Chapter 151: The Art of Negotiation

The grand doors of the Obsidian Throne Hall slowly swung open. Revil Haydon strode forward, carrying the Valyrian steel greatsword Steelflame on his back and holding high the banner of House Vaelarys. As a newly anointed noble and sworn brother to Draezell, the young squire was dressed especially grandly today—beneath his red silk surcoat embroidered with the sigil of House Haydon, three interwoven whales, he wore a fine chainmail shirt. Draped over his shoulders was a half-cloak of red and silver, the symbol of their sworn brotherhood.

Behind Revil followed Joffrey Cafferen, clad in a green surcoat, with Nightstar, his sapphire-adorned Valyrian steel longsword, hanging from his waist. His personal sigil—House Cafferen's original two facing fawns, now flanked by a sword and a shield—was embroidered onto his attire. At his side walked York Waters, his Tidecaller Valyrian steel sword at his hip. As a mercenary turned sworn brother, York had crafted his own personal crest—a complex design of a crab, a longsword, and a war horn—adorning the black surcoat he wore.

Draezell followed closely behind his sworn brothers, flanked by Hoffa Lawkeeper and Arthor Celtigar. He was trailed by Valar, clad in Valyrian steel armor known as Silver shield, leading Samantha by the hand, as well as Rey, attired in a fitted formal robe. Rhaegor, in his regal purple garb, marched beside his uncle with a stern expression, his seriousness prompting Samantha to steal glances at her brother, half-wondering if he had lost his mind. The ladies of House Vaelarys, Diana and Leyla, followed behind Valar and Rey. They, too, were elegantly dressed—Diana wore a flowing gown of purple and green, its cloak embroidered with her personal sigil, a divided crest of the Tarly huntsman and the Vaelarys silver dragon laurels. Leyla, like her sister-in-law, wore a silver gown displaying a divided sigil of a red crab and a silver dragon, though unlike Diana, her midsection did not yet carry the telltale signs of pregnancy.

At the rear, ensuring their formation's security, was Juchi. The group processed slowly into the hall to the melody of the musicians stationed on the second-floor balcony. Draezell ascended the high dais, halting before a weirwood throne, while Lady Diana took her place before another. The rest arranged themselves in two columns along the deep purple carpet, led by Valar and Rey, awaiting the arrival of their sovereign.

"King of the Andals, Rhoyna, and First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King Aegon II Targaryen arrives."

A measured, yet epic melody filled the hall as the next procession entered. Aegon stepped forward, escorted by his Kingsguard. Ser Tyr Templeton and Ser Steffon Darklyn paved the way for their liege, pausing every few steps to station a Kingsguard beside one of Draezell's sworn brothers. By the time they reached the great Obsidian Throne, only Lord Commander Ser Steffon Darklyn remained at Aegon's side.

The young king shrugged off his black-and-red cloak, planted Blackfyre upon the floor, and eased into his seat.

Draezell and Diana both offered a slight bow before taking their own seats.

Lysandro observed the rows of warriors before him, his gaze shifting abruptly as he took in the scene. What was this? Not only did every one of those warriors wearing red-and-silver half-cloaks wield a Valyrian steel weapon, but even the Kingsguard—Lysandro had long heard of these seven white knights, the storied protectors of the royal family—were armed with three Valyrian steel swords of their own. When had such weapons become so commonplace? Even House Rogare, wealthier than most kingdoms, possessed only two such blades—the Valyrian steel sword Truth and a dragonbone-forged Valyrian steel scimitar.

"Welcome, Magister Lysandro Rogare of Lys," Aegon addressed him in High Valyrian. "As fellow descendants of ancient Valyria, we welcome your presence and hope you enjoy your stay."

Aegon's gaze lingered on the towering figure standing behind Lysandro. The man was a colossus, standing a full seven feet tall, his skin dark, his face heavily scarred and partially veiled by a black silk wrap. His armor, a scaled lamellar of eastern design, and his feathered tower-helm only enhanced his imposing stature.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace." Lysandro cast a fleeting glance toward Draezell before returning his attention to the king. He had noticed the scrutiny Aegon directed toward his retainer. In response, he introduced the man. "Your Grace, this is 'Shadow' Sandoq. He was once a famed gladiator in the fighting pits of Meereen, having triumphed in one hundred deathmatches, drinking the blood of his foes. He has torn open an opponent's throat with his teeth after his sword was broken. Those who sold him to me claimed he once slew lions, bears, wolves, and wyverns alike with nothing but stones found in the dust of the arena."

"I have heard of him," Valar interjected, his eyes burning with interest as he studied the giant. "Giant, I look forward to seeing your skills."

Sandoq lowered his head in silence.

"Prince Valar," Lysandro spoke earnestly, "Sandoq's tongue was cut out by his former masters. He cannot answer you, and I beg your forgiveness for his silence." With that, he smoothly redirected the conversation to their purpose.

At a mere glance from Lysandro, Drazenko and his eldest son Lysaro stepped forward, carefully carrying a golden chest before the king. Lysaro meticulously opened it. Knowing that Westerosi customs were conservative, they had refrained from bringing Lyseni trinkets that might offend local sensibilities. Instead, they had brought something far simpler—pure gold.

"Your Grace, due to the folly of the Triarchy and the raids of Dalton Greyjoy, our connection to Westeros was unfortunately severed. Thankfully, now that Dalton has turned his attention to Myr, we have a chance to Lystablish our ties." Lysandro spread his arms slightly, lowering his head just enough to feign humility as he spoke. "It has been difficult for us, Your Grace."

Lys had to secure this alliance before Myr could do so. He calculated swiftly in his mind—this young king was not the final decision-maker. The key to forming an alliance with the Iron Throne and securing Larra Rogare's betrothal to Viserys rested not with Aegon, but with Draezell.

And if he wanted to achieve his goal, he knew one thing for certain—Draezell was not the sort of man to be easily swayed. In fact, securing this alliance might come at a heavy price for Lys.

Aegon sighed and shook his head as Lysandro continued to recount the devastation wrought upon Lys, even attempting to squeeze out a few tears. Unfortunately, the young king failed in his efforts, ultimately settling for sighing and watching Lysandro's performance.

As he spoke, her mind became clearer—who cared about Lys? What was House Rogare, after all? Bankers and brothel keepers, dealing in coin and flesh. Banking was their primary trade, and banks could thrive anywhere with a strong economy and a tolerant ruler. As long as there was wealth to be managed, they would be there, siphoning off profits while facilitating the flow of money. After all, bankers earned their fortunes through hard work, didn't they?

So why should he concern herself with the fate of Lys? The city had always been known for producing boys and girls skilled in the seven sighs of pleasure, and its patron deity, the Weeping Lady, was little more than a front for a goddess of lust. That Lys should be used and abused by its conquerors was only natural.

Draezell watched with amusement as Lysandro gave her passionate account of Lys's misfortunes, occasionally responding to the questions Aegon posed according to the script they had rehearsed the night before—questions about the city's noble families, its fleet, its ports, its population, its land forces, and its revenues. These were sensitive inquiries, yet Lysandro answered them all.

It was clear that this Magister of Lys was no fool. He understood that Lys's interests could not be defended in the face of such overwhelming odds. His strategy was to prove to House Targaryen and House Vaelarys that House Rogare was more valuable than a city that could be plundered by the Red Kraken at any moment. After all, Lys had antagonized Volantis over the Disputed Lands, angered Braavos over the slave trade, and now, with Tyrosh reduced to ashes and Myr too preoccupied with its own survival, Lys had become a discarded pawn.

Draezell idly ran his fingers over the armrest of the weirwood throne, listening patiently to Lysandro's speech. There was nothing new in it—just the usual rhetoric. The Magister began with an exaggerated account of the past glories of House Vaelarys and House Targaryen during the days of Valyria's Freehold. In truth, Draezell, who had studied family history extensively, had never heard of some of the deeds Lysandro spoke of. Even Rhaegor seemed bewildered.

'Uncle Rey never mentioned this… Maester Visari never spoke of these stories either…'

Lysandro rambled on, tracing history from the Freehold era to Aegon's support of Lys against Volantis. Hee conveniently glossed over the conflicts of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters over the Stepstones but emphasized the deep economic ties between Lys and Westeros. Finally, he revealed her true purpose.

'Your Grace, the people of Lys beseech your mercy. The Red Kraken's fleet has ravaged our towns, turning our once-thriving trade routes into graveyards for merchant ships, reducing our renowned perfumeries to ashes. The city weeps in agony. We have paid a heavy price for our past enmity with your kingdom. Lys is willing to offer half of its annual revenue as tribute, begging for your forgiveness, and to name you Protector of Lys. Let those bloodthirsty fiends withdraw—the city can endure no more.'

Tears nearly fell from Lysandro's eyes. Aegon, unsure of how to respond, maintained a resolute silence, refusing to give an immediate answer.

Draezell, however, continued his calculations. He needed to determine what Lysandro was truly willing to sacrifice and where her bottom line lay. Since he had already decided to sell out Lys's interests in favor of binding House Rogare to the dragonlords, some things had to be considered.

Half of Lys's annual revenue was an enormous sum, but the real question was whether Lysandro could ensure its delivery to the Iron Throne. Draezell suspected that he wielded enough influence to sway Lys's politics but not enough to control it outright. In the first few years, the tribute might be paid on time, but as the wounds left by the Red Kraken's raids healed…

Draezell had no doubt that the Ironborn would withdraw. They were not land-hungry knightly lords; they were reavers, interested only in raiding and the wealth it brought. They had already grown rich stripping Tyrosh bare, and even so, the remaining Iron Fleet still dominated Lys and Myr's navies at sea. That alone proved the weakness of the two city-states.

But back to the Red Kraken himself—he was a clever man. His choice to pillage the Three Daughters and share a portion of the spoils with King's Landing made that clear. Compared to past Greyjoys and House Hoare's rulers, only two had shown such foresight—Goren Greyjoy, who expelled the Faith of the Seven from the Iron Islands, and Vickon Greyjoy, who carefully negotiated with the Conqueror to preserve the Old Way. The current reaver was equally shrewd. King's Landing and Dragonstone had tolerated his raids for two years, but now it was time for him to stop—if he didn't, the dragons were waiting.

Once the Red Kraken withdrew, unrest was bound to follow within Lys. How Lysandro and his kin would handle the opposition was of no concern to Draezell. But one thing was certain—House Rogare would channel their tribute payments through their own banks to reach Westeros. And in doing so, they would gain immense leverage.

If they successfully brokered an alliance between Lys and Westeros and secured a marriage alliance with House Targaryen, their position as brokers of two dragonlord houses would be cemented. It was a winning strategy.

As for how they would achieve this outcome, Draezell could already foresee the steps they would take after this audience. Rhaegor was out of the question—he would likely disappear into the library or the Dragonpit, making even a direct search for him difficult. But there were many others they could approach. So long as they could influence Draezell, convincing him that this alliance benefited House Vaelarys, their victory was nearly assured.

Thinking of this, Draezell couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation.

'No wonder they once forced House Dargaleon to sell their own sons,' he mused. House Rogare was indeed a formidable opponent.

An interesting one, at least.'"

Not proposing the marriage on the spot was a very correct choice for the Rogare family. If it was not accepted, there would be no room for turning things around. However, if it was proposed in a secret agreement, the Rogare family could use their influence to the fullest and ultimately push things in the direction they wanted.

Draezell smiled and took over Lysandro's words: "Magister Lysandro, we sympathize with Lys loss in the recent looting incident, but." Draezell shook his head, and Lysandro showed an expression of "as expected". Unfortunately, this expression was fleeting, so most people didn't even realize that Lysandro made this expression. "The kingdom also has its own difficulties. We need to discuss it with the Small Council, so please wait for a while. Don't worry, during your stay in Summerfield, we will cover the accommodation expenses of House Rogare."

Being evaded by Draezell did not discourage Lysandro's expectations. After a complicated ceremony, everyone left the Obsidian Throne Hall. When the crowd had left, Draezell silently led Tigarro Dargaleon into the Five Finger Hall.

"Your Highness, you guessed correctly." Tigarro said, "After Magister Lysandro left, he sent an invitation to Sebastian and Valar."

"Sebastian, I understand." Draezell understood why Lysandro approached Sebastian. After all, he was now in charge of the wealth of the Vaelarys family. Lysandro wanted to sell Lyse for a good price and could not get around him.

"Valar, what are they looking for him in the name of? That giant?" Draezell couldn't help but press his head.

Tigarro nodded: "Lysandro's sons,Lisaro and Fredo, suggested that Sandoq and His Highness Valar should have a fight. His Highness Valar had no reason to refuse, so Hoffa asked Juchi to go with him."

Longzer nodded. "Hoffa did a great job. Who else did they find?"

"The two ladies," Tigarro said, "Rogare invited them to go to the water garden of Summerfield tomorrow at sunrise to taste the specialties of Lys. It is difficult for them to refuse."

Draezell smiled and nodded. This was also within his expectations. "What else?"

"And me, Your Highness." Tigarro whispered. This gloomy young man actually had some rare emotion called anger, but he quickly suppressed it.

"How do you plan to deal with them?" Draezell really laughed this time. House Rogare was clever, knowing exactly whom to target. Unfortunately for them, there was one person they could not bypass—someone who bore a deep, personal grudge against them. A blood feud, a near-extermination of his family, one that had nearly cost the young Tiagaro his life. Draezell was eager to see how this would unfold.

"I will make them spit out more, Your Highness." Tigarro also smiled: "At least let them feel what my father felt back then."

Draezell nodded: "Go ahead and do it. Remember to keep your breath. We still have use for them."

"I understand, Your Highness."

Tigarro disappeared into the darkness of the Five Finger Hall in a sinister manner.

A moment later, the Faceless Man Kungor Potter emerged from the shadows.

"Your Highness," the Faceless Man said, "We have found the target of the Faceless Man who came to Westeros."

"Who?" Draezell asked.

"Lady Jeyne Arryn, and her heir, Joffrey Arryn."