thirtieth child.
Let us hope this one doesn't die of exhaustion.
The Clubfoot hobbled in next, silently taking his place next to Jasper Wylde, not saying a word. The final two to arrive were Grandfather and Uncle Vaemond, after what was a not-so-insignificant wait. They both swaggered in, their heads held high.
They know it shall be a heated and prolonged meeting, so they made sure to project confidence ahead of it.
Uncle Vaemond seemed to be half a step behind but still had his customary smirk. He was decked in Velaryon armour, and his customary blue cloak draped over his shoulders.
Grandfather, meanwhile, was dressed in his finest silks, lined with cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver. A large aquamarine seahorse was embroidered on his turquoise doublet, and his cloak was a majestic aquamarine lined with cloth-of-gold stitching. His golden rings matched his chains, and he had a headpiece made of sheer light blue silk studded with an amethyst to glimmer under the light.
It seems they both had time to don their best cloths for this council.
"Shall we proceed?" Mother asked, finally taking her seat. It was about fifteen minutes of standing by Daeron's chair, but she showed no indication of being tired. "There is no need for formalities; we know what we shall discuss here," she said, rolling her eyes before nodding at Grandfather.
"Aye, we shall," agreed Grandfather, patting Daeron's shoulder as he sat alongside him.
"Were there any…" began Jasper Wylde, putting his hands on the table. "Specific people somebody would propose?"
"I would," quickly said Uncle Vaemond. "My son, Ser Daeron."
"Your son?" Ser Otto asked, almost perplexed.
"Aye, my son," repeated Uncle Vaemond.
"It is one of the best options possible," nodded Grandfather, likely knowing his brother would propose this.
"His work as castellan of Driftmark has been impeccable," said Uncle Vaemond proudly. "Lord Corlys can attest to it, himself."
"Can he?" asked Ser Otto, squinting his eyes. "Driftmark's revenues have fallen in the time he has served as castellan. That does not inspire me with confidence with a man I would wish to place in managing the realm's finances," he said, rather bluntly.
"Hardly his fault!" scoffed Uncle Vaemond defensively. "The building of the Dragonstone fleet, as well as the expansion of their port market, has seen trade diverted away from Driftmark."
"Wouldn't a better administrator have prevented Driftmark from losing as much trade as Ser Daeron did?" calmly asked Ser Otto.
"It was fuelled by the Triarchy and-"
"Can we remain with the matter at hand?" interjected Grandfather sternly.
"Very well," nodded Ser Otto. "Then Ser Daeron would be a frankly bad choice to replace Lord Beesbury."
"I would agree with the Lord Hand," said Jasper Wylde.
Daeron refrained from expressing his thoughts, but also reckoned that Ser Daeron would not be a very great option. It would fulfil the criteria of giving the position to an ally but meant nothing if the ally was not particularly impressive.
Uncle Vaemond is right about the Triarchy and their embargo affecting Driftmark, but a better castellan would have found a better alternative.
"Why not move Ser Vaemond to the role of Master of Coin, whilst Ser Daeron to that of Lord Commander of the City Watch?" Mother asked, leaning her elbow on the table. "Ser Vaemond is experienced with the navigations of court and council, whilst Ser Daeron is a veteran of the Stepstones campaign, able to lead a host of men."
"That would be a viable alternative, if Ser Daeron's capabilities have been brought into question," said Grandfather, in a manner that showed he very much didn't question Ser Daeron's capabilities.
"Aye, I would not be opposed," added Uncle Vaemond, dejected. "I feel I would be a good fit for the position," he said, very clearly offended that his son's ability was called into question.
"It would raise eyebrows, though, wouldn't it?" asked Ser Otto. "Four seats on the small council belonging to House Velaryon."
Grand Maester Orwyle hummed his agreement whilst Jasper Wylde also nodded. The Clubfoot remained watching, his eyes uncannily focused.
"Why would it be an issue?" Mother curtly asked.
"The inclusion of the seahorse on Daeron's sigil is already quite a step," explained Ser Otto, speaking slowly so his words could not be misinterpreted. "There are already many in the realm that feel you have overstepped-"
You being one of them, Ser Otto.
"House Velaryon has always historically been the second house to the Targaryens," sneered Grandfather, chuckling as he did.
"Which I do not deny," Ser Otto replied, craning his head upwards ever so slightly. "Yet people whisper that you intend for House Velaryon to supplant the Targaryens, too. What could that mean for the realm? The same would happen with the Boltons to the Starks, or the Freys to the Tullys."
"Or the Hightowers to the Tyrells," whispered Mother.
"I do not see the relevance of your words, Ser Otto," Grandfather sharply said.
"The relevance is that stacking the small council with members of House Velaryon serves nothing but alienating your allies and creating no enemies, and rewarding someone who would have already been loyal without the prospect of a council seat," he replied.
"It also does not give the position to the person actually deserving of the role," added Jasper Wylde.
"It should be a combination of all the factors," Daeron finally said, making the council turn to look at him. "Not one or the other. It should be a strategically sound choice, but it should also be practically sound."
"If your unfounded notion of too many Velaryons is an issue," Mother said. "Then, instead of replacing Ser Vaemond with his son, replace him with a Bar Emmon, or a Massey. Both lords have close kin already serving in the City Watch, and it would reward an ally for their loyalty."
"The issue remains," Ser Otto shook his head. "They are both Crownlander houses with close ties to Driftmark, and are practically vassals to House Velaryon. People would see through it."
As did you, which you crucially left out.
"I thought the issue was with House Velaryon in particular, not every house in the Crownlands?" asked Mother.
"Besides, there was no agreement on promoting Ser Vaemond," Ser Otto said, ignoring Mother's question. "He is doing a fine job as Lord Commander of the City Watch, and it would be foolish to change that," he added, even smiling at Uncle Vaemond.
"Thank you, Ser Otto," Uncle Vaemond said with a smile, only for it to drop after ten seconds.
He only just realised.
"There are other options within the Crownlands," Jasper Wylde pointed out. "Claw Isle is a formidable force, and would sway Lord Bartimos away from Rhaenyra."
"His loyalty is not certain," Ser Otto replied. "He is much too deep in with the Princess to abandon her cause now."
"Even at the promise of a council seat?" asked the Master of Laws.
"Lord Bartimos does not instil me with confidence," Daeron said. "He is a wealthy and shrewd man, but that is due to his late father's hard work, as well as his refusal to spend a penny."
"There is not a chance in seven hells I shall allow that niggardly fool into this council," firmly stated Grandfather. "That man desires Driftmark for himself, and I will not let him close to this council."
"We can always look away from the Crownlands," said Grand Maester calmly.
"To where?" asked Jasper Wylde.
"My nephew, Lord Ormund, has prov-" began Ser Otto before being interrupted by Mother.
"If you didn't want another Velaryon on the council, then we surely can't have another Hightower," she shrugged. "That would make it two, by my counting."
"Aye," agreed Grandfather. "And in arguably the two most influential seats in the council, too."
"I will have you find that three is greater than two," countered Ser Otto, his head raised.
"It may yet be, but should Lord Ormund be granted the seat of Master of Coin, Oldtown shall have not only that, and the Handship, but also the future Queen Consort," Grandfather responded. "The three most powerful positions after the King himself. If that does not raise eyebrows…"
"Even with all those seats, the future king remains half-Velaryon," Ser Otto replied, as if the "future king" in question wasn't even in the room. "His arms bear the Velaryon seahorse, and by all means, King's Landing is commonly referred to as your city, Lord Corlys. Placing Lord Ormund as Master of Coin will not change that, whatsoever, neither would replacing every damned seat in this council with a Hightower," he said, a very rare moment of his temper flaring.
"Oh, and I am so certain you would enjoy that, Ser Otto Hightower," chuckled Mother.
"At this point, we can all agree that neither a Hightower nor a Velaryon shall be approved by either," sighed Daeron. "Can we?" he asked again, waiting for a response.
Nobody objected, so Daeron beckoned Ser Otto to suggest another candidate that was not his nephew or distant cousin, whilst Mother and Grandfather looked to be already preparing their objections to it.
"If we wish to appease an ally, Honeyholt could be considered," Ser Otto said, much calmer. "They are a prickly bunch from all of Oldtown's vassals, and replacing Lord Lyman with his son is a logical step."
"You wish to make council seats hereditary?" asked Grandfather. "That's unprecedented, and foolish."
"Hasn't House Velaryon historically held the position of Master of Ships for most of the past century and a half?" Jasper Wylde noted, his voice as neutral as possible to not inflame tensions. "Merely an observation," he shrugged.
"Not an observation, but a fact," bluntly answered Ser Otto. "And if the new Lord Beesbury has too many objectors, Lord Costayne or Lord Redwyne are better alternatives, especially in regards to competence," he said, nodding at Daeron.
"You disregarded Bar Emmon or Massey because they had too many perceived ties to Driftmark," Mother said, squinting. "But apparently, the house of your late wife, or the house of Lord Ormund's mother, is no issue!"
"It's even more shameless than proposing Lord Ormund," scoffed Grandfather. "Yet at least that proposal was honest, whilst this one tries to conceal its intentions as flagrantly as a sheer veil conceals its wearer's face."
"Following the passing of Lady Alerie, Oldtown and Three Towers have not been as intertwined as you may presume," said Ser Otto, rubbing his temples in frustration. "And whilst Lord Ormund may be half a Redwyne, he is married to a Fossoway, and his son to a Tully, with Oldtown's influences stemming from there rather than the Arbor."
"Oh, seven hells…" chuckled Mother.
"What?" Ser Otto bluntly asked, his patience running thin.
"Lady Ceryse is still alive and well, and holds considerable sway over Lord Ormund's decisions," Grandfather said. "To say otherwise would be denying basic fact."
"Again, are we looking at people who are able, or examples who would serve your own house's interests?" Daeron asked, as if he was addressing a damned group of children.
"My choices were more than capable…" whispered Ser Otto.
And would also advance House Hightower's standing.
"From what we have discussed, it seems that the council cannot seem to agree on either a Velaryon or Hightower," Daeron announced, standing from his seat to try and reiterate his authority. "Neither their regional allies, no matter how capable, or not, they may be. How is a council meant to function when one half constantly disagrees with the other?" he asked, squinting his dark purple eyes. "I would rather ignore your petty disputes, for I am neither Velaryon nor Hightower, even if my dear mother is the former, and my wife is the latter. I am a Targaryen, first and foremost, and I have a duty to the realm, as you have all repeatedly told me. I propose an intermission to this council, and when we have returned and are refreshed, we shall discuss this matter again, and come to an adequate conclusion."
The council agreed for once. Everyone dispersed, with Grandfather and a sulky Uncle Vaemond leaving first, deep in conversation. Ser Otto and the Grand Maester walked out next, both weary from all of it. Jasper Wylde then declared his intention to use the privy, so he headed to his chambers. The Clubfoot hobbled off somewhere, too, leaving Daeron alone with Mother. She then ordered meals to be brought to the council and stood up from her chair, stretching her arms.
"You know why I had to do it, Mother," Daeron said, noticing her frown. "We would be here for days without coming to an agreement otherwise."
"If you had shown your support for putting Uncle Vaemond or his son in the role, or even Lord Massey or Bar Emmon, the council may have accepted," she sighed. "Ser Otto too, if begrudgingly."
"But I disagreed with the very nature of those options," shrugged Daeron. "Massey and Bar Emmon are hardly exceptional, whilst Uncle Vaemond and his son are even less so."
"I cannot disagree with that," chuckled Mother. "Uncle Vaemond's face was mildly amusing, too, after Otto Hightower essentially called him a fool."
"I had to stifle a chuckle, in truth," he grinned.
"Still, back to the matter at hand - if you didn't want any of those options, there are other Velaryon cousins you could have chosen, and Lord Bar Emmon has able sons."
"Aye, but I was against choosing anyone because their birth happens to make them be closely tied to Driftmark."
"It appears your dear wife has been rubbing off on you," tutted Mother, which Daeron ignored.
"There are still many more competent choices compared to Grandfather's third cousin or Lord Bar Emmon's fifth son!" Daeron sighed.
Why couldn't Mother see Daeron's argument? It was either that, or she could but didn't care about it, which was arguably worse.
"I have told you, many times, that I think the best choice for the role of Master of Coin is the one who would fulfil the role to the best of their ability, but also aid in building alliances," continued Daeron. "I hate it more than anyone, but conflict is afoot. And to be ready for it, you have to build alliances. Filling the council with your lackeys, be they Velaryons or Hightowers, shall leave us completely isolated and overwhelmed. I would much rather see a new face in the council, even if it means Grandfather shall be displeased for a while."
"Did you have anyone in particular, now after sitting in the council for a while?" she asked tentatively.
"No specific person yet, but I wouldn't even be opposed to someone from a non-Blue kingdom, if it means we can sway them over, and said person is the right choice."
"Aye…" nodded Mother, scratching her chin. "Otto Hightower may not accept someone from a Red kingdom; he is too cautious to take that risk."
If the only reason she takes my side is to anger Ser Otto…
"It is worth the risk, I feel," said Daeron.
"It won't be me that needs the convincing," she smiled.
The servants then arrived with refreshments, placing them at every seat carefully. Grandfather also returned with Uncle Vaemond, who looked as miserable as earlier. Mother was about to speak when Ser Otto returned, so she simply whispered some words in Grandfather's ear instead. He nodded at that before turning and nodding at Daeron. Jasper Wylde arrived just after that, whilst the Clubfoot only hobbled back in when everyone was nearly done with their meals.
It was a simple meat pie with a side of vegetables, accompanied by some Arbor Gold. Daeron ate until he felt satisfied, leaving some food on his plate while barely finishing a cup of wine.
Grandfather nibbled at his meal whilst Mother only drank wine, and Uncle Vaemond cleaned his plate of any food. Ser Otto had just three sips of wine, whilst the Grand Maester had a healthy helping of both. Meanwhile, Jasper Wylde didn't touch any wine, and the Clubfoot didn't have either.
Mother then called for the plates to be removed, but the cups and pitcher of wine could stay. When the servants had cleared the table, the council session resumed.
"We should first dismiss any regions in which we shall, by any means, not choose a man from," Jasper Wylde suggested, which everyone agreed to. "The Westerlands, first and foremost, I think, can be ruled out."
"A shame," sighed Daeron. "Because I feel like Ser Tyland would have been a fine choice in different circumstances."
"He is the last person I think anyone would want on the council," Ser Otto added, shaking his head profusely to make sure that the council was definitely not going to choose the Lannister man.
"I concur," quickly agreed Grand Maester Orwyle, and Jasper Wylde, the Clubfoot, and Uncle Vaemond all nodded, too.
"Well…" Grandfather said after a pause.
Is this because he means to oppose any opinion Ser Otto has, or has he thought of something we haven't?
"You cannot mean to think inviting a Lannister to the small council is anything worse than a downright terrible idea!" scoffed Ser Otto.
"I do agree in that Tyland Lannister being appointed would be antithetical to what we all want," Grandfather said, in the tone he used to calm down a crying Aemon. "But he is not the only Lannister, is he?"
"I do not see how… any Lannister would be a good idea," chirped up the Clubfoot for the first time today.
Everyone in the room turned to face the Clubfoot. His face was almost twisted in disgust, and his cheeks were flushed. At the sight of everyone, he sheepishly clasped his hands together.
"They are all unified in supporting Princess Rhaenyra," the Clubfoot shrugged before looking down at the table.
"Aye, but they can be swayed otherwise," Grandfather smirked. "If we get the Lannisters of Lannisport on our side, with a council seat, and even," he added, leaning forwards on the table ominously. "Try and position them as the next lords of Casterly Rock, in exchange for their allegiance."
"And how willing would Lannisport be?" squinted Daeron.
It is underhanded, but it gains us an ally, severely weakens an adversary, and the Lannister of Lannisport and the very meaning of competence.
"They are bloody Lannisters," Mother said, rolling her eyes. "Ambition is sewn into their blood. They would grasp at such a chance."
"I would tread carefully," warned Grand Maester Orwyle. "They are still family with Ser Tyland and those of the Rock. I do not know if Lord Gerold would be willing to depose his distant cousin over a council seat," the maester said, whispering as if the Lannisters could hear him.
"Distant cousin, you said it yourself," smiled Mother. "So distant they are practically different houses. Lord Massey and I are likely closer related, for Seven's sake!" she chuckled, refilling her cup of wine. "There is a reason their words are 'Hear Me Roar!', not 'Hear Us Roar'. It is worth a chance."
"Regardless of whether they may be kin or not, Lord Gerold and Ser Tyland still do consider themselves as such, as their ancestors have done for centuries," Ser Otto said. "And kinslaying is still the most cursed act there is."
Aye, we say this as we plan how to get one over my very half-sister.
"We would be allying with kinslayers, or at least our tacit approval," Ser Otto continued.
"We never mentioned anything about kinslaying, Ser Otto," tutted Mother, outraged at the notion. "Merely making them a member of the small council is no crime."
"Wouldn't it be a fruitless endeavour regardless?" asked Jasper Wylde. "I distinctly remember a while ago of a report of Lord Gerold detaining Ser Tyland's troublesome cousins for a few weeks following a brawl at an inn."
"I can attest to that," quickly remarked the Clubfoot.
"That would indicate Lannisport is undying in its loyalty to Casterly Rock," nodded Ser Otto, mainly directing it at Grandfather.
"If not the Lannisters of Lannisport, what about Ser Tyland's cousins?" Mother asked, stretching her arm. "Ser Tion and Ser Lancel, wasn't it?"
"I would pause on either Tion or Lancel Lannister," said the Clubfoot, speaking once again.
He has voiced his opinion twice, which is two more than he usually does.
"Tion Lannister was rendered as cunning as a nine-year-old following injuries sustained whilst gaoled by Lord Gerold," the Clubfoot said, sounding almost pleased. "And it is said that Lancel Lannister could never read anyways."
"It is onto other regions, then," sighed Jasper Wylde.
"The Vale would be one of the kingdoms firmly against us," Daeron said. "Unless there remains a house that can be swayed, and also has the ability to succeed as Master of Coin," he made sure to add.
"The Royces may not be too happy with Rhaenyra," said Jasper Wylde. "With her marriage to Prince Daemon's widow."
"Surely they would have mellowed down after a decade or so," laughed Uncle Vaemond, smiling for the first time since he proposed his son for Master of Coin.
"Runestone may not be too pleased, but Jeyne Arryn still remains half Royce from her mother's side," Grandfather said dejectedly. "And her hold over the Vale is stronger than ever following the imprisonment of her cousin, Ser Arnold."
"There always is the Arryns of Gulltown," Mother said. "It would follow the same idea we had with Lannisport."
"It is also doubtful," sighed Grandfather. "Lady Jeyne has also ensured Isembard Arryn were given administrative positions at Gulltown."
"Council seats are of much higher value than influence over Gulltown's trade," said Daeron.
"That is true, lad, but Isembard Arryn would be throwing away any reputation his branch has if he so much as even considers an offer by us," Grandfather explained. "It only takes a word from the Eyrie, and all the positions he has at Gulltown are gone, and Lord Grafton would begin to seize any properties he has. If Isembard Arryn were to accept, then he is a fool that should be nowhere near a small council table to begin with."
"Then that means two kingdoms are now done," nodded Daeron, remembering what his grandfather taught him. "Where next?"
"We can also remove the Stormlands," Grandfather replied. "Lord Borros would only accept a seat if he gets a royal marriage, and is an oaf regardless. And if any of his most influential bannermen gets appointed to the council, he shall perceive it as a slight, and we would see him kissing Rhaenyra's feet the next day."
"There is already a Stormlander on the council, too," Uncle Vaemond added, which made Jasper Wylde bristle.
"What of the Riverlands?" quickly asked Mother, diverting the subject.
"Despite Lord Tully being an ally, most of the region is not," Ser Otto said. "And Lord Tully himself is somewhat mediocre."
"Lord Blackwood is an option," said Jasper Wylde.
"Neither would gain an extra ally," sighed Grandfather. "None of the Riverlander options would."
There was also one of the Clubfoot's cousins from Harrenhal, but Daeron didn't particularly want to mention them and figured the rest of the council didn't want to either. As per the Clubfoot's own words, none of them were particularly remarkable. Daeron also knew that having another Strong on the small council was a waste of a space.
And if any of the Strong cousins are even half as unnerving as the Clubfoot, I would rather not want them here.
"Probing into the northern Reach may be worthwhile," suggested Grand Maester Orwyle, whose mother was from the northern Reach. "Most of the houses there are still yet to formally pick an allegiance."
"We agreed on no Reachers or Crownlanders," said Mother.
"We agreed on no southron Reachers, or Narrow Sea Crownlanders," Ser Otto corrected her. "But nothing of the other sort."
"Then what of Rosby or Stokeworth?" asked Uncle Vaemond. "Or Darklyn?"
"Not Darklyn," Grandfather bluntly said. "Lord Darklyn would wish to divert trade back to Duskendale," he explained. "And away from Driftmark and King's Landing. Dragonstone's recent developments have already impacted us enough."
"Rosby or Stokeworth, meanwhile, are already firmly Blue," Jasper Wylde said. "It would be wasting a small council seat."
"In the Northern Reach, Caswell, Footly, Ashford, and Merryweather are all competent options," Ser Otto said, trying to at least get a northern Reacher, if he couldn't get one from the south.
"Caswell and Footly are already Blue," Grandfather said curtly.
"That still leaves Ashford or Merryweather," said the Grand Maester.
"Isn't Loras Merryweather illiterate?" squinted Jasper Wylde.
"He may be, but Longtable has also seen new trade deals and soaring incomes since Lord Loras ascended as the new lord," Ser Otto replied.
"That is because it is said his wife, Lady Victaria, and her friend, Lady Kynara, are said to run Longtable in the name of Lord Loras," frowned the Clubfoot.
"Poor man," snorted Uncle Vaemond. "He cannot read, and his wife cuckolds him for another woman," he said, bursting into laughter for a moment until he saw Mother's disapproving glare, which made him stop.
"I think we can rule out Lord Merryweather," Grandfather said, stifling a chuckle too.
"That leaves Lord Ashford," said Ser Otto. "Does it not?"
"We are yet to go over the North and Iron Islands," Mother quickly made sure to say.
"The Iron Isles?" Ser Otto repeated. "I think not."
"Then we look to the North," said Uncle Vaemond.
"Aye,
"Hardly better than the Iron Islands," scoffed Ser Otto. "And are hardly an undecided region."
House Stark is formally neutral but has close ties to Dragonstone, but not close enough that they wouldn't stray from her.
Daeron thought about it. It was a risky choice, trying to turn an entire kingdom. But it would be worth it, if it were successful.
Choosing someone who is not firmly a Blue, but instead choosing them due to their ability, is what I wished to do from the beginning.
Next, he thought about who exactly he would suggest from the North. Lord Cregan Stark was not who he would describe as a worthy Master of Coin, but one of the Manderlys very well could be.
It is worth the risk. At worst, we shall have a competent Master or Coin; at best, we shall have the entire North.
He nodded to himself before gulping slightly.
"White Harbor is who we shall send the offer to," Daeron said with the tiniest hint of authority in his voice. "They have been yearning for either a royal marriage or even just a council seat ever since King Aegon crafted the Iron Throne."
"Lord Manderly isn't Lord Stark, and giving the seat to the Manderlys would only give us half of a kingdom," sighed Jasper Wylde.
"Half a kingdom is better than none," shrugged Mother, nodding at Grandfather.
"The Manderlys have never gone against the Starks, ever, despite having the capabilities to do so," Grandfather said, nodding back to Mother. "It would be a much different story than offering it to the Gulltown Arryns or Lannisport Lannisters. Offering the seat to the Manderlys would also imply that we want the friendship of the Starks, too."
"The kingdom is leaning as far as it can to Princess Rhaenyra without actually doing so," Ser Otto said. "It is too much of a risk."
"They are still playing both sides," responded Daeron. "Aye, Lord Cregan may have only sent his wife's family, a bunch of unwashed clansmen, to my wedding, but since then, they have attended tourneys on both sides."
"It is hardly better than offering the seat to a Valeman or Westerlander," Ser Otto warned. "The North were the ones to supply lumber for Dragonstone's fleet. They were the ones feeding Prince Daemon's war-hungry appetite."
"So? The deal with Dragonstone only speaks in Lord Torrhen's favour in regard to competence," asked Daeron. "Let Dragonstone and White Harbor continue to trade. With the Manderlys on our side, Dragonstone would be indirectly funding us."
"Princess Rhaenyra would just cut trade with White Harbor," countered Ser Otto.
"She has no choice if she doesn't want White Harbor to divert their trade to us," said Grandfather, his voice oozing with confidence. "Prince Daeron is correct," he said proudly. "Of the trade options on the east coast, Gulltown and the Triarchy already trade almost exclusively with her, whilst Braavos and Pentos would never wish to make a deal with Prince Daemon. Duskendale still has lingering resentment to both King's Landing and Dragonstone. That leaves here and Driftmark, which the Princess would never do."
"The North would still be trying to eke out whatever gain they can from Dragonstone, but the promise of a council seat will be enough to sway them firmly over to us," smiled Daeron. "Offering the seat to House Manderly not only gains us a kingdom, but it means Dragonstone loses one," he grinned, trying not to sound too pleased about sowing the seeds of a trade war with his half-sister. "Now, your spy network stretches to the North, does it not, Lord Larys?" asked Daeron, turning to the Clubfoot.
"It is Lord Torrhen's second son, Ser Wendel, who is known for his intelligence," the Clubfoot nodded slowly, and Daeron acknowledged that with a smile.
Daeron then looked around the table at everyone's faces. Mother and Grandfather seemed proud, Uncle Vaemond's face was neutral, and Jasper Wylde seemed deep in thought. Ser Otto looked at Daeron intently while Grand Maester Orwyle looked almost worried.
"Then I don't think any other man in the kingdom is a better choice," said Daeron, relieved that it was finally over.
"I don't object," Mother said.
"Neither do I; it's a fine choice," agreed Grandfather.
The rest of the council gave their agreement, even Grand Maester Orwyle, until it was just Ser Otto yet to agree.
"I don't object either," he finally said, reluctance clear in his voice.
He is disappointed that it is not his choice and that we disregarded Ashford, but he is also pleased that Grandfather didn't have his way either.
"And with that… we are finally done," groaned Mother, slapping her hands on her thighs. "I shall draft a raven to send to White Harbor, and we shall await Lord Manderly's response."
"I think it would be a miracle if it were something other than a yes," snorted Uncle Vaemond. "Are we finally dismissed?"
"Aye," answered Daeron, even if it wasn't him who would usually dismiss the council.
It's usually Mother or Ser Otto; why did I answer Uncle Vaemond's question?
"I would have thought it fit to discuss the recent developments in the Stepstones-" began Uncle Vaemond, before Grandfather put a hand on his arm.
"Vaemond, even I am too tired to discuss the bloody Triarchy. We can schedule another council on the morrow or in two days' time," Grandfather said.
"Very well," he grumbled.
"The council is dismissed, then," Daeron sighed, leaning back into his seat.
Ser Otto was the first to leave, trailed by Grand Maester Orwyle. Jasper Wylde bid his farewells and exited the chambers whilst the Clubfoot lumbered out, too. Grandfather and a disappointed-looking Uncle Vaemond were next to go, only after saying a few words to Daeron.
"A good choice there, lad," smiled Grandfather. "I would have preferred you support the choice of Ser Daeron, but Wendel Manderly is near enough the next best option," he said, patting Daeron on the back.
Uncle Vaemond also nodded and smiled at Daeron before heading off with Grandfather. As the two of them exited the chambers, they began to whisper about something too quiet for Daeron to hear.
"He's still annoyed about his son's ability being called into question," Mother giggled once they were too far away to hear them.
"His ability, too," laughed Daeron. "He is a good man, and Ser Daeron even more so, but neither of them is a good choice for Master of Coin, in truth."
"A shame," she said, crossing her arms. "Would you have supported Grandfather's proposal if he or Ser Daeron were more competent?"
"Mayhaps," he replied. "The game would be just as clear, but at least it would make sense."
"Very well," Mother nodded, smiling.
They then both stood from their chairs and exited the small council chambers, trailed by the two Kingsguard knights that accompanied them. From there, they headed across the yard towards Maegor's Holdfast, not saying a word to each other. The Red Keep was silent at this time of night, and even the sounds of King's Landing were faint. As they descended the serpentine steps, Daeron finally broke the silence.
"Are you unhappy that I didn't agree with Grandfather's proposal?" Daeron asked nervously. "It would have decided the council there and then, and even Ser Otto wouldn't have any ground to stand on."
"I am more unhappy that it delayed the council so much more than anything," she japed. "But in truth? I am neither surprised, nor disappointed," smiled Mother, stroking his hair reassuringly. "You also promptly denied Otto Hightower's choice soon after, too."
"Is that why you are not displeased, Mother?" he asked. "Because I disagreed with both Grandfather and Ser Otto, and not just Grandfather?"
"I shall speak plainly to you, Daeron," Mother replied, lowering her voice. "I know that you feel that Otto Hightower's proposals are leagues more competent than Ser Vaemond or Ser Daeron, and I am not inclined to disagree. That is why I am also pleased you didn't capitulate to his suggestion, which you have done at times."
"I don't capitulate to Ser Otto," groaned Daeron. "At times, his advice is more preferable than yours and Grandfather's, 'tis all."
"Well, you have taken his advice slightly more than you did prior to your marriage," she squinted.
"Oh, that is hardly true, Mother!" he protested. "Jocelyn and I barely discuss the happenings in the small council, and I speak with her just as often as I did prior to marrying her."
"Regardless," smiled Mother. "I am proud of you today. You conducted yourself like a king in the council. You have done so before, but this time it was more than ever."
"I…" began Daeron, feeling his left eye starting to water. "I… thank you, Mother."
"I remember a similar small council years ago, when your father wished to pick a new Hand…" she said bitterly, which is how she always sounded when speaking of the King. "His opinion would drift and sway like a leaf would in the wind. One word from me and he would prefer my opinion, and a word from Rhaenyra and he would prefer hers. In the end, he preferred my choice, but he was still coerced into doing so, easily…" Mother said, partly proud and partly ashamed. "You were the opposite. No matter what anyone said, you stuck by your convictions and remained firm, as I always taught you to do. You shall make a fine king, my dear."
They had now arrived at Maegor's Holdfast, and Daeron's vision was slightly blurry. The moment they headed into the holdfast, he turned and hugged his mother for a small while.
"I do appreciate it, Mother, I truly do," he said, letting go from the embrace.
"It is nothing, my boy," smiled Mother. "Now, it is late, and you were due a supper with your lady wife, weren't you?" she smirked. "I shall see you on the morrow, hopefully."
Daeron headed back to his and Jocelyn's quarters as quickly as his tired legs could take him. The guard at the door let him in with a nod, and he walked in.
He went to the shared bedchambers, where he hoped his wife was. On the walls were the quartered arms of Daeron's faction, as well as smaller banners containing the sigils of Targaryen, Velaryon, Hightower, and Mullendore. Across from the bed was a tapestry containing a grand mural of Aegon the Conqueror being crowned by the High Septon in the Starry Sept. And on the bed, large enough to fit five people, was Jocelyn, laying there reading a book.
She was dressed in her nightclothes, a long white robe so sheer that Daeron could see her body in all its veiled beauty underneath. Her chestnut locks tumbled down her neck and onto the cream bed sheets underneath her, and her eyes twinkled in the moonlight streaming in through the windows.
"Gods, you're late," frowned Jocelyn, closing the book with a thud.
"I take it that there shall be no supper, then?" Daeron asked disappointedly.
"On the morrow," she smirked, sitting up.
"You still chose to sleep in the shared chambers," he noted, kicking off his boots and outerwear.
"It's much too late to have supper," Jocelyn said playfully, rolling her eyes. "And besides, I already ate after they said you would be occupied with the small council."
"Aye, I did too," Daeron replied, climbing onto the bed, wearing only his smallclothes. "Is Baelor well?"
"The maids took him," she smiled. "He went to sleep well."
"Good," he nodded.
So long as Baelor was safe, Daeron was satisfied. Following his son's birth, he had begun to realise more and more how fragile everything was. And with that, how if he wasn't truly proactive, his son's very life would be at risk if it all went wrong.
In the end, I wouldn't honestly mind if harm comes to me, but I do mind if it does come to Baelor.
He lay on the bed, resting his neck on the red silk pillows. Jocelyn shuffled across the bed, positioning herself perpendicular to Daeron. Her head was resting on Daeron's chest, and her feet were hanging off the edge of the bed. Daeron could smell her usual fragrance of roses, sweeter than ever.
"So, how did the council play out?" Jocelyn casually asked, looking up at Daeron.
"Surprisingly, not too bad," he replied tiredly. "It was the usual… my grandfather and yours can't help but disagree on everything, which is what prolonged everything."
"Oh, well, that isn't a surprise," she said.
She naturally wishes that her grandfather's opinion prevails but would rather they both get along more than anything.
"Did you at least come to an agreement?" Jocelyn asked, her eyes wide.
"Aye, and if everything does go to plan, the North shall become an ally," Daeron said proudly.
"Good to hear," she smiled. "Even if my limited interaction with Northerners has been less than stellar," shuddered Jocelyn, remembering Lady Norrey and how she somehow smelt even worse than Fleabottom.
"Gods, don't remind me of that. I would rather speak of anything else!" he chuckled.
"What would you rather speak of then?" she softly asked, turning around and lying on her belly, kicking her heels.
"Not the council meeting, either," Daeron whispered, leaning forward. "I would rather not speak of much right now," he grinned.
"Very well," smirked Jocelyn slyly, crawling up to lie alongside Daeron.
Daeron wrapped his left arm around her, and she buried her head between his arm and chest. She put her left arm across Daeron's body, and moved her face close to his. Jocelyn then looked directly at Daeron, her hazel eyes bigger and brighter than anything in the world.
"We'll speak of nothing then," Jocelyn gently whispered.