Chương 11: The Perfumed Daughter
The Free City of Lys was far too pretty to be a real city.
I heard many stories from sailors, sellswords and traders who all sprouted nothing but praise for the perfumed city. I couldn't blame them as I stood atop the deck of the Sea Queen, a trading galley we had sailed on from the Lysene colony of Morghos. The walls were tall, rising more than fifty feet high and a symbol of Valyrian supremacy from the time of the dragon lords. They were striking different from the Black Walls of Volantis which were dark and sinister and something one would expect to see in Mordor; Lys' walls were white or pale tan stone, with ornate crenellations sculpted in the forms of beautiful maidens, comely boys and elegant swans. On the stone were portraits of animals, war and even lovemaking. Lys the Lovely, they called it. The Jewel of the Freehold, the Perfumed City, never been marred by war.
That was not really the case. Lys had the reputation thanks to its powerful navy and wealth which it used to hire mercenaries, bribe enemies and pay tribute. That didn't mean it had never been attacked in its history, however. Volantis invaded once, crushing the Lysene fleet in the channel and storming the walls after a bitter siege where they forced most of the inhabitants into slavery. A century later, the Tyroshi did likewise and installed a puppet regime which lasted twenty years before being overthrown and everything returned to the previous status quo where the Lysene focused on trade and their games in the Disputed Lands.
The crescent-shaped dock was a forest of masts with a canopy of colourful sails. It housed vessels from all around the world. All the Essosi Free Cities had busy ports and Lys was one of the busiest. Its sheltered harbour was awash with colour and clangour and strange smells I had never smelled before. The waterfront had winesinks, expansive warehouses and gaming dens, cyverse parlours and brothels. There were banks and moneylenders, insurers and dozens of different temples. Wizened old women with hunched backs sold magical artefacts and potions they claimed could cure any ailment or force others to love you. Sailors and marines traded jokes in languages I couldn't understand, drinking strange liquors and browsing the stalls of the vast bazaars. The people were all different, as could be expected of a city reliant on trade. They swarmed the streets, looked down from delicate balconies and filled the various temples and lodges. There were hairy men from Ibben, albino Qartheen in linen and samite and tiger fur, Tyroshi with dyed hair and garish slashed sleeves, and Braavosi more like to scowl than smile. Then there were the natives where the blood of Old Valyria ran strong and born from a city so famous for its beauties that they were sought after as wives and paramours for Essosi elites and Targaryen royalty.
The docks was heavy with the smell of wine, fresh and rotting fish, hot tar and sawdust, incense and oil and perfume, as well as more unsavoury things I'd rather not think about. We passed long stone quays with massive cranes to lift cargo in and out of trading vessels. Alongside them were crates and sacks of saffron, frankincense and pepper, Lyseni silk and expensive herbs - trade, the lifeblood of the city's economy.
Not to mention slaves.
There was so many of them. Lining up on the docks with leathers chokers tight around their necks, chained together and waiting to be shipped to who knows where. Each of the Essosi Free Cities specialised in something; Tyrosh with dyes and Myr with manufacturing for instance. Lys was renowned the world over for sexual slavery where they enslaved people and trained them to perform in pleasure houses around the world. Some of them looked as young as myself, others even younger. I felt my hands form a fist just thinking about it.
You can't change anything. Not yet. Just be patient.
Captain Myles Blackheart led us down the broad road lined with trees providing shelter from the sun. Just like Volantis, there were aqueducts and giant triumphal arches dating back to Old Valyria. Towers stood tall and slim, while elaborate fountains filled every square and public garden, wrought in the shapes of griffins, dragons, swans and pretty youths. Pale-bricked residences rose three to four stories high with balconies held aloft with elegant slender columns. Having visited a few of the Essosi cities, there was no doubt in my mind that Westeros would disappoint.
"So where're we heading?" I asked when we passed an arcade where the city's heroes stood atop columns of white and green marble before the grand Temple of Trade with its vast dome made of glass and shining bronze.
"There's a lodge called the Golden Valyrian," Myles explained, "I hear it's a decent enough establishment that caters to Westerosi lords, merchant princes and commanders of the Golden Company. Not the most renowned establishment in Lys, I know, but it'll serve our purposes."
Eventually we reached the lodge with its hanging sign of a golden dragon hanging above the door. It was a four-story building of pale red brick with ivy growing up the side of it. Inside was massive and the common room was a maze of dimly-lit half-walls with private alcoves and nooks so no one could be disturbed. We were greeted by a comely slave who, after a few words with Homeless Harry, escorted us to a secluded corner.
Myles Toyne, smiling that warm smile of his, waved the guards away and let me sit opposite him. "We should talk in private, just us five officers."
The others turned to me. "He's an officer?" Jon asked, surprised. He blinked. "He's a child and fresh out of training."
"A wise one despite his age and occasional bouts of immaturity," Blackheart waved dismissively. "You should know that. I was told he was well learned even before what happened, but now I've seen with my own eyes. I'm impressed. While I don't consider myself a scholarly man, I know when I see one."
I smiled shyly. "I hope so. I've nothing else going for me . . ." Besides birth, privilege, looks and understanding of the future, lore and characters.
"Humility is good until it isn't," Myles spoke, signalling a slave forward and ordering everybody food and drinks. "There is a certain power in acting proud. It shows confidence and paints a picture that you know what they're doing, but you also need to back it up with actions or at least an illusion of such. Confidence is important, especially for a leader be it a humble sergeant or the mightiest emperor. Westerosi lords flock towards confidence and displays of power like moths to a lamp at the dead of night. I'm sure Haldon's been teaching you symbol politics. But be warned that it shan't be done in excess. One can become blinded by their pride and falling into that trap will create tunnel vision. You'll become ignorant of your own failings and overestimate your strengths. Those are the worst things for anyone in a position of authority. You understand?"
I nodded. "I do."
"So the boy's an officer now?" Harry asked.
"I would say so," Myles grinned at me. "Granted, you still have much to learn, but you've finished training and have shown remarkable wits about you. Your blood ensures you reach this position, but your abilities show that, after some refinement, it may be warranted. Be warned though, many will look down on you for your age and lack of experience. Prove them wrong, lad. You'll have the opportunity soon enough. More so when we decide to fulfil our oaths in blood."
"Oaths in blood?" Jon Connington looked uncomfortable. "It sounds like you speak of going against the Iron Throne."
"Of going against Good King Robert Baratheon?" Toyne placed a hand to his heart and put on a fake look of hurt. "You think I'll dare suggest as much when Robert proved you just need an army and not dragons to take the Seven Kingdoms?"
"He's got a claim though," I told him. "His grandmother was a Targaryen. Should anything have happened to the Targaryens before the Rebellion, Robert would've been the strongest claimant to the Iron Throne. That was why they crowned him king when Aerys spat in the face of his feudal obligations."
"He had an army, that's all that truly matters," Myles told me in a tone that demanded I say no more. "Oh, he's got Targaryen blood in his veins, but it was his victories in the Rebellion that won him the throne. But as you say, Young Griff, his blood claim did come from his grandmother. Yours is only a few generations ago. Not that much difference between you two."
Only if you squint your eyes. I bit my bottom lip and glanced at the slaves around us. "Are you sure we should talk here? About this? There may be spies. There will be spies."
Blackheart waved my objections away. "All the slaves here are sworn to secrecy."
"Oaths sworn won't keep loose lips from telling. Even the lack of a tongue isn't certain to keep secrets." My purple eyes narrowed. Dead men tell no tells. Even though Varys was on my side . . . hopefully . . . I didn't want to take the risk.
"Wise words," Connington nodded.
"Wiser words would be speaking of those we'll be warring against," Lysono Maar butted in. "My spies inform me Tyrosh and Myr have united under the banner of eternal friendship. They've emptied their treasuries in the coming campaign against Lys. My eyes report they've hired four free companies, though it may be more. They've been humouring various captains."
Toyne looked thoughtfully for a moment. "Be they four or a hundred, it won't matter. We've never surrendered, nor do we switch sides. Our employers break before we do. Even if they outnumber us, we'll do what we're paid to do."
"Quantity is a quality of its own," Jon commented.
"That it is. Maar, who can we expect to face?"
"The Myrish are sending their very own Myrish Company, so expect four-hundred crossbowmen. Well-armed, well-trained. That'll provide a sizeable archery contingent. We know the Stormcrows will also number among this army. Five hundred cavalry, a mixture of light and heavy horse—"
Stormcrows . . . I knew of them. They were the sellsword company aligned with Daenerys Targaryen in Slaver's Bay. The one led by Daario the Peacock. I never liked that guy. The books described him in a comical fashion and he was such an annoying character. Maybe I'll see if he's as bad as described . . .
"—and the Company of the Rose who number two thousand men. Most come from Westeros – adventurers and second sons but among them are those like us, exiles and descendants of exiles dating back generations. Their leader is talented, but cautious as well. Then there are the Stormbreakers who are the heaviest of heavy infantry. No doubt they'll form the centre."
"Stormbreakers . . . Company of the Rose. They're predominately Westerosi, aren't they?" I asked.
"Aye. Both of them," Jon said, his pale-blue eyes shifting around the common room. "The Stormbreakers were founded by Ser Oscar Tully after the Dance of the Dragons. Not as powerful as they once were, but they remain a threat on the field. The Roses were founded after Aegon's conquest of the North."
"They're Northmen," I said, thinking deeply.
It did make me wonder that should I invade Westeros, whether I'd be fighting the Starks in the future. Many fanfics had them the heroes who could do no wrong, which was further strengthened by them being the closest thing to protagonists in the books . . . at least initially. I also doubted they'd like me. They had no reason to whether I was black or red. We'll be on equal terms then. In truth, I wasn't much a fan of the North. The whole 'we ruled the North for eight thousand years,' shtick always had be rolling my eyes. Regardless of my opinions on the matter, my invasion needed to happen when Westeros was divided. To achieve that, characters like Joffrey and Littlefinger were the best tools for sowing the seeds of destruction. Afterwards, they'll simply be disposed after fulfilling their purpose.
And should the civil war not happen for whatever reason, I could send a message to Varys hinting at a possible Targaryen claimant in the North . . . Should R plus L be true here, it would ignite conflict between the Starks and the Iron Throne. While I personally didn't believe that theory, I could have Varys nudge Robert into believing it and, thanks to his hatred of Targs, just the suggestion would damage relations between him and his childhood friend.
"Skilled warriors by all accounts," Jon Connington stated. "But they'll fall like the rest of them. We'll win this war and the games will continue in the Disputed Lands."
The wars in the Disputed Lands were less a war and more like a dance with both sides too hesitant to properly engage the other and all too happy to prolong the conflict to maximise profits, while simultaneously pillaging the countryside. During the fighting, many sellswords switched to the winning side for the promise of gold and survival. The Golden Company, by contrast, didn't switch sides. Its word was as good as gold and were paid a premium because of that. That did get me thinking about the costs to modernise the Golden Company. They won coin by fighting but that also provided an interesting conundrum. The more the Golden Company fought, the richer it grew, but we'd lose men in the process and wars cost us still. The loss of veterans and talented officers was a heavy blow especially. But we couldn't get coin without war and much coin was needed for the future . . .
Then it hit me.
While Lys, Tyrosh and Myr had their own garrisons made up of citizens, they entrusted the majority of their wars and defences to battle-hardened mercenaries. Should something happen that would have the Golden Company strengthen their monopoly of the arms market, we could force our hand and become greater political players. It wouldn't be without precedent in Essos either. Many mercenaries, after becoming powerful enough, forged their own kingdoms . . . though usually falling. Taking an idea from history's handbook, I had a solution to finance the Golden Company, get ships for Westeros, and at a lower risk.
A few times the Disputed Lands had been united, first under the Freehold, than Volantis and more recently with the Triachy. At it's prime, the Triachy of the Three Daughters was powerful. Their fleet and armies could stand toe to toe against Prince Daemon when he tried to form his own kingdom in the Stepstones and were later involved in the Dance of the Dragons where they fought six dragons in the Battle of the Gullet and slayed two. They were rich and powerful enough to worry their neighbours of Volantis, Pentos and even far off Braavos. Certainly rich enough to finance a professional army of ten thousand men . . .
While it would be difficult to implement, I knew it was achievable and the end results would put me above my ancestors; even Maelys Blackfyre who had secured the Disputed Lands and the Free City of Tyrosh by installing Alequo Adarys as a tyrant. I planned to take a few steps further. I wouldn't just have one city and the Disputed Lands, I would have them all. I'll unite the three bickering daughters of Valyria and turn them into tributary states – puppets – to do my bidding. I could do it the old fashion way and besiege them, but that would cost too much manpower and I would rather not risk openly antagonising the rest of the Free Cities. Instead, I'd manipulate them and undermine their republics by installing factions more sympathetic to the Blackfyre cause. It'll give the Golden Company the resources it needs to improve and expand. I just needed to get Myles and the others to agree on it.
I let out a fake cough to get their attention. They ignored me, so I repeated it and this time they broke from their conversation and turned to me. "Off topic, but I've an idea. You speak of how to win a war for a few scraps of coin. What if I suggest something bigger. Something to both improve our current situation as well as future ambitions." I smiled my most charming smile and they listened.
...
Myles Blackheart Toyne, the good man he was, decided my ambitions for the Disputed Lands did in fact hold some merit. A few days after meeting with the First Magister where he hired the Golden Company for a substantial price, and with the help of Lysono Maar, we were to meet our potential allies.
The city was asleep as we rode through the wide open streets. Nearly everyone had retreated back to their homes and the only people we encountered were cut-purses, thieves and city-owned slaves who cleaned the street as well as the occasional guard patrol. Besides the light coming from paper lanterns and buildings, the streets were pitch dark. For this meeting, I was garbed in a manner fitting my station as a squire and son of a Golden Company officer: black padded doublet, sword and dirk, riding boots and a black half-cloak. My hair had been neatened, cut and applied with a fresh coat of dark-blue dye. It was quiet – too quiet – and the air was chilly. Me and everyone else had our hands on the handles of our weapons should anyone leap out the shadows. We moved with haste.
"Do you know who they are?" I quietly asked Jon Connington who rode beside me, his pale-blue eyes scanning every alleyway from our lodge to where the elites resided. Before us were manses upon manses, all impressively built with high walls lined with metal spikes to keep out those pesky unwashed masses.
"Ambitious merchants," Jon replied with scorn. "As trustworthy as Essosi tend to be."
"So not very trustworthy then."
I didn't need trustworthy men. The opposite in fact. While I didn't believe in the goodness of mankind, I trusted people to remain loyal to me due to mutual self-interest. I only wanted them to be competent and not needing to be hand held. What I aimed to achieve was a political coup to weaken the opposition be it via slander or outright killing, as well as threats and empowering my supporters. Doing so would place my allies/puppets in power and then they'll be ruling Lys for a few years. I'd been researching how best to manipulate the current power structure and prayed it wasn't half as complicating as it seemed.
We stopped down before the iron gates of the manse. Even as dark as it was, the building was beautiful with nine towers tipped with domes of polished metal and the pale-brick walls were covered in ivy. Guarding the gates were Unsullied with copper skin and dark almond eyes, their faces hairless and atop were spiked bronze caps. I eyed them coldly as one demanded our weapons and names. We did hand them over after asking for guest rights and we answered their questions. My own being Griff Connington while the others answered with their true names. The Unsullied commander glanced from me to my supposed father, but ushered us in when Myles Toyne stated his rank.
Inside the grounds, we dismounted and a handsome slave led us inside the palace to an audience chamber with mosaics of coloured glass depicted wanton youths – both boys and girls – and beasts in lust. Seriously, what's with all these images of bestiality? The Lyseni did love their erotic arts, no matter how deprived. The air was so thick with the scent of spices, sweet lemon and cinnamon that I nearly sneezed. Before us were nobles lounging on plush couches with young slave girls tending to their every need. Some danced before their masters in sheets of translucent silk, a handful played music in the corner and others brought forth fruits and wine. It was meant to be joyous, but there was an underlying uncomfortable feeling as well. Most of the nobles, I noted, had the gold and silver hair that came with Valyrian heritage. The blood of Old Valyria was so common in Lys that even beggars in the streets had it. Others lacked those characteristics but looked just as rich in vividly patterned garbs and enough jewels to feed a family for a lifetime.
"Ah, the Golden Company, what a wonderful surprise," stood up one man who the slave introduced as Tregar Ormollen, the owner of the manse and the most powerful person in the room. The man we needed to get on our side.
We bowed our heads respectfully. Magister Ormollon was a pale-skinned man with silver-hair that had been curled and perfumed. He was handsome despite his large nose that was like a beak of an eagle. At his side could only be his head paramour, not his wife, Lady Lynesse Hightower. She was a beauty with long golden-hair, deep blue eyes and delicate features. She wore a ivory dress of samite and a silver torc around her slender neck.
"Not much of a surprise with you having invited us," Jon deadpanned, eyeing everyone with suspicion.
"Of course," our host said, delighted. "Rarely do I get to host such individuals in my own home, especially with such a proposal you've set out. I'm sure you expected it just between me and my dearest companion Gyleno, but I've associates who may support the idea in question." He smiled brightly and clapped his hands together. "Please, my guests, have a drink. Try some food. It would be wrong for me to not offer you anything."
The slaves were quick to surround us and despite taking a cup, I didn't take a sip. Lyseni were infamous for offering poisoned wine. While I doubted they would have poisoned it, I didn't desire to take the risk.
"Please take a seat, my lords." Tregar laughed lightly and some of his posse followed his example. They were his sheep, with little will of their own and more than happy to eat whatever crumbs he threw onto the floor for them. "I understand you've got a proposal for me and my friends here."
"You're the Good Men," Maar said, taking a seat of a padded bench, smiling though it never reached his eyes. "Traders, landowners, officials of various guilds and slave-owners. Just one of many factions out to protect their own interests."
"Indeed we are," Gyleno Rogare said. While our host was all smiles and compliments, this man never smiled once. He was a short man, with dark-hair and a hard lined face. He wore plainer clothes and waved away any slave girl who approached him with refreshments. "Bankers and insurers, merchants and captains. I wonder why the Golden Company of all people would desire to meet with us. I understand our fine city has hired your services in the Disputed Lands to deal with our rivals, so I wonder why you're here."
"Indeed. The Free City of Lys has indeed hired our services against alliance of Myr and Tyrosh," Maar confirmed. "But we're here to speak of something else."
Myles stepped in. "We desire to unite the Disputed Lands and the three daughters of Valyria. You could say we seek to resurrect the Triachy of the Three Daughters."
That caused a few to laugh. Tregar looked confused, but amused as well. "And why would the Golden Company of all people want that? You'll be out the job. The lot of you. You're employment is almost entirely in the Disputed Lands and should the three of us unite, well, you'll lose business."
"Our reasons are for ours alone," Jon Connington told them.
Rogare snorted rudely.
"There'll be a way for all of us to benefit from this arrangement," Harry Strickland put forth. "We heard from the Magistrate that Myr and Tyrosh are employing multiple sellsword companies to kick your kin out the Disputed Land and then will split the lands between themselves. Any Lysene will be exiled or enslaved should they remain on the mainland. Your processions will be stolen and lands forfeit. That is why you're looking to employ the Golden Company. But, should you be willing to listen and come to support what we suggest, you won't merely retain what you have, but receive something much more substantial."
"And what may that be?" asked Rogare with a face devoid of expression. "What can you offer us and why not give this offer to the current ruling magisters?"
"As we desire to unite the Three Daughters, we seek to become a part of it. As is only fair. But first we need a city to agree and, unlike the lands of Westeros, you hold elections, and soon. From what our reports say, it seems that you're unlike to come out on top with the latest coalition under Magister Ternessio Lothor."
"Tis true," Gyleno said bitterly. "He's been busy buying up votes. We can't keep up." He grimaced. While House Rogare wasn't as powerful as it once was – with the main branch having lost all their money and influence during the Lysene Spring – a few distant branches survived and struggled to claw back power. Gyleno Rogare was one of them and I had no doubt he would see his house return to greatness . . . even if I meant making a deal with the devil.
"Elections are a fickle thing, we've found."
"You dare suggest to influence and undermine our most righteous republic?" Tregar asked like it was a jest. He smiled, though it lacked warmth. Then his tone went serious. "So what do you want from this . . . alliance. Do you desire coin and promises to support your latest ambitions in Westeros? How do you plan to aid us?"
"You saw right through me," Blackheart chuckled. "In return for your aid, we promise to aid you in the coming elections and after you take office. Holding a city is hard work and no doubt there are many who need to, well, be taken care of. You'll have the support of the Golden Company to do whatever you desire to happen. Men loyal to you. Our word is gold, after all. We just ask a few things in return."
"Ships?" Lynesse Hightower asked. Although her voice was soft and delicate, there were cunning in those eyes of hers. "No doubt the Golden Company desires ships. Plan to return to Westeros? You believe the reign of King Robert is weak?" She laughed softly. "Who's going to rally to your cause? I don't see a Blackfyre after the last one died. Well, sorry to disappoint you, the Ironborn tried and the Isles were smashed by Robert's hammer. If anything, the Greyjoy Rebellion cemented his reign." She scanned each of our faces, her eyes resting on me the longest. "With your lack of a black dragon, I see even less support and you had little to none in your last attempt."
"We lack a Blackfyre, tis true," Harry said, "but that's not what we desire. It is not unusual for sellsword companies to take charge of the cities should they get powerful enough and cities this side of the Narrow Sea are bloated in coin. But we are exiles and Westeros is our home. Land stolen from us we want to get back."
"So what is it you desire from us?"
"Coin," I answered bluntly. "A tribute of gold will suffice initially." They didn't look impressed with that, so I elaborated. "You'll benefit, of course" I said, swaying my wine gently and taking a light sip for pleasantries sake. Between everyone, it was Tregar Ormellen and Gyleno Rogare we needed. Everyone else would follow with lesser promises. I needed to get them on the bandwagon. "The Golden Company can bring peace to the Disputed Lands. Lys will flourish without the worry of sellswords ravaging her holdings. You won't have to employ any other free companies. Your own pockets will get heavier and, with us to support you, you'll be the undisputed leaders of this fair city. Imagine increasing the power and influence of your houses. Your faction would be unrivalled. We understand that some of you here have encountered hard times. House Rogare for instance has struggled to survive after the Lysene Spring, just barely floating in the water. Magister Lothor, though, he's been busy framing his rivals and using his influence to take his opponent's wealth and ships to build up his already impressive fleet. No doubt he'll turn his eyes to you after the next election. He'll strike and bring you to ruin, but you can strike him and his allies first."
"I'm guessing similar offers will extend to the other cities," Ormellen mused.
I nodded, glancing at Myles who gave me permission to proceed. "Each one has a choice to make. The Golden Company will offer you a deal that will benefit both parties, or we will offer you the sword. If you and all other political parties of Lys refuse, your city will be looted and sacked. We'll kill your menfolk, drag your women and children into slavery and everything of yours will be sold to the highest bigger. The city will be under our control and we'll rule as despots. No mercy will be given, none offered. Make your choice now for while the alliance we offer may not be flawless, it still beats dying."
"You dare threaten us, child?"
"We're the Golden Company. We find it's a better business practise to be blunt and honest."
"The citizens won't like this," one woman with black-hair said. "They might rise up . . ."
"A key for popular reign is to blame the previous rulers for every blunder and claim ownership for their every success, all the while avoiding the opposite," I told them with an easy smirk and once more took another sip. It was sweet on my tongue and I felt a giddiness rise through my body. "The Golden Company cares deeply for its friends."
"Tell that to Tyrosh," Rogare grunted his displeasure.
But in the end, we shook hands, shared wine and ended up very close friends indeed.
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