"What do you think we should do, Maester Nickolas?" Corlys asked after Zalarys departed. His expression was thoughtful as he observed the man who perhaps knew the young prince best.
"I say we let him do as he wishes. Let's be logical. How can we even stop him with Murghagon by his side? It's impossible to challenge that beast." Nick answered with a frown, his thoughts lingering on his prince's bearing and the look in his eyes.
It wasn't just him. Corlys had noticed it too,
His face betraying a deep, silent concern.
Something changed... His presence was just... different. I almost didn't recognize him. Just what happened to cause this?
But then, when he thought about it, perhaps it wasn't so surprising. Zalarys had killed his own aunt, and from what he said... he had been raped by her while paralyzed. No child should ever experience something as fucked up as that. Or maybe it was the relentless accumulation of setbacks since the moment he left home that had turned him this way.
He wasn't really sure though, since the young prince didn't dwell on it, shrugging it off as if it were something insignificant and meaningless, every trace of childish excitement and innocence drained from his heart like loathsome bats draining blood.
And now... face expressionless, eyes cold and piercing, he looked composed and indifferent, as if he'd stripped himself of every thought that weighed him down and sharpened his will, as if he was the edge of the Valyrian steel blade itself.
Zalarys always was a greedy child. He wanted glory, recognition, and riches. But above all else, he wanted power.
Perhaps that was why he'd followed that woman, whom Corlys found dangerous. He was concerned for the boy, and beneath that concern lingered an anxiety about the uncertain future.
What would happen if something befell him? What would the old king say? What would his parents say? What would his wife say...
He'd lied to Rhaenys and left, and now the boy he was supposed to look after felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face.
Corlys had his own reasons for this expedition, of course, for example discovering new routes and gaining even more wealth. But he also knew he couldn't have stopped Zalarys, and that had been part of why he'd chosen to come along. This way, he could protect him while pursuing his own goals.
But witnessing the shift in the boy's eyes, he felt something bitter settle in his chest. A child should be enjoying life with his family, instead of experiencing everything disgusting these godforsaken seas had to offer.
The weight on his shoulders grew heavier with the thought. He didn't like any of this. He wasn't a heartless man. But if the worst came to pass and something irreversible befell Zalarys...
I'll have to kill Nickolas. And everyone else who knows.... He thought it with displeasure, well aware that no one in Westeros knew of his arrangement with Zalarys. In their eyes, Corlys was searching for the prince, so concealing the truth wouldn't be difficult.
But he didn't want to do it. That was why he prayed that nothing terrible would happen, and that perhaps the gods would hear him.
There was Rhaenys too. He was certain she would grow suspicious, perhaps even piece together the truth. And he was equally certain she wouldn't betray him or utter a word about what happened.
But that wouldn't mean she'd forgive him. Their marriage, peaceful and sweet as it had been, would crumble the moment the truth came to light. He was sure of that.
Sighing, he gazed at the water glistening beneath the dazzling sun. If I can't convince him, I might as well tend to my business in the Free Cities.
He said he only needed a few months... Haaaa... I don't like this. The expedition is postponed too, but there's nothing to be done. A few months is nothing, I suppose. Elissa Farman took years before she even set sail, so I can be patient with the boy.
And if he still can't decide what he wants, I'll take matters into my own hands and drag him back myself. I'm not some jester to jump around and amuse him.
"We wait a few months, Maester. If he still won't join us, I'm cancelling the expedition and going home. I don't have time to play around."
"Reasonable. But have faith in my prince. He's young and a little shaken but trust me, he just needs time. And when that time comes, he'll return a man and lead us straight to the edge of this earth." Nick said it with absolute certainty, his voice steady enough to be somehow reassuring.
It wasn't even belief, he simply knew it. Those events, those setbacks and everything else may have planted a seed of doubt in the young prince's heart, but Zalarys would tear it out with vicious resolve before it could bloom into a rotting flower of despair.
He was sure of it. After all, when Zalarys fixed his eyes on something, no number of falls could keep him from chasing it.
______________________________
"You are awfully composed for someone whose betrothed fucked and murdered your sister, Viserra." Daemon said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as he cut into the boar on the table, lifting a piece and chewing it with an expression of idle amusement.
Viserra remained still, dining gracefully, her lilac eyes half-lidded and soft as she continued eatingt her salad. "That's not something you need to concern yourself with, Daemon."
"How dull... No reaction at all?" He shrugged with mild annoyance, shaking his head while she ignored him.
True, she was irritated that someone as dimwitted as Daemon was mocking her, but she didn't let any emotion be seen on her fair face.
Still, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't troubled. Zalarys had killed her sister. And slept with her, too, apparently.
One could say he'd already been unfaithful. Though she couldn't hold it against him. From what she'd learned, Saera not only seduced him, but he wasn't aware of her identity either. Hell, he didn't even knew that he was betrothed to Viserra.
Haaaa... My husband is already a kinslayer, how delightful. She thought humorlessly, pressing a fingertip lightly to her cheek with a wry curl of her lips.
But well... As surprising as it is, he's still alive. That's something, I suppose. And as galling as it is to have no say in my own marriage, I'm still glad that it's not some decrepit old lord. Hmm... I doubt Zalarys will return anytime soon, too. That's good, that means we won't have to consummate the marriage yet. After all, I have no intention of dying during labour like Daella. I need my body to mature to withstand childbirth.
So it wasn't that terrible of a situation she found herself in. Viserra made a strange habit of finding something positive in every event, no matter how bad. And her circumstances weren't so awful from what she could tell, there were quite a few advantages too.
Letting out a soft breath, she rose from her seat and left without acknowledging Daemon, or Viserys, who was making another futile attempt to remind his brother about decorum, while Aemma sat beside them with a strained smile.
She returned to her chambers to rest. But her rest didn't last long, a knock came at the door.
"Come in." she said softly, crossing her long legs and resting her cheek against her palm as the guards let the young woman in.
"Princess, it's a pleasure meeting you."
"The pleasure is mine, my lady. Please, sit." She smiled faintly, gesturing to the chair in front of her.
"I still remember our conversation, and I'm willing to accept your generous offer, princess." the woman said, with a faint trace of hesitation noticeable in her rough voice.
"Oh, that's lovely news." Viserra took her hand warmly. "I'm sure your guild has been facing difficulties at the harbor, taxes can be so unkind. But for the sake of our friendship, I'm willing to speak with my father. I think King's Landing could become more... accommodating. Let's say that, Lady Laura."
"Truly?" Laura smiled brightly. She knew exactly what was happening, and she didn't mind. If there was something to be gained, why refuse? Information, resources, she was willing to provide either if Viserra could smooth out her problems.
Her business had been collapsing recently, but with Viserra's name behind her, the wives and daughters of noble houses would find their way to the guild. Which meant both sides could find benefits from this cooperation.
She didn't really understand the business with the grain yet, though. What does she need so much of it for? If there's no reasonable answer and nothing comes of it, she can consider their arrangement finished.
She turned the thought over with a furrowed brow, but held her tongue, not daring to anger the princess, one as dangerous as Viserra at that.
After they'd settled the details, Viserra left her chambers with her and made her way toward the throne hsll. Her father held court not only for lords and courtiers, but for smallfolk who came bearing grievances too, it was one of his more admirable trait, let's say. However, she wasn't here to admire him today.
She took her place near the Iron Throne, hands folded neatly before her, and watched petitioners lay their troubles at the king's feet.
Viserra's reputation was favorable. She was respected and genuinely liked, by smallfolk and nobility alike, which made influence a much simpler thing to cultivate.
She accepted that the crown was beyond her reach at this point. But passivity never suited her. Not only was it pitiful, but also boring.
So she began with the supply lines, tracing how goods moved from Essos to Westeros, which sea routes were usable and which had been abandoned because of the Stepstones and pirates who delighted in disrupting trade. And even if the noble houses were doing fine despite the cancer called pirates, the smallfolk were not, and they often starved.
And people who suffered from starvation were worse than beasts. That's why, when a poor harvest hit the Stormlands and Crownlands, Viserra decided to act. For example, she offered loans to failing merchants with acceptable terms in exchange for shared ownership, stalwart loyalty, or outright control if the wreckage was severe enough to justify it.
She was also studying the previous Masters of Coin who had served the Iron Throne, and one of them caught her attention, specifically a man who had served her father, Jaehaerys, Rego Draz.
He was the Master of Coin from Pentos, also known as the Lord of Air, until he was murdered by smallfolk. It was said that he was the reason the economic state of Westeros improved after Maegor left the crown in debt, and he was also wealthier than the king himself, as ridiculous as that sounds.
That gave inspiration to Viserra and also gave her clarity regarding the power dynamics and what truly moved the world.
It was money!
Without it, you can't wage war. Without it, there would be chaos. Without it, people would starve, and so on.
In other words, it wasn't kings or lords who ruled the world, but money.
And as a result, she decided to become exactly what moved the pieces... the gold.
As for why she was here today, well, that was a matter of cleaning up a problem of her own making.
"My king, my people are starving. The merchants have been delayed for reasons I can't account for, and there's no grain, no bread... I've exhausted what I had and cannot take on more debt than I already carry. Antlers is in desperate need of help, and House Buckwell has done everything within its means but... We're helpless."
Viserra smiled faintly behind her fan, a gentle breeze brushing against her dazzling hair, while Jaehaerys leaned back on the Iron Throne, stroking his beard as he considered ways to resolve this problem as efficiently as possible.
But before either side could say another word, Viserra stepped forward, her face softening with sympathy.
"Your grace, may I?" She asked his permission to speak.
Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow as he heard his shrewd daughter's voice, curiosity plain on his face, and raised his hand, gesturing for her to speak her mind without uttering a word.
Viserra bowed gracefully, bending slightly as she lifted the sides of her skirt lightly as a show of respect. Usually, there was no need for theatrics, but this was court and it demanded courtesy.
What wasn't known, though, and what Lord Buckwell certainly didn't know, was that Viserra was the one who orchestrated this situation. She was always a bit spiteful, so she recalled very well how Lord Buckwell insulted her while he was drunk because she refused to dance with him. But spite alone wasn't the reason she decided to act. If all that moved her was a little provocation, then perhaps it was time for her to prepare her own grave.
No, the real reason was born from a lesson her father taught her without meaning to do so. When Joffrey Doggett, the Red Dog of the Hills, Grand Captain of the Warrior's Sons, a man who wanted the Targaryens slaughtered as incestuous abominations, was brought in front of the Iron Throne so he could be judged for his crimes, Jaehaerys didn't execute him, nor did he banish the Red Dog to the Wall. Instead, he forgave him and offered him a place among the Kingsguard, and by doing so, he was able to move the old dog's heart and earn his loyalty.
Viserra would do the same... She knew that Lord Buckwell wasn't truly a malicious man. Sure, he was careless with his mouth and enjoyed wine, but he truly loved his people. So she would offer him her help despite what he said, showing him that he didn't truly know her and fixing the problem she created on purpose as well.
Steeling her resolve, Viserra turned to the court, specifically to Lord Buckwell, and finally began.
"Lord Buckwell. I have someone who may be able to help you." She gestured to the woman at her side, her tone measured and unhurried. "Please meet Lady Laura. She has grain available and is willing to part with it, for a reasonable price, of course..."
Laura covered her face to hold back a laugh, giving Viserra an amused look mixed with appreciation. So that's what this is about...
"But we aren't in any position to-"
"I know." Viserra said, cutting him off gently qnd turned to her father with a look of concern. "Father, I can't bear to leave people in such a state. I'd like to help."
"You intend to pay?" Jaehaerys spoke with a thoughtful gaze, resting his cheek on his fist.
"Yes."
"I can't take on more debt, Princess." Lord Buckwell said, his voice growing more panicked at the thought of his territory drowning in debt.
"You won't be asked to. When your house recovers, you can repay the initial loan amount, nothing more, nothing else. I won't ask for interest, nor do I have any conditions. So there's nothing to worry about, my lord."
Saying this, Viserra approached the desperate lord, her eyes gentle and warm as she patted his shoulder with an encouraging smile, as if seeing him and his people happy made her joyful as well.
"Nothing at all…