Sadog

"Mortimer Swann. Rayford Farring." Grand Maester Piato ticked one of his fingers for each new name. "Jaime Harte… Symond Hightower, Selyse Buckwell… Joar Morrigen, Millar Blackmont, Dain Caron, Roger Reyne… Oh, and Horace Bracken, of course!"

It hadn't been easy for Sadog and Piato to find a place to converse privately. They now stood atop the outer walls of the Red Keep, high enough that the wind's chill overcame the sun's warmth. To any casual observer, they were taking a stroll to enjoy the view, and there was nobody within earshot to hear their conversation.

"Is that all?" Sadog frowned. "All this work to bring Aenys Blackfyre to Westeros and you can only count ten votes in his favour?"

"Oh no," Piato urged cheerfully. "There are more Blackfyre supporters than that. These are the ones I know of thus far."

"And you're sure that they will support Aenys?" Sadog pressed. "If you know of their Blackfyre pasts, then who's to say that Bloodraven doesn't? For all we know, he's already put the fear into each of them."

Piato's face fell, and his voice became weary. "You are correct, Master Sadog. But what you tell me is not new. The city itself trembles in Bloodraven's shadow!" To make his point, he waved his arm over the wall, towards the vast stretch of buildings which covered three hills and all the lowland between them. "I have known this ever since I first served as Grand Maester! I need no reminders of it, especially not when I am tasting hope for the first time in years."

Sadog knew that he ought to feel abashed, and a part of him did. However, he had been a banker far too long to be swept up in such sentiments. "Life has taught me to appreciate the strength of hope, I promise you that. I know all too well what it means to lose everything except hope." He was tempted to pat his artificial leg for effect, but Piato's eyes had already glanced downward at it.

They walked on, passing three guards who stood in place and saluted the Grand Maester. Above them, the sun had passed its zenith, but dinner was still some time away.

"But I also recognise," Sadog continued when they were out of earshot, "that hope was not the sole instrument of my success. I was no more deserving of salvation than other men and women who have starved to death in gutters, yet I lived. In a world such as ours, hope is essential, but it is no replacement for that which is appraisable."

"Bold words," observed the Grand Maester morosely. "So tell me, how do you appraise your faith?"

This was not the first time that someone had spoken thusly to him. "There are laws which the gods teach us, and there are laws which men enforce upon the world. Whatever the difference is between them, we must abide by both." And sometimes, men use the gods for their own petty means, even the High Septon himself.

When they reached the north-eastern side of the Red Keep's wall, Sadog halted to stare out at the vast stretch of blue. Where are you, Father?

"If you will excuse me," said Piato, "I must resume my duties."

"Of course." Sadog inclined his head respectfully.

The old man went down a nearby set of stone stairs, humming to himself as he took carefully measured steps.

Inwardly, Sadog was baffled that this man was the Grand Maester. It was

Sadog remained where he was, content to enjoy the silence and tranquility before he descended back into the muck of courtly intrigues and plots. He wondered what was happening in Braavos, and whether they had received his reports. I'll have to write another one today, he reminded himself. Best do it before Amabel comes back.

He sighed as he forced himself to follow in Piato's footsteps, making his way down the steps.

Instead of his chambers, he went to the castle's spacious library. During his youth as Titus' ward, he had spent countless hours amongst these shelves, going through one book after another. He had grown very fond of the musty air which lingered throughout the library, relishing in its relative silence. He'd already visited it a few times since his return to King's Landing, and apart from the new books which had been added to its collection, the old place hadn't changed a bit.

After he acquired what he needed from the septon who managed the library, Sadog sat down at a table and began to write his latest report. He'd always loved the sound of quill-tips being dipped into inkwell pots, as well as the scratching against parchment. He also took great pride in his letters, ensuring that they were clear and flowing across the page.

He finished four such pages when he sensed that someone was approaching him.

When he glanced to his right, he found himself looking at a striking woman of considerable height. He recalled her almost immediately, and it took his best effort not to keep his response in check.

"Lady Leto, I believe." He rose to his feet as swiftly as he could. He inclined his head. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The pleasure will be my lord's," Leto Payne answered, but not unkindly. "The Golden Lion wishes to speak with you in his chambers, concerning a number of loans. Whenever you are next available, of course."

"I am available now," Sadog assured her. He seized his unfinished report and slipped the pages into his robe. "By all means, my lady, please lead me to Lord Lannister."

As they set out, Sadog did not have time to wonder if Leto of Crakehall remembered him.

As they walked side by side, she glanced curiously at him. "You are another one of Lord Titus' children?"

"I was," Sadog answered. "In fact, I was there when Miru first became his ward."

"Were you?" Leto frowned curiously at this admission. "And how is Lord Titus? I heard that he was ill."

"He is," Sadog affirmed. "I pray that the gods will restore his good health."

"As will I," answered Leto.

Silence fell between them, and Sadog wondered what he might say to break it. "And how does your family fare?"

"My daughter is serving as regent in our stead," Leto replied. "I don't doubt she'll be ruling her younger brothers with an iron fist." She did not smile, but there was no small amount of pride in her tone. "Unfortunately, my brother and sister are both consigned to their beds. Some winter fever, or so they wrote to me. Their families are similarly afflicted."

"My sympathies," Sadog murmured. "And I should offer my belated condolences regarding Ser Roland." He remembered that Roland Crakehall had joined the Kingsguard, due in part to his father's execution of Crakehall's steward for assaulting Miru. Due to Roland's absence from the Kingsguard, he assumed the man had died at some point.

Leto turned and briefly nodded in acknowledgment of his courtesies. "He was a valiant knight, and died as he lived. If the gods are just, every single Blackfyre will spend an eternity in the seven hells."

Sadog immediately regretted his decision to speak of Roland. After acknowledging her remark with a respectful nod, he kept quiet until they reached the chambers of Leto's lord paramount.

Gerold Lannister did not keep him waiting when they arrived. It was not long before Sadog found himself seated at a table, with the Warden of the West seated across from him.

He was dressed in a blood-red velvet tunic inlaid with gold lions. His hair and beard had once been a deep blond colour, but most of the former had left his head, and the latter had turned grey.

After an exchange of formal introductions, Lannister motioned for a servant to provide Sadog with a goblet full of sweet summerwine. It was among the finest that Sadog had ever tasted before.

"A pride of my house," Gerold answered pleasantly when Sadog expressed his admiration. "Aged for seven years now, one for each of the gods. My cellarer swears that the Seven bless any spirit which is aged for that length of time."

"Mayhaps they do," Sadog suggested with a smile as he took another sip. "I salute your generosity, my lord."

"It is merely in gratitude to yours," Gerold insisted, "for I have business to settle with the Iron Bank."

"And what sort of business would that be?" Sadog asked.

The Lord of Casterly Rock gestured to a man who could only have been his maester. Grey of hair and robe alike, the man's chain clinked softly as he sat down between the two men and placed a stack of documents before Sadog.

Sadog examined each one with great care, for the parchment pages were yellowed and brittle with age. A quick scan revealed a number of contracts, detailing loans from the Iron Bank of Braavos. Due to the considerable sums being borrowed, the contracts included terms of yearly instalments plus interest.

Based on the written dates, five of them had been drawn up and signed in 220 AC, the year following the Third Blackfyre Rebellion. The houses who'd signed those contracts - Massey, Redfort, Celtigar, Corbray, and Stokeworth - were all on the east coast of Westeros, where Haegon Blackfyre's forces had launched their attacks. The last one was dated some seven years prior, and it concerned House Whent of Harrenhal.

When he'd gone over the contracts more thoroughly, Sadog put them down and turned back to Gerold. "This seems to be in order, as far as I can tell. I will write to the bank to ensure all payments have gone through."

"They have, rest assured. We do not require your services in that regard." Gerold took a moment to sip from his own goblet. "It is my intention to assume the remainder of these debts."

Sadog bit the inside of his cheek to conceal his surprise. Even after more than ten years of instalments, the remaining debt was a considerable amount.

He's buying their votes for Aegon. Sadog might have known that Gerold would resort to such dealings. Despite being the best candidate, Aegon was not a popular choice among the nobles. Apart from perhaps Lyonel Baratheon, Lannister was the most vocal of Aegon's supporters. And the wealthiest.

"You understand, then, Lord Lannister," said Sadog, "that these terms will now apply to you as written?"

"I do," Gerold answered formally. "I do not ask for any adjustments. Payments will proceed at the rate which was agreed upon, interest included. The Iron Bank will have its due from House Lannister."

"Very well," Sadog affirmed. He turned to the maester. "We shall need new copies of these contracts. And we will need two witnesses to sign them."

"Of course, my lord," came the ready reply. Sadog couldn't stop his eyebrows from going upward as the maester provided new pages from a nearby shelf. Each of the old contracts had been copied out twice. The ink was still drying on most of the pages, but the words were copied verbatim, apart from the new debtor's name. Gerold Lannister had signed his name twelve times, and his seal had been sealed to six sheets of paper in red wax. Lord Everard Payne had been a witness, as had Lord Alyn Marbrand.

Gerold leaned back in his chair, clutching his goblet with both hands. "I trust that all is acceptable?"

"It is," Sadog agreed. He took the quill proffered to him by Gerold's maester and signed his name to each of the twelve copies. When that was done, he gathered together the six copies which bore the Lord of Casterly Rock's seal, even as Gerold's maester collected the other six for his lord's safekeeping.

"As a sign of good faith," Gerold declared as he arose from his seat, "I will be writing to my son Tion in Casterly Rock. He shall dispatch ships to bring this year and next year's payments to Braavos with all haste."

"Thank you, my lord." Despite his growing concerns, Sadog was nevertheless impressed with the lion lord's efficiency. "I shall personally bring these contracts back to Braavos when my business here is finished."

"Excellent." Gerold refilled his goblet and raised it in a toast. "To efficiency and clear understanding."

Sadog smiled. "The Iron Bank is always glad to be of service." He gave as low of a bow as he could manage before leaving the apartment.

Only when he was some distance from Gerold Lannister's chambers did he allow himself to dwell on what had transpired. Lord Chester Massey had been deemed a sure ally to Titus, but now he was in the lion's camp. As for the others… he had reckoned that Odo Whent, Gorlim Redfort, and Nolla Corbray would have followed their lords' example by supporting Aemon. Had he not seen Lord Redfort standing with Aemon's strongest supporters that very morning? How long has he been playing Lord Arryn for a fool? What would happen to him if Lord Arryn discovered his treachery? As for the crownlanders, he wasn't sure where their original loyalties had been, but they were sure to be Aegon's champions now.

He was still lost in his thoughts when he reached Maegor's Holdfast and found Matthias and Miru standing outside his door. The former was knocking on the door to Sadog's chambers and calling out his name.

"What's all this?" Sadog replied.

He was tempted to laugh as his younger siblings jumped at the sound of his voice. That temptation died quickly when he saw how Miru was scowling at him. He did not like that look on her face at all, but he was not sure what had prompted it.

"Where the bloody hell were you?" Matthias exclaimed. "Father and Leroya have returned!"

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"On the morrow, I must retake my place at the council."

Much to his surprise, Sadog felt his insides twisting at Titus' declaration. It was only then that he realised he'd been hoping for Aenys to prove unworthy.

"So be it, then." He said it half out of reflex, and half because it was the most impartial answer which came into his mind. The more he'd spent with the lords of Westeros, the more convinced he was that Aenys Blackfyre would achieve nothing except stirring up a hornet's nest. Now that Titus' venture had succeeded, Sadog felt only disappointment and dreadful anticipation.

It remained on his mind as he helped the others recount what had occurred in King's Landing, including Jena's reaction to their scheme, the stalling of the Great Council, and Maester Aemon's rejection.

His father said little whilst they spoke, but Sadog's account of Maester Aemon made him laugh heartily. "Marvelous," he declared whilst trying to regain his breath. "What a shame that I wasn't there to see it for myself!"

While they presented Titus with their accounts, Sadog wondered what had come over Miru. She had pointedly stood away from him, and she was clearly troubled by some matter. Whatever it was, she kept it to herself. For his part, Matthias seemed equally standoffish to him, never meeting his eyes. What in the seven hells is going on?

Keeping those thoughts to himself, Sadog informed his father of Gerold Lannister's schemes.

"I might have guessed," Titus remarked when Sadog paused. "Still, I don't think it will amount to much. Not all men can be bought with gold."

"Not all," Sadog cautioned him, "but mayhaps enough."

"Brynden has yet to make his own move," Titus retorted, "and fear will overcome any sums of gold. The same will be said of loyalty." He did not need to say who might wield that loyalty, but Sadog could guess that much. Gods… he is truly in earnest.

Finally, they came to the discovery of Maester Lyman. By the time they were finished, the warmth seemed to have dissipated from the room.

When Titus went off to meet Lyman for himself, Sadog remained behind with Leroya and Baalun. He might have hoped that they would be oblivious to his growing doubts, but his hopes were dashed.

"Come now, brother," Leroya began. "You seem to have lost your stomach for my plan."

Sadog shook his head. "You haven't been here the last two days."

"And you haven't met Aenys Blackfyre," Leroya replied. "If you knew him, you would not doubt his fitness to rule."

Gods… "I'm sure you got to know him very well," Sadog observed. "But he cannot win the nobles' loyalty as easily as he won yours." Does Piato know that she fucked Aenys Blackfyre? Will she tell him?

Baalun's eyes widened as he glanced at his elder sister.

Leroya folded her arms as a dangerous glint flared up in her eyes. "Be careful, brother. Perhaps you've been back among Westerosi for too long."

"Don't be absurd," Sadog retorted. "I did not mean-"

"-I know full well what you meant! You confuse going to bed with a man for taking up his cause."

"That's what you did with Aenys, isn't it?" Sadog pointed out tersely.

"Don't play your games with me, Sadog," Leroya warned. "Do not think me stupid just because I don't wear those purple robes!"

"Fine," Sadog remarked. "I will take my leave." He'd learned a long time ago that it was best to put some distance between himself and Leroya when they clashed.

Thus did he retreat to his own chambers, both to put away the contracts with House Lannister and to finish his latest report to the Iron Bank. No matter what he might wish or want, he was a man of the Iron Bank, and these contracts were a priority which he'd neglected too long. I am a man of the Iron Bank. I should have maintained that position from the start. Let the others play at putting Aenys on the Iron Throne.

As he wrote about his dealings with Lord Lannister, he wondered if he could finish before the day was ended. There will doubtless be a ship leaving for Braavos tonight. He thought of asking Baalun and Leroya to find one, until he remembered that they were in a spat.

A part of him did regret what he'd blurted out, but sometimes, he couldn't help but feel frustrated by his younger sister. Just because you can have any lover you wish, does that mean you should?

As a boy, he'd resented the Faith, largely because it had always been assumed that he was only fit to serve the Citadel. It was ironic, therefore, that it was during his studies at the Temple of Love that he'd first begun to see his faith for what it truly was. Only after this time of his life was he able to recognise that the gods worked in truly mysterious ways.

His studies hadn't been in vain, of course, nor were the lessons of Titus and Bellaria. He fully agreed that prostitutes deserved to ply their trade in peace and safety, like anyone else, and he would never judge Miru for eschewing a man's touch. But there had to be some sort of line. One couldn't just devote oneself to an endless pursuit of pleasure and selfish desires…

He tried to finish writing, but it was a slow process whilst he warred with himself over who had been in the wrong. It was almost a relief when there was a loud knock upon his door.

Much to his surprise, it was Baalun who awaited him when he opened the door, along with the Rhoynish-looking Summer Islander called Tidir. "What do you want?" he asked warily.

"Has Amabel returned?" Baalun's countenance was awkward and guarded, as he'd always been whenever his siblings fought.

"Not yet," Sadog replied. With a jolt, he glanced out the window. Judging by the sun's position, it would not be long before the evening meal.

He turned back to his brother. "Truth be told, I thought she would have come back by now."

"Well she isn't back," Tidir interjected. "Neither is Nosipho." She was even more agitated than Baalun. Not unreasonably, Sadog thought fleetingly. He knew full well that she and Nosipho were lovers.

"I'm sure all is well," Sadog declared in what he hoped was an assuring and confident tone. "I can't imagine how anything could have gone amiss."

"As you say," Baalun murmured. "Send word when they return, will you?"

"Of course," Sadog agreed.

After they left, it became even more difficult for Sadog to resume writing. Amabel's absence affected his attention more than he ever might have predicted. A wave of contrition swept over him as he recalled how little he'd missed her whilst brooding. She is my responsibility. I brought her to this nest of vipers. Nosipho was escorting her at my request.

Still, he had little idea of what he should do about this. Amabel was always loath to miss a meal in the Red Keep, even if she had to sit at the servants' tables. She ate better within the castle walls than she'd ever eaten in her life. She'll be back for supper, Sadog convinced himself. With that, he banished all the weighty concerns from his mind and resigned himself to his report. It was, after all, far easier to focus on the Iron Bank's concerns.