Pre-Chapter A/N: Bit of a late upload. Had five days in one yesterday, so please accept my apologies. 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.
I looked at the piece of parchment that had been circulating around the castle. The new tax policy from the King. It was interesting for a whole bunch of reasons. For one, I felt it was somewhat bold to mess with us while our dragons were within your city. But then again, this was when we were at our technically weakest. If there was open war, or even the possibility of it, all it would take would be locking down the Dragonpit and locking down the castle for us to be essentially cut off at the head.
A possibility I had considered, but not one I was altogether afraid of.
"Have you seen this?" she said a bare second after practically bursting through the door to my room.
"Just as surely as you haven't seen the latest treatise on the importance of knocking, sister," I said.
"This is serious, Laenor," she said.
"Not as serious as the latest treatise on the importance of knocking," I replied with a chuckle, only to see her face remain straight. Fine.
"I assume that Father showed you around the family holdings while I was away. Made sure you knew and understood all of it," I said.
"Yes. So I know how bad this can be for us."
"Indeed. This is most definitely an attempt to, if not cripple us financially, then to significantly hinder us in the short term, but it won't matter."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"If you wanted to hurt House Targaryen, where would you go, Dragonstone or King's Landing?"
"Laenor," she hissed, looking around. "That's treason." Oh, that was a good point. It was probably not a good idea to make hypotheticals about harming the royal family. It wouldn't be out of the realm of reason for a head to fly for that.
"No, I meant hypothetically. Obviously, we'd never dream of hurting the royal family," I said, projecting my voice to make sure anyone in the secret passage that I still hadn't managed to find but was sure existed could hear me clearly.
"Why are you talking like that?" she asked, looking about the room.
"Can you just answer my question?" I asked instead.
"King's Landing, I suppose," she said, somewhat hesitantly.
"Good. Much in the same way that in a few decades, hurting us would mean braving the Stepstones. If we move these parts of the family's holdings outside of the Seven Kingdoms, then we should be fine," I said.
"Wouldn't the Stepstones count as part of the Seven Kingdoms regardless?"
"In some ways, yes, and in some ways, no. Thankfully, Father had the bare bones of an agreement of sorts with the King. The Crown never wants to be forced to defend the Stepstones when the pirates come back, or when the Triarchy attacks again, or when Dorne gets another bright idea, so recognizing them as full parts of the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't really work. They'll be a semi-independent protectorate. So while we are still subject to Westerosi law, and everything we do there will be subject to the same laws, the Stepstones will only have to agree to lower tolls for Westerosi ships. No taxes," I said, and I could see her getting the idea.
"So if we move our shipbuilding and everything else to the Stepstones, we'll be fine? But how are we going to do that?"
"Not easily, of course. I suspect that you and Mother are going to have your hands full managing that for the next decade, maybe. But for the time being, we won't have to move everything. For one thing, the new taxes don't come into effect until the New Year. By then, we should have enough infrastructure in the Stepstones that we can split things to avoid the worst taxes. Something like building half of a ship—the most important bits—on Driftmark and then shipping it to the Stepstones for finishing," I said.
"And because we don't build the complete ship on Driftmark, there are no taxes to worry about."
"Indeed. It's shameless tax avoidance, but no one likes paying taxes, so who cares? They'll challenge us on it, but we'd argue around it over and over again, and by the time they manage to amend things to close the loophole, we'll be fine."
"You've done a lot of thinking about this," she said, and it was almost an accusation.
"Well, it's not like I have much better to do than think these days."
"Think and buy expensive earrings for the Princess," she said. If I didn't know better, I would have taken that as a throwaway statement, but thankfully I knew better. Laena and I weren't twins, but there was a reason we had been mistaken for such in childhood. And that understanding I had of her hadn't gone anywhere.
"Merely a gesture of gratitude. She had offered to show me around the city, you see?"
"So I heard. I think the only people in the Red Keep who haven't heard about it are the dead rats. The two of you smiling like suns and frolicking about the city must have been quite a sight," she said.
"Is there something you want to say, Laena?"
"Are you trying to get the betrothal?" she asked point-blank. I looked in her eyes, seeing they were guarded.
"No. No, I am not. Getting tied to the royal family doesn't work for my plans," I did not add the for now to the end, even as I mentally said it.
"Good."
"It was a gesture and nothing more," I assured her. She nodded, seeming to be in a better mood about things.
"Good then. So shall we go tell Mother about this plan of yours before she goes burning down Otto Hightower's chambers?" she asked with a smirk.
"Probably. Yeah, that seems like a good idea."
"Yes, that would work, but are you ready to abandon all that your ancestors worked for? Driftmark has been home to House Velaryon since before the Doom. You have a legacy there that goes so far back that many struggle to say when it began," Rhaenys said when we approached her with the idea.
"Driftmark is our past. We were left one island—not even the greatest of them—when we were naught but a seafaring house. House Velaryon is now the second-greatest house in the realm, only bettered by the royal family," and not for long, I added mentally.
"There is so much potential to be harnessed in the Stepstones. Industries that had previously been unthinkable are now within reach. All there. Driftmark wouldn't be abandoned. Far from it. I would see our people elevated to new levels of prosperity. The wealth we extract from and through the Stepstones would go to Driftmark first and foremost. Father built the most beautiful castle in all the Seven Kingdoms; I will add to it by building the most beautiful city in the known world. Our people will live a life of luxury funded with the wealth we create in the Stepstones," I said.
"And you believe you can create this sort of wealth?" she asked, an eyebrow arched.
"Yes. Just give me the chance, Mother, and watch what I will do." She kept her stare on me for a minute or so, and I matched it all the way. I couldn't back down. Not with this. Getting this would see all my plans begin to move forward. The Stepstones were the future. Corlys had already done all that could be done with Driftmark.
"I have always known you to be special, Laenor. From when you said your first word at an age where most children could not even babble. From when you began reading when coherent speech should have been far out of reach. You have always been special. Maybe it is the dragon blood in you. Maybe it's something else. But you are unburnt, and the unburnt among us have always proven to be some of the greatest leaders and mages of our people. So this will be your chance to show me what your potential is. I don't care much for the Stepstones, but we must keep them. I can trust you to do that much easily enough. Anything else you do with them is fully up to you. For the next year and a half, until you reach your majority and must return to take up the Lordship of Driftmark, you may do as you wish," she said. Yes. Perfect.
"Thank you so much, Mother. I will not fail you," I said.
"For some reason, I don't doubt that at all. Make me proud, my son," she said, moving over and pulling me into a hug.
"Mother?" I heard from outside the hug.
"Yes, Laena?"
"Can I join Laenor? In the Stepstones?"
"And leave me all alone?" she asked with a sigh.
"Mother…"
XXXXXXX
With Mother's permission and commission, things moved swiftly. For one, it was easy enough to convince her that I had to leave as soon as possible to get ahead of things. Irritated enough with the taxes, she was more than willing. Sadly, she wasn't irritated enough to have us leave without saying a proper goodbye to the court. And so we filed into the throne room and made our bows. Viserys said some tripe about being disappointed to see us leave so soon, while Mother easily placated him, promising to stay longer and visit often while Laena and I were gone.
I knew she was still pissed about the taxes, but most of the anger seemed to be directed at Otto. It was probably a bad thing that she could just figure out that the King likely had little say or understanding of the policy he was pushing. And the fact that Otto had pushed it out so publicly and quickly meant it would be impossible to roll back without sending the wrong kind of message. An indecisive King was bad, but one who couldn't control his own advisors was much worse, so whichever explanation they went with, things would be fucked. Still, she assured us that she would speak to Viserys when the chance came, and I didn't doubt that. While I didn't care much about the taxes, they were still an inconvenience.
And so Laena and I had set off at dawn the very next morning for Bloodstone, arriving to find the castle little different from how we had left it, garrisoned by Velaryon men and ruled by Uncle Vaemond. An Uncle Vaemond who did a good enough job of stepping aside the second I walked in. All that led to this present moment: the three of us in the same meeting room we had used many a time already.
"Has the Triarchy replied to the message I had you send?" I asked. At least that was one thing that wouldn't come back to bite me in the arse. I'd had Vaemond send an invitation for peace talks after we smashed their fleet. Now that Mother was no longer here, I could take charge of those talks more fully, and I had a list of things I wanted.
"Not at present, but considering ship speeds, even if the messenger had been sent right back upon arriving at their harbour, he would only have gotten back two days ago or so."
"So a lack of news is good news in this case," I said.
"Precisely, nephew."
"Good enough. I want the men still patrolling until we get a response, though. We are still at war until we can complete a treaty, and while they shouldn't be able to find even a fleet of fishing boats, it's best we not be caught by surprise in case the impossible happens."
"As you say, nephew. And Dorne?"
"Dorne will get their due soon enough. The Triarchy must fold first."
XXXXXXX
At least they were not so stubborn as to think that they would not be surrendering, I thought, as I sat on Bloodstone's throne and listened to the messenger that the Triarchy had sent with our man. A messenger that was causing quite a stir, frankly, and I could see why. He wore his shackles openly, his brand visible for all to see. They had sent a slave to treat with me. It was many things at once.
An insult, that was for sure. A slave? The implication being that I was at the same level? And then there was the other thing. This man was Westerosi. Not just Westerosi, but this man, if I was right, was from Driftmark. He looked like he could have belonged on the island, but with how multicultural a port city it was, that wasn't my basis. It was the way he spoke. I wouldn't say there was such a thing as a Driftmarkian accent or whatever, but there were just some words and some ways of saying them that were native to our people.
"Where do you hail from, man?" I asked, the question interrupting him mid-speech.
"My lord?" he asked. There again.
"I asked where you hail from, good man."
"From Tyrosh. This one is the—"
"No. Where were you born? Where did your mother raise you?"
"This one has no such past, my lord. This one is the property—"
"You are not property," I nearly yelled the word.
"You are a man of Driftmark. Now tell me whether it is true or not."
He seemed to tremble at my words, a hand reaching up to some scars that I could see continuing beyond his clothes.
"You are a man of Driftmark," I said again, and this time he began to nod, tears falling down his face. The waiting audience of sailors and Baratheon warriors, previously bristling at being addressed by a slave, had softened. Softened to the point that Vaemond himself had walked up to the man and was holding him, whispering to him.
As much as no Westerosi lord liked to admit it, we suffered slave raids every so often. Never on the mainland, of course. Only a fool would court united wrath like that. But every time a Westerosi took to the sea, they ran the risk of being taken and turned into this. A tool for the satisfaction of lesser men. Slavery was a scourge, I could see it. And if I were a better man, I would dedicate the immense resources at my disposal to putting an end to it.
I had skilled sailors, warriors, and bureaucrats at my beck and call. I could put them to work. Turn them on the problem of slavery and add the might of two dragons where needed. We would make so much progress that it felt like a crime to turn my back on it. But ending slavery, noble as it would be, was not going to put food on the table for House Velaryon. It would not give us an unassailable position from which to approach the doomsday event coming our way—the dying of the dragons.
And so I could not do it.
"Uncle, see to it that he is taken away and treated properly. He is our man. If the Triarchy wants him back, they can come tell me in person," I said to the cheers of the mostly Baratheon warriors. Of course they were excited. Anything that smelled like more combat to them was worth celebrating. I could have removed his head, offended at the insult of being presented with a slave, and they would have cheered just as loudly. I did not condemn them for it, but I made a note of it. These people only supported me because they saw a promise of further violence.
"Maester, I would have you take down my words," I said, not needing to turn to Bernard to hear the shuffling of papers as he did his duty.
"To the Triarchy,
I am Laenor Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord of the Stepstones. I have received your gift and thank you for it. The return of a citizen of mine is much appreciated. In return, I will give you a gift of my own. The gift is this: instead of saddling my dragon and flying to burn down the beautiful city of Lys, I shall saddle my dragon and fly to the northernmost island of my territory within a sennight. There, I shall wait for your proper envoy, brought along with whatever of my people you still have in your custody, for no more than another sennight.
We shall discuss the terms of your surrender when you arrive. If you do not arrive, I will assume the state of hostilities between our peoples continues, and I shall turn my attention to Myr instead, to see just how beautiful the dyed city would look aflame. Do not test me."
I dictated the words, slowly and methodically, making sure to think the threats over. I didn't threaten Tyrosh because there was no point. The thing about a council like theirs was that its variety was its biggest strength and biggest weakness. The Tyroshi were the 'wronged' party and were probably champing at the bit. That insult was a Tyroshi one, judging by the slave marks at the very least. And his introduction had said he was owned by a Tyroshi magister. They wanted to keep fighting for their foolish pride, but the others would bring them to heel with their own cities threatened.
Either that or we would find out if Vhagar and Igneel were enough to burn a city on their lonesome. I read over the letter before penning my signature on it.
Then I turned to Vaemond again. "Please have a messenger sail this to them on our fastest ship. He is not to disembark. He is not to make port at their harbour. He is to call them to the ship, give them the letter, and return at full speed," I said.
A/N: Can the Essossi ever resist their 'subtle' insults? No. Next six 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.