Chapter 14: The Lion's Debt

Chapter 14: The Lion's Debt

277 AC, 8th Moon

The siege of Duskendale dragged on into its sixth month, a festering wound on the reputation of the Iron Throne. The great lords of Westeros watched and waited, a silent chorus judging the paralysis of the Hand and the folly of the King. At Pyralis Point, however, it was simply another data point on a timeline, a predictable consequence of flawed leadership. Valerius felt no impatience. He had made his move, extended his offer to Lord Tywin. The response would come when the lion was hungry enough.

Trystan had returned from King's Landing weeks ago, his report a clinical analysis of the political climate in the capital. He had met with the Hand of the King in his tower, a meeting that was less a negotiation and more a mutual assessment of predators.

"He did not accept the offer, my lord," Trystan recounted in the Strategy Room, his voice as level as his gaze. "But he did not refuse it, either. He took the schematics. He said he would take it under advisement."

"He is a cautious man," Valerius noted, tracing the coastline of the Westerlands on his great map. "He will not commit to a dependency until all other options are exhausted. He still believes he can resolve this situation at Duskendale through conventional means."

"He is humiliated," Trystan added. "The entire court whispers of it. The Hand, who crushed the Reynes, held at bay by a petty lord. And the King… the reports say his paranoia grows with every passing day he remains a captive." 

"Let them fester," Valerius said, a cold smile touching his lips. "Desperation is a powerful catalyst for innovation. Or, in this case, for the adoption of another's innovation."

The news, when it finally came, arrived not by raven but by a fast-sailing merchant ship flying the banner of House Celtigar, whose captain had been paid handsomely to deliver any significant news from the capital with haste. The Defiance of Duskendale was over. It had not ended with a storming of the walls or a negotiated surrender. It had ended with a single act of legendary audacity. Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, moving alone under the cover of darkness, had scaled the walls of the Dun Fort, infiltrated the castle, and rescued King Aerys from his captors. 

The aftermath was as brutal as Valerius had predicted. Aerys's vengeance was absolute. Lord Denys Darklyn and his entire immediate family were put to the sword. Their allied kin, House Hollard, were extinguished to the last man, woman, and child, save for a young boy, Dontos, who was spared only at the personal insistence of the man who had saved the king. The Myrish wife of Lord Denys, the Lady Serala, whom Aerys blamed for whispering defiance in her husband's ear, suffered a fate far worse.

"The King has returned to the Red Keep," Maester Arlan reported, reading from the dispatch. "But the reports say he is… changed. He refused to leave the castle. He has not allowed a blade to touch his hair or his nails since his release. He trusts no one, least of all his Hand, whom he blames for the long months of his captivity." 

"A predictable psychological response to trauma and humiliation," Valerius commented, his tone clinical. "He will retreat into paranoia, and his jealousy of Tywin will curdle into outright hatred. The most powerful partnership in the realm is now irrevocably broken."

He looked at Trystan. "And now, the Hand returns to the capital not as a savior, but as the man who failed to act. He needs to reassert his authority. He needs a victory. He needs to show the world that the power of House Lannister is undiminished."

Three days later, the raven arrived. The scroll bore the lion of Lannister, its seal pressed with sharp, uncompromising force. The message was, as Trystan had described its author, blunt and devoid of pleasantry. It was a command. Lord Tywin accepted the "tribute." A single Pyralis water pump, along with its technicians, was to be dispatched to Lannisport, where his brother, Ser Kevan Lannister, would receive them.

Valerius read the scroll and handed it to Arlan. "The lion is ready to drink from our well."

The project was codenamed 'Goldenflow.' It was the single most important strategic initiative House Pyralis had yet undertaken. Valerius oversaw every detail with the meticulous precision of a CEO launching a flagship product into a new market. He was not merely sending a piece of machinery; he was exporting his influence, embedding his technology deep within the infrastructure of his most powerful rival.

He selected the team himself. It would be led by Maester Arlan. The maester's presence was crucial; it provided a plausible cover story. He was a man of the Citadel, a scholar of esoteric arts. The invention of such a device could be attributed to his rediscovery of lost knowledge, a narrative far more palatable to the feudal mindset than the truth of an industrial genius operating in their midst. Arlan, now a fully converted asset, embraced the role with intellectual fervor, drafting volumes of falsified research notes filled with complex, nonsensical Valyrian engineering principles that would lend credence to the deception. 

The "technicians" were five men from the Serpentsguard. They were not simple soldiers. They were graduates of his academy, trained not only in combat but in applied engineering. They understood the pump's mechanics as well as Valerius himself. They were also his security, sworn to protect the technology with their lives. Their orders were simple: install the pump, demonstrate its operation, train a local Lannister crew in its basic maintenance, and then sabotage it in a subtle, irreparable way upon their departure, ensuring that the Lannisters could not reverse-engineer it. They would be dependent on Pyralis technicians for any future repairs or new installations. It was the perfect proprietary service model.

The pump itself was a work of art, a masterpiece of Valerius's hidden industry. Forged from his flawless steel, its pistons and gears moved with a silent, frictionless grace. It was disassembled and packed into a dozen large, unmarked crates.

The delivery vessel was the Sea Serpent herself, captained by Valerius. He would not delegate this. He would oversee the transport personally, sailing under the guise of a routine trade mission to the Free Cities before looping west toward the Sunset Sea. His wife, Lyra, was told he was attending to a new trade agreement in Pentos. She accepted it without question, as she accepted everything.

"Is it wise, my lord, to deliver this yourself?" Trystan asked as they stood on the docks of the hidden harbor, watching the final crates being loaded. "To place yourself so close to the lion's den?"

"It is necessary," Valerius said. "This is not a simple delivery. It is a statement. I want the Lannisters to see the ship. I want their harbormasters to note her speed, her design. I want them to understand that our capabilities extend beyond a single, clever device." He was showcasing the breadth of his product line.

The journey around the southern coast of Westeros was swift and uneventful. The Sea Serpent outpaced every ship they encountered, a grey ghost on the waves. They rounded the coast of Dorne and sailed north, giving the Arbor and the Shield Islands a wide berth. When they finally arrived off the coast of Lannisport, the city gleamed in the morning sun, its splendor second only to King's Landing. Casterly Rock loomed above it, a mountain of stone carved into the shape of a lion, a monument to centuries of power and pride. A power, Valerius knew, that was built on a foundation of flooded tunnels and dwindling gold. 

They were met by a Lannister galley. Ser Kevan Lannister himself came aboard the Sea Serpent. He was a stout, capable-looking man with his brother's calculating eyes but none of his cold, imperious aura. He was a practical man, a COO to Tywin's CEO. His gaze swept the deck, noting the strange, efficient rigging, the seamless quality of the steel railings, the disciplined silence of the crew.

"Lord Pyralis," Kevan said, his tone formal but not hostile. "My brother sends his regards. He is… appreciative of your tribute."

"I am honored to serve the Hand and the realm, Ser Kevan," Valerius replied, playing the part of the humble, loyal vassal. "I hope our humble invention proves useful to the prosperity of the Westerlands." 

The transfer of the equipment and personnel was handled with brisk, Lannister efficiency. Maester Arlan and his team were taken ashore, along with the crated components of the pump. Valerius remained on his ship, anchored in the harbor. He had no intention of setting foot in Tywin Lannister's city. His presence on the ship, a sovereign piece of his own territory, maintained his position of detached strength.

For a week, he waited. He received daily reports from Arlan via coded messages delivered by seabirds trained for the purpose. The installation was proceeding smoothly in one of the deeper, most flooded levels of the Casterly Rock mines. The Lannister engineers were baffled by the technology, their finest smiths unable to comprehend the quality of the steel or the precision of the mechanics.

On the eighth day, Arlan sent the final message. The pump was operational. A demonstration had been held for Ser Kevan and the Lannister mining overseers. With a low hum, the machine had begun to draw water from the flooded shaft at a rate that did a year's work in a single day. The Lannisters were, Arlan reported, speechless.

That evening, Valerius ordered the Sea Serpent to weigh anchor. As they sailed out of the harbor, the setting sun glinting off the peak of Casterly Rock, he felt the profound satisfaction of a successful hostile investment. He had not conquered the Westerlands with fire and sword. He had done something far more insidious. He had made them his customer. He had sold them a cure for their secret sickness, and in doing so, had made them dependent on his pharmacy.

Tywin Lannister could have his pride, his reputation, his seat as Hand of the King. Valerius now owned a piece of his foundation. The lion was strong, but the serpent had wrapped a single, unbreakable coil of steel around its heart. It was a long-term investment, a strategic move in a game whose final stages were still years away. But the board was now set, and one of the most powerful pieces was, unknowingly, now playing for his side.