The Princess From Lys pt 1
*Italic is High Valyrian, there would have been far too much to actually translate*
"Your presence in Westeros is of course an honor Princess." The raspy voice of Otto Hightower said as they walked down the corridors, his hands clasped behind his back. Lady Larra Rogare smiled at his side but her curious purple eyes shifted to her longtime friend and protector Sandoq the Shadow who walked half a step behind the pair. He translated what the Hand of the King had said into High Valyrian before Larra gave her reply.
He gave a single nod. "Lady Larra appreciates your kind words of welcome sir, but regrets to inform you she is no princess."
Otto smiled, "She is in all but name."
Larra walked alongside him, while she may not speak the common tongue it did not mean she was a fool. Otto Hightower's words might be complimentary but the fact that he was the one welcoming her – and not one of the other members of the royal family who did speak her language - was in of itself an insult. A tool designed to make her feel small and incompetent.
"The daughter of the man ruling Lys?" Otto continued, "She might as well be a princess."
Regardless of her seeing right through his overly kind mask she continued to smile. Let him think of her as some dewy eyed girl who was of no threat to him. It would make her task that much easier.
Her father was Lysandro Rogare the current First Magister in her homeland making him the most powerful man in Lys. He was also the richest. House Rogare controlled the Rogare Bank making them a formidable house. Hence the letter her father had received from one Tyland Lannister asking for a meeting to discuss the current situation in the Stepstones.
Presently Lys was allied with Myr and Tyrosh, creating the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, otherwise known as the Triarchy. And they were in a fevered war for the little islands between the Dornish coast and her home. It was one of the few times in history where her people have partnered with Myr and Tyrosh as they more often then naught were engaged in battles over the Disputed Lands. It made the sudden word from Westeros a curious thing.
Or a dangerous trap.
It was hard to tell which. And that uncertainty was why her father had sent her in his place, to sniff out the real reason they had reached out to the Triarchy. Her presence in the Red Keep was not the 'honor' Lord Otto wanted her to believe, the daughter of an important man was only good for one thing – marriage. Not to negotiate any other sort of terms. Her arrival had been an insult in itself. Perhaps that was why Otto Hightower was now presenting her with insults of his own, such as his presence.
Sandoq translated his remark again before Larra replied. "My father sends his regrets, though he knows you will understand. While at war journeying away from home is difficult, he is needed to aid our general in planning important battle tactics."
Sandoq turned to the Lord and repeated what she said, though his gruff voice wasn't as sickly sweet as Larra's tone had been.
"I'm glad you mention the war." Otto nodded.
"Isn't that the reason you called us here?"
"Indeed." Otto hummed, "But we shall have to meet later on that matter. Court is nearly in session and it would be quite rude as a host to not allow you time to settle in."
As he said it one of their polished white-cloaked Kingsguard met them and gave her a bow of respect.
"Ser Lorent will escort you to your chambers. I have personally seen to it they have been prepared as is proper to your station."
From behind him a glimmer of nearly pure white hair caught her eye for a flash but before she could get a better look Sandoq extended his arm for her to pass and she followed after the white knight and up the marble staircase.
Aemond walked up behind his grandsire, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the young woman disappear into the darkness of the Red Keep's corridors. Her platinum blonde hair and flowy lavender gown feeling quite out of place.
"Who was that?" he asked turning to Otto who watched the lady's back. Aemond was not blind to the way he stared after her, he wanted her, that much was clear.
His grandsire hadn't gotten this far in life without thoroughly evaluating each and every person he encountered and immediately got to work plotting how they could benefit himself and his reputation. Aemond did not care much, as Otto's benefits often aligned with his own. It was only when the Lord Hand tried to turn Aemond into a chess piece did they butt heads. After he had acquired Vhagar Aemond had sworn he would never allow himself to be pushed around again.
"Lady Larra Rogare of Lys." He answered still looking where the young maiden had vanished. "The Small Council has decided to reach out to the Triarchy to discuss the conflict in the Stepstones."
"I was unaware we were throwing in our lot with them." Aemond replied, keeping his voice level and somewhat disinterested. "What consequence is the Stepstones to us?"
"None." His grandsire replied finally turning as they headed back the way Otto had just come. "But allies across the Narrow Sea come with plenty of their own advantages."
Rhaenyra. Aemond thought bitterly remembering the precarious situation they found themselves in. His half sister would no doubt call for all their heads once she assumed the throne. Their grandsire had made it very clear since they were children that so long as they breathed Rhaenyra's ascension would never be a solid one. Her only choice would be to kill them all. His father might be the sickly one, on the cusp of death, but the reality was they were all teetering on the brink of oblivion as well. When Viserys breathed his last, very likely so did Aemond and his siblings.
They could always run. Flee Westeros as Saera Targaryen had and make a new life in Essos. The only factor that plan neglected was his uncle – Daemon. He would no doubt send mercenaries after them, or go hunting them himself for sport. They would never be safe, never. Their only option was to fight, and to fight, you needed allies.
He could see the brilliance. Gaining Lys – and by extension the Triarchy – would give them leverage against Rhaenyra. They could box her in, cut off trade routes, negotiate their lives in exchange for calling off their allies forces.
"I doubt it will be difficult to win over Lady Larra." Aemond said in agreement.
But Otto's face soured, "So long as we keep Aegon far from her."
Ah, the fly in the soup. Aemond was a well educated man, he knew all about Lys.
It was a mercantile island – so much so that trade was seen as a more honorable profession then even knighthood. And the isle had long been considered a paradise by the dragonlords of Valyria. The land was fertile with palm trees and fruit bushes. But it was fertile in other ways as well. Lys was well known for their pillow houses and pleasure gardens and he could easily see Aegon squealing with joy and clapping his hands when he discovered a Lysene girl was residing within the Keep.
The blood of Old Valyria ran strong in Lys, perhaps stronger than it ran in House Targaryen. In Lys, everyone, even the smallfolk, looked like them. Pale skin, pale hair and striking violet or pale blue eyes. House Targaryen's own history was full of kings and princes who looked to Lys for a wife. . . or a paramour. The combination of blood and beauty could not be denied even by royalty. Even their coinage spoke to their passionate tastes – gold and silver ovals stamped with the nude likeness of the love goddess they praised. Yes, Aegon would no doubt love to get his hands on their newest guest.
"I regret tasking you with such a chore. But there are few I can trust to not fail it." Otto said pausing his steps to look Aemond sternly in the eye, "Keep Aegon away from her."