= Chapter 29 =
When the third moon of his tenure as Master over the Ships arrived, he received another invitation.
Mortimer Follard, a member of a family that had once held the status of lords, but now the Follards had only a hereditary knighthood and a small but wealthy domain in the northern part of the King's Lands bordering the Riverlands. The clan was not ancient enough by the standards of Westeros: only three hundred years old. Ser Follard's distant ancestor had been given a small domain and the title of lord for his loyal service to Aegon the Conqueror as an infantry captain.
The Follards lost their lordship through stupidity or loyalty - each will decide for themselves. One of the only remaining loyalists to the Mad King after his defeat at the Trident, Mortimer Follard's grandfather tried to organise the city's defence against Tywin Lannister's sudden betrayal.
But the attempt was unsuccessful, the last Lord Follard died, and their family was relegated to hereditary knights by Robert Baratheon with the help of Jon Arryn.
Now the Follards were prospering.
Theon scrutinised the small and large houses whose lands surrounded King's Landing. And the Follards had risen strongly above the rest of the world for the moment - thanks to the cunning and to some extent talent of their young head, who had recently been made King's Accountant by the King himself. The next Master over the Moneta was already determined.
He had good relations with the merchants and thanks to these relations he was able to contribute a lot to the royal endeavours in this field. Needless to say, a third of the taverns and brothels belonged to him. And the most interesting thing is that numerous buildings of the former were sponsored by those very merchants - some of them came from Essos and other kingdoms of Westeros.
As well as the fact that this sire had a lot to contribute to the rebuilding of King's Landing.
Was he a man of amazing powers of persuasion, or a brazen rascal using every opportunity for his own elevation?
Theon had to find out.
His choice was a skilfully crafted dark velvet doublet with an attached short cloak with an embroidered golden kraken. Pleasant to the touch black woollen trousers with scarlet lines around the edges.
Late in the afternoon, accompanied by eight guardsmen and a small personal retinue, he headed out of Red Castle towards Hook Street, known for its proximity to Muddy Street and the perpetually lost fishing rod hooks that had once given it its name.
Not surprising, given the nearby Blackwater, from which the entire city was fed at all times.
Despite its proximity to Mud Street, Hook Street itself was surprisingly clean by the standards of King's Landing.
Ser Follard's city manor proved to be the most notable of all the street houses. A three-storey building, made of stone and decorated with numerous stuccoes, it appeared to be enclosed from the others by a mighty and high fence of steel. Theon could see many of Ser Follard's own crests hung on the walls of the house.
A gold canton with a red and white jester's cap divided through the centre into white and red.
'A funny coat of arms.'
Walking through the narrow streets, and occasionally catching fearful or curious glances from the townsfolk, they reached the gate, where they were safely let through by Ser Follard's guards.
In a few minutes Theon was already seated at the large communal table in the spacious drawing room of the house.
He could hear the measured crackling of half-metre split logs in the huge stone hearth. Occasionally, Lord Follard's servants would bring a new batch of wood to the hearth, or to the numerous braziers in the corners. The lighting was supplemented by numerous candles, which made the drawing room, despite its size, as bright as daylight.
Numerous paintings over the hearth, many coats of arms of different houses and pictures. His eyes caught a glimpse of his own coat of arms. A golden kraken grinning, spreading its tentacles against a black background, second only to the next, a royal three-headed dragon.
His gaze fell on one of the ladies sitting across from him. A quick analysis and apathetic inspection made it clear that it was Lady Gaunt. The lady's answering glance at him. For a moment the lady's weakened hand dropped the cutlery and immediately attracted the attention of almost everyone around her.
The lady herself tried not to look at him again after that, whispering quietly to her husband, Oswell Gaunt, petty lord of the Crownlands.
-People find you intimidating, Lord Greyjoy.
A calm and silky voice. Quiet, like a creeping...spider sneaking up on its prey.
Theon did his best to ignore, this man sitting next to him. Ser Follard's ruse or an unfortunate accident-he believed more in the former than the latter.
-Men find many things frightening, Ser Eustace.
-A lot of things indeed,' he smiled thinly, gingerly biting into the succulent quail meat. The Master of the Whisperers ate rarely and sparingly, even less often with a drink.
Theon himself had only touched the food once - and he hadn't tasted it. But his interest here lay elsewhere than in food. Sadly, it coincided with Ser Eustace's presence at Follard Manor.
The man was dressed lightly and casually, in keeping with the local fashion and yet not threatening to sweat from the warmth of the hearths. Beige, brown and black - all of his clothes consisted of these neutral and unremarkable colours. Only his velvet cloak, lined with a thin layer of fluffy fox fur, showed those around him that the Master of the Whisperers had plenty of golden dragons in his pocket.
-But what do you think is the greatest fear of humans?
-People's fears are beyond my control, how would I know that? - Theon answered Eustace's unusual question.
-And I think you have the answer to that question. I can see it in your frightened look, my lord.
-What do you think? What is it that man fears most?
Ser Eustace looked at Theon with a lingering, testing gaze...only to look away gently as Greyjoy looked back.
-I believe that men fear an overwhelming force against which they are powerless. A cold and hungry winter. A flood. War. And... the state.
Greyjoy shifted his position slightly and looked at Ser Eustace sitting beside him with an assessing look.
-And what fear does a man have of the state?
-Any kind. That is the strangeness of it. Fear of invasion. Fear of death. Fear of taxation and harvest. Fear of starvation and again of death. Fear of the law laid down by the state. Fear is one of those substances that fuels the kingdom. One of the important ones. For if every person in the land stopped fearing the mighty shadow of the imminent hand of power...what would be left of that power?
-Nothing good. Ashes and ruins. So that later on a new power and a new state will emerge.
-You know exactly what I mean, Lord Greyjoy,' the sire informed him falsely, leaning towards him in confidence.
-You flatter me, Ser Eustace.
-No, it is you who delude yourself, as if I could not see your mind behind that mask of a dead fish.
-You're too frank for a Master of the Whisperers.
-I can see perfectly well with whom words can be played, and I can smell anyone who sees through the game.
'Nice try, Ser Eustace, but not enough to convince.'
Theon put his fingers into his personal water glass, savouring the coolness and wetness on his tips and nails. He earned a few odd looks, but to this Greyjoy only smiled.
During their brief conversation, all the invited guests had gathered around the table and servants hurriedly began to bring more and more new dishes - meat dishes were combined with extraordinary sweets and exotic sweets from different parts of the world. Whether it was the Summer Isles or Volantis, Ser Follard managed to get his hands on quite a few types of fruit and vegetable viands.
Ser Eustace and Theon sat almost right next to Follard. The only one closer was his wife, black-haired and freckled on her young, seventeen-year-old face. Ser Follard himself had recently passed his third decade of life. A stiff, square forehead with a few unpleasant-looking blisters, an eagle eye, and a perpetual smile on the master of the manor's wily face.
Follard stood to his full height and looked round the room.
-I am glad we are gathered here today. Lords and ladies,' he raised his wooden glass of wine, 'To His Majesty.
-To His Majesty! - Theon quietly repeated after everyone else. Sitting next to him, Ser Eustace chanted solemnly: 'To His Majesty!'.
Follard still had much more to say - it was not uncommon for him to mention the guests present in his speeches. Not all of them, but the most important, the Master of the Ships and the Master of the Whisperers being among the first.
Flattery, praise and, at the same time, inoffensive but funny jokes flowed from Ser Mortimer. There was no doubt that this man had a golden tongue and the ability to please everyone.
When Ser Follard had calmed down, and a whole troupe of artists began to appear on the stage by the hearth, Ser Eustace leaned over to Theon with a question.
-Is not Ser Mortimer a man of extraordinary talents?
Greyjoy felt Ser Follard's gaze on him. No doubt he'd heard what Eustace was saying. The Master of the Whisperers was not the least bit embarrassed to be near Mortimer, which meant the latter was his man or his ally.
-I have heard of his exploits in rebuilding the capital. It's worthy of respect.
-I thought the Ironborn only honoured bravery and valour.
-Kingdoms are built not only with sword and blood, Ser Eustace. They're also built with quill and ink.
-But it's fortuitous that only when there's universal fear do kingdoms live steadily,' the man said.
Theon let out a cackling hum for the first time all evening. His face contorted into a grin, creepy and grinning.
Eustace flinched, but didn't avert his eyes.
-Do you think I'm wrong, Lord Greyjoy? - he asked cautiously.
Theon didn't answer immediately. For a moment his mind clouded with another vision, but he brought himself under control at once. It had become easier to ward him off in the last month.
-Money, Sire,' Theon wheezed, and drank the bowl of water completely at once. He continued, -Money keeps kingdoms afloat and stable.
-I thought you didn't like merchants.
-Not many people do. But without merchants, our lives would be harder.
- So you believe that money is the foundation of every nation?
-Not just money, but profit. Anything, sire, from a manufactured item to the simple delivery of a small shipment of iron ore. It's all of these things that are the binding knot upon which empires have often been built. Fear has a way of becoming tiresome. Profit does not.
-Benefit is a fickle thing. It reverses itself and disappears,' Eustace said.
-And as soon as the benefits disappear, the state starts to come apart at the seams. You can keep everyone in fear, but that will only delay the inevitable.
-And you think the lords of the Seven Kingdoms don't see the benefit of the Iron Throne. -And you think the lords of the Seven Kingdoms don't see the benefit of the Iron Throne.
-I can't say that about all the lords of Westeros, Ser Eustace.
-What would you say of yourself?
-I'm loyal to the Iron Throne.
-As long as there are dragons?
-As long as there is profit.
Eustace didn't smile or say anything. But Theon could see in his eyes that his words did not leave the knight indifferent.
-You are a pragmatic man, Lord Greyjoy. The kingdom needs men like you,' Ser Follard, who had been listening to their conversation, said, 'and I am honoured by your words about my affairs, my lord.
Greyjoy was not afraid to say such things in the presence of two important men loyal to the king. He's not worried or frightened of much these days.
-I only say what I see, Ser Mortimer.
-'Speaking of the state,' Follard began, 'I have travelled much in Essos. I have read the works of maesters and septons, the foreign philosophers of Braavos and Pentos, and even, I dare say, the translated books of the Ii-Tian sages. But, none of them called the binding knot of the state profit and money.
-And what is it that holds the state together in the opinion of learned men and spiritually enlightened septons? - Eustace asked.
-The Divine Will and the justice of the King.
'Religion and a powerful state apparatus of violence-'
-Do you think so too, Ser Follard? - Theon asked. He noticed again the frightened look in Mortimer's young wife's eyes. The knight himself noticed it too, but dismissively ignored it.
The woman hadn't made a sound during the conversation, and was as quiet and unmoving as a doll.
-Isn't that so, Lord Greyjoy? Faith in the gods gives men confidence in the future, and the king's justice gives faith now.
-The Gods are usually silent, and the King isn't always just.
- Then let us drink to just kings! - said Ser Follard, to just kings. To our fair King Aegon the Sixth of his Name!
The new toast was well received, despite its similarity to the previous one. The vast majority were minor lords or knights with considerable land holdings behind them. Every one of them was loyal to either the kingdom... or the king.
Greyjoy was quite sure that the next day the Queen would be well aware of his visit here. A few days later, however, it would be successfully reported to the King that Lord Greyjoy had the day before been a guest of Knight Royves Clardy, one of the Queen's loyal men and a man with a passion for the R'glorian faith from across the Narrow Sea.
Theon gave both crown princes no reason to consider him their man.
The entire evening was taken up with conversation between Greyjoy, Ser Eustace and Mortimer Follard. They shared news from Essos and the other lands of Westeros. Topics often jumped from the history of the first kings of Westeros to religious topics.
Greyjoy rarely entered into an argument, and with each passing hour he spoke less and less, listening and looking more closely at the others.
He hadn't touched his food once during the feast.
-'It was a pleasure, Ser Eustace,' Greyjoy informed the Master of the Whisperers, 'both the feast and the entertainers.
Knowing full well that he hadn't even looked at the entertainers or tasted any of the food, Ser Eustace only grinned contentedly, saying:
-Sire Follard is to be thanked for the feast.
-Then thank you for facilitating my invitation here, Ser Eustace,‖ he looked at him and the knight's gaze flickered for a moment, revealing an unrecognisable emotion. Theon smiled, grinning, grinning his teeth again - too white and clean compared to many.
-I only hope for a favourable and profitable cooperation. As you noted during our conversation, Lord Greyjoy, profit is the knot of kingship... and friendship.
-I hope so too, Ser Eustace,' Theon replied, but soon left Follard Manor with his retinue, who were staying in the designated quarters.
Late the next morning, the king called a Small Council to hear the results of the past month.
Theon had something to say.
-Seven pirate galleys were caught in the last moon. Two of them near Twilight Dome, the other five in the Throat Strait while attempting to rob merchant galleys and barges.
-How were you able to capture them exactly while attempting to rob them? - Connington asked.
Before Theon could answer, Ser Eustace interjected:
-Oh, the method is quite simple, but it was quite a surprise to the pirates. Lord Greyjoy's men disguised themselves as common sailors or hid in the holds and flew the flags of the merchant guilds on their ships.
-How did the merchants go to such lengths? - Julian Swann quipped, -They'd kill themselves for a penny, but here they're willing to sacrifice their ships ...
-Even the greediest of the greedy are willing to make concessions to protect their wealth from robbery.
-Where on the Blackwater are there pirates? -Where are there pirates? Even in the worst of times they have never dared to plunder near King's Landing,' exclaimed Ebrose, who was also listening intently.
-The smugglers dared,' Theon replied quietly to the Grand Maester, 'the lack of a steady hand for a long time as Master of the Ships has not been good for the Royal Navy and the state of affairs in Blackwater Bay.
The Grand Maester looked at Greyjoy with the melancholy yet intelligent gaze of a wise old man. Old Ebrose was more scholar and physician than kingmaker and politician. He rarely interfered in the conversations of the other members of the Small Council, almost never attended feasts and tournaments, completely absorbed in his scholastic research in medicine and the education of the royal children.
There were other duties the Grand Maester neglected - ensuring the Red Castle's ravenous communication with the rest of Westeros was left to Ebrose's many assistants. The treatment of all courtiers other than the king and his family was also in the hands of apprentices and maester assistants.
Under Aegon, the number of scholars from the Citadel at Red Castle grew by leaps and bounds - a dozen apprentices, five maester assistants, and the Grand Maester himself. Sixteen people dedicated to the cause of science. There had only been so many 'grey rats' (as some lords of the Seven Kingdoms called them) at Castle Red in the time of Jaehaerys the Wise and Daeron the First of his Name.
-Lord Greyjoy is already dealing with this vexing problem,' said the king, sitting at the head of the huge oak round table. Beside him, Queen Daenerys stood in shadow, her gaze blankly watching the conversation.
-Lord Greyjoy's successes do not end there, Your Majesty,' Ser Eustace remarked.
At the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms' questioning look, Theon continued his report in a low, almost whispered voice. So quiet, in fact, that Ebrose, who was sitting next to him, as well as everyone else around him, had to listen to him carefully.
-My men,' he stressed the first word, making it clear to the king that it was the ironborn, not the sailors of the Royal Navy, who were doing the catching. Because of the islanders' too much experience and skill, or the inexperience of the latter, Aegon would have to guess for himself,' they were able to trace the routes of some of the biggest lawbreakers in Blackwater Bay.
-Were you able to trace their transshipment bases? - the King asked.
- Yes, Your Majesty, my men have been able to do so.
-Sailors in the Royal Navy are the King's men,' the Master of the Law said, and Greyjoy smiled, 'They were my men, Lord Tarly, not the Royal Navy.
There was an awkward silence, but Theon, as if he didn't notice, continued in the same calm and grave voice:
-We found only two bases. One on the rocky banks of Massey's Hook, not far from Stoneplace. The other was found in a rather unexpected place, Your Majesty. Driftmark.
For the first time in the entire meeting, Aegon's face showed two emotions - satisfaction at Greyjoy's job well done and the realisation that Velaryon was continuing his pernicious work despite his suspension and disgrace.
-Is there any confirmation of your words, my lord? - The Queen's commanding voice rang in the ears of all present. No one stood up for Greyjoy and yet no one rebuked the queen for her disbelief in one of the important men of the realm. Only Ser Eustace glanced enigmatically at the king, but Aegon himself chose to remain silent, waiting for an answer.
-All the captains involved in the capture of the smugglers, the merchants, their servants, and the mayor of Hull, whom I have asked to write my credentials as proof.
Convincing the Mayor of Hull to help Theon was not an arduous task. The man was not particularly fond of Lord Velarion, considering him unworthy of his title. Auran himself was absent from his home island at the time. Greyjoy soon discovered that he was in the Vale.
The Queen had nothing to reply. She nodded favourably in response, accepting the words and the very charter bearing the name seal of the Mayor of Hull. However, many could see the sparkling anger in the Mother of Dragons' gaze that she could not hide.
-The Lords of Stoneplace and Dritfmark must answer how they allowed their lands to be such a mess,' Aegon announced his verdict, 'Lord Tarly, please write letters to these my lords.
Lord Deacon nodded stiffly. The master of Horn Hill was the only man in the sweltering hall who was not afraid to clothe himself in wool and iron, ignoring the rich brocade and any jewels. Blades, bows, and horses were more precious in this man's eyes than any brightly coloured stone.
Aegon's eyes shifted to Greyjoy.
-Lord Greyjoy, you have done your task brilliantly. Tell us what you have gained from the smugglers' entrepot bases.
Expecting such a question, Greyjoy took out a list of all the loot and presented it to the Master of the Moneta.
-Two thousand three hundred gold dragons in total, Your Majesty. That's not counting goods, mostly from Pentos and Braavos. I would also ask you to note one item - ironclads. Enough to equip five battle galleys for battering rams and hulls. Also, my lord, there were a number of... arrows. Big guns.
Both king and queen narrowed their eyes. One felt anger, as any mother would at the reminder of the death of her own child, even if it was a huge dragon, and the other, Aegon, began to ponder who would want these constructs, perfect for only one purpose: killing the personifications of the Targaryen crest.
It was no secret to anyone in the Realm the reason for the royal couple's hatred of the weapon. Aegon and Daenerys were unanimously able to ban their personal vassals from having such a thing. There is a similar ban in the Westlands and Stormlands.
While such a move in the Stormlands was understandable - Lord Connington had put his life fully in the Targaryen cause - the Lannisters surprised many. However, the ruse became clear rather quickly - it was one of those moves that the lions, and specifically one woman on whose shoulders great power had fallen, made out of desperation to alleviate the toll that royalty had taken on them.
Aegon had no mercy, and the other High Lords were in no hurry to burn and throw out Dragonlance.
-Tell your men to dismantle the arrows, Lord Greyjoy,' Aegon commanded, 'and you Ser Eustace to find out who has been ordering such an interesting...thing lately.
-I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that will take time,' the Master of the Whisperers faded his voice at once, 'it is doubtful that the arrows were made in King's Landing - we'll have to carefully seek out and question many craftsmen in all the cities of Westeros. And perhaps...
-It doesn't matter how long it takes. Just get on with it,' Aegon pressed and Eustace immediately fell silent with a subordinate expression on his face, 'Now the next problem for today.
- Lord Tully is demanding a new litigation with Lord Baelish over a land dispute. The Harrenhal matter, Your Majesty,' the Hand said, handing his former apprentice a letter stamped with the seal of the High Lord of the Trident.
A month ago, after the tournament, Edmar Tully left the capital without achieving his goals. He was able to begin the litigation, but the second party in the case, Petyr Baelish, never arrived, sending his emissaries instead, claiming that their suzerain was gravely ill and unable to come to King's Landing.
The King refused the High Lord's appeals to litigate without a second party. The second party was not going to come, despite all the king's polite letters. All the king's entourage knew that the letters were formal - Aegon could force Baelish to come, but he was in no hurry to do so.
Lord Tully could not solve the matter by force - the king's power is stronger than ever. The Riverlands were not ready for conflict with the Vale - the lords' domains were torn by famine, brigandage, and pestilence. An evil fate has descended on Trident in recent decades - that is the punishment for everlasting treachery and ever-increasing grain prices - so said the tongue-tied neighbours: the Northmen, the Vale and the Westlands.
-Delay the answer, and then the process itself,‖ the king said indifferently, and the Hand nodded.
What followed was a discussion of the organisational processes of Aegon's grand plans. The treasury was surprisingly full, and the king's mind was ripe with the notion that it was high time to rebuild the harbour, if not completely, then partially, and even add new districts. Targaryen also wanted to build some new monuments and statues in the city.
It was not the tradition of the Westerosi to build stone monuments to people - it was a fun thing that came from Braavos and Aegon, who had socialised and lived in the city himself, wanted to bring this tradition to his home kingdom.
Sculptors from the Free Cities and all parts of Westeros would be invited to King's Landing.
The Small Council meetings went on all day. At the end, the King poured out a pile of assignments for his councillors. Greyjoy was to continue his business of catching smugglers and rebuilding the Royal Navy. He was also able to sell a couple of his men as captains of the Royal Navy, which included Quor.
The King, who looked over the list of appointed captains, noticed a couple of ironborns, but did not object.
If Theon had tried to put up more than four or five of his captains, he would have had his hands full.
'Water sharpens stone.'
The regular meeting of the Small Council ended towards evening, when the king was tired of listening to Ser Eustace's regular reports. Theon was one of the first to leave the hall, feeling the pensive looks of the other councillors. He saw some flinch as soon as his fixed and unblinking eyes fell upon them.
Instead of visiting his castle chambers, he preferred to head straight away away from Red Castle to his personal city estate. From above, a speck of colour showed up and instantly perched itself on his shoulder as he rode his horse.
Despite its considerable size for birds, the parrot was able to land on his shoulder painlessly and without disturbing his master's balance. The parrot had clearly grown over the past year, Theon was sure of it. Cicero's claws had become stronger and sharper, and his beak more deadly. Not only small rodents, but also pink pigs from the Summer Isles and even small, poisonous snakes had fallen prey to these predatory devices.
Too exotic are those feelings when a sluggish and legless body clutches at your paws, when a beak pierces another's skull and savours the tender flesh ...
S-S-S-Surveillance! S-S-Surveillance! From the castle!
Theon took a fleeting glance around, but saw nothing unusual. But the master of the Iron Islands was absolutely certain that he was being followed - he'd seen with bird's eyes how a small band of ironborns was being followed relentlessly through the nooks and crannies by seemingly ordinary townspeople, or even children.
'Eustace - there's no doubt about it.
Only Ser Eustace's men do their work in the capital always the way it should be done - covertly. If Eustace knew of Theon's abilities, his men would always be wary of the colourful Cicero... or at least not try to catch him.
One such insolent bird had gouged out his eye and torn his cheek, nearly killing him.
He was met on his doorstep by Quor, who had returned the day before, having uncovered another smuggling pustule in Velaryon's lands.
Greyjoy had told the truth - but not the whole truth.
There were more than a few transshipment bases in Lord Auran's lands. The King was so focused on the arrows he found that he ignored the rest.
It was only in his private study that he was able to quietly listen to his apprentice's report. The Evil Sword's pets were comfortably settled in the room - the raven was playing with a quill, holding it with the tip of his beak and trying to write the word: 'clever', and the red-haired wolf was nestled at the entrance, one eye gingerly looking at Theon sitting at the desk.
-Thirteen crates full of Nordic furs, many small jewels, fine Volantian swords and armour,‖ Quor listed his catch, ending it with the number of gold dragons, -a thousand seven hundred gold pieces. That's a large enough sum that a medium-sized lord could feed his army for a year.
All this good will go to Pike's treasury, where it will be put to good use. For example, to provide the Iron Guard with uniforms or to buy the necessary resources...
The rest will either be resold or given to those who can serve faithfully. Theon was going to give some of his weapons and jewellery to Quorus, who was standing opposite him.
Slim, not a boy but already a man, he had not acquired the necessary fat, which did not make him a bad warrior. On the contrary, Evil Sword was not known for his strength. Dexterity and cunning were his companions in life.
Long, black hair tied back in a wolf's tail, a high forehead, sharp cheekbones, and bright green eyes that were rumoured to beckon many women and young maidens.
Once again Theon noted that Dagmer's son had not inherited his looks in the slightest, but was completely in his father's mould.
He was cool and calm, a fine warrior and commander, with a couple of scars on his face and a lot of combat experience for his age. But for many people do not know that inclination, hidden under the mask of indifference.
A sadistic desire to inflict pain and take life. In some ways, a fine quality for executioners and killers.
-What did you do to the smugglers themselves? - Theon asked.
-Tied rocks to them and drowned them.
He nodded, accepting the answer. Taking out a wrapped parchment with the seal of the Master of the Ships from under a small box, he gave it to a concerned Quor.
-You are now Captain of the Royal Navy,' Theon announced his verdict to the unsurprised apprentice, 'today the King approved my proposed list of candidates and you are among them. The galea Dragon's Roar is to be placed under your command. Half the crew left, some had to be hanged. I think you can handle the rest and put your men in charge.
-I will,' Quor smiled wickedly, 'but what about my ships?
-No problem with that. But don't you dare touch the king's money to provide for them. Leave your crew here, and you can go to sea with them occasionally, leaving a deputy in your place. In time, your ships will be incorporated into the Royal Navy.
-And what, I'll be in the capital most of the time? - An irritation appeared on Quor's face.
Theon only raised an eyebrow, continuing to stare at the boy unblinkingly. His fingers dropped into a mug filled to the brim with water.
-Don't think you'll be idling here, doing nothing and getting paid. I need you here. Among the captains and sailors, you'll be my eyes and ears.
'And not the only eyes and ears...'.
-And please be careful in the capital, boy,' Theon reminded him, 'don't quarrel with the fire worshippers-they're in favour with the queen and many of the lords here listen to them. Keep your mouth shut - the city is awash with spies. The King, the Queen, all the High Lords. Also...
Greyjoy paused, examining his apprentice from head to toe.
-You're not thinking of taking a wife?
Quor's face grew irritated and shocked for a few moments.
-If this is another intrigue of yours, mentor-.
-Don't I want to take care of my ward's fate?' said Lord Pike in a firm yet sweet voice.
-'Former ward,' Quor reminded him.
-I have no former apprentices,' Greyjoy smiled, and Quor flinched.
-I'm... still a commoner, a nice... teacher.
-You're wrong. Your father is a distant kinsman of mine, which means you have Greyjoy blood in you.
-I still don't want to marry a girl I don't know for your benefit, Master.
-Theon smiled again, his teeth sharp and white, but before you go, I want to tell you some good news.
He pulled out one of the letters that one of the Maesters of Red Castle had brought him that morning. From a surprising place-the Lone Light from Lord Ralph the Lame. Erich's ship, the Stubborn, had sailed past his domain and the sailors had told of wild and unthinkable things that the lord had safely avoided writing about, well aware of Lord Greyjoy's whereabouts.
The letter itself had originally been sent to Pyke and then forwarded to the capital - there was no direct postal connection between the Lonely Light and the Harbour.
-Erich sailed past the Lone Lightbringer. He's alive now, probably in the Iron Islands.
Quor's face became happy for the first time in the whole conversation. And then wary.
-You want to punish him? - Quor asked.
-I do not want to punish him,' he corrected, 'but first I must see him in person.
That same morning he sent a letter to Pike ordering young Harlow to report to the Harbour immediately. The letter also asked him to bring his underlings, Rickon Stark and Dagon Drumm.
'Let them see what King's Landing is like.
A dangerous place, but to make someone stronger sometimes it's good to throw them into a pit of snakes like blind puppies.
That was the end of their conversation. Quor knowing his mentor well, did not try to convince him otherwise. The Evil Sword was well aware that Erich had been foolish.
Once they were alone, Theon leaned back in his armchair with relief and pulled out a stack of letters with numerous seals from the lords of the Iron Islands, Uncle Victarion, and a couple from his wife.
He read the first one from Gwyn, apathetically going over the woman's neat handwriting. Being in hardship, Gwyn had been unable to attend to the household affairs, shifting everything to the steward and regent of the islands, Lord Harlow.
The pregnancy was not going well - he suspected a miscarriage in the end, but it had been avoided. Which was why there were several Ironborn Maesters in the castle now, and a couple of visiting renowned healers from all corners of Essos and a plethora of healing herbs and powders. Was he worried?
'Perhaps there is something.'
He discarded his wife's letters and moved on to the next, rereading the many requests and responses.
Lord Blackside asked permission to build a sept on his home island. He justified it to the few traders and travellers passing through his lands from the South to the North.
'It would be too unseemly for me to refuse when I myself have authorised a small sept to be built in Lordport.'
Knowing his subjects well, Greyjoy doubted the septons would accomplish anything in the Isles. No one turned up at Lordport - only merchants, their retinues, and guests from the continent entered the building.
Theon could tell himself without embarrassment - the Isles were prospering and beginning to accumulate extra 'fat'. Trade, the plundering of the Summer Isles and the West, gave the lords and captains a lot of capital. Not all of them used the money to their advantage, but the changes were visible to the naked eye.
Many lords began to build up their fortresses, investing in trading shops, breweries and even merchant guilds, of which there were already several in Lordsport. Some even began to increase the number of their guards and build new villages along the coast.
In ten years, a new generation had grown up, eager for the shores of the Evergreen Continent rather than busy squabbling among themselves or trying to remember the 'former' greatness of Westeros. Such attempts have never ended well for the Iron Islands - his father's first rebellion being a case in point.
Another civil continental quarrel to come. Theon is finally convinced of that, but what the sides are is unclear. There were too many variables - the interests of the High Lords, the King and Queen, religious unrest.
Theon smiled, pulling out a letter from Lys, delivered to him by one of the ironborn merchants. A moon ago there had been a riot of families in the city who disagreed with the new title and policies of the Free City. The tyrant Lysa, not known for his soft-heartedness and weakness, suppressed the attempted overthrow and gave the 'traitors' a public trial. Half of the rebels were beheaded, the other half were pardoned. The families of the executed were not punished in any way, but those who were pardoned were deprived of a lot of gold and even part of the lands with trading factories.
'Unusual,' Theon admitted. 'Doubtful, but unusual. If one were to punish, it should not be by such half-hearted measures ...
The letter flew at once towards the burning hearth. Like several others - reports from all over Westeros, including the Iron Islands. Too important to leave them here.
Apathetically staring at the parchment slowly but surely decaying under the pressure of the fiery tongues, Theon did not notice that he had fallen into a quiet slumber.
Into the endless abyss of the sea.
The vile odour of burning flesh wafted into his nostrils and soaked his skin along with dust, blood and ash. But in his long life he was used to such things - dozens of battles with the Dothraki and hundreds more minor skirmishes in Dagger Lake would turn even the weakest into one of Volantis' most experienced warlords.
And here is a new enemy - cunning and cruel, with far greater endurance and unusual tactics. An enemy that has already burned the cities of the Slave Traders and the colonies of Lorath.
-Triarch, -a quick gesture of greeting to the messenger. With a favourable nod, Malaquo Meigir allowed him to speak, -I am from the Primarch of Vigorro! He requests permission to pursue the remnants of the barbarians on his flank!
-I forbid it, let it stand still, - Malakvo indifferently threw Malakvo and the messenger immediately galloped back on his horse, overcoming the numerous reserve ranks of Volantian soldiers that had not been thrown into battle.
The horde of Jogos-Nhaians that had marched along the Spotted Mountains, ignoring the cursed and lifeless Valyrian Peninsula, and reached the Swamp Rivers was overrated. It was only a small part of the armada that was like a hot knife stabbing deeper and deeper into Western Essos.
The nomads were cunning, and almost trapped the Old Tiger, but Maegyr figured out their plan in time with a retreat and a sudden strike of heavy cavalry.
'Grey Mischief on our heads, it was easier to fight the dewy and stupid Dothraki than those dwarves on colourful horses!'.
They took the battle in a tributary of the river Seloru, near the small town of Seloris. The seven thousand-strong army of the Jogos-Nhaians engaged the organised and disciplined army of Volantis without any delay - and after the first hour, they chose to retreat.
The overjoyed Volantisians were eager to pursue, but remembering the many tales of nomadic victories, Malakvo ordered them to hold the line and did not fail.
The barbarians realised that the deception had failed and tried to fire at them and manoeuvre, but they were met by the Carbonarii, skilful mounted archers and spear throwers, who were made up entirely of the younger sons of low-born but noble houses and trading families.
A brief skirmish and realising that both sides were equal in skill and numbers, opted to withdraw their mounted archers back into their ranks. The last attempt to dramatically change the course of the battle came in the third hour of the battle - the Jogos-Nhaians unleashed a huge squad of heavily armoured horsemen that tore through the first ranks like a mace piercing light armour.
But the Old Tiger had something to put up against this might - a troop of three dozen war elephants stopped the onslaught and put the shocked and surprised savages to flight.
It was a victory, though not a flawless one. But Volantis was able to fight back against this new threat from the East.
-If Volantis had its own dragon rider,' Malakvo muttered regretfully, looking out at the horizon, 'we would rule the world and the Jogos-Nhaians would be a minor threat.
Curse the Targaryens, wretched exiles who seemed to be favoured by Fate and Fortune combined.
-Grandfather,' came a child's voice from beside him. Maegyr flinched and turned his still clear-sighted eyes downward. Not yet a boy, but no longer a child - ten-year-old Deifoss, his grandson and heir to an ancient family of Volantian lords - 'You are wrong, Grandfather! Dragons cannot rule the world!
His heir and son of his beloved late daughter Talisa has been renowned for his great intelligence and hard work since childhood. Seeing that the heir possessed great talents, he surrounded him with countless teachers from various parts of Essos and even Westeros, finding a couple of maesters.
The latter were doubtful to him - the Westerosi were renowned for their countless wars and squabbles among themselves, not for scholarly men and the arts. But one of them, a quiet, tall but stooped man, about the age of the Triarch himself - that is, quite old - had impressed him with his scholarship and even his knowledge of magic.
'Quibern' was the name of the old Andal, and he had been living on the Maegyr estate for several years now, teaching the heir of the family and all his young companions (retinue).
-Valiria had hundreds of dragons and ruled all worlds for thousands of years,' Malakvo replied calmly. He had taken his grandson with the desire to show him what true battle was - Old Tiger was not called Old Tiger for nothing. He tried his best to give the boy as much experience and knowledge as he could.
-Valeria was crushed by nature and dragons did not save them, - Deifoss smiled, -the strength is not in the dragons grandfather, but in them! - he pointed to the even ranks of Volantian warriors.
-The army?
-The men. Men who are loyal to you and ready to follow you to the end. And the more men you have, the greater your power.
-That's right too,' the Triarch admitted and smiled, showing a complete lack of teeth, which made his grandson cringe, 'and what did you get out of that fight? You were silent the whole time and only looked through the Myrian glass.
-They only retreated when ordered to, Grandfather,' the retinue of Maegyr's closest men listened intently to the young lord's speech. Another child of his age would have been embarrassed and frightened by this, but young Deifoss, already accustomed to it, continued without any embarrassment, -The whole of their army consists of horsemen - not a single infantryman I saw. Which means they can attack quickly and retreat quickly...
Valakwo smiled contentedly and proudly.
-If it wasn't for the elephants, we might have lost,' the boy added and the smiles of everyone present instantly faded.
The mighty Triarch of Volantis was in no way offended by his own grandson's belittling of his military talent. He had seen beyond and beyond, and to some extent recognised the rightness of the heir.
-We could have, but we won,' Valakvo gestured to the surrounding soldiers and servants to leave them alone, 'but this is only the beginning, Deifoss. I will not last forever, and soon I will die, and you will lead the clan. This war will fall on your shoulders and the shoulders of your generation.
The boy was visibly upset by his grandfather's words, though he tried not to show it - the rigours of home schooling were taking their toll.
-Remember, grandson, death is a rest after continuous fighting. I will retire to my gods, and you will take my place, to be passed on to your descendants to continue the battle for the survival of our people and city.
He looked at him with his intelligent violet eyes and said in the clear voice not of a boy but of a grown-up husband:
-Then I will make it so that my descendants will never know war and disaster.
Maegyr did not laugh, or even smile.
-Then you will have to conquer the whole world and even then there will be no peace for you and your children.
-Then I will conquer the whole world and subjugate all nations! By all the Valyrian Gods and R'glor!
Maegyr wanted to rebuke his grandson for his hasty and foolish oaths, but he remained silent. Deifoss' gaze was too serious for a ten year old boy, and he decided not to break his heir's naive dreams just yet.
The old Tiger would never know how wrong he had been. Commentary on Chapter 29 It had come to pass! The chthonic beings rose up and gave me an unimaginable kick up the arse to write a prod to the Lord. I fought as hard as I could against the unspeakable horror, but I couldn't cope, and now, the new chapter of The Iron Lord is ready... after... how long after?
Decided to monetise myself and made a blog on busti. No chapters there yet - but the next chapter of Iron Lord will be posted there first thing in the week before release here. The link is in the profile.
