King's Landing
98 AC (Twelfth Moon—Day 02)
Jaehaerys IV
Jaehaerys often took pleasure in gazing from his solar upon his city. To behold the smokes rising from furnaces and forges, to hearken to the shouts and cheers of his subjects… and to catch, when the breeze blew soft, the scent of fresh breads and soups—a rare delight, though recent labours were rendering it ever more commonplace.
To partake of the city in such wise swelled his heart with pride. It made him feel as though his sacrifices and oversights through the years had not been in vain. A faltering father and husband, it was only just that what he had forsaken those duties for yielded something worthy of esteem.
And, when he stood by his window, there truly was something to cherish.
Alas, that pride ebbed whenever he ventured the streets of his city. It proved hard to sustain when all he beheld was misery and decay. It proved hard not to deem himself a failure when his subjects matched not the wondrous folk he had envisioned from his lofty keep.
It kindled anger, in some measure, that all endeavors to bestow prosperity upon the smallfolk were met with rebuff.
"This city grows too full and crowded, I fear," he declared atop his mount, surveying the smallfolk who beheld him ever as one apart from their realm. Reverence in its purest form. If only such devotion were harbored by those wearying lords. "And the days unpromised are likely to draw yet more."
Clement Crabb ensured his safety this day, and thus rode at his side. Unlike Ryam, this ser was more inclined to converse with him, and not over reticent with his counsel.
"It shall be a grand tourney, Your Grace," the knight replied, his voice tempered careful. "More folk hunger for opportunities, or so I have heard."
The Crabb seemed to hear more than his station allowed, though Jaehaerys misliked it not. He was half convinced that Clement was a sword swallower, yet his judgments in such matters had erred before, even with his own sons.
He sighed, though softly, for he had no need of wariness. To think Vaegon would turn stray this late in life.
Banishing those thoughts, he turned back to his freshest grievances. "Yet it is not the tourney that troubles me, is it?" Many a tourney had come and gone, and few smallfolk had lingered beyond a moon.
Nay, it was the pilgrimage that arrived with a great host. Maelys's deeds had ever been vexing, yet never had trouble arisen from the smallfolk or the Faith. This time, matters had shifted, and Jaehaerys knew not if he truly disapproved.
Aye, he disliked the surge of people, for they would only deepen the rot already festering. But the fruits of those scribing contraptions had aided his bank, swelling operations to a point where he felt wholly at ease in launching vast undertakings.
And among those undertakings was a modest town he was set to construct beyond the walls of King's Landing. Something to siphon the populace from within the gates.
"Ah, those pious folk do bring their own vexations, though I deem it wiser to entrust their handling to the princess's capable grasp, they seem well content with her watchful eye and wardship." Once more, the knight proffered his counsel. The king even discerned a trace of reverence in his tone.
Jaehaerys turned his gaze anew upon the smallfolk. Still wretched and begrimed, though their joy at his presence was beyond doubt. Truly simple souls. Honest people.
His daughter had come urging him to dispatch the surplus of their tributes to the north's smallfolk, making plain that it was they whom she wished to see graced with the food and wine and spices. It was such a gracious and comely plea from his ever delightful child.
Gael was burdened with an excess of heart and compassion. Small wonder that her mother cherished her so. Alysanne must have beheld her own likeness in the girl.
Jaehaerys felt his heart quiver softly.
Nay, he had bestowed those surpluses upon his daughter instead, knowing that she, at the least, would uphold the duty of ensuring the provisions reached the smallfolk. One could not merely presume such commands would be fulfilled without proper safeguards in place. Most lords, if not all, lacked any measure of such charity.
Give to the toiling smallfolk? Nay, that was unheard of. One merely warded them from death and sickness, that one's own wealth might be secured by their toil and labour.
Yet the lowborn held more worth than that alone.
Though did Jaehaerys hold to such a creed? Nay, he could not, for he was king and thus bound by duty to foster and secure the contentment of those beneath him, chiefly the nobles and merchants. The smallfolk lay beyond his direct charge, though he confessed he had faltered grievously in striving for their betterment, scarcely endeavoring if truth be told.
Yet his young daughter burned with passion for such matters, and unlike Jaehaerys, who had ever been wary in balancing his obligations to his lords and his love for his wife, Maelys knew no such conflict. Gael was ever aided and upheld.
Truly a mirror unto his own failings, his son. Yet the king was spurred to strive and shear away that regret, thus he endeavored to lend aid to Gael's pursuits, for she alone among his daughters yet beheld him as a father unstained by treachery.
He drew breath once more, permitting the wounds of his heart to ache but faintly.
All this bespoke that the pilgrim folk were sustained, nay, better still, they were marshaled to the city's weal. Thus had he taken to traversing his city this day, to witness the fruits borne by the union of the pious throng.
Thence they rode to the tourney grounds, to behold the labors afoot and what wonders were being wrought.
No such marvels, alas, at least none he would deem worthy of acclaim. Once more, his youngest son had immersed his hands in affairs one might reckon base for a soul of high birth. It was stalls, it was devices that whirled or swayed. It was mummeries, it was songs, it was contests for prizes that would kindle envy in those not of noble blood.
He had sundry other ventures, and not least among them were those of the Faith, its sermons twisted into flatteries to paint the royal house as something exalted and divine. Oh, how he wished Barth might behold this. It surpassed the septon's wildest fancies.
"So this is where you have been?" he inquired of Maelys, clad still in his house's hues of blue and silver. A part of Jaehaerys misliked this stark division, for it marked the boy as one set apart.
Never had he seen his children or kin truly sundered from the black and red of House Targaryen, not even Rhaenys donned the Velaryon colors.
But Saera…
He compelled his thoughts back to the present. "When have you taken to meddling in matters of gambling?"
"Ah, Father," the boy greeted him, his countenance brightening openly though he withheld due courtesies. Jaehaerys was too aged and worn for such quibbles. "There are sanctioned wagering dens, apt for overseeing this vice and forestalling any eruption of violence or death."
The king cast a glance toward the robed septons and septas who labored in his son's wake. There was an uncanny air to the devotion these folk bestowed upon Maelys. Unquestioned fealty and obedience.
He had entertained a grievance at court not long past, involving a brawl tied to the Faith. Septas had beaten a septon from the Vale nigh unto death over some matter concerning given children. Jaehaerys had consigned the affair to the Red Keep's chief septon to resolve.
"Is that so?" he murmured absently, truly desiring no share in it. "Well, do recall that you yet have duties to attend." He bestowed upon him a pointed look, and the boy grasped the import.
"This shall not take long."
Jaehaerys pressed on, until he was sated with his perambulations and inspections. It availed much to let the people behold him at ease. This, he deemed, was far more gratifying than enduring lords who clamored for him to kindle wars with the Dornish or mountain clans or whatever mischief the Ironborn were brewing.
He ought perhaps to address that last, for it was growing irksome, especially amid the fervent piety stirring in the Andals.
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At noon upon that day, yet before dusk drew, the awaited parley he was to hold with the Velaryons had come to pass. A fitting chamber had been readied for the occasion, with a long table and a complement of six chairs arranged with care, alongside chilled libations and pastries, lest the discourse extend beyond the foreseen hour.
Jaehaerys had almost forgotten the grace of being attended by those who truly held him dear. Aemma had surpassed herself in these preparations, evoking the very presence and whimsical touch of Alysanne. Were she here, she would stand at his side even now, awaiting the discourse ahead.
Yet he had no leisure for such reveries.
The king was seated upon a chair, biding the arrival of the Velaryons whilst he perused the privileges and duties appertaining to one granted a princedom. As was his wont, he had summoned Baelon to attend, and his heir sat at his right hand. Maelys was seated to his left, and he looked quite at calm with himself and matters to come.
By his thinking and reasoning, his second son had a duty to whisper this event as the future king. He needed to know and guarantee that no reconsiderations were held when it came his time to rule.
His youngest was here to serve as example in the differences between a royal principality and an independent one. Maelys also had good counsel, more so than Jaehaerys was comfortable with admitting.
Corlys did arrive, attended by Rhaenys. That was well met. Greetings were exchanged, along with the due rites and pleasantries.
The king cleared his throat once sufficient time had passed for such trifles to be observed. At that gesture, understanding dawned, and silence fell. He steepled his hands, assuming an air of solemn gravity.
"You must doubtless wonder at my summons," he declared, his fading violet eyes fixed upon the Lord of Velaryon, then shifting to his granddaughter, whose serene mask slipped back into place. Maelys had indeed fostered warm bonds with all his kin, for most if not all were prone to spare him warm affections.
Corlys, after gathering himself, inclined his head in assent. Jaehaerys felt both vindicated and sorrowed by the man's assumption of primacy for House Velaryon. In his heart, he had hoped Rhaenys might command the house as Viserra had done with Sunglass.
Speaking of his second wayward daughter, she had dispatched ravens beseeching that her household be placed under Maelys's vassalage.
The king was not wholly certain he desired such a thing; his son had shown a most… disquieting solicitude for his kin. If Sunglass ever fell beneath his princedom with Viserra yet as its lady, he would not put it past Maelys to grant them a city charter.
That would touch upon King's Landing's coffers, if but in the slightest measure.
"As one might expect, Your Grace," Corlys replied, his voice measured and even. "Though, with that confessed, I shall not deny that what I have enjoyed thus far justifies the visitation—I'm awed."
All words, it seemed, for the man betrayed no show of such enjoyment.
It was Baelon who answered that feigned humility. Jaehaerys watched with interest to see how his heir would fare with this man, toward whom he plainly bore ill will.
"You have grown skilled in flattery, Lord Velaryon," his son remarked, his tone light enough, nigh amiable. He pressed on, "Yet the matters we convene to discuss transcend such trifles, though you are welcome to partake further of the Red Keep's indulgences."
Jaehaerys interceded before the exchange might sour into discord.
"As I set forth in my missive, this concerns your house and its enduring service," he stated, leveling a gaze at Rhaenys, who seemed poised to retort at Baelon. Then he turned to Corlys. "I shall be forthright and plain: I mean to raise House Velaryon to the station of a princely house."
At that pronouncement, he could hear the very breath stolen from the chamber, as both Rhaenys and Corlys's eyes glazed with stupefaction before yielding slowly to shock and bewilderment.
"What?" his granddaughter demanded, her eyes narrowing in suspicion upon him. Jaehaerys would make no mummery of it.
"Maelys, present the documents," he commanded.
"Of course, Father," his son replied simply, though still ill at ease. "These delineate the privileges and duties attendant to such a title. Heed not the prodigious bulk of the vellum; you shall find most are mere elucidations. Yet I counsel you to peruse them thoroughly when time permits."
The parchments were behemoths, exceeding thirty sheets to encompass the full accord. Maelys had prepared seven replications: two for House Velaryon, one for the royal archives, one for the Faith's vaults, one for the Citadel, and two for Havenhall.
All required the singular seal of House Velaryon's head, presently Corlys.
"Wait, no. What is this about? I… grandsire, what has provoked this sudden change of heart?" Rhaenys voiced in evident bewilderment and vexation.
Jaehaerys let forth a breath, feeling weary yet also free. He eased back, relaxed his countenance, and gentled his heart.
"I would make a speech of it, but I am loath to do so, thus I shall merely state the cause," he declared, gazing plainly into his granddaughter's eyes. The child who had first made him a grandsire, now that he pondered it. "I seek to mend whatever oversights our lordship may have wrought upon those we rule. House Velaryon stands as the sole house that has endured with ours before the fall of the Freehold, never faltering or reticent. Thus, for all that fealty and steadfastness, I deem it only just that they reap the fruits of such singular service."
He truly held that the Velaryons were owed an honor surpassing the privileges of all other houses. This stemmed not solely from their Valyrian blood, but from the intimate bonds of kin. The Baratheons had been granted an eminence far beyond what a single deed by a base born man ought to yield.
And yet their kin from Driftmark, with whom they shared unbroken ties scarce a generation past, his own mother had been a Velaryon. The second queen had been a Velaryon.
"And what shall be the cost?" Rhaenys pressed. "What must we yield for this privilege?"
And that was the most stirring part.
"Nothing," he replied simply, a fleeting smile brushing his face for but an instant.
Oh, the elevation was assuredly not without price, for naught truly was. Yet it chanced that those upon whom it fell were not the ones to bear it, at least not directly. The toll was the envy of other houses. It was how they would chafe at the Velaryons' favored standing.
His granddaughter and her lord husband yet regarded him with suspicion. He minded it not. Thereafter came discourse upon the princedom. How many souls would it touch?
"Only the principal kin shall be graced with the privileges of this title. This means the Lord Velaryon and his brother shall bear the rank and rights of princes, though such shall not extend to the issue of his brother," Maelys expounded, gesturing with measured restraint. "Plainly, Laena and Laenor shall partake of this honor, though it shall only reach the offspring of whosoever inherits not the mantle of head of the household."
"What mean you by head of household?" Corlys regarded Maelys with furrowed brow.
"Precisely as it sounds," came the reply, yet his youngest son elaborated further. "The customs of inheritance shall rest with you to decree. Establish the rights, and both my house and the royal house shall ensure those customs are upheld, my Lord of Velaryon."
A pause hung for a moment, wherein his son endured the full brunt of Corlys's hostile gaze. Rhaenys appeared pensive, it was rather disheartening that she perceived not the boy's subtle gambit.
"The other boons, if it please you."
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Anyway, bye.