55

Chapter 55: Interlude: Vaegon IINotes:

Sorry for the delay. Life is hard.

My grandmother passed away. Alzheimer's. It hurt a lot more than expected. I mean, everyone knew that she was never making it to 2022, but still… It's one thing to know and another to see it happen.

I haven't seen her since 2019, back before the world went to hell. She hasn't met my daughter. And now she never will. I think that's what hurts the most. That the only time my daughter saw her great-grandmother was at her funeral.

I took the death a lot better than everyone else, but I still couldn't find the motivation to write for a long time.

On the bright side, my disownment is over. I think losing Grandma made Dad a lot more conscious of his remaining family members. So I'm writing this chapter from the comfort of my own bed for the first time in a year!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Ambition is a sin."

—The Seven-Pointed-Star

110 AC, House of Bought and Sold, Pentos

The House of Bought and Sold was a market in the sense that silk was a cloth.

The words above the threshold of the largest building in Pentos, surpassing even the Prince's Palace and the Magistrate Council Building, stated thus: 'Here Is A World Unto Itself'. And truly, to the uninitiated, it might as well have been. A city within a city. Where Unsullied slave soldiers stood guard day and night, barring entry to all but those with an invitation.

Few had been allowed to enter, with the exclusivity such that even the slaves were regulated with religious dedication and fervour. Entire bloodlines of slaves were born and died in the House of Bought and Sold, living their entire lives within the halls of the building without ever setting a single foot out of it's granite walls. These slaves were all branded on the cheeks with specific marks. With any whom was found on the streets of Pentos immediately declared a criminal on par with those whom committed the foulest crimes and worst blasphemies. Their deaths were often a long and drawn out public spectacle.

This exclusivity was so paramount that the House had its own underground tunnel system. To allow it to be supplied without requiring the slaves within to leave or the uninvited outsiders to enter.

And even then, those invitations were few and far in between. There were only ever a hundred valid invitations at any one time. Made with rare bone-white paper imported from Yi-Ti and using a special black kraken ink sourced solely from the Sunset Sea. Some lasting no more than the year they were made in, others for up to half a century. Only the best of the best were invited, making the House of Bought and Sold beyond the reach of all but the most obscenely wealthy and absurdly powerful. To be sent an invitation was seen by many as the deciding factor between greatness and greatness. To be a part of a crowd that was hallowed beyond hallowed.

Even in Westeros, there number of Houses whom owned such an invitation could be counted on a single hand. Lannister, Gardener, Hightower, Hoare and Targaryen. Occasionally Martell, when the Reach's power ebbed and Dorne's buoyed. Though never more than five were ever sent across the Narrow Sea at any one time.

Now though, there were only four valid invitations in Westerosi hands. House Targaryen, Lannister and Hightower still held theirs. Holdovers from before Aegon's Conquest. As for the last: It was a matter of great pride for Lord Corlys the day House Velaryon received their first invitation to the exalted market. Proof beyond proof that his travels and voyages had finally paid off enough such that his House was recognised by the world as worthy.

As far as Vaegon knew, his father hardly attended the House of Bought and Sold. As for all his wealth, House Targaryen had few items that the House of Bought and Sold would consider worth their time to auction and King Jaehaerys hardly saw the need to spend vast amounts of coin on whatever they peddled. Still, he never turned down the invitations, as they were in their own way, a symbol of prestige.

Today however, House Targaryen had deigned to participate for the first time in decades.

Rhaenyra needed coin desperately. And the House of Bought and Sold was one of the few places where she might earn sufficient coin to bankroll her projects.

As such, Vaegon and House Velaryon had been deployed to Pentos to raise the necessary funds.

Security had been tantamount, for the treasures that they were bringing to the House of Bought and Sold were priceless. First, General Jaime Arryn had sent two hundred knights of the Fourth Legion to Pentos, to provide security for their manses in the city. Then, Laena had flown Vhagar to the city, the chests of goods strapped to her mount's back. With her flew Daena on Caraxes, Rhaenys on Meleys, Daenys on Dreamfyre, Rhaena on Daybreak and Baela on Nightfall. Enough firepower to level a city.

Under legion escort, the cart of goods was unloaded and brought to the heart of Pentos. Rhaena and Baela flew close overhead with their smaller dragons, while high in the sky, circling the city, Daena and Daenys awaited, ready to airstrike any would-be thieves.

Thankfully, there were none. With the crowds more interested in gawking at the dragons than attempting to rob their caravan.

They were not allowed to enter the House, instead being sent down into the catacombs beneath it, where a team of appraisers examined every inch of their goods. Ensuring that they were both genuine and priceless. Nothing but the best could ever be sold in the House of Bought and Sold. They had to stay in the city for a fortnight, as the appraisers went about their duties with unrelenting precision.

Once satisfied with the quality of the goods, they were locked within the vaults of the House. Where they would rest until the auction began.

———

The House of Bought and Sold was decadent beyond belief. Here, within its granite walls—Itself another testament to decadence, for Pentos was a city of sandstone, limestone and clay brick. Granite had to be imported in from the mountains of Andalos— there was every luxury one could desire, and even a few that Vaegon never knew existed.

Scantily clad pleasure slaves from the breadth and span of the world poured drinks and serviced customers. All of them exceptionally beautiful and nubile. Most were female, but it was made known that men could also be requested.

The drinks served were also of great quality. The finest wines. Exotic liquors. Juices from fruits Vaegon had never heard of and milk from the finest cattle. The customers supped on steaks of exotic meats with solid gold cutlery and sat on silken armchairs as the majordomo announced the items for sale.

Bidding was held on goods, with no price lower than ten thousand pounds of gold. Slaves from faraway places that the Archmaester had barely heard of. There were even a pair of giants kidnapped from Beyond the Wall. Exotic creature as well. Drakes and manticores and gorillas. Lesser, smaller things too. A letter that could ignite war among the Ghiscari. The secret to earn the undying loyalty of a Dothraki horde. A Merchant Prince's greatest shame.

There were enough goods here that it would take far more than a single day and night to finish auctioning. For seven days and nights, the House of Bought and Sold would sell. With the goods put on the stage rising in price each day. The first of House Targaryen's treasures made an appearance at during the fifth day.

A harp and three flutes made from Dragonbone. Two music boxes, three far-eyes, a compass and four boxes that had once been filled with parchment scrolls, all made from Fyrewood. The contents of Aenar's Vault.

The sixth day saw more treasures unveiled. Lances of dragonbone and Fyrewood. A whip of dragonskin and a a shield of Fyrewood. The potions and powders were also unveiled. Vaegon, Rhaegar, Daenys and Rhaenyra had painstakingly taken the time to read through the many scrolls of alchemy in the Vault, to determine what was what.

There were healing potions, which could cure every known ailment to man. Poisons that boiled blood, melted one's insides or made their heart burst. Tonics that gave ageing men the vitality and vigour of those twenty years younger. Elixers that ensured that men solely produced male progeny, and another for females only. Perfumes that could seduce those around oneself. Concoctions that could grant a man strength beyond his wildest dreams, at the cost of his life burning out once the effect was over. Powders that exploded when lit or gave euphoria when inhaled. A form of tobacco that when smoked, was easily a hundredfold more powerful than the ones in the market. Poultices that vanished scars. Paste that halted balding.

The Archmaester's niece had parted with the potions and powders willingly, for she could do similar things with her sorcery alone. That, and Rhaegar believed that he could brew them. Given time and the right ingredients, of course. In the Archmaester's personal opinion, such optimism was unfounded, but from what he heard, Rhaenyra's old world had many similar products already, so it was mayhaps not a pipe dream.

It was during a lull of the proceedings that Vaegon left their private booth overlooking the stage, searching for a privy. Lord Corlys was personally overseeing the sale, so the Archmaester was comfortable leaving for a period of time.

The Lord of the Tides was the right choice for the job, Vaegon knew. While Lord Corlys wasn't the Master of Coin, he was more familiar with both foreigners and the procedures of the House of Bought and Sold than Lord Lyman Beesbury. And while the Master of Coin's duties in the capital prevented him from attending the House of Bought and Sold's auction, the Hand of the King had dredged up the Archmaester from Oldtown to ensure that Lord Corlys wasn't devoid of financial assistance.

The Citadel was annoyed that he was taking yet another expedition/sabbatical, but Rhaenyra had been insistent. Besides, the Archmaester had his excuses. Few maesters had been within the hallowed walls of the House of Bought and Sold, and as Archmaester of Finance and Accountancy, Vaegon was the best placed to record down the events that happened during the auction.

He was on the way back from the latrines, pondering the title for the treatise he intended to write on the subject when the Archmaester found himself intercepted by a pair of men.

"Hello." He politely greeted. "What business do you have with me?"

"Our mother would like you to meet with her." The first lad said. He was in his late teens or early twenties, and looked maddeningly familiar. Valyrian looks, but that was hardly uncommon in the Free Cities, and Vaegon struggled to place the name to the face.

"I've met you before." Vaegon noted, turning to face the other. "I've seen you both before."

The Archmaester frowned, pondering their appearances.

"Oldtown?" He tried. It couldn't have been King's Landing. He hardly left the Red Keep during that time. It was more likely that they were old students of his.

"Harrenhal." The second corrected. "The Great Council."

Something clicked.

"Ah. Valarr and Matarys, was it?" Vaegon remembered, both lads nodding in affirmation. "You're Saera's children."

That Saera held one of these exalted invitations should have been expected, in hindsight. Last Vaegon had heard, she and her children essentially ran half the guilds and two of the three Triarchs. Many of the Old Blood were complaining about her and her brood as a bunch of nouveau riche upstarts, but it could not be denied that Saera was one of the richest women in Volantis, which was all the House of Bought and Sold cared about when inviting.

That being said, by custom, the Triarchs of Volantis held invitations to the House of Bought and Sold, with the three invitations coming with the office. It was the closest thing the House had to a permanent invitation, though they reserved the right to rescind it in case the Eldest Daughter suffered a catastrophic decline. Saera was paramour to a Triarch and had wed her firstborn to the daughter of another, last Vaegon heard, so even if the House skipped her over, she could have feasibly borrowed their invitations in order to attend anyway.

"Indeed." The first—Vaegon still wasn't sure which was which— smiled. "Our mother would like to see you."

———

The private booth the boys led him to was much like the one House Targaryen currently occupied. Silk curtains draped from the roofs, while the front of the room jutted out into the large auditorium like a balcony. The back set back far enough that the inhabitants could have privacy while still being able to hear the majordomo's voice, for the hall was specially designed to allow the sound from the stage to travel further and clearer.

Vaegon said nothing as he was escorted inside the booth, the eunuch guards and assorted people within leaving without a word.

The last son of the Old King strode forwards and sat in a cushioned armchair, ignoring the only other person in the room. They spent the next five minutes in comfortable silence, until the last daughter of the Old King finally broke the silence.

"Vaegon." Princess Saera Targaryen greeted.

"Saera." Prince Vaegon Targaryen greeted back.

"How's the family?"

"Flourishing. Rhaenyra shows incredible promise as a ruler."

"I've heard. Bastards elevated into dragonriders. Canals carved into the lands. The King Beyond the Wall kneeling and Dorne humbled."

Saera turned to look at Vaegon, the first time either had seen each other in near three decades. She'd aged, but like many Valyrians, she held a certain ageless and timeless beauty. His sister was forty-three now, Vaegon knew, but she could have passed for a woman of twenty-three. And knowing her, she probably did.

His sister looked like an older Rhaenyra Targaryen. Though her eyes were pinker, and her hair more blonde. Objectively, Vaegon knew that she was only slightly less beautiful, and yet he found her… lacking. She didn't have that charisma that Rhae did, that daring and ambition that was so intoxicating and made people instinctively turn towards her, like sunflowers to the sun. But Vaegon couldn't deny that Saera held a more matronly and motherly charm. The wisdom of an older woman, so to speak.

"What the fuck has happened in Westeros?" Saera demanded, and for an instant, Vaegon was taken back to his childhood. When his demanding sister would harass the bookish Prince. "I'd think what I'd heard was a fever dream, if my spies didn't all unanimously tell me what happened. A Princess is heir over her brothers, women wear White Cloaks and a girl of thirteen is Hand of the King. How and why?!"

"I didn't realise you cared." Vaegon replied. "You abandoned the family and never looked back. Mother wrote to you, and you never replied."

"Oh I did." Saera shrugged with a bitterness so worn and tired that it was hardly that anymore. "Father probably hid or burnt the letters I sent to Mother. He never liked me, you know."

"He thought you disgraced the family." Vaegon agreed. "Which you did, don't deny that. Though he mellowed out considerably, last I saw him."

"Great-grandchildren have a way of doing that." Saera sagely replied. "But you didn't answer my question."

Vaegon pondered the question, a hundred answers forming at the tip of his tongue only to be dismissed a heartbeat later.

"You'll have to meet Rhaenyra yourself to understand." Vaegon finally said. "She's… charismatic. And she looks at the world differently than us."

"How so?" Saera curiously asked. "Elaborate, my dear brother."

"Are you aware of High Septon Benedict's teachings?"

"I spent a year in the motherhouse at Oldtown." Saera frowned, brows creasing as she tried to recall the scripture. "I've heard of it, though not in very great detail."

"Then I shall elaborate." Vaegon nodded. "High Septon Benedict preached that the world we live in is as ordained by the gods. It is not man's place to change what is created by the gods."

"I think I remember now. Wasn't he the reason for the Age of Doubt?"

The Age of Doubt referred to the period right before the Starry Sept was raised, when the Vale was still the central bastion of the Westerosi Faith. High Septon Benedict's followers had decried learning to be heretical and unnatural, burning all books save the Seven-Pointed-Star and committing mass executions on teachers, writers and other educators.

Man required no book save the Seven-Pointed-Star, or so he claimed. And any advancements in technology was deemed heretical and against the Will of the Gods. For three centuries, the Faithful had halted any and all learning and innovation on Westeros. Leading to the aforementioned Age of Doubt, where the High Septon's followers had declared war on the Citadel during this time, as the bastion of learning and knowledge. In the end, after three centuries, the Citadel had won, and the Faith's heart was moved to Oldtown and the Starry Sept.

"Indeed." Vaegon replied. "But we look at a line he was famous for: Leave this World as you first saw it."

"Yes, I am aware of that line." Saera shrugged. "It's still quoted quite a bit by the septas. Telling children not leave the world worse than when they were born into it."

"Rhaenyra loathes that teaching, did you know that?" Vaegon said softly. "She says it kills creativity and encourages stagnation. To see the world and be content with what you have."

"Ambition is a sin." Saera quoted the Seven-Pointed-Star, a joking lilt in her voice.

"Then our niece is the worst sinner in the world." Vaegon shrugged. "She looks at the world, and finds it lacking. So she will break it if means that she can put the pieces back together as a better place."

"And lets nothing or no one stop her." Saera finished contemplatively. "I think I understand my niece a bit more now."

Vaegon grunted affirmatively, and the two of them sat once more in comfortable silence before the Archmaester stood up once more and headed to the door.

"It was good to see you again, Sister." The last son said, hand on the door handle.

"Agreed. Brother." The last daughter said, the back of her armchair facing him.

"You're welcome back, you know." Vaegon spoke up. "Rhaenyra will rescind your banishment if I ask her to."

"Thank you, Brother." Saera softly replied. "But Westeros is no longer my home."

Vaegon nodded in understanding.

"Farewell then, Saera."

"Goodbye, Vaegon."

———

The Royal Fleet sailed them back to King's Landing, hulls loaded until they were bursting at the seams with gold and silver and gems. The seventh day had seen the Valyrian steel ingots and Fyrewood logs and planks sold at obscene prices. The bidding has been furious, House Lannister desperate to buy a replacement for Brightroar.

Vaegon had counted the amounts before they had left. Right down to the individual coppers. They now had tens of millions worth of gold dragons at their disposal. More than enough to bankroll Rhaenyra's projects indefinitely.

There was a sudden lurch as the skycart he was within lifted up, rising into the sky as the dragons pulled, to a collective gasp from the crowd that had assembled to see them off. Vaegon was leaning against a glass window during this time, observing the city beneath.

Somehow, despite being no smaller than an ant from their current height, Vaegon saw a single woman standing atop a squat brick tower raise her hand and wave farewell.

He waved back, an instant before they passed the clouds, and yet he knew, bone-deep, that she had seen him too.

That was the last time Vaegon ever saw Saera.

Notes:

On a side note, I'm cancelling the rewrite. Mostly because it stumped me.

There is precious little that will piss my self-insert off enough to commit matricide, and getting outed as a lesbian is pretty much the only thing. Or getting banished, but Viserys wouldn't let that happen.

I considered a few other options. And wrote a draft chapter of Rhae being sent off to foster, but nothing really took.

So yeah…