= Chapter 27 =
The monotonous, uncoloured sides of the large galleys crisscrossed the water surface of Blackwater Bay. Several Ironborn ships were approaching the great city that lay at the mouth of the river that was famous for its treacherous currents and from which Aegon the Conqueror had launched his legendary campaign that had eventually united all the kingdoms of Westeros into a single state.
'The Iron Hammer' marched confidently ahead, intimidating and forcing the other ships, barrelling and small, to outflank it. Trade and life in the bay was in full swing, and it was not uncommon to see a ship here.
It was shocking to see ships bearing the Greyjoy crest in these waters.
The common folk or merchants, few of them aware of the affairs and rearrangements of the Small Council, had heard rumours of pirates from the Iron Islands already prowling the waters near the capital, looking for their prey.
Standing on the prow of the Iron Hammer, Theon gazed out into the city. This was the second time he had visited this place, and each time was different from his past self. Many of the houses, previously lying in ruins or looking too shabby, were now either restored or completely rebuilt.
The port was mottled with the colourful crests and sails of the many merchant ships that came from different parts of the world, be it the Free Cities, Gull City, White Harbour or Old Town.
Above the city rose the Sept of Baelor, shining with its seven crystal towers, or the Red Castle, a huge creation of the architects of the time of Maegor the Cruel, the unhappy and inconsolable people whose fates were inextricably linked to the fortress. The third king of the Seven Kingdoms ordered the execution of all the builders and buried them right in the catacombs of the castle.
Like a tidal wave, people flocked to the city - traders and craftsmen, refugees from the Riverlands or simple peasants of the royal lands, knights and pilgrims. And many among them were people whose fate depended on the lord of the Iron Islands. Under the guise of commoners or travellers, warriors and spies infiltrated King's Landing, waiting for their lord to arrive.
He watched and noticed more and more new details catching his eye. The city built on three hills had long since recovered and was already clearly thriving under Aegon's rule.
'Or Daenerys?' - a thought flashed through his mind.
After the Storm's End, he felt better. Communication with him had been restored and the more enormous walls of the Baratheon fiefdom were no barrier to it. The Ironborn quickly reached Sharp Cape, the Bar-Emmons' ancestral castle on the northern end of Massey's Hook peninsula.
Lord Duram Bar-Emmon received Theon courteously and graciously. The burly man in his thirties, father of two sons and one daughter, was a man of insecurity and too dependent on the opinions of others. Greyjoy saw him clearly as a weak and unhappy man who had to bear the burden of responsibility for his clan.
Lord Pyke preferred to be friendly with him, remembering that the Bar-Emmons were important bannermen of Dragonstone and had a great deal of power in the Bay, despite the not-so-wise head of the family.
Still, centuries of ancestral labour is sometimes stronger than the foolish actions of a generation or two.
'I may be able to find some points of influence on Duram. A mistress, strange predilections, or something else.'
Right now Dragonstone officially belongs to Aegon Targaryen, waiting for the moment when the heir to the Iron Throne grows up and takes personal possession. And all the cod lords are royal bannermen at this point.
The next and penultimate destination was Welcome Cove, a small harbour town located on a small island near the shores of Massey's Hook.
With small walls but a stone anchorage, it has always served as a transit point between King's Landing and the rest of the world, and has prospered because of it. Wars and great upheavals have avoided the place - neither the Dance of Dragons nor the Blackfire or Robert Baratheon rebellions have ever turned Privet Cove into a smoking ruin.
Crispian Sanglas, Lord of Welcome Cove, has proved himself a man of few words and even unpleasantness. Fleeing to Volantis from the wrath of Stannis Baratheon, he found himself in Aegon's retinue and soon regained his rights.
Theon bade him farewell the same day he met him.
Soon, a day later, the capital itself, in all its splendour, came into view.
- It stinks,' Three-toed, the ship's XO, grumbled, 'It was fresher last time.
- Last time it was a cold winter and now it's a hot summer, which makes the smell thicker,' Theon replied, turning towards his old subordinate, 'I hope you remember my commands when I leave the ship.
- Let no one on the ship, ask about local rumours and events, keep an eye on every sailor, and watch out for Gold Cloaks.
- That's right,' Theon nodded, 'and find out which trade guilds are honourable and which are barely afloat or at the bottom. I'm sure there'll be plenty of those in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.
Loric Three-toed nodded. Time had changed this man greatly. More than twelve years had passed since they had met, and the XO had aged greatly. His harsh and weathered face had become more wrinkled, his grey hair had begun to fall out, and his teeth had finally rotted and been pulled.
The old pirate had not yet lost his touch, however, though Theon had long ago picked up his replacement in the form of a younger and more energetic one.
He looked around the huge city once more. The proximity to the water was pleasing. The Blackwater Bay was a beautiful place - so thought the First Men, the Andals and the Valyrians. Those who had lived far before them, hiding on the seabed, had thought so.
They easily found a vacant spot in the city's anchorage. After paying the harbour dues, the Ironborn began to unload quickly as a hundred Iron Guards, with their personal standard-bearer in front, along with servants and common sailors, began to emerge from the two ships along the wide wooden decks.
A few Gold Cloak patrols tensed up, and people jumped out of taverns and coastal houses, eager to see the Ironborn. The people of Essos looked at the unusual inhabitants of the Andals' lands with interest, some with recognition, others with surprise and incomprehension.
With all possible speed, the servants bought a good horse for their lord. Quickly saddling the horse, Theon galloped slowly ahead of the organised and orderly hundred.
The thudding footsteps caused the townspeople to look out of their windows to see the unusual column of warriors in hats and steel armour. Sharp spears gleamed, and a standard with a marvellous emblem - a strange-looking helmet surrounded by protruding tentacles - was flying.
The servants followed the guardsmen, carrying all the necessities.
They passed Fish Square, crowded in the morning dawn. They reached Hook Street, but rather than take the shortcut to the Red Castle, Theon chose to walk his troop all along Filthy Street and alight in Bread Square.
Living up to its name, the street was indeed extremely dirty. There were often piles of rubbish or human waste lying in the corners. Strangely enough, people of decent wealth lived here - middle-class citizens, small traders and shopkeepers.
The bells of the Great Sept of Baelor rang loudly, and the sound of the guardsmen's marching march was strangely oddly combined with it in a cacophony.
This unusual consonance reminded him of his past homeland and its rulers' love of staging grand marches.
The squad reached Bread Square, one of the most beautiful and densely populated places in the city. It was then that Theon noticed a small but noticeable pandemonium. People, whether beggars from Flea End or townsfolk from Flour Street, were gathered around a man in a long red cloak standing on a handmade platform made of a couple of barrels and a wide plank.
Only the echoes of the red priest's high baritone could reach the ironborn. But now the crowd heard, and then noticed, Theon's troop. Heads turned in their direction, and at first people almost jerked to flee, thinking it was the Gold Cloaks who had come for them. But when they saw the strange standard and unusual armour, they calmed down and stared curiously at the hundred warriors and servants passing by.
The red priest, a black-haired man with facial features clearly indicative of Oriental descent, stared at Theon as if mesmerised. Greyjoy glanced at the crowd and the priest, and rode on.
Soon they were at the high gates of the Red Keep. The sentries on the barbican and towers had long ago spotted them, and the king had probably already been alerted to the arrival of the new master of the ships.
Theon had to settle most of the soldiers in the city, for the king had made it clear that there was no room in Red Castle for the whole horde of ironborn.
Several large houses had been purchased in the neighbourhood, so that they could house the troops there.
Taking with him two dozen guardsmen and a dozen servants and maids, Greyjoy entered the courtyard of the royal manor, where they were promptly met by the steward, Lionel Selmy, a relative of the famed Barristan the Brave.
'A great deal of expense has been expended on this enterprise, but the cause is worth it. I wonder if the master over the whisperers knows about it yet?'
- My lord,' Selmy made a polite and immaculate bow, as one would to a High Lord, 'it is good to see you. I hope the journey has been kind and pleasant.
- Thank you, Ser Lionel,' Theon smiled softly as he dismounted and put his horse in the hands of the junior stewards.
He knew the steward's name beforehand, as he knew many of the men who held few serious positions in the kingdom. Steward of the Red Castle is a powerful position by the standards of the Seven Kingdoms.
- The quarters for you and your servants have been prepared,' the royal steward added, 'and the king has already been informed of your arrival.
They had to speak at a certain distance from each other. Exactly one and a half metres - as far as local etiquette allowed. Theon himself thought it a silly thing, but local traditions and laws, unfortunately, were immutable and influenced his outward behaviour. Greyjoy tried to control his every step and polite, friendly communication with Lord Selmy's nephew was the first step in this abode of snakes and dragons.
And it is by the first steps that one determines whether one is a pawn or a player, a queen or a battering ram.
'It is not known what this Lionel is - a simple servant, a cunning intriguer or just another courtier, catching any moment for elevation? If the character was passed on through bloodlines, it would make it easier.'
- Thank you, Ser Lionel. Then would you deign to assist me in placing my own servants in their own quarters? As a man of experience, I'm sure you know which room is suitable for a warrior and which for a mere servant.
The young man's blue eyes glittered for a moment, but then became calm and falsely joyful again. - I am honoured, Lord Greyjoy.
Watching the servants and warriors being housed in their assigned quarters in the East Court, Theon made a notch in his head. Change the residences of all servants and warriors exactly the opposite of the steward's plan. Greyjoy had not yet found the reason for such an action, but intuition and an unknown feeling told him it was the right choice.
He chatted with the steward some more, feeling him out. Lionel was apparently doing the same thing Theon was doing. All he had to do was relax as much as possible and control his facial expressions. If a single drop of foreignness and frightening aura escaped, it would be hard to build bridges with him.
Lord Pyke was no fool, noticing perfectly well how his gaze had begun to frighten even the wise men in his life.
For weeks Loric the Three-Fingered had feared him, until Theon had learnt to keep himself under control at the very least.
After personally supervising the placement of his servants, Theon, along with a steward and a twosome of guardsmen, travelled to the Great Wormhole, where the newly minted master of the ships himself would be housed.
After finding out where his chambers were and looking around, he was promptly notified by one of the King's personal squires that His Majesty wished to speak in the guest chambers.
Before going to the king, Theon changed into his usual comfortable tunic and shirt and a black cloak with yellow trim around the edges: a velvet doublet lined with white satin and a short, gilded cloak down to his back. Such a cloak might seem strange to the local courtiers and even a little out of place.
'But it's worth showing a bit of strangeness and wildness. Still, master of the most rebellious region, one must observe a bit of the locals' stamp of the distant Iron Islands.'
The squire waited at the entrance to the chambers, obliged to bring Theon to the king. Slowly and cautiously he stepped behind the eleven-year-old boy, rather tall and thin, and remembered his name. One of the squires, as far as Greyjoy remembered from his spies, was an Uller, an important bannerman of the Martells. The boy didn't look Dornish, so he must be a Rikker.
Through long corridors hung with tapestries, paintings or armour with inlays, they reached one of the guest rooms. At the monolithic door stood a footman in a long white cloak. Not hiding his face behind his helmet, he reminded him of someone. Greyjoy had probably seen the man in passing, but he couldn't recall the name in the abyss of memory.
Dark and wiry, grey-haired, the man was a Northerner. It was then that Lord Pyke remembered whom he reminded him of.
'Jorah Mormont?'.
Saying nothing, White Cloak stepped aside, allowing the wizard over the ships into the room.
Two couches awaited him inside, mottled and black and red, in the Targaryen colours. Too soft for Theon's taste, and relaxing.
- Your Majesty,' Greyjoy entered and immediately bowed briefly to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, taking a moment to appreciate Aegon's changed appearance. He had aged a good deal since their last meeting; instead of a young and vigorous man, he was almost an old man, though no more than ten years had passed.
- Lord Greyjoy,' Aegon said in a calm tone, and pointed his head toward the second couch.
Theon sat down on it without a word, noticing a small silver jug filled with pear brandy on the small table between them.
The room lacked windows - only one per rather large room - so oil lamps hung abundantly around the edges.
Clad in a black doublet with a scarlet dragon on the breast, with gilded cloth around the edges and on the collar, Aegon scrutinised the new member of the Small Council. Theon stared back, silent and indifferent.
The staring did not last long - they were not alone, for two of the king's squires and several servants stood nearby, ready to do His Majesty's bidding. It was too unseemly and dangerous at the same time - so Theon hurried to fill the pause with words:
- I am honoured by your trust, Your Majesty. It is an honour to accept the position of Master of the Ships, and I am ready to assume my duties immediately.
- I am glad of your active desire to serve as Master of the Ships, my lord. As one of the Seven Kingdoms' finest naval commanders, you, Lord Greyjoy, will do the job with ease.
'Expects me to do something big? Could it be that he needs me on the Small Council not only as a neutral figure, but also as a necessary tool to fulfil his plans?'
Aegon offered the pear brandy. Greyjoy compulsively accepted, however, nibbling on the smallest of them.
Disgusting, as always. Not a muscle on his face, but the king noticed something odd in Theon's movements. He made no comment, thinking something to himself.
Targaryen asked about the journey to King's Landing, Theon's impressions of the Stormlands, the events in Lys and the hospitality of the Dornish, without mentioning his wife's strange passage. In no way did the King broach the subject of the new Master of the Ships, preferring to probe the man sitting before him with unimportant topics first.
- I think we can finally talk about the situation with the Royal Navy,' Aegon changed the subject from Theon's personal ship, 'I would like to hear your assessment of its condition at the moment.
- I cannot say anything definitive at the moment, Your Majesty,' Theon replied at once, 'I need to inspect the fleet and then I will be able to make my judgement.
The King nodded favourably, accepting Greyjoy's words. Then he added casually:
- There will be a meeting of the Small Council in a week. I hope by then I'll be able to hear what you think of the state of the Royal Navy.
- By all means,' Theon agreed.
- The Hand will also help you,' Aegon said, 'and bring you up to speed on your duties as Master of the ships.
- I trust in Lord Connigton's wisdom,' Theon smiled weakly. It was still hard to stretch his lips into the semblance of a smile, but at least it came out natural now.
That was the end of their conversation - the king had evaluated the new counsellor, had drawn his own conclusions - and so had Theon. The conversation had cleared up some of the murkiness about the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms' goals and Greyjoy's place in his plans. The only thing left to do was to cower in this viper's den and reap his rewards.
One could of course repeat Velarion's folly and start brazenly stealing as much as he can before he is dismissed. But that would end the lucrative prospect too quickly - and a cross on any influence in the capital. No, a subtler course of action is worth taking here. Theon has enough money for now.
The private room allotted to him was not particularly impressive - luxurious, to be sure. But it was nothing special, thin, purple-coloured silk curtains, a wide and voluminous bed with a soft featherbed and carved columns around the edges, a few elaborately painted cedar chests rimmed with steel. Apart from the odd paintings on the wall with views of the sea, then nothing much.
'And this is Velarion's former room?' - Theon inspected it meticulously, and then ordered his own servants to wipe down every corner of the room. If he had previously been rather squeamish about dust and dirt in rooms, now it had become an absolute.
Several guardsmen immediately appeared at the entrance to the room, and the centurion quickly distributed who was on duty and when.
Theon also got a certain amount of documentation, folded and lying piled on the oak table. A cursory examination yielded nothing - Velarion wrote rather crookedly, and in his own way - expenses, patrol reports from captains, and his own notes on various things. Greyjoy had the impression that it was all for appearances - the King had thrown Lord Driftmark out as Master of the Ships for a reason, hadn't he?
'Still, it's worth a little insight into what Velarion wrote,' Theon reminded himself. A servant brought a silver bowl of water.
Slipping his finger in before he drank and making sure it was safe, Lord Pyke took a few sips. He felt distinctly better and his mood lifted. He had been on his feet all morning, and talking to the monarch had not added to his strength.
'It's worth a trip to the harbour at noon, to inspect the Royal Navy. But before that... we should meet with Connigton. There are many rumours about the current Hand: unpleasant and vile.'
Theon sent one of Red Castle's minor servants to the Tower of the Hand, to find out where the High Lord of the Stormlands was and to arrange an audience. But thirty minutes later, Greyjoy learnt that the Hand was not in his abode, and had last been seen leaving Maegor's Keep, accompanied by a couple of loyal knights.
While talking to a minor servant whose name he did not yet know, he felt a strange attention from outside. His neck itched and he wanted to turn his head sharply towards the window, but he restrained himself. Apparently someone was already standing not far from the window - maybe a guard on the wall or a low-key servant making a show of active work.
'We can wait for the Hand, or we can pay a visit to the Royal Navy. The good news is that no one is expecting me today, so I can see the true state of the fleet. But the deplorable state of the fleet is obvious. The big question is, how bad is it?'
Not that Theon cares about the Royal Navy. But he wasn't going to stand idly by either.
'On the one hand, the Royal Navy is a serious competitor in the event of a war... only all that competition is worthless with the dragon factor. There's no point in underhanded gamesmanship or weakening the King's fleet.'
Traditionally dipping his hands in the basin brought in, filled with cold water, Theon sent for the centurion. When the commander arrived, Thoron, a bearded man in his thirties, told him that the warriors had already settled in, and when asked if there was anything strange or suspicious, he replied in a thick bass:
-Yes, there are some children labouring near the barracks. They seem to be either squires or servants.
As it turned out, they were not spies. The local knights, of whom Aegon had plenty in his service, had sent their squires to find out what kind of strange warriors with Greyjoy crests had taken up residence at Red Castle.
Theon warned them to be careful not to clash with Targaryen knights or guards. But also not to remain silent in case of insults or provocation.
- Gather me five fighters. I'm going-' he stammered, his neck itching more. The attention from the window aperture had increased,' he said, 'to the city.
Thoron bowed and departed, selecting his warriors for departure. Theon himself turned round sharply and looked at the window.
There was a view of the wall from the narrow opening - and it was not far away, and the guard in black Targaryen colours could hear something.
'We should get thick, thick curtains. And even more thoroughly check the walls.'
Theon stripped off his luxurious robes and dressed more practically, but without forgetting the luxury. His hiking clothes for the city boasted a silver border on his cloak and a shiny chain with a moulded ship in the centre. This he preferred to hide for the time being behind the dupe.
They left Red Castle in twenty minutes, all on horseback-the royal stableman had enough horses to spare, and Greyjoy had loaned them to his guardsmen-Thoron had chosen the most skilful in riding. Walking through the city on foot was too foolish and could... in some ways dishonour a nobleman and ruin his reputation.
Once in the harbour, Theon quickly identified the location of the Royal Navy - at the very edge. Forty galleys, of varying sizes and proportions, armament and number of crew. According to Greyjoy's information, another small squadron was stationed at Dragonstone. The time would come for him to visit it as well.
The naked eye's inspection had already yielded some results - even from a distance, the ships looked bad.
The rotted ram on one of them caused a sudden feeling of shame. The guardsmen behind them shared their master's emotions. A ship is a second, if not the first, home for an ironborn, to be watched and cared for as much as one's own equipment or clothing.
- I think I understand the king kicking Velarion out,' Theon murmured as he and his five warriors moved closer to the Fleet, leaving the saddles behind. 'If I were him, Lord Driftmark's head would be on a spike for such insolence.
I remembered the King's words about a couple of appointees placed in Velaryon's absence and before Greyjoy's arrival to keep an eye on the fleet. It was necessary to listen to them, too, and to find out why they had not tried to fix this horror just a little. Talk to the guardians of the ships and see what they were about. And a captains' meeting also needed to be organised. Doubtless some of the crews would have to be changed, where Theon could hustle a bit and put his own people in.
The impending front of work made one want to immediately rush out to sea and calm down. Only for a moment, but still.
- Who commands this ship? - Theon asked one of the sailors in the harbour, pointing his finger at a ship with a rotted ram.
The sailor immediately recognised Theon as a nobleman, and after hesitating for a moment, replied in a hoarse, coughing voice:
- 'Well, m'lord, the captain is young, newly commissioned. The old one was hanged recently by order of the king for stealing.
- And what is the name of the galea, and what is the name of its captain?
- 'The King's Sword, m'lord,' the sailor continued in a subservient tone as a few pennies flashed in Theon's hand, 'the captain's name is Ofri MacRnee, and he's one of those... small knights. He's a good man, only a month in the service, but he's not a hard man to please.
- Do you know this Ofri MacRnee so well? - Theon asked, 'Do you serve on this ship?
- No, m'lord, I am of the crew of the Shining Star, there she is, at the very edge.
Talking to this sailor gave me a lot of fresh and interesting information about some of the captains. Some of them were so corrupt that they did not even fear the wrath of the Guardian of the Ships or the Master of the Ships, some were honest servants, of whom there were not many in the Fleet, and all of them had been recently appointed by the King himself.
The Royal Fleet was a stable, cleaning of which would require not one day and one shovel, but years and dozens, if not hundreds of tightened strokes on their necks.
Looking round the ships once more, Theon opted to turn back. The time to talk to the captains was not yet upon him. He would have to endure the evening's small feast that the king wanted to throw in honour of Lord Greyjoy's arrival.
They travelled back the same way and last Greyjoy, only making a considerable detour. Along the way, he managed to spot a small crowd of townsfolk dispersing, gathered around another red priest who was ranting fervently to the people.
'Strange golden cloaks... different weapons and armour,' Theon took a closer look at them. It wasn't until a moment later that a hunch came - the Unsullied! Former slaves who had joined Daenerys. If he was not mistaken, some or all of them had gone to serve in the guards of King's Landing.
To whom their loyalty belonged was not in doubt, but it was too strange that men loyal to the Queen were dispersing the Arglorians.
Back at Red Castle, Theon had also learnt of Connington's return. According to a couple of Theon's personal servants, who had managed to rub shoulders with some of their colleagues halfway through the day, the Hand was travelling to the Great Sept of Baelor for an audience with the High Septon. The King was not having the most important relationship with Vera and everyone in the stronghold knew it.
Theon had no time to talk to Connington anyway, for one of the servants had come to tell him of a feast in which he was to play a major part.
He had to postpone it until tomorrow. As it turned out, the local people were not in a hurry, unlike Pike or the Iron Islands in general. For them, life flowed slowly and unhurriedly.
The feast was held in the Small Chertoge, a feasting hall adjacent to the Tower of the Hand. Much smaller than the Great Hall, it could still hold several hundred guests under its high ceilings.
The king seated Theon next to him, on his left, while on the king's right sat the queen with a silver tiara on her head and a dress of milky silver colour.
The Hand of the King, Lord Connington appeared to be a grey-haired man, with a tenacious gaze, sometimes becoming abruptly absent-minded and tired. The High Lord tried to hide his thoughts behind an indifferent face, but Theon could see Greyjoy's eyes thoughtful and sometimes squinting at him. He sat next to him.
The smaller tables were filled with sworn knights and loyal servants. The walls were covered in long black cloths with coats of arms. Huge braziers with crackling logs brightly lit the spacious room. The voices of the people were drowned out by the singing of a group of bards nestled in a corner of the Wormhole.
- To Lord Greyjoy and his new post,' a man with the Cressy crest loudly announced a toast, sitting at a low table. It turned out to be the chief stableman of Red Castle, Mayfrey Cressy, a scrawny man with a perpetually blinking eye.
The men raised their goblets and drank demonstratively. The King turned to face Theon, and slowly raised his cup and drank. Greyjoy had no choice but to follow everyone, keeping his face from showing unnecessary emotion.
Things got funnier from there - after making a few more toasts to the king or queen, the people at the low table began to chat louder and more freely. The wine and food made them relax and feel more at ease.
- I hear you visited the dockyard today, my lord,' Connington turned to Greyjoy, "I'm sorry we didn't have time to talk about the Royal Navy and some other... problems," he emphasised the last word.
Theon smiled whitely in response.
- You were too busy talking to High Septon, and I wanted to see what Lord Velarion had turned the Royal Navy into.
- I'm sure it's a very unpleasant sight,' said Ser Eustace Strange, Master of the Whisperers, sitting beside Connington.
- The King's ships are not at their best at the moment.
- That's an understatement,' Lord John chuckled, 'thieving commoners making their way to captaincy is a problem.
- You blame the commoners? - Ser Eustace raised an eyebrow, 'You are too cruel to them. Why do the commoners deserve your dislike?
- The blacks are the blacks,' said the man who had lived in Essos long enough to despise the common people as if it were a matter of course, 'you can't expect anything good from them.
'It is unusual to hear such a thing from the Hand of the King. John Connington may be good at governing, but some truths are closed to him because of his noble hubris.'
-Lord Greyjoy might disagree with you,' Ser Eustace remarked, 'you spoke so calmly to a mere sailor, my lord, that I was greatly surprised.
John Connington looked at the High Lord of the Isles attentively, while Theon replied without the slightest frown:
-Have you been in the harbour too, Ser Eustace? - Theon said, ostentatiously surprised, 'I apologise if I didn't notice you. The sailor was so talkative that I didn't notice the people around me.
Connington's wrinkled face turned into a mocking grin, Eustace lifted his lips into a semblance of a smile.
- Oh, I'm afraid the harbour is too crowded, and I don't like too many unknown people around. Your coming to port was whispered to me by good people who are concerned about you, my lord.
- I'm glad for their concern, sire. But I fear they may not be well served by such active guardianship. After all, caring for other people takes strength and good health. And sometimes both can be sorely lacking.
'First day, and they're already trying it out.'
- And yet,' said Connington, interrupting their conversation, 'you are so calm about the commoners. Is it so in the Iron Islands?
- In the Islands, anyone can be a warrior or a captain, depending on luck and skill.
- And kings are elected by lords and free captains,' said Eustace, 'it's an amazing system. The Ironborn are very different from the rest of Westeros. The harsh lands give birth to strong and free men.
After a few hours, the feast was over. Theon spoke mostly to the Hand and the other members of the Small Council, all seated behind a high dais. Occasional conversations with the king, but all of Aegon's attention was focused on Daenerys. His Majesty was publicly paying signs of attention, personally pouring sweet wine into her goblet and all the while joking and making sweet conversation.
'It's as if they are not engaged in backstabbing intrigues and power struggles amongst themselves. Loyal to the grave, loving each other to death, not two cruel and power-hungry players.'
There were no princes of blood in sight-the king had decided they had no place at the feast.
Greyjoy caught a couple of hostile glances from the men in red cloaks sitting at the low servants' tables. The priests of Rglor looked at him without any shyness or embarrassment.
In the evening, sitting in his study and looking moodily at the small hearth burning, Theon pondered. In his hands was a small volume by Maester Kreysen on the King's Lands and the noble families of the region.
The King's Lands were an interesting place - some parts of it were still dominated by belief in the Old Gods, and some were inhabited by the descendants of pirates and sea raiders. Descendants of the ancient heroes who overthrew the monsters of the sea, a bastion of a long dead Empire, rich cities and young but powerful families.
The Royal Lands did not boast fertile lands like the Spaceland or Trident, or important resources like the West or the Iron Islands. This place wasn't lucky enough to have impenetrable terrain like the Vale or the North. But it was the place where fabulous sums of money were made - the sea and land trade through King's Landing had increased manifold since the beginning of summer. All resources flowed here - taxes and levies from the regions, including Pike.
'All roads lead to the Harbour,' Theon grinned crookedly.
Gradually his face turned from a stone mask, barely controlled and creepy, into a normal human face, no different from any other. But the consequences were now forever with him - such was the price of bonding with one who was older than the very concept of civilisation.
Suddenly he felt the sound of the sea floor - deafening and disorientating.
'Again,' Theon squirmed in his chair and tried to pull himself away from the vile and still unfamiliar sensation.
Breathing noisily, he saw everything through someone else's eyes - a thousand panes of glass seemed to appear before him, showing a distorted reflection of the world. At the edge of his consciousness there was something else, a more native and bird-like creature on the other side of the world.
Its face distorted beyond recognition and its lips turned into a savage grin. The fire flickered brightly, as if with rage and anger.
How long he sat motionless Theon didn't count. Time had become too unimportant and indefinable a unit. A knock was heard. Soft, but insistent.
- Come in,' Greyjoy wheezed, bringing himself to order. Once again, the threads of communication loosened, and the alien, inhuman consciousness was gone.
One of Theon's personal maids, personally chosen by him, came in to change her linen and stopped dead just as she crossed the threshold of the room. The sight of Lord Pyke's gaze made her clutch at her heart and slump against the wall.
'Damn it,' Theon scolded, calling to the two guardsmen outside the door, "how long do we have to wait for his power to dissipate after an active wargame?".
The Ironborn led the maid away, looking at him with wild fear, and he tried not to look at people anymore. There was no telling what she had seen, but it was worth being careful from now on.
Greyjoy spent the next few days absorbing vast amounts of information. King's Landing was a cesspool of rumours, secrets and intrigue. Occasionally there were diamonds among the stinking masses, but too rare to be worth it.
After making a few more unscheduled inspections of the Royal Navy, Theon decided to gather all the captains in one place. Petty knights, third and second sons of rich and famous merchants from the trade guilds of the Harbour, simple commoner townsfolk who had managed to make their way in the Fleet. Aegon encouraged such things, sometimes even pushing the nobles aside in favour of the commoners. But only in bodies like the Gold Cloaks or the Royal Navy.
The king was incapable of much more, even with dragons and his past victories.
In those few days, Theon had worked out roughly what most of the captains were: embezzlers, friends of Velarion, or just fools with their noses in the wind. There were plenty of capable, skilful fellows, but alas, they were in the minority. Theon wasn't going to hang anyone yet, and it wasn't something that could be done for nothing.
Under Aerys the Second, a Maritime Court had been introduced, a variant of the Church's, but to judge sailors, captains, and shipbuilders. According to certain records, a certain Tywin Lannister instigated it, and the real purpose of the law was to limit the Master of the ships in his powers. After all, previously, the position allowed captains on ships to be changed like gloves with ease, but now... a court of law is required.
'Ironic that at the time, the Master over Ships was also Velarion.'
The meeting took place over several hours, where Greyjoy questioned thoroughly the condition of all the ships, the crews, the provisions on them. Supplies, too, were to be dealt with, for there were enough disruptions there, but he was too busy learning his duties and his capabilities.
At the same time, he was slowly getting to know the people of Red Castle and the members of the Small Council.
Theon began to smile so often that his smile became too genuine for all its falseness. In some ways, he even became more careful of his every move and tone in conversation. The people here are too fangy and poisonous.
Some of the guest lords at Red Castle had invited him to dinner, but so far Greyjoy had turned them all down.
The only time he appeared in public was at the communal feasts Aegon often organised in the Great Wormhole. He was always talking to members of the Small Council or people of lesser rank.
As Aegon had promised, the meeting of the Small Council began a week after Greyjoy's arrival.
The chambers of the Small Council boasted dotted Myrian rugs on the floor and numerous paintings on the walls. A pair of Valyrian sphinxes stood at the entrance, gleaming with polished garnet eyes. Four royal guards stood in the corners like silent statues, and the huge oval table was already half filled with people.
Theon sat next to Lord Dickon Tarly, master over the law. A man with short brown hair and a strong-willed chin, he looked at the ironborn without any affection. The vastness had suffered greatly in the previous war, and the sea raiders from the Iron Islands were largely to blame.
On the other side of him sat Grand Maester Ebrose, a thin and tall old man, with hair as grey as snow and huge, clutching chains of various metals. He smelled pleasant was all Greyjoy could say about him. The Grand Maester was a recluse, absorbed in books and the study of new sciences.
Julian Swann, Master of Coin, an old lord who had lived through the rise and fall of the Baratheon dynasty, sat on the other side of the table, talking to Ser Eustace, whom he did not fear, despise, or respect in the least.
- So you believe in the ancient tales of the Other? - Lord Swann asked mockingly, looking at Ser Eustace the Strange, 'and those rumours from the far east?
- Rumours are like smoke - there is no such thing as smoke without a fire,' Eustace replied with a soft smile, 'for years now, sailors and merchants from I-T have been telling of terrible things. Do you think people will lie about the same thing for years?
- People tend to exaggerate to make themselves look brave in the eyes of friends and enemies,' the master snorted over the coin, 'a couple of gold pieces would make me a killer of giants or Children of the Forest among the uneducated masses. The people are superstitious and too gullible.
- As you wish, my lord. But please note that all the people who talk about the Others are back from I-T and there are too many of them to be so easily relegated to silly superstition.
Julian remained silent, but snorted again, expressing his attitude to those words. Ser Eustace smiled, in no way offended by such arrogance.
Soon after, Aegon entered the hall with Daenerys, accompanied by Ser Duckfield, the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
- My Lords,' Aegon addressed everyone once he was seated, 'let us begin the meeting of the Small Council.
The first thing the king asked Julian Swann about was the murder of one of the royal bailiffs in the lands of the Split Claw. Sent to collect taxes from Lord Brune, he had been stabbed to death by peasants on the way.
- Lord Brune sent the Baeliff's body along with his escort and the taxes collected in person, Your Majesty. The murderers are being punished severely.
- Do you know why the peasants attacked the Baeliff, Ser Eustace? - Aegon asked the Master of the Whisperers. The man, straight as a board, answered in a soft tone:
- The peasants mistook the unfortunate Ser Artogar for the bailiff of Lord Brune, Your Majesty. As you know, my lord of the Lute's Lair is very harsh on the landowners and peasants living on his lands.
The king nodded silently, but the queen took the floor:
-Now the peasants are more restless than ever - shouldn't Lord Brune be restrained from harsh taxes and cruel punishments?
Theon saw the irritation on Connington's face. Greyjoy himself blinked in surprise at such words. The King of Westeros could influence tax policy in the feudal lands, of course - but only by force and underhand influence, not by the letter of the law or authority. The Targaryen kings did not possess such capabilities and did not particularly try to acquire them even in the time of the dragons.
This may anger not only Lord Bruen, but also his neighbours and much of the royal domain. Dragons are dragons, but good relations with personal bannermen must be maintained, otherwise the fate of Maegor the Cruel may become quite possible and feasible.
- I fear that is impossible, Your Majesty,' said Dickon Tarly in a firm and stubborn voice, 'and such a thing might incur the wrath of the Lords of Split Claw.
The matter was hushed and forgotten. Next up for discussion was the organisation of a tournament to celebrate the eighth birthdays of the two Princes of the Blood, Baelor and Meikar. Julian Swann reported on the expenses, Deacon Tarly spoke of the measures taken to increase order and oversight of the city. Lord Connington added his comments and some orders.
- So many knights will attend this fine event, Your Majesty. But not all of them are only after glory. First place awards, my lords - that is what we should determine.
Aegon nodded in agreement and looked at the others. And then at one of his personal squires. The boy walked up to the king and handed him a rolled up scroll. The parchment was quickly handed to John.
- One hundred gold dragons for first place, fifty for second and one hundred silver for third. This is a tournament competition of knights, my lords.
He then announced the rewards for the general skirmish and archery competition. Also rewards for a kind of 'bards' tournament', where the latter would find out who sang best at the evening feast after the mounted skirmishes.
No one objected - no one was particularly interested. And the king did not need the formal consent of the Small Council - he simply informed them of the decision.
Grand Maester Ebrose praised his eldest son and heir, Baelor, for his academic success and noted the prince's great talent in maths and calculus. Aegon dryly complimented Ambrose on his offspring's progress, and the queen smiled contentedly and proudly, not hiding her smile in the least.
It was no secret that Baelor was quite dependent and attached to his mother. And Daenerys was fond of her eldest son, even neglecting the younger Maekar in some ways. It was Theon's turn-the king looked at the silent Greyjoy:
-Milord Greyjoy, I would like to know the state of the Royal Navy. The last master over the ships proved to be... too irresponsible in that regard.
- You are no doubt right, Your Majesty,' Greyjoy said quietly, too quietly. The Grand Maester bent towards him out of habit, but immediately returned to his former position when he realised his mistake. 'Even the pirates of the Steps would destroy the Royal Navy now.
- Do you know them well enough to speak so confidently, Lord Greyjoy? - Ser Eustace asked casually.
- Well enough.
- Lord Theon is an experienced naval commander and his words should be heeded,' the Grand Maester said, 'and we've all heard of Lord Velaryon's thievery.
- Is it that bad? - Aegon was unpleasantly surprised.
- Yes, Your Grace. There is a belief on the Iron Islands that if a ship has a rotting battering ram, it means its captain is too bad a commander and no self-respecting sailor would mess with him. And half the ships in the Royal Navy have battering rams that aren't just rotting, they're falling off.
Silence fell for a moment in the Small OWLs, as people thought. The king himself thought about something for a few seconds, and then asked:
-How long will it take to get the fleet in order?
- A year at least, Your Majesty.
Aegon chewed his lip in frustration.
- Can't it be done sooner?
Theon shook his head, having seen the capabilities of the king's shipyards and shipbuilders the other day:
-I'm afraid, Your Majesty, we cannot. Some of the galleys would have to be virtually rebuilt. The men in the shipyards are already at work repairing the most seaworthy ships. But perhaps things are better with the squadron at Dragonstone,' Greyjoy hinted.
- I will demand the squadron return to the harbour immediately,' Aegon agreed, 'provide me with a list of the funds needed to repair the ships.
- As you wish, Your Majesty,' Theon shook his head slowly and smoothly downwards.
- Also,' the king added abruptly, 'I am interested in what you do with the rogue captains who have plagued the fleet under my lord Velarion.
Greyjoy hid a slight annoyance behind a mask of indifference. He intended to initiate the naval courts in a few months, wanting to catch a good portion of the embezzlers and not scare them away in their first few weeks.
And then he could appoint a couple of his own men as captains. By then Greyjoy will be strong enough to do it without much looking around.
He couldn't say, 'No, Your Majesty, let the thieving captains stay where they are.'
- I was going to look into it in the coming weeks, Your Majesty.
- Well, I think you will work well with the ship keepers and Lord Deacon,' Aegon said contentedly.
Then came smaller matters - repairs to certain buildings in King's Landing, the capture of a couple of gangs of brazen bandits on the Kingsroad, discussions of duties on certain goods - where the Master of Coin and the Hand clashed. The former was in favour of increasing them, while the latter reminded that foreign merchants and trade guilds were already heavily taxed.
Sometimes the queen or the king would comment.
Theon had to speak a few more times and insert his occasional sentences, relating only to ships or maritime trade. A week was not enough to be knowledgeable about everything, but it was enough to understand the general situation prevailing in Blackwater Bay at the moment.
And all of Greyjoy's activities would not just be focused on repairing the fleet and bringing order to it.
Smugglers and pirates have become too rampant in the Gulf. The fight against them will be hard and thankless.
'In that case, we should try to enlist the support of a couple of trade guilds, who are also disadvantaged by this situation.'
The Small Council meeting began in the morning and ended at noon.
A warm bath with pleasant water, a small dinner and a talk with the ship keepers awaited him.
Looking at his pale, narrow face with its well-groomed beard in the reflection of the small mirror, Theon smiled.
Sincerely, and it made the smile look like the grin of a monster. The pale, inexpressive brown eyes glittered strangely, and could throw anyone into unspeakable terror at the sight of them.
Controlling his face became easier, but sometimes he let his sensations and feelings get the better of him.
'Aegon seems a sensible man, unlike his dearest consort. And the king's power grows stronger with each moon and year, unlike Daenerys.'
The prospects are dim and dubious, but at the same time, they are enormous and could bring considerable rewards. There has been a struggle at Red Castle - long and secret, bloody and dirty. And Theon will have to plunge into it. All he has to do is shuttle between the several factions and reap the benefits... if he can stay here for more than a year.
The ship keepers who had arrived stomped uncertainly in front of him. Theon smiled softly and invited them to sit in the seats he had prepared.
- Sires,' Greyjoy addressed them, the softness of the smile gone from his pale face, 'it is good to see you in good health. We have much work to do. Commentary on Chapter 27 I will gradually reveal the Red Castle and its inhabitants, as well as the political layouts. It's unlikely to fit into one or even three chapters. So Theon's arc in Red Castle is expected to be quite... voluminous.