Ranma woke up that morning; spent time with his family then at around midmorning went out to meet Loras and Renly for their trip into the city. They were dressed simply, with none of the court finery they had worn the evening before, but still in good elegant clothing in silk with velvet cloaks and doublets, though both men also wore swords at their sides. Ranma wore his dark leather pants, though he had forbore the cloak and wore a simple short-sleeved jerkin with his belt buckle of the direwolf's head to denote his family.
Of the three, he was the only one unarmed. They were soon joined by Brynden, who told them he had business down by the docks. The quartet of men descended into the city together but Brynden soon broke off, leaving the three men to head towards the perfumers street.
Soon enough, they were there. Ranma browsed around until he found a perfume that smelled of pine wood and needles. It reminded him of the smell of home, and he bought six small glass vials of it. He was astonished at the price of them, each one costing at least twice what they would be at home, and that with the need to transport them up from White Harbor. He asked about it, and the man shrugged. "Supply and demand, master. All the highborn need perfumes to keep the smell of the city at bay."
Ranma grunted, irritated at the amount but still having no idea how to really propose a sewer system. Nor did he have any desire to stay in the city long enough to see it through.
"Such is the price we must all pay to keep our senses working." Renly quipped, and the trio turned for home. Ranma and Ser Loras were already talking about setting up a spar later that day. Renly was looking forward to it, though not just because it would be an interesting match.
Renly was interested in Ranma; he wanted to figure out if the young man had… the same tastes as he and Loras. The night before was inconclusive in proving that one way or the other. He could simply be a Stark, they were normally a stuffy sort, not given to much in the way of humor, though Ranma was more open than most. But perhaps he was simply more closed off about physical affection? Renly didn't know and wondered. Regardless of that, watching the two young men exercise would be stimulating.
They were hailed as they walked along by Brynden, moving through the crowds around them, followed by thirty men who were moving in a bunch, led in turn by five men in full armor. "Cousin," Brynden said, reaching out and clasping his nephew's arm, "these men are from my brother. He sent them here to meet with you and get to know you. He wants to see what kind of man his daughter's son is."
Ranma nodded cordially at the other men and fell into step with them, talking about the trip down and asking questions about Riverrun, which Ser Desmond Grell answered. He was built much like Ser Rodrick, save for the fact he had a slightly larger belly. Despite this, his arms were thick, his dark brown eyes sharp.
Loras and Renly exchanged a glance, wondering what this was about. They had yet to hear what had happened up Winterfell and had no hint yet that Jon Arryn's death had been anything but natural.
On the other hand, Ranma was well pleased with both the men and the fact this gave them eighty five swords inside the Red Keep or would once he got the men situated in the barracks in the Tower. He and his father were going to meet with Ser Jory later that day to relay to him that the former Hand had indeed been murdered. While he couldn't share that with anyone else, they wanted the men on guard to be ready for anything, so thirty more men-at-arms plus five more knights would be a good addition to their forces.
Beyond there being a possible threat against the Lady Catelyn and the family she had married into, the men from Riverrun were interested in Ranma. After all, whatever his status as a Stark, he was also part Tully. With Brynden out of the succession, that left Edmure the only heir available after Hoster died. He was a good sort but rather arrogant and headstrong and, it was felt, not a good leader. A few hoped that the idea of Hoster passing over him in line of succession would liven up Edmure's ideas, though it was doubtful if such was politically possible. The idea of a single person being heir to both the North and the Riverlands would not sit well with any of the other high lords. Still, they were here to learn about Ranma Stark, oldest of the Lady Catelyn's children, which to them, was much more important than his actual last name.
They were back at the Castle soon enough. Immediately, Ranma turned to Loras. "Seeing as these men are here to meet and see me in action, perhaps we can have our little spar now, hmm?"
Loras smirked, one hand curling at his side as if it was holding a sword hilt. "I'll just go get changed and be right back."
The men from Riverrun grinned at one another. This was indeed something they were interested in, whether or not Ranma's skill matched with the tales that had come south on the wings of bard song. Of course, skill in battle was only part of what they were here to find out. They wanted to know Ranma the man, not just the warrior. But it was a good starting point.
About twenty minutes later, Ranma and Loras faced one another across a training area outside the Tower of the Hand. It was a smaller area than Winterfell's, much smaller, in fact, with room only for about six people to exercise at a time but there was room around the separating wall for watchers, which was now crowded.
Ned had joined them, wondering if Loras was as good as the tales told of him, not having seen the young man in action before and also wanting to talk to the men from Riverrun as soon as he could. He had met Ser Desmond before and knew the man to be honorable as well as close-mouthed, which would prove just as important.
For now, Eddard set that aside to officiate the match. "No crippling blows, no blows to the face at all, and when I say stop, you will separate from one another. Understood?" Both fighters nodded and, at Lord Stark's signal, the match began.
Loras took the initiative, darting forward one foot extended before the other in a diagonal, almost like a fencer with a rapier would. Before Ned could move two steps, Loras was within sword range of Ranma, bringing his sword around in a swift, controlled arc.
Ranma responded just as quickly, using a sword borrowed from the armory here in the Red Keep. He blocked the blows easily, matching the older man's speed. He parried back quickly, nearly taking Loras in the chest with his practice blade, but Loras dodged backwards just enough for the blow to miss, returning a series of thrusts and cuts quickly.
Ranma dodged to one side, bringing his sword up again in a cut towards Loras' leg. Loras leaped backwards, frowning. Aiming for the leg and extremities like that was not something done in normal duels and it was rather frowned upon in most tourneys in the Reach as well. Still, it was a legitimate tactic during a battle and he resolved to practice against such in the future. Now, he rolled to the side as Ranma came in pushing his advantage, bringing his sword up to block Ranma's next blow, pushing back and thrusting but Ranma blocked that as well.
Their blades locked for the moment, the two young men struggled against one another. Loras was strong, much stronger than he appeared but that wasn't really saying much, especially when compared to Ranma. Ranma easily overpowered the man, throwing him back, almost forcing Loras to lose his balance.
He was still able to block the next series of blows as Ranma came on. The watching audience began to shout encouragement to one or the other fighter while the match escalated.
Ranma and Loras stood there blocking and parrying with their blades, neither moving from their spot for a moment, until Ranma decided to change it up a little. Instead of parrying a slash aimed at his chest, Ranma ducked under it at the last second. His free hand struck like a snake upwards, grabbing Loras' sword hand right behind his wrist. Ranma pulled Loras off balance, slamming his elbow into the man's stomach, and heaving him up with that same move, lifting him into the air and over Ranma's body without even a grunt of effort.
Loras landed and rolled, despite being surprised and slightly winded, flailing around with his sword trying to keep Ranma at a distance. It succeeded, for the moment, but before he could get to his feet, Ranma's leg lashed out in a kick that caught him in the shoulder, throwing him back and off balance, loosening his sword grip just enough for Ranma's blade to smash it out of his hand in the next second. Before he could move again, the tip of Ranma's blade was tickling his throat. "My win, I think, Ser Loras."
Loras grunted a little, raising his one hand to knead at where Ranma had kicked him. "You Northerners practice a much more full body contact sort of spar than I am used to." He looked up almost challengingly at the younger man. "Savor this victory, Ranma Stark. The next time we fight, I will be better prepared."
"I'm looking forward to it." Ranma grinned. The man was good, very good in terms of normal people, he supposed. Still, he estimated Loras was a little faster, yet nowhere near as precise or controlled as Jaime the Kingslayer.
He reached down and lifted Loras onto his feet. The audience began to clap, both for this sign of chivalry and for Ranma's victory. The men from Riverrun mingled with the men from Winterfell, hearing stories and listening to their conversation, while the first group began to exercise and train with Ranma. Loras and Renly waved off further exercise, leaving to head back to their quarters together, although they would both show up intermittently over the next few months to join the Winterfell and Riverrun men in their daily regimen.
OOOOOOO
Later on that day, at his father's request, Ranma joined Eddard as one of his aides during the new Hand's first meeting with the small council, just to see how things work. He was not looking forward to the experience.
The meeting was held in the Queen's Ballroom, a small meeting hall in Maegor's Holdfast. It could seat a hundred comfortably, though today the main table sat eight. Beaten silver mirrors were set behind the wall sconces, allowing the torch's light to seem brighter than normal, aided in their task of lighting the hall by arched windows sitting high up on the south wall.
Ranma had previously met Varys, Renly, Petyr, Ser Barristan, and the Queen, who was there but didn't actually have a post on the small council. Stannis wasn't here, so that left only Grand Master Pycelle of the Citadel as the only one there Ranma hadn't met. He was an old man with a bald, spotted head, alleviated around the edge by a bit of lank hair. His maester's chain stretched from neck to breast, obscured by a long, snowy beard that ran down his chest, well groomed but still somewhat unkempt due to its length.
The King actually sat in for once, simply because he wanted to state the purpose of the meeting, which he did the moment everyone was seated. "I want us to organize a tourney to celebrate Ned taking on the position of my Hand! We'll have it two months from now, and, of course, we'll need prizes for the larger events. Nothing gets the blood thumping than a chance for glory and coin!"
"How exactly are we going to pay for this?" Petyr asked coolly, his eyes on the King, yet flicking to Lord Stark, who sat beside Robert, and Ranma, who sat behind Eddard in the place reserved for aides. Each of the small council save the Queen and King had at least two of them. "We have no money in the treasury for such."
"Bah, will make it up somehow. I'm not going to let you and your coin pinchers spoil my fun, Baelish!" Robert laughed, pushing up out of his chair and making an exit, intent on doing as he always did, push the thinking onto other heads. "Now, I'm off. I got word from the hunt-master that there was a bear reported in the Kingswood!"
The small council rose and bowed to the King as he left, the door banging behind him. There was a moment of silence then Ned turned to Petyr as they all took their seats again. "You said there is no money in the treasury for this tourney he wants to have for my appointment as Hand, though personally I do not think my appointment deserves such. Still, he is the King, so we will have this tourney. But was that an exaggeration or do you really think we don't have enough money in the budget to pay for the tourney?"
Petyr smiled thinly, his flexible fingers (which gave him the nickname Littlefinger) pressing together in a triangle in front of his face. "Alas, it was not an overestimation. There is almost literally no money in the treasury."
"How is that possible?" Eddard asked sternly. "The Mad King left the treasury brimming with gold coin."
"As you know, my lord, the King did not call for taxes for five years after his Rebellion, the better to let the realm rebuild. During that time, we began to go into debt because the work took much in the way of ready coin, both here and the entirety of the Crownlands, with the addition that the King did much as he does now. His grace has gone through it all with his excesses and then some. We are in fact deeply in debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos and to Tywin Lannister for nearly a million dragons, each." Actually, Littlefinger knew they were in debt for much more than that but sharing that knowledge with anyone else would not suit his own plans. Not until the time was right.
Ranma's and Eddard's faces closed down, assuming the 'Stark mask' at that, causing a little shiver to go up even Petyr's spine. Their thoughts, however, were not on him, but on the problem at hand.
Winterfell was completely self-sufficient. House Stark wasn't nearly the richest noble house, but it had reserves of a hundred thousand gold dragons for emergencies, some of which the Starks spent recently to pay for the King's visit. That was money the family had been adding to every year in one form or another. Though it had been badly depleted during Robert's rebellion, it was made up later by their taxes, monies taken from ransomed lords during said rebellion, and their portion of the profit from selling food from their lands (and those of the minor lords who looked to them) to other noble or minor houses.
It was more complex than that, of course, but that was the gist of it. A hundred thousand gold dragons was seen as a lot of money, more money than Winterfell needed in times of peace, really, far more than any other great house in the north save the Manderlys could call on. To hear that the kingdom was in debt to the tune of two million dragons was disturbing to both northerners.
"My father will not care one way or the other about such debts between family." Cersei said coolly. She enjoyed hearing of Robert's shortcomings but this one could also be laid at her door as his Queen, so she had to speak up to offset some of it at least. "Our control of the gold mines in Westerlands makes that simple enough, though my father would probably force some concessions down the line. But the iron Bank is a different matter. I believe it was you, Littlefinger, who approached them to take out a loan?"
"Of course. I am the crown's servant and their interest rates were far lower than your father quoted to me the last time we exchanged ravens two years ago. Bottomless your mines might be but his largesse is not." Petyr replied coolly, easily deflecting the attack.
"And where precisely has this money gone?" Eddard spoke, his voice as cold and controlled as his face. "A few tourneys here or there, that cannot add up to millions in debt, unless we are not taking in money. I know for a fact my factors, at least, have paid taxes to the crown, as have every Northern Lord."
That was actually a big deal in the North. Yearly, the great houses would transport their taxes for that year down to Winterfell. The portion due to the Iron Throne would then be taken out and transported down to White Harbor where it would be taken by sea to Kings Landing.
Sometimes bandits or pirates attempted to attack these transports. Ranma, Jon, and Theon had actually gone down to White Harbor with the shipment many times and even been attacked once. It had been Theon's first taste of combat and the archer had performed very well, though he had thrown up after. Ranma could remember it vividly, as well as the Iron Born's rage at being seen doing so later.
"I assure you, my lord, that those returns are not as high as you would think. Paying the Gold Cloaks, paying for the King's men-at-arms who keep the Kingsroad clear of brigands, the huntsmen, the bailiffs that keep the peace on the road into the city as well as upkeep of said. Work on the Kingsroad is continual and very expensive, as is the upkeep of the fleet. In fact, the fleet is a major drain on our resources. If we could cut back there…"
"No." Eddard and Cersei spoke as one. Eddard nodded his head at the Queen and she went on. "No, we cannot afford to cut back on the fleet. The Iron Born are still far too independent, far too unwilling to bow to the Iron Throne. If they try to break away again, we'll need the fleet. That and piracy is always a threat to trade."
Petyr shrugged and moved on. "We are still repairing and rebuilding parts of the Crownlands despoiled in the Rebellion. In fact, even Kings Landing itself is still being rebuilt in many areas. The Crownlands doesn't make much money that isn't immediately channeled back to them. Dorne is remarkably stingy about paying any taxes at all, the Stormlands pay little taxes because they make so little money and have areas still recovering from the war. Much, as I hate to say it, does the North, since most of those monies make their way back north in the form of foodstuffs bought by the crown via long time agreements with the North."
That comment made Ranma and Ned exchange glances. They both knew precisely how much foodstuffs came back through White Harbor and up the Kingsroad, and it wasn't near as much as the taxes the North sent to the Iron Throne. Around half, perhaps, mostly to the Stony Shore, the Flints of Flint's Finger and House Karstark. House Stark had been cutting into that more and more in the past few years, so much so that outside of Flint's Finger and those smallfolk and houses minor which lived in the Stony Shore, they were building up a nice surplus, though admittedly some of that would be sent to the Wall with the forces gathering there.
Petyr didn't know what the two Northerners were thinking and continued. "The Reach, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands alone cannot keep the kingdom out of debt when the King is set on his excesses. This tourney is not the first, in fact, he has thrown one every year at least since taking the throne. Nor is that his only excess, nor yours, Your Grace."
Petyr shrugged eloquently, smirking internally as he threw the blame back on the Queen. In actuality, the debt would be much smaller if it was just the royals being excessive. But Petyr had been funneling much of it into his own operations. He had covered his tracks so much, however, that it would take a troop of bankers years to work it out, and not a single banker or law-master in the city would help anyone he told them not to.
Before the Queen could explode on him, Varys spoke up. "It also must be said that my own… maneuvers cost much. Keeping my little birds happy, most especially the ones in Dorne and Essos, takes money and their return is not in coin but words and knowledge."
"That is understood, master of whispers," Ranma spoke up after a subtle nod from his father. "Yet, I would be curious to see if the knowledge they carry back to your ears is worth the money fed them. I think, also, that if we cannot meet the Crown's costs then either we need to cut said costs or think of ways to raise money. For example, this tourney is sure to pour money into the inns, bars, and, as much as I personally loath the practice, brothels. I think we can look to them to help pay us back for it more than a normal city-dweller. Perhaps a special incidental tax on them, to be paid after the tourney is over but to go on the books the moment it is announced?"
Petyr, who was a major brothel owner, blanched at that but Ranma went on undaunted. "Furthermore, taxes on the Kingsroad should pay for itself. I realize we already tax the wharves and ship-carried goods but I should think that any goods traversing the Kingsroad should also be taxed…"
From there Ranma tried to bring to mind his lessons from his father and maester Luwin as well as what little he could remember about taxes and other things from his former life. Many of his suggestions were shot down as unworkable but many of them were good and sensible. Ned, of course, took part in the discussion as well, speaking of how water travel could be taxed more heavily since it was so much cheaper for the user, something that made both Varys and Petyr wince internally, since they both owned several warehouses used by merchants and shipmasters both here and in other ports.
Renly, who was nearly silent throughout the entire meeting, spoke up about having House Baratheon pay for the tourney, defraying the cost further.
Eddard agreed to this then went on to the idea of cutting costs, looking at the Gold Cloaks and the upkeep of the Kingsroad, in particular, in terms of efficiency and graft. Cersei, surprisingly, had some good ideas in that area, such as turning the upkeep of the Kingsroad over to the great houses whose land it traversed, then fining them heavily for every incident that occurred on their land or if upkeep of the road fell behind.
The discussion went on for hours with Eddard taking the reins of the council easily, with Ranma interjecting as he could. Petyr, Cersei, and Pyrcelle took part in it wholeheartedly, while Barristan sat, merely observing throughout.
As the sun began to dip down in the sky beyond the windows, Ned finally called a halt. "I think that is as much headway as we can make today. Thank you, gentlemen and Your Grace, for your time. We've come up with a lot of good ideas today to turn this debt around. I will want to look over the books of law and taxes before we meet again. Lord Renly, I think the tower has copies of all the present law books but if any laws have been passed since the Rebellion, write their numbers out so I can find them."
"Petyr, if you could get me the ledgers for the years since the Rebellion by the end of the week, I would be grateful. Varys, I'll want to see your reports on the great Houses after that. If any of them haven't paid taxes, I want to make certain their reasons match up to reality. We will talk further on cutting costs to your web but for now we have more important things to do."
Varys winced at that comment while Petyr and Renly both nodded. Renly looked a little doubtful at his task, not having truly cared about the laws before this. But at Ned's grim expression, he realized he had some work to do.
Petyr, however, was confident. He had several sets of ledgers, both 'real' and not. Ned had surprised him by the force of his personality plus the knowledge he and his son had about taxes. While this was unexpected, he had buried his manipulations beyond literally dozens of layers of falsehoods, notes, and bankers' tricks, none of which could be linked to him but to his predecessor. He would come out looking like a hard working person trying to solve an insoluble issue while also keeping a demanding master happy; perhaps also someone who shouldn't be trusted but in politics that was the best any sane person would hope for.
With that Ned stood, bowing his head to the Queen as she left the room first. She looked at father and son as they came out, staring hard at them before nodding her head gravely and moving on. Ranma and his father exchanged a glance at that, wondering what she had been trying to say with that nod, but shrugged it off for now.
The two Starks were silent as they walked back to the tower of the Hand, remaining so until they were alone in the family suites at the top of the tower. "You do know that he lied, right, father?" Ranma asked.
"Perhaps Petyr lied or perhaps he is merely trying to stem the flow of blood from an already gaping wound. Remember, he has only been master of coin for four years now. This debt could have been building up long before that. Yet, if every realm is paying taxes, even as 'low' as the North does, there is no way the kingdom could be in debt, despite all of its ongoing expenditures and the King's excesses, unless the money isn't being used well. Dangerously low on ready funds, perhaps, but…" Eddard shrugged grimly. "I will have to look at the books to be certain, of course, but someone is definitely at fault here. Whether it is tied to Jon Arryn's death or not, I do not know."
Ranma nodded. "Makes me wish we brought maester Luwin along." Beyond his passion for the occult and supernatural tales, Luwin was a wizard with numbers, while Ranma and Eddard were only fair. Jon was better than Ranma but not up to Luwin's ability.
His father barked a laugh but went on more seriously. "The Blackfish is busy making contacts in the city. I think we need to wait and see what develops there, with the ledgers, and with my investigation for now. I won't ask you to sit in on further meetings, my son, so until I find something or your prospective fiancé arrives, you'll be at loose ends. I trust you'll keep yourself busy, perhaps a bit of exploration?"
"Oh, have no fear of that, father." Ranma replied, smirking slightly. With what he had shared with his father about his abilities, that line could mean anything and basically meant Ranma could do whatever he liked so long as he didn't make a fool of himself. "I'll find something to occupy my time."
For the rest of the evening, Ranma explored the Red Keep, finding some things of interest and some oddities, including what might be part of an escape route out onto the cliffs overlooking the sea that backed the Red Keep. Ranma marked that in his mind, stopped exploring, and went to bathe and get ready for dinner.
That night, after yet another feast with the King (thankfully it wasn't a ball), Ranma took Fenris out to the godswood. The large direwolf had responded poorly, at first, to having perfume dabbed on his nose but after a bit realized it really helped block out the smell of the city. Lady had seemingly liked it a little since Sansa used the same perfume that she wore. Thankfully, it didn't impair their sense of smell entirely.
Once Ranma got across the order to not leave the godswood, Fenris happily went off in search of anything small and edible. He had eaten earlier but meat given on a plate never tasted as good as meat he personally took. To Fenris at least, Lady never turned down being waited on hand and foot. She was becoming more and more domesticated with every week.
Ranma wished his wolf good hunting, then wrapped himself in the Silent Thief technique, turning invisible to all. With that, he jumped onto the small wall between the back of the godswood and the Blackwater, then out over the river to land on the other side. Even for him, that was a hell of a leap, one he barely made, but it served his purpose to get him out into the city, though on landing his attention wavered on the technique for a moment as he fought for a foothold on the heavily sloped roof.
"Ere, what's 'at? Anyone 'ear somethin' just den?" An oafish voice sounded below the roof of the house he had landed on.
"Yer hearin' things Marl, I don't see nothin'." Another voice sounded, one heavy with drink or something else that slurred his words badly. Ranma grinned then jumped to the next roof, once again wrapped in the Umi-Sen-Ken as he took to the skyline of the city, leaving the two arguers behind.
This gave him a birds-eye view of the goings on of the city, which was a mixed blessing at best. He saw at least three murders in the lower ends of town, all by groups of men. He was tempted to step in but the men killed had all been armed themselves so didn't. He did however throw bricks taken from the rooftops at several would-be thieves and at one man who seemed about to buy a young girl from her parents. Why the parents were going to sell her, Ranma had no idea but he had to stop himself from doing more to help her. At least they would have the bag of money the man had on him. He waited there for a moment as the parents grabbed the money, the girl, and then ran off before he moved on.
That first evening, Ranma didn't see anything unusual or strange that could tie into Jon Arryn's death, the Lannisters spreading their influence, or anything else. What he did see however, was a few Gold Cloaks taking money from shop owners. So, the Gold Cloaks are a protection racket more than a true city watch? Lovely. Later, he would learn that Janos Slynt was as corrupt as Blackfish had first told them but Robert kept him on, fearing his replacement would be worse. This would mark a small argument between him and Ned but nothing would come of it just yet.
For now, Ranma would spend the next few evenings getting to know the layout and feel of the city, a task he did not in any way enjoy for many reasons, not least of which was his sense of honor forcing him to step in occasionally. Over the next week his acts, unseen by all, spawned an urban legend of the Rock-Hurler, defender of the downtrodden, women, and 'justice', though, thankfully, none of it was linked back to him.
OOOOOOO
"Come now, my sweet, wouldn't this be the ultimate thrill? You know you like the idea of using that big padded chair of his for a better purpose then merely a home for his ass for hours on end." Domeric's voice was like honey and wine, enticing and enflaming.
The maid who he thus addressed was a young thing named Varyth, only two years older than Daenerys herself, but for all that, she was far worldlier than the Targaryen princess. She was also very sexual and knew how to use it. She enjoyed the thrill of coupling in interesting ways and places, the thrill of possibly being caught stirring her juices like nothing else. That was why Domeric had chosen her for this particular 'dalliance'.
"I don't know," she said coquettishly, blushing and looking away in a fetching manner. "What if master Illyrio wakes up and hears us?"
Domeric sighed and put his hands around her, pulling her against him as his hands began to work at the ties of her bodice. "Playing hard to get are we? I thought you were the one who likes the thrill of exposure?" If not I suppose I could always go see Sieganta."
That older maid was actually the only one on the household staff that Domeric felt was Varyth's equal in her zeal to try new things and places. He pulled away as if to go see the other woman right now.
He stopped as her hands grabbed his and she pulled away slightly, pulling him behind her towards the doorway they had been talking in front of. "Fine, but let's do this quick."
"Of course." Domeric murmured, already kissing the back of her neck while one hand fondled her rump even as he opened the door, closing it quickly as they stumbled into the room. The moment he did, he felt her hands on his breeches as she turned in his arms, kissing him hard and pulling him forward by his belt buckle, moving through the magister's study.
Three walls were lined with shelves containing books, scrolls, and a few dozen very expensive looking nick-knacks. The far wall was filled with floor to ceiling glass windows, which allowed the moonlight to light their amorous activities. That was pretty damn expensive Domeric well knew but what interested him was the large desk and the door leading into Illyrio's bedroom.
For his paramour, however, the large comfortable looking seat that the magister used on the other side of his desk was much more interesting. Soon enough, Varyth was gasping and moaning as Domeric pounded into her while she sat there, his face buried in her hair by her neck, although he had moved them around slightly so that he could watch the door to the bedroom. As a bard, he was very good at multitasking.
The girl climaxed twice before Domeric finally came, eliciting a gurgle of pleasure as she felt him eject deep inside her. For a moment, they murmured sweet nothings to one another, then he pulled out of her, causing a whine of protest but the girl straightened up quickly.
He smiled at her, patting one of her naked thighs. "You should get yourself cleaned up and get back to the others. Mistress Wendyll will be searching for you." Mistress Wendyll was the head of the household here and ran a very tight ship indeed, although that had not stopped Domeric from cutting a wide swathe through her younger workers. "You wouldn't want her to find us together, especially here, would you?"
He pulled up his breeches and reached into a pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. With that, he began to clean the seat as soon as she stood up and smiled at her. "I'll clean up here, you go on."
Varyth giggled at him and sashayed to the door, doing up her bodice. "The next time you want a quick roll, come find me. As long as you're willing to pay for the moon tea, I'll be fine with anything."
Domeric smirked at her and waved as she closed the door, then quickly turned and got to work. First, he took out a small rectangle covered by cloth, which upon unwrapping showed itself to be a small block of clay. Taking out a small bottle of water, he wet the clay, getting it read to be molded, then flattened it to the size of his hand. He carefully placed it in a pocket then moved towards the doorway leading to the magister's sleeping area, pulling it open gently on oiled hinges. He knew they were, because he had been in here three days ago to make sure.
The moment Domeric opened the door, he heard the snoring of at least three people, causing him to smile. The fat man liked to sleep with at least two of his sex slaves but the spiced wine Domeric had plied him and his two chosen doxies of the evening with seemed to be doing its work. The trio would be out of it all night, which would let Domeric do his work.
He moved stealthily towards the huge bed, shaking his head at the opulence of the room as well as the garish colors used, only visible thanks to the moonlight at present. Thankfully, too, the covers were pulled up, else Domeric would have had to remove his eyeballs later.
Moving closer, Domeric saw a glint of gold around the fat man's neck lying on the pillow next to him, between his head and one of his doxies. Slowly and quietly, Domeric reached across the woman to gently lift up the key lying there. With his free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out the rectangle of clay, applying it to one side of the key, folding it over the key, setting a bit of silk along the edges to keep the clay from forming entirely around it. He held it there for several nervous moments as the clay slowly solidified, before bending the new mold and removing it quickly. He made certain to touch the key again, making certain the clay didn't leave any residue. It had, but only by the handle, thankfully, and he removed it with quick, dexterous finger nails.
After that was done, he quickly left the room. Domeric waited inside the study by the door for a moment as he tried to discern if anyone was walking the corridor outside. Not hearing anyone, he quickly slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him just as quietly as he had the one to the bedroom, before making his way towards nearest window. Unlike the windows in the study or in the bedchamber, this one didn't have glass, the magister not seeing any reason to waste that kind of money on any area of his household beyond his personal rooms and the dining Hall. He looked outside for a moment, making certain no one was around, then leaped out, landing lightly on his feet a story below. He then made his way into the connected kitchens, to finagle the kitchen helpers out of some food, determined to act as normally as possible.
The next day, Dominic headed out into the city, his balalaika on his back. The reason he had given the magister that morning was that he wanted to see what he could find out about any news from Westeros on his own. "Sometimes bards will tell one another things we won't tell anyone else." he said quietly, so as to not bother the magister's headache or draw Viserys' attention from where he sat at the other end of the table.
Daenerys wasn't with them, since neither her ribs nor the injuries to her face had healed. Domeric estimated another month before she was fit to be seen in public, whereupon she would probably be swiftly married off to this Dothraki Khal, Drogo.
For a time, Domeric did as he had told the magister he would, contacting a few other bards in the city and exchanging news with them. He learned that Eddard Stark had been made the Hand over the strenuous objections of the Lannister Queen and her supporters. Domeric felt this was a good move in some ways, horrible in others. Eddard was an excellent organizer, manager, and leader. What he wasn't was a politician or even a good dissembler. This could be very bad for the Starks. They don't play the game of thrones as the south does.
On the other hand, Ranma went with him to meet Margaery Tyrell, which in itself is curious. As a Tyrell, I have no doubt she is politically savvy and ambitious plus with him there if it becomes a physical contest it will go… poorly for their opponents. I have no doubt he has only become better since he was younger. For a moment, as he strode down the sunny, noisy street, he was once more back in his father's dungeons, blood splashing on the walls around him, watching in awe and not a little fear as a boy of twelve smashed his way through experienced men at arms, a wild snarl on his lips. Better to be part of the pack than its prey…
Other than that, he found a few interesting nuggets of information, mostly about a strange Red Witch that had been seen on Dragonstone and rumblings of something going on between the Iron Throne of Westeros and the Iron Bank of Braavos. That, for certain, would interest Illyrio. The Iron Bank was perhaps the most powerful bank in the world. If there was trouble brewing there, then chaos was sure to follow and from chaos, opportunity.
After a little while, his questions changed to his real purpose, though what he found out was not to his liking. His next contact was a man who Domeric had aided once when he and his band of wandering players had been waylaid by a group of bandits. The man's eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Domeric and the moment his set was done, he motioned the ex-Bolton to join him in the back room of the inn he and his band were staying at.
The moment the door was closed, the man said earnestly, "I don't know who you've taken up with Domeric but someone put out a notice to the city guards with your description. The dockside guards aren't supposed to allow you on any ship, the guards at the gates aren't supposed to allow you out, and the city guard is supposed to watch your movements as they can without being obvious. They've enlisted the thieves the beggars, innkeepers, and even some of us to watch to make certain you don't run. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, they don't want to let you back out."
Makes sense I suppose, they've brought me deep into their confidence. I could hurt them particularly with the fact I know how deeply Illyrio is involved. Without him, Viserys loses his power base and, as good as his guards and food tasters are, anyone can be assassinated for the right price. Domeric thought to himself, while on the surface simply smiling placidly ensuring the man he wasn't all that dangerous to know at present. He'd found a rich client, who wanted to keep his music all to himself. The bard didn't believe him but didn't care enough to press. "Anything else happening in the city?" Domeric asked.
The man shrugged. "One of the magisters is building up support for something and the pauper prince has been seen traveling to and from all of the high magister houses. I have no idea what that's about, though there are rumors of them all putting together some kind of purchase to be paid back later. But what they might be buying, that I don't know."
Domeric nodded and left the man. The story was the same elsewhere. Viserys and the magister were going around drumming up support. It appeared as if Daenerys forcibly halting the first plan of the two had forced them to actually think ahead for a change. Domeric had no idea what they were going to purchase, although it sounded as if it might be ships going by a few rumors he heard down by the port.
If so, they are obviously planning further ahead than I had expected, though they still haven't figured out how to convince the barbarians to cross the sea. Domeric mused, as he returned later that evening. In his pouch, he held a small bar of pewter. With that and some things from the kitchen, he would soon be able to fashion a duplicate copy of Illyrio's secret key.
OOOOOOO
Daenerys groaned in pain as she finished her porridge, having opened her mouth a little too wide. The damage that her brother had done to her face and body were on the mend but nowhere near healed yet. Most of the black and blue marks had faded on her chest and arms, but her face had come in for special punishment. The cuts and bruises there were still prominent even if she no longer resembled a mottled blueberry. Despite this, her thoughts were clear as she leaned back in her bed, frowning as much as her face could allow without pain.
To say that the beating had opened Daenerys' eyes to the manner of person her brother had become was an understatement. She could remember when they were younger, when he was her protector, her rock in the world after they were evicted from Ser Willem Darry's house by his servants. But the years of moving from place to place, relying on others for hospitality, then selling off all they owned, even their mother's crown, had stolen that from him. That aspect had worsened as the years went on but, until recently, she had still hoped he could be pulled back from the brink. But it seemed with a clear plan ahead of them to reclaim the Iron Throne that Viserys had gone power-mad, giving in utterly to the madness that was so prevalent in their line.
Daenerys wished it could be otherwise but the anger and fury that Viserys showed, the disregard for the cost of reclaiming the throne both to them and to those they would rule, told her that should he ever become king, it would be a disaster, not only for their line and its history but for the people of Westeros. As she had said to him, it wasn't enough to reclaim their throne; they then had to rule from it. They couldn't do that after building a mountain of skulls as he seemed to think they could. They didn't have dragons to overawe their enemies and, even if they had, dragons alone could not keep them on the throne.
A king cannot rule through fear, though perhaps the Lannisters are an example of how such could be done, she thought sardonically then shook her head. Yet, that is also because they are good governors, not just ruthless ones. Ruthless and pragmatic, that I could live with but Viserys isn't pragmatic, merely ruthless and wrathful. He wants to hurt everyone who didn't support our family, whatever their reasons, and he doesn't care how he does it. That is not only shortsighted but self-destructive.
Daenerys looked up as the door opened and Domeric walked in. She nodded towards the seat by her bedside and asked quietly, her mouth barely moving. "What news?"
Domeric shrugged looking over at her nurse, who sat in that nearby chair reading. There was always someone present in the room as both nurse and chaperone. "Well, there is some news in the city." He began to a few tidbits of gossip about runaway magisters daughters and sons, as well as other little things like that while the woman kept reading.
Eventually, another nurse came in. This one was one of Daenerys' watchers who Domeric knew had decided to switch her loyalties to the Princess. She exchanged positions with the nurse who had been there before and, almost as soon as the first woman was out of the room, Daenerys glared at him. "Now real news, please." she said firmly, not having enjoyed the gossip at all, such things were beneath her now. Somehow, her facial wounds did not take away from her sternness at that moment.
"Well in terms of real news," Domeric replied "I was able to get a certain item but it will take many days before it is ready. Many nights, at least a week, maybe two to avoid suspicion. After which, we can satisfy your curiosity about that particular issue. In other news, the magister and Viserys seems to be rounding up some backing among the other magisters. They're not having it all their own way, at least according to rumor, but a few have signed on for something big. They're also apparently commissioning ships to be built, which could be what they're rustling up money for, I'm not certain. I have no idea how much a ship costs, though I imagine it would be quite a bit."
"Possibly," he murmured, leaning back a little now, "if they figured out a way to convince the Dothraki to cross the sea, their plan could work. They could, at the very least, win your brother the throne if they had the element of surprise, though keeping him there would be something else entirely. If they didn't have surprise,…the Dothraki really don't have any tactics that would be applicable to taking fortified castles or holdfasts save by storm, which they are unsuited for. They are cavalry; take them off their horses to, say, scale a wall, and they lose most of their training."
Daenerys frowned thoughtfully, leaning back. Sometime during or after her beating she had decided that she would do everything in her power to keep her brother from the Iron Throne, the madness in his eyes as he spoke of taking it by force haunted her. Oh, a part of her wanted it for herself; it was after all their birthright. Viserys was right about that, at least. But now the majority of her thoughts were about not being his tool in his quest to take the Iron Throne. She looked him in the eye and said simply. "When the time comes, are you with me?"
Domeric knew she was speaking about more than just helping her with her present schemes, something he had been doing at least in part for the amusement of it. "Daenerys," he said gently, "I'm just a bard. I'm decent with a sword, good at ferreting out information, at sneaking around a little, but I have no idea where we would go, what we could do long term."
"That's not what I asked. Are you with me?" Daenerys repeated, her violet eyes locked with his brown ones.
Domeric looked at her, sitting there still somehow projecting an air of regal nature despite her wounds and despite being in a bed, this young woman who had begun to become someone who he would gladly give his allegiance to. He finally sighed and nodded. "I am with you.'
"Good." Daenerys leaned back a little, sighing faintly and relief, then opened her eyes and stared at him again. "Find out what the magister is hiding in that storeroom of his, there must be something we can use. Something expensive we can take to pay our way. I know a few captains who would be willing to take us aboard to get us out of the city regardless of our circumstances, so long as we can pay for our passage. We can worry about where to go once we are on our way." Domeric nodded, then listened as she spoke a few names, committing them to memory.
Over the next week, his efforts to procure the times he needed to first harden the makeshift mold and then melt the pewter into it bogged down badly. He had overestimated his cleverness in that area and he was forced to head out into the city in stages, lest he attract attention by the unusual nature of what he was doing.
More bad news piled onboard when he went to inquire at various taverns about the ship captains Daenerys had told him about. Not only did he have to ditch several followers whenever he neared the port section of the city, but neither of the two captains were in port at present. He eventually learned that one hadn't been heard of for over a year now and there was an order out for his arrest from one of the magisters. The second was due back in four months.
That evening, Domeric relayed that news to Daenerys. "I agree fleeing by sea is the way to go, the land route is too long and Illyrio's arm too long for that to be a good idea, especially if he informs the Dothraki that I have 'stolen' a gift he wished to give to their Khal. The problem is, your wounds will be healed in another two, possibly three months. After that, there is no way to get out of your marriage to Khal Drogo."
Daenerys' face firmed underneath her still present wounds. There was no way she was going to be married of to a Dothraki barbarian to serve her brother's mad schemes. "In that case, it would seem I must anger my brother once more."
OOOOOOO
While the Winterfell men and their Riverrun allies settled into their keep and pursued their own interests, Joffrey now continued his campaign against both of his siblings as well as Ranma, with the aid of a few servants as well as his knowledge of the keep. His attempts to bother Ranma were mostly foiled simply because he couldn't get to his room, guarded as it was by Fenris. The massive direwolf scared Joffrey more than anything else because it was both massive and it lacked the self-control that Ranma possessed. Ranma, for example, wouldn't simply attack Joffrey as a matter of course. Fenris had never warmed to him and his attempt to injure his brother on the trip down from Winterfell had solidified the wolf's low opinion of him.
Tommen felt the brunt of many of his tricks. Joffrey would randomly catch and mutilate an animal somewhere on the keep's grounds and leave some blood or other bits in his room. Of course, he was very careful never to let anyone see him doing this. He still didn't understand why this was different than his father's hunting expeditions but he understood that his father at least thought they were and Joffrey was leery of angering him. He also went out of his way to belittle the boy, ruining a few of his favorite books, his better clothing, and his playthings.
Myrcella was also bullied but not in this manner. Instead, Joffrey messed up her dresses, when he could at least. She was a much tougher target since Joffrey had no real reason to be in her room and sneaking in while one of her maids was there, which was almost constantly, was very tough. Still, he ruined a few of her dresses and, whenever they met in the hallways, he would suddenly become clumsy, stamping on her toes or otherwise attempting injure her.
Neither sibling went to their parents. This wasn't anything new, after all. For Myrcella, Joffrey had been doing little things like this for the last few years, increasing his depredations the longer he went unpunished. She was happy thinking that, for the most parts, she was simply his new target, not realizing that he had moved on to other things with Tommen.
Tommen of course didn't know who was behind it but the young boy was growing angrier and angrier with every incident. It was a strange sort of anger, oscillating wildly between the urge to lash out at anyone nearby and the desire to run and cry. He was determined however to handle this himself and with every week that went by the desire to do so increased with the dream of thrashing whoever was behind it.
Other than seeing his young trainee's anger at times, Ranma didn't know anything about this. In response to the visible emotion, he had started the boy on some mental tricks which seemed to help, though he was surprised that Tommy didn't just tell him what was wrong. Besides this, Ranma was, not exactly fitting in, but making a home for himself, in a way.
The tax ledgers had arrived within a week as they hoped so Ned and Ranma spent most of their mornings going over them. Neither had been able to make much headway but it was still early in Ned's tenure. Brynden, along with starting up his own small ring of contacts in the city, was also on the lookout for a competent money lender or law master they could hire to help. So far, he had no luck in finding such whose opinion they could rely on. Renly, for all his title as Master of Law, was no help whatsoever, leaving most of the daily business in the city to the Gold Cloak commander, Janos Slynt, who was a weasel of a man, if Ranma had ever met one.
While Ned spent the afternoon meeting with Renly, Petyr, and Varys, Ranma would exercise with Tommy, then move on into his own exercise against the men from Winterfell and Riverrun plus occasionally sparring against Ser Loras before spending some time with Myrcella and Fenris. The Flower Knight stayed in the city, ostensibly because there was no point in going back to High Garden just to turn around and come back for the tournament and Ranma didn't really care enough to look into the matter further. Those in the know however knew why.
A few of the White Cloaks joined them and even a few Lannister knights. Eventually, the training segued into multiple enemies against one, something that the few White Cloaks (which included Jaime) and Loras seemed to enjoy, since it more resembled an actual battle then one-on-one combat. Ranma lost a few of those, as well as one or two matches against the other blade masters, to keep up the appearance that he was merely an extremely skilled youth rather than the physical monster he really was.
During the evenings, Brynden would join Ranma and Ned for dinner, simple fair thankfully, since even Robert didn't throw balls every night and Ned only had to use the phrase 'working dinner' to make the King realize he didn't need his friend's presence at every meal. The Blackfish would tell them about his own investigations during this time, though in a nutshell it boiled down to 'nothing yet'. He had yet to find anything in particular concerning Jon Arryn's death, though he had found quite a bit about opinions about the North, about the Starks in particular, about the Royal family, and everyone else.
The Starks were seen as outsiders but honorable and friendly enough. They were known to be prickly and the civilians knew it. While many of them seemed to approve of it, many also saw it as a weakness. The merchants in particular seemed rather dismissive of the Starks, seeing them as poor barbarians. The men-at-arms did nothing to dissuade this opinion nor did Ranma or his father. Truthfully speaking, the only person from Winterfell who wanted to really fit in to life at Kings Landing was Sansa. To everyone else, this wasn't home, it was a foreign city where they were forced to abide.
Ranma personally felt the place was just vile in many ways so he loved the monthly evenings where the trio of Starks and Brynden would meet to listen to the notes from Winterfell. Even Sansa enjoyed listening as their father read out the messages, though there were bits of it that they did not share with her. Sansa was a sieve for secrets at the best of times.
Yet in terms of Kings Landing, there was much more industry and people here than even in White Harbor but the city was a cesspool from the top down. Ranma knew his father was doing all he could to clean up the top of the pool but it had yet to even begin to trickle down. He yawned, as he crossed the grounds toward the entrance of the keep, heading into the city today instead of training. His sense of honor wouldn't let him sleep when he could be out and about, hidden under the Umi-Sen-Ken, so he was out till early in the morning doing what he could to cut into the massive amount of crime in the city.
He had hoped to use his cloaking technique to spy on the potential enemies but Varys, Petyr, and the Queen all had set areas where they went to talk about anything and always locked their doors. Well, Varys and Cersei did, Petyr had other means to cover his discussions that he used, such as using the noise of a kitchen to obscure his voice or having it in plain sight at the evening table. Varys did that as well.
"Ho, Ranma, where are you off to?" Ranma turned to see Ser Loras, resplendent as always in the latest court fashion. Ranma felt it made him look a bit like a popinjay but he knew the other man had skill enough hidden underneath the softness. Ranma, in contrast, wore leather pants and a silk shirt he had bought here in the city. Ranma had missed the feel of silk since being reborn, though he did have to argue about not needed anything but a simple white shirt with the shirt-maker. Ruffles, lace, and pantaloons were idiotic ideas in his opinion.
Today, Ranma also had his warhammer strapped to his side and several scroll sheets bound together in his hand. Despite being in a bit of a rush, he smiled in welcome. "Morning, Loras. I'm heading out down to the Street of Steel. I need to order a new blade and its best to put in the order now, before people start to arrive for the tourney."
The other man smiled eagerly at the mention of the tourney, always keen to show off his prowess with the lance or even a sword. "I see, well I shall accompany you then. I have a friend arriving for the tourney whose name-day is coming up. A good knife would be an excellent gift, I think."
Ranma looked at him askance as the two men walked on. "This friend wouldn't happen to be your sister would it? I assure you, I won't do anything she'll need a knife to respond to. Your stories about her thorny side have been more than enough. Oh, is Renly finished that work on the laws my father asked him for?"
"Hahaha!" Loras laughed. "It was not my intention to scare you off her entirely my young friend, merely warning you what you are getting into." In truth, Loras had been rather miffed about his family deciding to pursue a match between Margaery and the Stark heir. He had hoped for a while that Margaery would marry Renly, giving him and Loras the perfect cover for their own love. Margaery was comely enough that so when the time came Renly could have gotten an heir on her. For the rest of the time, well Margaery had been known to dally with maids a time or two and certainly had some interest in that direction.
"The knife is in fact for a friend in the Stormlands, Ser Bryce Caron. He's a good man, though the last time we talked he was speaking of trying to learn how to fight with sword and dagger at once. And yes, I believe Renly was nearly finished up with the work your father, the slave driver, has assigned him." Loras laughed again and the two men made their way down into the city.
About forty minutes' walk brought them into range of the clangor of smith's hammers. "You will be seeing Tobho Mott, won't you?" Loras asked. "He's the best there is, he claims to be able to work with even Valyrian steel."
Ranma's eyebrows shot up at that claim. Brynden hadn't mentioned that when he recommended the name to him before they even arrived at the city. "Aye, I am, though that is surprising and encouraging." The two men continued up Visenya's Hill, each shop more expensive looking, until they came to the very last shop. This shop was larger than the others in the street with two stone knights riding a griffin and a unicorn on either side of the doorway. The door itself had a hunting scene carved into its ebony and weirwood panels. Ranma's eyes widened slightly at recognizing the weirwood and he shook his head sadly at this misuse of the wood.
The two young men entered, hearing the ring of hammer on metal from the back of the shop, which was separated from the front by cloth. There seemed to be two hammers at work, one far lighter than the other clanging away almost constantly, while the other was measured, steady. The other walls held a few examples of the smiths work, four fantastic pieces of armor in various colors though