章 6: Chapter 6 - Fateful Encounter
Chapter VI: Fateful Encounter
14 BC
Arsalm
The town of Arsalm had seen better days, last Belandra heard about it; a town that fell on hard times due to ancestral rivalries between House Rada and its neighbours, rivalries that hurt the livelihoods of the people caught in the middle and made the environment more dangerous and unsuitable for conducting business safely. Many left the town for greener pastures, leaving it a hollow shell of its former self.
Yet in the span of two years, House Rada grew exponentially and now held as much power and land as House Yronwood, and under the guidance of its heir apparent, Arin Rada, there was room to only grow to greater heights. Arsalm was revitalised with new blood and infrastructure, and even had walls built to fend off intruders.
Arin the Wise, the Enlightened, Saviour of the Rhoynar, the Builder, such names they called him among countless others. His godlike talents in administration and political subterfuge were incomparable, his radical ideas unheard of anywhere in the world and whose results would make the Maesters green with envy, his top-class military capable of taking on even the vaunted Knights of the Reach.
Ignoring the obvious embellishments, Belandra could not help but feel both intrigued and envious of this so-called once-in-a-lifetime genius, and thus made a personal visit to the city of Arsalm, accompanied by a retinue of elite cavalrymen.
"There it is, My Lady! The town of Arsalm!" Cried the lead guard.
Large, thick walls protected the town perimeter, manned by guards who regularly patrolled the walls and gates with military precision and outfitted with shining armour that put theirs to shame. Throngs of passersby and caravans marched through the gates with beaming joy and anticipation, and the guards merely let them pass without the need for inspections.
"And here I thought Arsalm was on its last legs; it looks more like a blossoming flower."
Astin was one of Belandra's long-time retainers, serving as her bodyguard. His olive skin was weather-beaten and darkened after years of sun exposure, and though skinnier than most knights, his strength was not lacking, and many nicknamed him the 'God of Lancers'. Joyful and bright was his demeanour, and despite the crisscrossing scars on his face, he lacked the countenance of a jaded veteran, approaching life with zesty adventure.
"Stay close, Astin," Belandra ordered, "We're entering the town."
"As you command, My Lady," Astin bowed, playfully winking on the sly.
Belandra pretended to not see it.
As they traversed the stone-paved streets of Arsalm, they could see the town coming alive unlike any other town and village in all of Dorne. The wide streets allowed for smooth flow of traffic, trees and shrubbery planted at every few dozen paces, and fountains and wells gave a stable supply of freshwater for the townsfolk. Each and every house was built sturdily like a noble's mansion, and the town lacked a certain stench one would expect of a larger settled community, thanks to the extensive sewer tunnel network built beneath the growing town.
The people themselves were well-fed and clothed, and street stalls hawked delicious food that, Belandra had to admit, was whetting her appetite far better than most 'exquisite' banquets she had been to. Every house was built like a stately manor, every market stall groaning under the weight of their goods, every road paved with clean-cut stone. If Belandra did not know better, she would believe herself in one of the Free Cities instead.
"My Lady, we approach the main keep," Astin informed.
The keep of Arsalm was a grand and imposing structure built in the Rhoynish fashion, domes and 'horseshoe' arches and elaborate geometric patterns carved of coloured tiles dominating the design. An artistic masterpiece and a defensible stronghold, it radiated a fresh glow as bright as the day its renovation was completed.
Guards quickly intercepted their party, crossing their spears as warning.
"Halt! Who goes there?" One of them called out.
"I am Belandra of House Qeffar of Qorenport!" Belandra called out, "I come for a meeting with Arin Rada of House Rada of Arsalm!"
Astin produced the letter bearing the Rada seal and passed it to the guards, who after a moment of verification raised their spears and parted before them.
"You may pass, My Lady," The guard bowed.
"My thanks," Belandra nodded.
IIOII
If the exterior of the keep was magnificent, the interior was equally so, and seemed both simpler and grander with its focus on more natural colours and design and the quality of the aesthetical craftsmanship, enhancing its grandeur by leaps and bounds as compared to other noble manses she visited, which utilised terribly gaudy decorations that served to ruin the aesthetic appeal.
And Arin Rada, she found, was a mystery hidden behind layers upon layers of mysteries - an enigma she could never make heads and tails of.
As the rumours said, he was possessed of a godlike talent in administration; in the two years since he started taking a more active hand in House Rada's day-to-day affairs, its fortunes were reversed in the blink of an eye, turning from a near-destitute house to a roaring economic power. Servants, guardsmen and smallfolk alike spoke his name with great reverence, as if worshipping a god made manifest.
He himself looked rather handsome yet unassuming, affable in banter and a good listener, though men were far more complex than their first impressions.
Now at the age of ten-and-six, he was prime marriage material, and with herself aged ten-and-eight, a marriage alliance with him would help with House Qeffar's precarious position as well.
Yet like most nobles, she was concerned over the rumours of the conveniently-timed string of unfortunate events that befell House Rada's neighbours. Ultimately, she could not deny that if they remained, they would have posed no small number of problems to House Rada, like a persistent nest of hornets that refused to disperse.
"So, mind telling me a little more about yourself?" Asked Belandra.
"What would you like to know?" Arin questioned, his face inscrutable.
"Your likes and dislikes for one," Belandra cautiously stated.
"...I like to read, mostly about fiction and history," Arin answered, "I sometimes take walks to relax."
"Huh, most nobles prefer to go hunting for prey - both the four-legged and two-legged kind - engage in political games or raunchy bouts of sex with whichever partner strikes their fancy," Belandra quipped, sounding disinterested in such frivolities, "Of course, it's the common-held view of Dornish nobles, but I'm ashamed to say that is also my view."
"Speaking from experience?" Arin asked.
Belandra heaved a heavy sigh, "Honestly speaking, if they dedicated even a tenth of their energy towards administration, they would achieve maybe a tenth of your wealth and security."
Arin merely shrugged, "Not my problem."
"I figured as much," Belandra nodded, "Although I must ask you: What are your thoughts regarding House Martell?"
The guarded and neutral tone was not lost on Arin, and his eyes squarely focused on the noblewoman's eyes - full of caution and calculating calm. His body and expression betrayed nothing, save for a slight narrowing of the eyes.
"House Martell… is a dead tree on a dead mountain," Arin answered, "A dead mountain filled with nothing but dead trees and rocky ground."
"What do you mean?" Belandra asked with confusion.
"A dead mountain, whose soil is washed away, filled with nothing but dead trees," Arin repeated, "A mountain upon which nothing can grow. That's what House Martell is right now. Should such a mountain be bathed in fire, even though it appears nothing grows there, new life will strive to grow."
"I'm sorry, but you have me lost there," Belandra stated, "I've never heard that sort of metaphor before."
"Mm. It's actually an abbreviation, and one that suits House Martell and Westerosi nobility in general," Arin explained, "It refers to people who are stuck and antiquated in their ways, clinging on to old traditions even when it no longer benefits them."
"Is that so?" Belandra wondered, "And what is your opinion about such people?"
"They're doomed to die, one way or the other," Arin answered.
"Doomed to die, as in… wiped from existence?" Belandra questioned, remaining calm in spite of her growing apprehension.
"Not necessarily," Arin stated, "But as a house their legacy, their authority, will be forcibly stolen from them if they cannot change; we all must change to survive."
Belandra contemplated Arin's words, knowing full well that ancient lineage or not, a house's continued prosperity was never guaranteed no matter how well a lord ruled, for the next lord could make an irreversible mistake or be placed in unfavourable circumstances.
In a way, there's truth to his words.
Then it was Arin's turn to ask her a question.
"What do you think about House Martell?"
Never was Belandra ever posed a question in such context that caught her off-guard; most times, when her parents posed her questions to promote her lateral thinking in politics, it always involved matters like how could they achieve compromise between feuding parties, how they could soothe egos without offending as much as possible, how they should invoke their house's authority, and so on. For Arin to say that House Martell was on the verge of being ousted from power - for good, and not simply spared with privileges taken away - was an alien answer she could not fathom; save in the Riverlands [1] where Great Houses were frequently overthrown by squabbling Riverlords, nowhere in Westeros was the status quo ever challenged by a significant degree. Even the Starks of the cold, frigid and isolated North never truly eradicated House Bolton, despite their countless rebellions over the millennia.
And here, Arin was asking her for her opinion after he gave hers. It was only fair to return the favour.
"I believe House Martell, while not as powerful and infallible as some may claim, has not yet reached its eclipse," Belandra answered with certainty, "Not only is it propped up by a class of loyal nobles, Westeros is a society that props up and glorifies ancient houses. If any one person dared defy this status quo, he or his descendants would be mercilessly annihilated."
Arin nodded in understanding, and Belandra seemed relieved he was listening intently.
And yet his next words made her question Arin again.
"What if there existed a person willing to do just that?"
Belandra dared not conceive such a thing, nor could she even fathom the idea. For someone to willingly do such a thing, even if only for the sake of vanity…
"No matter how I see it, he'd bring great destruction and terror to Westeros," Belandra answered, her voice shaky and her hands clenching hard.
Arin's eyes softened just a smidgen, and he said, "When the world yearns for change, especially to break a long-standing status quo that has done nothing but harm them, you will find it creates such people."
Arin's words rang so true; there were times when peasants revolted against tyrannical lords even though they knew they would lose, even as the rest accepted their cruel lot in life. Such was Human nature.
"A wise man in Yi-Ti once uttered these words: 'Tyranny is more fearsome than tigers.' [2]"
"And what does that mean, Master Arin?" Belandra questioned.
"That if you continuously oppress the people without reprieve, people will fight back no matter what, and it will continue on and on until the tyrants themselves are overthrown," Arin explained, "In a land called France, the people, tired of the anachronistic and burdensome feudal system and the monarchy's excessive war expenditures and faced with social upheaval, revolted against the established nobility and their King."
Now this story gained Belandra's attention, and she and Astin listened with rapt attention.
"At the time, King Louis XVI, tried to appease the people by enacting measures who only gave surface benefits with no underlying value. I need not say no one emerged satisfied, and the people's anger only grew. What worsened the climate in France was an acute food crisis, driven by high prices and dwindling supplies."
Most peasant revolts against ruling nobles were driven by poor harvests and starvation, and it seemed no different in this 'France'.
"Eventually it reached a tipping point, and the people, supported by countless wealthy families and influential non-nobles, stormed a royal fortress and forced the King to yield to their demands, and for the time being King Louis XVI managed to live just a little longer."
"Actually, if I may ask," Belandra interjected, "What was this King Louis like? I have to say, he sounds like a weak king from your words."
"He was," Arin acknowledged, "He was weak and vacillating, and held prisoner by his aristocratic advisors. If he truly wanted to care for the people, he would never let himself be held prisoner."
Belandra's mother always said that rulers depended on the nobility to survive, for they formed the base of their power. As such, they must be ready to cajole them over wounded pride and egos. And yet, that is precisely why they must also be ready to exert their authority over them when necessary, or the nobility may turn against them once they perceive weakness.
"Hoping to expand the principles of what came to be known as the National Constituent Assembly, the new French government declared war against its neighbour Austria, and lost several battles. Austria counter-invaded with its ally Prussia, and together they rapidly advanced towards the French capital of Paris. The revolutionaries rose up and stormed Tuileries Palace where the Royal Family lived, imprisoning them."
A sinking feeling in her gut told Belandra what to expect next.
"Eventually, King Louis was executed, and the nobles and Septas and Septons held in prison for opposing the Assembly were massacred to the last."
Belandra felt herself breaking into a cold sweat at the thought of such brutality. Surely Humans were not such inhuman beasts?
Yet the look in Arin's eyes told her otherwise.
"That is too cruel…" Belandra mouthed, "No matter their reason, even if their anger is justified, they shouldn't do such a thing. It's not only needlessly cruel, it would mar their reputation for the remainder of their lifetimes."
"...Humans, when suitably motivated, will go to any length to achieve their objective," Arin stated softly, "It's reality."
Arin was a young man no older than ten-and-six, and yet she saw in his eyes experience that belied his wisdom - a wisdom that only venerated elders would possess. It both exasperated and educated her on the true calibre of this boy before her.
And House Martell says House Rada is a house of overly proud upstarts with an inflated ego, Thought Belandra, They could say the same about House Targaryen, but it has the power to back up its words, and its leaders are no imbeciles.
No longer did she have any doubts about the direction Dorne's future was to take.
"May I ask you something, Master Arin?" Belandra enquired.
"What is it?"
"...If a lord or lady of his house were to face staunch opposition from his or her own vassals, what does that say about the house's leader?" She asked.
"Depends," Arin quipped, his eyes focused on Belandra's facial expression, "At face value, it could mean the lord or lady was incompetent and failed to deliver results."
"Then, what would you see beneath that face value?" Belandra asked again.
"That the lord's vassals are doing everything in their power to oppose his policies," Arin answered, his voice softening in empathy, "When it comes to that point, cruelty becomes necessary."
"Cruelty? Like… Like what happened to King Louis and all the nobility and clergymen during the French Revolution?" Belandra suggested.
"Like that, but far less gruesome and messy," Arin shrugged, "In political terms, or in the words of a man named Machiavelli: 'Therefore any cruelty has to be executed at once, so that the less it is tasted, the less it offends; while benefits must be dispensed little by little, so that they will be savored all the more.' What it simply means is that it's not enough to dispense benefits, but neither should it be effected time and again; it must be done in one go."
"I see," Belandra said, before sighing heavily as a dispirited air took over her.
"You alright?" Asked Arin with concern.
Belandra shook her head dejectedly, "I'm not. In fact, I'm in the same position as the lady whose vassals oppose her every effort."
Arin went silent, allowing Belandra to speak.
"All my life, I simply want to improve the lot of my house; ever since the time of Lord Corentyn's Rebellion [3] a generation ago, House Qeffar has suffered badly in the aftermath as a participant on the rebels' side; our privileges were taken away, our loyal vassals replaced and goods laden with heavy tariffs. I kept on trying to convince the nobles that unless they changed their ways, we were consigned to a slow and painful death."
Belandra felt her eyes brim with tears, and she could not stop the sobbing coming out of her throat.
"Only a month ago did I realise they were receiving benefits from House Martell on the sly. I could have done something to punish them, but I was afraid of angering House Martell, afraid of putting my ten-and-three year-old brother in danger. I could have done more, and yet-"
Belandra suddenly felt her head enveloped in a hug, and she was momentarily shocked.
"Say no more," Arin said, his voice so soft and compassionate.
Belandra could not stop the tears spilling forth like an opened dam, and she hugged Arin's back so tightly her fingers strained under the grip. Astin looked on the side, silent and solemn and patting Belandra's shoulder with tender loving care.
Once Belandra cried her heart out, she was trying desperately to wipe away her tears, her nose sniffling and her eyes red and puffy.
"I'm sorry for showing you something so unsightly," Belandra apologised.
"Why apologise?" Arin said.
Belandra smiled slightly.
"You know, it's the first time I've seen you so… relieved, My Lady," Astin remarked, "Why, I think you look beautiful even when you're crying."
Belandra punched his shoulder lightly, and Astin winced with all the theatrical flair of an actor, causing her to giggle slightly.
"I think you're beautiful when you're happy, Belandra," Arin remarked, smiling softly as he handed her a handkerchief.
And Belandra felt her heart beat just a little faster.
"Oh, I… thank you," She mumbled.
"Why don't we take a short break first?" Astin suggested, "Milady seems to be a little fatigued today."
"Of course," Arin nodded, "As long as she needs."
IIOII
The next hour was spent simply engaging in banter on mundane things, hobbies and other inconsequential topics, or taking a walk around the keep or (discreetly) in the streets of Arsalm, taking in the sights and smells of the revitalised town.
Belandra would often radiate joy and nonchalance when talking with Arin, which as Astin remarked, 'was not the old Belandra he knew.'
Astin, being his usual theatrically playful self, brightened their day with his overexaggerated jokes and stories which, while at times over the top, remained tasteful and in good humour.
Yet for all their lighthearted banter and friendliness, it was still a matchmaking arrangement in name, which meant work remained unfinished for the day.
"In all honesty, I worry about my brother Edryck," Belandra admitted, "He's a kind and gentle soul by nature and unsuited to the cruel politicking of the court, and the longer I stay away from Qorenport, the more I worry about what our vassals will do in my absence."
"Then I believe the solution is simple - a solution I believe you know I will employ," Arin stated, "However, this is still your family affair, and no one in House Qeffar's lands know or respect me or House Rada in general, so it will fall to you to resolve this issue."
"...I honestly admit I'm still loath to employ such measures, Master Arin," Belandra put forth, "At least I now know I cannot get anything done by being indecisive and weak."
"We'll still need to do quite a lot of prepwork beforehand, not only to ensure it goes smoothly but also to ensure no culprit escapes scot-free," Arin declared, "Perhaps after a week, we'll return to Qorenport and begin building the foundation there."
"Sounds like a plan," Belandra nodded.
Just then, a servant came knocking into the room, bearing a letter in hand.
"Young Master, a letter from Master Edryck Qeffar of Qorenport."
Belandra and Astin could not mask their surprise, and as Arin opened the letter and read it, the corner of his lips quirked up in amusement.
"Master Arin, what is it?"
Arin flashed Belandra the smile of a devil.
"It seems your brother is far more cunning than you realise."
[1] It was a distressingly common affair for ruling Riverlander houses to be overthrown compared to other Kingdoms like the Vale and the Westerlands, whose rule remained unbroken for millennia.
[2] Arin would live by this quote until his dying days, and both historical records and journals by his closest aides describe how highly he regards the importance of giving the people a safe and stable country to live in.
[3] Lord Corentyn's Rebellion - An ill-fated rebellion led by Corentyn Martell, third son of Prince Doran Martell XI of Dorne, it is said that it erupted due to disagreements over the line of succession where Doran XI's eldest son, Oberyn Martell VII, who was a naturally cruel and fickle man.
Many say that Prince Doran, too doting and forgiving of his son's nature, gave too much leeway to Oberyn who continued his foolish crimes and transgressions until he died under suspicious circumstances.
Corentyn held the support of almost half of Dorne, but despite his best efforts he was defeated, captured and executed by a sadistic and gleeful Oberyn, who himself was betrayed by disloyal vassals. It took Doran's second son Quentyn to step in and resolve things by force, where the corrupt nobles were punished for their transgressions.
The then Patriarch of House Qeffar, Arthur, was an opportunistic fence-sitter who played both sides with offers of alliance and allegiance, accepting all manner of gifts and bribes to advance his own position and wealth. When Prince Quentyn found out, he promptly had Arthur Qeffar executed and his head displayed on a spike.
Since then, House Qeffar's name was sorely blackened, and it would take much effort to restore its reputation.
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