The Dance is not over Chapter 29: Old Men Fade Away, an a song of ice and fire fanfic

Chapter 29

Old Men Fade Away

Lord Larys Strong

Climbing the stairs of the Red Keep had never been simple for him. When the Cruel had ordered his master fortress-builders to build a castle worthy of him, the rider of the Black Dread had been more interested in instilling awe and terror in the hearts of his subjects and other possible visitors than imagining that one day, a man with a cane might become Master of Whisperers.

No, the more Larys thought about it, the more he acknowledged Maegor Targaryen would have never accepted him as a member of the Small Council. The tyrant had never respected anything save martial might and physical abilities, and his reign had reflected this until his last breath.

Fortunately, the Cruel was long dead. Unfortunately, his first and only creation had survived him. The stairs were steep and not particularly nice to a man of his age and health.

In some of his wildest dreams, Larys sometimes hoped for a castle like Highgarden, sunny, enjoying two days out of three of agreeable weather most seasons, with perfect white stairs and beautiful avenues allowing you to use miniature carriages and chairs carried by servants.

There were dreams, of course. Assuming his liege manifested the reasonable envy to build a new castle for his dynasty, it would take decades...and that was assuming the flow of money was never disrupted. Given the realm's...strained finances, the latter was as uncertain as one might suspect. And living one more decade would certainly require a couple of miracles from the Father Above.

Larys sighed in relief when he arrived at the top of the stairs and took the hand of one of his assistants to take more stability for a few more breaths. The last man of House Strong had protested loudly when the healers had informed him he was to never go anywhere without two strong young men to help him, but once again they had been right.

The walk wasn't over, of course. He had yet to reach the Council room. In normal days, it would have taken some time, but no proper conversation would have been started in the corridor. Now given his short pace and his poor breath, a long debate might have distracted him...as long as two people other than him spoke.

His legs were hurting more than usual when the Kingsguards saluted him and one opened the door. The King was already here, of course.

"Lord Larys," King Daeron said, raising his head from the large pile of parchments covering his side of the Council table. "I am glad to see the healers managed to give you a prompt recovery."

"Yes, your Grace," the Master of Whisperers managed a short curtsy, the best he could do without losing equilibrium or suffering more pain in his old bones. "Now that I have been in their care for several fortnights, I will loudly tell to anyone able to hear that they're better at it than the Alchemists."

The legitimate sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms smiled for a short amount of time before taking once again a serious expression.

"Will you be able to fulfil all your duties in the next moons? There have been many voices raised at court about your age and your inability to use your web of spies while you were sick..."

The last of the Strong coughed. The courtiers and his enemies had not wasted time, clearly. And to say that in the last years, Lords and knights regularly took leave of absence for the most futile pretexts...

But since there were too many people present – not counting the Kingsguard, there were two also two servants and none were in his pay – he couldn't say so aloud. Appearances had to be preserved, no matter how much he was personally unhappy with the colourful highborn doing nothing but criticizing those who tried to make the kingdom prosperous and secure.

"I am as well as a man of my age can be," a lie, for they were plenty of smallfolk in King's Landing older and healthier than him. "But these last moons have convinced me I have maybe too dallied choosing my successor. My duties aside, it would be my honour to find an eventual replacement for your Grace."

"You have my permission to do so," the King graciously replied. Those who would have expected Daeron I to ask if there were promising candidates would wait a long time. This was not something the sovereign was going to let servants know before the other members of the Council.

Besides, Larys would have had difficulties to answer, because for the moment the truth was that there were no outstanding agents he would trust to replace him.

Oh, four or five of the knights he had hired years ago to be his eyes and his ears in the armies and the camps had the wits and the tongue to survive as Master of Whisperers. This didn't mean they would be particularly good successors. For some reason that escaped him, putting a sword in a teenager's hand was dulling one's brain quick enough.

In fact, if the politics weren't what they were at the moment, Larys would have suggested a woman to succeed him. He had a few trusty subordinates in the whorehouses of King's Landing. Some might equal him with moons of advice and training, plus the knowledge they would inherit from him.

Alas, recommending a woman would not be the wisest move in the current political waters. It would not cost him his position, but he would likely be forced to endure his share of snickers, insults and whispers behind his back. Since the end of the terrible war everyone for some reason had taken to call the Dance of Dragons, no woman had held a seat in the Council. Alicent Hightower could have, but the King's mother looked like a century-old crone these days and was perhaps the only person nearby he could beat in a race.

"The situation in the Iron Islands?"

"The Blacks appear to be content with what they have," the former Lord of Harrenhal reported, cursing in his mind the ill-fortune which had brought him down before he could know of the Black ships sailing towards said islands. "Harlaw, Orkmont and Saltcliffe are solidly in their grasp. They have restored one keep for the last two, defended by between sixty and seventy men. Harlaw has between two and over three hundred men able to take a spear and fight if they are threatened. According to the messages I've been able to read, they have two thousand fishers and four or five thousand Ironborn survivors, and most of the former have renounced publically and loudly the Drowned God."

"And we have Pyke," concluded the silver-haired dragonrider as the two cup bearers left. "There are many Westerners who think we should conquer the rest of the islands, as a first step to remove Black's presence from the Western coast the moment we can."

"You Grace, I think a few 'spring knights' should be explained how garrisoning some watchtowers in the Marches is such a great honour."

"I take it you don't approve."

The tone employed by his liege was curious, but Larys by experience could notice the steel in the eyes without difficulty.

"Your Grace, honesty compels me to say I don't have enough agents on the Iron Islands," the Master of Whisperers said. "But those who have managed to go there and reports back to me all say the same thing: the islands are barren, the population is a tenth of what it was before the Dance at best, starvation is common, and there is nothing to trade save fishes and rocks."

His agents also insisted on the miserable weather, the high waves, the wetness of the few holdfasts which had not been torched, but Larys was not going to bore the Green King with this.

"Harlaw is possibly the only island which might be able to recover within five years some measure of prosperity, due to its fertile fields. Saltcliffe is able to give salt, but that's all it will ever provide, and all the food and the tools will need to be taken and forged somewhere else. We have the iron mines of Pyke, for all the good they will do since we have not the first man to mine the ore."

The elderly man shrugged.

"I would argue we have achieved plenty of the objectives asked for by your knights and bannersmen, your Grace. From Pyke, we can largely keep an eye on the Blacks...assuming of course certain captains can do a better job than they did the last time they were supposed to inform us of Seagard ships' expeditions. As for using these islands to remove the Black's presence from the western coast, we have not the forces or the coin to do that anymore as long as thousands of men-at-arms, cavalry and Marcher archers remain near the Dornish frontier. Indeed, for the present the rapport of strength doesn't favour us at all."

On a map, it didn't seem so bad. But maps and promises didn't tell the whole truth. Except in the northern Crownlands, a lot of the regions which had lost thousands to the Iron Fever were the lands where the levies and knights should have come from to repel Black incursions. And the castles behind these properties were empty because the swordsmen and spearmen had gone to war against House Martell.

Provoking the Blacks when some armies' companies were barely coming back home would be reckless. Furthermore, the Lannisters would be of little utility, having no host to push from the west and threaten Riverrun.

No, in reality, it was one army against half of one, and one dragon against one, assuming the whispers of Princess Rhaena's pregnancy could be trusted. Larys thought they could, but it would still be a gamble to trust the outcome of a war on an uncertain piece of information.

"Many Lords aren't sharing your views," answered King Daeron while looking at what had been several messages arrived by ravens. Probably the loud-mouthed knights and their parents urging the Iron Throne to 'do something' while remaining sufficiently vague they would be free to protest their opinion had been misinterpreted when it went wrong.

"It's too bad...for them," Larys raised his shoulders as high as he could, which was not much. "I swore allegiance your Grace and to the realm. Listening to my agents, I don't see how it could be in your or the realm's interest to send money and men on these god-forsaken archipelago. Maybe in a decade when the demand for iron and more fisheries will be higher..."

"Several sons of up-jumped merchants decided to gather some friends and sail towards Great Wyk."

The Master of Whisperers blinked...and then he smiled.

"Bah, last time I heard, the Ironborn were still holding this island in strength. If they want a fight, they may very well find one here." The last of the Strongs shook his head. "No, your Grace. Let your 'loyal' subjects ruin themselves refurbishing ruined lands if they want, but the realm can't afford new provocations or rebuilding the Ironborn castles stone by stone. Not with the Blacks improving their roads in the Vale and the Riverlands."

"I hope you're not going to begin to scream like the septons that this is demonic work?"

Larys Strong sniffed disdainfully.

"The only thing truly demonic at work is their miserable intelligence. No, this road is the work of mortals...if one except the dragon flame. Since we have it too, I humbly suggest we begin to copy them before next year. The advantages for a merchant or an infantryman are too significant to ignore."

"The Master of Coin is not sharing your enthusiasm..."

Balon Pyke

"After all, Sargon was right," Balon told Tom. "We are invaded. What a terrible day, by the Storm God."

The former master of the longship Dreams of the Jade Sea looked at him stoically before bursting into laughter.

"Aye you're right," convened the Ironborn grey-beard. "This is an invasion. They are...a bit stupider than the last time, though."

The last bastard of House Greyjoy had to agree. When the greenlanders had come to end the kingsmoot, the first sign they had been under attack had been the fires of a blue monster, and the dragon had been followed by a grand and might fleet.

This had been, if you were fond of butchery, slaughter and flames, a superb attack. The Ironborn 'Kings' had been caught totally by surprise, and the surviving Iron fleet had perished in the bay of Old Wyk. Food and gold, sailors and timber, treasure and ropes; everything the Ironborn had taken pride in had been lost, leaving all survivors, including a certain Balon Pyke, the choice between shameful escape and certain death.

In comparison, today...today was not an invasion fleet. There were four small damaged galleys trying to find refuge in one of the bays of Great Wyk. Their sails were tattered. The hulls showed obvious signs for a sailor of having endured too many storms. All the masts he could see were obviously replacement spars the carpenters of these ships had tried to raise.

Maybe when these ships had departed the Arbor under the two banners of the Green Dragon and the grapes, there had been a chance they could be mistaken as warships. There were pieces of wood on the decks which had certainly been scorpions in another life.

"Have the men tried to warn them?"

For all the stupidity showed by these potential invaders, the ruler of Stone Crow Keep did not wish to see hundreds of his men die under his eyes. He had seen enough dead in the last years for a lifetime, and many of them had been companions of war and fellow reavers.

"Yes. We are using the ancient lighthouse of Fang's Fort, for all the good it is doing." Tom spat. "They don't seem willing to listen to good advice. But what can you expect from greenlanders trying to land on Great Wyk from the south?"

The former reaver had to agree. This...this tactic, if the word could be said without spitting in disgust, was utterly suicidal. When you wanted to find a nice and proper location to anchor your ship, you sailed to the north of Great Wyk. This was where all the good bays were, this wasn't far from Old Wyk where it was easy to avoid all the storms and different treacherous sea currents...and above all, you avoided the reefs and the cliffs of Great Wyk.

There was a reason why so many mines of iron and other metals had been found before the terrible war of the Red Kraken in Great Wyk: the island was very, very mountainous. Crow Spike Keep's lands were mostly high hills and high valleys, because they were surrounded by arid and desolate mountains.

It had done no good against a dragon, but the first line of defence of Great Wyk had always been the Sea Fang Reef and the high cliffs of Black Despair. If you couldn't figure with your eyes why these names had been chosen, well...Balon had a few castles at the bottom of Ironman's Bay to sell for a million gold coins.

"There is Spike Bay," he proposed after watching with a wince a galley almost capsize. It was definitely a merchant hull someone had tried to transform into a warship. None of the Redwyne and other men-of-war they had seen before winter had been built like that. In this agitated sea, the hull was manoeuvring like a pig...

"They are going to make it," Tom replied, but began to bark orders all the same. "High tide or not, you need competent helmsmen. And since they haven't them..."

"I know." Spike Bay was not a true bay, more like a shore where by some caprice of the Storm and Drowned Gods, there were no cliffs. It was like the lightning had cut the rock like a blade, leaving a narrow passage where some ships could unload some barrels and crates. In its time, it had been famous for being used by audacious smugglers wanting to avoid the axes of Lord Goodbrother. "Still if we can help them, we will do it...to arm these galleys and come here, surely there must be rich families waiting these greenlanders back home."

He had Tom at the word 'rich'. The man who had once been the only master of the Dreams of the Jade Sea might be now a reluctant farmer, but the songs of fortune and wealth always found in him an avid listener, especially since his holdings had been torched and ruined by the blue fire-breathing reptile.

The rest of the afternoon was as unpleasant as the morning for the 'invaders'. One ship went into the Sea Fang Reef and sunk so fast there was not even time to wonder if anyone had small boats for rescuing them. The biggest ship, a ridiculous hull which looked like its owner had been unable to decide between carrack and galley, finally ordered 'retreat', but not before one of the small galleys capsized was slammed against the tall dark cliffs.

Balon hoped for their sake there weren't many survivors in this mess. The violence of the shock and the fact the galley was almost broken in two were creating the sort of injuries no one on a warship liked to joke about.

"Two ships out of four sunk. Do you believe they will stop there?" asked another old reaver.

"It depends how smart their Lords and captains are, I suppose," Balon answered. "And how many ships they can afford to lose by giving them out to greenlanders knowing nothing of the sea..."

Queen Baela Targaryen

"The Greens have lost nine warships in their attempted conquests of the Iron Islands?" Baela had not shouted the words, but she had been unable to keep surprise off her voice.

Her Master of Ships Alyn Velaryon was prompt to correct her.

"No, these weren't warships. They were more merchantmen some ambitious captains and sons of guild heads tried to arm, thinking it didn't matter if they were bad sailors. That's why they lost so many of them, in the end."

"I was not aware the Iron Fever could give a mad thirst of Lordships," Lord Benjicot Blackwood joked. Alyn Ser Gyles Royce and Lord Eon Grafton followed him one by one, but Lord Cregan Stark and Lady Sabitha Frey didn't.

"Do not forget that the Green fleets have been largely rebuilt, at least on the western coast, and it wasn't the massive war galleys of Lord Redwyne or Lord Hightower which were destroyed," the Lord of Winterfell warned. "Should war come tomorrow, we would be in an extremely perilous situation. South of the Neck, the only harbour of note we have on this coast is Seagard, and its thirty warships can't stand against the Reach naval captains."

"This is partly why we chose to occupy some of the Iron Islands, no?" Ser Gyles Royce asked. "As long as Westmark, Saltharvest and Stonemont hold true, the Lannisters and the Hightowers will never be able to launch an attack against the Riverlands without constantly looking in their back."

"This is true," Lord Stark conceded the point, "but we weren't expecting the Greens to react so swiftly. I, for one, thought King Daeron would not agree on any expedition against the Iron Islands as long as thousands of his foot and horse are still at war with Dorne and manning his castles in the Marches. Now, unless I am imagining things, there are Green banners on the ruins of Old Wyk, Blacktyde, Lonely Light and of course Pyke."

"What about Great Wyk?" the silver-haired monarch wondered. "It's still the largest island of the archipelago."

"The Greens have lost five ships so far there," Alyn replied with a satisfied smirk, "mainly due to bad navigation. And those who went ashore were in general promptly captured by the petty Ironborn lords who have survived the collapse of the Red Kraken's kingdom."

The Lord of Driftmark stopped his report to stare thoughtfully at the map in front of him.

"We could sell some weapons to the pirates, my Queen. No doubt the next time the Greens return to great Wyk, they will receive a warm, very warm welcome."

"It is impossible," Lady Sabitha Frey declared, giving an unimpressed look at the Master of Ships. "The Ironborn have lost most of their forges and best armourers in dragonfire, so they aren't able to produce their best weapons anymore. If the reavers' sons begin to fight with new swords and axes, King's Landing will not have to think long to realise where they had come from. Clubfoot or no Clubfoot, I'm sure even Stormlords are intelligent enough to discover who has the most to gain in this endeavour."

"Not to mention this 'weapon sale' would be a gift, not an exchange of treasure against steel," her Master of Coin said. "These Ironborn may be a bit wealthier than those who bent the knee at Harlaw, but since these new subjects are poor smallfolk, I don't see the last Ironborn lords hiding chests of gold and silver under their crumbling fortresses."

"I propose to wait and see, my Queen," Grand Maester Borlor suggested. "If the Greens truly intend to conquer Great Wyk, then surely the fleet is gathered or already on its way. Judging by the bloody skirmishes fought at Old Wyk, there are many Ironborn left who will not accept Green dominations upon their wet pieces of rock. If no warship comes, we will be free to talk with whoever is in command on Great Wyk and forge new treaties."

"My predecessor had a treaty with the Ironborn and a promise of allegiance," Baela remarked to her advisor. "If at first it was considered a good bargain in the first moons, it certainly wasn't when they began to murder half of the Westerlands."

The Lannisters may have chosen the traitor's side, but the stories and the horror tales which had arrived during the winter in the heart of the Riverlands were so awful no bad began these morbid songs when they were young children nearby.

"Let's wait and see," Cregan Stark affirmed. "Presently, there is to our best knowledge no dominant leader among the petty lords of Great Wyk. It will be always time to decide on a course of action if someone manages to unite them into a true island-kingdom."

"Or if Daeron decides to return to Great Wyk to burn it to the ground," Alyn added.

"Yes, it is another possible outcome," her Royce councillor approved.

There were some light predictions on how it would affect fishing in these waters, and then the second burning subject of this Spring Council was opened.

"It took us a long time, your Grace, but we have found a promising site to find gold." Lord Eon Grafton revealed to the entire assembly.

A shiver of excitation was created. Despite the best efforts and imaginative attempts of the Council, the kingdom was bleeding the yellow substance drop after drop. Gold coins were becoming scarcer and scarcer. Efforts to find large quantities of it in the ground had met little success so far. North, Riverlands, Vale and even Crackclaw Point; they had found a lot of silver, iron, copper and even a black oily substance under the lands around Barrowton. Gold, however, continued to evade them.

"Where?"

"In the north-eastern Glover lands," Baela didn't take long to visualise in her head where this place was, and how it had been discovered.

"In searching for a new hatching place for dragons, we found gold?"

"Yes, my Queen."

The Gods definitely had a sense of humour, that was the only conclusion she could arrive at on the spot.

"This could play to our advantage," the Master of Ships struck the table with his fist. "If we can keep the secret..."

"We can't keep the secret, Lord Velaryon," Sabitha Frey countered. "The only way to keep a secret is if only one person is aware of it, and knowledge of this discovery has already spread well before arriving to Stone Hedge. But we can mitigate the news of the discovery."

"True," the Lord of Winterfell approved. "The area is not easy to access by foot, and Lord Glover has accepted to keep potential gold-seekers out of the way in exchange for help in developing his harbour and his lands."

"The gold deposits must be worth it," the young Queen cautioned. During her travel to the North, she had seen nothing but castles buried under the snow. Baela saw nothing wrong strengthening a loyal vassal of the Lord of Winterfell, but she wasn't delusional enough to not realise this would be a cheap enterprise. "But as long as we are able to melt from it, say the gold we are losing from the foreign trade per year, I will agree to his demands, provided they are reasonable."

"Of course, my Queen," Borlor closed for the council session the subject. "There is also the question of the new roads. Now that the first one is allowing couriers, merchants and poor travellers to journey from Gulltown to the Eyrie at least three times faster than the old paths, there are plenty of voices rising among the Lords and the knights of your realm to claim the honour of having the second one pass on their lands."

"Nothing too surprising," Eon Grafton gave a large nod. "The roads of the Conciliator are in very bad state. Many sections of the Kingsroad have exploded under the double curse of the snow and the cold, and the River Road has been flooded for several leagues between Riverrun and Saltpans. And since brigands and smallfolk have often stolen stones to build their outlaw's residences or reinforce their damaged homes..."

"I understand the problem." Baela replied to her Master of Coin. "But I can't be everywhere at once, and the new Vale road has still cost a fairly nice weight in silver. Where is the creation of a work most urgently needed?"

The answer was short and terse.

"Seagard."

"Seagard?" One by one, her councillors nodded in agreement.

"The region was undoubtedly the one of your realm which most suffered from the Iron Fever, your Grace," the Master of Laws from Runestone told her. "But the roads going to Fairmarket and the Twins are in a piteous state, and plenty of smallfolk and refugees the city is now cursed. The recent events in the Iron Islands have not helped."

"There is no talk of rebellion or violence in the streets, but discontent is certainly well-spread," the Grand Maester confirmed the words of Gyles Royce. "A road would be excellent for trade and the morale of your subjects. The highborn and the farmers would see in it Royal support and the assurance they have not been abandoned."

Discontent was not too threatening...or it would have been, if there was a single realm from the Wall to the Dornish Marches. She couldn't afford to keep many of her subjects unhappy, not when there was another King on Westeros for angry people to turn to.

"I understand. Seagard will have its road...or should I say roads? If we must build in the region, let's tie the important fortresses and cities properly. The Twins, Fairmarket and of course Seagard will be able to trade with each other when this project will be over."

"We may need more workers for these roads," Sabitha Frey warned, though she had a large smile on her elegant mouth.

"Then let's hire them," the rider of Moondancer replied. "The road in the Vale was done in part to prove the idea was feasible. Since this is done and we have Sheepstealer and Moondancer available to work on these projects, I see no reason to waste fortnights anymore. Grand Maester, are we sure the spring will hold for next year?"

"It will, my Queen," the grey-robed man spoke. "Even should the situation change, we have for sure four or five more moons of spring ahead of us."

"You intend to summon Sheepstealer from Winterfell while you travel north to visit Lady Rhaena?" Cregan Stark asked prudently, which she answered by a curt 'yes'. "Judicious, it might kill two birds with one stone. The Greens Lords overconfident after their victories in the Dornish War will have no choice but to stop their plans against your realm. And the roads will be constructed no matter which dragon is in the South."

"This is an excellent idea!" Alyn said with his loud voice of sailor-Admiral. "Daeron himself will think twice before going to war with a dragon bigger than his Tessarion!"

"I'm sure it is an excellent idea, but you might need to speak with septons," Ser Gyles coughed. "Sooner or later, the Faith will need to be informed about Lady Nettles and young Daena, and I think it will be better if it is done officially before every Riverlander is aware of the facts before the priests of the Seven."

Baela did not curse, but it wasn't the envy lacking in her heart. Somehow, the silver-haired daughter of Prince Daemon wasn't convinced the extra-marital 'exploits' of her father were going to be appreciated by the clergy of the Father and the Mother Above.

"Arrange an audience with the delegation of septons we are hosting this moon for tomorrow," the young Queen commanded. "Are there any other important issues to speak about today?"

"There is unfortunately," Sabitha Frey had taken a darker expression. "Lord Rowan is gravely ill, and it is unlikely he will pass the fortnight. His eldest son, alas, is not a great admirer of yours, my Queen."

Baela frowned.

"Unless my memory fails me, I don't think the Rowan Heir and I have ever met. And I don't remember having spoken in ill of Goldengrove or any member of people coming from these lands. May I know how I have offended the pride of..."

"Ser Robert Rowan." Her mother-in-law finished. "You never spoke with him, but he fancied himself to be one of your suitors, and may have asked your hand to your father before war broke out."

Since she had not flowered when the war broke out, Baela did not find the attention of Ser Robert particularly enticing.

"He has become one of the voices proclaiming Daeron I the Daring as a paragon of chivalry for his victory against the Dornish."

'Chivalric' was not the word Baela would have used for this bloodshed. Yes, her cousin had fought smart, but there had been little chivalry shown by the two sides, beginning with the instigators of this war, the now extinct House of Wyl.

"So the death of Lord Thaddeus will bring the end of one of the few great bannersmen of our Reach loyal to our cause." It would leave Horn Hill, but House Tarly had its own reasons to loathe House Hightower and Lord Tarly not the most reliable or reasonable highborn in any case. "Prepare ravens for Goldengrove's maester, we need to give a few instructions to the supporters we have left in the South..."

Prince Viserys Targaryen

Under the sun, Lys looked like a jewel. The streets were filled with goods from every part of Essos. Hundreds of merchants sold Myrish lace, Pentoshi grain, Yi-Tish jade, and Westerosi wine.

Viserys could not help but feel jealousy towards these men and women. It may take moons or years, but these traders would return to their homes in the end, provided their ship didn't sink on its way in the Narrow or any of the great seas explored by great and low captains. But they would see their family and the place where they had been raised again.

Viserys wouldn't.

Several flatterer-courtesans sometimes invited by the Rogares were prompt to promise him the contrary, obviously. But the young Targaryen Prince knew better. And there were a lot of problems against him setting a foot on Westerosi soil in the next five years. First and above all, nobody seemed to want to spend any money on his release. No, that wasn't exact. The Green traitors ruling over King's Landing were extremely happy to give out several purses of Lannister coin to the Rogare patriarch since the spring arrival. But this clearly wasn't to end his captivity, or at least not in any way Viserys desired.

No, the Greens had no reason to pay a ransom. He was a claimant to the Iron Throne; as such he was a threat for the brother of Aegon the Traitor, may he rot in the Seven Hells for what he had done. And the Blacks...they hadn't either. They had a Queen and an Heiress. And they hadn't a couple of million gold dragons hidden somewhere in a secret tunnel or an ancient treasury to give out for him. In his most hopeful moments, Viserys hoped his female cousins were saving coins right and left to gather his ransom. Other times, he was convinced that everyone had forgotten about him and simply decided to let time and neglect accomplishing the will of the Gods.

"Many merchants pay to see the sights of Lys from these balconies. I don't think any of them were so stern and unhappy."

Viserys didn't turn.

"You know why I'm unhappy, Larra."

He received a crystalline laughter in reply and turned to watch eye-to-eye the daughter of the merchant-prince.

Or rather he tried to. When he saw how the woman seven name days his elder had dressed, he didn't arrive to the visage. The clothes donned by the highborn of Lys were always thinner and more colourful, with plenty of the Valyrian inheritance everywhere. Today Larra was wearing a white robe that could have made her be mistaken for the Maiden...if the Goddess wore sleeveless robes with a lot of cleavage and dozens of gemstones, arm braces of gold and a grand necklace of amethysts.

Viserys tried to hide his reaction, but he had the feeling his blush was noticeable from the other side of Lys and maybe further than that. Larra was really, really pretty without effort, and today she had made more effort to be beautiful.

"This is the reaction I wanted," the young woman murmured melodiously before posing her arms on his shoulders and placing him in a position that only increased his blushing and the treacherous reactions of his body.

"Larra...what..."

"My father's health has not been the best in the last moon," her voice had become a whisper, "and before he dies, he wants me to be married, for I will need status and influence to take control of the bank and our House's wealth. And a husband of dragonlord's blood is a very, very impressive prize."

A finger was posed on his lips, and Viserys' breath grew fast and uncontrolled.

"I don't want to leave my brothers in control of House Rogare. They will ruin everything in less than five years." Having met the Rogare brothers, it was difficult to argue the contrary. "So I will find an husband and he will rule by my side...I have plenty of suitors, you know."

Yes, he knew. A small, almost inaudible part of his mind was shouting him to be careful. He was young and without support in Lys, and Larra did not want an alliance of equals. The larger part was blinded by the lips, the eyes and every part of the body of the Rogare merchant-princess.

"Come to my quarters after dinner if your answer is yes," Viserys went redder as the light in the eye of her interlocutor made the invitation very explicit, "and I will make you forget your dreary and rainy lands..."

Author's note: The old men slowly or rapidly are disappearing...young men and women are becoming players in their own right. And so the cycle of ice and fire continues...