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.
'We need names for these islands,' I thought to myself, not for the first time, as I struggled to relate to the others just where exactly I had come in contact with the Jordayne fleet.
"And you let them go? You couldn't think that they were tricking you for a second?" Daemon scoffed from his position at the table. This had turned into a nightly council of we Dragonriders where we gave updates about anything interesting we experienced while on our patrols.
"Oh, I'm almost certain they were lying about at least part of the story. Maybe the Dornish want to make common cause with the Triarchy. Maybe the Triarchy called them in for some other reason. It doesn't matter."
"And why not? You don't see why it matters that our enemies are in contact."
"If I had burned the ships, in a matter of weeks, the Dornish would have sent another envoy, and this time they would have hugged the coast and we would have learned little. By letting them pass with no issue, we know where they are and have the resources to keep a watch for them when they return, and then we can capture them."
"You could have just as easily captured them with your dragon."
"And how would I have done that, Daemon?" He bristled at being addressed by his first name and nothing more but remained on topic.
"Set the sea on fire and dared them to cross. A dragon alone is enough to delay even the most stubborn captains. And then you would have forced them to beach and called some ships to take them into custody."
"First of all, what if they crossed? My father taught me to never make a threat you cannot back up with action. If they had crossed my line, I would have incinerated them and achieved nothing—no information beyond warning off the Dornish. And then, even if I had forced them into a landing, what was the guarantee that they would remain there after I left? The second I turned my back, they would have been gone. Maybe if I had forced them off their ships and then destroyed said ships immediately afterwards, but these are Dornish sailors. What would I have done if they had dared me to burn them? Their national loyalty is so great that we know they would die for it, so why tempt it?" I asked, shutting down his argument and then the counterargument.
"Then you should have killed them. What do we gain by allowing the Triarchy and Dorne to talk to each other?"
"You've got a plan, don't you, Laenor?" Mother asked, cutting Daemon off and basically saying I didn't have to respond to his question. Not like I would have. Such a silly thing to ask. We have the world to gain.
"I do. I want the Dornish to attack us. I want to burn their fleets to the last man. I want to cripple their navy, and after that, use reprisals as an excuse to strike all over Dorne. Sunspear, the Tor, whatever it takes. Until we can come to a peace agreement that would see the Stepstones gain."
"Gain in what way?" Mother asked, shushing whatever Daemon had been about to impulsively add to the conversation. It was shocking just how easily she could manage his impulses. I was about to speak, but then Pate, the former pirate, came in with more wine. I hadn't been completely convinced as to his addition to the household, but Mother seemed certain of his loyalty, and there was the fact that we did not have so many options that we could turn down help. Besides, it was not like I could judge when I used former pirates for a lot of my work.
I watched Mother and Daemon accept glasses of wine and somewhat sullenly accepted the cup of water offered to me. Water, not wine. I'd had wine privileges until Mother arrived, and then those had disappeared like the mist with the morning sun.
"Anything. Good trade agreements would be the start. We need people as well. If we win a war with the Triarchy, we'd be well-positioned to force them to give us their slaves either for free or at a big discount. Not just the farming slaves either. Slaves from all their big industries. Then there's gold. We'd force the wealthy Free Cities to pay reparations, and that would go towards refilling Driftmark's coffers from what we've invested into making this place ours."
"And you just expect them to give you this, boy?"
"Have you paid no attention, Daemon? The plan is to beat them in war first and then force them to hand these things over since they will be negotiating from a lower point. If there is no war, we will have nothing but antagonistic neighbors on all sides, except perhaps Westeros, and our utility as a trade route would be exponentially diminished by the lack of trade passing through. While I could be optimistic and say that pragmatism would win on all sides and they would use the Stepstones as their route, no matter how much I wish for it, we humans are not very pragmatic beings. The Free Cities have the wealth to stomach what losses they would eventually incur for a time. We don't have the wealth to wait them out like this, so we need them to face us at what we Westerosi are good at. The Free Cities are better than us when it comes to trade. They'd win any battle in that respect. But one thing we know better than any other peoples in the world is war. We Westerosi know war, and so we will force them to war with us. When we win, we depose their existing rulership and replace it with those we can influence for a time. Then we marry their cities to the Stepstones as closely as we can so stability in the Stepstones becomes an integral driver of their economies—so integral that they have no choice but to act to preserve said stability when we need them to. It would also be useful for preventing convenient pirate groups from becoming a perpetual problem."
"You've been thinking about this for a while, Laenor," Mother said, and it was difficult to tell whether she thought that was a good thing or not.
"Yes, Mother. It has been on my mind."
"And while you thought and did act towards bringing those thoughts into fruition, did you stop to consider that it would be people fighting your wars? On both sides, men will die."
"All men came to the Stepstones with the understanding that they could die here," I defended.
"Did the men of the Free Cities you intend to instigate into war?" she asked next.
"They would have chosen to embark on this war. Excepting those who are slaves, each of them would have chosen to come fight here for one reason or the other—gold, national pride, maybe even a desire to impress a beautiful girl back home. It wouldn't matter. By coming here, they're saying that they're willing to die for their motivations, and that is a choice I can get behind. As for the slaves, is death not better than enslavement? Given the choice, I'd pick the former a hundred times."
"No, my son. You will pick to live because when there is life, there is hope," she said, and I inclined my head, even as I disagreed. What hope was there in a life under the control of another? Freedom or death.
"And then, Laenor, what about your sister and me? Tell us how we have chosen death."
"You haven't. You are dragonriders. You're going to be far above the battle. All you need to do is breathe ruin on their fleet every few minutes or so."
"Rhaenys and Meraxes."
"A fluke, a one-in-a-million shot."
"And what happens if they happen to take a million shots, Laenor?" she asked.
"You won't be there then. You're right. The danger is too great. Besides, Daemon rides Caraxes and I ride Igneel. Between the both of us, we would be more than enough to deal with whatever pittance of a fleet the Triarchy manages to create," I said, acknowledging their point.
"If you think you're leaving my sight to do something as dangerous as fly into battle, then you have learned nothing in your short life, Laenor," she said instead.
"You are so much like your father. He was the type to make his own plans, the opinions and considerations of others be damned, but while he was a great leader, he was far from a perfect one. Laenor, you will have to be perfect. And part of that begins with learning. We are your allies. Your family. When you have a thought, you don't hide it from us, and we can help you turn it into a plan your father would be proud of. Do we have a deal, Laenor?" she asked, pretending like it was a question.
"Yes, Mother," I said.
"Good. Now let's get to work."
XXXXX- ICARUS JORDAYNE
"You know, part of me expected this," he said to the Dragonrider as he came to a stop right in front of his ship, just as he had all those weeks ago. The difference now was that instead of confronting him alone, the dragonrider had come with an escort of ships.
"I don't see why you shouldn't have," Laenor Velaryon replied atop his grey dragon, who snorted at their words as if it could somehow understand what they were saying.
"So has House Velaryon become little more than pirates now? I told you the last time that we went to Tyrosh to trade. So what is the meaning of this accostment?" he said.
"Sure. And I'm sure that when we ask to see your cargo hold, we'd find it full of laces and silks," the Velaryon said with a scoff.
"You would," he assured. He'd been sure to do that much at least to see that his excuse would hold true to investigation. He had even been sure to fill his hold with some of the Myrish wine that the Magisters had so graciously offered. It was almost as good as the noble Dornish red that Icarus enjoyed on a normal day, and starved as he was for good options, he had accepted it with open hands and a wide smile.
"Of course. But you wouldn't mind disembarking so I can ask you a few questions then? Just you would be fine. You can leave your crew behind here."
"And if I say no? Would you burn me, Velaryon?" he asked with bravado and audacity he did not quite feel. It was hard to be bold in the face of a dragon, but easy enough to feign it for a man that had spent most of his life lying for one reason or the other.
"No. Instead, my men would board your ships, slaughter your crew to the man, and then clasp you in chains. You'd still be mine either way. The only difference is that one way you come of your own volition, and the other, I seize you into my custody."
"I see. Then I guess I would say, let's get it over with," he said, stepping forward.
"Icarus, no," he heard his brother's voice, turning and pinning him with a sharp look. This was not the time or place for such silly affections. There was only one way out of this—for him to play along with whatever the Velaryon boy wanted. He didn't seem as mercurial as his Targaryen ancestors, so Icarus hoped there was some way he could talk his way out of this without finding out how dragonfire felt on his skin. There were many other mysteries Icarus would rather find the answers to in his last moments than that particular one.
—
"So, shall we get started?" he asked when he took the seat in the tent offered to him. To his shock, the only one in the room was Laenor Velaryon himself. Well, the only one apart from the silent specter that stood by the young Lord's side.
"Meet Ser Ben Celtigar, my sworn shield," the young Lord said.
"Now, would you like some wine?" he offered.
"Poisoned?" Icarus asked.
"Why would I bother poisoning you? You're already fully under my power," he said, and Icarus conceded the point, accepting the glass that the young lord poured out. If he were a better warrior, he might have felt naked without his spear as it had been seized on the way into the tent, but he knew the man by the young lord's side would cut him down in a second if he got any ideas. So he sipped his wine and waited, biding his time. There was a way out of it. The Velaryon wouldn't be doing this if he didn't want something, and Icarus had a good feeling he knew what it was.
"What are the terms of the alliance between Dorne and the Triarchy?" he asked, bluntly.
"What? What are you talking about?" Maybe feigning ignorance would work, he thought as he placed a perfectly confused expression on his face.
"You're an astonishingly good liar, you know that, right? But lying with that one might not have been the best choice. You see, now I am less likely to believe anything you tell me, and if I don't believe you, it's going to be very hard for you to leave here alive, you understand?" he asked.
"Okay, let's not get drastic," he said appeasingly.
"Oh, getting drastic is the last thing I want, trust me. I just want information. Give it to me and I will let you go, and you can be on your way."
"And if I don't have the information you want?"
"You know they don't teach us much about Dorne? Most of what I know is self-study. So it took me a second to remember just what makes your house special, Jordayne. You have one of the only ports in all of Dorne. My ancestor burned said port twice during his war if I remember correctly. Did you build it again out of something other than wood? Or that castle of yours. Igneel might be too young to melt stone all that consistently, but my sister rides Vhagar, and I think between the two of us we can find a way to see it reduced to nothing but rubble."
"Threats? Is that it? Just threats?" he asked, feeling his blood begin to boil.
"A stick. Now here comes the carrot. A port city could be made significantly wealthier with the right alliances. Form one with us now and the Stepstones will be your ally. We'd charge your ships lower tolls, allowing more profit to make its way to you, and then charge you cheaper prices when we begin to export as well as a guarantee that we'd use your port as our first port of call."
"And you think that the Prince will just somehow fail to notice my port receiving such preferential treatment? You think he'd be slow to put two and two together in that situation? Besides, like I said, there's no alliance to tell you about and there's nothing to say," Icarus said, keeping his poker face stable. The offer was tempting. Letting the Prince get burned in the war to come would be sweet revenge for what he'd done, but Icarus had not come this far by being careless.
There was a place for revenge and a place for common sense. Common sense here was to stick to his guns. The Velaryon lord seemed hesitant to kill him, and that was important. A boy his age was probably yet to kill his first man—to get blood on his hands. In that case, Icarus had good hope in his chances of navigating this perfectly.
"What do you want?" the boy asked next.
"What do you mean?" Playing ignorant was fun, Icarus was beginning to learn, especially with the way the boy seemed about to pull his hair. And then there was a roar from without. It was the dragon. Icarus went still. That had been close. Was it reacting to its rider's frustration? Would it just pluck Icarus out of the tent and roast him if it felt its rider get too frustrated? That was a question Icarus did not particularly want to find the answer to.
"I tire of the games, Lord Jordayne. I will roast you and your ships and satisfy myself with the knowledge that if I won't be getting the information, then neither will Prince Qoren. You, my good man, are entirely expendable." Icarus could tell when a man was lying. It was one of his greatest talents—well, that and being able to lie better than most men out there. The only person he'd ever seen who could lie as well as he did was the Prince.
The Velaryon lord was not even close to the two of them when it came to lying. That was why he had been able to tell he'd been less than honest when laying down the 'carrot'. Just now though, he was being completely honest.
"Gold."
"What?"
"Port preferences, tariff exemptions, all that sounds good, but nothing beats the feeling of pure gold in one's hands. One hundred thousand of your gold dragons to be deposited to an account at the Iron Bank, and I'll tell you everything you need to know."
"Twenty. Don't forget I still have your life in my hands."
"Ninety. Don't forget that I am Dornish. I can die for a cause just as well as anyone else."
"Forty."
"Seventy."
"Fifty, and not a dragon higher, my good man."
"Deal," he said, stretching his hands.
"Now, here's the plan…"
A/N: And that's the chapter. Of course, unspoken here is the threat that if Icarus is lying, then he doesn't get to spend any of the gold, and Laenor would see the Tor burned to ashes. Another incentive for him not to lie is the simple fact that he doesn't much like the Prince of Dorne and realizes that allowing him to remain alive would be a persistent threat to his life. 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.