Chapter 64: Kings Landing VII
Late 161 AC
The sickness of the morning had returned once more, and with it Naerys knew she was once again with child. The opportunity to avoid bearing another child had long since been relegated to fantasy, for Aegon continued to visit her in their bed whenever he deemed his desires unfulfilled by the whores and ladies he had returned to. Her secret trysts with Aemon remained as such, but this time she did not know if the babe in her womb was of Aegon or Aemon's seed, and this worried her deeply. Were the child different enough from little Daeron and Vaella in appearance then her husband may begin to suspect something, or someone would notice and spread their thoughts through the court, and then the kingdoms. Were she to be found out, there was no telling what Aegon would do in his wrath, the disappointment that her father would cast upon her and Aemon alike.
Yet for all her worry, she prayed to the Seven that the babe would once again be Aemon's, and holding onto such prayers in her heart, she arrived at the solar of her father just as he exited those oft-busy quarters. He looked well, considering that her cousin's kingly antics had never strayed far from Kings Landing after his return from the Conquest of Dorne, as they called it these days. With how full the court had grown these past few years, and how often the king invited important lords of neighboring kingdoms, it was any wonder that her father was able to get any work done that didn't directly involve King Daeron and still find time for his family.
"Father," she said.
"Naerys," he replied, gently embracing her. "You found me at the right time, my dear."
"How so, father?"
The Hand of the King smiled, a sight more and more common these days, especially when interacting with his grandchildren. "With our king remaining in the Red Keep more often than not, I have finally managed to reestablish the posts for lower administrators I so dearly needed."
"To take near three years though, father? Surely it could have been done sooner?"
He shook his head. "It should have, dear daughter, but my kingly nephew… he wished to inspect and ensure the loyalty of every single scribe and courier that would be answering directly to him. It is not as if he mistrusts my judgement, but the vanity of it grows frustrating at times."
She took his arm as they departed for elsewhere, letting her father's wandering feet guide her through their home. "Given how long such processes may take, father, and that King Daeron so often was away from Kings Landing after the conclusion of the war… it is no wonder you have only recently finished this task. Must he have his hand in everything under the sun? Surely appointing capable men and women is more worth the tasks of a steward, let alone the Hand or the king himself."
"I told him much the same many times, but he is his father's son in many regards, becoming especially stubborn when he wants to be," Viserys replied as they passed a group of maids tending to their duties. "Regardless, it is in the past now, and what is done is done. All I can hope for is that we continue to expand such services to ease the ache on my writing hand and handle diplomatic matters much quicker. To think of how many messages needed replies quickly, only to be pushed back by more important or numerous ones."
Naerys nodded, enjoying the rays of sun casting warmth upon her skin as her father lead her to a balcony, one of several overlooking the training yard. Down below, men continued their training as they did in finer weather, from whacking at one another with training swords to practicing their flexibility within training armor. Some trained with the bow against targets on the far side of a wall, and others yet tended to the series of weights and pulleys most recently brought to the training yard by her cousin during his last stay.
Speaking of which, she spied her cousin, now returned for an extended period from his time in the Stormlands, surrounded by similarly exercising men cheering him on as he 'curled' a pair of strange creations, two large stones wedge upon an iron shaft, with enough room betwixt them for his hands to grip. Indeed, judging from his sweat dripping down his long locks and onto his heaving bare chest, he'd been at it for some time.
Yet her eyes also spied those who did not belong in the training yard. More than a few maids and other smallfolk women had gathered around the yard, especially the younger ones, their gazes clearly upon her cousin. At least, it had always just been them after his first return to the Red Keep, but now she spied ladies of the court, some of them hopefully still maidens and attending with their fathers some duty in the Red Keep or the city itself. Others she knew to be married, but from the hungry looks they were failing to suppress as Baelor finished his last 'curls', his arms bulging like knotted coils of rope, it would seem they didn't quite care.
"I will need to speak with the king on who may be allowed into the training yard," she began slowly, knowing the subject remained an uneasy one within their family, even if time and distance had reduced much of the initial worry.
"Yes, quite," her father replied, his gaze drifting across the various visitors as the king's heir set aside his weights and moved over to a fresh barrel of well water to cool himself. "He is not one to be tempted, but accusations of impropriety have damaged royalty in the past, and it is a risk we cannot afford to take with the king's heir. The prince will need a wife soon, lest some plotting noble sends his daughter to him as the old Hightower did my grandfather."
"It is not as if it was anything so scandalous, even if it led to the greatest of our troubles. After all, Otto Hightower was a second son and yet managed to place his daughter upon the throne. Though they may decry it in public, in private there will never be a shortage of other men, even lesser than that scion, who would attempt to do the same." Indeed, her lessons on history had shown such actions, of alleged actions, were not uncommon amongst the nobility, often growing more frequent the greater the house.
Viserys shook his head. "To think of how much my nephew has changed since I was informed of the Lowhill sept. I did not anticipate that I would be trading one trouble for another, but such is the wish of the Seven for it to happen, and I must ensure nothing ill comes of it, as it had with my grandfather's death."
"Father?" Naerys asked, knowing the subject was a touchy one. The lord of Stormhall was not a friend of hers per se, but his letters were rather insightful into a great many things, and often gave her long periods of deep thought on matters in the capital and the Crownlands themselves. He had even written of her bastard nieces, who now had two little half-brothers to spoil in Ironvein with a third on the way, courtesy of their mother's marriage to one Ser Hugh. Amidst the troubles of her marriage, such news was a gentle balm upon her fears that they'd not find the happiness their true father had so ignorantly kept from them.
"For years now, I have slowly inserted men and women into that land," the Hand mumbled. "For years now, from that little 'Academy' of his to those engineers to even that Wytchmill, and gods what a strange name that is, I have found little if anything that others would deem suspect. Yet dear daughter, despite all my attempts to uncover the deepest plans of such a minor lord, I cannot find fault in the young lord any more than I can in my princely nephew."
"Then perhaps there is no fault, father, but the mere anxiety of trying to prevent what occurred in grandmother's time."
He sighed, suddenly looking far older in her eyes than he should have. The years of work were eating away at him far greater than they should be, but her father was nothing if not diligent, and while it had great benefits for their house, such thoroughness came with a price. "It is a risk I cannot yet dismiss, Naerys," he muttered, watching as Baelor, now dripping with water, set about drying his glistening body with a towel. "Not until I am entirely sure of what plans Lord Wytch has for the prince."
More than a few of the maids were looking to be breathing rather heavily at that, or at the very least blushing something fierce as they scattered back to their actual duties, with the ladies of the court casting longing glances as they too departed. Speaking of which, her cousin should be heading to his quarters now, to tend to his own duties.
"Then why continue to do so, if all he has done is help my cousin grow for the better? Is it at the behest of the king?"
"Partially, though his reasons are not quite as my own. He suspects the young lord wishes to rise far above his current station, what with how deeply he is entrenching himself into the Stormlands and its lords. Lord Baratheon himself has written to us of the lord's assignment as steward to piddling lands, but those same lands under his guiding hand may not be so piddling within a few years, and that is not even to mention the lords whose sons he is fostering, or the families his sisters will wed into. To think of what he might do with greater lands, greater wealth, and a greater seat of power…"
"Yet as you said, there is no such indication of him reaching above his station, is there? The betrothal of his sister to the current heir of House Selmy is simply by chance after the death of the first heir."
"No, there is yet not, and truly it was tragic for Lord Selmy to lose his eldest in war, but such is the manner of things. Many men go to war that should not die, and just as many return from it that were better off dead."
"Then why continue to fret over such a middling lord? It is one thing to simply keep an eye on the young Lord Wytch, but to obsess over him and his potential? Why put yourself through such stress, when you have already dedicated so much time and men to keeping an eye on him?"
"It is what I know, and what I know how to do," her father replied simply. "Had my grandfather had a man half as talented as myself, then perhaps the Dance may never have occurred, nor the destruction of our dragons caused our house to become just yet another among so many upon this continent. I still remember their power, their fire, the same traits that conquered us this continent and all the kingdoms therein, Naerys. Those memories you have of small, piddling creatures barely the size of a dog, those were not dragons, they were barely even shadows of the great mounts we once called our own."
"Yet as you said, father, they are gone now, and we must abide by the rules all others without dragons have for centuries," Naerys replied, gently rubbing his shoulder. For all that he did not listen to her pleas in her earlier years, especially concerning the brother she was now married to, she still loved her father and wished him to remember that. "Do you wish to speak with Baelor on the matter?"
"I have before, and he has rebuffed me every time. Should I continue, I fear he may distance himself from us."
'Or just you,' Naerys thought, before shaking her head. Her father did not know Baelor as she knew him, and though he had grown so much, she still saw flashes of the friendly, pious little boy she had known from his earlier years. "Nonsense, father, Baelor has changed in many ways, certainly, but he is still my cousin, and he and I are close now that he has grown from his little shell. Come, let's speak with him, perhaps my presence will soothe any ill feelings?"
"Perhaps later, I'm to meet with the king after he returns from his hunt," her father replied, pulling away from her. "I thank you for our walk, daughter, and I promise I shall come by to see Daeron and Vaella soon."
She held back her sigh. It seemed more and more that her father avoided Baelor as much as he could, and was even doing the same with her now that she and Baelor were close. Did her cousin's ambitions truly worry him so much that he saw the young man as a threat to their house? "Until then, father," she said, not looking back as they parted ways. She doubted he did either.
Despite the bustle of the castle, her journey was uninterrupted by anyone of note until she came across Ser Thorne, alert and intimidating in his Kingsguard regalia outside of her cousin's rooms. "Princess Naerys," he intoned with a polite bow.
"Ser Thorne," Naerys replied with a gentle smile. While he was no confidant of hers, she did enjoy his stories of the lands of his house, as did little Daeron whenever they had a chance to meet. "Has my cousin returned from his time in the training yard? I did not see you there today during my walks."
"Oh yes, he is within his quarters, and I was meeting with the Lord Commander on our schedules, hence my absence," the knight replied. "We are oft stretched thin between the king and his family, and with two of our number getting on in years, there was discussion of petitioning the king to begin looking for suitable replacements soon." Ser Thorne poked his head in the door. "My prince?" his somewhat muffled voice called. "You have a visitor."
If her cousin spoke, it was too silent for Naerys to hear, but the knight gestured to her to enter. Now Naerys did not fancy herself an expert on a great many things, for that line of thinking led only to vanity and excessive pride, but she did know that the busier a man, oftentimes the more work he was assigned or assigned to himself. Her father was one such example, often bearing the brunt of their house and its needs for administration. Within Baelor's quarters-turned-office, it was honestly difficult to still accept that the same cousin who had once eschewed most trappings had so many within his quarters. Yet unlike so many before him, her cousin gathered not meaningless or expensive trinkets, gifts and gaudy shows of wealth, but useful, important, and dare she say intriguing collections.
Maps showcasing coastlines and city layouts, trade routes along coastlines and across the Narrow Sea, artwork depicting the beautiful swan ships of the Summer Isles and the many cities across Essos and beyond. One particularly detailed map showed every river within the Crownlands, including the great Blackwater and her tributaries, a curious thing for a prince to own. In one portion she saw several books, many of them relating to the building and history of monuments, several on the history of the Faith, and curiously, a few she'd never heard of before. One seemed a touch more worn than the others, yet the title of 'Meditations' was still clear enough for her read even from where she stood.
Yet for all the maps, carvings, paintings and the like, Baelor's desk was entirely neat, orderly, and with sorted shelves behind it for differing sheets of parchment. Currently, though, he was not pouring over the reports his brother had assigned him as a task fit for a prince whilst staying in the Red Keep, but was making notes in relation to one of the most detailed maps she'd yet seen of the entirety of the Crownlands, with every major settlement mapped as of the previous year. How the prince had convinced his kingly brother to fund a survey of the lands, with the aid of the lords therein, was a complete mystery to her.
"Naerys, what a pleasant surprise," the prince said, standing from his desk and sweeping his arms open. She accepted the invitation and pulled in for a polite hug. He no longer smelled of the training yard, but of a fragrance of pine and perhaps some wildflowers? He must have brought a new soap with him from the Stormlands. He smelled better than her husband, at any rate.
"Cousin," she replied as she turned to take her seat, the cushioning upon it a thankful reprieve for her feet.
"To what do I owe to this visit?" Baelor asked, seating himself as a pair of scribes arrived with two small stacks of parchment. "Would you care for anything to eat? Drink?"
"Perhaps some chilled juice, but nothing to eat," she replied. "I am terribly sorry we've not been able to speak as much as before, but with little Daeron and Vaella, my leisure has been sharply curtailed."
"Think nothing of it, dear cousin, I too have been pulled this way and that by duty and responsibilities of my own, courtesy of my brother and my own diligence," Baelor replied, filing away a rather densely written parchment into one of his shelves. "Yet it is good to see you. How are your children? Did Daeron like his present?"
"They are well, and they might have a new sibling, should the Seven be kind," she replied, gently placing a hand on her stomach. "Daeron loved his book, even if his… father seemed a touch annoyed by its contents on stoic ideals."
The flicker of anger on her cousin's face was unexpected, and filled her with a sliver of… unease, perhaps? Her husband and her cousin had never gotten along well, and with his return from war and fosterage, storied and with great honor and treasure to his name, that relation had only soured. It was well they rarely saw one another, as given how she had seen her cousin grow in both body and will in the training yard, should they duel, she had little doubt her husband would not win.
"What of Vaella?" Baelor asked.
"A beauty to be sure, but the maids can barely keep track of her on her wildest days," Naerys replied with a soft chuckle. "Fiery, fierce, almost as wild as Daena was at that age, though she is polite in the proper company, thankfully."
"Indeed, our house could use another Daena, I fear we've become a bit too complacent compared to some of the women of our lineage," her cousin said with a soft smile. "Perhaps a small pony of her own, once she is of age to ride one by herself? Under proper supervision, of course."
"I am sure she would love that idea, she adores the dogs your sisters have." A companionable silence fell upon her as Baelor turned to one of his parchments, his brow furrowed as he browsed the contents. The scribe from before returned with a servant, and as the cooled pitcher of fruit juice was poured for her, her gaze wandered to the detailed map behind him.
"Cousin?" she asked.
"Yes, Naerys? I apologize, I did not mean to ignore you."
She sipped the fruit, thankful that the chilling of Baelor's newest iceboxes deep within the castle's underbelly kept them as cool as they did. That said ice had been imported from the North years before, yet still held in their wrappings, was a testament to the idea of such trade and use. "I have been hearing… rumors, concerning your tasks from the king."
"Oh?" he asked, setting aside his parchment. "What sort? Hopefully not the ones where I wish to raise the dragons with sacrifices of Dornish hostages again."
Naerys shook her head with a snort. She was certain her cousin would never stoop to something like that. "Well, of the ones in relation to King Daeron, there has been talk of you overseeing the retraining of the Goldcloaks without taking over the position of Master of Laws."
Baelor leaned back in his chair. "Indeed, I am to aid in purging the corruption within the ranks and reforming the Goldcloaks into something worthy to police our city. In that regard, they will also undergo rotational patrols, in that they will on occasion be set about the countryside, to look for bandits or to aid in overseeing projects related to the city itself. A means of preventing them from becoming too complacent, you might say, and also to show they are more than just guards of a city, but also of the lands around the city itself."
"Sounds quite similar to Lord Wytch's own town guards under his sheriffs."
"Aye, though the structures in place will remain as they've always been. Instead of simply replacing everything that once was, I aim to aid the Master of Laws in replacing what is broken, and introduce what can help keep corruption manageable, if not removed entirely. Not only will the guards of this city have their promotions based upon merit and their record of service, they will also learn their figures and sums, as well as the laws of the city and surrounding lands. It will take some time, but we've already begun the process of weeding out the corrupt and finding those worthy of the uniform."
"I see," Naerys said. "What of the rebuilding of the city? There are several portions that have fallen into disuse or near-ruin, yet other than whatever poor souls only use them as refuge from the cold and rain, they are of no use to the city."
"I know, but Daeron doesn't want them rebuilt for the sake of the city itself," Baelor said with a sigh, rising to his feet and turning his gaze to his detailed map of the Crownlands, his hands clasped behind his back. "There were Braavosi diplomats here several moons ago, and from what my brother told me, they were overheard complaining of the 'lack of culture' in our city to partake in. Coming from a city as developed as theirs, it is understandable, but while my brother was angered by this… they were not wrong."
"Indeed, for while I have never been to Braavos myself, the stories of that great city do paint it as a beacon of freedom compared to the slave-holding cities of Essos in general."
"Which is why I intend to correct this, cousin. The old sept burned by cruel Maegor over a century ago will be remade into something that resembles not a ruin, but a great beacon to the Faith in our kingdoms. The sewers of the city will need to be rebuilt and expanded, to account for the sheer number of people now living here. Our great Dragonpit has long since been a ruin, but I intend to remake it into something known the world over, should me brother allow it. As for Fleabottom," he said with a sigh, rubbing his face. "It would be easier for it to burn to the ground before being rebuilt, but since it has not, I will have to make do with what I can. In time, the poorest slums of our city will be comparable to good manses of lesser merchants in other parts of the world, with wide and clean streets, means of removing waste rather than simply let it fester, and the means by which the smallfolk may receive an education to support themselves and their families."
All of this sounded terribly expensive to Naerys, and while she was not against any of these ideas at all, they did worry her. Not for what the other kingdoms would say or do, but what her father would imagine Baelor was looking to achieve with them. His paranoia had lessened, yes, but she feared it would not take much for it to grow once more, and with that came the danger of her greatest fear; of him turning his attention to everyone around him, and discovering the secret of her children, the revelation of which might just break him entirely.
"Yet how would you go about this? Displacing the people would only fuel greater resentment, and the memories of the smallfolk run deep in this city, both for good and for ill."
"As with any good construction, said foundation must be built solidly, lest it all crumble soon afterwards. For the Kingswood to be harvested properly, there must be the smallfolk to not only fell the trees and clear the slash, but also to tend to the mills that will turn tree and branch into firewood, lumber and charcoal. For the smallfolk to be given a better life outside of Kings Landing, there must be lands to tend to and homes to house them, the latter of which must be built well enough that they need not fear the chill of the next winter," her cousin replied, pointing to the great expanse of his map. "A majority of the lands held directly by the Crown is small compared to the power we have, and therein lies a problem, cousin. What lands we do have directly to our name are entirely meant for supporting this city, and as we both know, it has not been enough since the city grew to the size it did near a century ago. Since that time, every scrap of resource produced for the city from our lands has been swallowed wholesale, from food to leather to trade goods and whatever ores we can find. Yet more is always needed for a city this size, and the power we lose from being unable to supply ourselves is a weakness that has been exploited before, much as food production in the Stormlands was."
"Indeed, I believe this year marks the first they have not imported more than ten percent of their grain from the Reach, an all-time low," Naerys replied. She was thankful that at least with Aegon's time spent away from her, her letters to Baelor, Lord Baratheon and Lord Wytch had given her a greater insight into how much that southern kingdom had changed these past fifteen years. In time, they might even begin to export foods elsewhere. "Yet for Kings Landing, yes, whoever can promise the most and cheapest food for the people will win their affection, and thus their loyalty."
"In order to solidify our hold as the ruling house over Westeros, we must do as Lord Wytch has done, hence convincing my kingly brother to allow for a census of the Crownlands. With this in mind, and with how many people live in the squalor of our city, I am devising the means of producing far more food with the lands we have, with the seed drills, plows and harnesses we have been producing in the city, courtesy of Lord Wytch. I also intend to lessen the burden of the smallfolk on the city itself by giving them better opportunities outside of the city's walls."
"Yet how would you convince them to leave the city? Would you would remove them if they refused?"
Baelor turned to her, a subdued look of disgust marring his beautiful face. "Not by force, cousin, I am no tyrant, and neither is my brother. Where the work and thus the gold is, the people will follow, as that is how so many came to this city in the first place. Starving smallfolk in Fleabottom would no doubt rather work the fields outside of the walls if they knew their wages would be higher than it would be for what little work they could find in the capital. I would of course give incentives for those seeking to 'leave for greener pastures', including that no tax will be collected from them until three years have passed."
"What of your plans for the Kingswood?"
He smiled at that, eyes gleaming with well-earned pride. "My earlier plans were, indeed, a touch too idealistic to come to fruition. Now, though? With years of experience in the Stormlands and Dorne, and the knowledge that I did not have at the time, with my brother's permission the Kingswood will propel Kings Landing and our house to greater heights than my father could have hoped to replicate. With lumber alone, we will be able to build the towns and villages needed to support the farms that will feed the city, and build the ships that will expand the Royal Navy into a true show of force for our lands. The charcoal, firewood and byproducts of felling the trees will lead to greater fuel for forges, homes and kilns, and the replanting of forests will hire thousands who would have otherwise been without work. With the timber we will have an arsenal to rival the great Braavos, with which I intend to put to flight whatever pirates dare tread near our shores, and to show that the invasions of generations past, of the Triarchy, of pirates, of sellswords and enemies alike, that our coasts and perhaps the Narrow Sea itself will be claimed by the house of the dragon once more."
He sounded a bit like Daeron, now that his passion had erupted from him like a roaring fire, but even now, with their words so similar, Naerys could tell Baelor's goals were not for himself but for his people. "Do you have the funds to support such an expense?"
Baelor chuckled softly, not in a derisive way like Aegon, but in an excited manner, as if he could not wait to tell her of some great secret. "What do you know of the treasures I recovered beneath the sands of Dorne?"
"Not much, as most of it is apparently hidden away in the deeper vaults of Storm's End, yet what you did bring of your own to the Red Keep is still allegedly substantial." To say nothing of the sheer amount that was divided up in the Stormlands to every house involved in the recovery of that old Wyl hoard, and the amount then paid to the Iron Throne as a gift. She'd never bothered to try and see it for herself, as it was always under heavy guard, and what use did she have for such treasure anyway?
"I've enough gold in Storm's End alone that were I to need to do so, I could pay for the taxes of every smallfolk in Kings Landing and the entire Crownlands for no less than ten years, and even then, there would still be at least a king's ransom left over."
Naerys was stunned. That her cousin was now possibly one of the richest men in the Seven Kingdoms, barring perhaps the Lannisters and Daeron himself…
"What of the treasures you brought here, to the Red Keep?"
He tilted his head, as if pondering something, before nodding and softly clapping his hands. "While I could simply tell you, dear cousin, come, let me show you instead."
Offering her his arm, which she took with gentle care, they departed his quarters with Ser Thorne stepping into line beside them without a word. Naerys turned in time to see a pair of guards, ones she hadn't noticed before, replace Ser Thorne as guards to Baelor's private quarters. Through the Red Keep they ventured, passing the occasional blushing maid or flustered lady as Baelor kindly acknowledged them. Her own ladies-in-waiting were tending to duties she had given them, primarily gathering information on the orphanages and rundown septs of the city. Perhaps Baelor was her key to seeing to these being restored and supported as well?
Arriving at one of the great doors that guarded one of the vaults of their house, deep within the chillier portions of the castle interior, Naerys saw it was guarded by no less than five sworn swords and shields of the king himself. The great doors looked stronger than the gates of the city, and the solid steel bars that held it all shut were thicker than her arm. Yet when Baelor approached the great door, they gave the prince and bow and immediately opened the massive doors, the numerous locks sliding out of place to reveal the door itself was near as thick as her head. Without a word, the guards let the three of them inside, slowly closing the groaning door behind them after handing Ser Thorne one of their larger torches.
Naerys marveled at what lay within this great vault. Assorted into large chests and crates were great hauls of silver and gold coinage, all stacked and put in neat rows underneath great shelves, the more distant ones disappearing into the darkness of the deep vault. Upon these shelves stood piece after piece of wealth and art, the likes of which she'd only read of. Great carved ivory from around the world, their forms telling scenes of great hunts, the tales of ancient legends, and of the lives of those who collected these fine crafts. Jewels of great quality, their dizzying variety of colors shining fiercely in the flickering light of Ser Thorne's torch. Statues and figurines of an oily black stone that seemed to absorb the very darkness around it, nearby which were what looked to be the talons of massive birds or lizards and coral carved in the shape of ships and animals.
"There was more in the ledgers, some of which was lost to time and rot," her cousin said, tracing his hands along one of the mammoth tusks, the length of which was near that of his arm. To think that such a small portion of such a large tusk was all that remained, and even then, its beauty could not be understated. "The silks of Naath and other places were long since rotted in that great cavern by that upwelling of water, and it was by a miracle that most of the finer wood crafts lay within chests that had been treated to repel water." He gingerly took down a sculpture of what looked like a great toad, the wood near as oily as the strange black stone, yet when he handed it to her, it was surprisingly light.
"Amazing," she muttered, placing it back amongst the other treasures. "Did you find any scrolls or books?"
"The remains of some," Baelor said, disappointment evident on his face even as he turned away. "Those caves were not a good place to store such valuables, and if I were to guess, there may have been near fifty books and twice that many scrolls deep in that cave, yet of that total, only six survived to be recognizable enough to be copied."
"Have they found anything within their contents of worth?"
"My private scribes have been painstakingly looking them over as slowly as possible, so as not to damage them more than they already were, yet the travels from Dorne to the Red Keep were not without their troubles from weather and pest alike. Two were nearly destroyed by vermin, and of their pages we've recovered what looks to be an earlier history of two of the Valyrian Freehold's ruling families. As for the others, we're still copying their contents, but cousin," he added, turning back to her, "please do not speak to anyone of the scrolls or books we recovered. Even should they be barely held together, their contents could be worth a fortune, and as such might be a target for those whose chains are rather tight."
"I see," she replied, unsure of what he meant by chains, before her gaze was drawn to a rack of weapons, their pale forms lighting up brightly as Ser Thorne approached them. "Cousin, are these…?"
"Yes, Naerys," Baelor said, retrieving one from the rack. From its scabbard he withdrew a sword, a bastard by the looks of it, the smoky surface near identical to that of the Conqueror's original blade, before his ashes and Belarion's fire had stained it dark. "A Valyrian sword, stolen away from the land of our ancestors by Blackadder's piracy. Yet it is not alone, but one of several," he added, motioning to the weapons within the great rack.
Naerys could not believe her eyes. There was not one, not two, but sixswords of varying style, all of Valyrian make, sitting within the vault. Yet among their number were also four other weapons, their smoky steel taking her breath away. There were two axes, meant for war given the harsh pick that formed in their backside, and rising to more than even Baelor's height lay a great spear, the shaft as smoky as the wide and wickedly-sharp end. Yet the last of them was no spear, nor sword, nor even an axe, but the strangest weapon she had ever seen.
"Is that a-,"
"Trident, yes," Baelor said, sheathing the first sword and placing it back where it belonged. "Of all the treasures we found in that damned place, these perhaps will secure our house as no others have before."
"Each one of these is worth a fortune," Naerys replied softly, stunned by their beauty. She had seen Blackfyre and Dark Sister aplenty, but to see so many others at once was incomparable. It was unlikely that any other house in the world, no, no other person in the world, had such an extensive collection of Valyrian weapons outside of the ruins of Valyria itself. "Yet ten of them? That could be worth the entirety of Slaver's Bay and the Three Sisters, surely."
"Perhaps, but we shall put them to greater use. Tell me, cousin, what do you know of the gathering of lords that will come for my brother's nameday celebration and the tourneys held during?"
"Short of Lord Tyrell himself, as well as those of Dorne and possibly the Iron Islands, every major lord will be coming to Kings Landing to attend it. Even lords from the North will be arriving for it, Cregan Stark among them. Why do you ask?"
"My brother seeks to tie the kingdoms even closer to our throne than any Targaryen has done before," her cousin said. "With so many major lords here, including the Lords Paramount of every kingdom sworn to us, there is to be a redistribution of gifts and awards for their services, not only overlooked during the Dance of Dragons, but also during the Conquest of Dorne, as they now call it. My brother is looking to secure the richest and most powerful houses to our own through gifts and honors, as I only have three sisters, and too many lords and their heirs are already married to be speaking of betrothals."
"Which houses is he contemplating gifting such weapons to?"
"Of the ones he has told me? Arryn, Velaryon and Tully, though of the others, I am not yet sure. I have given him my own ideas, of course, but in the end it will be up to him, not I."
"As with the books and scrolls, I promise to remain silent on this matter as well. So, rather than through blood, he will tie them to the throne through gifts that none could hope to match," she finished. While keeping such treasures for their house would surely increase the prestige of it, why keep such fine weapons of war in a dark vault rather than gifting them to houses to ensure something as terrible as the Dance never occurs again?
To think of how her father views Baelor's actions as worrisome, when they were all for the benefit of the people they ruled and the future of their house, and never for the benefit of himself…
"As for my axe, that remains with the rest of my treasure in the greater vaults of Storm's End, as it is purely a weapon of war, and as we are not at war, I do not need it," Baelor added. "In the meantime, before the celebrations are to begin and the prospects for my sisters are debated, I will begin with my plans to recover what was lost in the Dragonpit, as my brother will no doubt wish to see it renovated along the designs I have in mind. But before that, tell me, what do you think of my prospects?"
"For what?"
"For marriage. I know it's an odd thing to ask so suddenly and without warning, but is there any wisdom that you, as a married woman, can lend to me?" Her cousin actually seemed bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck, as she knew he knew Daena was to be his wife, yet somehow his sisters did not yet know. It was perhaps the best kept secret in their family, as over half knew, but none said anything of it. "I'd rather not ask mother about how to be a good husband."
Naerys smiled. While in her heart she knew her cousin could never hope to be as bad of a husband as she had, it would not hurt to steer his virgin heart in the right direction. After all, she'd been doing the same with Daena, albeit with some setbacks given her wild nature. After all, she did want little cousins for her children to play with, and Baelor's mother had been talking with her more and more of wishing for grandchildren…