Pre-Chapter A/N: More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
XXXXX - THE GRANDMAESTER
Another emergency meeting of the Small Council would probably be called in light of this revelation, he thought to himself with a sigh. Sometimes he regretted accepting his Uncle Allar's invitation to the capital. Being in the Capital when the former Grand Maester died, adding his blood relation to the man and the pedigree of his original family before he had forsworn them to forge his chains with the Citadel, had probably combined to make him the best choice for the position. It wasn't like they would send anyone truly important for this position. Kings were more stubborn than Lords, everyone knew this, so his advice went ignored more often than not, and here he had to share the position as the King's adviser with others.
A Maester sworn to a castle was often that Lord's hand, Master of Coin, Master of Ships, Master of Laws, and everything else. Here he was just the man who was in charge of the ravens and the person whose voice could be ignored without fear of causing offence to a powerful Lord. Still, he had to do his duty, and so he rang the bell to summon one of his many attendants.
"Take this to the Lord Hand. Tell him it is extremely urgent," he said, and the boy was off running with a nod. Good. At least the number of aides and servants he had at his beck and call was a silver lining in this whole situation. He turned his mind to the contents of the message then. Corlys Velaryon had been heavily injured in battle. Driftmark's Maester was only barely able to pen the message to him before he had been taken to the man. At least that was what the haste in the missive told him. If Corlys Velaryon died, then that would be the end of Velaryon power, he knew. For all that Laenor Velaryon was a dragon rider and a talented fighter, if the messages from Storm's End's Maester were any indication, he was no Sea Snake. Runciter was a historian by passion and he knew that men like Corlys Velaryon were never followed by their likes.
After Aegon had been Aenys. After Brandon the Builder had been Brandon the Unremarkable. Harren Hoare produced dozens of his get, but not a single one could match his cruelty. It was just the way of the world. So House Velaryon would wane in the Game of Thrones, and another house would rise to fill their void. Power abhors a vacuum. He could already see the most likely suspect. He served the House through its second son already.
He sighed and returned to his texts. What did all this matter to him? The Houses would wax and wane as they always did. What was his business making predictions? Men like him? Men like him were destined to watch and keep the records of what happened. That was what he was. A watcher. That was another thing this cursed position was good for, at least. There were few seats better for watching the realm from than this one.
---
"You called this meeting, Otto?" the king asked. He was the last to enter, as was his prerogative as monarch. Runciter did not make any special note of it. What he did note, though, was that both Lords Beesbury and Strong had come in together. Considering where their quarters were stationed, the most probable cause was that they had been together when the meeting was called and notice was given. He considered looking for one of the runners to ask more directly, but he did not particularly care. He would do Otto's bidding, and he had been bid to take note of strange comings and goings within the Red Keep.
Did that ambit stretch to verifying the information and making sure he knew the why behind each action? He counted that as none of his business but still took note of the fact that apart from the King and the Hand, Lord Darklyn had been the last to enter the room, his clothes half-askew as though he had dressed in a hurry. The fact that his rooms were not far from here and that he had still been the last to come in indicated he had been otherwise preoccupied when the call had come. Interesting, considering his wife was back at the Dun Fort ruling in his name.
"Yes, Your Grace. One of my spies recently reported an interesting piece of news to me." Runciter had learned to keep a placid expression on his face very early on in his time here, so he did not give any reaction that would have divulged his involvement.
"Corlys Velaryon was wounded during a Velaryon assault on Grey Gallows," he said, and Runciter was sure to adopt as shocked an expression as the others.
"Is it serious?" the King asked, and Runciter would have almost believed that he was concerned. If he did not know any of the context that existed between their houses, he might even assume the King was saddened as Otto delivered the news that the Lord of the Tides was unlikely to survive his wounds from the description given to him.
"Almost guaranteed to be fatal, your grace, leaving us with a vacancy on this very Council." Oh, so that was going to be his ploy. How interesting. Now the question was, who would he recommend? Hightower or Redwyne? Hightower was his own house, had a massive fleet of their own, and he knew that they had many cousins involved in naval affairs. However, Otto's dealings with House Redwyne were well known to him. He exchanged more messages with Lord Redwyne than he did with his own brother, the Lord Hightower. So would he pick his family loyalties or personal ones? This was going to be another data point in Runciter's analysis of Otto Hightower.
"It's not like Corlys Velaryon was very attentive as a Master of Ships. I am sure we can hold off until his son can return and take the post," Lord Beesbury spoke. Runciter almost laughed. As if either the King or the Hand would stomach another Velaryon on this council to cause them trouble.
"I was unaware that the position of Master of Ships was a hereditary one," Darklyn commented with a chortle. His animosity with the Velaryons spawned from little but petty jealousy. Regardless of its origins though, Runciter was aware that the Hand had leveraged that animosity on more than one occasion, especially when he did not want to be seen as overtly anti-Velaryon even as he worked to oppose them behind the scenes.
"Daemon to Aethan to Daemon to Manfryd to Corlys and then Corlys again. Only one of those names does not belong to a Velaryon, so it might as well be," Lyonel Strong was the next to speak. He did not give an opinion either way, just clarified a statement made by another. That was custom for him, never giving away his position unless asked to vote on some particular piece of policy to be presented to the King when the Council sat in his absence.
"Well, Corlys did not attend diligently to the role, quitting once and then returning later on to foment trouble and cause chaos here as he roused the rabble for support in his war in the Stepstones. Another Velaryon would be a mistake. A non-Velaryon has held the position before, yes? What was it? A Mallister? I am good friends with Lord Mallister. He would be good for the role."
"The only non-Velaryon to hold the position was Manfryd Redwyne," Strong said simply, not quite spelling out how dim he felt the Master of Whisperers was. Runciter was barely able to cover his chuckle. It was a wonderful thing to take pleasure in the misfortune of others.
"Laenor Velaryon is not a man grown and is away at war besides. A new Master of Ships must be chosen now; the position has been left fallow for too long. The Royal Fleet stands in disrepair and disarray," Otto spoke, bringing an end to that argument. The King watched them all, silent and imperious from his seat. Just like his wise Grandsire, Viserys seldom involved himself in their debates. He listened to counsel, but his decisions were all his own. Runciter ignored the traitorous part of his brain that whispered that Viserys' rulings always closely resembled the Hand's advice.
"I will hear suggestions now," the King said, and that was that.
"Ser Rickard Redwyne, the second son of Manfryd, former Master of Ships, rules the Redwyne Fleet as its admiral. He would make a good addition to this Council," the Hand spoke after a few seconds of silence.
"I have already volunteered Lord Mallister for the position. His house boasts the largest fleet in the Riverlands," Darklyn said, his voice proud.
"The Riverlands are known as such because of the rivers that spot them. They border no sea in truth. The Mallister Fleet, while impressive by Riverlander standards, is a herd of fishing boats when compared to the Redwyne fleet," the Hand authoritatively countered. No one else spoke afterwards. The decision was made.
"Then it is decided. Send a raven to Lord Redwyne, requesting his presence at the pleasure of the Crown. Do not mention the reason for the summons, however. It would be… inconsiderate to be seen planning his replacement before an announcement has been made of Lord Corlys' death. Also prepare condolence messages for my cousin, Rhaenys, and her children. Send them the second we receive official confirmation," the King said to him, giving his ruling and bringing discourse to a conclusive end on the matter. Runciter noted both tasks down in shorthand on a separate parchment before returning to note down the proceedings.
"This brings another matter to hand. Your Grace, would it not be prudent to order the return of Westerosi forces from the Stepstones? The principal instigator is dead now. Would it not be better to cut the losses there rather than risk even more losses to Westerosi life by allowing the bleeding to continue?" Lord Darklyn moved to the next topic, taking his loss in the previous matter like it mattered little. Perhaps it did in truth. Runciter doubted he expected to succeed in such a transparent attempt at securing influence on the council.
Runciter noted down the words spoken even as he sighed internally. The matter of this war in the Stepstones again. Since Darklyn's contacts in Tyrosh reported the attacking of the city to him, he had been spitting fire and calling for Lord Velaryon's attainder and even execution. Mayhaps he would one day realise that being so transparently opposed to a single house made it difficult to take him seriously in the few instances where he made good points. Sadly, this was not one of the good points.
"The writ to wage war in the Stepstones was granted to House Velaryon of Driftmark and not Lord Corlys Velaryon. The death of the former will not have any bearing on the rights of the latter," Lord Strong spoke, giving the law as it was but no opinion. Runciter nodded internally. It was one of the oldest principles of law passed down from the Andal rulers. The House and its Lord are two separate persons. He remembered the first mention of it in the texts. A dispute between Houses Gardener and Manderly, before the latter had eventually been chased off to the North.
"Was Lord Corlys not the one that appealed for the Writ himself? If he was the one who sought it and is now dead, then the Crown is well within its rights to revoke it?" Darklyn pushed.
The King looked at the man for a second before turning his gaze to his Hand, asking his opinion.
"It would not be wise to allow the death of a Westerosi High Lord to go unpunished. It would be even more unwise to meet the death of a High Lord with retreat or capitulation." Interesting. Support for House Velaryon from the Hand? Runciter silently wondered what game his benefactor was playing here. He was more than well aware of Otto Hightower's hidden hatred for the grasping Velaryons, and their patriarch most of all. Few had fumed as loudly as the Hightower when Corlys Velaryon had just resumed the office of the Master of Ships like he had never left it after the Great Council and Viserys' coronation.
"So what do you advise we do about the Stepstones, Otto?" the King asked, tilting his head.
"I say we leave them to it. If House Velaryon, even after the death of its patriarch, decides to set their resources and wealth on fire fighting pirates and merchants for a collection of barren rocks, then I say we allow them to do so," he said, giving the King a significant look. Runciter noticed the look, filed it away, and left it at that.
"Then it is decided. House Velaryon shall remain free to persecute their war as they wish," the King said.
"Now, on to the next matter of business. Lord Blackwood has—"
---
XXXX - XOVARIO LUTHREN
He scratched his beard, looking around the table. He had the honour of being one of the eleven. One of the eleven magisters chosen by the Great City of Tyrosh to represent her interests at the High Council of The Triarchy—normally a position he wore with pride, but now that pride was replaced by something else. He should be home now, comforting his daughters and sons. He had lost children—so many children in one attack. He just wanted time with those he had left, but now he was here. Because the Triarchy would never allow an insult to go unanswered.
"Shall I get this started?" Varrik Tesselin, one of the Myrish magisters, spoke.
"Before you do, we, the Tyroshi representatives, must register our grievance with the choice of venue. The last council was held in Myr and the one before in Lys. It is Tyrosh's turn and thus we attend under protest," Morello spoke now, his voice never losing the lyrical quality that betrayed his Lyseni origins to those in the know. He tried his best to adopt a Tyroshi accent, but moments like this one betrayed him.
"Your protest is noted. However, recent events have made it untenable to make the journey to Tyrosh. While we recognise that the Sunsetlanders did not penetrate your city's incredible walls, you must understand that for safety reasons, it was just not reasonable for us to make the journey," Qaezar Lytharys spoke next, the Lyseni delegation nodding in accordance with him.
"Does this council fear the Westerosi so much? Is cowardice the order of the day in Myr and Lys?" he spoke now, making his voice heard. To change their traditions because of a single attack spoke of surrender to him. It spoke of weakness that he could not tolerate.
"Magisters, Magisters. If we dwell on this matter today, what time will we have to discuss our enemy and how to deal with them? The Sunsetlanders have attacked one of us, and this is an attack on all of us. Whether we meet in Lys, or Tyrosh, or Myr, are we not the Triarchy regardless?" Qaezar Lytharys, another Lyseni magister, spoke, and Xovario realised there was no need to go further. The issue was exhausted. Besides, he was right. They were already here and had been soundly outvoted when they contested the issue. It was time to move on to other things.
"And what would you have us do?" one of the Myrish asked. Xovario wondered if that was even a question worth asking. The answer was simple, wasn't it? An attack on one part of the Triarchy had its consequences spelled out in full within the Charter.
"The Charter is clear," Tasseling replied, not even looking at his fellow as he spoke.
"You cannot be serious. You would have us declare war against the Sunset Kingdoms? Face dragons?" Selqor Mararys was the one who spoke now, looking like he found the whole thing ridiculous. Xovario felt his blood boil.
"Would you have us take the attack without reprisal then? Is that how far the cowardice of Lys stretches?" It was poor of him to speak such, but his temper would not be contained. Not when his children lay dead and this man spoke of capitulation.
"Of course not. But violence need not be met with violence. From what I know, the Sunsetlanders did not make landfall. They did not attack Tyrosh's walls. I say we sue for reparations instead. Let them pay the cost of rebuilding the fleet. If they refuse, we starve their trade until we recoup enough to rebuild the fleet." Trade? They were talking about trade? Blood had been spilt, and these men spoke of trade and gold.
"And how much gold would you collect for my son's life? How much gold is the Tyroshi blood spilt right outside our walls worth to you?" Doranthos Ilvar spoke before he could. It was well said. If Xovario had been the one to speak, he doubted his words would have been so… polite.
"Gold and trade are the currency of our cities now, but we must not forget what they are built on. We are men of blood. Who killed the last of the true Dragonlords? We did. You Myrish might not understand, but I find myself disappointed in my fellow Lyseni. There can be no talk of trade. No talk of reparations. The only reparations an attack like this warrants is blood. Only blood can pay for blood. So I say we bleed the Westerosi for all that they have," Lytharis spoke for the second time, and Xovario noted that when he spoke, his fellow Lyseni listened.
"And even if we wanted to go to war, how would we do it? Tyrosh had the greatest war-time fleet of us three, and that fleet is gone," one Myrish envoy said, his brown skin glistening in the hot room. Xovario took a gulp of wine as his throat tightened.
"Lys' fleet is nothing to be scoffed at, Magister," Selqor Mararys spoke now, seemingly having come around to the idea of war.
"We buy ships from Braavos. The Arsenal can make a ship in a day, can it not? Let them make us hundreds," Ilvar was the one to speak. He had clearly been thinking about it.
"And will they sell to us? Are the Braavosi not allied with the Sunset Kingdoms?"
"A Braavosi would sell his own mother to you for enough gold," Xovario scoffed.
"Agreed. I say we draft the letter with the terms. A hundred warships for our battle with House Velaryon of the Sunset Kingdoms," Ilvar proposed it then, and the debate began anew.
A/N: How did you feel about the update from the Sunset Kingdoms? 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.