The Sealord's Palace, Braavos.
Rhaenyra spoke up, her voice firm but measured.
"We do not seek war, but the laws of succession must be upheld. My father, Viserys I, named me his heir, and the lords of the Seven Kingdoms swore oaths of fealty to me."
"But now, usurpers have stolen my throne and occupied King's Landing," she continued, her tone sincere, tinged with a hint of grief and indignation.
"I must correct this wrong, for my father, and for the sake of the Realm."
The representatives of the Iron Bank exchanged glances and nodded slightly. At least the justification sounded legitimate.
However, the Iron Bank did not care for legitimacy; they cared only for risk.
"And your ability to repay?" Tomo asked.
"Currently, the Greens control King's Landing and the Royal Treasury. What are your sources of income?"
"Dragonstone has rich mines," Daemon said.
"Yields are falling, and extraction costs are high," Lyra countered immediately, glancing at the documents regarding Dragonstone on the table.
"Besides, if war breaks out, can the mines even operate normally?"
"High Tide is wealthy."
"But war will devastate High Tide. Pirates, blockades, burned ports... how much tax revenue will be left after the fighting?"
"We will win," Daemon repeated, his voice turning cold.
"And when we do, the tax revenue of the entire Seven Kingdoms will be the source of repayment."
"And if you lose?"
"We won't lose."
"But if you do?"
Silence fell over the hall. Daemon stared at Lyra for a long time.
Then he laughed, not a pleasant sound.
"If we lose, we'll likely all be dead. Dead men don't pay debts, do they?"
"But collateral remains," the representative named Grover interjected.
"My Prince, two million Gold Dragons is too great a risk. We need a more tangible guarantee. For instance..."
He licked his lips. "Hatchable dragon eggs?"
Rhaenyra's face went pale instantly.
Daemon didn't move; his expression turned frigid. He slowly turned his head toward Grover.
"Say that again."
Grover swallowed hard but didn't back down.
"Prince, hatchable dragon eggs. The Iron Bank requires collateral of equal value. A living dragon egg is priceless, and besides..."
"And besides what?" Daemon growled, suppressed fury vibrating in his voice.
"And besides... it ensures you fulfill the agreement. After all, dragon eggs take time to hatch. In the meantime, "
"In the meantime, you hold the Targaryens hostage?" Daemon finished for him.
"You would use unborn dragons to threaten us?"
Scrape.
He stood up. His chair screeched harshly against the floor.
Rhaenyra stood as well, her hands trembling slightly, her eyes blazing with anger.
"We're leaving," Daemon said.
"Prince, Princess," the Sealord finally spoke from the head of the table.
"The matter of dragon eggs is off the table," he said, cutting off the tension.
"That is a red line. To cross it is not a negotiation, it is an insult. Do you wish to insult House Targaryen, Your Grace?"
The room went deathly still.
The Sealord raised his hand. "Please, sit. Representative Grover misspoke. We shall not mention the eggs again; we respect the traditions of your House."
Daemon remained standing for a moment.
"Sit," Rhaenyra whispered, touching his arm.
He slowly lowered himself back into the chair, though his gaze remained icy.
The negotiation continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. Daemon stopped being polite, fighting for every decimal point.
The Iron Bank representatives dropped their masks, calculating risk in its rawest form.
"One point eight million," Daemon said.
"Ten percent interest."
"Too high."
"High risk means high interest."
"Seven percent."
"Nine. We cannot go lower."
"Eight. That is our final offer."
"Deal. But the repayment period is shortened to eight years."
"Ten."
"Nine."
Back and forth they went. Arguments and calculations scratched onto parchment. Servants brought food, but no one touched it.
Rhaenyra watched as these Braavosi measured her throne and her children's future in the weight of gold.
But Daemon held his ground. He knew the cost of war, and he knew the greed of men.
By the time the afternoon sun slanted through the stained glass, the deal was struck: 1.25 million Gold Dragons, at 8% annual interest, over a ten-year term, with the first three years being interest-only.
The collateral included the mineral rights of Dragonstone and 30% of the tax revenue from the Seven Kingdoms for five years post-war.
An additional clause granted Braavos "Most Favored Nation" trade status and exclusive import rights for certain goods.
The terms were suspiciously vague, but Daemon signed.
"A wise decision," the Sealord smiled, raising a silver cup.
"To our cooperation."
Daemon clinked his cup but didn't drink.
The Iron Bank representatives shared a look. To them, it didn't truly matter if the Blacks failed. What mattered was that a war started.
As long as Westeros was plunged into fire, they would profit.
Most importantly, they wanted the Targaryens to tear each other apart.
The "monstrous" Targaryens, in their eyes, shouldn't exist in this world at all.
------
The Skies over the Narrow Sea.
By the time they left, it was dusk.
Caraxes and Syrax were waiting in the courtyard, snorting sparks impatiently.
The guards of the Sealord's Palace stood far back, their faces pale for fear the irritable beasts might snap them up.
Daemon helped Rhaenyra onto her dragon before leaping onto Caraxes' back.
The dragons took flight, soaring through the legs of the Titan of Braavos toward the open sea.
High up, the wind cut like a knife.
Once they were far enough from the city, Rhaenyra shouted, "Daemon! I don't understand!"
"What?"
"Why borrow the money? Why sign those terms? We have High Tide, we have the promises from Volantis... we aren't that desperate for gold!"
Daemon brought Caraxes closer until the two dragons were flying wing-to-wing.
"Listen, Rhaenyra," his voice came in snatches through the wind.
"Braavos... they will be our enemy sooner or later."
"What?"
"Think! We are allying with Volantis to carve up the Triarchy. If we win, a new power backed by dragons rises in the East, and it's the blood-enemy of Braavos: Volantis. Do you think Braavos will allow that?"
Rhaenyra was stunned. "They fear the dragons? They fear a Targaryen return to the East?"
"Exactly."
The wind grew colder. Rhaenyra asked, "If they are already our enemies, why borrow their money?"
Daemon turned his head, looking at her across the gap, and winked.
"If we've borrowed the money through our own 'merit,' why should we ever bother paying it back?"
Rhaenyra's eyes widened. "Not pay? But the agreement... the Iron Bank will hunt us, they'll seek revenge, "
"Let them come," Daemon sneered.
"Once we've unified the Seven Kingdoms, allied with Volantis and High Tide, and secured our fleet and our dragons..."
He patted Caraxes' neck. "If Braavos realizes we've played them for fools, what can they do?"
"It's a gamble, Daemon."
"Life is a gamble," Daemon smiled at his wife.
"And we have dragons, the best cards in the world."
Below them, the Blood Wyrm let out a roar, though whether in agreement or simple hunger, only the clouds knew.
-----
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