Pre-Chapter A/N: Welcome to September, guys! Let's smash whatever goals we've set ourselves this year. 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- ICARUS JORDAYNE
He watched the new Lord of Driftmark fly away on his dragon with a sigh of relief. They'd almost been caught right there and then. Damn it, the boy had good instincts. The fact that they'd had enough wine within to make up the casks was just pure luck.
"How the hell did we even get so much wine?" he asked his brother. Icarus knew that he consumed a fair amount of wine, but surely not twenty casks worth in a single trip. They weren't selling anything where they were going, though.
"We didn't. Good thing he insisted on looking instead of tasting. This shit's been watered down so heavily that it's only slightly more drinkable than piss."
"So all our wine stores are gone now?" he asked just to be sure.
"Most definitely. Most of our water as well. We'll be drinking watered wine for the rest of the trip, brother," Oberon clapped him on the shoulder in what he must have felt was a helpful gesture. Icarus just felt empty. This punishment was getting worse and worse. The sins of the father, indeed.
"What about the other ships?" he asked, referring to the other two ships that were part of their fleet.
"Well, that was the wine for the trip back, and they probably did the same as I did, considering they passed the inspection as well." Icarus groaned. This was going to be a long few weeks.
"Chin up, brother. At least we're not dead."
"At least we're not dead," he agreed sullenly. Part of him would rather be dead than deal with weeks at sea without good wine. And then there was going to be the negotiations with the Tyroshi. He almost wanted to get a bad deal out of revenge, but then that would give the Bastard the excuse to just execute him and be done with it.
"Be above reproach, Icarus. Your father made mistakes, but he paid for them with his life. That should be enough, but House Martell did not get where they are now by settling for enough. The Prince will do his best to find a way to get rid of you—to get rid of all of us. We must not let him. Whatever he asks, do. Whatever he wants, give. Prove yourself invaluable. Serve him so truly that he can never punish us. Let all of Dorne see you as his most zealous supporter. He will know that any attempt to deal with you will show him as a man who rewards service with scorn." He remembered those words like his mother had said them yesterday and not over a decade ago before he had been sent to Sunspear, a hostage in all but name.
He had lived by those words, and now the Prince had still found a way to almost kill him. What some would see as a reward—a sign of trust, being sent to negotiate on behalf of all of Dorne for an alliance in the war that they knew was coming. Those with wits about them would see the danger. Sent straight through Velaryon-controlled waters to get to the other side to negotiate an agreement for levying war against said House Velaryon. It was a death sentence in all but name, after a decade of being the Prince's most ardent and loyal supporter. Those who rule do not oft forget slights, it seemed. Which was an even scarier thought because what would happen when the Velaryons realized that he had lied and decided to take revenge for it? That dragon might not have been as large as the three that famously devastated Dorne near a century ago, but it was certainly enough to burn the Tor to the ground. Did he care that much about Dornish independence? No. Not at all. It didn't matter to Icarus who he bent the knee to. Whether to the Martells or the Targaryens, he was still going to be a servant in all but name. At least with the Targaryens, there was the benefit of being one of hundreds—maybe even thousands.
He could be forgotten. If any of his family courted Royal displeasure, they would be sent away from court and that would be it. Much better than being sent on a suicide mission that would have killed him if he failed and now seemed likely to kill his family with its success. He scowled.
"I'll have the wine now," he said. Watered to oblivion or not, it was still better than nothing. Besides, the wine was still somewhere in there, right? He just had to drink enough cups of the damn thing for all the wine to find itself in his stomach and get him good and drunk. He did his best thinking when he was drunk, after all.
XXXXXX-
They sailed into Tyrosh's harbor, and he was sober. Oh, of all the injustices that the gods had visited upon him, this one was the greatest of them all. He had sent his brother ahead as an envoy, and so had a small delegation of the Tyroshi waiting for him. Not as many as would have been here for a Great Lord. Seemed even the Tyroshi were aware of his House's decline. What an insult. Not one he could call out without seeming like an entitled cock—at least not to himself. But not one he could entirely ignore either. Becoming famed for easily receiving insults was one way to doom his house to embarrassment beyond measure.
He just had to pick his moment. He walked off the ship steadily. He was a Jordayne of the Tor, he reminded himself. His House had been Kings once—so long ago that most of Dorne disputed it, but he knew it true for sure. He had the blood of Kings in his veins. These were nothing but the descendants of slaves who had managed to rise so high as to become merchants of all things. He scoffed internally. What a rise, indeed.
He entered the palanquin and allowed himself to be led away.
"This one is named Xovario Luthren. I am a magister of Tyrosh sitting on the Grand Council of Magisters." The man that had joined him in the carriage spoke out once they began moving. Icarus would have preferred they traveled in silence. Maybe even a younger version of him would have just ignored the merchant altogether and kept to his thoughts, but he knew the price of failure here.
"I am Icarus of House Jordayne, Lord of the Tor," he said, giving his name and title. He held back from stating all the ancillary titles that rightfully accrued to him as well. He doubted they would impress this man. The only thing he cared about was probably gold and how to get more. Was that not the attitude of the magisters one and all?
"Well met, my Lord. It was good of your Lord to answer our request to begin negotiations for an alliance," the man said, and Icarus had to do all he could to prevent the shock from showing on his face. Their request? The Prince had mentioned nothing of the sort. Of course, it made sense enough. The Triarchy were practically guaranteed to go to war against the Velaryons. Icarus himself had heard rumors that the Velaryons had attacked Tyrosh and destroyed all their ships. It was a fact he believed now that he was here. While he had never been to Tyrosh before, simply looking out the carriage told him how rich the city was. So why then did it have fewer ships in harbor than Planky Town?
"It was, indeed," he said after he gathered himself. A filler reply that gave nothing and hinted at little. Definitely not at the fact that he had been sent here ignorant of truth and fact. It was beginning to seem more and more that the Prince had sent him here just to be killed by the Velaryons on the way, and then hadn't given him the full story so he had less to volunteer under torture. Why was Icarus getting the inclination that the Prince did not want to war against House Velaryon after all?
And now that he had that thought, he could not stop seeing the logic. It was killing off several birds with the same stone. His Court called for war in the Stepstones, and so he sent one of his most outwardly loyal supporters—who he had been trying to rid himself of for a while—to pass through Velaryon-occupied waters. Those orders were specific. He had been ordered not to sail around but to sail through. More likely than not, he would have died there. So if he had died, the Prince could say he had done his best and remain in his palace, head buried in his young boys and whores. Icarus scoffed internally, but he had his path now. If the Prince truly did not want this war, then Icarus would do whatever it took to bring the war to him. He leaned across and began asking the merchant about his business.
"We are leaving the city?" he asked once they came upon the gates. He felt a twinge in his chest. It was quite possible that the Prince would have gotten the Triarchy to do his dirty work for him. There had obviously been correspondence between the parties—correspondence of which Icarus had no idea as to the content or character. Nothing more than what this man had told him, and if this man intended to kill him, what was his incentive for honesty?
"Yes, the Council of Magisters have jointly decided to move all meetings to the jointly-held Territory formerly known as the Disputed Lands."
"May I ask why?"
"Naval journeys are less safe than they used to be with the Velaryons and their barbarians prowling the narrow sea, and to prosecute the war against them even more effectively, we need to remain more in contact than we ever were, so we have begun the construction of a town within the jointly held territory to act as a headquarters for the Council of Magisters," he said.
"Do these lands not provide the bulk of your food?" he found himself asking.
"The farming continues with little interruption. Besides, our cities are more than conversant with alternate means of securing food when needed."
"I see," he said, and went silent. The Triarchy was supposed to be a union in name more than anything else. Yes, the cities collaborated on certain matters—they went to war together, they pooled resources for defense when the time arose, but beyond that they were as individual as cities could be. They charged separate tolls for ships that came to their harbor. They had different goods they allowed and barred. They tended to form individual trade agreements when that was concerned. But now all that seemed to be turning on its head. Sure, this was being described as a temporary measure, but no one built a town only to abandon it.
If their council went from meeting once every half-year to meeting maybe once a moon, they would slowly begin to align on more and more things. Turn from an alliance of cities into a Kingdom in truth. And wasn't that a scary thought? Dorne used all three cities and Pentos as their primary trade partners. Moving from having four trade partners to two could be disastrous. They would no longer be able to play the daughters against themselves to get better terms and would instead begin to find themselves on the back foot in any negotiations. After this war ended—if this war ended in such a way that left their Kingdoms intact enough to trade—things would be interesting.
The town being built was an interesting one. For one, it had no walls to speak of. That was interesting considering the Dothraki were famed for riding far and about Essos in search of plunder. Either they had faith in their men to beat back the horse raiders or they were confident that the Dothraki would otherwise not be a problem.
"No walls?" he asked the question without asking.
"To symbolize that this town is a temporary one. Let our people not fear losing their independence overmuch," he replied.
"And the Dothraki?"
"We have come to an agreement with the Khalasars in this part of Essos," he said, and that was that. They'd paid a massive bribe then. Icarus was beginning to wonder just how much they were investing into this war and whether it was truly worth it. To him, war was never truly worth it. He had been taught by Maester Mors of all the great wars in the Seven Kingdoms. Wars for conquest, for revenge, for land, for petty insults, and then the aftermaths. They were almost never worth it. In fact, the only war that had proven to be undoubtedly positive for one side over the other was Aegon's conquest. And even that had the shadow that was his failed occupation of Dorne hanging over it. Icarus was as prideful as any Dornish. He viewed Dornish independence as paramount, but he struggled to describe that war as a victory for them.
Yes, they had kept their independence, but their people had starved for two generations, their castles had been destroyed, and even till now most of the Houses were in debt to House Martell for the gold provided for rebuilding their castles after the Dragons had their way with them. And then there was the debt that House Martell owed the Iron Bank in turn. It was a well-kept secret, but it was hard to keep secrets from a boy fostered with you from a young age. The Prince was careful about his correspondence, but you couldn't really hide regular shipments of gold, and neither could you hide the many meetings with the Iron Bank's representatives negotiating things like interest rates or repayment schedules. Last he checked, they were going to stop being in debt in the next twenty years. And now they were here, courting another war with a family of dragon riders.
Maybe the triarchy had some plan to muzzle the dragons, but Icarus doubted it. He doubted it with all his being. He had seen one with his own eyes. Those things were not regular creatures to be killed. Maybe they could get lucky like Hellholt had, but he doubted the Seven were smiling on them so much.
They rode straight to the largest building. It was a bungalow that stretched so wide, it was difficult to capture all of it within his view even this far away.
"You build quickly," he commended.
"Where there is a will, there is a way," the merchant said. Of course. Icarus said nothing about the lines of men with chains around their necks carrying bricks. If the 'will' was another word for slave labor, then he could see how there was a way.
—
"From the East and the West we will attack. Two hundred ships—one hundred from each direction will cut the Velaryon fleet at its knees, smash it against the shore, and move to seize Bloodstone." Icarus had not expected the meeting to be between only him and three of the magisters. In hindsight, it probably did make sense. There was no point exposing him to what internal division undoubtedly existed between them. They were allies, yes, but showing that sort of weakness was a death sentence. Besides, this was so much more efficient.
"And what would Dorne's role be in this, assuming we decide to join?"
"We would expect you to sail from Sunspear in numbers, a hundred ships or so, complete the encirclement of Bloodstone and help us eliminate the Velaryon cause and threat in one blow," Varrik Tesselin of Myr said. He nodded.
"And how would you sail forth in your own numbers? I saw the harbor on my way in. Everyone knows Tyrosh has the greatest fleet of the Triarchy, and now that Tyroshi fleet is no more. How can you fulfill your end of the bargain?" he asked, and even as the man that brought him here bristled, the other two smiled.
"We have made common cause with the Braavosi. They will sell us a hundred ships. Both Myr and Lys shall contribute fifty each. The Tyroshi shipyard is also spinning back into production. By the time we set sail, Tyrosh shall have a fleet of its own to join our numbers," the Lyseni representative said. Braavos? Even Braavos was in on this. Icarus wondered if the Velaryons knew just how fucked they were. And all for a collection of rocks in the middle of the sea. They'd probably fly off in their dragons if they knew what was good for them. Speaking of said dragons.
"And the dragons?" he asked.
"Braavos' harbor master has shared with us a new design for a brand of scorpion. Aimed right, this will puncture through either the beasts' wings, neck, or eyes. We know the protections there are weaker than the rest of the bodies. Our plan is to have each ship bear one of these. Two hundred ships aiming at the same time? It would be impossible not to hit something," Tesselin boasted. Icarus could agree with that much. How many scorpions had Hellholt had, and they had taken down Meraxes.
"And you will share these designs with Dorne?" he asked, but it was not really a question. There was no true alliance if there was nothing being done about the dragons.
"Of course. Shall I take this as consent to join the alliance?"
"Not quite. Dorne shall need other…assurances. You speak of a hundred ships sailing from Dorne. We haven't so many. We would need to build them. That will take wood, man hours, time. We have none of those in large supply," he said.
The merchants leaned in. This was their bread and butter, after all. It was time to discuss gold.
A/N: And so we get the chapter from the eyes of new POV character, Icarus Jordayne of the Tor. 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.