~~~Narrow Sea~~~
The salt wind pressed against my face as I stood at the bow of the Malenia.
In front of me was nothing but an endless sea and a setting sun from this far out, it looked as if the water was swallowing it whole.
Four years it took to build this ship. I drew the design myself.
"Master Artys, I have a question that has troubled me for some time," Soyrn said cautiously from behind. "If you allow me?"
I glanced back at him. He had come alone, without even his usual ledger tucked under one arm. Unusual.
What does he want?
"Go on," I said, turning back to the sea.
He hesitated, shifting his weight the way he always did when he was working up to something. Then: "These weapons we are carrying to Essos… they are not for trade, are they?"
His gaze moved across the two Age of Sail ships travelling on our left and right, followed by seven cogs.
"Why do you say that?" I replied, letting a smirk curl at the corner of my mouth. "People call me the Merchant Prince for a reason, Soyrn. It is my job to do business."
His face remained perfectly flat. Not a flicker.
He wasn't buying it.
I suppose I can tell him the truth.
"Soyrn," I said slowly, "if I were to tell you that I plan to distribute those weapons to slaves under the cover of night — while putting all seven hundred of my Unsullied to use and causing a rebellion inside a city — what would you call that plan?"
"I would call you a madman," he said immediately, without so much as a blink.
Then, after a beat: "You are not actually planning that… are you?"
"Master Artys," he pressed, desperation creeping into his voice, "the Free Cities are no joke. They command thousands of trained city guards and enough gold to hire tens of thousands of mercenaries. And the slaves—" he lowered his voice, as if someone nearby might be listening, "—if the slaves had the courage to revolt, there wouldn't be any slaves."
"Give people hope," I said quietly, stepping away from the railing and moving toward him, "and you would be surprised by what they do with it."
"But my lord — Volantis, Pentos, any of the Free Cities — they will not fall so easily," he argued.
"So many buts, Soyrn." I tilted my head. "When did I say anything about the Nine Free Cities?"
That made him pause. His eyes narrowed as he worked through it.
"Slaver's Bay?" he asked.
"But my lord, Astapor, Meereen, and Yunkai are just as formidable. You only have seven hundred Unsullied and a handful of Arryn household guards — we would be dead before we laid eyes on a single Wise Master," he reasoned.
I began to circle him slowly. He rotated on the spot, keeping his eyes on mine.
"Aren't there smaller cities, Soyrn? Ones that aren't as powerful as the Free Cities or as well-defended as Slaver's Bay?"
"Many of them are too small, or fall under the protection of a Free City, or get sacked by the Dothraki every other generation." He crossed his arms. "A fool's errand, my lord."
"What about Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria?"
"Oh."
The realisation moved across his face slowly, like a tide coming in.
"Those three are weaker, and not under any Free City's protection," he murmured, almost to himself. He thought for a moment. "Tolos and Elyria I understand — fighting pits, slave courts, the influence of Slaver's Bay. But Mantarys?" He frowned. "It sits on the Demon Road. Every traveller avoids it. The rumours alone keep people away."
"Exactly," I said.
He looked at me, then looked away, then looked back. He had the expression of a man who had just understood something he would rather not have.
"And how will you explain all this to the man on the Iron Throne?" he pressed.
That made me stop.
"When did I say anything about conquering them?" I said, placing a hand over my chest in mock offense. "I am going there to visit. It simply so happens that while visiting, I witnessed such appalling slavery that when the slaves revolted — entirely of their own accord, naturally — I was so moved by their plight that I assisted them. And afterward, being a man of conscience, I helped them establish city councils, elected by the freedmen themselves." I paused. "And introduced them to the Faith of the Seven and its enlightening teachings."
"Since I wear no crown, and no man of House Arryn will be seen carrying a banner, what grounds does that fat pig on the throne have to object?" I spread my hands. "None."
Soyrn nodded slowly — the reluctant nod of a man who had just lost an argument he was hoping to win.
"But my lord… the path ahead will be soaked in blood."
"I know," I said. "Which is why I need a mercenary company loyal to me."
His eyebrows climbed. "A mercenary company? My lord, you have already heavily armed the Vale. The legion training the lords protested. People are already talking. Raising an independent force in Essos on top of all that—"
"It won't be me who will be raising it," I said.
"Then who?"
I smiled.
"I have been feeding those two brothers for years — ever since the day we pulled them out of the hands of slavers in Blackwater Bay. Time to call in the debt."
"Alone? With no money, no men, no experience?" He shook his head. "How are those two supposed to command cutthroats and mercenaries who answer to no one but coin?"
"They won't be recruiting cutthroats. We will give them the slaves I am freeing — and Unsullied."
"Unsullied?" His voice rose. "My lord, you spend nearly all your annual income as it is. The castle, the navy, the roads, the hill tribe campaigns — equipping all ten Vale legions was not done by magic." He let out a breath. "You don't have enough left to buy even a few hundred Unsullied a year."
"Not the fully trained ones," I said. "I mean the ones who fail. The Wise Masters claim only one in four survives their process. I want the other three."
Soyrn was quiet for a moment. "Good luck convincing them. They will deny every request before you finish asking."
"Leave that to me." I turned toward the deck. "Come. Let's go speak with the brothers."
I stopped and looked back at him.
This man had spent his life in service — first to my mother's family, then to me — and had never once asked for anything in return. That kind of loyalty deserved a reward of equal worth.
"Soyrn. Ask for something. Gold and silver won't do — I know you well enough. What about land? A wife? A house of your own?"
"There is no need—"
"I wasn't offering," I said flatly.
He let out a long, defeated sigh. "If you insist… land would do. As for a wife—" he shook his head, "—desire for women has brought me nothing but grief."
"A broken heart, is it, Soyrn?"
"It is a thing of the past," he said, in a voice that made it perfectly clear it was not.
I did not laugh. I put a hand on his shoulder briefly, then let go and walked on.
Some things are better left buried.
POV Ends
~~~King's Landing~~~
~~~The Queen's Chambers~~~
Cersei POV
The candles in my chambers burned low and amber, and I was watching them when Joffrey came in jaw set, golden hair dishevelled, wearing the particular look that meant someone had hurt my little boy.
Who dares.
I would have their entire family beheaded for such insolence.
"What's wrong, my lion?" I asked softly, opening my arms.
He came to me. I pulled him close and felt his breathing — heavy, furious — against my chest.
"It's that boy again, Mother." His voice was clipped. "I went to the streets today with Uncle Jaime. Those peasants — they don't even speak my name. All they talk about is him. They call him the Merchant Prince."
He spat the last two words as if they tasted rotten.
That little shit.
I swear on my children's lives, the day that whoremonger dies and my sweet boy takes the Iron Throne, I will have the Kingsguard drag him here from the Vale in chains.
"Let them talk," I said gently, smoothing his hair.
He is the Crown Prince. My boy. My son. The next king. The idea that smallfolk would give a title like prince to some merchant's brat was an insult dressed as admiration. A queen was not enough for them now they had to make a Merchant Prince as well.
"It is natural, my child," I continued. "People always crane their necks toward whoever they think shines brightest. A torch is bright. A crown is forever."
He was still scowling, but his breathing slowed.
"Remember who you are. We are lions. As your grandfather says — a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of sheep."
"You are not merely a prince," I said, meeting his eyes. "You are the Crown Prince. The entire realm will bow to you one day. Men like him will stand before your throne, kneeling."
"But what if he refuses to kneel?" he asked, his eyes wet.
"Then we will make him kneel." I said it quietly, the way you state something simply true. "You are a lion. He is a sheep, however well he dresses himself."
Finally, my little boy smiled.
"Yes, Mother, you are right." His voice steadied — hardened, in that way that sometimes frightened me and sometimes made me proud. I was never entirely certain which.
"If he doesn't listen, I will march my armies, drag him from the Vale, and put his head on a spike."
"Now that's my boy," I said.
I pulled him close and smiled over his shoulder at the low-burning candles.
POV Ends