Jon XIII
Ned was overseeing this gathering, Robert having excused himself to meet with Lord Bolton. Since his temper probably wouldn't help with some of the conversations, it was probably the right decision, Jon thought. Not to mention that the increasing difficulties keeping the Dornish and the Westerlanders from starting a bloodbath really needed the attention.
It wasn't as if Tywin Lannister had been much beloved, but under his lead the Westerlands had risen in prominence and the lords were uncertain if his heir would manage to maintain that.
Not to mention that a Lord Paramount being murdered in King's Landing had appalling precedents and made Robert look weak for being unable to protect someone who was technically his guest.
"So glass bottles and jars are going to be increasingly important," Ned summarised Coleman's somewhat lengthy explanation of possible storage methods and ways to extend the storage of food. "Not to mention that glass gardens will require a considerable amount of glass as well."
"Perhaps the King should abolish all taxes on glassmakers then," suggested Oberyn snidely.
"No one wants your suggestions, Martell," snarled Lord Marbrand.
"This is a Great Council. All lords have a voice here," the Red Viper replied coolly.
Jon looked around and saw men ready to rise and take sides. "Prince Oberyn isn't the only one to have considered the idea. I know that I receive a fair amount of coin from customs duties on importing glass from Myr. While we have our own glassmakers, I can't expect my own lords to pay for extensive glass gardens at the current prices."
Ned nodded. "I doubt Myr would be willing to export as much glass as we may need, so we'll need more glassmakers."
"Abolishing import duties and internal tolls on glass -" Jon could see Walder Frey's face purpling. "as well as rendering glassmakers tax free, at least until spring, would be a start. We may need to invest coin and other inducements for glassmakers to take on more apprentices but in my view that would be a matter for individual lords to decide."
Jon thought he could distantly remember when he'd thought being a great lord or king meant dealing with grand affairs of states. Now he was arguing before a great council over a matter of whether or not glassmakers should be taxed. That, added to the availability of King's Landing was probably why so few of the younger lords had attended meetings that weren't going to be discussing the Wall.
Tywin Lannister's death had changed that - no, that wasn't true. The accusation that the Dornish had poisoned him had changed that. With the possibility of words being crossed - of swords being crossed - few if any lords would excuse themselves from attendance. A handful of younger sons for the Reach had been sent home though. If Dorne and the Westerlands came to blows, their lands and families would be caught between the two kingdoms.
Frey frowned and then smirked. "Glass is made of sand, why shouldn't the Dornish pay their due for all the wealth we shall have to pay for the sands of their kingdom?"
"There's no shortage of sand anywhere in the kingdoms," Stannis Baratheon corrected him from where he sat among the Easterland lords, his younger brother sat sulkily next to him. "Anywhere that has a shoreline has enough sand to supply our needs. Put some of your hoarded silver to attracting glassmakers and you're perfectly placed to ship the results east down the Green Fork or west out of Seagard."
The old lord sneered back. "I'll take that under advisement, Prince of Byrnbridge. Assuming it's agreed that I don't pay taxes to Riverrun on my efforts, that is?"
"Would anyone else wish to speak on the matter of abolishing taxes, tolls and other duties on glass until the end of winter?" asked Ned.
Jon looked around at the men standing and claiming they wished to speak. None of them were major lords, so it was unlikely that the following debate would be anything but bannermen seeking to score points with their Princes and Lords Paramounts. Robert would have said it was time wasted, but it kept the lords happy and that was what mattered. Just as long as none of them brought up the alleged poisioning again...
"I must question the impact on this on the realm's treasury." Lord Swann pointedly glanced over at where Lord Kevan and his nephew Tyrion were representing Jaime Lannister. The Prince of the Rock was 'in mourning', which he appeared to handle by training vigorously with his newly acquired sword. Then again, there were less sensible ways to vent grief than upon training polls and sparring partners, in Jon's opinion. "Now that Lord Lannister is no longer with us, will the King be retaining the current Master of Coin?"
In other words, would the Lannisters remain a significant voice at court?
"Neither I nor King Robert have any qualms about the current Master of Coins," replied Ned evenly.
Viserys VIII
Viserys leant against the wall inside the Stag Tower for support. He'd drunk less than some of the others tonight but he still felt a touch unsteady. Well away from the windows, in a shady nook, was a keg of clean boiled water and a bowl of fruit. Moving carefully, he half-filled a goblet with water, then took an orange, cut it in two and squeezed the juice from one half into the goblet.
There was a shuffle from behind him. Viserys lifted the other half, held it over the goblet and then whipped his head around. A small boy in a night-shirt failed to duck back around the doorway in time to avoid being seen.
Slumping back into his chair, Viserys addressed the now empty doorway. "What are you doing out of bed, Eddard?"
Unruly black hair and sparkling blue eyes peeked around the corner. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"I asked first."
The boy entered the room and took an orange of his own, digging his fingers into it and peeling back the skin. "I want to see the ponies. Papa said I might have one if I was good."
"I don't think sneaking around the tower at this hour, much less going to the stables, would count as being good."
Eddard shrugged evasively as Viserys used a spoon to mix the fruit juice and water. "What about you, why are you up early?"
"I'm not up early, I'm up late."
"But it's morning."
Viserys yawned. "I noticed." He drank from the goblet. It was Robert's recommendation to cure a hangover: watered juice before you slept. It wasn't entirely effective, but from experience of not trying it, Viserys would grudgingly admit it was a step in the right direction.
"You jingled."
"What?"
"When you leant back, you jingled."
"Ah." He dug into his clothes and pulled out a pair of coins. Then some more. To the giggling of his cousin he even tipped out his boots – into his hand rather than onto the table or the floor – stacking coin after coin before him. Some was silver but most was gold. Gold dragons and titans, nearly a hundred of them.
"Why didn't you have them all in your belt pouch?" asked Eddard, resting his chin on the table, what was left of his orange forgotten.
"Ser Brynden's advice for playing at dice." He smirked. "If your mother asks, say Renly told you this – not me."
"What did Ser Blackfish tell you?"
Viserys put down his goblet, took one coin and tossed it idly in his hand. "Never wager every coin on you, much less anything you don't have on hand. Set a coin aside in a boot or pocket every now and then if you win a round – no one blames a man with an empty belt pouch from leaving the table but no one likes you if you walk away with a fat purse."
"Isn't that cheating?"
"I don't see how. It's not like I'm fiddling the dice." He eyed the stack. "I don't think I've won this much before."
"What are you going to get with it?"
"I'm.... nor sure."
A new sword? But his own, which had been Rhaegar's, was perfectly serviceable.
After Mace Tyrell's offer of a wedding match for Daenerys, Viserys had looked at everything in his room. Despite what he'd thought, very little was from the Usurper originally. The Red Keep was hardly short of clothes in Targaryen colours, so most of his clothes were – if a little worn – garments that had been stored away once his father or brother didn't need them. Various items he'd bought with coin from the stipend Robert had granted him after he was knighted – the same allowance given to a swornsword. But he'd more than earned that, he reckoned, in the Ironborn Rebellion and as part of Robert's escort on rides down the King's Road to Storm's End or up the Roseroad to Byrnbridge.
"How about a horse! A big grey, to match your hair!" Eddard reached up to tug on Viserys silvery locks.
He let the boy play a while and then swatted his hand away firmly. "A horse, eh? And where would I ride that horse?"
The idea wasn't unappealing – a horse was something he didn't have of his own. Always his steeds were from the royal stables – but they were Baratheon stables now and there had never been any suggestion that they were more than a loan. Still, he'd need to stable it and feed it...
"To Winterfell or Casterly Rock," the boy told him, "And Sunspear or Braavos or Oldtown with the Citadel and the Hightower."
Viserys chuckled and ruffled Eddard's hair. For all of who his father was, it was impossible to dislike Eddard for himself. "I don't think I could ride a horse to Braavos."
"If I had a pony I could ride anywhere."
Anywhere? "Well for now, how about you ride back to bed. Your mother won't be pleased if you're out of the tower until the sun's a bit higher in the sky."
Eddard sighed, clearly heavily put upon and stomped out of the room. Viserys picked up the discarded orange and squeezed what was left into his goblet, waiting until the loud footsteps were replaced by softer ones going in the other direction. "I said go back to bed, Eddard!"
There was a squeak and then running feet.
Anywhere.
Viserys scraped every bit of coin on the table into his belt pouch. Hmm. Too obvious, he'd need a money belt or similar. And to pack some of his plainer clothes – red-trimmed black wasn't that uncommon but wearing three-headed dragons everywhere would be obvious.
And then?
Well, anywhere was as good a destination as any right now. Anywhere that wasn't here, watching the Usurper and playing the role of hostage-become-trophy. Daenerys could play that role if she chose it – Robert wasn't inclined to cause her any injury, that was clear. The man was as sweet with her as he was with his own daughters.
Anywhere, away and... who knew. Maybe he'd find Blackfyre, which ought to be somewhere in Essos. Or a Dragon Egg. Or just go to Volantis and make his name there where a proven claim of Valyrian blood counted for something.
Viserys drained what was left of his cup.
It was time for the dragon to spread its wings.