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Chapter 67: Chapter 46: When It Rains

I'm back! Happy December everyone!

NaNoWriMo wasn't too productive for me. I had to juggle a dozen other responsibilities, which meant that I only wrote around 40000 words instead of the 50000 target. Still, that's basically the rest of this arc and the next two written out.

Enjoy!

—Lucky

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

Chapter Text

"Keep busy at something; a busy person never has time to be unhappy."

-King Viserys II, the Lawmaker

111 AC, Tower of the Hand

"In ten years time, when Aegon is three and ten, like Rhaenyra was when you named her Hand of the King. We split the Realm in twain. Into two separate viceroyalties." The Queen answered. "The Westerlands, Reach, Stormlands and Dorne shall be ruled by Aegon from Oldtown, while Rhaenyra can rule the rest from King's Landing.

"They shall both sit as Viceroys, and after an agreed upon period of time, mayhaps a decade, the two viceroyalties will be reunified and an impartial body—Possibly the Conclave— will access whom has done a better job at rulership. Whom has the more successful viceroyalty and whom is the better King." Alicent suggested. "The winner will take the Iron Throne. The loser shall swear eternal fealty."

I waved a hand, dismissing the recording of my stepmother and father.

"Good job, Shaeterys. You did well for bringing this up to me." I evenly said, turning to face the Dragonseed. "You are dismissed."

Daemon's firstborn son nodded and bowed politely, hastily severing his glass candle connection and vanishing.

"Well, that's a mess." Laena remarked.

"Tell me something I don't already know." I irritably replied.

"My father is retrofitting the Sea Snake and a dozen other lesser vessels with new improvements from the Encyclopaedia of Valyrian Shipbuilding." Laena replied without missing a beat. "He intends to pull an Elissa Farman and sail across the Sunset Ocean."

"Is he?" I blinked, turning to face my girlfriend. That really was something I didn't already know. "Well, he's got the Encyclopaedia of the Planet with him, so he should find the lands he's searching for."

"Indeed. Laenor will inherit his place on the Small Council." Laena told me.

"Well, as long as he's even half as competent as Lord Corlys, I won't complain." I waved away, pausing before speaking once more. "And remind me to pass your father a shopping list before he leaves. If he's going to the Americas, I want cocoa beans, tomatoes and potatoes brought back home."

"I'll pass it along." My girlfriend amusedly smiled.

"But back on track." I began, pacing across the room as I thought. "The Hightowers are trying to make me look incompetent and foolish, and are starting fires throughout the south in order to destabilise the Realm."

"The Riverlands were Daena's fault." Laena pointed out.

"Yes, she quite literally started the fire there, but I have reason to believe that Otto is fanning the flames." I replied. "Regardless, Daddy Dearest is handling the Riverlords."

"But what about the Westerlands?" Laena asked. "Jason Lannister will face civil war at this rate."

"Oh I imagine that's where Otto will strike next." I shrugged. "But the Fourth Legion has nipped the problem in the bud. There will be no violence so long as they are there."

"Yes, but what happens when they leave?" My cousin pointedly asked. "They're Valemen. They can't stay there forever."

"No, they'll leave after a year or so there." I agreed. "But that won't matter, because in a year or so, the Fourth Legion would have finished training up the backbone of the Sixth Legion, and they'll handle the peacekeeping operation in the west."

"I though the Sixth Legion was only planned in three years time?" Laena replied, confused.

"Lord Jason is invested in the endeavor, and has personally agreed to pay out of his own pocket for the raising of the Sixth Legion, which has allowed me to accelerate their formation." I explained. "But you are right. The Westerlands are a boiling pot of oil that I have to handle sooner rather than later."

"Love, there's no point in putting out that fire if Otto sets three more in the time it takes you to extinguish the first." Laena informed me.

I squinted at her.

"You're not normally so helpful in political matters." I flatly stated.

"Well, I just have a lot of experience with setting fires." The Skydancer shrugged. "Same thing applies here. It's far easier to start a fire than to put it out."

"You're right." I agreed, after mulling it over a few times. "It's not enough to be reactive. I need to be proactive. Preempt Otto and stop him from destabilising the other half of the Realm."

"Dorne. The Iron Islands. The Vale. The North and Behond-the-Wall." Laena recited.

"Not just them." I replied, walking over to a bookshelf in the corner. "I'll need the rest of the Kingdoms solidly behind me. Solid enough that Otto can't agitate."

Laena turned a violet gaze onto me, raising a silver eyebrow as I grabbed the items I was after.

"Okay, what's the plan?" My girlfriend asked.

Ten folders slammed onto the table. One for each region of Westeros.

"I'm glad you asked." I grinned.

"Oh this is going to be good." Laena grinned back, opening up a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of Otto's favourite elderberry wine. She poured herself a goblet of the liquor, leaned back on an elegant armchair and raised her glass. "Alright, let's hear what devious scheme you're going to use to suborn the Realm.

"Is it blackmail? Assassinations? Bribery?" My lover enthusiastically asked, waving around her cup for emphasis.

"I'm going to keep them too busy to agitate." I bluntly told my girlfriend, who looked crestfallen at the notion that I wasn't going to get up to my eyes in scheming.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Laena pouted. "It's been too long since I threatened someone with Vhagar."

"You threatened to feed Lord Thorne to Vhagar just last week." I pointed out. The man had been quite belligerent after his son Rickard's death in the Trial by Seven, and made the mistake of insulting me in front of Laena. Whom promptly brought him before Vhagar for an attitude readjustment. And to add insult to injury, I later had him fined for the crime of lèse-majesté.

"Exactly." The Skydancer replied, raising her wineglass. "It's been too long."

I rolled my eyes at my girlfriend's antics and continued on, undaunted.

"Now contrary to what most treatises preach, the key to a stable rule is neither fear nor love, but apathy." I told her, pouring a glass of wine for myself. "Everyone, be they low or highborn likes stability more than anything. Gainfully employed individuals are far less willing to throw their hat in with rebels. Not when they have so much to lose.

"I mean, do you honestly think that most people, be they high or low, really care about whom sits the Iron Throne so long as they have work, food and a roof over their heads?" I asked.

"Probably not." Laena shrugged. "So that's what you're doing? Keeping them too busy that they have no time or energy to agitate?"

"Exactly." I agreed, raising my glass to punctuate my statement. "Look at Dorne. They've been perfectly well behaved ever since the surrender."

"Yes, that has been rather odd." Laena nodded. "They hate us. Personally, I mean."

"Razing most of their armies tends to do that." I said, taking a long sip of my drink. "But despite being practically next door to Oldtown, Otto hasn't been able to inflame them unlike the rest of the south."

"And it's because you've kept them busy?"

I nodded, rapping a knuckle on the folder labelled Five-Year-Plans; Dorne.

"Construction of the Second Arm has been occupying most of their time." I told my girlfriend. "Nobody wants to plot and scheme when they've got deadlines, quotas and targets to meet."

Laena drummed her fingers on her goblet contemplatively, mulling over my words.

"But that's just a means to an end." She finally said. "Once the construction is finished, they'll go back to scheming and plotting.

"Hells, they just might rebel after the Second Arm has been raised, and this time you won't be able to threaten them with bankruptcy." The Skydancer suddenly said in alarm.

"No they won't." I firmly told my lover. "As part of the peace terms, I was able to dictate that the Dornish farms turn towards producing solely cash crops. Olives. Cotton. Spices. Citrus fruits. Which while worth a pretty penny…"

"Won't be able to feed Dorne." Laena realised. "But they can just import food via the Second Arm."

"Which is exactly why I'll assign a Legion garrison to Bloodstone, once construction is complete." I flatly told my girlfriend. "Plans have already been made for a series of fortresses to be raised across the Stepstones. On paper, they are to halt foreign invasions into Westeros, the Dothraki in particular, but in truth they're also to guard against Dornish treachery."

"Ah. If Dorne rebels, you'll just close the Second Arm and leave them to starve." Laena realised.

"Indeed." I agreed. "But that's not just the only scheme I have afoot. Even as we speak, the Stoney Dornishmen are busy carving out new passes through the Red Mountains, and the Sandy Dornishmen are laying down sandstone roads through the desert in order to connect the Second Arm to the Kingsroad and the Roseroad and create new trade routes between the Stormlands and the Reach. Ostensibly to allow for faster transportation of food, stone and steel to feed the Second Arm's construction, but these roads also allow us to…"

"Gain faster paths to march our armies into Dorne, with fewer chokepoints." Laena appreciatively finished.

"As a last resort." I firmly said. "I still do not want to commit troops into Dorne. Place is a deathtrap. But the threat that we can march the Legions down easily is not lightly dismissed."

"The Second Legion does have quite a reputation down there, doesn't it." Laena mused. "A few raiding parties with a barrel of wildfire, and there goes half their farmlands."

Yes, General Dondarrion really was the skilled raider. In some ways, the Second Legion was feared more than the First, for while the First would give one a straight-up fight, the Second wouldn't. They'd raid and harass, striking hard and fast and running away before their opponents could react. And as any half-decent commander would know, irregular warfare was a good deal harder to deal with than regular warfare.

"Now, I've already sent copies of these to every one of the Lord Paramounts." I informed my lover, tapping the rest of the folders. Five-year-plans for the rest of Westeros. A series of goals and plans for the economic and industrial restructuring and development of every region of Westeros. "And by the end of the year, I fully expect most of them to be well underway."

———

111 AC, Camp Cockleswhent,

The Cockleswhent was a tributary of the Mander River. It's headwaters were just past the borders between the Stormlands and Reach, nestled in the northern parts of the Dornish Marches. 

While not as broad as the Mander proper, it was definitely deeper, and didn't require additional dredging to allow the sailing of warships up and down it.

In short, it was the ideal place to raise a permanent fortified camp for the Legions.

A port had been swiftly raised on the banks of the river, construction having gone at a startling pace due to the ships carrying prefabricated pieces in their hulls, allowing for rapid assembly. The same prefabricated tricks were used for the rest of the camps, with hundreds of wooden shelters popping up by the day. The Royal Fleet went back and forth near constantly during this time, ferrying wood, stone, concrete and the like from King's Landing, which the two thousand sappers of both the First and Second Legions used to raise a fortress in weeks from what had once been plains.

While the sappers made themselves busy, the rest of the Legions had split up into smaller detachments, spreading out on either side of the border. Thousands of men spread across the two kingdoms, securing the border and cracking down on any forms of crime. It was a rather heavy handed method of peacekeeping, I would not deny, but it was effective.

While armies of any kind tended to be bad on the locals, my Legions were an entire cut above in terms of discipline and professionalism. They were stern, that I would not deny, but they were fair.

Before they'd departed, I'd made it clear to every officer of import in both Legions that I wanted regulations followed to the letter, with orders to come down hard on any rulebreakers, be they Legion or not.

The Legions would pay for what they took, and never mistreat the smallfolk. Any drinking and gambling was to be kept out of sight, and brothels only visited once the Legion healers had examined all the whores for the pox.

In fact, I'd encouraged the Legion healers to set time and supplies aside to treat the locals. Providing cheap healthcare was one of the most effective methods of placating the locals.

As was hunting down bandits in the region.

The Second Legion was now cheered for in near every town they visited, on either side of the border, for their outriders had a remarkable talent for hunting down outlaws.

It had been three months since I'd deployed them south, and already tensions on either side were beginning to simmer down, now that the Legions were preventing Alicent and Otto's troublemaking.

The warmongers on both sides also received a stern talking-to by their respective Legion generals. And let me tell you that having a dozen siege engines aimed at one's curtain wall made oh so many problems go away.

But still, there were only so many problems that could be solved by hitting them, so while my Legions averted the war, I wove peace between the Lords and Ladies.

And today, was the culmination of three months worth of compromises, reparations and rapprochements from both sides.

No less than twelve couples were getting married here and now, in a grand ceremony with all expenses paid for by the Crown.

"Hail!" Hundreds of voices shouted, entire companies of legionaries lined up on either side of the aisle, hands over their hearts in salute. The aisle ran from south to north, and split on either side of this metaphorical border, stood the First and Second Legion, with the Reachmen legionaries on the left, and the Stormlander legionaries on the right.

The twelve grooms stood at the altar, awaiting their spouses-to-be. As Camp Cockleswhent was still under construction, the sept had yet to be raised.

Hence this ceremony would be held outdoors, under the noon sun. Pavilions had been set up, and hundreds of tables and thousands of chairs prepared for the guests.

A raised stage served as our altar, set in front of seven easels set with beautiful paintings of the Seven.

The High Septon had thrown a small fit over how 'the Seven would be disgusted by such a makeshift arrangement', but backed down when I reminded him that modesty and austerity were virtues in the Seven-Pointed-Star. It mattered not if the wedding took place in the Great Sept of Aemma or in a shabby tent surrounded by charcoal drawings of the Seven. All that mattered was the faith of those whom came before the Gods.

The brides walked down the aisle one by one, according to rank, escorted by their fathers or older brothers. Occasionally other relatives, as a good number of their brothers numbered among the grooms.

The herald would announce the name of the bride, and the corresponding groom would step forward to take the bride from her family. The formal exchange was swiftly conducted, and soon we had all twelve couples lined up before the High Septon.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The High Septon declared, twelve women divesting themselves of their maiden cloaks and receiving new ones from their husbands to be, and the brides and grooms turned to face each other.

As the highest ranking couple of the twelve, Ser Aeric Dondarrion and Lady Alanna Tarly got the High Septon. The remaining eleven couples each stood before a regular septon.

A multitude of young boys approached the twelve septons, each bearing a small tray with the eight ribbons. Among them stood twins Vaelon and Baelon Fyre. Vaelon before their mother Alanna, Baelon before their uncle Ronald Tarly.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." The High Septon recited, taking the first ribbon, red like blood, and tying the first knot between the hands of the couple. Beside him, the eleven other septons followed suit.

They recited the holy prayers, wrapping the seven coloured ribbons around the hands of the couple. Tying the knot, literally.

"Look upon one another, and speak the words." The High Septon commanded, the twelve couples doing so obediently.

"Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger." They recited. "I am hers/his and she/he is mine. From this day, until my the end of my days, from this day until the last day."

"You may now kiss the bride." The High Septon declared.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you for my lady/lord and wife/husband." They recited, before kissing one another.

"I now seal them as man and wife, one heart, one flesh, one soul, now and forever." The septons recited as one, tying the last and final white ribbon around the brides and grooms.

It was now done. Twelve marriages complete. Twelve alliances forged between the border houses. Peace between my allies had been secured.

"Well, this calls for a celebration." I remarked to myself, drawing Dark Sister and bringing it down. "Sappers, fire at will!"

The twelve anti-dragon ballistae arrayed around the pretty flower field where we held the wedding all came to life, the sappers of both Legions raising their siege engines to the sky and unleashing bolt after bolt.

Five seconds after they'd been launched, at the apex of the arc, the bolts all exploded. Blossoming into starbursts of fire in the air. Pretty sparks of an entire rainbow of colours fell like rain, to the oohs and aahs of the crowd below.

As soon as the first bolts had been launched, the sappers pulled a lever attached to the side of the ballistae, pulling back the bowstring and allowing another bolt to drop down into the firing groove from the box above. A match was struck, lighting a special string that was made especially flammable and the trigger quickly pulled, the ballistae shooting the next volley of primitive fireworks into the air.

"That's really pretty." Shaera Fyre remarked, coming to stand by my side.

"Courtesy of the Alchemists' Guild." I told my cousin.

"Oh, is this wildfire then?" She curiously asked. "The stories did not do it's beauty justice."

"No. It's a derivative." I denied. "I've been having the Wisdoms tinker with the recipe. Make them into less of a one-trick-pony."

"I didn't know that alchemy could be so beautiful." My mother's old cupbearer sighed appreciatively.

"I'm hoping that we'll be able to market these fireworks out." I told her. "Wildfire really only has military usage, and though House Targaryen is the patron of the Alchemists' Guild, I'd rather that they not rely solely on us for funding. I'd like them be able to stand on their own feet."

"Yes, I can see that." Shaera smiled. "I'd love fireworks like these at my own wedding."

I gave a noncommittal grunt. The fireworks was just a cover for the real experiments of the Alchemists' Guild. I'd handed them copies of pretty much every alchemical scroll from Aenar's Vault and told them to start researching. The fireworks were just one part of these new developments.

And already, results were promising.

A new version of wildfire had been developed. Less volatile and less prone to seeping into all sorts of materials, at detriment to blasting power, but that was an acceptable tradeoff.

Wildfire as it currently stood, was too volatile a pyrotechnic for field use by foot soldiers. Oh it was fine when transported via skycart, or even a ship, but even an army as meticulous and careful as the Legions would be hard pressed to safely transport and use wildfire while out in the field.

Shaera's giggling snapped me out of my thoughts, and I followed her gaze, sighing exasperatedly at the sight before me.

"Those two numbskulls." I sighed.

Vaelon and Baelon, those idiots, had apparently decided that throwing a pie at their new stepfather made for an excellent prank, but instead of nailing Ser Aeric in the back of the head, their dragon hatchlings Horn and Hill had thought that the twins were playing catch, and had caught the pie in their claws, before lobbing it back like a frisbee, splattering the twins instead.

That was pretty much the default trend when it came to those two boys. The half-Tarly twins fancied themselves prankster extraordinaries, but their pranks always backfired due to a variety of reasons, ranging from their own incompetence to plain bad luck.

For instance, the twins once tried to teach their dragon hatchlings how to sneak up under a chair before breathing fire onto the butt of the person sitting on the chair. But the one time they tried to pull that trick during a family dinner ended with those two numbskulls running around with the seat of their pants afire.

Turns out those two idiots forgot to teach their dragons that they were supposed to go under the chairs of other people. So instead of setting Daena and Bell's butts afire, Horn and Hill ignited the pants of their own owners.

Another time, the twins had dug a pit trap in the garden, and concealed it with branches, hoping to prank Shaeterys. But then they got distracted by dinner, and forgot about the whole affair. Until the next morning, when Vaelon ran into the gardens to play and fell into the pit trap he dug. And then Baelon somehow tripped over his own brother's head, and toppled straight into a thorny rosebush.

"On their own mother's special day!" Shaera harrumphed. "Do those nonces have no decorum?"

I was about to say something scathing in reply when I felt the glass candle in my pocket go warm.

"Excuse me." I said, walking to a quiet corner and deploying a privacy ward, before tapping my glass candle and activating it, projecting an image of Daenys Fyre.

"Rhae, we have a problem. A big one." My cousin informed me.

"Of course we do." I sighed. "Alright, lay it on me."

"Cerelle Lannister has rebelled against Jason Lannister, and has claimed the title of Warden of the West over him." Daenys reported. "She's arguing that if you can be the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, then there should be no reason why she herself cannot claim rulership of the Westerlands."

"Oh fuck." I cussed, as the full implications of Otto's scheme fell into place.

Cerelle Lannister was the firstborn of the late Lord Tymund Lannister, and married to Robert Reyne, a known conservative and one of Otto staunchest supporters among the Westerlands. If she became Lady of Casterly Rock, then I'd lose a kingdom to the Greens. On the other hand, if I backed Jason Lannister, whom was a progressive, Black-leaning leader, then I'd be taking a swing at my own legitimacy. Otto would spin the whole thing as me being unwilling to defend the rights of a fellow woman, and that'd severely damage my own credibility as Crown Prince.

"Please tell me that she's called the banners and taken a swing at Casterly Rock." I begged Daenys, but I already knew the answer from the look on her face.

"Oh no." My cousin denied. "She's not called a single banner. Instead, she's decided to appeal to the Crown for arbitrage."

I swore quite virulently in Hokkien. That meant that I had no choice but to make a ruling on the matter. It was one thing if Cerelle bared her blade at Lord Jason. That'd give me the excuse—paper-thin, but an excuse nonetheless— to crush her like a bug.

But that Cerelle was politely pleading her case to the crown made this a whole other ball game. Now I had to pick a side. Conservative Cerelle or progressive Jason.

Damned if I did, damned if I didn't.

"Fine." I eventually sighed, running my hand through my hair in a most unladylike manner. "I'm on my way."