STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND
JON
When he had entered the gates of King's Landing, Jon had believed that he would never see a city that could surprise him again. It was plain to see how wrong he had been. There was arrogance in Nuvelle-Enbarr, much, considerably more than in King's Landing. Each new construction seemed to want to attract attention. Many of the buildings he had passed through contrasted with each other, indeed, but none seemed out of place. There was a certain sense of harmony and art in the facades, in the people, in the statues... It was overwhelming.
The city stretched from the slope of the volcano to the sea, stretching along the coast. Above it, the castle of Dragonstone seemed to watch its inhabitants constantly. There were not as many people on the streets as in the capital, but that only made it more beautiful in his ooinion. Instead of the huddled and gangly crowds of King's Landing, in Nuvelle-Enbarr everything seemed orderly. It didn't feel crowded at all, with plenty of uncovered space in the city: wide streets, squares and gardens, and extensive unused land. The hills had been terraced, with large stone buildings ornamented in the most varied forms, most of which seemed to have been built recently. There were all kinds of trees flanking the streets and, with the cold breeze coming from the sea, the atmosphere was much milder than he had expected.
Most of the people he had seen wore modest attire, but if there were poor people among Enbarr's inhabitants, Jon had not been able to notice them. He had been afraid to stand out on his arrival, but clearly he should not have worried. The soldiers of the Black Eagles were a constant on the streets of the city, and their small group didn't seem to stand out from the crowd at all. Street vendors hawked their wares and shopkeepers invited passers-by to examine the items displayed on tables next to their tents. Men and women offering dozens of services and hundreds of items for sale, roamed the crowd or waited in their shops.
"Here we are," Sir Gerald Gower announced when they reached the outskirts of the city, near the castle. In front of them stood a large rectangular building, and behind it an innumerable number of smaller buildings that stretched throughout the valley beside the mountain. "The Academy. This is the main building, inside you will be enrolled and assigned your battalion. Good luck."
"Won't you join us, Sir Gerald?" asked Jon.
"Nay. I have to go back with General Greyjoy to the port, but I'll see you around boys," replied Sir Gerald with a smile. Except for him, the rest of the Black Eagles he had been with since leaving Winterfell had stayed in King's Landing with Lady Edelgard or were still with Theon's sister in the port of Enbarr.
Jon was surprised to see the bustle inside the building. Several soldiers of all sexes and ages came and went back and forth with no apparent pattern. From the central hall several corridors led off to the sides of the building and wide staircases led to the upper levels..
"Ahem." Alexander, one of the recruits who had joined the group during the march, tried to get Jon's attention. He was two years older than Jon, but the boy was somewhat scrawny and shorter than him. He had brown hair and was unsuccessfully trying to grow a beard. "Jon, I think it's this way," he said, pointing to a large table on one side of the room. There was a man and a woman sitting writing something in notebooks, totally absorbed in their work.
"Excuse me" said Jon approaching the table. "Is this where we new recruits have to sign up?"
"Certainly," said the woman, barely looking up. "Your name, kid?"
"Jon Snow," Jon replied, impatiently.
"Snow, hmmm..." The woman closed the notebook she was writing in and took out another one from under the table, far bulkier. "Another bastard from the north. Is Snow okay or would you rather be called something else?" Jon didn't understand the question. "Snow then," the woman said to herself. "Take your stuff to section five, barrack four. Your sergeant will give you your instructions from there. Welcome to the Black Eagles, Snow."
"I should wait for my mates."
"Section five, barrack four. Your friends will go to another barracks, probably. Hurry up, there are people waiting." Behind him, his fellow traveling companions waited impatiently, and so did some soldiers Jon didn't know. Apologizing, Jon took his meager luggage, said goodbye to Alexander, Cley, and the others, and headed for his assigned barrack.
It did not take him many days to realize to what extent Lord Vestra had not been entirely accurate with the numbers he had given him or, rather, had blatantly lied. There were more than five thousand men in the Academy, many more. His barracks could fit the twenty members of his battalion, and there was still room for ten more people if necessary. And there were hundreds of them, not to mention that several members of the Black Eagles lived outside the Academy, in the city proper. He had learned that in total there were five sections in the Academy, each corresponding to one of the armies that formed the Black Eagle Strike Force. Most of the barracks were made up of both veteran troops and conscripts. Most of the barracks consisted of both veteran troops and recruits. Each had a sergeant at the head, and above them a captain and then the general of the army.
The daily dynamics of the Academy were very strange, and strikingly similar to his life on Winterfell. His days were spent in training with the members of his battalion and other training with the rest of the recruits, much more basic. The latter also included classes to teach reading and writing to recruits from the lower classes, from which he had managed to get rid of. Although nothing would have made him happier than to be able to get rid of the other part of basic training as well.
"That's enough!" shouted Sir Alliser Thorne, he man in charge of training them that day. "If you can't wield a pike properly, you better stop this and go back to the field to plant lettuces. I say that for you too, Snow. Didn't they have a master-at-arms at Winterfell?"
"I'm just tired. Moreover, this makes no sense. We should be training with swords, not with this," he retorted as he threw the huge wooden pike, over ten feet long, twice as tall as he was, to the ground.
"Do you want to play with swords, Snow? Then learn the basics first." Sir Alliser's tone gave rise to no complaints.
"This is too long, and difficult to handle. Any swordsman would tear us to shreds in combat."
"You think so?" replied Thorne, ironically. "Go ahead, then, pick up a sword." Jon wielded the dull sword with delight. It was his time to show what he had learned from Sir Rodrik. "The rest of you, get into formation."
"What?" asked Jon, puzzled. He could take on two, maybe even three by himself. But not the more than two dozen recruits who were training with him that day.
"What did you expect? In battle you are not going to face a lonely pikeman, Snow. Come on, get started."
"It's not fair."
"No, it's not, that's the idea. Maybe it gets into your head this time. Come on!"
Jon tried. He lunged at the pike formation and managed to deflect a couple of them with his sword and advance a few steps. However, the rest of the recruits reacted quickly and attacked him before he got any closer. One point hit him in his thigh, another in his belly and another in his side. When he saw a fourth heading for his face, Jon jerked back and was forced to back off, out of their reach.
"Enough!" stopped Thorne before they went on. "If this was real combat, these rookies would have pierced your thigh, stomach and kidney, Snow."
"There were too many of them. If it had been an even match we'd have seen," Jon complained.
"Damn it, think, Snow, think! There were thirty of them and it only took four to defeat you. You didn't even come close to touching them. We can try again with a couple of your friends tagging along if you want, but the outcome isn't going to change. And as for the rest of you, I have seen you tremble before a single and almost unarmed rookie. If it had been a dozen horsemen armed to the teeth, I don't even want to think about what you would have done. Anyway, enough for today, the training is over. I hope you have learned something, or at this rate I'll keep training you until the end of my days."
Jon followed the others to the armory. Almost all of them were older than him, but none fought half as well as he did. One on one he could defeat any of them, but Sir Alliser would not let him. He untied Ghost, whom he had left tied to a post near the armory. At first, many of his new comrades had been frightened at the first sight of the direwolf, but by now almost everyone had gotten used to him. His albino direwolf was very calm and rarely reacted unless disturbed. Within days, Thomas, his sergeant, had made him the unofficial mascot of his battalion. Despite Sir Alliser's quarrels, Jon felt comfortingly at ease there.
At the Academy, everyone was like him. People who had never felt comfortable in their home, and who had responded to Lord Stannis and Lady Edelgard's call to defend the realm. They were a strange family: there were former farmers, miners, petty thieves and other lowly criminals and even the occasional knight. Still, despite everything, he missed his real brothers. Rickon, who would not remember him when he saw him again, Bran, stubborn and curious, and Robb, his rival and friend, his eternal comrade. Also Sansa and Arya, although they were only separated by a few hours by boat. He feared for the latter. Arya had never felt entirely at ease in Winterfell, and Jon knew she would feel even more out of place in King's Landing, surrounded by the entire southern court. With any luck, his father would come to his senses and let her join the Black Eagles in the future.
"Jon!" His sergeant's voice surprised him as he took off his leather armor, drenched in sweat. "A message from the castle has arrived for you. Apparently a raven has arrived from Winterfell." He pulled a roll of paper from his belt and handed it to Jon.
Bran, something has happened to Bran.
Jon snatched the paper from Thomas and began to read, but soon the words became fuzzy and blurry. He realized was crying.
"I'm so sorry, Jon," said one of the recruits. He didn't even recognize who the voice belonged to.
"He's awake," Jon said when he managed to form a coherent thought. "He has woken up. My brother is going to live!" He jumped up and hugged his sergeant as if he were his brother Robb.
"My brother's going to live!" he said as he walked out as then ran to his barracks alongside Ghost. Sir Alliser looked at him with a strange look on his face but said nothing.
"Bran is going to live!" he exclaimed exultantly as he entered the building. His teammates had just returned from their own training and looked at him somewhat confused, but happy. Even Ghost gave a bark of joy.
"Who's Bran, kid?" someone asked. It was a blonde woman, who by her appearance was a few years older than Jon, but was more than a head taller than him. In addition to being huge, she was muscular, flat-chested, and her face was not particularly attractive, full of freckles and scars. She wore heavy armor in which Jon spotted three stars forming a triangle just above a shield with two suns and two moons.
"My lady," Jon said when he understood the situation. He stood up and maintained his posture as best he could, even though his legs were still shaking with emotion. "Forgive me for my rudeness, my lady. Bran is my brother. He had had an accident before I left home and I was just told he recently woke up." His face still wet with tears, Jon had the feeling that he was making a fool of himself.
"At ease, soldier," said the captain, carefree. "You must be one of the new ones."
"Jon Snow, my lady. I joined a few weeks ago."
"That's what your companions have told me. I am Brienne, your captain in command. A pleasure, Jon Snow."
THE IMPRISONED PRINCESS
17 years earlier
The pounding of the hammer against the steel echoed through the armory of Storm's End as Edelgard waited for the blacksmith to finish his work. In the castle there was no shortage of any weapons, but even so Edelgard had asked him to forge a new weapon, if possible. The blacksmith, Donal Noye, as Sir Stannis had called him, had laughed at the prospect of making a weapon for a woman, but the commander of Storm's End had insisted and in the end had finally agreed, albeit reluctantly.
The blacksmith was muscular and strong, although Edelgard noticed that he was beginning to mark some belly under those clothes. He had a wide, flat nose and a poorly groomed beard. Whenever she had seen him, he looked in a bad mood. She knew she was the cause behind it.
"I don't know what you told Stannis to force me to do this. Not that we have a surplus of capable hands that can wield swords, but a woman among soldiers only brings discipline problems, girl" the man growled.
After their meeting in his chambers, Stannis had needed little for Edelgard to convince him to accede to all her requests so far. He had freed Hubert and the rest of her classmates, and given them permission to go anywhere in the fortress, as long as they did not make a fuss, which had proved more difficult than initially expected. Most of the soldiers looked at them with prying eyes as they passed in front of them. Eyes full of prejudice and suspicion of outsiders. Eyes like the ones Donal Noye was looking at her with in that very moment.
"If you have any protest, Sir Donal, take them to Sir Stannis," replied Edelgard, folding her arms. Just because she had to tolerate his attitude didn't mean she planned to stay quiet."
"I already have. And don't call me Sir, I am no knight. Apparently the boy seems willing to do your every whim, missy. Gods know he could use a good woman, but this is too much." Edelgard snorted at the comment, but said nothing. Her protests would only add fuel to the rumors that swirled about her and Stannis.
"Is it ready yet?" she asked when the blacksmith stopped hammering.
"Yes. It is a work of art. A pity that it's going to be wasted like this."
"When I lie dead pierced by an arrow, I will let you take it from my cold hands. Until then, this is mine," replied Edelgard as she picked up the axe. As the master blacksmith had said, it was a magnificent weapon, of very high quality. Well balanced, the handle seemed resistant and with that edge it could cut through any light protection it found. She thanked Donal Noye, although the latter ignored her, and left the armory.
It was almost noon and the sun had managed to peek through the clouds that plagued that land. It hadn't been many days since she discovered why they were called Stormlands. In front of her, imposing, stood the monstrous tower of Storm's End. Despite the weeks that passed, she still felt chills just looking at it. It stood in front of her, defiant. From what Master Cressen had told her, legends told that the ancient fortress had resisted even the fury of the gods. But those who challenged it now were not gods, but an army of tens of thousands of men in front of its walls and dozens of warships on its shores.
Trapped.
That was the thought that had been most in her head in recent days. They had arrived to this strange world and had been forced to become unwitting actors in this civil war that made no sense to them. The soldiers commented that the cause of the war had been Robert, the real lord of the castle and brother of Stannis, who was somewhere on the continent commanding his armies to overthrow a mad king and his insane son, who had kidnapped Robert's betrothed. Stannis had a different version. That of a lord moved by jealousy and a king with dragons in his head. All this intermingled with ambitious great lords, old friendships and threats. No one in the castle knew for certain where Robert was at the time, but meanwhile, Mace Tyrell, a great lord who supported the king, had laid siege to his family home.
She was locked up and without escape, at the mercy of unknown enemies. Once again. At least, this time she wasn't alone. Her friends were there with her. Hubert, always loyal, tried to find out about all the rumors and was never far from her. Ferdinand, Caspar and Petra preferred to spend hours training with the soldiers in the parade ground, who gradually seemed to accept the three strangers. Bernadetta stayed most of the time in the rooms they had been given and Dorothea tried to do her best to try to cheer them all up. Linhardt, on the other hand, spent the hours asleep or studying with Constance the books of this place, trying to find a possible way to return to Fodlan, for the moment, without success.
She would be lying to herself if she said she was not thinking about returning home, but for now her main concern was the enemy behind those walls. For the moment they had not tried to carry out any assault and had settled for camping in front of the walls and cutting off all communication with the outside world. She didn't know how long it would take them to attack, but they had to be prepared by then. Returning could wait, the important thing now was to survive. That they all survived.
"Edie! I finally find you." Dorothea waved her hands to call her as soon as she saw her walking across the yard. "At first I tried to find Hubie, but that proved even harder. How odd to see you without him, by the way."
"Dorothea. Nice to see you. The truth is that I don't know where he is either, but he'll turn up eventually. It's not like we can go somewhere else," Edelgard said. Surely Hubert would be trying to discover some mole infiltrated among their ranks, or trying to find some secret of Stannis or his officers. "Why were you looking for me with such impetus? Have Constance and Linhardt discovered anything?"
"Not that I know of. Truth is I was in the common room when something very strange happened. Never mind the details, but some knights had invited me to have lunch with them, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to make some new friends around here. The thing is, we were going to order the food when we were told they weren't going to serve. Sir Stannis has ordered that only rations are to be given at breakfast and dinner."
Edelgard raised an eyebrow. Not a month had passed since the start of the siege and Sir Stannis was already limiting rations. Storm's End was an impressive fortress, so it should have enough reserves to withstand a long siege. In addition, the garrison was not very large. They should be able to easily survive for many months, even years. Something didn't add up.
"I'll talk to Sir Stannis," Edelgard calmed her. Dorothea was an orphan and had lived on the streets for a long time. She would have no problem with limiting rations. Neither would she, but she preferred to know where she stood.
He found Sir Stannis on the castle wall, looking at the sprawling army in front of them. The wall of Storm's End was a powerful defensive structure, about sixty feet at some points, with a wide rampart at its top to fit two or three rows of men without difficulty. The wall surrounded the great tower-fortress, from the hills that were in front of it to the cliff that was behind it.
"Lady Hresvelg. I see Donal has finished the weapon you ordered," Stannis told her when he saw her show up with her new axe.
"So he has. Although I haven't noticed him very pleased after doing so."
"This situation is something odd for him, for all my men. I haven't see them running scared, so I imagine they still don't know anything about that magic of yours," he whispered when she was closer to him.
"I have kept the secret, as you asked me. But I think you're making a mistake. The magic of my friends would be of incalculable value for this siege," replied Edelgard.
Stannis pointed west, beyond the walls.
"Fifty thousand men. Maybe even more. All the power of the Reach stands before us. My men try to look brave, but their courage hangs by a thread. To show them what you have shown me might be too much for them. It could provoke a mutiny. It could provoke a mutiny, and that I can't afford," Stannis explained. It made some sense, but in her opinion, in a situation like that, it was well worth the risk.
"They have disrupted our land and sea supplies as well as our communications," he continued. "But they haven't built battering rams or ladders. Instead he has deployed a table on top of that hill, in full view of the entire garrison. The smell of food can even be slightly appreciated from here. They don't plan to attack. Mace Tyrell has declared his loyalty to the Mad King, but he will wait to see how the war unfolds. If my brother wins, he will pick up his banners and leave, and if not, he will wait until he starves us."
"That army could change the course of the war," Edargard said, analyzing the situation. "Why waste it here?"
"Mace Tyrell is a coward, and an opportunist. He will not risk defeat and make a fool of himself in front of the entire kingdom. That is why I must resist. As long as that army is here, the better chance my brother will have of winning this war. Every day we endure is a victory."
"Every day... how many days do you think that will be?"
"As many as it takes," Stannis said impassively, though Edelgard noticed his hand trembling a little as he clung to the battlement. "If my brother had been captured, we would have been told by now. He's still alive, and so the war goes on. We must resist."
"I've heard about meals," Edelgard told him, bluntly. "Isn't it too early to start rationing? The garrison is not very numerous. You should have food to last for months or-"
"Years?" interrupted Stannis, his voice full of contempt. "Yes, we should, if Robert hadn't taken most of the supplies with his army. Months you say? Hopefully we will have a few more weeks before rationing even more."
"Most won't stand it," Edelgard told him. Stannis nodded. "I can speak for my teammates when I tell you that they will fight until the bitter end and a some more. But they are just eight."
"Yes. I've been thinking about it... You told me that you are the heir to the throne of a powerful empire. If you manage to return..."
When we manage to return, Edelgard mentalized herself. It was still too early to think of the worst.
"You want us to bring help," she was the one who finished the sentence on that occasion. "I'm sorry, but I can't promise anything. We've tried to figure out how we ended up here and find a way back into our world. But for moment, we don't have a single breakthrough."
"I see," Stannis said, his face grim and without looking away from Mace Tyrell's army. "Then we must resist until my brother returns."
She went back inside the castle, and forced herself to chat with some of the garrison guards, the ones who had seemed the friendliest to her for the moment, though she still aroused some suspicion in them. When they left, she was soon joined by Dorothea and Hubert, who had apparently decided to return from his secret mission.
"What makes you so thoughtful, my lady?" asked Hubert, who instantly sensed Edelgard's concern.
"They are preparing to attack us, aren't they?" asked Dorothea, somewhat worried.
"It seems to me," Edelgard said, narrowing her eyes. "That the situation is much direr than we imagined."
EDDARD
The letter was displayed on his table, in front of him. He brushed over the shattered crimson seal, with a letter N in its center. It had arrived that very morning and Grand Master Pycelle had sent it to him immediately, before the meeting of the Small Council was to take place. He had read it half a dozen times already, and he was still just as perplexed.
Five million gold pieces... It can't be, it's absolutely impossible.
The last few weeks had been a headache preparing for the extravagant tournament that Robert had decided to organize in honor of his appointment as Hand of the King. Littlefinger had managed to get Tywin Lannister and several financial companies of the free cities to finance the expenditure of the more than one hundred thousand golden dragons that was going to cost the empty royal coffers to finance that event. But just when he thought his worries were finally over, this came up.
It is ruin, plain and simple.
As Littlefinger had informed him in his first Council as Hand of the King, the same day he arrived at King's Landing, the crown had debts totaling almost ten million pieces of gold. The Nuvelle Central Bank, to which half of the debts belonged, was the main creditor, followed by Tywin Lannister, with almost a quarter of the remaining debt. He needed a miracle.
"The Nuvelle Central Bank, after meticulous study, has decided to deny the possibility of a deferral in the repayment of loans taken during the last years. The amount required is five million one hundred and forty thousand gold dragons, applying the agreed interest. We expect to receive the payment promptly. "
That simple paragraph had gotten Ned about to grab his badge and return it to Robert that very morning. But he hadn't dared. He had to sort this out before, somehow. Tomard came in when he was reviewing the letter for the seventh time.
"My lord. Lady Nuvelle is here, just as you requested," he said.
"Send her in. I shall receive her at once," Ned said. It was not in his interest to make her wait. If that meeting went well, many things could be solved. A part of him wondered if all this was due to that conversation they had had in the godswood of Winterfell. If an apology could fix it, so be it.
Constance von Nuvelle did not dress simply, living up to her status and wealth: a gray and white silk dress and blue heels. Her wavy blonde hair, with strange violet hues that he was unable to discern where they came from, stirred at every step. She did not show as much ostentation as the Lannisters did, but she certainly did not pretend to be humble in any way.
"Lord Stark" greeted Lady Constance with a slight bow of courtesy. " "If you had given me a little more notice I could have had a much more pleasant evening prepared for us. Some tea, or coffee perhaps, maybe some cakes..."
"I don't think it's necessary, Lady Nuvelle. Please sit down. I just wanted to talk about business," Ned said, somewhat impatient. He did not like those games the southern nobility played, those palace intrigues. At that moment it occurred to him that perhaps it would have been better to deal with Lord Stannis or Lady Edelgard from the beginning. At least it would have been simpler.
You may still have a chance to do so, if this does not go well.
The woman sat on the chair in front of his and poured herself some tea. All her movements were graceful, measured. Her blue eyes roamed the room, with amused curiosity. She had ceased to be young years ago, but she was still beautiful, and it was evident that she rejoiced in it.
"I would like you to read this letter, my lady," Ned said, handing her the paper.
"Oh?" The woman glanced curiously at the letter, as if amused by what was written in it. "Why are you showing me this?"
"It is a letter from you, from your bank, specifically."
"Yes, I can see that. What I ask you is what you want to tell me by showing me this letter," Constance said. She took a sip from the cup, and her smile faded for an instant. "Stop beating around the bush, Lord Stark, you're not good at it."
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," Ned said, dryly. "You know very well what I come to ask of you, but I will say it plainly, if you insist. What do you want?"
"Want? You say it as if I had sent this letter. Do you think I have power over the Nuvelle Bank?" asked Constance. Her broad smile betrayed that she found this situation very comical, quite the opposite of Ned, who looked at her impassively. The only thing that seemed to bother her were the rays of dawn, which peeked through one of the windows behind him, illuminating the room, and which she tried to block out with his indigo fan.
"Don't treat me like a fool. It is the Nuvelle Bank. Not the Royal Bank or the Dragonstone Bank. It is your family name that appears in this letter."
"Ohohoho" laughed Lady Nuvelle, with a shrill voice. "All right, all right. You Northerners certainly have no sense of humor. Well, I don't want anything."
"What do you mean?" asked Ned in puzzlement.
"Nothing, Lord Hand. My bank has been lending money to the crown for a decade, and it is high time we got our investment back. That money was not a gift, and we need that capital to make new investments. As strange as it may seem, I'm starting to believe that tournaments and parties are not good business."
"Is there nothing I can do to convince you? Maybe we can pay you back the loans in installments or some other way," Ned tried to negotiate.
"Now you are the one who treats me like a fool. Lord Eddard, the crown has not returned a single dragon in all these years. It's a bottomless pit," she said, in a much more serious tone. Her funny look had become cold and calculating, like her mistress'. She got up and went to the window behind him, leaning back on the sill.
"Come closer, Lord Stark. I want you to see something," Constance told him. Ned accompanied her not very willingly. The little games and riddles came back once more, and he was beginning to tire of them. In fact, he was already tired when all this started. He stood beside her, contemplating the city of King's Landing, from the Red Keep to the mouth of the Blackwater. "Who rules this city, Lord Hand?" he asked.
"I'm not in the mood for riddles," replied Ned.
"It's not a riddle. I just want to know what's going through that thick head of yours. Please humor me."
"The king. Like the rest of Westeros."
"Yes, in theory. But in practice you govern the North as you please, or the Lannisters the Westerlands. Any little lord rules his lands almost with absolute authority. Well, in this city Robert may be hailed by the streets, Janos Slynt terrorize the beggars or Littlefinger decide the price of whores, but I rule over the rest. Every ship that enters this port must first pass through Dragonstone. The Nuvelle Bank is not my only source of income. I own directly or indirectly almost a third of the businesses in the city: taverns, merchants, blacksmiths, tailors, butchers... It is in my hands to decide whether a family will be able to continue paying the rent on their house or end up on the street; or maybe you may find the port empty tomorrow, without a single merchandise ship on the horizon." She turned to look him straight in the eye. "If you treat me well, you will find me the best of friends, have no doubt. But if you play me for a fool or disrespect me, I can raze this city to its foundations. And believe me when I tell you that I will not be the one the people blame."
"The crown is bankrupt" she continued. "The coffers are empty and our dear Lord Baelish has been asking for new loans for years to settle old debts, much more important than mine, apparently. He believes that, because I am a vassal of Lord Stannis, I have an obligation to finance this madness. Well, that's over now."
"I will try to get the realm to settle its debt as soon as possible. I will take the matter to the Small Council, this very morning, but I cannot guarantee you anything. Until then, I would ask you for discretion in this matter," Ned asked, seeing the failure of the negotiation.
"Discretion? Don't make me laugh. Pycelle has given you this letter, so by now a crow will be flying towards Casterly Rock with the information. The little birds of Varys and the spies of Littlefinger have seen me enter your tower and will soon connect the dots. And of course, Lord Stannis and Lady Edelgard are aware of it too. Whether you like it or not, this is no longer a secret. And by the way, your tea was disgusting." She got up from the windowsill and left him in the middle of the silence of his room, thinking about how to solve all that mess.
As Lady Constance had predicted, half of the Small Council knew about the debt issue before Ned brought it up.
"It's impossible," Littlefinger declared, scratching his chin. "The city is packed with knights who have arrived for the tournament, the stakes are set, and the prizes prepared. Besides, that would not be nearly enough to meet the amount Lady Nuvelle is asking of us."
"Lord Tywin will be generous, but it is an exorbitant amount," Grand Master Pycelle coughed. "Moreover, Lady Constance is a vassal of Lord Stannis, present here. Surely we can strike a deal with him."
"The Nuvelle Central Bank is out of my control. In addition, I have been warning you all for years that this would happen. Better that it was with Constance than with the Iron Bank. You should have stopped Robert instead of indulging his every whim, maybe then he would pay attention to us for once," said Stannis Baratheon, wearily. If before he had harbored any hope of redirecting this situation, now he had none.
"The Black Eagles are to keep the king's peace, aren't they brother?" said Lord Renly with a smile, as if this whole thing was a joke. "Then send them to the Bank of Nuvelle to scare them off."
"If I could command the Black Eagles against the enemies of the kingdom, I would start with this very castle, Renly. If this has not happened before, it has been because I convinced Constance to continue lending us money and trust in Lord Arryn's good work."
"Maybe we can do something to appease Lady Nuvelle's anger." The childish voice of the eunuch Varys was as sweet as the smell of perfume he gave off. "A symbolic payment, as a token of goodwill."
"I've tried," Ned told them. "She insists on getting back all the gold she is owed."
"Well, serious sacrifices will have to be made," Littlefinger said. "For starters, we'll have to cut down the size of the City Watch. We will raise taxes and borrow from small merchants and lords. Maybe even take some loans from some smaller banks in Tyrosh and Myr. Added to the tournament, it should be enough to increase our revenue significantly. Hopefully we'll have enough to pay Lady Nuvelle and the Braavosi before anyone gets suspicious. After that, we'll declare bankruptcy."
"Bankruptcy?" asked Sir Barristan, stunned. "Is there no other solution?"
"Not that I can see. Enmity with the Iron Bank is not a good idea. When our most important and dangerous debts are paid off, we will declare the suspension of payments. Lord Tywin will be outraged, as will Lord Tyrell and faith, and of course the rest of the small debtors, but they will not cause us as much damage as the other two. And with the new taxes we will be able to pay off the debts little by little. If all goes well, in a few years we will have redirected the situation. That is, of course, if our dear Robert does not wish to celebrate another great event. How many years is left for your daughter to marry, Lord Eddard?"
It wasn't what Ned expected to hear, but he didn't see any short-term solution either. If word spread that the crown was not paying its debts, they would run out of sources of financing in the short and medium term. The new measures would not be very popular, and the rest of the lenders would protest, but they opened the door to receive money again from Dragonstone and Braavos in the future and stabilizing the situation. He didn't expect Lord Tywin to turn against the crown, but Mace Tyrell would have to be kept on his toes. Ned had not forgotten which side he had fought for in the rebellion. Perhaps he could be appeased by marrying his daughter to Lord Renly, if he could be convinced.
"The mob will be at our throats," Lord Renly said, "It won't be long before they start protesting the taxes, and on top of that our dear Littlefinger suggests we cut the numbers of the City Watch. I hope you don't plan to leave the Red Keep in the near future, Lord Stark."
"The Black Eagles could fill that need," Lord Stannis said. "I already pay them their salary, there would be no need to pay them from the kingdom's coffers." It wasn't a bad idea, but Ned didn't want to increase the power that Stannis Baratheon and his wife already had. For the moment, the various forces within the Red Keep were in a delicate balance that he preferred not to break. For all he knew, this whole affair could be an attempt by Dragonstone to increase their power in the capital, and he did not intend to fall into the trap if he could avoid it.
"If the protests escalate significantly, Lord Stannis, I will think about it," Ned instructed him. "Until then I prefer the Gold Cloaks to be the ones who keep the peace in the city."
"Our dear King Robert is still well-liked among the common folk, but you know their mood is quite volatile," Varys said.
"If you don't trust the Black Eagles, Lord Hand, maybe we can turn to other lords of the kingdom for help," Pycelle said. He didn't need to be sharp-eyed to know who he was referring to.
"We'll keep talking about this another day," replied Ned, exhausted. Perhaps his tone was too abrupt, judging by the stares that were fixed on him.
"If you don't pretend to listen to our advice, Lord Stark, why are we even here?" asked an angry Stannis Baratheon. "I've been watching the kingdom fall apart for fifteen years. Lord Arryn did nothing to stop it, and you are following the same path. Even worse, I fear."
"If you have any complaints, Lord Stannis, voice them without fears," said Ned, authoritative. They may have all been equal in that room, but he was the Hand of the King, and he spoke with his authority. He could not let them question him so easily or they would come down on him.
"I will no longer attend these foolish meetings. You have allowed Robert to hold this ridiculous tournament and now, at one of the gravest times the kingdom faces, you intend to walk away and leave it for another day. Will you do the same thing again tomorrow? And the day after that? If you want someone who would laugh my brother or Baelish's jokes, you can go and find someone else. When you are willing to change things, Lord Stark, let me know." He got up abruptly and walked towards the door. His furious footsteps echoed throughout the council chamber.
"Lord Stannis," Ned warned him. His voice gave no room for argument, and he hoped it would be enough to bring Stannis Baratheon to heel. "If you walk out that door, I will consider you resigning your seat on the Small Council." Stannis stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. His dark blue eyes flashed with pent-up anger.
"Then so be it, Stark. I wish you luck running the realm with that inept and corrupt bunch. You'll need it."