Pre-Chapter A/N:Another chapter on time? Guess my lock-in is going pretty well. If you haven't already, I recommend turning on notifications for my stuff so you can see when new stuff drops right as it drops. Next four chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Discount on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) until tomorrow so do check that out.
XXXXXX- Selqor Mararys
"What do you think of the invitation, my love?" he asked, turning to look at the woman he had married some decades ago. It had been so much time that he had been able to claim that he had forgotten most of what had transpired on that day without causing offence. Of course, he remembered in truth but it was better for him to pretend that he did not. It led to fewer questions and made his wife feel better about the whole thing.
"I think the Sunset Lord is learning how to play the game like one of our own," she said. Our own. That phrase. The way she said it, it would have seemed to any looking in from without that she was referring to the two of them like they were of the same group. Like he was one of them.
But Selqor knew better than that. Even on the day he had gotten married, he had known what would come his way sooner rather than later, but he had been in love— not with her but the future she promised and it had seemed worth it. He looked over at her again. Silver hair and eyes of beautiful purple. She was a daughter of Valyria in all the ways that mattered, and he had paid a price for it.
Damn him to all the hells because he still could not bring himself to say that he regretted it.
"Just that?" he asked.
"Surely you see why he has sent us an invitation. He intends to drive the wedge deeper. To court us to his side while the gap between us and our brothers and sisters widens. He wants to give us no one else to turn to but himself. And when he eventually comes for us, we will be forced to side with him because our loyalty would never be believed by our own brothers and sisters," she said.
"You still think he plans to invade? The logic is missing. He has gold aplenty and becomes wealthier by the day as he has us as a trading partner. If he were to invade, he will throw that all in the fire and burn it to ash. The Triarchy would rather destroy itself than give our lands over to the Valyrian. That is the way of things. He would have to embark on an expensive war effort as our fleets strengthen more and more as time passes. And then after that he would have to start all our industry again from scratch, while supporting our peoples with his gold and aid. He would never dare it. The mathematics is not in his favour," he said.
"And you think he will care about that? You can do all your calculations, husband. You rose on the back of it, after all. But I am the old blood. I am of Valyria. The blood of conquerors runs through my veins just as surely as it runs through his. He is, at this time, hearing it sing into his ears promises of glory. Of victory. He will come for us because a Valyrian has never had conquest in his sights and spurned it. That is why I advised you to take out a contract on his head all those moons ago," she said.
"I told you already. The Faceless Men refuse any attempt to turn them against him. Perhaps he has paid them more than what we can afford to secure his death," he said, but his wife just gave him a doubtful look. Of course she thought he was lying. She probably thought he was thinking like all merchants do, of how he could profit from the present situation. He himself had not believed it when his first messenger had returned with a refusal. But all the others he had sent had been similarly declined.
"Then we pay more. The Triarchy has more gold than an upjumped lordling from the Sunset kingdoms," she said.
"The Faceless Men refuse to give a price even so. How do we know what we are bidding against? When asked, they just say that he has already been given the gift in that tone of theirs," he sighed. She nodded, still doubtful.
"Either way, it is much too late to attempt to kill him now. The Triarchy will not permit another war against the Sunset Lord. Not while we still recover from the present one," and while our stars are so closely aligned with his, he added mentally but did not say. His wife had never had to work for anything in her life, and it showed in her broad refusal to be realistic with options. She disdained the work he did to acquire the gold she spent so readily. What a woman. But of course he had known this would be the case. One did not marry into a family as storied as hers without expecting some problems. Of course the benefits had broadly outweighed the costs so far, and as long as that was the case, the marriage would continue. It only made sense after all.
"Of course it is much too late now. It is much too late because it suits your interest for it to be too late. I know you, husband. Better than any other man in this world. I know that when you want something done, you will move the heavens themselves until they yield to your will. And in this, you want none of the proper things that a man of your stature ought to. All you see is the potential for increased wealth while you invite the snake into our home and permit him to lay on our bed. You think you are in control, husband, but the snake will bite one day," she said, turning to leave.
"You haven't said anything about whether we should go or not," he called out to her before she reached the door to his solar. He knew that it was unlikely for him to see her in the next few days. When she got annoyed with him like she was now, it could take her moons to return to the fold.
Part of her wanted him to get her whenever she behaved this way. But in decades of marriage, he had only done something so foolish once. In fact, it had felt so bad then that he had sworn never to do it again no matter how desperate he became for her to return.
"You will pick whatever it is that you desire. Do ensure the dresses made for me are beautiful," she said, opening the door and shutting it behind her. She would most likely have retreated to their other home by the end of the day. He wondered when next he would see her, but he cast the thought from his mind as he turned his attention to writing a fitting reply to the invitation.
In the end, she was right. There was no chance that he was going to ignore the invitation. The opportunity to sell Velaryon goods in Lys at margin brought him wealth previously unimaginable. She thought there was a chance for them to separate themselves from Laenor Velaryon. Oh, the rage that would come when she realised just how tightly he had tied them to that particular ship would be a thing to behold. But what could he do about it? It was not like he had much of a choice in the end. Her House might have been old but his wealth was new. When slaves were needed to pacify the Velaryon, it had been his slaves that were harvested first when they ran out of non-Triarchy members to tax. Everyone paid a toll, but he had paid one of the largest. When Velaryon had come with a hand of friendship, he had no choice.
XXXXX- MANFRED BARATHEON
He looked around the room. The Lord's solar was not a place he was ever invited to often. If there had ever been any need for him to be spoken to in the past, it happened in the round hall, or on the feasting table, or even in the training room. Not here, though. Never here. This was the special place where the Lord Baratheon met with people of importance, and a bastard did not ever qualify as one of those.
At least, that was the way of things before today. Before the letter had come in.
"Did you know this would happen?" his Lord asked the man who would be his heir one day. Even in the privacy of his own mind, Manfred would never dare refer to Borros as his brother. He knew better than that.
"I did not," he refuted.
"You were to court the Velaryon girl," his Lord thundered.
"I tried. I failed."
"You did not try. I heard from the Lords who followed you to King's Landing. You spent more time searching for the bottom of every barrel of mead than talking to her," he said. Borros looked over to him at that. While his Lord tried to sell the illusion that the information had come from someone other than Manfred, Borros was not stupid. He knew why Manfred had been sent with him to King's Landing and then ordered to maintain a low profile and ensure he was not noticed.
"Indeed. Nothing would have worked either way. She was clearly already in love with her brother at the time," Borros said. Even Manfred knew that dismissing the Lord's rage in this situation was the wrong thing to do. It did not matter that Borros was the heir. Even that would only stay the rage of Boremund Baratheon for so long. Only so many disappointments would be tolerated, and it seemed that Borros was not lacking on that front.
"And you would have done well to tempt her away. I have seen the effort you can put into seducing kitchen maids and cleaners. Are noble ladies beyond your charm? Is that it?" his Lord chuckled sardonically before turning his attention to the next topic.
"If a marriage with Laena Velaryon is no longer being offered, then the terms of our alliance with House Velaryon will need to be reconsidered," he said.
"What?" Borros asked, shocked.
"We fought their war. We delivered a Kingdom to them, and they thanked us with gold and nothing more even while our men lost their lives and our people prepare for what could well be the harshest winter in generations with so many lost in their war." His Lord did not rage. He did not scream. But his anger was all the more palpable for it. That was the cold tone of a man whose rage had made a realm tremble and now that rage was being roused once again.
"Enough gold that each man struggled to carry their share away," Borros countered with, not seeing what Manfred could see as clearly as one could see a storm as it built from the top of the Drum tower on a clear day.
"We are men of storm and steel. What use have we for copper counting? I would not have given Stormlander lives for something as unimportant as gold. We are owed our due, and we must receive it. If a wedding is not forthcoming, then House Velaryon will give us land instead," he said.
"Laenor would never—"
"The boy will do as he is told. Were you not his Knight? Did you not give him his spurs? See to it that we receive our due, son. Do not fail me again."
"Or else?" Borros hissed, matching his father's heated gaze with one of his own.
"Or else you will never get the chance to fail me again," he said, turning his gaze from Borros down to Manfred. Fuck no. Manfred could see why he had been summoned now. He was not here to participate in any of this. He was simply here to be used as a threat against the true heir. An empty threat. A meaningless one. But one that Borros would take seriously regardless.
"Is that so, Father?" he asked.
"It is. One failure is already far too many for me to abide. I have sat here and accepted your dozens. Do not fail me in this or you will find that House Baratheon will be better led by another. Now begone from my sight," he said. Like a storm barely contained in its cloud, Borros turned and left the room, opening and slamming the door with so much force that everything in the room shook from the impact.
As he left, the Storm Lord seemed to shrink and age a couple of decades in a matter of seconds.
"Do not take that threat seriously. You are a bastard, and you will be inheriting nothing," he said to him.
These were truths that Manfred knew already. They had been beaten into his head from childhood. It didn't matter how fast he learned or what his potential looked like. His ceiling had been decided by the manner and circumstances of his birth. Sometimes he wished he had been born to some no-name peasant farmer.
It would have been a hard life to be sure— having to till the field for hours on end for little reward. But it would have been better than this one. This life of constant mockery. Far away from nobility and their trappings, perhaps he could have even been happy.
"Am I dismissed, my Lord?" he asked instead of saying what was truly on his mind.
"Not yet. See to it that the Maester has a message sent to Tarth. We will require three of his ships. Arrange the guard as well. A contingent of fifty men will suffice, and see that we are provisioned for the journey," he said.
"Is this not the castellan's work, my Lord?" he asked, shocked.
"Did I give you permission to question me? Do my will and begone with you, boy," the Lord of Storms roared, but even now there was something missing in it. Something empty about the rage. Like a storm that had no rain behind it. Just wind. Empty air.
XXXXX- GRAND MAESTER RUNCITER
Once again, the Small Council stood divided on an issue relating to House Velaryon. And once again, the King himself was nowhere to be found. Runciter watched as the sides began to coalesce into fully formed blocks rather than just sides in a debate from meeting to meeting. When the suggestion had come to tax the findings from Valyria, those who were opposed to House Velaryon had unanimously supported it regardless of what their usual views on taxation and royal overreach were.
And now that the matter had turned to the decision Laenor Velaryon had made to marry his sister, Runciter watched as loyal followers of the Seven argued in favour of one of the greatest sins against them— incest. House Targaryen had the exception. They were the royal house. It did not matter how much blood Velaryon shared with them. A name mattered more than blood, and in this situation, he had the wrong name.
"If the High Septon himself can have no issue with it, then I see not why we of the Small Council shall make it our problem," Strong argued passionately in favour of stepping aside.
"The High Septon can be bribed with two coppers and a loose whore," Darklyn rejoined just as strongly.
"These are the Small Council chambers, not some Fleabottom tavern. We are High Lords of the realm, not gossiping sailors. If you mean to say words like those, then there better be some evidence," the Hand spoke now, cautioning his own man and breaking the silence he had held up until now. Was he in favour of the wedding as well?
"It matters not what the High Septon has done. The King carries the title of the Defender of the Faith. It might be time for the King to defend it from its highest officer," Redwyne cut in.
"Surely you know your histories well enough to remember what happened when a King tried to clumsily interfere with the affairs of the Faith," Strong spoke, turning to his fellow counsellor with a look of astonishment like he was surprised that someone would argue in favour of such overreach. He did not know the men that sat around him then if he would be shocked.
Runciter, with this front row seat to the realm's most powerful men, had lost whatever illusions he had held about the inherent nobility of nobility. These men would just as surely sell out a comrade for an advantage as a sailor would. The only difference would be the scale of the advantage. Land, marriages, things of that sort. Never gold though. These men would treat the one thing that allowed them to maintain their lavish lifestyles like it was a poison.
"Then we shall not do it clumsily. A maester's knife, not a butcher's cleaver, if you would," Darklyn spoke next.
"Use a seamstress's needle if you wish. The result will be the same. The Faith has made its decision and we shall abide by it. If you want not to attend the wedding, then indicate so now. Some counsellors will be required to remain behind either way," the Hand spoke now, bringing an end to the debate. Runciter watched sardonically as the men who had just argued passionately against the marriage refused to signal that they were not going to attend.
He lifted his own hand.
"Noted, Grand Maester," the Hand said. It wasn't like he was expected to travel with court either way. His role was here in the Capital.
"I will decide who must remain behind by end of day. Expect my runners." And so the meeting was dissolved. He slowly gathered his things as his mind ran. The game had shifted now. Two of the most eligible candidates on the marriage market would be removing themselves from consideration and the landscape would shift for it.
A/N: Just wanted to look at the effects of the invitation being sent out. As you can tell, the wedding ended up being pushed back somewhat. Laenor had expected his Mother and Sister to carry on planning while he was gone, but no one sane would plan a wedding with a man whose survival was unknown.
A/N: And so the chapter concludes. Next one should start off the wedding arc and we can get to work on the next half of the story. Next five chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early. Had my birthday last week and got another year older (boo), so there's a discount on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) until tomorrow for anyone interested in that (yay)