Chapter VIII: Two Tales

Unworthy people astutely oppose the great in order to gain a reputation indirectly that they don't merit by right. We wouldn't be aware of many such people if their far superior opponents hadn't paid them any attention. There's no revenge like oblivion, which buries them in the dust of their own insignificance.

Baltasar Gracian, The Pocket Oracle

King's Landing

Viserys

The Lord Hand was very busy these days, on account of whatever plans his nephew had the bad habit of coming up with these days. And now his affairs became ever more complicated It seemed that the Pentoshi had somehow gotten wind of Baelor's plan, and had sent envoys to warn him from his folly. They were younger than usual diplomats, and seemed to be sons of magister, wannabe bravos who had more boasts in them than wise words. Neither of them had the usual politeness of an ambassador, and they seemed to be so prideful that they, the sons of cheesemongers and flesh traders, thought themselves to be able to speak to a son of the House of the Dragon as equals.

And now they bothered him, asking him to meet the King, all the while professing insults and various threats. It seemed that whoever ruled as Prince in Pentos had no notion that diplomats should be, well, diplomatic.

These envoys asked an audience of the Lord Hand and all but demanded that the King see them at their pleasure. They strutted around like peacocks, self-assured of their worth and prestige, as if they weren't anything but glorified messenger boys. Viserys knew their lot from the early years of his youth in Lys – they were nothing but baboons dressed in fine cloth, who though their fathers' coin gave them some sort of consequence in the world. Eager to get rid of them, Viserys had sent a guard to inform the king of their arrival.

Minutes passed and the guard returned, with the king's message: "Let them wait!". Viserys thought that Baelor had needed time to ready himself for the audience. After another half an hour, in which Viserys tried to assure them that the king would see them once he takes care of some urgent business, he grew himself impatient and sent the guard again.

And the guard returned with the same words: "Let them wait!". Viserys began to grow wroth at his nephew's untimeliness. He would have to suffer these fools longer than anticipated.

After the half hour turned into a full hour, the Lord Hand decided to go himself to the King. And so, Viserys went to Baelor's chambers, only to find the king still in his nightshirt.

With natural indignance, Viserys asked his nephew to clothe himself and see to the envoys who had bothered him for the better part of the morning. And finally, Baelor agreed. He asked that the Pentoshi be led before the Iron Throne, where the King would receive them in audience.

Yet his nephew was ever willful, for when the herald announced him, he had came to the Great Hall still in his nightgown, with a nightcap over his head instead of his crown. And he climbed the Iron Throne, and addressed the envoys: "Gentlemen, here I am in my own home and at my own leisure! I am no spineless spirit, to be summoned forth and harried by my lessers. Begone from my sight and I shall call you when I'm in need of fools to brighten my boredom.". And he rose from his throne and returned to his chambers, the sound of his retreating footsteps drowning in the Pentoshi's cries of indignance.

Viserys would have been more indignant himself at his nephew's actions and lack of diplomacy. But the fact that they had first proven themselves undiplomatic and had thought themselves worthy of discussing as equals to Targaryens inclined him not to their side. And he set his sights on more important matters, like finding a goblet of wine to drown his political headaches in. That would have to wait though, until the peals of laughter that came from his throat ceased. It was not wise nor prudent to treat envoys such, but Viserys did not found it in his heart to care. After all, what is life without a little levity in it ?

Fleabottom

Hendrick the Halfwit was halfway done with his patrol through the streets of Fleabottom when he, once again, found himself in a tavern at high noon. The day was hot, his mouth was parched, and there was no sergeant or captain to watch if he had done his duty or not. Not the epitome of duty was he, but neither him nor his sergeant were the most dutiful of the goldcloaks. The heat that made him sweat like a pig had no better cure than a few tankards of cold wine, straight from the cellar. And it seemed that on this day he was not the only one that craved drink, for in the winesink he stumbled into, there were another two of his comrades.

Joyful of the company, he drank with them for a time. Of the two men, the elder, which was called Athos, seemed to drink with a practiced ease, the younger drank, but seemed to find the quality of the wine unappealing. He went by the name of Wart and looked like a green boy. The boy asked him if he had the coin to pay for his drink.

The goldcloak answered sincerely: "I have no coin". The young man, quite bewildered, inquired then: "Why do you drink then, if you have not the coin for it?"

"I shall pawn my sword then" informed him the goldcloak. "It is quite common among our lot, until we receive again our wages". It would not be the first time he had done so, and it would not be the last. The Goldcloaks with the habit of drunkenness used to do so, and replace their blades with wooden swords.

The following morning, Hendrick was woken from his bed in the early hours. It seemed that his Grace, King Baelor had decided to inspect the barracks of the City Watch. As such, every man of the Watch was to present himself before His Grace, his uniform and arms as spotless as they could be made in a hurry, and stand at attention at the King's pleasure.

The goldcoaks were lined up in front of the King. He rode up back and forth and back again. And then His Grace pointed his finger at one of the goldcloaks: "That man shall be beheaded, by the will of the King."

The poor, unfortunate soul began to quiver in his boots, fearful of his life and uncertain of his crimes.

The King spoke again: "Have Hendrick there chop off his head". Hendrick advanced, fearful himself, for he knew that he had only a wooden sword in his scabbard, to replace the one that he pawned for his cheap wine. The fact the king knew his name filled him with more fear and dread. Perhaps the king had come to know him from some tradesmen he asked bribes of, and the man had sought royal justice, or perhaps other of his misdemeanors had come to light and the King wished to shame him in front of his company. He did not know the punishment for pawning his blade, and was not eager to find out. And suddenly, as if the Crone up high just decided to aid him, an idea struck his brain.

Hendrick advanced, with a serene face that did not belie his turmoil, put his hand on the pommel of his sword and cried: "Oh, gods. Many miracles have you made in this world… If this man be innocent, I pray to thee, let my sword turn into wood." And he drew his sword, and it was wooden." He put on his face a figure of mock wonder and piety and looked to the king, hopeful that his sudden artifice had saved him from his fate.

In the sound of the wondering whispers of his comrades, the King summoned him at his side. And Hendrick looked up, and he saw the King's face and he recognized it. The King, magnanimous, said to him: "I forgive you this day, goodman, but do not pawn your sword again. And henceforth let the people know you as Hendrick Sharp-Witted, for you have outwitted a King".

And from that day, Hendrick Sharp-Witted resolves never again to drink in taverns with strange men. Yet he was not ashamed to tell the tale in the years following, to eager men, in exchange for some wine or ale. He never pawned his sword again, for the King had done him a favor: he could now buy his drink with but a tale. If the tale grew in the telling, and Hendrick made himself to be more a clever man than he was, and one tale became three, and three became nine, and Hendrick began to spoon fables of how to king was known to sometime seek his counsel, that is neither here nor there.