Elia
There was a tension in the air. Not a bad part of the tension, but a sort of strange finality as she supped at her water.
It was Callum's last day with them. The ship to return him to the Westerlands was already in the harbor, and Elia wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it.
Since their mother died, Callum had been a nearly continuous presence in the lives of the Martell siblings. Whether it was his constant chattering with Oberyn about something or other, his dinner conversations with Doran, or the few little adventures Elia herself had been on with him. While little baby Arianne was still the darling of Sunspear, Callum had well and truly become a fixture in their little family.
He had been an energizing presence, always pushing the presses forward, or working on some sort of strange contraption or idea. Everyone had noticed the strange coterie of artisans that he had asked Doran to recruit for him. Since they had arrived he was rarely without one or more of them, but that didn't stop his work at all. Indeed Oberyn had become fast friends with the Summer Islander shipwright Molo, and Callum had worked with both of them on a blueprint for a potential new dockyard at Planky Town. Elia had looked over the drawings herself and it had seemed impressive enough. Dorne had lacked a real navy since Nymeria burned her Thousand ships, but perhaps they could change that soon enough.
At any rate, Callum had been good to House Martell, and now he was leaving. That was the crux of the matter. Elia frowned as she glanced across the room at him, talking quietly with Doran about something or other.
She walked over quietly, not wanting to interrupt, but also wanting to spend time with him. She would likely not see him for years after this. Possibly not even until they were to be married. Children grew fast, he might be a completely different person by the time she met him again. That thought sat bittersweet in her mind. She had come to like the little boy who was always chasing some wild dream and trying to make it happen.
"I think you could do it if you brought them to your palace more frequently…" Callum was talking to her brother, twirling his hair around his finger. His hair was longer now than it had been in King's Landing. He had not had it cut since he arrived in Dorne. "You need to build a sort of shared… let's call it a regional identity, Dorne already has one to an extent but you need it to be centered on House Martell to get the best use out of it."
"It's not that simple though, men hold to their lords," Doran replied, stroking his chin. "The type of development you're proposing could take decades, generations probably, and a weakening of the lordly houses."
"Not necessarily." Callum rebutted, "On the timeline at least. Subverting the lordly houses isn't so difficult, the approach simply needs to change." the boy said, tilting his head. "Men are loyal to the leader that is closest to them, that has the most presence in their lives. If you wish their loyalty to go to you, you must become closer to them, impact them more greatly."
"That is not so easily done-" Doran started, but Elia cleared her throat.
"Excuse me Doran, but do you mind if I steal Callum for a bit?" she cut in as they both turned to look at her. She glanced down and gave the boy a smile, "I think… well, before you leave I'd like to talk to you about a few things."
"I suppose we can continue our discussion later." Doran acquiesced, and Elia gave him a short nod.
Callum blinked, then quickly nodded. "I-yes, that would make sense." he seemed to fidget a bit in place. "Do you want to speak here or…"
"The south balcony will suit us fine I think." Elia saw that he was glancing towards the door, and he shot her a grateful smile as they walked together in that direction. It wasn't very far at all down a brownstone passageway covered in tapestries and finely woven rugs. The Southern balcony was a small pavilion atop the southern-facing shelf of the Old Palace, looking out over the vast deserts of Dorne stretching out to the south of Sunspear, it was actually shaded by the bulk of the castle for most of the day. Because of its relatively less exposed position, part of the balcony was made into a garden with water pumped up from the deep wells below the castle, feeding a small collection of palm trees and other desert plants. During the hours of the day when the harsh sunlight did break over the castle into the garden, a series of awnings were rolled out from the palace wall to protect the small green gem from the blazing heat of the Dornish sun. For the moment though, the sky was clear and blue above their heads, and the sun was hidden behind the huge bulk of the Spear Tower nearby.
Once the two had found their way to some cushioned seating, near a small wicker table that sat near the garden section of the balcony, Elia finally decided to move forward with the conversation. "Callum, you are leaving tomorrow," she stated quietly, below the ears of the servants who would no doubt listen otherwise. She'd prefer this conversation to be as private as reasonably possible. "I think… well, I do not want to leave anything unsaid between us which could arise later, I think we should discuss our future marriage, that is, our betrothal." Elia had frankly been dreading this conversation for the entire duration of the boy's stay. Not because of anything Callum would do, but because she had bungled it so badly before in King's landing. She did not want to offend him again and ruin the rapport they'd built between them since he'd come to Dorne. If she said the wrong thing, would he hate her forever? She had already failed twice, what if he'd already given up on the arrangement in his mind? What if he was quietly disgusted by the relationship between their mothers? Sadly, she didn't think it would be wise to leave the topic standing when he returned to Casterly Rock.
Callum nodded slowly, his eyes becoming sharp as he met her gaze his voice as low as hers was. "I thought that was what this was about. What do you want to discuss Princess Elia?"
Elia felt her smile tighten a little, and she shook her head. "Still just Elia please," she said quietly. "I just… I don't want there to still be this weight between us when next we meet. Likely as anything the next time we see each other will be just before our wedding."
Callum seemed to pause at her words, stilling in his seat. "I… hadn't thought of it that way," he said after a moment. "You're right. It won't do." he leaned back, breathing in heavily through his nose. "Truth be told, I do not dislike the idea of marrying you, Elia." he got a cheeky grin on his face. "Despite your best efforts, truth be told." The comment was teasing and maybe a bit mean, but she knew he wouldn't have made it if he wasn't already so familiar with her. She had seen many times in the past months that Callum was rare to speak impulsively.
That didn't stop the blush that found its way onto her cheeks. "I suppose… well I wasn't very pleasant in King's Landing. I would blame the stress my mother's illness had caused me, but in truth, I was just foolish." Rhaegar was dreamy, of course, but with distance and the trauma of mother's death behind her, Elia had long stowed that dream away. Callum was still a child, but it had struck her one day when cleaning up after Oberyn's mess that she could have been betrothed to someone far worse. "On my part, I do not dislike the idea of marrying you either." it was the honest truth. At the very least, she could say that she knew Callum well enough already. Better him than trying to look elsewhere and rolling a dice on whether she'd end up with a perfect knight or a pig in human skin.
That might be a mean thing to think about Oberyn…
Callum looked a bit relieved at her words, his expression relaxing. "That's good to hear," he said quietly. "I uh… well, I honestly used to be worried about what our marriage might be like if you did." he scratched his cheek. "But you've been a very good host while I've stayed here Elia."
Elia smiled, then snorted slightly. "Well, I could hardly trust my siblings to do it. Doran's too busy with Arianne and Mellario, and if IOberyn had been the one keeping track of you then you'd have spent half your time here in a brothel." she narrowed her eyes.
"Ah, well he did invite me several times," Callum admitted. "But I turned him down, I don't like brothels very much."
Elia glanced down at him curiously. "Have you been in one?" It would be odd if he had. She didn't think Tywin Lannister would let his son into a pillow house knowingly, and Callum seemed a dutiful son.
"No, no, nothing like that." Callum waved his hands in front of him. "I wouldn't insult your honor like that Elia-no I just don't like the idea of them, and the way they're… well you know, half the time they're nearly slavery." the boy said quickly. "Many of those women- the whores that is, they didn't all enter their profession happily, or they did but now are being held to not leave it." Callum leaned back in his seat, looking up at the clear sky overhead. "The Seven-Pointed Star says that whoring is wrong, and it's probably right, but worse than whoring is the injustice that's rife in those places. I don't think I could ever stomach to visit one."
Elia listened to him speak, and smiled gently, reaching over, she pushed his hair back out of his forehead. "Well, I'm glad that I'll have a husband who holds such an opinion." Elia was much less interested in the ethics of such institutions herself, after all, it was hard to imagine a world without them, but she could well appreciate marrying someone who hated them. "I'm curious though, have you told your Summer Islander about that? I have been told that whores are sacred in his homeland."
Callum raised his hand and made a so-so gesture. "That's a little different, there they practice sacred prostitution, and everyone in their society spends some time in their temples as a whore in their youth. Plus they all sleep around in most of their religious ceremonies." Elia couldn't help but giggle as Callum explained the sex cults of the summer isles as if they were just the mechanics of some strange invention he was working on. "I don't like them very much either honestly, but it's more like a civic duty for them, like paying taxes or heeding a lord's call to arms. It's not as bad as…" Callum paused for a moment. "You know, we came out here to talk about our betrothal, but somehow now we've ended up here." He turned to her. "I'm sorry, Elia, is there anything else you want to discuss, other than the relative immorality of whores from different regions?"
Elia smiled back, leaning over and propping herself up on her elbow. "No, I think we've already said what we needed to." Plus, it was too funny listening to this kid explain such a lurid topic so dispassionately. "You can go ahead and keep going if you'd like."
Callum blinked and then stared at her, his eyes narrowing.
"You know what, fine. Now, as I was about to say, the Summer Islanders are comparatively less disgraceful than Westeros, but Westeros is still much better than the free cities where the not-quite slavery seen in many Westerosi brothels is replaced by open sex-slavery. Lys is of course the worst of these and that's why-." Elia relaxed, a smile on her face as the blond boy prattled on, just like he did every day with Oberyn or Doran, or indeed with her. Callum had indeed grown on her, and that infectious excitement he had for whatever area of study he was talking about was going to be sorely missed once he left.
Still, it wasn't as if she was losing it forever.
If all went well, she would have a lifetime of it.Ser Clegane
He had never admitted it to anyone else, but Clegane really did not like boats. The constant swaying, the discomfort of having the ground shift beneath your feet, the isolation from any possible interaction not found on the ship, all of it stuck in his craw.
He'd really prefer if he could avoid them entirely, but he never spoke up on the matter because he figured that the wet dog jokes would be inevitable, and it probably wouldn't get him out of doing it anyway. Ultimately, he was going to end up wherever Lord Tywin wanted him to end up.
Thus, when the Blue Wind, the merchant ship that Prince Doran had commissioned to return Young Callum and his retinue to the Westerlands, came into the harbor at Oldtown, Clegane could not have been happier to march down the gangplank ahead of his young charge. The solid stone of the Oldtown docks beneath his feet a comforting reminder that the ground existed along with its welcoming embrace.
Sadly, this was not to be a particularly long visit. No more than three days. Callum had requested to be able to learn at the Citadel for a few months, but his father had refused him, and so they would only stop long enough to greet House Hightower, meet with the head Septon of the Starry Sept, and to oversee the conversion of Callum's band of foreign oddballs to the faith of the seven.
And speaking of the faith…
"Excuse me!" Clegane glanced over as a Septa approached them, her thick blue robes and the necklace with a seven-pointed star hung about her neck standing out immediately from the dockworkers and sailors of the port. "Excuse me, is this perchance the ship of Callum Lannister?"
"It is." Clegane stepped aside, as he had been blocking her view of the child behind him, Callum stepping forward almost immediately to greet her.
"Yes, is there something I can help you with?" The boy asked, stepping forward.
"Ah! It is good to see you've arrived safely, Lord Lannister." She came to a stop and bowed. "My name is Prianne, I was sent to greet you on behalf of the faith in the city." She smiled, "We've heard tell of your mission to spread the Seven Pointed Star, and we're eager to meet you." She paused. "Many of my brothers and sisters are eager to confirm if you are truly blessed by the Smith, as the Gold Star Sept proclaims."
Callum paused for a moment, then nodded. "I appreciate your greeting, Septa, I stopped in Oldtown to visit the Starry Sept, so I'm glad to be welcomed." he bobbed his head slightly. "I also need to make arrangements for several confirmations, eight in total."
"Oh?" the woman blinked, before smiling. "I'm sure we can arrange that." she nodded, "When do you intend to visit?"
"I will come personally tonight, and perhaps in two days for the confirmations." Callum smiled. "My companions have gone through most of the preparations in Dorne and learned the truth of the Seven, but I think it would still be good for them to center themselves first." the blond boy glanced up at the distant bulk of the Starry Sept, far across the city and nodded. "When I come tonight I will be happy to answer any questions you have about the mission I have received."
The Septa nodded, "I will spread the news." she gave another short bow, then left, hurrying away from where they were unloading the ships. Clegane watched her go, before turning back to Callum, who sat there resting his chin on his hand. The boy's eyes were narrow.
"Are you concerned with something milord?" Clegane asked him. It wasn't impossible for septons to become angry with each other, but Clegane thought it very unlikely that any of them would pose a threat to Callum's person, so it wasn't a great risk.
"Only that this may be more trouble than I had hoped it would be. My intention was for this to be a quiet visit." Callum stroked his chin. "I worried that things like this would become more commonplace after Septa Margot proclaimed me as blessed. I fear it will only become harder for me to avoid announcing myself everywhere." Callum sighed. "Well, I'm riding the tiger now, I suppose I'd better not lose my grip."
"Riding the Tiger Milord?" Clegane asked. He hadn't heard the phrase before, probably Essosi. He knew that a Tiger was a striped Lion from Essos.
Callum glanced up at him with sharp green eyes, took a moment to think, then explained. "A tiger is a vicious beast, being near one at all is dangerous, much less riding it. But if you do find yourself riding one, you'd best not stop, for the moment you fall from its back you'll be under its claws and teeth." The Lannister boy frowned. "So it is with the faith. I can only choose to live up to what's expected of me now or be damned before the faith and the people. No other choice is possible." He grumbled.
"It's not a bad thing to have men call you blessed milord," Clegane said, rolling his shoulders and glancing about for any potential dangers. "Good King Baelor is still widely loved to this day, and you're as worthy of the title as he was. He may have raised the Great Sept, but giving every family their own scripture is just as holy a work." Clegane spoke honestly. He didn't even have a copy of the Seven Pointed Star himself, and he had a keep! He was looking forward to receiving one of the ones that Callum had made with his presses someday.
"I… well, it is a good thing and a holy mission, but I am not Baelor," Callum said quietly. "Enough of this talk though. We should go and rent some lodgings for the night."
"Of course Milord." Clegane smiled, nodding as he took up position behind Callum. "Lead away."
They spent roughly the next hour navigating through the narrow cobblestone streets of Oldtown, which was much like Lannisport in its architecture. The primary distinction between the two, as far as Clegane could tell, was that Oldtown was built of solid grey granite for the most part, quarried from the Red Mountains on the Southern Reach. Lannisport on the other hand was mostly built out of red sandstone cut from the coast of the Westerlands. The other telling difference was the presence of the Hightower, looking over the city just as the Rock towered over Lannisport, that and the Starry Sept sitting proudly on a hill across the Honeywine, which was at least twice the size of the Gold Star Sept. Here and there as they passed through the city, Clegane also spotted portholes and stairways leading beneath the ground. He assumed that they led down into the catacombs and undercity of Oldtown, which must be even more expansive than the one in Lannisport given the greater age and population. For his purposes though, it was just another potential danger zone if someone wanted to do Callum harm.
Once they found a nice enough inn for Callum and the rest of his retinue to stay at, they made arrangements and the boy let everyone know the plan. They were told to refer to the academic, Qyburn, as Henrick while they were in the city, and he would avoid walking the streets as much as possible. Apparently, he was a former Maester who'd been pushed out of the order, which Clegane assumed meant that the healer had fathered a bastard or two. That was the most common way men left the Maesters. At any rate, Callum didn't want any trouble with the Citadel, so false names and isolation were the method of choice.
"Aside from that, You'll all be officially confirmed into the faith of the seven in two days, so you should all prepare your spirits." Callum's band of foreign artisans were all gathered up in one of the six rooms they'd rented for their stay. "It'll all happen in the Starry Sept, possibly overseen by some prominent Septons and Septas, I'd hoped for it to be a little quieter, but it seems like what I've been doing with my presses has reached this far south already."
"Is not surprise, Press big deal for Seven Priests yes?" Molo commented. The Summer Islander was reclining on one of the beds, his back propped up against the wall. "You are son of Prince, so is natural that way too."
"I don't especially fancy being made a show of," Maela, the Lyseni seamstress commented. "But I suppose I agreed to it, and your coin has been good." the beautiful woman shrugged. "Still, the sooner we reach Lannisport the better."
There were murmurs of agreement at that all around. Clegane thought they ought to be more excited to be confirmed in the second most holy Sept in the faith, but then, they had only recently been heathens. They knew well enough what confirmation meant at this point, but they hadn't had enough time to understand just how sacred the Starry Sept was. Even Aegon the conqueror had been crowned there after all, after the Hightowers had thrown their gates open and welcomed him into their city.
"I want to get home faster too, there's so much I need to get done with you all." Callum nodded, "But this step is important too."
"That it is." Qyburn, or 'Henrick' chimed in. He had dyed his greying hair brown with some elixir that Clegane didn't recognize and shaved his eyebrows. "This will silence many criticisms we would otherwise have faced, and Lord Callum for hiring us," he said placidly to the rest of the assembled artisans, drawing some nods. "Though I suspect I will be staying here yes?"
"Yes." Callum nodded, "No need to get you out in front of a crowd where someone might recognize you, and you're already an Andal, so people won't make the same assumptions about you anyway." the boy continued "At any rate I-"
There was a knocking at the door and Callum cut off his words. He glanced over at Clegane, and the knight nodded, moving to open it, sliding it open slightly. He saw it was the innkeeper's son, Bill he believed. "What is it?" Clegane asked, blocking the view of the rest of the room with his body.
"Er, Pardon me Ser, 'sonly- there's a Maester downstairs looking for Lord Callum," the boy said. Clegane looked down at him, then turned to glance at Callum. It looked like the Lannister had heard it.
The blond child sighed."Tell him we'll be down to see him in a moment," Callum instructed from across the room.
Clegane nodded, turning back to the innkeeper's boy. "You heard him, let him know we'll be down in a bit."
After the boy ran off, Callum sat down and grumbled. "And there's the other half of what we're going to need to deal with here."
___________________________________________________________________________
Chronicle of the Targaryen Dynasty in the Seven Kingdoms
Maester Willem
277 AC - First Moon
Lord Tywin Lannister resumes his duties as hand of the King in King's Landing, returning to court with his daughter Cersei after an extended leave of absence overseeing affairs in the Westerlands. King Aerys welcomed him back to court with a feast, and announced his provision of a city-charter to the town of Duskendale in the crownlands, Lord Denys Darklyn had petitioned the king thoroughly over the past few months and received royal approval just before Lord Tywin returned. Lord Tywin was apparently angry with the decision. News trickles back to Westeros that Prince Rhaegar and his fleet had finally reached Volantis, after having earlier been blown off course by a storm out of the boiling sea and having to make port at New Ghis. Apparently, only twelve of the original twenty ships made it to Volantis, with some having been blown into the ruins of Old Valyria by the storm, and presumed lost, and two sunken fighting pirates from Gogossos. Prince Rhaegar and Lord Steffon Baratheon both survived the journey, however, and were seen in good health petitioning the Volantines.
Varys
Volantis was not, in Varys's estimation, a particularly pleasant city. It was hotter than Lys, even though it was more northerly because it bordered on the Lands of Always Summer, the once heartland of the Great Valyrian freehold at its height. The tropical climate did no favors for him, as sweat was always running down his bald head in rivers, and he could hardly powder his face without the makeup running away in streams. What was worse, one couldn't just walk from place to place and be taken seriously in Volantis, you had to hire bearers, ride a horse or an elephant, or generally have something carrying you at nearly all times. It cut severely into his limited funds and had been particularly painful with the delays that the Westerosi fleet had faced in getting here. A storm out of broken Valyria had set them back nearly two months and destroyed a large part of the fleet. Until it had been confirmed that Prince Rhaegar landed on Ghis safely, Varys had thought this entire endeavor might have been wasted.
Now though, things were looking up. He had greeted the Westerosi at the port, organized palanquins for them to be carried across the city on, and settled them into a small manor in the outer city while he organized rendezvous with some of the high-blooded families within the black walls. It was a relatively simple affair if one had the right connections, but it was imperative that everything go according to his plans.
This was the best chance Varys had in his life, and he meant to do everything possible to see it succeed. For a decade he had been a Mummer's apprentice before he was emasculated by that vile sorcerer. Then for another decade, he had been a thief, before meeting Illyrio. Now he was an information broker, but the interest of the Westerosi king presented an opportunity to become more and do his cousin well in the process. Lyria would thank him when this was done.
And so he has organized this merry tour, sending Prince Rhaegar first to Lys, where he of course found no women of any decent worth. The best of the Lyseni knew that their fate in Westeros would likely be miserable, given the history of the Westerosi with the Lyseni, so they hid their daughters away and left it to second-class nobles and magisters, grasping social climbers who would likely never appeal to Prince Rhaegar. The plan was always for him to find his way to Volantis.
Of course, the intention had been for him to arrive before the most recent election, not after it. The freak storm he had not accounted for in his plans, but Varys was light on his feet, he was still a thief at heart despite it all.
"So these women I am to meet." Prince Rhaegar certainly looked the part, reclining on a red velvet cushion and eating grapes from a bowl. "Tell me about them."
Varys was in the living quarters of the rented manse, sitting on a small chair while Prince Rhaegar and Lord Steffon Baratheon (a huge man, Varys had only seen Lengsmen taller, and they were narrow like bowstrings, Lord Steffon was thick as an ox.) He leaned on his arm, facing the Prince. "I have reached out and secured three tentative commitments from suitable parties, Prince Rhaegar, and a possible fourth I am still working on." A lie, Varys had all four, but the truth he wanted to show to Rhaegar relied on Rhaegar being drawn into his lies. "The first is the daughter of Melian Velpes, an old merchant family with ties back to the first settlement of Volantis by the freehold, they are staunch Elephants, and of course, of pure Valyrian blood like all the matches I've found for you." Prince Rhaegar looked rather bored, which might insult the Velpes, but that would be fine. "She is sixteen years old and considered very pretty, with purplish silver hair and red eyes. I have secured an invitation for you to visit her within the black walls."
The Prince narrowed his eyes. "I should not need an invitation to walk within the Black Walls of Volantis if the Grand Maester speaks truly about their practices." Rhaegar leaned up. "I am of Valyrian blood, the greatest such blood left in this world."
"I… you are correct Your Highness, and yet the Volantine do not necessarily see it that way. They might or they might not deny you, based on your ancestor's marriage to the houses of Westeros, or just because of politics. If they choose not to deny you, rest assured it will only be because they want something from you." Varys paused for a moment as the Prince lay back down on his side, looking angry. Varys spoke again, carefully this time. "Thus it is easier if we secure invitations, it bears less risk for both your goals and theirs."
Rhaegar's lip curled into a sneer, but he eventually relented. "Fine." he snapped. "I shall play this shell game, but not for long."
"Of course, your Highness, and I believe all of the women I've arranged to meet you here are suitable for your requirements," Varys said smoothly, continuing to lead the prince along by a trail of breadcrumbs. In truth, all of them were only barely satisfactory, except for the one Varys wanted him to pursue. "The next is Oreana Losia, her family is just as old as the Velpes, and she is twenty-four years of age, still well within her fertility." Varys continued. "She is the head of her house, as her father died two years ago of the Walking-Fever. A quiet woman, she would bring you much in the way of old knowledge from Valyria. That said, she is a blood purist and may consider you lesser for your Westerosi heritage." The Prince, who had been looking more interested, soured at those words, though perhaps Oreanna would break past that preconception he'd placed in the prince's head, regardless though, she was too poor. The Losia's had been on a decline for more than a hundred years.
"Continue," Rhaegar said dryly.
"The third that I have fully secured is Morella Ba'aldirin. She is a captain in the Noble Spears, the guards who protect the black walls, and her family are staunch tigers, they have a noble lineage of Valyrian descent dating back to the Rhoynish wars, and she herself has a fearsome reputation. If you wish to tap into the more militant aspect of Volantis she is a good choice and a healthy woman in prime childbearing age. An ideal candidate except…" Varys let the statement hang in the humid air for a moment, leaving the two in suspense. "Actually… well I do not wish to raise your hopes too much with the fourth candidate I am working on. It's unlikely she'll accept the arrangements."
"Don't waste the Prince's time, Eunuch." Lord Steffon said, his powerful voice filling the room for the first time in the conversation. "You clearly have something to say, so speak."
Varys frowned, but inside he was cheering, this was exactly what he wanted, now to make it just a bit better… He turned his gaze to Rhaegar, implicitly asking the Prince to affirm Lord Steffon's order. The Targaryen nodded slowly. "Speak, half-man."
Varys suppressed a wince at the insult, but he knew he was pushing it with this nonsense, it was simply imperative that Rhaegar thought this last candidate was desirable of his own volition, not because Varys was talking her up. "The… most prestigious possible candidate I am still negotiating to get you a meeting with, Prince Rhaegar," Varys said, hunching forward and resting his head on his hand. "Valia Baleia-Aurios was, until two months ago, one of the Triarchs of Volantis." Rhaegar leaned upwards in his seat at that, and Lord Steffon shifted against the wall. "She is a Tiger, like Lady Morella, but her family is far more prestigious. The Baleia's were sorcerers in old Valyria, a prestigious family even before the fall, and after it, they merged with the line of the Dragonlord Aurion, after he marched to his doom in Valyria." Varys tapped his fingers on his cheek. "She is a powerful woman, and still within childbearing age for many years yet, though she is older than you, your highness," Varys said quietly. "But between her blood, her wealth, and her position, there is no finer woman in Volantis. Not unmarried. She has been difficult to secure a meeting with, however."
Rhaegar seemed to be deep in thought. "A Dragonlord's descendant…" he mumbled, "The blood of another Dragonlord house might do well to strengthen House Targaryen." he leaned back. "Has there been any particular reason for the delay? Does she, like others, consider herself too pure for House Targaryen?" there was a dangerous edge to his tone, one that Varys was careful to mollify.
"She hasn't expressed any such opinion to my knowledge. Rather, I understand that she took the loss of her position as Triarch somewhat badly and that she has been resistant to all forms of political outreach." Actually, it was why it had been so easy for Varys to secure the meeting between them, she had taken the defeat badly, but the Targaryen prince looked like a way out of an increasingly disastrous political situation. "I have heard little back from her, but I do still have a few tools left to make use of if you think she is most desirable."
Rhaegar snorted. "Obviously, do what you must, just make it happen." The prince reclined. "Of the ones you spoke of, she is the only one that sounds interesting."
'Exactly as I planned.' Varys kept the smile off his face as he clasped his hands together and nodded. "I will put some additional favors into play at once then, by your leave."
As Rhaegar waved him out, Varys stepped out into the hot Volantine sun with a grin, even as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief.
Now all that was left to do was to arrange the time and date. He loved dealing with these Westerosi nobles. It was like feeding candy to a dog. You just put it in front of them and they'd never question where it came from.
______________________________________________________________________________
Chronicle of the Targaryen Dynasty in the Seven Kingdoms
Maester Willem
277 AC - First Moon
A small war breaks out between Myr and Tyrosh over naval actions taken by the former against pirates in the Stepstones aligned with the latter. Pentos seeks to become involved on the side of Myr, but Braavos orders them to avoid joining the hostilities. Thus far, the war largely consists of piracy and naval actions directed at pirates allied to each city, with the navies of the two cities loath to leave themselves open to Braavosi intervention. Fighting has likewise picked up in the disputed lands between the two cities.