Title: An Exchange of Valuations

Title: An Exchange of Valuations

Year and Month: 107 AC, 6th Moon

The five days of the grand tournament had served their purpose perfectly. The realm had been dazzled by the spectacle, the martial strength of the houses had been catalogued, and the supremacy of House Targaryen had been brutally and unforgettably reinforced. Now came the final act of this elaborate piece of political theatre: the formal presentation of wedding gifts. In the eyes of my court, this was a day of celebration and fealty, a time for loyal vassals to honor their new King and Queen. In my eyes, it was the final audit, a day where my lords would present their valuations of my reign, and I, in turn, would assess the true nature of their loyalty and ambition.

The ceremony was held in the throne room. I sat upon the Iron Throne, the Conqueror's crown on my brow, a symbol of cold, unyielding authority. At my side, on a slightly lower but still magnificent throne of carved oak and silver, sat my Queen, Lyanna. She wore a gown of deep forest green, a color that spoke of the ancient woods of her home, and on her head was a simple silver circlet I had commissioned, wrought in the shape of intertwined weirwood branches and dragon wings. She was a picture of northern strength and quiet dignity, a stark and deliberate contrast to the glittering peacocks of the southern court. Together, we presented a unified image of Fire and Ice, of ancient magic and new, ruthless order.

The Great Hall was filled to capacity. The lords paramount stood before their delegations, their gifts borne by squires and servants. The herald called them forth, one by one, in order of precedence. This was not just a giving of presents; it was a public declaration of standing, a dance of power and pride.

First, as was his right, came Lord Boremund Baratheon of Storm's End. The old storm lord was still nursing his theological grievances, but he was also a pragmatist who understood power. He approached the throne with a stiff, formal bow.

"Your Graces," he boomed, his voice echoing in the hall. "House Baratheon has ever been the shield of the Targaryen dynasty. To honor this union, a union of strength, we offer a gift of strength."

His squires brought forth his offering: a magnificent suit of black plate armor, enameled with golden stags, so finely articulated it moved as silently as silk. Beside it, they presented a warhammer of black steel, its head forged in the shape of a snarling dragon's maw. It was a warrior's gift for a warrior king, a blunt and obvious statement. We are your strong right arm. We are your fighters. Remember our martial might.

"A fine gift, Lord Boremund," I said, my voice cool and even. "The Crown is pleased by your House's dedication to the realm's defense. Your loyalty is noted and valued." I did not gush or praise. I acknowledged the transaction. He had presented his house's key value proposition—military strength—and I had accepted it.

Next came the Tyrells of Highgarden. Lord Martyn, ever the showman, presented his gift with a flourish. It was not a single item, but a caravan of them. Casks of the finest Arbor gold, chests of rare silks and Myrish lace, and a pair of magnificent white stallions with bloodlines tracing back to the stables of the Rhoynar. It was a gift of luxury, of beauty, of overwhelming wealth. It was designed to dazzle, to show that the Reach was the cornucopia of the kingdom, the source of all its finest things.

I noted the subtle inclusion of his granddaughter, Elinor, who stood beside him, her beauty as carefully cultivated as the roses of her home. The message was clear. We offer you the best of everything. We are the source of the realm's pleasure and wealth. Do not forget our value.

"Lord Tyrell, your generosity reflects the bounty of the Reach," I said, my tone unchanging. "The Queen is fond of Arbor Gold. Your gift is welcome." I gave a slight nod to Lyanna, who offered a small, polite smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She, too, understood the language of these exchanges.

Then came Lord Tyland Lannister. He did not bring a caravan. He did not need to. His squires carried a single, large chest bound in iron. When it was opened, a collective gasp went through the hall. The chest was filled to the brim with freshly minted Golden Dragons, each bearing my own newly struck profile. It was a mountain of gold, a treasure that could fund an army for a year. But it was the second item that was the true gift. Resting atop the coins was a magnificent necklace, a collar of woven gold, set with a single, flawless ruby the size of a pigeon's egg.

"A gift for our beautiful new Queen," Lord Tyland said with a smile that was all pride and power. "A ruby from our deepest mines, a symbol of the fire of her new house, set in the gold of her most loyal servants."

This was the most audacious move yet. It was a display of wealth so vast it bordered on the obscene. It was a reminder that while I sat the Iron Throne, the Lannisters sat on the true source of the realm's liquid capital. The necklace was not just a gift for Lyanna; it was a golden leash, a beautiful, glittering symbol of his house's importance.

I met his gaze. "House Lannister's loyalty has always been as bright as its gold, my lord," I said. "The Crown accepts your… contribution to the royal treasury." I then turned to Lyanna. "My lady, will you accept this token from our loyal vassal?"

Lyanna looked at the necklace, then at Lord Tyland. Her face was impassive. "It is a fine piece of work, my lord," she said, her northern accent clipping the words. "But I fear my neck is not accustomed to such heavy chains. Perhaps it would be better served in the royal vault, as a symbol of your house's great… generosity."

A wave of shocked silence, followed by a few quickly suppressed snorts of laughter, went through the court. Lyanna had, with a few simple words, perfectly understood and rejected the subtext of his gift. She had called his necklace a chain and his power play an act of mere generosity. She had refused to be bought. Lord Tyland's smile tightened at the edges. I felt a surge of cold approval. I had indeed chosen the correct asset.

The other lords presented their gifts, a litany of fine horses, ancient tapestries, and pledges of loyalty. I received each one with the same cool, formal grace. Then, the herald announced the final presentation.

"His Radiance, Prince Qoren of House Martell, Prince of Dorne."

A hush fell over the throne room. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for. The Prince of the unconquered kingdom, setting foot in the Red Keep for the first time in generations, not as a prisoner, but as an honored guest.

Qoren Martell approached the throne alone. He wore robes of sand-colored silk, his dark hair tied back, his face handsome and intelligent. He moved with a quiet, confident grace that was utterly different from the stiff formality of the Westerosi lords. He did not bow low, but gave a slight, respectful inclination of his head, the greeting of one sovereign to another.

"King Aeryn," he said, his voice smooth and accented. "I bring you greetings from the people of Dorne. And a gift, to honor the union of two ancient houses."

His servants brought forth his gift, and it was unlike any other. It was not gold, nor steel, nor silks. It was a single, large, sealed clay amphora, of the type used to transport water or wine. Beside it, they placed a small, ornate wooden box.

The court murmured, confused. It seemed a paltry, almost insulting gift.

"For a thousand years, the finest red wines of Dorne have been prized across the known world," Prince Qoren said, his eyes fixed on mine. "In this amphora is the first cask from a new vintage, from a vineyard planted the year you announced your new policy of trade. We have named this vintage 'King's Peace Red'."

He then opened the small wooden box. Inside, nestled on a bed of red silk, was a simple, rolled-up piece of parchment, tied with a golden ribbon.

"And this," he continued, "is the first signed trade manifest from the new post in the Prince's Pass, detailing the sale of one hundred casks of this wine to a merchant from the Reach. A transaction made possible by your roads, and secured by your peace."

The hall was utterly silent. The sheer, brilliant political genius of the gift was breathtaking. He had not offered me treasure. He had offered me the very thing I craved: a symbol of the success of my own policy. He had shown me that he understood my game, that he was willing to play it. The wine was the product. The manifest was the proof of profit. It was a gift that spoke directly to my soul, a transaction between two businessmen.

"Prince Qoren," I said, and for the first time that day, a genuine, thin smile touched my lips. "Your gift is the finest I have received. It is a symbol not of wealth offered, but of wealth created. A far more valuable commodity." I rose from the throne. "The public ceremony is at an end. I would speak with the Prince of Dorne privately. My lords, the feast continues in the gardens."

I led Prince Qoren not to the council chamber, but to the solar that had once been my father's, a room where the fate of the realm had been decided many times. The sun was setting, filling the room with a warm, golden light.

"Your Grace plays a new game," Qoren said once we were alone, a glass of Dornish red—not the King's Peace vintage, but an older, finer one—in his hand.

"The old game was unprofitable," I replied, taking a seat. "It resulted in a century of losses for both our houses."

"And you believe this new game of commerce will succeed where the Conqueror's fire failed?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Fire burns itself out, Prince Qoren," I said. "A well-managed supply chain is eternal. What do you truly want for Dorne?"

He looked surprised by the directness of the question. "I want what any prince wants. For my people to be strong, prosperous, and free."

"And I am offering you two of the three in abundance," I countered. "Your people can be stronger and more prosperous than ever before by integrating their economy with the Six Kingdoms. Their freedom… their sovereignty… I have no interest in it. A king who kneels is a political asset. A trading partner who pays on time is a financial one. I find the latter to be of far greater value. Swear me no oaths. Pay me no taxes. Simply buy my grain and my iron, and sell me your wine and your spices. Let our merchants grow rich together."

Qoren was silent for a long moment, studying me, his dark eyes sharp and intelligent. "You speak of my people's freedom," he said slowly. "And yet, your Lord Admiral's fleet harasses our trade with the Free Cities. You offer an open hand, but you hold a cudgel in the other."

"I am creating favorable market conditions for my own enterprise," I said without apology. "It is just good business. I make it easier and more profitable for you to trade with me than with my competitors. You would do the same in my position."

He laughed, a genuine, rich sound. "You are a pirate king, Aeryn Targaryen."

"I am a pragmatic king," I corrected him. "I am offering you a treaty. Not of peace, for we are not at war. A Treaty of Commerce. Mutually exclusive trade rights for certain goods. Reduced tariffs. Joint naval patrols against pirates in the Stepstones—pirates who harm both our shipping. A partnership."

I had just laid out the next phase of my plan, moving beyond simple trade to a formal economic alliance.

Prince Qoren stared into his wine, swirling the dark red liquid. "And the price?" he asked quietly. "What is the true price of this partnership?"

"The price," I said, leaning forward, my voice a low, intense whisper, "is the past. The price is a hundred years of pointless hatred and bloodshed. We lay it down, you and I. We bury it. And on its grave, we build something new. Something that lasts. Something that makes us both very, very rich."

He looked up, and for the first time, I saw not a rival, but a potential partner. He saw a king who did not want his land or his fealty, but who understood the universal language of power and profit.

"Draft your treaty, Dragon King," Prince Qoren Martell said with a slow nod. "I will read it. And if the terms are as favorable as you say… then perhaps it is time for the viper and the dragon to learn a new dance."

The last account of my wedding day was closed. I had entertained my vassals, intimidated my rivals, and laid the groundwork for the economic absorption of the only kingdom that had ever defied my ancestors. It had been a long, exhausting, but immensely productive day of business.