Chapter 42: The King’s Creditor
Chapter 42: The King's Creditor
299 AC, Month of the Wolf's Howl
The Battle of the Blackwater was the fulcrum upon which the War of the Five Kings turned. It shattered Stannis Baratheon's power, forged the formidable new alliance between the Lion and the Rose, and cemented Lannister control over the Iron Throne. For the great houses of Westeros, it was a moment of bloody, decisive clarity. For Alaric Blackwood, it was the moment his long-term investments reached spectacular maturity.
While the rest of the realm counted their dead, Alaric, in the pristine, orderly halls of Serpent's Head Keep, counted his profits. He had watched the green inferno consume the fleets and the armies from the cold, safe distance of his scrying bowl. He had foreseen the outcome with perfect accuracy. And now, as the victor, Lord Tywin Lannister, began the arduous task of consolidating his power, he found that the strings of the kingdom were held not by the lords in the Red Keep, but by a quiet, calculating lord to the south.
The envoy from the new Hand of the King arrived not with the arrogance of a conqueror, but with the pragmatic weariness of a man facing an impossible task. Tywin Lannister, in a move of calculated respect, did not send a lesser lord. He sent his own brother, Ser Kevan Lannister. A man known for his loyalty, his competence, and his utter lack of sentiment. He was a man Tywin trusted to negotiate with a power he could not simply command.
Alaric received him in the Great Hall of his keep, a chamber designed to inspire awe and intimidation. The black marble floors reflected the light from the high, arched windows like a dark, still sea. The walls were hung not with bright, cheerful tapestries, but with severe, elegant banners depicting the silver serpent on a field of grey. At the far end of the hall, on a simple but masterfully carved weirwood throne, Alaric sat, with Nightfall resting across his lap. Ser Damon, a silent giant in his black plate, stood at his right.
Ser Kevan Lannister, a practical man not easily impressed by grandeur, still had to pause for a moment to take in the scene. He saw not the court of a boy-lord, but the severe, efficient throne room of a new and formidable dynasty.
"Lord Alaric," Kevan began, his voice flat and business-like as he stood before the throne. "I bring greetings from my brother, Lord Tywin, the Hand of the King. He commends you on maintaining the peace and security of the Blackwater March during this time of turmoil."
"Lord Tywin's wisdom is, as always, a beacon for the realm," Alaric replied, his voice a cool, pleasant baritone. He was twenty-one now, a man in his prime, his face having lost its youthful roundness for the sharp, intelligent planes of his maturity. His grey eyes, now flecked with the crimson of his infusion, held an unnerving, ancient depth. "How may I be of service to the Hand and the Iron Throne?"
"The city is saved, but it is starving," Kevan said, getting straight to the point. "The port is a ruin of sunken ships and burned docks. The royal fleet is gone. The crown requires resources. Grain, timber, iron, and the services of your shipwrights and your fleet to begin the work of reconstruction. Lord Tywin has authorized me to pay you for these goods and services in Lannister gold."
It was the offer Alaric had been waiting for. He had them. They were desperate, and he was the sole provider.
"Gold is always welcome, Ser Kevan," Alaric said with a faint smile. "But my house does not lack for it. To be frank, the crown's treasury is empty, and its credit is non-existent. Another loan from House Lannister, even with your immense wealth, would simply be adding water to a leaking bucket. I believe a more... structural solution is required. A long-term partnership, for the stability of the realm."
He leaned forward, his eyes locking with Kevan's. "I am prepared to offer a proposal to Lord Tywin. A proposal that will solve the crown's immediate crisis and put it on a path to fiscal solvency, while cementing the alliance between our great houses."
He outlined his terms with the precision of a master jeweller cutting a priceless diamond.
"First," he began, "my house will undertake the complete provisioning of King's Landing for a period of two years, ensuring the stability of the capital. We will also undertake the complete reconstruction of the royal port and the royal fleet, providing all necessary materials and labour. We will do this not for immediate payment in gold."
Kevan's eyes narrowed. He knew the true price was coming.
"In exchange," Alaric continued, "House Blackwood of Serpent's Head will assume a portion of the Iron Throne's debt. Specifically, the three million golden dragons currently owed to House Lannister."
Kevan Lannister's stoic composure finally broke. He took an involuntary step back, his mind reeling. The boy wasn't asking for gold. He was offering to buy the crown's largest, most politically significant debt, effectively replacing the Lannisters as the king's primary creditor.
"This is not all," Alaric said, pressing his advantage. "In consideration for this service and the assumption of this debt, the Iron Throne will grant my house exclusive trade rights within the Crownlands. All tariffs and duties from goods passing through Blackport and other ports within my domain will be waived for a period of fifty years. Furthermore, Blackwood Mercantile will be granted the sole royal charter for trade with the Free Cities on behalf of the crown."
It was a breathtaking power play. He was demanding a complete, fifty-year monopoly on the trade of the kingdom's heartland. He was asking for a prize greater than any castle or tract of land. He was asking for control of the realm's economic heart.
"Lord Tywin would never agree to such terms," Kevan said, his voice strained. "You seek to make yourself a king of commerce on the steps of the Red Keep."
"I seek to stabilize the kingdom, Ser Kevan," Alaric replied, his voice hardening slightly. "A service for which I expect to be compensated. Your brother is a practical man. He knows the city is a powder keg that could explode from hunger at any moment. He knows the realm is bankrupt. I am offering him a solution. I am taking the crown's debt off his books, which frees up his own capital. I am feeding his capital city, which secures his political position. And I am rebuilding his fleet, which secures his military power. All this, in exchange for commercial concessions that will, in the long run, make the entire kingdom more prosperous. It is a sound and logical business proposal. I am sure Lord Tywin will see the… wisdom in it."
Kevan stood in silence for a long time, the gears of his own pragmatic mind turning. The boy was right. It was an audacious, almost insulting proposal, but it was also a perfect solution to all of their immediate problems. Alaric was holding all the cards. He had the food, the materials, the ships, and the money. They had nothing but a hollow crown and a starving city.
"I will take your proposal to my brother," Kevan said at last, his voice heavy with the weight of defeat. "I will not pretend to know how he will receive it."
"He will receive it as the intelligent man he is," Alaric said, rising, signaling the end of the audience. "He will see it as the only viable path forward. Give Lord Tywin my deepest respects."
After Kevan Lannister departed, his mind reeling, Nervo rushed into the hall, his face pale. "My lord! To take on the crown's debt? To challenge the Lannisters so directly? The risk!"
"The risk of not acting is greater, Nervo," Alaric said calmly. "Tywin Lannister understands one thing: power. By making the Iron Throne my debtor, I become a fundamental pillar of the state. To move against me would be to bankrupt the realm. I have made myself too big to fail. This is the ultimate form of consolidation."
His life continued its strange, tripartite rhythm. Publicly, he was the great lord, the king's creditor, the master of commerce. His family life was a carefully managed portfolio. He received word that Lynesse was pregnant again. The news was satisfactory. A third child, another heir, would provide further security for the dynasty. He continued his correspondence with his son, Tyber, his letters a masterclass in political and economic theory, shaping his heir's mind from afar.
But his true focus remained in the sanctum. The victory at the Blackwater had been a magical boon. The immense outpouring of life force, of fear and rage and death, had created a psychic storm that he had been able to tap into, sharpening his own nascent abilities. His scrying was now effortless. He could see across the continent as easily as a man looks out his window.
His new obsession was the Valyrian steel itself. He had the swords, the dagger, the dragon eggs. He had the texts from Volantis. He was closer than any man in a thousand years to understanding the secrets of the dragonlords.
He would spend his nights in the vault, with Nightfall laid before him on the altar. He would enter a deep trance, his own dragon-infused blood acting as a key, and attempt to commune with the magic trapped in the steel. The visions were chaotic—flashes of a smith's hammer ringing like a bell, the searing white-hot torrent of dragonfire, the taste of blood in the air—but patterns were beginning to emerge.
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The first two elements were the problem. The forging techniques were lost, and dragonfire was a thing of legend. But Alaric was a patient man. The secret to the steel, he believed, lay on Dragonstone. The island was a dragon's lair, a place of fire and magic. Stannis was now a broken man, licking his wounds, his Red God having failed him. The island would be vulnerable, its lord distracted.
Alaric began to lay his plans. His "geological survey" had been a success, providing him with detailed maps of the island's geothermal vents—places where the heat of the earth's core bled towards the surface. It wasn't dragonfire, but it was the next best thing.
A raven arrived from King's Landing a month later. Lord Tywin Lannister, the great Lion of the Rock, had agreed to Alaric's terms. The contracts were being drawn up. House Blackwood of Serpent's Head was now the master of the crown's economy.
Alaric read the letter, a faint, cold smile touching his lips. He had won. He had played the game against the most ruthless politician in Westeros and had stripped him of his greatest weapon. Tywin Lannister still had his armies and his name, but Alaric now owned his king's debt.
He stood on the highest tower of his keep that night, looking north across the bay. The lights of King's Landing were a distant, faint glow. It was a city he now effectively owned. The lords in the Red Keep, the lions and the roses, could have their Iron Throne. They could have their titles and their political squabbles. He was content to be the one who owned their debts, who sold them their bread, who built their ships.
He felt the hum of power in his blood, a deep, fiery warmth that was a constant reminder of his true nature. The wars of men were a profitable but ultimately tedious affair. His real work, the great work, lay ahead. The rediscovery of the secrets of Valyria. The forging of his own magical destiny. He had consolidated his worldly power beyond his wildest dreams. Now, it was time to pursue a power that could command the world itself.