Twenty Years IV
Prince Viserys Targaryen, The Dragonstone Throne Room
“Illyrio, how have the numbers for the coffers been coming?” He asked the fat merchant. He wasn't the most trusted of his advisers, but he kept the money flowing and growing. When he became King, he would honor his promise to have this sack of lard be his Master of Coin. He wouldn't be a good king if he went back on his word.
And Illyrio owed him for letting him stay on Dragonstone all these years after Pentos burned.
“They are going strong my Prince,” Illyrio responded. “The quarterly findings have increased nearly five percent from the last quarter. I could recommend more holdings to invest in with this increased wealth.”
“Later,” Viserys murmured, turning to the heir of his future Master of Ships, Ser Monford Velaryon.” Is there anything to report from the docks and sea?”
“Pirates continue to be a problem but we've managed to keep them at arms length, my lord.” The knight replied with a cool tone. “Smugglers have been stealing from the Merchants and vice versa. Some of them have been aiding the Pirates which is why they are still a problem. We will remain vigilant as we always have, you have my word.”
Your word but not your love, Viserys thought with a sharp nod. He could admit to himself that he had acted rashly when he branded the Driftmark bastard as a rapist – if only because he had lost his sister and the respect of one of his strongest Bannerman. Daenerys deserved better than a bastard, no matter how beloved by his community he was. She was a Princess, she deserved the very best.
Not him, he wouldn't go down that road. He would have to break that particular tradition in order to gain favor across the Seven Kingdoms. The Blood of Old Valyria was still out there, even amongst his cousins in Lys. His family would have to marry them if he wanted the small piece of Valyria to survive.
Its okay for the Northern savages to worship trees and talk to beasts, and its okay for the others to practice their ways but mine must be called into question? He thought angrily. He was no fool, his father's madness had been the result of many things including the incest but people forgot that just as there were mad royals in his family, there were also good ones too, despite the incest they practiced.
“Ser Baemar,” He spoke to his spymaster, putting aside his angry thoughts. “What can you tell me of the happenings in the continent?”
Baemar Bloodraven gave him a cold look, as was his way, “Generally content it seems, with the war of the Sparrows being over. Individually, well, where to begin? Dorne may declare for you but that rests entirely on how you treat them and the Winter Lands.”
He shouldn't be surprised that Dorne and the North – He refused to refer to them as anything other than that – were tied together. The North gave Dorne the justice they wanted, and in gratitude, they gave them people to marry, building an unnatural alliance the likes of which had never been seen before.
No he shouldn't be surprised but it still galled him that the two Kingdoms who never fully submitted to Dragon rule were now allies. It did not make him feel comfortable in anyway.
“Remind me, who was married between them?”
“Prince Oberyn's eldest bastard girl married the eldest bastard of the Stark bunch. And Prince Doran's eldest son married lord Eddard's second daughter.”
“Strange that,” Illyrio remarked. “Shouldn't the eldest daughter have married the eldest son?”
“A second daughter is perfectly suitable for a second child.” Baemar said curtly. For someone who was born in the East, he understood Westerosi politics very well. “I can't tell you much else about the Winter Lands since I cannot establish any sort of network there. Every time I tried, it didn't end well for those I employed.”
That was not acceptable, Viserys thought.
“What can you tell me?” He asked.
“Durran Baratheon and his bastard brothers have resurfaced. The Sparrows had them, and they had the older bastard fight for them whilst using the other two as leverage. The remnants of their order were defeated in the lands of House Blackwood. The Baratheon bastard secured his siblings freedom and killed their captives before surrendering. He was nearly executed but he managed to secure a trial by combat.”
Viserys was mostly bored with what he was hearing but that certainly got his attention, “How did he achieve such a thing?”
“Durran Baratheon argued that, as one of his heirs, Gendryus Storm,” Viserys snorted, what kind of name was that? “should be allowed the right to fight for his life. Despite his lack of formal training, he won his freedom, and is headed to the Winter Lands with a small Vanguard lead by Ser Markus Ryden, the bastard grandson of Lord Rickard Stark and son by law to Prince Oberyn.”
“Well this solves the mystery of House Baratheon,” Viserys said flatly. He did not, despite popular belief, have anything to do with their kidnapping. The Sparrows despised him, since he was a product of incest, and an abomination in their eyes. Did his heart bleed for them, however? No, it didn't and all Seven Hells would have to freeze over before that ever happened.
House Baratheon's entire existence was done by the grace of his ancestors. Robert Baratheon even had a Targaryen grandmother, which made he and Rhaegar kinsmen. It didn't stop the fucking brute from killing his brother and for what? A damn Northern girl?
“They head North, you said?” Viserys asked for clarification.
“They do, they will most likely stay with Ser Stannis and his brood before they try to come back south. It wouldn't surprise me if they went to Lady Sansa's wedding.”
“Who?” Illyrio blinked at Baemar who gave an irritated growl.
“Lady Sansa Stark,” Viserys answered, irritated himself. His entire council wasn't completely filled - and with good reason, he needed the room for the other members when he became king – but it was already drawn out as it was. Illyrio's interruptions were not appreciated. “She's the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. She's due to marry Ser Domeric Towers.” Bolton, his mind corrected but thankfully he didn't say that out loud.
He may not agree with the notion of the North or even Dorne being allowed to revive old family names if they so desired but they had been allowed their rights by Aegon I, and he would abide by that.
“Yes,” Baemar grumbled. “And I understand that your mother wishes to attend the wedding?”
“She does,” Viserys said flatly. His mother had begged him to go North, to see her daughter and grandchildren. All of them, including the half Stark one with an actual Stone Dragon. “I fear for her safety however, with my family being disliked in the North, and with my niece's dragon flying about.”
He had tried hatching his own dragon but nothing worked. And even if he had, Stone Dragons, while rare, were better than normal dragons since they couldn't be killed through normal means or enemy dragon fire. Aegon and his sister had nine dragons with them during their campaign. True, they only rode one a piece but the others followed the calls of the three eldest dragons, even the small stone dragon that they had.
That dragon, Caraxes, had died alongside its rider, Prince Daemon Targaryen, during the Targaryen civil war when it drowned in the Gods Eye but it was formidable and one of the older dragons that they had. He knew not as to how his niece came into the possession of one, and while he could hope that she would join his side in any conflict that came about, she could just as easily take everything from him.
Unless he had a deterrent for her dragon, which, on hand, he did not.
“While I cannot pretend to know of methods that could defend against a stone Dragon, my men and I would protect your mother from any harm that may come to her, or die trying.”
His first instinct was to say no but then he thought about it. His mother could vouch for him, or try to put in a good word at least, with either of the Stark lords. It was a long shot, and he wasn't entirely hopeful. But he could give his mother this before he pressed his claim for the throne.
“I consent...” He said slowly, much to the surprise of his other two councilors. “Should anything happen to my mother, or if you should start an incident, I will burn all of Lys.”
That was a bluff, he knew that, but they didn't though it looked like Ser Baemar was trying very hard to keep his eyes from rolling.
“As you say, my prince.” The knight responded with a short bow.
“Ser Monford, tell your father to send someone to represent your house, go yourself if you wish.” Monford stared at him incredulously. “I know that your brother is missed. Go see him and his children or send someone else to do it. You have my blessing.”
“My thanks Prince Viserys,” Monford said slowly, warily, as if he was waiting for Viserys to take back what he said. Viserys just nodded his head back.
“Talk it over with each other,” He ordered the two knights. “And the council is dismissed for today.”
Prince Doran, The Sunspear Throne Room
Doran leaned over a table, looking over the map of Dorne that had been updated with the new banners for the new houses that he could count on in the future. The grey maned black stallion on blue and white of Oldsand, his nieces house. The grey crescent on purple and white of Vorian and the quartered wolf and sun on black and white of house Sunwolf, Quentyn's new house.
House Vorian were seated in High Hermitage, just along the Torrentine and half a days ride from the Starfall bridge. House Oldsand were situated in the High Castle, a small keep that belonged to those of High Hermitage, but was gifted instead his niece and her husband by Ser Jonothor. It was meant to be connected by a thick wall that went straight to High Hermitage to help better defend the northern border but for some reason it was never finished.
Quentyn was gifted some land by both him and Lord Anders Yronwood, one of the few things that they had actively agreed on. It was situated in Yronwood lands of course, south east of Yronwood itself, but mostly garrisoned by Martell forces. He and his wife hadn't named it yet but perhaps they would when they arrived.
“You have visitors, my Prince.” One of the guards announced from the door.
“Who is it?” He asked back, still looking over the map.
“Princess Arianne and Prince Trystane.”
He saw Areo tense in the corner of his eye. He himself was weary. His relationship with his children had soured over the years, first with his wife leaving him and with Quentyn being sent away. They never sought him out and barely attended supper with him unless they had too.
“Send them in.”
His children came in after a moment and he stood to greet them.
“My children,” He murmured.
“Father,” They said in unison, sounding displeased in having to greet him.
“What is it you need?”
“Answers,” Arianne replied. “Especially when it comes to why you denied our chosen matches, when you yourself married someone you chose.”
“I did,” He nodded. “And my Lords Bannerman indulged me in that, more so than our counterparts across the continent would for their Overlords. Because my marriage was over looked, and because your uncle was never interested in marriage, your match cannot be Arianne, for you are my heir. You will have to marry one of the sons of Dorne. A ruler who doesn't honor their lords will never last long.”
“And me,” Trystane demanded. “I am third in line to Sunspear, why must I be told -”
“Because you are no longer third in line but second,” Doran interrupted him. “Your brother abdicated his right to the family seat in favor of you.”
“What?” Trystane said in shock. “Why?”
“He hasn't lived in Sunspear since he was a boy, he doesn't know its people,” Doran replied. “He didn't think it would be fair to have his place in the line of succession still exist because of that.”
There were other reasons of course, He thought, retrieving the missive from Quentyn. His eldest son knew that he would make a useful toll for a potential rebellion if the Yronwoods wished to use him. His lack of claim to the Dornish throne nearly nullified that threat but not entirely.
“In his own words, read the last line if you wish to know why I hadn't said anything.” He handed the missive to his children, turning back to his work as they read.
“One day, I will take you both into my confidence,” He added after a moment. H could feel their gazes on him then but he didn't look up. “But you both have to prove to me that you can be trusted with what I know. You think I don't know about what the two of you say to your little friends that I allow to stay here? Or that they have sent word back to their families? Already your work to turn people against me has backfired instead.”
“The smallfolk and nobles alike do not speak of a weak prince but spoiled children who don't know their place.” He looked up to see them flush in embarrassment and anger. “If anything, they pity me and my situation. Both of you are still my heirs and Arianne will rule after me. I have no mind to change that. But until I die, you both answer to me. The next time you come here, do not pretend to be calm when in actuality you wish to pout and whine. I would respect you more.”
He turned back to the map, “I love you both, never question that. But right now, I have to worry about all of Dorne, not just you two. My attention has always been towards my duty, my marriage was the only time I indulged in anything else. If there is nothing else that you wish to discuss, you may go. I expect you both to join me for supper tonight.”
He moved pieces around, forming battle lines like he used to when he was a child. He barely heard his children leave, thankfully it was because they muttered their goodbyes and closed the doors quietly. Not that such actions gave him hope for them but it was an improvement from the last time they spoke.
Sigil for house Oldsand. Originally it was a personal sigil for Markus but his wife adopted it when she was made the Lady of High Castle.
Sigil for House Vorian of High Hermitage. Originally Jon's personal sigil.
Sigil for house Sunwolf, Arya and Quentyn's House.
