Chapter XXXIV: Political Headaches
"The envoy of the Free and Most Exalted Republic of Lys, Tregar Moraqos, comes into the king's presence!" the herald announced in a great booming voice.
In came a man who had seen mayhap thirty years pass him by, his appearance Valyrian in every aspect: the pale skin, the silver-gold hair, the lilac eyes. He was clad in purple robes of silk, a heavy chain of gold wrapped around his neck, made of figures of naked maidens holding hands. He wore no sword, his belt, of finest leather and silver gilding holding nought but a pouch. He was luxurious in every aspect, and arrogance showed upon his face, though the twitching of his mouth and the fiddling of hands showing a certain amount of dread. He was an envoy who desired to show to all the might and wealth of his nation, but knowing the precarious position of it – a castle built of parchment, looking mighty but soon the be blown away by the next wind. He hated to come begging, yet he would have to accept what was offered.
He came forth before the throne of the king of the Sunset Kingdoms. He craned his neck to look up – for king Baelor sat ten feet above upon a seat made of twisted steel, jagged swords and knives tangled up and melted, and beyond all – uglier to look at than a maiden with greyscale. He wondered how the king could sit upon that seat – uncomfortable and dangerous.
King Baelor, looking down upon him, was clad in his finest armour – plate as black as night, a silver, seven-headed dragon emblazoned upon his chest, his crown simple in compare – but a single band of gold. They shared the same look – pale, silver-gold hair, and purple eyes, though the shades differed. He had heard the common people talk of the kindness of the king, his compassion – but he saw none, for the king was a vision of grimness, looking down upon him as he was vermin beneath his feet. A thought, anticipating failure, passed through his mind, and a shiver went up his spine. The king was far handsomer than his throne, but to look upon him inspired fear ten times greater.
"What does an envoy of the Most Exalted Republic of Lys seek from us? Have you come against to protest the reprisal of our ships against the trade of your city? We have told you again and again, they have done so by our leave. Since the first unjust action of the Republic of Lys, we have not been bound to observe truce to it, our permission for reprisal has been written on parchment by the hands of our clerks and sealed with our own seal. We have not done so lightly, for we have inquired in the matter, and sworn testimony we have gathered on the actions of your city against our ships, our trade and our interests. We shall not surrender such men to your justice, for it is but justice they seek, to recuperate goods lost through the perfidy of the Lyseni. Not once you have offered redress, and as such we have not decreed the reprisals forfeit." came the words of the king, biting and harsh as the winter wind.
He answered poisoned tongue with silver tongue: "Most Illustrious King and Serene Majesty, the Conclave and the First Magister of the Free and Most Exalted Republic of Lys have entrusted me with this embassy so that we might settle upon legal redress and restore the peace and friendship between our two nations." His own father had lost two score ships to Westerosi privateers, pirates clad in robes of legitimacy, and however much it pained him to speak these words, this was what had to be done for the good of Lys.
"This is not a matter to be swiftly decided upon. We shall take in the advice of our council and shall grant then an audience to you, so we may establish the terms of this peace." was the king's dismissal, and the envoy bowed deeply, and bent so, he backtracked his steps, as he had been instructed – that no man could turn his back on the king. But it seemed that by ignorance, or malice, he had been taught wrong, for the laughter of the courtiers were answer enough. It pricked at his pride, but to turn his back now would shame him more greatly – perhaps he could claim later that it was a custom of his native city.
At last, he reached the doors, which were swiftly shut by the word of the king, and he fled to all haste to his appointed chambers.
"For what reason have the Lyseni have so suddenly turned towards peace. For years they have showered themselves in pride and watched with arrogance their merchant ships sunk and their trade whittled to nothing. And yet they persisted in their folly. What has changed?" I asked the master of whisperers.
Lord Velaryon answered instead: "I judge it obvious. No doubt the last of the sellswords in their employ have turned cloak after another ship carrying the gold and silver for their purse has been captured by our daring privateers. I wager that the last of the Lysene holdings in the Disputed Lands have been captured by the Myrish or the Tyroshi, and now that they have been cut down to their island, they humble themselves at last."
"Lord Velaryon speaks truly" interjected Maester Rowley. "But there is more to it than that, as my whisperers have just now informed me. Since the Lysene war fleet has been sunk by the Master of Ships, the Lyseni had barely a moment of respite to rebuild their warships. The Conclave have unwisely decided, two years ago, to employ the corsairs of the Basilisk Isles to escort their ships and provide protection, even allowing them into their own harbour. Our privateers have adjusted their tactics to address this development."
"But the events in the Disputed Lands have changed the calculations of the corsairs, who have seen the star of Lys dulling and falling from the sky. They attacked the city of Lys, but did not manage to take the Valyrian walls, inside which the magisters sheltered with their wealth. They were enraged enough to loot and pillage and burn everything outside the walls. Every palm and fruit tree on the island has been cut down and burn needlessly, every vineyard trampled under feet, every manse and palace outside the wall has been made ruins. Once they made their desolation complete, they left with their plunder."
"Once they judged who was guilty, and the last one of them had his wine poisoned or had been stabbed to death by a pleasure slave; once they had played their games of power and had stabbed and poisoned another few magisters and their household, the Conclave settled upon another First Magister, to whom this envoy is kin. They have judged that it is for the greater good of their Republic that peace be made with the Seven Kingdoms, so that they may recover their fortunes with their trade unhindered."
"Give me leave and I'll take the fleet and conquer the city, Your Grace." said the Oakenfist, his eagerness visible upon his face. "Let us deal with this pest once and for all."
"As much as I abhor Lys and their practices more than that of their other city – for they have reduced slaves to only one purpose – to satiate their lusts and perversions, and as much as that city has for centuries endeavoured to be the perfect portrayal of the sin of Lust, I do not think it wise. The walls were built by dragonlords and not easily taken. And Essos would not look kindly upon the city being conquered by the Iron Throne. Not when Tyrosh and Myr and even Volantis look upon that prize with greedy eyes. They'll sooner submit by their own will to one of the three than to us, for it would allow them to keep to their ways."
"What then it is the path you propose?" asked the Grand Maester. "The lords of Westeros still remember the Lysene Spring and the fall of the Rogare Bank, and to merciful a peace would not be looked kindly upon."
"Worry not, maester, I have no intention to sell peace so cheaply." I said, smiling widely.
Tregar Moraqos was invited into the chamber of the Small Council by the king's cupbearer. At that ornate table sat the king on one end and counsellors at his left and right. A seat was left empty at the other end of the table, left vacant by the Grand Maester, who went about his duties.
But the Lysene envoy knew it nought. He advanced with a bravery that he knew not, and sat upon the chair, thinking that a position at the other end of the table entitled to him – as a representative of a foreign nation, come to make peace.
"Have you forsworn your mother and father, and your city, turned your cloak and sworn yourself into my service? Have you shed the sinful customs of your land to seat so eagerly upon that seat?"
"I beg Your Grace's pardon! My loyalty remains unimpeachable, and it is most insulting for Your Grace to claim otherwise." spluttered the envoy.
"That seat on which you sat belongs to my Grand Maester. All those who seat at this table sit to provide me counsel, are my friends not my foes. You know what a maester is I presume? I know the concept of celibacy and chastity is viewed with great horror among you Lyseni – my mortification of the flesh must seem an abomination in your eyes. If you are not here to counsel me, then stand, good man. Stand straight, not hunched, you are an envoy." the king baited him.
With barely repressed rage, the Lysene stood up.
"I have been given counsel by my small council and we have agreed that to not complicate the matter of peace with long negotiations, investigations and inquiries, we shall ask the Republic of Lys to make amends to the sum of three hundred dragons a year for the next ten years." said the king.
"The Conclave thanks Your Grace most profusely for your understanding." said the envoy.
"I am not finished" interrupted king Baelor. "That is not our only demand. Since in the unfortunate events that resulted in the fall of the Bank of Rogare have led to its assets seized by Lys, we demand that restitution be made to our people who have lost the coin entrusted to its care. It is most fortunate that the documents of its branch in our city have survived in their entirety those tumultuous years."
"We shall make peace, but I do not offer our hand in friendship. We shall allow Lysene ships to trade in our ports. But they shall pay a tariff equal to the value of their goods. Our officials would inspect the ships and assess the worth of your goods, and you shall pay the tariff before you shall be allowed to sell your goods."
"Furthermore, the library of Lysandro Rogare, which passed into the hand of his daughter only to be seized shall be gathered together once again and, given that the last of the Rogares have perished, shall be given to the last of their blood, our cousins. I have in my own library a catalogue of the works it once held which I would most happily lend to this cause."
"And last of all, we desire Truth."
"Your Grace, I have come here in the utmost sincerity, I assure you." the Lysene defended himself."
"Truth, the Valyrian steel longsword of House Rogare, my goodman! Did your sire send you here half-taught?" barked the king at him.
Tregar Moraqos was hesitant to answer: "Your Grace, I have not been sent here to offer such terms for peace. I must consult with the Conclave."
At that moment, the doors opened and the Grand Maester returned, with news: "Your Grace, a raven has arrived from Moondancerhas come ashore, with Lady Laena."
"Gods be praised!" yelled Velaryon. "Your Grace, I must ask your leave to sail and meet my daughter, for many years have passed since I last saw her face."
"Go with my blessing, milord Velaryon." said the king joyously. "But I must ask you to take half the Royal fleet with you, and Moraqos here, and after your reunion, to go to Lys and kindly remind them that it would be wise to accept our terms of peace."
The Grand Maester cleared his throat loudly, and all faces turned towards him: "That is the best of news, which I thought to share first. But a missive came from Lord Tully. Lords Blackwood and Bracken have started their feud again, and neither is willing to submit to their Lord Paramount's judgement. Lord Tully is prepared to make war upon them but thought it wise to refer the matter to the Iron Throne lest he be accused by the malicious of breaking the King's Peace."
The king sighed, then banged his head on the table. At last, he spoke: "I suppose that only cutting all their damnable lot in twain and sewing them together half-Blackwood and half-Bracken would stop that damnable feud, but then I would wager the right foot would spite the left and the sword arm shall cut the other. Yet man was born to suffer – I shall have to ride to the Riverlands myself to get rid of this headache."