Capítulo 89: 20
Chapter Twenty
Oldtown
Mid 60 AC
Maester Fred POV
"Maester Fred!" called out a young voice in a tone of urgency.
Turning around, Fred spotted a young lad, no more than two and ten, running up to him and calling his name. A familiar lad at that. Lomy was his name.
"Yes, my child? How may I help you?" responded Lomy as he turned away from the matter at hand and to the lad in question.
"Tis me mother Maester, the cold has taken with her again…." said the boy morosely.
"I'll visit later this evening lad. You take good care of her till then okay?"
The boy nodded frantically as he then dashed away, his task completed. The message had been delivered.
And while he would make the trip from the Citadel in the evening, it would not be to visit the lad's mother. To be honest, he wasn't even sure if the lad's mother was living still. He was but one of the couriers employed by his father in the city to have messages delivered to him whenever a meeting needed to be arranged.
One of three lads would come by and deliver the message. The system was set up in a manner to protect him as best as possible. Depending on which lad delivered the message and which disease was mentioned, Fred would then determine which tavern on which dock he would have to visit to meet his contact.
And based on today's message it seemed that he would have to visit the Prancing Fawn on the South Dock today. A fortuitous occurrence, considering that his stores of whisky and gold had run out some time ago.
If anyone had told Fred, when he was a boy, that at the age of seven and twenty, he would be a distinguished Maester serving at the Citadel, he would have laughed at them and thought them drunk. If they had told him that he would also be a spy for a young Stormlord and managing a burgeoning network on his behalf, he'd have knocked them on their head for the slight to his honour. And yet, here he was, Maester and Spy.
It had all started when he was but an Acolyte at the Citadel and his father had asked him to keep his ear to the ground for any information that might benefit Eastwood. Being a dutiful son, he had in turn written to his father that the Ashfords were expecting a rather bountiful crop of carrots that year.
Information that seemed perhaps not the most relevant, but had allowed the Eastwoods to reposition their agricultural production to adjust for his information which had benefited them immensely. Aelon, generous as he was, had through a ship captain who traded between Tarth and Oldtown, sent him an entire barrel of whisky and some gold as well for his efforts.
Whisky was a precious commodity in the Reach. Due to the sour relations between the Reach and the Stormlands, Aelon did not sell in the Reach directly. Possessing an entire barrel of the liquor suddenly gave him a lot of leverage. He would ply the Maester and Archmaesters with whisky and gold and in turn, they ensured that his studies were expedited and that he received better and more advantageous duties and responsibilities. It was known to the shrewder Maesters, that his father was Steward to Eastwood and that he was likely funnelling information back to Eastwood, but it seemed that they hardly cared.
It would only be years later that he realised that almost every Archmaester and some of the shrewder Maesters as well reported to some Lord as well, most being from the Reach itself. Undoubtedly, they knew of his actions and thought him harmless enough considering his position as a lowly Acolyte and Aelon as a recently elevated Lord. The fact that he made sure to regularly provide them with the best whisky probably helped as well.
All in all, it was a good system. He developed a small network of spies in Oldtown, mostly couriers for his information, but he'd even managed to include a few innkeepers and traders, a couple of fellow Acolytes in the Citadel and even a guardsman sworn to House Hightower. He kept sending valuable information of developments in the Reach and even Westeros as a whole, and Aelon kept him well supplied with whisky and gold which he used to advance his interests.
And then everything changed two years ago.
—-
Fred sighed as he made his way to the Prancing Fawn on the South Dock. It was a small tavern. Dimly lit, dirty and smelly. Like every other tavern in Westeros. He had been there only once before for a similar meeting. They hardly ever met in the same place twice, but considering the circumstances of the past two years, creating a new set of locations had not really been a major priority.
He entered the bar and spied Captain Sorren seated at a table in the far corner. Fred estimated that he was perhaps forty years old. It was difficult to tell with sailors.
Captain Sorren had been his primary point of contact for several years now. The man sailed to Oldtown regularly and had been doing so for several years. Fred didn't trust the wily old sailor as far as he could throw him, but their interests were aligned. The man's wife and son lived in Eastwood and Warren had seen the latter employed at Eastwood Soap. That did much to ensure a man's loyalty.
"Sorren," greeted Fred as he took a seat at the table. The tavern was empty. And even the barkeep seemed to have left. Sorren's work undoubtedly.
"Fred. Seems you survived," quipped the older man.
"Aye. Wasn't easy. The past years have been hell," said Fred as a shadow of grief fell across his face. Words could not describe the extent of Oldtown's suffering these past years. To this day, his nightmares were still plagued by the images of the piles of bodies, several feet high, rotting in every street corner and square of the city.
"I can see. Been sailing to Oldtown ever since I was a wee lad. Never seen so few people out in the streets. How many died?"
"Over a quarter of the city died of the Shivers. A third of the Citadel and almost half of the Septons and Septas in the Starry Sept. Even the Hightowers weren't spared," replied Fred bitterly as he remembered the sheer horror of watching his friends, peers and patients succumbing to the plague.
The sailor remained silent as he processed the sheer magnitude of what he had just heard.
Eventually, he said, "Must've been as something from the seven hells."
Fred could only nod at that as words failed him.
"Let's get to it then. No time to waste. I'm sure you got things to get to as well," said Sorren as he laid his meaty arms on the table.
"Aye," replied Fred as he reached into his satchel and pulled out several rolls of paper, "My reports for the past two years. Make sure these are delivered to Aelon and Father with the seal unbroken. The contents are….sensitive."
The sailor snorted as he said, "You think I was born yesterday laddie? Don't teach me how to do my job. I'll see these delivered. Anything serious in here?"
Fred nodded, "Aye. The Hightowers are making moves. With Oldtown being shut off for nigh on two years, they are seeking to regain their influence. With Martyn Tyrell gaining influence in King's Landing, the Hightowers worry about them growing too powerful."
"War?" grunted out the sailor.
"Unlikely. But there will be some strife nonetheless. A good opportunity for Aelon in my opinion."
"Fair enough. Is there anything else?"
"Just the regular stuff. Agricultural outputs of various Reacher Lords, some political developments in Highgarden, the impact of the plague across various regions and a few other relevant things. With so many Maesters dead, I've gained some seniority here now. My access has increased substantially."
Sorren nodded at that, "With Oldtown finally reopened after two years, we will go back to the earlier system for now. The other two boys who couriered are either dead or they fled the city. I'll devise a new system over the next few days and Lomy will deliver your new instructions within a sennight."
"And what of-"
"Here," interrupted the sailor as he placed a large pouch on the table, "Lord Aelon figured that you must have run out of gold and whisky over the past two years that we've been out of contact. Back pay and hazard pay he called this. Gods know what that means."
Fred opened the large sack on the table to see more gold than he had ever seen in his entire life. For the second time that evening, words failed him as his voice caught in his throat.
"Two barrels of Red Label and a barrel of Silver Label will be delivered to your quarters over the course of the next few days. I trust you can make arrangements to have them stored safely?" asked Sorren as he stood from his seat.
Fred could only nod dumbly at that. This was beyond generous of Aelon.
"Your father asked me to tell you that he and your family are proud of you lad and to keep up the good work. You take care of yourself. I'll see you in a couple turns of the moon. Keep an eye out for my courier."
And with that, the Captain left Fred alone.
Again Fred surreptitiously checked the sack to see the gold inside it. His eyes widened once more. This would be more than enough to see him extremely well placed.
Extremely well placed indeed.
King's Landing
Early 61 AC
Walton Errol POV
As a Justiciar in King's Landing, Ser Walton Errol spent much of his time seated in his Chambers reading petitions and examining evidence. In that regard, today was no different. But unlike other days, the petition currently in his hand promised to cause him a rather severe headache.
While most Justiciars in King's Landing spent their time dealing with the petty problems that plagued the smallfolk, Walton's charge was very different. He presided over the Commercial Disputes Court in King's Landing that dealt with commercial, financial and trade disputes between Guilds and Crownlander Lords.
It was a prestigious position and he had successfully fulfilled the duties of the office for nigh on ten years at this point. He had over the years dealt with hundreds of guilds, dozens of trading conglomerates and almost every petty lord and landed knight in the Crownlands. Needless to say, Ser Walton was good at his job.
Yet, today would be different.
In his hands was a petition from Lord Darklyn, requesting the crown to heavily fine the Eastwood-Tarth Trading Company for engaging in trade with Braavos without receiving the appropriate blessings from the crown.
This was a problem.
Technically the law stated that sale of certain high quality wines such as the Arbor Gold in Essosi cities such as Braavos required the Crown's blessing. It was an obscure law, one that had been designed to restrain the Redwynes and provide some support to the Tyrells when they had been elevated to Highgarden. It did not specifically apply to Eastwood Whisky, but as Lord Darklyn stated, since Eastwood Whisky was also a high quality alcoholic drink, it too fell under the ambit of the law, and as such, the Company needed to be censured and fined for committing such folly against the Crown.
Now this alone would not be a problem. The fine prescribed was not very substantial and the Crown was unlikely to censure or reprimand Eastwood for not following an obscure law which it was itself unsure would apply to Eastwood.
No, what did create problems was the fact that the Darklyns had requested the Master of Laws to, in the interim, suspend the docking rights of the Eastwood Tarth Trading Company in King's Landing until the dispute was decided.
Such disputes could drag on for years. Which was exactly what the Darklyns were hoping for. They had been peddling their own Dark Whisky for a few years now, and while it was little more than sailor's grog, it had been gaining popularity among the poorer nobility in the Crownlands before Aelon Eastwood had lowered prices to crush the competition.
If the Darklyns received such an interim relief from the Master of Laws, the Eastwood-Tarth Trading Company's sales in the Crownlands would essentially cease during the pendency of the dispute, as the only other port in the Crownlands was Duskendale itself. Hell would freeze over before the Darklyns allowed the Company to dock there.
And while the Darklyns were unlikely to succeed in the end, they wielded great influence in King's Landing, enough at least to ensure that during the pendency of the petition, the interim relief would be granted, even if in the end, the petition would not be successful.
The past few weeks had been quite hectic anyways. He had hoped for some peace and quiet. Lord Rogar had arrived in King's Landing a turn of the moon ago seeking the King's leave to fight the Vulture King and since the King had decided to lend his sword to the Lord Paramount, the situation in King's Landing had been tense.
He sighed as he stood up and made his way to Lord Arryn's solar. The young Lord Paramount had been appointed Master of Laws but a couple of years ago and had since then spent most of his time maintaining law and order in King's Landing, a task that had taken up much of his time during the plague.
He had rarely interfered in the working of the Justiciars, choosing to spend much of his time establishing his hold over the City Watch and building his own power base at Court. But this matter would require his personal intervention.
While Walton was technically empowered to pass judgement by himself, considering that his own son until recently had been fostered with Lord Eastwood and the fact that his sister was married to Beric Tarth, made him honour-bound to not cast judgement himself. But for the very same reasons, he was also compelled to ensure that the Master of Laws would rule in favour of the Eastwood Tarth Trading Company.
The alliance with the Tarths and Eastwoods was of paramount importance to House Errol, and his father had made it very clear that he was to do everything in his power to protect the interests of their rising bloc in King's Landing. And while he cared little for the young Lord of Eastwood, he had protected and raised his son, and now heir, Jon, when the plague had struck and his honour demanded that he at least make some effort to aid him.
He nodded to the Arryn guardsmen posted outside the Master of Laws's solar as they announced him. He was swiftly let into the opulent offices of the Lord of the Vale. Seated at his desk was the young Falcon as they called him. And he was in fact young.
Rodrik Arryn was scarcely a man grown when he was appointed to the office. Having seen just five and ten name days, he was barely older than Walton's own sons.
'Son...not sons,' thought the Justiciar as the familiar pain that accompanied any thoughts of his deceased heir, lanced through his heart.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Warden of the East.
"My Lord, a matter has been assigned to me that requires your personal intervention," said he as he bowed and took a seat. He reached into the satchel that he carried and handed over the petition to Rodrik Arryn.
The young man raised his eyebrows as he took the petition that Walton handed him.
The room was silent for a couple of moments as the Arryn perused the petition. Many things could be said about the young Master of Laws, but a dullard he was not. He may have been young, inexperienced and a green boy who had never bloodied his sword, but his eyes shone with sharp intelligence as he looked over the petition.
For nearly ten years Walton had served as a Justiciar in King's Landing, initially under Lord Albin Massey, who had perished when he contracted the Shivers. Many at Court had opposed the appointment of Rodrik Arryn as Master of Laws, claiming him to be too young and inexperienced, but such opposition had primarily been from the Crownlords who felt slighted at having none of their number placed on the Small Council with Lord Massey's death.
Many speculated that it was a deliberate move by the King. For the first time since the inception of the Small Council, the Crownlords who had originally dominated its composition, were not represented in it. Instead, two Lord Paramounts, the Lord of the Arbor, a Knight from the Stormlands and a Septon now aided the King in ruling Westeros.
A deliberate move, in Walton's opinion, to curtail the power and influence of the Crownlords who had backed Maegor. And something that he meant to leverage in this meeting with the Lord of the Vale.
"A rather blunt move by the Darklyns is this not? A desperate attempt to salvage their own endeavour with whisky," said Rodrik eventually as he looked up to face Walton.
"I would agree with my Lord. But regardless of their motives, the law is rather vague and can be loosely interpreted as the Darklys have," responded the Errol heir, maintaining a facade of neutrality. He had not expected the Arryn to pick up on that so quickly.
"A very loose interpretation in my opinion. The case seems pretty cut and dry Walton, and I doubt that a Justiciar of your talent and experience came to me for my legal opinion. I presume that you are hesitant to cast judgement due to your own family's connections to the Eastwoods and the Tarths?" said the Lord of the Vale as Walton struggled to keep his face neutral.
He had…..not expected the young Lord of the Vale to be so familiar with the politics of the Stormlands either. Even more so about the trade war between Eastwood and the Darklyns.
Inwardly revising his opinion of the young man, he attempted to keep his face blank as he said, "Indeed my Lord, while I concur with your opinion in this matter, my House is closely tied with the Respondent Company. My own son and heir was fostered with Lord Eastwood and my sister is married to Lord Tarth's son. My honour requires me to recuse myself from this dispute."
"I appreciate your honesty Walton," replied Rodrik, "and I shall decide this matter personally, but I doubt your honour prevents you from advising me if I seek your opinion?"
"Of course not my Lord, I am your humble servant," replied the Errol Knight.
"I am inclined to dismiss this matter out of hand. The law clearly favours the Eastwoods and Tarths. Moreover, I have no love for the Darklyns as well, they have caused nothing but trouble ever since I have taken up this office, but they are nonetheless influential. Lord Darklyn's bastard daughter serves as the Queen's sworn sword and I cannot snub them so directly. What would you recommend?"
"Well my Lord, I would admit their petition but not grant them interim relief. They will piss and moan about it but the law is not on their side. In the meantime I'd issue a summons to Lords Eastwood and Tarth to send a representative to present their case before the Court and then render judgement based on merits," rattled off Walton. A fair answer, and probably what he would have done even if the Eastwoods and Tarths were not involved.
"Sound judgement as usual, my good man. I am inclined to do the same. I hope that Lord Eastwood shall attend the matter personally. I am rather fond of his whisky although not of the way he sells it in my lands," said the Warden of the East as he cast a pointed look at Walton.
"Pardon my Lord?" said the heir of Haystack Hall.
"He sells this whisky through the Graftons of Gulltown you see. Whisky and much more. Brings in a lot of coin you know. For Gulltown as well as the Vale. But recently it seems that Gulltown is getting more coin than the Vale….." he said trailing off while leaving little doubt in Walton's mind as to the implication.
"My lord, surely you don't believe that Lord Grafton would avoid paying his taxes to you?"
"Perhaps, but I would never accuse him without evidence. Doing so would be the height of folly. But if Lord Eastwood were to provide me with his own records, I may have the evidence needed," finished the young Lord with a hint of a smirk on his face.
Again, Walton revised his opinion of Rodrik Arryn.
What had gone unsaid was that if Eastwood wanted the dispute with the Darklyns dealt with expediently, he would need to provide the records. Which was another problem.
"If Lord Eastwood were to provide the records, it would undoubtedly create problems for him with the Graftons," observed Walton.
"And if Lord Grafton were to take offence and cease his agreement with the Eastwood Tarth Trading Company, then House Arryn will be more than willing to step in. House Arryn has sovereign control over a couple of docks in Gulltown which we can use for importing Eastwood Whisky and take over the role played by the Graftons as resellers within the Vale. I need not tell you that House Arryn's name carries much more weight than that of House Grafton."
While externally Walton maintained a calm composure, internally his mind was racing. It was a bold move on behalf of the Lord Paramount. The Graftons controlled Gulltown, the Vale's largest port and city, making them one of House Arryn's most powerful vassals. Usurping such a lucrative revenue stream from them would weaken them while simultaneously strengthening House Arryn.
What also went unsaid was that Rodrik Arryn was a young, untested lord, and such a bold move would make a statement to the rest of his vassals not to overstep or underestimate him. The Graftons were merely the scapegoat.
Eastwood and Tarth would benefit as well. And through them Errol. Having trade relations directly with House Arryn would undoubtedly create substantial benefits while at the same time ensuring the protection of the Master of Laws from any future attempts to undermine the alliance in King's Landing.
"While I cannot speak for House Eastwood, I think they may be amenable to such an arrangement. Of course, Aelon Eastwood may ask for some other consideration as well…."
"And that shall be discussed between him and myself when he comes to King's Landing. Something I hope you shall ensure."
"I shall see to it, my Lord," replied the Errol heir.
"Excellent. It was a pleasure talking to you as always Walton. Feel free to consult me if you ever need my opinion or aid again," replied the Master of Laws as he indirectly dismissed him.
"The pleasure was mine, my Lord," said Walton as he bowed and exited the room.
As he made his way back to the solar, Walton took out a napkin and wiped the sweat that was beading on his brow. Eight years he had served Lord Massey. He had been a competent man. But genial and friendly. He'd spent ten minutes with Rodrik Arryn and had felt as though he had gone toe to toe with the Black Dread.
While the man may have been kind, genial and affable in public, and perhaps even was in private, today he had seen a different side of him. A dangerous one. Undoubtedly, Rodrik Arryn would be a major player in King's Landing for quite some time.
He had a letter to write.
Tarth
Mid 61 AC
Brynden Tarth POV
Brynden Tarth smiled.
Smiling had been an exercise he had not engaged in much in recent times. And yet over the past year, he had found himself smiling more frequently.
Looking out from his solar window across the Bay. It was easily observable that Tarth had prospered. Where once there was merely a small town, supported mostly by farming, fishing and some trade, now stood a bustling port that facilitated most of the maritime trade in the Stormlands. The docks had been expanded to allow a greater number of ships to harbour whilst dumping their cargo for trade and the population had boomed as a result. The docks were always loud and busy and gold was always filling his coffers.
Dozens of ships were docked in the harbour. Carracks, cogs, galleys and myriad others. A sight that although common today, could never have even been imagined by Brynden ten years ago. But much had changed over the past ten years, even despite the rigours of last winter.
The past winter had been worrisome. The plague had arrived from Essos and his own lands had been among the first to be hit. Fortunately, he had followed his goodnephew's advice and closed his port before the situation had become untenable.
With winter and the plague, trade had come to a standstill and survival had been the primary goal. Edmund had been his last surviving sibling. He had lost his sister to the birthing bed and his brother to a stray lance during a tourney. Losing Edmund had somehow hurt even more. When Larissa had requested his leave to move to Eastwood, he had given her his blessing, and while he had nothing but affection for her, her very presence reminded him of the brother that he had lost. But despite all the hardship, Tarth had persevered and wealth and prosperity were now returning to the Sapphire Isle.
Trade was the lifeblood of his fief, and most of this could be traced back to his nephew. There had been great doubt in his heart when he had married his niece to a bastard petty lord, yet now he was more thankful than ever he had decided to join their enterprise. And today he stood as its lynchpin, his niece married to the rising Lord of Eastwood and his son married to Adam Errol's daughter.
While the Tarths of Haystack Hall rarely got involved in the politics of the mainland, Brynden wasn't blind to the benefits of their growing alliance. With Haystack Hall and Eastwood slowly becoming the breadbasket of the Stormlands, Tarth had overtaken Weeping Town as its primary port.
It was not just his port that had grown, but everything on his island. Thanks to Aelon's new farming innovations, there were more fields under plough than had ever been and it was rare to see a shortage in food. The population boom from an abundance of food was beginning to make itself known with the number of children that could be seen running around.
When they grew to adulthood he would have more men under his command, and more ships than any Tarth before him. With the arrival of ships that he had ordered from Driftmark, Tarth's fleet was now near the strength it had been before the Conquest and it was still growing. Making the payments to the Velaryons had damn near left him penniless, but it had paid off handsomely.
The end of the Shivers had marked a boom in terms of maritime trade, which had been stalled for nearly two years, with most ports being locked down and few goods to trade regardless. In the past year, with shipments of Eastwood Whisky resuming to the Crownlands, Riverlands and now Braavos, the gold was flowing in again.
He chugged the dregs out of the whisky mug and walked away from his window. With things going so well, he, unfortunately, had more to do than ever before.
There were construction projects all across his demesne that had been more or less abandoned during winter. With the initial influx of gold, he had rebuilt the seat of Morne, and given it to his son Beric. But he had not stopped there. Much of Tarth was uninhabited, a result of its low population. But with the population increasing steadily, and with Aelon's methods allowing for more land to be tended to by fewer people, he had made provisions for expansion.
New settlements were being founded in the interior regions of the island along with fortifications to guard them. Whilst Tarth was certainly safe from direct invasion, due to its circumstances as an island. There was still the risk of an invading naval force as history had shown his family many times.
A navy would be important, with that in mind he had begun the construction of three larger warships. With the influx of trade in his port, the risk of pirates had increased substantially, and he had seen it fit to have his assets protected. Whilst he doubted his family would ever have a fleet to match the Redwynes, he certainly needed one large enough to police the channels from which his gold came. It was also important for settling his obligations to House Eastwood.
Obligations that seemed all too important with the current political climate. Only a few moons ago his liege Lord Rogar had set off for the marches to bring battle to the so-called Vulture King who was raiding from Dorne, with a host of seven thousand men; gathered primarily from Cape Wrath and the Marches.
Vulture King. That very title set him on edge. He remembered the Vulture Hunt. Those many days spent under the beating sun, constantly on edge worrying about a blade in the dark or poison in the water. Every Stormlander hated the Dornish for a reason. Those fuckers were ruthless, spineless and honourless curs who would raid, burn, rape and pillage before crawling back to their holes. He did not envy the Marcher Lords who regularly dealt with unorganised Dornish raiders. And he did not envy Lord Rogar, for a Vulture King was much worse.
Taking a deep breath to steady his mind he settled down at his large desk and began reading through reports. The extra men-at-arms he had recruited were being trained and their equipment had been forged and distributed to his joy. Numbers had long been a problem for Tarth, other lords of the Stormlands always having enjoyed greater population, but he now had a surplus to guard his lands.
Whilst Tarth and the northern stormlands were not called on to muster, given the distance involved and the lack of requirement, it was possible that if heavy losses were taken they would need to send men. This had been a great worry to Brynden, though even if they were not called upon in this instance. He was certain the new men would find their use eventually.
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