Pre-Chapter A/N: So here we are back on our regular upload schedule. Sunday and Tuesday/Wednesday. I've put systems in place to ensure we don't fall behind again so yay. I look forward to stress-testing them as the madnesses of life stack up (We're two weeks in now and life is really hitting. We're still on schedule though(more or less– does this count as Wednesday or Thursday? I haven't slept so I count it as Wednesday), so things look good!). To celebrate the scale of our achievement, we've got a cheeky little discount for the whole month (code: MAY01) on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga). Next four chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
Perhaps it was impressive that I had managed to go a whole moon without any of my advisers practically breaking down my door with one emergency or the other. Maybe it said something about the systems I had managed to put in place after years of working through multiple issues of the same sort. Or maybe it had just been the calm waiting for the storm.
"Yes, Parvella?" I asked, gesturing for her to take the seat across from me. Laena was far from pleased as she stewed on her table not too far from mine. We had been breaking in the bed I had installed in the adjoining chambers for when work took me for long hours—an effort Laena was staunchly opposed to, but not one that she had hesitated to use to her advantage today.
"My Lord," she said, walking in and offering a perfect bow before taking her seat.
"What do you have for me?" I asked.
"In a moon, the Braavosi are going to announce a reduction in prices for their shipping, security, and insurance businesses. Fifty percent across the board," she said. I froze as the cold reality of the situation hit me.
"How can they even afford that?"
"They cannot. No one can. They plan to just stay solvent for long enough to drive us out of the business before increasing prices again," she said.
"Can we match them?" I asked a question I already knew the answer to. No. The Braavosi might have been working from the other side of the Known World, but they still managed to have their costs lower than ours. My insistence on paying our sailors a living wage was going to cost me here. Well, that and the fact that each ship just cost me more money than theirs did. My ships were larger and better designed and as a result: cost more money to build, took more men to sail, and required more expensive if slightly less frequent repairs. It was a calculation that held up at present prices. At half that, it was going to be a massacre.
"No. Not without major losses," she said.
"We won't manage to break even?" I asked.
"Not with the present quality of service we have on offer," she said.
"Can that make the difference? Get the merchants to pay a premium for better service. Our ships almost never get lost to storms, we keep to schedule, we do everything perfectly," I tried. Parvella just gave me a look I recognised easily.
"They are merchants," she replied. Yeah, they were. Penny pinchers by nature, there was no chance I was going to manage to get them to pay more when someone else was offering a substantial discount on my prices.
"What would it take us to break even at those prices?" I asked, already expecting her to have the answer.
"We would have to reduce the guarantees offered by our insurance—no more coverage for cosmetic damage in transit or even for serious damage if it is at no fault of that, reduce sailor headcount by 10% per ship while keeping wages same or reducing wages by 20% while keeping headcount the same, and reducing the escort size by a quarter," she said.
"Reduce headcount. Offer the men being laid off admission into the Naval program," I said.
"Moving the costs from one bucket to another does not make them suddenly stop existing," she commented.
"We have space in our military allocations. Make it happen, Parvella. Match the discount," I said. I had no choice, in the end. It was either this or go out of business.
"It would be negligent of me not to mention that there is always the option not to compete on this front. The profits from this business were nominal to begin with, most of it being invested back in the business itself. While I was in support of it for the initial potential to grow into a recurring revenue stream, competing with the Braavosi like this just leads to a situation where you both burn money in search of a non-existent edge over the other. I do not need to remind you that in a race to the bottom between you and the Iron Bank, you will be the one to blink first," she said, and she was partly right. But she was thinking too much like a merchant. I didn't blame her for it, but it wasn't what was needed in this situation.
"No. They have more gold than me, yes. But they also fear losing what they have more than I do. I can stomach seeing the balance sheet return in the red month after month. How long do you think those merchants can take it for? A year? Two? No one likes losing money. These people do it even less," I said. And I had no doubts that I would be losing money with this. We were going to try to break even but while the discount was going to be immediately applied, the cost saving measures would have to be applied on a timeline. One that would lead to losses in the short term. And then there was the fact that breaking even left us vulnerable to headwinds. A single storm or a slower month than usual and we'd be in the red. It was a knife's edge.
"Or you could avoid the fight either way. Keep prices the same. Watch the customers leave in favour of the Braavosi. Move resources to other fronts and maintain a nominal presence in the market to force the Braavosi to run their present discount. We keep them bleeding gold and lose none of it ourselves. Yes, they will dominate the market in a short while but this is not the kind of business that lends itself all too well to cost-savings from scale as we both well know," she said, and it was not a bad idea. Watching the Braavosi lose money to serve more and more customers would be fun. But it felt like giving up in a way I did not want. And there was the chance that they would acquire the customers and then raise prices to just slightly below mine. Switching costs and their slight discount would make sure they kept the customers they had acquired while letting them run it profitably.
Besides, the shipping business was serving more purposes than bringing in gold. Braavos' interference had actually helped our collateral goals even if they did not know it yet.
"A good idea and one I would support in most other situations. But for this one, my mind is made," I said. She nodded, not looking all that disappointed. Her face could have been carved from the same marble as the Sept for all the emotion it showed.
"Yes, my Lord. I will begin working on it," she said.
"She was right," Laena said as we watched Parvella leave the room.
"She might as well have been. But she did not have the full picture. The Triarchy cities are important not just for the trade they offer, but for what they could mean to us in the future. Ceding that business to Braavos could bring us into war with them when we eventually move to take those cities," I said.
"And why have we not moved now? You said their fleet is already beginning to suffer—not like we need to worry much about fleets with dragons on our side. We could take Tyrosh in a week," she said, stepping on from her own table towards mine. On the wall opposite me was a map of this corner of the world that I liked to look at and she pointed at the bit that represented Tyrosh. Tyrosh was so close to us that it was practically one of the Stepstones. Lys and Myr weren't far either, but the Dyed Daughter was definitely the closest of the lot.
"We could," I accepted.
"So why don't we?"
"We can take it, but we cannot hold it. Not now. Work is being done to make sure that that does not remain the case, but for the time being we do not have the resources to hold a foreign island. The resistance from the locals would be organised, immense, and well-funded. That would be a problem we could solve given time, but we would have to face it while also worrying about the other members of the Triarchy and the chances of them poking their heads in.
We would never lose militarily. What dragons represent mean we can go into war knowing that we are more likely to win than any other party, but they cannot hold cities. They cannot till fields. They cannot put food on the table or drill latrines, or any of the other things that humans will inevitably be needed for. Humans that we do not have—not now. They would frustrate us, make it impossible for us to justify the cost of the fight, and then win when we eventually give up," I said.
"So like Dorne?" she asked.
"Less self-destructive, but yes," I said.
"So we wait for what exactly? The things you describe are not going to just change with time."
"We wait until our advantage over them is too massive to be overcome or resisted. We wait until we can establish a friendly group within the city that we can use to cement our rule," I said, giving her a significant look at those last words.
"The slaves?" she asked, seeing what I was speaking about in a matter of seconds.
"Exactly. There are no slaves in the Stepstones. That message is being spread from one slave to another. When we eventually sail on the Triarchy, their people will see us as conquerors, but those slaves they have looked down upon for centuries will see us as liberators."
"Or they see us as foreigners regardless," she said.
"Waiting costs us nothing. Our army grows stronger every day, Igneel and Vhagar grow bigger. Their flames burn hotter with each day that passes. And the more time that passes with us acting as friends to the Triarchy, the weaker their means of defending us become. Their navies will be decommissioned—if not in name, then in practice—in a decade or even less," I said. And that was my biggest advantage so far. The Velaryon navy patrolled most of the Narrow Sea. It had taken a year for a friend or two in the Triarchy to bring it up at their meeting that there was no need for them to spend gold on patrols that achieved nothing.
With each magister looking out for their own purses and seeing a chance to spend less money and thus have to contribute less to the cities, they were quick to pounce on it. Now their navies just remained in port most of the time, only engaging in token patrols close to their borders.
"Then we wait," Laena accepted.
"How is work going?" I asked, looking over at the desk she had now abandoned in favour of sitting on my lap.
"As it always is. The Teachers want more money, more chalk, more writing tablets, more parchment, ink, everything. The parents want the children spending fewer hours in classes, complaining that their minds are being placed on too much pressure. And the ones among them who are Maesters complain ceaselessly about being 'forced' to teach lowborn and sailors as if all Andal brains are not the same," she said. I chuckled at that. Making Laena head of the schools had been brilliant on my end. It merged well with her position as head of Public and Welfare Services in Bloodstone. It suited her well.
"Do you want an increase in your budget? Parvella will complain, but I trust she will manage to find the gold," I offered.
"No. No one else on the Council is getting more gold because things are harder than they expected. I shouldn't be getting special treatment for sleeping with the Lord," she said.
"That's what you're doing, is it? Sleeping with the Lord?" I asked.
"Well, I would be if you could just shut up for a second," she said, and there was no chance I was going to be disagreeing with that one. She grabbed my chin and I practically melted from the heat of the kiss she planted on my lips.
XXXXX- VISERYS TARGARYEN
Another small council meeting. Another chance for his closest friends and advisers—for a King, both were often one and the same—to fight amongst each other in the hopes of guiding his policy. Increasingly, the discord between them felt far from well founded and more like it existed just to exist. They fought over the most trivial things because they were more used to fighting than to agreeing, he decided. Laenor was right in the end. Just like he usually was. The fighting had nothing to do with the subject, and everything to do with those who did the fighting.
"To summarise arguments, this entire matter is over how many Knights we permit to take part in the joust and how much is paid out to the winner, yes?" he asked, hoping that placing it so clearly would force the interlocutors into some amount of shame—however small.
Instead, they nodded, clearly unable to see just how ridiculous it was. A shame.
"For both, leave the answer to my daughter and her husband. It is their tournament, after all," he said.
"Your Grace, it is however the crown that is hosting," Otto said.
"In name only. This is my daughter's tournament. She pushed for it over reasonable objections regarding the cost. She and her husband should decide, and do see to it that Lord Lannister receives the bill after he makes his choice," he said, this time directing his words towards Lyman. The man, bless his soul, nodded easily despite whatever misgivings he would have towards his daughter's husband. Not unfounded ones either. Lord Lannister's campaign for Lyman's position was no longer subtle. The grasping Andal, like Laenor had predicted, was not satisfied being the father to a future King. He wanted a place on the small council as well, and while Viserys would have been inclined to give him one—perhaps even creating a new role for him to fill—Laenor's argument that the man would only continue to ask for more and more should he get what he seeks had been enough to stay his hand.
"Yes, Your Grace," Lyman said.
"Thank you. Now that is enough on the tourney. On to the next order of business. Laenor has written me asking permission to recruit amongst the Crownlands for sailors for his navy," he said.
"Your Grace, that—" Ser Redwyne, Master of Ships, began, but Viserys had already made up his mind on this one. There was no harm in it.
"I have decided to permit his efforts. He offers good payment for each smallfolk taken, and I see no reason to refuse my Lords a chance to grow their coffers at the cost of people they could scarcely afford to feed, either way. Write to all the Lords of the Crownlands, Grand Maester. Tell them that they are not to bar the Velaryon's recruitment efforts and that the payment they receive for the smallfolk taken will not be taxed," he said. Not taxing the payment had been his own idea.
"But—"
"The King has spoken, Ser Redwyne," Otto cut in, neatly stopping the man from going any further.
"Now, on to the next order of business. Your Grace, a letter from Lord Baratheon asking to take your son Aegon on as a Squire for his son Ser Borros," Orwyle spoke. Viserys lifted a brow at that. Borros Baratheon was a skilled Knight to be sure. He had won the tourney of Bloodstone right before Viserys' own eyes, and making it to the finals of the Tourney that had been held in Aemond's honour, only beaten out by Laenor himself. Speaking of Laenor, Borros had been the Knight who had knighted him. The one who had made his Cousin into the man he was today in a lot of ways. That was a ringing endorsement if Viserys had ever heard one, but there was only one issue there.
"Aegon is the King's eldest son. He ought to remain in King's Landing so he can learn here," Otto began.
"Learn what precisely, Lord Hand? The Prince is not the heir by the King's own decree. It has long been custom for spares to Squire under Great Lords to create closer relationships," Lyman, often the other side of such debates, countered. Another argument. Viserys resisted the urge to sigh, just choosing to nip this one in the bud before it began.
"Alicent will not countenance Aegon being taken from her so young," he said. Convincing her that she would need to part with Aemond in a year's time had been hard enough. Her rage was a silent, icy thing, and she was not shy about showing her displeasure on the matter. He was not going to compound it by asking her to part with Aegon as well.
"The Queen will do her duty as we all must," Beesbury said.
"Will you tell her that yourself?" Viserys asked, and the man remained silent. It was easy to talk of belling the cat, but no one wanted the job of actually doing it.
"Besides, it will not do for two of my sons to be sent to families so closely allied to each other," he said.
"Two?" Darklyn asked, clearly surprised. It was not a good look that the Master of Whispers was so often surprised, Viserys thought—perhaps uncharitably.
Otto and Lyman remained silent, both of them aware of what he spoke and both their positions having been made to the point of being overflogged. It was one issue that had managed to unite them, ironically enough.
"Aemond, my second son, will be sent to Bloodstone in a year. He will be a page and then eventual squire for my Cousin, Laenor Velaryon," Viserys said, and almost like those words had been a signal of some sort, a dragon's roar was heard over the city. A roar that Viserys had not heard in a while and not one that he had expected to hear for a while. He did not know when his chair hit the floor as he rushed towards the balcony. There he was, the Blood Wyrm, flying over Rhaenys' Hill and on his back a silver-haired small form. A very familiar tiny form.
"By the gods," Viserys did not know who spoke, but he agreed with them. Heads would have to roll for this. He just hoped the dragon did not toss what was most definitely one of his sons from its back.
A/N: Did someone say Dragon? Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early. Discount available with the code MAY01– have fun.