Chapter 54: The Devil’s Bargain
Chapter 54: The Devil's Bargain
303 AC, Month of the Smoking Sea
The great oaken doors of the Chamber of the Painted Table closed behind Alaric and his retinue, the sound a dull, final thud. They were left in a stone antechamber, guarded by two colossal Unsullied whose impassive bronze faces betrayed nothing. Ser Damon Flowers stood beside Alaric, his hand never straying far from the Valyrian steel hilt of Red Rain. The silence was absolute, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions Alaric had just unleashed within the throne room.
He had laid his terms on the table. He had presented his justification not as an apology, but as an indictment. He had faced down the last Targaryen and her living dragons and had not flinched. He had played his hand with audacious, calculated precision. Now, all he could do was wait for the other players to assess the new state of the game.
He was not nervous. Nervousness was an inefficient expenditure of energy. He was, however, running a thousand simulations in his mind, with Prometheus providing the processing power.
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Inside the Chamber, the silence was a living, breathing entity. Daenerys Targaryen sat on her grim stone throne, her hands clenched on the carved dragon heads that formed its arms. The echo of Alaric's words still hung in the air, a litany of brutal truths she had spent a lifetime trying to outrun. A rabid animal… a kidnapper and a rapist… selling his own flesh and blood…
Tyrion Lannister broke the silence, swirling the wine in his cup. "Well," he said, his voice laced with a weary, grudging admiration. "No one can accuse the man of a lack of candor. Or courage. Or breathtaking arrogance."
"He should be executed," Grey Worm stated flatly, his hand gripping the hilt of his shortsword. His face was a mask of rigid discipline, but his eyes betrayed his outrage. "He stood before the Queen and did not kneel. He insulted the memory of her family. He is an enemy."
"He is also the only reason this war is still winnable," Tyrion countered, taking a long drink. "Did you listen to him, Grey Worm? He controls the food that will feed your Unsullied. He commands the only other professional army on this continent. He possesses a strategic mind that makes my own father's look like that of a bumbling squire. To execute him would be to execute our own chances of victory."
Missandei, her gentle face troubled, spoke next, her voice soft but firm. "It is not about victory alone, my Lord Hand. It is about the kind of world the Queen is trying to build. He is a man who admitted to profiting from famine and war. He speaks of people as assets and loyalty as a commodity. He feels no remorse for his part in the rebellion. He is the embodiment of the very world of masters the Queen came here to break. To make an alliance with such a man… it would be a poison at the root of the new tree we are trying toplant."
"A tree cannot grow in barren soil, my dear Missandei," Tyrion sighed. "And without Lord Blackwood's grain and gold, this kingdom will be a barren wasteland. We can debate the morality of our allies after we have won the war. For now, we need to win it."
Lord Varys, who had been observing the proceedings from the shadows, now glided forward, his powdered hands clasped before him. "The Lord Hand speaks with a certain… pragmatism," he said, his voice a silken whisper. "But I must confess to a deep sense of unease. This Lord Alaric… he is a shadow. He appeared from nowhere during the rebellion. He built a domain of unprecedented wealth and power in less than a decade. His intelligence network rivals my own, and yet my little birds cannot find its source. He knew of the Night King. He knew of your struggles in Essos. He knows things no man should know."
Varys looked at Daenerys, his eyes dark with suspicion. "To ally with a man whose power is a mystery is to give him a knife to hold to our throats. He speaks of partnership, but what is his endgame? What does a man who already has more wealth and power than a king truly want?"
The question hung in the air. Each advisor had presented their case, a perfect reflection of their own nature. The soldier saw a threat to the chain of command. The moralist saw a poison to the cause. The spymaster saw an unknowable rival. The pragmatist saw a necessary tool.
The decision fell to Daenerys. She rose from the throne and walked to the Painted Table, the great map of Westeros her ancestors had carved. She looked down at the continent, at the disparate kingdoms she was trying to bind together. Her experience in Meereen had been a harsh and bitter lesson. She had arrived there with dragons and righteousness, and it had nearly destroyed her. She had learned that breaking chains was easy. Ruling was hard.
"In Meereen," she said, her voice quiet but filled with a new, colder authority, "I had justice on my side. I had dragons. I had the love of the freed slaves. And yet, I was losing." She looked at Tyrion. "The Sons of the Harpy bled my soldiers in the streets. The Wise Masters of Yunkai and the Good Masters of Astapor came with their armies to starve my city. My dragons were uncontrollable. I was a Queen with no food, no allies, and no control over my own power."
She traced the outline of the Blackwater March on the map, the domain Alaric had carved out for himself. "This man... this serpent... he offers me everything I lacked in Meereen. He offers food for my army. He offers gold to win the loyalty of the other lords. He offers a professional army to fight a different kind of war. And he offers… knowledge."
She looked up, her violet eyes meeting each of her advisors in turn. "He spoke the truth about my family. Viserys was a cruel, weak fool who would have been a worse monster than my father. Rhaegar… Rhaegar's love for Lyanna Stark, whether it was stolen or given, set the world on fire and left my mother and me to flee in the night. Alaric Blackwood did not lie to me. That is more than I can say for most of the lords who have bent the knee."
She took a deep breath, her decision made. It was not a decision of the heart. It was not the decision of the young, idealistic girl who had left Pentos. It was the decision of a queen who had learned that reality was a brutal, unforgiving business.
"He is a serpent," she declared, her voice ringing with the finality of a dragon's roar. "But the lions have proven treacherous, the stags are all but extinct, the wolves have been savaged, and the krakens are opportunistic fools. The old world of honourable houses is dead. It died in the fires of Harrenhal and the waters of the Trident. Perhaps the new world must be built by a different kind of creature."
She turned to Grey Worm. "He will not kneel. His power is his own. To try and force him would be to make an enemy of a man we cannot afford to fight. We will accept his offer of an alliance between sovereign powers."
She looked at Missandei. "We cannot build a better world if there is no world left to build. The Night King is the true enemy. If this man's resources can help us defeat the darkness, then his lack of a moral compass is a price I am willing to pay."
And finally, she looked at Varys. "You are right to be wary, my old friend. We will watch him. We will use his strength, but we will never fully trust him. Keep your little birds watching his every move."
She walked back to her throne and sat, the weight of her decision settling upon her. She had chosen to make a deal with the devil to win her paradise.
"Bring Lord Blackwood back," she commanded.
The heavy doors swung open once more. Alaric stepped inside, his face as unreadable as a mask of polished stone. He walked to the center of the room and stood, waiting. His posture was not that of a man awaiting judgment, but of a partner awaiting the conclusion of a business meeting.
Daenerys Targaryen looked down at the Lord of the Blackwater March, the last great rebel. He was a creature of a different age, a ruthless, modern mind in a world of feudal tradition. He was a monster, perhaps, but he was a monster she now desperately needed.
"Lord Alaric Blackwood," she began, her voice the cold, clear sound of a breaking dawn. "Your arguments have been… persuasive. I find your logic… compelling."
She leaned forward, her violet eyes locking with his. "I accept your offer of an alliance. House Targaryen will join with House Blackwood to face the coming darkness and to restore order to the Seven Kingdoms." She paused, letting the weight of her next words settle. "But understand this, Lord Serpent. This is a partnership, but it is a partnership in which there is, and always will be, a senior partner. My dragons and I will sit the Iron Throne. You will be my shield and my banker. It will be a profitable arrangement for you, I am sure. But do not ever mistake our alliance for equality."
Alaric listened, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching the corners of his lips. It was exactly the counter-offer he had predicted. She had accepted his terms, but had reasserted her own dominance for the sake of her pride and her court. It was a perfect, face-saving compromise. It cost him nothing and gave him everything he wanted.
He gave a slight, formal bow, an acknowledgment of her station, not a gesture of fealty.
"I understand perfectly, Your Grace," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I look forward to a long and… mutually profitable… partnership."
The deal was struck. The devil's bargain was sealed. The serpent and the dragon were now allies, bound together by mutual need and a shared enemy. And as Alaric walked from the chamber, the silent, calculating predator, and Daenerys watched him go, the fiery, righteous conqueror, neither of them could truly know who had just gotten the better end of the deal.