(The Great Hall of Runestone - Spring, 125 AC)
The parchment was three feet long, made of heavy vellum, and covered in the seals of twenty noble houses. It sat on the table like a sleeping beast.
Aeryn Royce-Targaryen stood before the assembled power of the Vale. He was twelve years old now. The last traces of softness had vanished from his face, leaving a profile cut from marble. He wore a tunic of dark grey silk, simple but impossibly expensive, and his mechanical brace was polished to a mirror shine.
Beside him sat Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Maiden of the Vale. She looked pleased.
"The Edict of the Bronze Scales," Aeryn announced, his voice carrying clearly to the back of the hall where the minor knights stood.
He looked at Lord Grafton, who was sweating. He looked at Lord Corbray, who was calculating.
"For centuries, every lord in this room has taxed the lord next to him," Aeryn continued. "If a bushel of wheat moves from the Riverlands to Redfort, it pays a toll at the Bloody Gate, a toll at the crossroads, and a toll at the market. By the time it is bread, it costs three times its value. This is friction. Friction creates heat, not wealth."
Aeryn tapped the parchment.
"This Edict eliminates internal tariffs. A unified market. One weight. One measure. One tax code, administered by the Vale Trade Council based here, in Runestone."
"And the profits?" Lord Hunter asked, though he already knew the answer. The ships from Runestone had been filling his granaries for months at a fraction of the old cost.
"The profits are volume," Aeryn said. "Since we integrated the port of Gulltown with the rail-roads of Runestone, trade with Braavos has tripled. If you sign, your goods travel on my ships and my roads without tolls. You pay a single annual fee to the Council. The rest... is yours."
Lady Jeyne stood up. "I have signed, My Lords. The Eyrie supports the Union."
That was the nail in the coffin of the old ways. One by one, the lords stepped forward. The wax dripped. The seals were pressed.
In that hour, the Vale ceased to be a collection of feuding castles and became an economic superpower.
...
(The Treasury of Runestone - One Week Later)
Yorbert Royce sat in a chair, staring at the wall. He looked like a man who had been hit by a hammer.
"The numbers..." Yorbert whispered. "Aeryn, the numbers."
Aeryn was standing at a high desk, reviewing the ledgers with Maester Helaebar.
"The projections were accurate," Aeryn noted dryly.
"Accurate?" Yorbert laughed hysterically. "We are netting 40,000 gold dragons a year just from the Council fees and brokerage percentages! And the value of our own exports... the land values... the new industries..."
"Total revenue estimates exceed 150,000 dragons for the coming fiscal year," Aeryn summarized.
It was an obscenity. It was more gold than Casterly Rock produced in a bad year. It was enough to buy armies. Enough to buy kingdoms.
"What will you do with it?" Yorbert asked, looking at his great-nephew with a mix of awe and fear. "Will you expand the castle? Build a fleet? Buy a crown?"
Aeryn closed the ledger.
"Gold is useless if it sits in a vault, Uncle," Aeryn said. "Gold is fuel. And I have an engine that is very hungry."
He took a heavy pouch from the table—24,000 dragons in a single bag.
"I have a meeting," Aeryn said.
...
(The Undercroft - Deep beneath the Keep)
The room was damp, smelling of the sea and old stone. It was a part of the castle that didn't exist on the official blueprints.
Aeryn sat in the shadows. Opposite him sat Casper, the crippled son of the steward. Casper's twisted spine made him look like a spider in the gloom, but his eyes were sharp, burning with a cruel intelligence.
"The budget is approved," Aeryn said, sliding a smaller bag—12,000 dragons—across the table.
Casper opened it. He touched the gold with long, pale fingers.
"A thousand dragons a month," Casper rasped. "You could buy the City Watch of King's Landing for this."
"I don't want watchers," Aeryn said. "I want listeners. This is for The Shadow Bastion."
Aeryn leaned forward.
"I want a file on every harbor master from here to Dorne. I want to know who is sleeping with whom in the Red Keep. I want to know when Otto Hightower takes a shit and what color it is. Build me a wall of secrets, Casper. Domestic surveillance. Counter-intelligence. If a mouse squeaks in the Vale, I want to know why."
Casper grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "And if I find rats?"
"You are the exterminator," Aeryn said. "Use the Blue Cloaks for arrests. Use the dark for everything else."
Casper took the bag. "Consider the wall built, My Lord."
Aeryn nodded. "Leave us. The second appointment is... sensitive."
Casper limped away, disappearing into the tunnels.
Aeryn waited.
He didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear footsteps.
One moment, the chair opposite him was empty. The next, a man was sitting there.
He was unremarkable. He had a face that you would forget five seconds after seeing it. Brown hair, average height, plain clothes. He looked like a Braavosi merchant, or perhaps a Westerosi miller.
"A man is punctual," the stranger said. His voice was smooth, devoid of accent.
"A man is expensive," Aeryn replied, sliding the second bag of 12,000 dragons across the table.
The stranger didn't look at the gold. "The Iron Bank speaks highly of the Bronze Prince. They say his credit is good. They say he understands that debts must be paid."
"This is not a debt," Aeryn said. "This is a retainer. For The Iron Veins."
The stranger tilted his head. "A curious name."
"My defense is the Bastion," Aeryn explained. "But a fortress needs a way to strike beyond its walls. You are the veins. You carry the poison."
"A man does not sell poison," the stranger corrected gently. "A man serves the Many-Faced God. A death is a sacrament."
"I am not asking you to kill for sport," Aeryn said. "I am asking you to lead an organization. Sabotage. Disruption. Accidents."
Aeryn looked the Faceless Man in the eyes.
"If a fleet is gathering in the Stepstones to blockade my ships, I want the flagship to catch fire. If a spy tries to cross the Mountains of the Moon to map my defenses, I want him to fall."
"And names?" the stranger asked. "Does a man give names?"
"Not yet," Aeryn said. "For now, you are The Preceptor. You will train agents. You will build a network in Essos and the Free Cities. You will prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"For the time when names must be spoken," Aeryn said. "Valar Morghulis."
The stranger smiled. It was the first genuine expression he had shown.
"Valar Dohaeris," the Preceptor replied. He took the gold. "The Veins will flow."
...
(The High Tower - Dawn)
Aeryn watched the sun rise over his empire.
Below him, the Crystal City was waking up. The port was jammed with ships flying his flag. The aqueducts were flowing. The soldiers were drilling.
And now, deep in the shadows, the machinery of death and silence was beginning to turn.
He felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. He was twelve years old. He had more power than his father Daemon, more money than the Hand, and more secrets than the Spider.
He looked at his hand—the flesh and the metal.
"I am ready," Aeryn whispered to the wind.
He went to his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. It was time to write to Helaena again. Not about politics. Not about war.
Cousin, he wrote.
The web is finished. It is made of bronze and gold. It is strong enough to catch a dragon.
I hope I never have to use it.
He sealed the letter.