LA FLEUR DE LYS
Hayford was a pretty typical-looking castle.
A square keep on the top of a hill, a wall around the bottom of the hill, various outbuildings in between and a village beyond. It was large enough for the whole of Duquesne's little army and the civilians, including the vehicles and mounts, but only just. Every building was full of Free Folk, the green spaces full of unicorns lounging about, the stables full of horses, the courtyards full of snow crawlers.
The smells were enough to make Anne's eyes water, until a sea breeze came along as the sun beginning to get low. She would have worried about disease spreading in such an environment. But there was a large stream flowing right by the walls and the Free Folk were actually cleaner than the Andals, she noted. Being chased by ice demons forced some things to slip, but not having to worry about that had allowed a reassertion of grooming standards.
With that worry dealt with, Anne worried about Teixeira instead. The master-corporal had avoided her since the events at Sept-in-the-Woods. From what she was hearing from other civilians who spoke to the soldiers, he wasn't speaking to anyone except for the purpose of carrying out his orders.
So, without much else to do except go to sleep early, she ventured out of her quarters with a flashlight and a plastic bag holding some snacks. They were in what must have been a guest house in ordinary times but was the civilian dorm now. Teixeira was on watch duty that night, he'd be on the walls somewhere. He needs a friend more than ever, she had decided.
It didn't take more than a minute before two spearwives were approaching Anne, fully armed. A jolt of fear went through her, as it was quite clear they were looking for her. She considered turning off her flashlight and running back to the guest house.
But it soothed at once as Anne realised the tall one was Grette, the warrior that had escorted her on her first trip into the medieval warzone. The other was the one that had been pointed out to her as the short skinchanger Iola. They had something in common.
They were both pretty and they were both Sayer's lovers, or so the rumours went. Which means it wasn't a social visit.
"Anne Cloutier!" Grette called, raising a hand in greeting.
Anne summoned the best knowledge of the Old Tongue that she had so far and returned the hello. "Good evening," she said, "Walking." Both spearwives glanced at each other, surprised she knew that much.
"Come," Iola said, in accented English. She turned to lead the way, though it seemed Grette knew Anne better than that and waited with a smirk on her face.
Not about to go anywhere just because the little skinchanger said so, she crossed her arms. It took Iola a few steps to catch that no one was following her. "Why?" Anne asked when the green-eyed warg looked about with impatience.
"Duquesne," both spearwives said in unison.
Like that is enough reason. But there was no use fighting over it. Sorry Teixeira, glorious leader calls. Anne walked forward and gestured for Iola to lead on. The three of them moved around the side of crawlers and up the hill to the castle keep itself, where more Free Folk were on guard. They were quickly waved into the main hall.
In the dark interior, Anne was hit at once by heat, the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of chatter. She blinked behind her glasses, the change in light half-blinding her. Her flashlight was just gobbled up by the smoke and size of the room. A second or two later and a very different sight than she expected met her.
The four tables in the room were crowded with barely dressed soldiers and warriors, drawing up documents or looking at laptop screens, their faces lit up by the dull pale glow. Some camplights were around the place too, but not enough. Each table had one of the original four travellers by it. At the two nearest, Sayer and Zheng were translating things rapidly, switching between three languages with complete ease.
They've turned it into a command centre already, Anne thought, And here I am, barely able to understand basic Old Tongue or Common.
Sayer waved to his lovers as soon as he saw them, then pointed to the end of the hall nearby the spiral staircase up to the nobles' quarters. Reluctantly, the two spearwives continued their escort job through the crowd and around the work being done.
Anne stopped dead in her tracks when he realised the Captain was walking up and down the side of the table with a child in his arms. He was talking to it in Common, smiling and making funny faces. Her gut twisted with fear, like someone as dangerous and as capable of killing as Duquesne shouldn't be anywhere near a child. Days ago, he was lining up the corpses of men he had made his men kill, now he's carrying around a child like he's its father.
As if to see if everyone else saw what she was seeing, Anne looked around the table to discover that most were ignoring the situation.
Sergeant Schafer was looking through photos of what looked like rocky beaches on a laptop. A number of skinchangers were sitting with their eyes white, indicating they were in the minds of their animals and not truly present. A well-fed Westerosi woman in a servant's outfit fidgeted nearby, probably the child's guardian. Ygritte simply sat with her elbow on the table, her head supported by her hand, watching Duquesne with a desirous look.
Oh girl, you can do much more than be a mother, Anne thought as she snapped out of the scene, her sensibilities doing the job for her. By then, Grette had gotten Duquesne's attention and spoke to him. The Captain stopped pacing and turned towards Anne, his pair of blue eyes joined by the light brown ones of the child, as it smiled and stuck its fingers in its mouth.
"Professor," he smirked in greeting, "Meet Ermesande Hayford, Lady of Hayford."
Ygritte jerked her head around to see the newcomer, not having noticed Anne's approach. Yes, I'm here.
Anne scowled back at the Captain. "What are you doing with that child?"
"Soothing it," came the smooth reply, "She was rather loud about twenty minutes ago, and she couldn't be put to bed like that because upstairs is full of sleeping soldiers. Turns out she just wanted attention." Duquesne tickled the girl under the chin and said something in Common Westerosi, getting a little giggle in return.
Given how quickly the answer came, and sensing no threat to the child, Anne relaxed. It was only then she realised she had barely been breathing. Stop being unfair to him, he told his side of the story. "The girl is the lady of this castle?" she asked, the first thing that came to mind to distract herself.
"The father died in battle to a riverlord raiding party under Lord Piper, mother died in childbirth," Schafer explained, keeping his eyes on his task, writing notes, "So the castellan runs the castle for the kid, and the wet nurse raises her."
Duquesne sighed. "Unfortunately when I try to give the kid back now…" He offered the child back to the servant woman nearby. Immediately, the little girl burst out crying, turning to try and grab the Captain by his t-shirt to stop it. The whole room looked up briefly with annoyance. Duquesne quickly brought the kid back into his arms, which quieted her.
He is good at PR. "How inconvenient for you," Anne said flatly, not convinced for a second that the Captain being the one to try to soothe the child was coincidental, "You called for me."
"I did," Duquesne confirmed, moving to sit at the table and sitting Ermesande on his knee, "Sit, this will take some explanation."
Anne exhaled loudly and sat down in the nearest chair, between Ygritte and Sergeant Schafer. She turned off her flashlight and set it down in front of her. Duquesne and the child watched her do it, which was oddly amusing.
"I have a job for you," Duquesne said, "One that'll give you more facetime with the Westerosi, if you're still interested in that kind of thing?"
Anne's brow rose. "I am, though hopefully it'll work out better than it did with Candice," she said. The expert in weapons archeology still hadn't forgiven herself for shooting the Night's Watch recruits, even though they had been trying to kill her any everyone else in the scouting party.
Duquesne nodded, very aware of the problem. Meanwhile Ygritte muttered something under her breath, rubbing her side where the child soldier had stabbed her. Like all the other Free Folk, she was stripped above the waist, wearing nothing but a wrapped linen cloth around her breasts. The ugly line of stitches were still in place on her side.
"There shouldn't be any shooting," the Captain said, "Though as you're probably aware, in this place the chance of that is never zero."
"What's the job?" Anne asked.
"Diplomatic envoy," Duquesne replied, before holding up his hands to forestall her response, "I know, that's my job not yours, but there's a problem."
He looked around the table and grabbed up a small roll of paper, holding it up. It had a red wax seal on the end of it. "Lord Tywin Lannister refuses to meet us himself. He's sending a second tomorrow, someone who won't be able to make decisions. That's unacceptable on two levels. One, Canada is due more than the attention of some random vassal lord, two, it'll delay things when we want things to move quickly."
"So we can avoid the Starks showing up and throwing a spanner in the works," Schafer added with a smile.
Anne smiled back at the Sergeant, and then at Duquesne, before giving her own addition. "Three, you won't be able to see Lord Tywin's reaction to your demands first hand, which will give you a disadvantage in negotiations."
Duquesne tilted his head once, conceding the point. "So we're going to send you as my diplomatic second. I figure you're pretty good at convincing people to do things, considering you got the entire civilian staff of the base in the NWT to follow you in protest."
Anne bit her lip for a second. "It was more a good cop, bad cop effort between Doctor Shih and I," she started, "We took turns playing either role."
"That's perfect," Duquesne interrupted, "Play the good cop while delivering my opening position."
Anne crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. It was a big responsibility, but it was exactly the kind of opportunity she had been looking for. She'd learn more about Westerosi nobles in the course of the negotiation than she had in the entire time she had already been in the new world. "What terms do you want me to deliver?"
Duquesne smirked, knowing she was going to agree. "Only the terms for the talks themselves," he said, "Maximum of ten people per negotiating party. Everyone can be armed. Sessions to be recorded by maesters on both sides and by our equipment. Lord Tywin himself must lead the Lannister negotiation team, I must lead the Canadian one…"
"All very reasonable," Schafer commented with a smirk of his own, "Until…"
"Lady Sansa Stark and Lady Arya Stark must be brought to the first full session and handed into the custody of the Canadian delegation," Duquesne sighed, "As proof that King Joffrey and his council aren't barbarians in sore need of lead poisoning."
Anne blinked. "You want two of their hostages just to talk?" she asked, "They'll refuse."
Duquesne shrugged, before quickly grabbing Ermesande and steadying the child before she threatened to topple off his knee. "Lord Tywin is in no position to bargain," he said, "But asking gives us a chance to examine his mindset."
The Captain held up one hand. "If he refuses, it means he think there's a chance he could win if we keep opposing him, in which case he's a delusional nutjob who holds children hostage. If things go badly in the following talks, I have my excuse to storm his castle."
Duquesne switched the hand he was holding up. "But if he agrees, then it's clear Lord Tywin is looking to placate us, and that could lead to an agreement of support for our defence against the Others."
Anne sighed. "So it's a test of rationality and how desperate Lord Lannister is?" she asked, entirely rhetorically, "I would think there are ways to do that with less risk of failure."
Duquesne let out a guffaw. "I'm sure there are, but Lord Tywin also has a pay a cost for me negotiating with his government at all," the Captain declared, "A price to taking children as hostages, one he can pay by rectifying the situation. If he doesn't, then he can pay in his own blood and that of his supporters."
"I'm not sure our government would approve," Anne stated.
"I'm sure they wouldn't," Duquesne said, "But ultimately, it costs us nothing to ask. Ottawa didn't send any diplomats, that tells me that the leaders back home recognise the strength of our position."
"Or no one wanted a one way ticket to somewhere like this."
If they thought I was unsuitable, they would have sent one of their own. All I need you to do is deliver the terms of negotiation, sit there with a bunch of soldiers looking tough and get a read on what they'll do."
Anne scowled. The Captain's attitude was entirely what she had been afraid of seeing. Even if his logic was sound, his terms were the arrogant demand of a conqueror, not that of someone seeking an equal partner to cooperate on defence against a threat. Then again, the nobles would happily make the same demands if roles were reversed.
"I'll do it on one condition," she said.
"What is that?"
"Corporal Teixeira comes with me as part of my bodyguard."
Duquesne's lip curled back, not pleased with the request. "Done," he said, "Now, there are a number of things to cover…"
On the sunny mid-morning of the next day, Anne found herself in the middle of a fallow field just off the King's Road. She stood waiting for the other side to arrive in front a large marquee tent set up to provide some shade to the negotiations. Complete with table, camp chairs, recording equipment, wine glasses… and an escort of MacDonald's entire section mounted in one crawler and all three of the armed buggies.
So welcoming, she thought as she scanned the soldiers faces. All of them had looks on their faces like they were about to be charged by a thousand medieval knights. Maybe they will be…
Anne looked out to the south. In the distance on the horizon, she could see the red towers of the Red Keep, the castle of the capital city. The negotiation was to happen far closer to it than to Hayford. The sea was also visible as a blue line to the southeast, over more fields, freshly harvested. There wasn't a farm animal or a crop plant in sight, and Anne could see for miles. Odd.
She looked around for Teixeira and found him holding the big machinegun attached to one of the buggies. He was equally alert as the others. Despite her request, she hadn't got a chance to talk to him yet. And at the rate things were going, she wasn't going to get one.
Beside him, Private Sayer looked bored, the only soldier who did. I guess compared to ice demons, knights are nothing to be concerned about.
Anne was about to look away again when the corporal flinched and moved the large weapon. The other large weapons were soon pointed in the same direction, off to Anne's left. She turned, and found banners moving up the road towards her; yellow and red. Easily a hundred riders appeared beneath them as they got closer, and the animals stitched on the cloth became visible; black stags and golden lions.
Boots chomped the dry earth behind. MacDonald and Sayer appeared beside her.
"Didn't the message we sent say not to show up with an army?" Anne asked.
"They never listen," Sayer remarked idly, before working his rifle so it was properly loaded. Anne leaned away from him, not wanting to be close if he shot.
The Sergeant's big brown moustache twitched in annoyance. "Guess their pride got the better of them," MacDonald said, "Let's put them back in their fuckin' box, shall we?" He shot off a series of commands into his radio mouthpiece.
Teixeira's weapon swivelled a little more and erupted. They were louder than Anne ever heard, hurting her ears, the sound of the bullets flying by completely covered up. Anne flinched, not having experienced such a cacophony before in her life.
Tracers swung across the front of the column of riders, landing to the side of the road and kicking up great plumes of dust. The horses goggled and reared up in surprise. The whole column split up into a clump, heads of both animal and man turning this way and that.
"Tabernak!" Anne cried as soon as she could hear herself think again. My ears are ringing like church bells.
"There's a reason we train our soldiers what it's like to hear bullets fly nearby," the Sergeant said, before he turned to her, "Now, let's get the diplomat set up in her tent." He held his arm out, inviting her to return. Reluctantly, she did as he suggested, following Sayer to it.
By the time Anne sat down at the table beneath the canvas, a smaller group of riders had begun to move forward again, before the rest had even recovered properly. Within minutes, they could be seen distinctly.
The group were led by a big man with a boar sigil on his chest, with black hair down to his neck and black stubble all down his face, partially armoured. Behind were two smaller men; a bald and slightly rotund man in shining purple silk, with a thin man with dark brown hair, sharp features, a sharp beard and an equally sharp blue tunic with sleeves that expanded until the wrist. They were accompanied by one of the grey-robed maesters, his chain jumping around as the man rode to catch up, and a half dozen guards behind that.
Anne almost wanted to rub her eyes, the three in front were so at odds with one another in how they looked. MacDonald halted them by raising his hand, which they wisely obeyed. The guards stayed at a respectful distance too, only the leaders and the maester approaching.
Instead of showing her disbelief, Anne put on her best dealing-with-students attitude, put her hands together in a scholar's cradle, and gestured with it to the seats across the table from her. Sayer stood behind her, while MacDonald remained outside the marquee but easily able to shoot any offending party beneath it.
The big man approached boldly and quickly. He ducked into the tent, eyes moving between Sayer and Anne like he didn't know who to talk to, before deciding age came before a rifle and youth.
He made a long self-introduction that Anne recognised as such even with her limited Westerosi Common, which Sayer translated dutifully.
"Ser Lyle Crakehall," the Private said, "Master of Laws to his Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm."
By the time that was done, the others had caught up. Anne waited for their own introductions.
The quite-young maester was next to arrive and did not introduce himself, instead quickly placing a large ledger down on the table and immediately producing ink and a feather quill. The man began scratching away as if to catch up with recording what had been said.
It was so distracting that Anne almost missed that the next one had also arrived. A smooth, strangely sweet voice sounded another introduction. She turned to find the bald man in purple, hands in the sleeves of his robes, bowing towards her as he spoke.
"Varys, Master of Whispers," Sayer said, "He thanks us for agreeing to talk, rather than applying our great talent for war."
Master of Whispers? Anne thought to herself, Is he a spy or an assassin?
The final participant swanned in, pinching his beard, just as Sayer was finishing the last translation.
"Lord Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin," the translation came, skipping over what was probably a lot of pleasantries, "He's leading the group." It was he who took the central position of the three.
So, the justice minister, the director of national intelligence and the finance minister, Anne thought, Why don't I feel nervous? Perhaps it was the clothes. They did look ridiculous, but then, she probably looked ridiculous to them in winter boots, dark blue jeans, a pink blouse and a dark grey suit jacket.
"Anne Cloutier," she said, "Civilian liaison to the Canadian Protection Force West, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry." Try saying that five times fast after a drink.
Sayer repeated her words in the correct language, with some addition after a question was asked about 'civilian', the answer to which simply caused more confusion. When that was done, the three were invited to join the maester who had already sat down.
Anne opened a cooler by her feet and pulled a bottle of red wine from it, and playing the good host, filled the wine glasses in front of them all. Their attention drawn to the glasses, the delegates were suitably awed by the quality workmanship of the glass, as Duquesne said they would be. Try not to add to the cargo cult, Anne.
As the others were tasting the wine, Lord Baelish decided it was time to get to business. He began speaking, glancing to Sayer every few seconds to make sure the private was getting everything.
"On behalf of the Crown, we're happy to open negotiations. While we remain steadfast and confident in our arms, the war has not necessarily developed to our advantage."
The man paused to drink the wine, though by the time Anne had caught up with the translation, he began again.
"The Hand of the King himself saw the creature that you left for him before the battle at the ford, the one that is dead yet not dead. My friend the Master of Whispers has also received many reports from other sources, both of dead men walking and of the arrival of yet more Canadians. I believe you are one of them?"
The way Baelish pronounced Canadians almost exactly the same way a Dutch guy would, which was distracting.
"We are prepared to offer a permanent truce," Baelish continued, "With Canada as well as the Starks and the Tullys. We are prepared to offer the return of Lord Eddard Stark, and a significant indemnity for damages caused."
Lyle Crakehall snorted with derision. "This will be dependent on Lord Stark accepting his new kingship," the man said, "So that alliance cannot be made so easily later with either of the traitor Baratheons."
So, they know about the King in the North declaration… Anne opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Lord Varys as he made a tittering sound that cut through the air like a knife. Go right ahead! she thought grumpily.
"This truce would of course also require Canada to not make arrangements with the other claimants to the Iron Throne," the bald man said, "The lords Renly and Stannis are both in rebellion. This will not be a burden to your goals. They are both extremely unlikely to agree to a truce, particularly without the proof of the need of one that you showed Lord Lannister."
Ser Lyle pressed on at once. "We won't be making peace with them," the big man boomed, "They'll stop at nothing to usurp the throne."
At last, they waited for her input. She remained silent for a moment, until they glanced at each other in confusion.
"Oh, is it my turn to speak?" she asked, picking up her own glass for a sip of wine, "How nice." Sayer did not translate that, just looking down at her for a real answer. Anne, not about to be rushed, drank the Malbec from the glass and wondered for a moment how they had gotten such a good wine up to the NWT in time. Maybe it was the base commander's stock.
Anne took in a breath to clear her thoughts, before she spoke.
"Gentlemen, I am not the ambassador for Canada," she said, "And I don't see your King, your Queen-Regent or the Hand of the King in front of me. If we are to come to an agreement, we have to do so quickly."
She stopped speaking to let Sayer catch up with the translation, while she finished her wine. The scratching of the maester's quill was a pleasant sound while she waited. "The four of us going back and forth to the people who can actually make decisions is absurd. I am here only to make arrangements so that the Hand of the King will come directly to negotiate with … Captain-Ambassador Duquesne."
Varys hid his smiling mouth behind his big sleeve and answered. "The Lord Hand is presently recovering from his wounds and has only recently awakened from a deep sleep. He will not come here."
Anne sighed as theatrically as possible. "This morning, a raven arrived in Hayford from the border with the Riverlands. Robb Stark and his host are only days away. Should he arrive and we do not have an agreement ready to present to him, the terms he will demand will almost certainly be harsher than what we intend to ask."
Crakehall growled words that Sayer didn't translate, while Lord Baelish pursed his lips in thought for a moment. What is this? Good cop, bad cop, sly cop?
"My friends, it is important to remember that our Canadian hosts have differing goals to the Starks and Tullys," Lord Baelish said to his colleagues, gaze lingering on Ser Lyle in particular, "It may be the case that we should make an agreement before the Young Wolf arrives, so that we may have the support of Canada in enforcing them."
"Very wise," Anne agreed, "But before any agreement, we have some demands so that negotiations can begin."
"You say we must hurry," Ser Lyle said, "But you have demands before we even begin talking in earnest?"
"We do," Anne confirmed, "First of all, you will actually come with a maximum of ten people next time. As we already demonstrated when you approached on the road, our ten can kill many more times that number." And Duquesne's been demonstrating it all over the continent.
"True enough," Lord Baelish said, "Though we insist on being allowed weapons."
Ser Lyle nodded along. "Aye, it does not do to strip a noble of his right to arms."
"Naturally," Anne said, "We would be armed regardless, or else you could simply send a hundred men and take us hostage too."
That got smiles, varying from Varys benign but false one saying 'we would never do such a thing' to Baelish's wicked one saying 'we absolutely would do such a thing'.
Time to deliver the hammer blow. "Speaking of hostages," Anne continued, "We require immediate custody of Sansa and Arya Stark, as well as any other persons held by you as hostage under the age of eighteen years old."
Sayer spoke the words, and incredulous blank stares were the first reply. Anne kept the frown off her face. Calm but firm.
"The Lord Hand will never agree to the release of hostages without equal concessions," Ser Lyle stated.
"The concession we are granting is the negotiations themselves," Anne answered, "Canada does not negotiate with states that take children hostage."
"Then there shall be no agreement," Lord Baelish ground out, "And we are wasting our time."
Anne sighed. The Westerosi were trying to bluff on a bad hand. It was time to deliver the lines Duquesne wanted to be delivered. She felt dirty all over her skin and in her mouth for having to do so.
"No agreement will see the Canadian Armed Forces attack King's Landing," she stated, "With or without the support of the Kingdom of the North, we would win. The Lord Hand is a witness to what just four Canadian soldiers were capable of. Gentlemen, there are now over a hundred Canadians in Westeros, and more will follow. Your walls won't save you."
Face red with anger, Ser Lyle jumped up from his seat. Her heart wrenching with surprise and fear, Anne flinched back, as Sayer raised his rifle. MacDonald quickly stepped under the marquee's roof with his own weapon up, pointed at the big man.
"Back in your fuckin' seat, big man," the Sergeant growled, Scottish accent more pronounced than Anne had ever heard it.
Sayer said something in Common too, and the man obeyed MacDonald's command, eyes remaining locked to the barrel of the Private's rifle.
Anne's heart beat returned to normal. Ser Lyle was at that battle too, she realised. The knight had backed down far too quickly otherwise. Sayer and MacDonald lowered their firearms, though the latter did not leave the tent.
Anne coughed to clear her throat and make sure her voice didn't wobble when she spoke again. "Bring our terms to Lord Lannister, let him decide," she said, "Send his answer by bird to Hayford."
Lord Baelish pinched his beard between thumb and forefinger before leaning forward. "My lady," he began softly, "I must warn you, I find it very unlikely that the Lord Hand will agree, even with the threat of seizing the city. If you drop the demand for the return of the Stark girls, I can assure the Lord Hand's presence tomorrow."
Anne shook her head slowly. "You will return all hostages under the age of eighteen years old," she repeated, "No exceptions. And I have been told by Duquesne directly, if we find out later you've made an exception for even a serving girl, he'll come back here and kill you. His words, not mine."
Lord Baelish's tongue moved in his mouth like it was dry as he returned upright in his seat. "Then we have nothing more to discuss today."
But Anne did. The lords reached for their wine glasses to finish their contents before they left, giving her the chance she wanted.
"I have something more to say," she said, "Not in an official capacity."
Sayer translated, and then turned to her. "What are you doing?"
"Aye, what are you doing?" MacDonald asked, "You've delivered the terms."
"Trying to talk sense into them," Anne responded, "Just translate. You'll understand what my point is." I need to see if they can help save themselves…
"My lady?" Varys asked, Anne able to understand that much in Common.
"I wish to make you understand something about Canada," Anne said, "We are one of the largest countries on our world."
Varys' head cocked slightly, and his voice deepened a little. "Our world?"
Anne ignored what was probably scepticism. "Our country was built by stealing or conquering the land of others, justified by ideals of civilisation. Our ancestors thought we were better than the people who lived in the land we now occupy. I understand you have a precedent like that, the Andal invasion?"
"Yes?" Lord Baelish said.
"You, the lords of Westeros, are in danger of being painted as primitive barbarians in the eyes of our leaders and our people," Anne said, "That is very dangerous for you. You appear to have no answer to our weaponry and tactics."
"Would you have us bend the knee?" Ser Lyle asked through his teeth, "You are no dragonlords."
"I would have you protect yourselves from being labelled as lesser, however you can," Anne answered, "Signal that you are people who can be negotiated with, that are not so different to us in values. Release the children to us, and you would go a long way to showing that you're not just evil people who need to be removed from power. Signal strength by showing you don't need such hostages to win." Or removed from existence if Duquesne has his way…
The three lords rose to their feet, led by Baelish. "We shall pass your terms and your… warning onto the Hand of the King," he said, "You will have your answer by dawn tomorrow."
Anne got out of her seat too. "I will pass that on to the Captain-Ambassador."
With that, Baelish and Ser Lyle made their way back towards their horses. The maester began packing up his things, accidentally spilling ink on the table and proceeding to mop it up with a spare piece of paper.
Only Lord Varys was in no hurry to leave. The bald, perfumed man smiled at Anne almost fondly. "My lady, I thank you for what you have said," he said in a kind tone, "Your people's arrival to Westeros has been a surprise to say the least. Greater understanding of your ways can only help us towards the end we all desire."
Sayer looked away after translating that, rolling his eyes out of sight of the man.
Anne smiled broadly, both at the compliment and Sayer's flippant reaction. "Just doing my part, Lord Varys. Thank you."