Capítulo 40: Chapter 37: I Can Play Politics Just Fine
"A man who is too treacherous to be a vassal yet too content to be a king may yet have a purpose."
"I thought you hated me." Aemon and I were seated on opposite sides of a small table while children played under the watchful eyes of our wives. And ours too, if to a slightly smaller extent. It was incredible how many nooks and hidden corners Corlys had managed to cram into his palace gardens. Convenient, too. "With the sheer vitriol you had, I thought you hated me."
Our talk had taken a while, long enough for us to find our families. And then keep talking.
"We are family, Aemon," I pointed out, a small smile on my face as I watched the children run in screeching circles. The younger ones, at least. Little Rhaenys was a bit too old for that, but she was still smiling from ear to ear. "Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, and we have always been on the edge."
"That sentiment would have been oh so reassuring before you forced the maesters to replace half a dozen of my teeth with silver," my brother muttered into his goblet of watered wine. Heavily watered. I had left very precise instructions with the servants.
"I was a child," I shrugged in response. "You can hardly expect a boy of four and ten to make decisions as well as a man grown."
His grip tightened on the silver goblet as he registered some unintended insult. For my part, I shifted in my seat as I prepared to control the damage.
"Granted, I hardly brought glory to House Targaryen with my actions that day," I admitted, glancing at the pale reflection in my own goblet. The man who stared back was familiar, the same long face and hard gaze that had been mine for two decades, though softened by the recent years. I rather liked the change. "But that is all in the past. What matters is now."
"Very true," Aemon agreed, pouring some more wine into his goblet. The frustration seemed to leave his frame as he watched the pale red liquid flow freely. I briefly worried if he had given himself over to drink before I quashed those fears. He was merely relieved that we were not trading blows again, that was all.
"Although, speaking of foolishness," I mentioned, taking a small sip of wine as Aemon took a far more generous gulp, "Prince Morion of Dorne is planning an invasion of the Stormlands."
My timing could not have been better as he nearly choked on his drink, a fit of coughing wracking my brother's frame in surprise. Oh dear, it appeared Father had not been keeping him appraised of current events. Or Aemon had simply not been paying attention.
"Come again?" He barely managed to wheeze out the words before his body tried to force out the wine that had gone down the wrong pipe.
"Prince Morion will be invading the Stormlands," I repeated patiently, smirking slightly at my timing. "He will come by sea to Cape Wrath."
"You cannot be serious," Aemon said incredulously. "By sea? Against us? Against dragons?"
"It gets better," I said, smirk growing maliciously. "While the Prince spent a fortune on mercenaries and sellsails, his mightiest vassals have barely raised any men for the campaign. By the end of the year, the Dornish crown will be at its weakest in centuries."
"Gods be good," my brother swore. "Is that why Father bid us reconcile? To prepare to invade Dorne?"
Tragically, my brother was wrong. Our father had no desire to complete what the Conqueror had started.
"You will have the chance to ask him after the wedding," I answered, opting to give him a truth instead of the full truth. "He will officially bring you and Baelon up to speed."
"Wait…" Aemon looked slightly confused at that. "If Baelon does not know, why do you?"
"Father told me," I answered, technically speaking the truth. "And I pay close attention to rumors."
Oh, how I loved technical truths. When I used them, at least.
Before we had a chance to continue our discussion, a servant rushed into the deserted portion of the gardens, looking quite severely out of breath.
"Your Grace," he muttered, falling to his knees beside me. "Your guest has arrived."
I had to admit, I was rather amused by how easily I was being found. Then again, I was reasonably certain the palace's servants' quarters had a balcony running the length of the building which would explain a lot. Which was a rather clever design decision, I had to admit.
"Excellent," I said, rising to my feet. "If you would excuse me, brother. I have some business to attend to."
"Your guest?" Aemon asked, looking as if he wanted to rise to his feet before changing his mind.
"Lord Velaryon's guest, technically," I explained. For reasons beyond my comprehension, Lords Dayne and Fowler had politely declined my offers to enrich themselves at the cost of the liege they had already betrayed. Luckily, Lord Yronwood was far more eager. "I am merely the reason he was invited."
"What a distinction," he muttered as I trudged off, following the servant as he brought me to yet another section of the garden.
We marched halfway around the palace gardens, to a section containing some unfamiliar blooms that I suspected had come from Dorne. It was here that the lord of another realm had been brought to wait for me, him and his entourage.
Granted, calling the dozen colorfully clad men an entourage would have been an exaggeration. It was a bit humble for a man of the guest's status. The guest stood surrounded by his companions, a man well past his prime, pudgy and with greying hair. He was clad in sand-colored silks painted with a black portcullis. Lord Yorick Yronwood. The woman beside him, clad in similar vestments and of an age with the man, I suspected was the lord's wife.
"Lord Yronwood," I said in greeting, catching his attention, and that of his companions. A few shifted in acknowledgment, one particularly foolish one even dropped his hand to his sword, but most simply ignored me. Or stepped aside to let their lord through.
"Bright Prince!" He said in, smiling broadly, and I cringed internally at what had become my cognomen. What had possessed men to name me so, I did not know. I was clever, certainly, but not tremendously so. At least, not publicly.
Wait a minute, was this because I always wore white?
"It is an honor to finally meet a man of your principles, face to face," I pushed such thoughts to the side to give the older man no doubt twice my age a proper greeting, offering an open hand to the man who styled himself as the Bloodroyal. The Dornishman did not hesitate to grasp it, though he felt it necessary to clap another hand on my free arm. "And what I can only assume to be the lovely Lady Yronwood."
"Indeed she is," the lord said, giving a pleased smile before he gestured appreciatively at the flowers around him. Quite a diverse and colorful assortment of blooms, with petals ranging from plain white to warm oranges to stunning violet, and every color in-between. "Why, these gardens are near as lovely as she!"
"Lord Velaryon was desperate to prove his worth to my father," I explained, the memory bringing just a bit more truth to my smile. Corlys being desperate had been a rare sight, though the man would have denied ever being desperate. "I dare say he has done so."
"Oh, I would hope so," Lord Yronwood agreed, nodding vigorously. "If something this great is not good enough for your father, nothing would be. Men, if you be so kind as to escort my wife around the gardens?". Scattered words of assent filled the air as his entourage hastened to obey, steadily filing away with the noble lady in tow.
We stood in relative silence, the lord's gaze following the crowd until we were certain that the others were out of earshot. Part of me was dismayed at the lack of trust in the woman who should have been his closest confidant, but secrecy was paramount, I suppose.
"I am surprised you did not invite more of my fellows," he began, now visibly more relaxed. "My fellow Stone Dornish are not what you might call enthusiastic vassals."
"Mayhaps not enthusiastic, but certainly content," I said, more than a little annoyed. Lords Fowler and Dayne had declined my invitation to the wedding, and any offers to further their own standings. It boggled the mind that they would sell their liege's information but hesitate to capitalize on it. No doubt they had a reason, but I would exploit their choices nonetheless. "They did not wish to attend."
"A shame," he said, not looking terribly bothered. "So what was this proposal of yours?"
"House Martell will make launch an unprovoked attack on my father's kingdom," I said matter-of-factly. "When that happens, you will declare yourself and the Red Mountains as an independent kingdom. With my direct support."
Why yes, that did directly harm houses Fowler and Dayne. Houses that had provided information to my father. Unfortunately, they were only half-hearted in betraying their liege, and thus hardly allies.
Lord Yronwood considered the offer for a moment, scratching at his almost entirely grey beard.
"That would require subjugating Lords Dayne and Fowler, powerful lords in their own right," he pointed out, with good reason. Both of them had been kings once, same as Yronwood. "While I can defeat one, both at once will prove difficult."
"A dragon rider has a way of tipping the scales of war," I said. Maegelle would not be happy to learn that I would ride off from one war straight to another, but this needed to be done. House Martell could not be allowed to remain as a threat, and this was the easiest way. "After Prince Morion's attack on the Stormlands is repulsed, I will join the might of my dragon to your army."
"That would work against them," he said, and I could see ideas rapidly forming in his head as a devious grin took over his face. "I can march on Skyreach without raising suspicion from my peers in the realm. My mother was a Fowler, after all. I can paint it as pursuing my claim. Delay Lord Dayne until I can bring my army to Starfall. From there, we shall show Dorne the might of House Yronwood."
"So we shall," I agreed.
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