(Braavos)
In a rather sizable room, sat a group of apprehensive and influential individuals, discussing the recent events and revelations that had been revealed in the Sunset Kingdoms.
A new King had been declared and one that had control over nearly the whole continent, with only the Iron Islands and the lands Beyond the Wall remaining out of his sphere of control.
"Are we going to let him get away with this?" Someone voiced angrily.
"Oh, and how do you propose we deal with him?" Another voice sneered in response.
"Send the faceless men after him, surely they can get rid of him." Was the immediate rebuttal.
"Yes, let's send the Order to kill the descendant of their founder, surely that will go over quite well with them." Interjected another with contempt.
"Bah, just hire as many mercenary companies as we can and throw them at him."
"In turn costing us most of our gold and turning the free men against us… what an excellent idea." Sarcasm dripped from their tone.
"What exactly is the problem, now that he's stuck in Westeros, isn't that good for us?"
"Not necessarily, that man is a very ambitious one, I'll eat my shoe if he doesn't have plans for our city."
"Enough!" The head of the table finally spoke, silencing all those present. "We cannot afford to bicker, we have to deal with him before he comes after us."
"That's easier said than done… the fucking Mudd has a dragon."
"How the hell did he get one, forget that how the hell did he get three?"
"If rumors are true, the eggs that would hatch these Dragons of his came as payment by the Pentoshi, the bastards wanted to keep their gold."
"Fucking mongers they can't do anything right even when trying to cheat people."
"Here Here." A chorus of agreement resounded throughout the room.
These were some of the most powerful men in Braavos, they had one goal and that was to prevent House Mudd from taking control of the city.
Contrary to popular belief not all Braavosi welcomed the idea of a Mudd Monarch ascending over them. Especially those who stood to lose a lot of power and influence.
They saw House Mudd as a threat to their future, just as their predecessors did before them and their successors as well.
It was well known that the Sealord at the time had been the one to incite the famed 'Dragonslayer' to slaughter what remained of the Dragonlords. More than a few here thought that it was quite masterful of him, as it would've allowed him to get rid of potential threats to his reign, it was unfortunate that Aryan did not die but succeeded in his endeavor.
Yes, the Mudds had played a not-so-insignificant part in the escape of the slaves and the founding of Braavos. But, that mattered little to them who wanted to retain what they had and no damned glory from the past was going to take it from them.
"Perhaps we can incite Volantis to do something, those proud fools have been smarting over their defeat in the hands of the Banners for quite a while." Those present looked thoughtful at that suggestion.
"What about the Black Dragon and their band of Golden cunts? Surely that bastard has some descendants running about." Another voice suggested.
The head of the table contemplated both suggestions, they were valid and would avoid implicating Braavos too much. It wouldn't do if any of Erlend's critical supporters within the city realized their intentions.
"We'll take both routes, surely one of the two will be able to do something." He came to a decision.
One of the individuals didn't seem to agree with one of the decisions, "The black dragon has a claim to the Iron Throne, you all seem to be ignoring the fact that it doesn't exist anymore." He spoke.
"Since when have those lot cared about legitimacy, Westeros has always been their goal, not the chair." One responded.
"Just tell them about the dragons, surely they'll be able to claim one of the beasts." the Head pointed out.
"Can we afford another of that mad line getting their hands on a Dragon?"
"Sacrifices have to be made, if we're lucky they'll kill each other, without us having to do anything."
"Don't forget the faceless man can deal with the Black Dragons if they succeed."
"..."
…
(Pentos)
Vary's arrived to find a waiting Illyrio Mopatis, the man sat reclined on a large chair, his remarkable girth weighing it down.
A wealth of bejeweled rings sat atop his fat fingers and costly necklaces lay on him, it wasn't like anyone could see his neck. Their worth was enough to last the common man a lifetime, yet in the fat man's hands, they were mere decorations.
"Come sit my friend." Illyrio waved at the effeminate eunuch.
Varys did not bat an eye at the appearance of his old friend and seated himself on one of the available chairs. There was a table before them that was ladened with food, something that surprised him, he'd assumed the fat Magister would've wolfed them down long before he'd arrived.
A cup of wine was placed before him by a young servant girl, same as Illyrio.
"I had thought the worst had happened when word of the burning came from the Capital," Illyrio said.
"I always have an escape, old friend, you know that." Vary's sent a pointed look to the Magister. "Though I admit I was caught by surprise at the sudden turn of events".
"It's likely no one will see the Iron Throne ever again. Scrap metal most say."
"Quite true, but it won't stop us from continuing our plans."
Deciding to sample the food, he found it quite delicious. It was no wonder his friend had become so decadent and fat from it. There was little to fear of poison, not from his good brother at least.
Taking a sip from the arbor wine to quench his thirst, he decided to get straight to the point, new plans had to be made as the board had long been overturned.
Little Daemon was far too young to make proper use of the Golden Company, and even if he was old enough, they were far from enough. Westeros had united under a firm hand, an experienced one who held no qualms about playing in the shadows.
The fat man grimaced at the difficulty they faced. "Connington is out of our reach, lost at sea they claim." Likely he was dealt with by the new King, there was no place for sycophants in the new king's court.
Varys shrugged at that. "It matters not, with Elia and Rhaenys alive and out of our reach, masking Daemon as Aegon is impossible." Placing his cup down, he continued. "Doran might have gone along with it, especially if we tied him to Arianna, but Oberyn would never agree to it."
"You think I don't know that…" Illyrio averted his attention from the food and eyed the eunuch with fury. "Years of planning gone to waste. Because a single old man decided he wanted a little bit more power."
'You're one to talk' Varys inwardly snorted. Tywin for his faults was a far better man than the disgrace his friend had become.
"Not all is lost," Varys spoke soothingly. "I need not remind you that Erlend is not invincible, cracks will show sooner or later. His Dynasty fell once, it can do so again"
"You want his Dragons?" A scheming glint could be seen in the fat magister's eyes. Dreams of his son riding upon Dragons like his ancestors filled his head.
"Daemon has far purer Valyrian blood in his veins, if someone like that Mudd who has barely any can do it, then so could my nephew."
"Why not take one for yourself," Illyrio said. "You have just as much blood as my son."
Staring at the decorations that filled the area around them. "They are proud creatures. There is little chance they'll accept a broken rider." His tone was somber. Reality was always so cruel.
He often wondered how things could've gone differently had he never met that wretched foul being. Perhaps it would be him and not Daemon who sought to claim Westeros.
Not viewing his descent as a curse that lost him his manhood but as a badge of pride to be used.
Illyrio let out a fierce noise, Interrupting his regrets. "How is it that the Mudd was able to claim Westeros so easily?"
'A lemur sounded more threatening.'
"Blood, Strength, and Reputation," Varys answered. "He had the best army in the continent, a distant blood claim, and Dragons of course. There is also the fact that his House was one of the more sensible of the Great Houses."
You'd think after ruling for thousands of years, most of these Houses would at least know the meaning of restraint, you'd be wrong of course.
"Daemon has a stronger claim," Illyrio responded. Affection for his son could be gleaned from his eyes.
"The Mudds are legitimate. Not to mention their claim is based on conquest, blood claims come second. Where's my House are viewed as up jumped bastards." Vary's snorted at that naive thought. "Still… I do not doubt that many are uneasy about his reign, we just have to find them."
"There is no rush, my friend." Yet, you still worry. "My son is still young, time is not of the essence."
"And my Sister?" He asked.
"As vicious as always, there is little hope of using her as a bargaining chip, not without costing us our manhoods. Mayhaps she'll grow out of this rebellious phase." Illyrio lamented.
You're better off losing weight than for Visenya to be tamed.
His sister had refused to come to heel, the troubling fact was that she paid little heed to him or her Illyrio. She viewed both with contempt and already had a sizable portion of the Golden Company under her control.
Varys had seen no reason to stop it, hoping that she would show interest in taking Westeros like her forbearers, which might pull the Company's loyalty towards Daemon. Unfortunately, such a prospect seemed unlikely, it didn't help that she had little interest in Westeros.
What troubled him most was her interest being firmly aimed at the Mudd Lord. She had worked with him before, during a particularly nasty fight against the horse lords.
It was a relief that the now King of Westeros hadn't shown much interest in her beyond admiration and a duel. Those with the otherworldly appearance of Valyrians weren't so uncommon in Essos after all.
Oh, it showed him that the young Mudd didn't seem to mind warrior women much, nor a woman leading an army.
Unfortunately, that wasn't all that useful, considering it would bring undue attention to them and increase Erlend's popularity with the Dornish and the various Ladies who now ruled thanks to the untimely passing of the men in their families.
Westeros had changed for better or worse, a significant portion of its ruling lords and ladies being either bastards or women. Only time would tell if this meant well for his House.
They continued to discuss plans for the most part. Before he left, Varys did not forget to warn his friend not to alienate his youngest Sister, lest she bring the wrath of the company upon them.
…
(Quellon Greyjoy, Pyke)
The Old Way was a cursed and self-destroying tradition that held his people back. Where a man's worth was judged by his skill as a raider, and where they had to pay the 'Iron Price'.
It was a way that glorified devastation and made them more enemies than could be counted.
Quellon was by no means soft, but he understood that the Ironborn could not sustain themselves through such a life. The reign of the Dragon had largely ignored their existence which had allowed them to get away with their reaving.
Now the Dragon was dead, what remained of its kin absorbed into a House many thought would never appear in Westeros again.
One that shared a troubling history with the Ironborn.
It was no secret of the sheer hatred shared between the Riverlanders and Ironborn. The Westerlands and the Reach may claim to hold immense loathing for his people and they probably did. Yet it was unlikely it would ever reach the same level as that with the Riverlands.
Those bickering and petty fucks could be quite savage given the chance and this was coming from someone like him.
His children for their part didn't seem to understand.
One was an ambitious fool who sought to bring back the traditions that would see them dead, fancying himself a King. The other one was dumb as a stump and a dullard, more brute than a brain. Another was cunning and mocking, the one he trusted the least and the one he considered cursed. The final one was a drunkard, joyful and amiable but also weak.
Four children had survived to adulthood, every single one of them being a massive disappointment in their own way.
They cared not for the responsibilities and duties they had as the Ruling House of the Iron Islands.
They cared not for the future of their people or their survival and growth.
No… all they cared about was some half-witted traditions that would see their home bathed in their blood.
Treasure and spoils were good and all, but they could not multiply, they could not be grown. There was also the issue of its past owners who just happened to be rather influential lords that didn't take kindly to having their shit taken.
Influential lords who with a little nudge may decide to say 'fuck it' and just slaughter the Ironborn then and there. It wasn't like anyone would restrain them.
As he moved through his keep, Quellon frowned at the thought of what lay ahead in the future.
A few of his lords had agreed the wiser move would be to kneel and swear fealty to the new King.
It was a pity that most wanted him to break away and declare himself King of Salt and Rock, seeming blind to the danger of pissing off a King with three dragons.
Sure they weren't what the Dragons Westeros was used to, but they were still dragons nonetheless.
There was a divide in their kingdom, one that had been growing for decades since he became the Lord of these Islands.
Now it was there for all to see.
Dragonfire loomed heavily in his mind, breaking away would only see their ruin but the greedy fuckers didn't seem to realize that.
"Are you going to show yourself, or will you continue to slink about?" He didn't turn to look at his followers.
"Don't be like that father, can't a son follow in his father's footsteps." Was the smug retort from his most troublesome child.
Quellon openly snorted at that response, though he kept moving, not wanting to interrupt his walk for the irritating shit. "Piss off Euron, I don't have time for your shit." He spoke gruffly.
Of all his siblings, Euron was the one Quellon feared the most. Balon was unlikely to make a move until his death, what little respect he had for him as a father kept his hand.
Euron on the other hand held no qualms about making a move against him, openly or discreetly.
The most vocal of his sons eyed him like a vulture would a dying stag.
They were now at one of the bridges connecting the Sea Tower and the Great Keep.
Quellon paused in his steps, something felt off about the whole situation.
Finally turning back to the most despicable of his children, he found him eying him with a serious look.
'What the fuck are you planning…'
Turning his attention to the bridge, he calmly made his way through it.
As soon as he was in the middle of the narrow thing, two burly men appeared on the other side.
Sending another look behind him, he again observed Euron, only to find another man with him.
There was a smug look in the bastard's eyes.
Quellon wasn't an idiot, he was well aware of what was going on at the moment, unfortunately for his son, despite his failing health he still made an imposing figure, six and a half feet tall, being both strong and fast. Quellon Greyjoy was not a man who could be cowed or taken down easily.
"So you're finally making your move." He said.
"Nothing personal Father, but you're getting in the way and the lords don't appreciate it."
"So be it…" These were the only words that he had for the traitors as they rushed towards him.
'May the Gods have mercy on these fools, because the Father of Dragons certainly won't.'
…
(Doran Martell, Water Gardens)
When he had given his brother the authority to negotiate on his behalf, his main intention was to try and mend the gap between them. He held full faith that his brother would wring out as many concessions from the Mudd as possible.
Dorne may not be able to threaten the other kingdoms but invading it would've been impossible, no matter how skilled its enemy's armies were. The Young Dragon's fate proved that.
Unexpectedly his sister and niece were both alive.
When he first got the raven he had been giddy with excitement, thinking that they'd be able to crown Rhaenys, but his sister willingly gave up her daughter's claim and his brother did nothing to dissuade her out of it.
If he had been able to make use of his legs properly, Doran would've jumped in anger.
Centuries of planning by his family to gain a firm hold over Westeros went down the drain just because his siblings had allowed their emotions to get the better of it.
The whole damn reason his ancestor had insisted on the marriage with Daenerys despite already marrying Princess Myriah to Daeron has been because it would guarantee a future marriage with House Targaryen.
It had been reasoned that eventually, the Dragons would have no sisters to wed, so they would look elsewhere. His mother had been giddy at the Baratheons' and Velaryon's failure to produce a daughter, considering they were the first houses the dragon would seek a bride in.
There was some worry that the late Steffon would manage to find a pure valyrian woman for Rhaeger, thankfully he failed and died for his troubles.
Even the dogmatic mad king had to fold and agree to wed Rhaeger to Elia, who held the closest blood ties outside of House Baratheon and Velaryon.
There were a few minor houses here and there but none of them provided the power and influence his house could.
He had plans to betroth Aegon with his daughter Arianne, firmly tying the Iron Throne to House Martell.
Everything his House had sacrificed and toiled for was now gone.
Doran wanted to shout, to rage at the world at the whole unfairness of his situation, but he chose to remain silent.
Seething in his fury.
Whatever joy and happiness he had felt for his sister's survival was washed away by his anger. Motioning at one of the servants to pour him some wine, Doran contemplated his next moves.
Oberyn's letter also mentioned the betrothal agreement signed between Rhaella and Erlend. Rhaenys would wed Erlend's heir, and in turn, would be crowned Queen alongside him.
It was legal as far as anyone was concerned as Rhalla was now the official head of House Targaryen until Rhaenys came of age.
Wanting to distract himself from that infuriating topic, he changed his focus to something else he found interesting. The southern portion of the former crownlands was transferred to Storm's End, from Sharp Point to Kingswood.
Essentially redrawing the borders back to their original position before Aegon's Conquest. Alongside swearing allegiance to House Mudd, Stannis was expected to retake the name Durrandon, reviving the old dynasty.
It was a clear message to the rest of the Realm, as by agreeing to do so, Stannis effectively gave up what claim he had on the now redundant Iron Throne.
The North was compensated by Erlend returning the Gift to them, decreasing their reliance on the South for grain and food.
The Westerlands had Tyrion Lannister gaining the backing he needed to guarantee his hold onto Casterly Rock, as Erlend had made it clear any attempt to unseat the young Dwarf would earn his ire.
Then there was the amount of land now directly under Mudd's control, almost a third of the Riverlands was held by him or minor houses that were strictly loyal to him, and the two-thirds that was left were held by major lords sworn directly to him and had every incentive to remain true to him.
This contrasted greatly with Aegon who relied on his dragons to mollify his vassals, the crownlands providing only a meager amount of levy when compared to the rest of the Kingdoms.
If Erlend wanted he could pacify any rebelling Kingdom on his own without the support of any of the Great Houses or his Dragons.
Just his Banners and the levy he could raise on his own were enough to deal with anything the other kingdoms could muster.
Frankly speaking, Doran was well aware that this new King was going to be far more dangerous than the Dragon Kings of Old. Only Bloodraven during his tenure as Hand of the King could come close to being such a threat.
As he drank the wine poured for him, Doran began to make new plans for the future.
The old board had been overturned, it was time to pick up the pieces and prepare for the new one.
======
[Note:]
- The name change is simple, Baratheon has connotations and connections to House Targaryen, of their royal if illegitimate descent. Erlend wants to nip that in the bud, especially since Stannis's grandmother was a Targaryen.
- The Southern Crownlands were originally part of the Stormlands, so returning it will smooth out any lingering resentment. For Erlend, it matters little since it would take decades if not a century or more to properly assimilate these new Lords and lands, giving the Mudds more than enough time to entrench themselves.
- The gift is arguably worse, considering how much poorer the northern houses are compared to the south. Alongside the fact that the gift hasn't been properly maintained and the isolationist nature of the north and well yeah Erlend doesn't need to worry too much about the north.