GO GIVE YOUR POWER STONES TO MY NEW STORY, IF YOU CAN! A BLADEMASTER IN WESTEROS.
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Two fingers ran down the faint mortar line in the wall. I kept them flush against the stone until I hit the floor, then moved on methodically up the next line, feeling for any gap in the stonework, any minute draft bleeding through from a passage behind.
Nothing. Not on this side or the one opposite as well.
I'd already checked behind the hanging Targaryen banner, an all black and red silk piece showing Aegon's conquest, and the elaborately carved wooden dresser that probably cost more than most smallfolk earned in their lifetimes. The frame of the four-poster bed. The seams where the floor met the walls. Even behind the partitions of the privy, which had been an unpleasant experience I'd rather not repeat.
Half of me had just been curious to see if I'd been put into one of the medievally bugged rooms in the Red Keep. The other half was simply the intensely paranoid part of my brain that usually lay silent and dormant. Except it had been activated like a sleeping agent upon arrival in this city.
King's Landing did that to you. Made you see threats in every shadow, listeners behind every wall.
I sighed, sitting back on my heels. This was becoming embarrassing. I wondered what the nobles at court would say if they saw me on all fours pushing my fingers against solid stone walls and mortar joints like some architectural pervert.
"That Tarth lad has finally lost his mind. Spent too long with the Dornish, he did. Or maybe it was the fire at the Weeping Town. Breathed in too much smoke."
Rising, I brushed my hands free of the light coating of dust from the stone and fixed up my clothes, smoothing out any creases. I was going fancy tonight and had chosen to wear the best outfit I'd brought to the city. Dark lambswool breeches that fit well without being ostentatious. An azure velvet doublet embroidered with the moon and sun of House Tarth, the stitching fine enough that it had probably taken some poor woman weeks to complete.
And that wasn't all.
My boots were of supple leather, broken in enough to be comfortable but still presentable. My hair was slicked back with some kind of beeswax paste a servant had provided. And around my neck hung a silver chain that fell to my upper chest, not quite reaching the doublet's first button.
That's how you had to roll when the big wigs invited you to dinner. If I'd had a good mirror to look at myself in, I'd have finger-gunned it.
In reality, this whole thing had brought me more headache than anything else.
After speaking with the king—and wasn't that just a spine-tingling experience that would in no way make me all the more susceptible to paranoia—I was soon informed after passing through court that Lord Tywin Lannister requested the pleasure of my company at supper.
The pleasure. As if Tywin Lannister had ever in his life experienced pleasure in the conventional sense.
Though I was grateful for an opportunity to rub shoulders with the most powerful non-royal man in the kingdoms, especially when that man had a habit of paying debts and I'd recently had a hand in saving his younger brother, I still had to hide a wince when the messenger delivered the invite within hearing of some courtiers and servants.
Granted, for the heir of a middling house, any opportunity to further befriend a Lord Paramount was a significant boon. Especially when that Lord Paramount held sway over not just his own lands but the entire kingdom as Hand of the King.
One flick of Tywin's pen could see House Tarth getting favorable trade agreements in King's Landing. Tax breaks. Preferential treatment at court. These were not nothing. These were the levers that moved houses from middling to significant.
The problem was that I had spent an hour earlier that day kneeling in front of a man who had asked me to describe burning a town as if it were a sensual experience. A man who was half-mad and getting worse, and who was known to regard Tywin Lannister with a suspicion that had been curdling for years into something genuinely dangerous. Dining with the Lion at the first available opportunity was not the kind of behavior that read as uncomplicated loyalty to a paranoid king.
I'd known it would be like this eventually. Playing friendly with all sides in the complex and labyrinthine mess that was the pre-rebellion political climate would become impossible. I just hadn't expected the first domino to appear before me quite so soon, already tethering in its spot.
If things went as they did in the books, my family would end up siding with the rebel lords by simple inertia. Lord Selwyn wouldn't betray the Baratheons unless something catastrophic happened. I knew that for a fact. The man was loyal to his bones, honorable in ways that would probably get him killed if the world turned dark enough.
But I was here now. The butterflies had flown, and the world would never be the same. Perhaps the rebellion wouldn't even happen. Perhaps Aerys would slip and impale himself upon his pointy throne and Rhaegar Targaryen would rule wisely, forgetting all about northern ladies and prophecies and the doom he'd bring down on his house.
Yet if it did happen… could siding with the Targaryens see more benefit to myself and my family?
It was something I'd thought about, of course. Couldn't help it. The future was a burden as much as a boon. A weight that pressed down on every decision, making me second-guess actions that should have been simple.
Even then, making that choice was more complicated than it seemed. The Targaryen cause was fractured. Aerys and Rhaegar both commanded different, embattled factions that wouldn't easily accept dual loyalty. Eventually, even if you put down the rebellion, you would have to side with either the Mad King or with the Prince. No middle ground.
Clearly, I'd already attracted the former's attention. And though it was risky, it had its benefits. It was said that in the final years of his reign, King Aerys had showered his most fervent supporters with rewards. Lands and honors and offices and anything within his power. A most enticing proposition, to be sure.
But knowing what he would become, tying myself too closely to Aerys was as mad as burning men alive before going on to rape your sister-wife. He was as likely to turn on allies who stepped a foot out of line as he was to murder would-be rebels and usurpers. And I didn't have it in me to spend years shaking my tail like a loyal dog to such a vile man, even if he promised me the Iron Throne itself.
I also couldn't lie and say I'd come out unscathed after sixteen years of Westerosi education and a fully fleshed out life. Like my father, and like all the men I'd grown to admire in these lands, I couldn't easily break my word, my vows, and betray my liege lord—a man I respected—on a whim. Certainly not for such a futile thing as the favor of a mercurial king.
Rhaegar, however, was a different matter. I knew what the histories told of him, and what biased men and women thought of the prince, good or bad. But I didn't know his true heart and mind. Didn't know if he was the tragic hero some had painted him as, or the self-absorbed prophecy-obsessed fool who'd doomed his family.
Would I raise banners in rebellion if I found out the whole Lyanna thing was a lie? A willing elopement rather than an abduction?
If I didn't, would I then go against my Baratheon lords? Against my own father?
The idea was unthinkable. But it churned around in my brain all the same, an unwelcome guest that wouldn't leave.
For a few hours after the meeting with Aerys and receiving the invite, I'd roamed aimlessly around the enormous complex that was the Red Keep. Since I hadn't been here since I was a boy—and hadn't been granted the freedom to explore then—I'd hoped for some quiet moments playing the tourist around the famed Targaryen castle.
Yet by the time I made it back to my assigned rooms, I could barely remember anything beyond red walls and an unnecessary amount of stairs. Too much thinking. Too much looking over my shoulder when I realized I was contemplating treason and rebellion in the heart of the Red Keep. A place so full of spies it was said the walls themselves could pluck a stray thought straight from between your ears.
The apartment itself was as well-appointed as the king had promised. Bedroom, waiting room, even a small solar with a desk and chairs. I was being treated like a visiting dignitary, which did not help stem my paranoia.
Weren't foreign dignitaries exactly the kind of people one would spy on?
I had only stopped sniffing at the walls momentarily. First when Targaryen livery-wearing servants came with a copper tub, steaming water, and everything I needed for a proper bath. The heat had been glorious, washing away the grime of the road. Then later when a man in Baratheon colors arrived to let me know Lord Steffon would also be joining myself and Lord Tywin for dinner.
That had helped some with the paranoia, even if it hadn't stopped me from checking for tunnels and eyeholes afterward. Lord Baratheon's presence meant the dinner would be framed as a meeting between two great lords of the realm. Old friends at that. My own joining would be more of an eventuality since I'd come to the capital under the banner of my liege lord.
Not a suspicious private audience between the Hand and some random young knight. Just dinner with friends, nothing to look at too deeply.
Shaking my head, I took a final look around the room, trying not to stare too long at the walls. I did take a moment to recheck the lock on my trunk as well, just to be safe.
I hadn't brought much gold with me. What coin I had I left in a purse right on top of my clothes on the inside of the locked trunk. No need to look further if you were some enterprising thief looking for a score.
But I had taken the glass candle with me when I left Tarth for Storm's End. Had decided the risk of bringing it to King's Landing was not as great as the risk of leaving it anywhere near Arianne's grubby, addict hands.
It was all the girl talked about these days. Bothered me day and night to glimpse it once again, even as she begged me not to tell our parents about it. She had the zeal of a junkie, a single-minded obsession that made my skin crawl.
I would have sewn it to my very flesh before I left it anywhere close to her.
The candle might be a powerful focus that allowed her to see all kinds of things. But she had enough magic on her own that I feared she'd find it no matter how well I hid it. Better to keep it with me. Under my control.
The trunk was locked, as expected, and hidden in a false bottom beneath all the coin and the clothes. I had no further excuse to keep me in my fancy rooms in the Red Keep.
Stepping into the corridor, I pulled the door shut behind me, the sound echoing down the empty hallway before being quickly swallowed by the stone.
The route to the Tower of the Hand took me through the eastern wing of the castle, past chambers reserved for visiting lords and their retinues. Most of the doors were closed, but I could hear voices behind some of them. Laughter from one room. An argument in hushed tones from another.
I was rounding a corner when I nearly collided with a man coming the other direction.
"Pardon me, my lord," I said, stepping back.
He was a tall man, slender, with the unmistakable features of Old Valyria. Silver-gold hair worn long, pale skin, eyes the color of lilac. His doublet was sea-green silk embroidered with a silver seahorse. House Velaryon.
Which meant this was likely Lord Lucerys Velaryon himself. Master of Ships on the Small Council.
Great. Just what I needed.
He spoke before I could. "Ser Galladon Tarth." Not a question. His voice was cultured and precise. In another world, I would've called it posh. "I thought I recognized you from court earlier."
I'd barely been at court. Just long enough to be presented and dismissed. Without neither the king nor the Hand there, not many nobles hung around. But he must have been paying attention. Or had people that did.
"Lord Velaryon," I said, offering a respectful nod. "An honor."
"Is it?" A faint smile played at his lips. "It is fortunate that we meet, however. See, I've heard that House Tarth is becoming more active in trading these days. Acquiring ships. Establishing routes. Quite the enterprising venture for a house of your... stature."
The pause before "stature" was deliberate. Not quite an insult, but close enough to sting. Didn't bother me much, at this point. The less they thought of me, the more they'd be caught with their pants down when I came for them.
"I'm surprised but honored that a man of your station would notice such a thing, my lord," I said carefully.
Lucerys' smile widened a smidgen. "I know much, Ser Galladon. As Master of Ships, any naval matter is my prerogative. I look into everything in the interest of the realm." He let that hang in the air for a moment. "Trade routes. Port tariffs. Which houses are expanding their fleets and why. These are dangerous days, you understand. Dangers the crown must keep a firm grip on."
There it was. The subtle threat wrapped in pleasantries. He was letting me know he could make my life very difficult if he chose to. A word from him could see our ships inspected at every port, our cargoes delayed, our captains questioned endlessly by harbor officials.
"I wasn't aware our modest ventures warranted such attention," I said.
"Everything warrants attention, ser. Especially when it involves a young knight who has apparently caught the king's interest." His eyes studied me, searching for something. "His Grace spoke quite highly of you after your audience. That's rare these days."
I kept my expression neutral. "I'm honored by His Grace's regard."
"As you should be." Lucerys stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. "Tell me, what inspired this sudden interest in maritime commerce? Most knights of the realm concern themselves with swords and tourneys."
An opportunity presented itself and I would be foolish if I didn't seize it.
"Your own ancestor, actually. Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake." I let admiration color my voice. "His voyages to the east, the wealth he brought to his house—it's the stuff of legend. I'd be lying if I said I didn't dream of following in such footsteps, even in a small way."
Lucerys preened visibly at the flattery. "Ah yes, the Sea Snake. A great man indeed."
A poor copy stands before me, I thought. The Velaryons weren't what they once were. They commanded the royal fleet, true, but mostly through nepotism and tradition. It was said that so many men of the same family had occupied the office that, by now, only the arse of a Velaryon could sit easily upon the chair of the Master of Ships in the Small Council chambers.
Their own holdings on Driftmark, however, had shrunk over the generations. They couldn't field a fraction of what the Redwynes could, or even what the ironborn raiders sailed.
"You know," Lucerys said, "my son Monford was at Lannisport and saw your victory in the lists. Quite impressive for one so young." He paused. "But it was the business with the pirates near the Stepstones that truly captured his imagination. He speaks of little else these days. You're quite the hero to him."
"I'm flattered, my lord."
"You should visit Driftmark sometime. Speak with the boy. He'd be thrilled." Lucerys' expression turned calculating. "I have sisters as well. Cousins of age. All bearing the blood of Old Valyria, as you can see." He gestured to himself, to his silver hair and pale features. "Superior stock, ser. The kind of matches that elevate a house."
Ah. There it was. The real purpose of this conversation.
He wanted to bind me to House Velaryon. Either through his influence as Master of Ships—making House Tarth dependent on his goodwill for our trading ventures—or through marriage. Probably both.
"That's very generous of you to suggest, my lord," I said. Noncommittal.
"Something to consider." Lucerys stepped back, straightening his doublet. "Enjoy your dinner with Lord Tywin, Ser Galladon. I'm sure you'll find it... educational."
He knew where I was going. Because of course he did. This damned city. The gods could strike the whole place down after I left and I'd be glad for it.
Then Lucerys Velaryon was moving past me, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
I stood there for a moment, processing the encounter. Should I expect other members of the small council to possibly fabricate encounters with me? I supposed there was a price to pay for having the king take such a keen interest in me. I was fresh meat, and the flies were already buzzing around.
xxx
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