The Eminence in GOT-Chapter 37: Waiting for the beginning

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***

282 A.D.

Strait of Tarth, Stormlands.

If fate existed and it had a gender, then it would be a woman. The most fickle, capricious and unjust woman in the whole wide world. For I can find no reason why the halcyon days of peace have so abruptly turned into the conflagration of a civil war where innocent women and children suffer.

Of course, this is all sophistry.

It's all been leading up to this for years. You could say that the preconditions for war were in place before I was born. The Targaryens were too weak to be kings, the grandlords too ambitious to be servants, the hatred between regions too strong... there were many reasons, and they were held in check by only two factors-the honor of the lords that would not allow them to betray their suzerain, and the benefit of common borders between kingdoms and the absence of constant warfare.

But Aerys and his son Rhaegar ruined everything.

The former had spent years undermining the nobles' loyalty to his house with very shortsighted and downright stupid policies, further cementing the Targaryens' reputation as insane incestuous and completely destroying what little respect remained after Aegon I the Conqueror, and the latter had completed his father's endeavors by siccing the kingdoms of the North and the Stormlands on the Iron Throne, along with their allies, the Tullys and the Arryns.

And when I received the letter, I knew it all at once. This was the very end of the dragons that the show had talked about. And right now, it was only going to cause trouble for me and for Dorne. Knowing Doran, it's easy to assume that he would definitely send his personal guard to help his brother-in-law, and he'd probably lose it.

And that is a significant weakening of House Martell. A house that has protected me for years with its patronage against monsters like the Ironwoods, Fowlers, Manwoodies, Swanns, and others. Without the House of the Sunspear, I would have been wiped out as soon as Osgiliath began to make any profit. So something had to be done.

It wasn't until a couple weeks later, when Oberyn and I, in the fastest schooner we could find, raced to Sunspear that a plan was born. I did my best to convince Doran, who was quietly furious at what had happened and had not started swearing, smashing things around and drinking just because Lady Melario was in her last stages of pregnancy and would give birth in the next few weeks, that there was no need to rush and that everything should be considered. I used every possible argument, all the information my men had gathered throughout Westeros, and even some "understatements" about the true size of the king's army... Well, he didn't recognize that instead of thirty thousand, the Northern Alliance would be opposed by all fifty, taking into account the lords who remained loyal to the crown. What's the big deal? The main thing is that he agreed with me and decided to listen.

In the end, after many hours of brainstorming by me, Doran and Oberyn, a simple course was laid out - to reduce Dorne's involvement in the war as much as possible without provoking the king, to side with the victor in the end, and to steal Princess Elia and her children from the Red Castle at the same time - and the plan was built upon that.

Four months had passed since then and so far things were going more or less well.

The Council of Dorne was convened, where through me, a mere peddler who is not watched too closely, the message was brought to the majority of the lords - "We are forced into a war on the side of the Targaryens and will surely lose."

Naturally, most of them decided to refuse to take part in the campaign, right after the meeting. But then Oberyn paid them a visit and hinted that they could send not their own men, but mercenaries from the countless mercenaries across the Narrow Sea. All it would take was a little gold for House Martell to sponsor them, and they would have men under their banners and flags.

The idea was to everyone's liking. Before, they couldn't do so because of the insult to their own honor and their suzerain, but here he offered to do so, spending a measly few hundred gold dragons and saving their own knightly spears, grown over the years by the noble houses.

So in fact, there were now seven and a half thousand mercenaries sailing on forty transport galeas, provided by the Ironwoods in lieu of their "share" of the troops, and another thousand riders marching into King's Harbor along the Dornish marks. Dozens of unmemorable squads of a hundred and two hundred men, of which there were countless in the expanse of the Free Cities. Still, such mastodons as the Golden Swords, the Cat Company, the Sons of the Wind, and the Iron Shields are very few in number and it was often more profitable to hire a few small units than these dogs of war. But we didn't need a strong and cohesive army - the main thing was that these mercenaries, dressed in the uniforms of the soldiers of the house that hired them, gave the impression of a real army that came to the aid of the king.

Of course, more experienced people, such as Lieven Martell or Rhaegar himself, could not be deceived by such a thing, but for this purpose, among this mercenary band was a thousand real Dornish, consisting of five hundred knights of House Dane (Lord Vorian was well aware of our adventure, but the threat to his beloved sisters quickly cooled his ardor) and five hundred Martell guards, subordinate to me personally. They will serve as guards of the "headquarters" and escort important persons, creating a screen for mercenaries.

The second point in our plan was my appointment as commander of this corps. In fact, it did nothing for me - as soon as we arrive in the Royal Harbor, Prince Lieven will become the chief here, leaving me out of the picture. But if you know a few interesting facts... such as the Guard and squad captains personally reporting to me, then... things change. First, being in the shadows will allow me to safely leave a small "stash" in King's Harbor without attracting too much attention. Secondly, it will give me more freedom of movement, which is important in the later stages of the plan. And finally, thirdly, it's my status. In the future, Doran will be able to point at me and say, "Kind people, tell me - if I really sincerely wanted to help our king, would I send a former peddler who doesn't understand anything about warfare to lead the army?". For the same reason Oberyn, despite his best wishes, was not sent to war, to completely exclude the personal involvement of House Martell.

"These are such kitten pies" - I thought tiredly, leaning on the railing of the captain's bridge. - "Though it's my own fault - I shouldn't have gotten involved in all this noble nonsense. But I want to live and I want to live beautifully. So Felix, get used to intrigue in advance, or better yet, learn to weave it yourself. Since the other lords are so desperate to do it, it might even be fun."

«Remember Davos. If you can smuggle supplies into Storm's Edge, you'll get so much gold that your wife can afford to wear jewelry like a noble lady. Can you do that?

«Of course, m'lord. - Answered a lean man with brown eyes and a plain weathered face. Davos Flea. My age, already a living legend among the sea folk. Still, from a penniless boy barely making ends meet in the depths of Flea's End of King's Harbor to captaining an entire ship and becoming the finest smuggler on both sides of the Narrow Sea is worth a lot. - I won't let you down.

«Just please don't tell Stannis where you got your provisions. There's a war going on now, and if he finds out that you got help from the king's man, he'll hang you on the gallows even if he's starving. Understand? - I said as I escorted him to the dinghy.

«Yes. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Lord. May the Seven be with you. - Once again the man bowed his head and climbed into the dinghy that the sailors had already begun to launch.

«And you too, Davos... And you too. - I mumbled, looking toward the boat.

My meeting with him was an accident. Just at one point one of the captains of the mercenary squads I used as guards in Osgiliath told me that a smuggler had managed to double-cross his "colleague" and smuggle a load of glass, porcelain, and whiskey out of the city, bypassing customs. Everybody got a smackdown. The people in charge of the warehouses, the mercenaries guarding the coast, and Fleabag himself, for whom I had set a reward of five hundred gold pieces, alive and unharmed. They brought him to me a couple months later. One of the smugglers turned him over to the Steps pirates, who captured the whole crew and the smuggler himself and brought them to me.

Initially I was going to execute him as an example to others, but once I got to know him a little better, I changed my mind.

I've always liked people like Davos - honest, open and, most importantly, loyal. To his wife, to his master and most importantly to his word. So this man, who always wore a brown and green woolen robe, old boots and brown breeches, was given a simple and straightforward job - to find all the smugglers' hiding places on my lands and the lands nearest to them, so as to completely cut off this people's way here. The smuggler did it. And he did it well. All secret grottoes were now covered with bars, small coves were equipped with observer posts, and rocks with secret caves were completely blocked, with no possibility of recovery.

It's beautiful.

And now I needed it again. A week and a half ago, Robert Baratheon lost a battle to the vanguard of the Army of the Expanse, under Randyll Tarly. How he managed to lose with twenty-five thousand men to fifteen Tarlys is beyond me, but a fact is a fact. The defeated Stag's army retreated north, plundering the lands of the Merriweathers, Cordwainers, and Fossoways along the way, and Mace Tyrell led his army to Storm's End without pursuing it. This further confirmed my assumptions that the Tyrells would not actively support the dragons and like Dorne chose a wait-and-see tactic.

But there was a dangerous moment. Storm's End was almost impregnable, and as long as a garrison of two thousand sat there, there was no need to worry about taking it by storm. But the problem was time. Even I, a man far removed from the war, could see that soon there would be famine and the castle would fall. And knowing Baratheon and his character, I can't guarantee that he won't swear to wipe out the whole of Spaceland to the seventh knee for the death of his brothers. For they will not be given alive - Stannis would rather strangle little Renly with his own hands than let the enemy have such an important hostage.

So Davos had a very important mission to perform, one I could not entrust to one man.

"I hope those purses reached their destination." - I thought and, feeling the cold wind shivering through me, went to my quarters. There were still a lot of things to do and they would not go away by themselves.

***

282 A.D.

King's Landing, King's Landing.

I didn't like King's Landing.

I really didn't.

There were many reasons, from the first visit, when I was thrown into the dirty and stinking waters of the Blackwater, to the bright green fire that burned like a beacon in the night in the Red Castle. And, judging by the faces of the wharf laborers, this picture had long since become commonplace.

The first message I received as soon as the Ironwood ships approached the King's Harbor was a letter written under the hysterical dictation of Aerys, where he forbade the "Dornish bastards" to approach the walls of the city closer than a hundred meters.

They had to land on the southern shore, and under the light murmurings of the mercenaries, quickly silenced by their captains' chiseled teeth, set up camp there, away from the King's Road, away from the curious and gawky simpletons. Still, the fact that there were too many Valyrian-speaking people in the army was not something I wanted to reveal before the time.

Only I, as the head of the army, and a few minor lords responsible for logistics and general background were summoned to the Red Castle. After using the ferry and passing through the River Gate, rightfully called the Dirty Gate because of the unbearable stench and nearly half a meter of mud accumulated in the potholes, we went straight to the Dragons' residence, through Crooked Street. Nearly a hundred people came with us, thirty of whom were guards, twenty were servants, and the rest....

«Do you remember everything, Robin? Fifth street, third door, two long and five short taps. Leech is a scumbag, but don't provoke him. Only he and his men know the secret passages of this city so well. You got it?

«Yes, Fel. - My old friend, who'd been with me since the Citadel, was nodding his head along with Joen. Rick and Dick, despite their looks, were still craftsmen to the core and now ran their foundries in Osgiliath, but Piper... I never thought my request to stay in Staromest would change his life so much. He was now the owner of a small shop in the old city, collecting rumors for me from all over the Hightower domain and marrying the very courtesan, Obara's mother, that I'd asked him to keep an eye on. H-haa... The winding paths of our lives.

«I'm counting on you. - I said, handing over a small bag of money, and set off, watching as one person at a time, taking advantage of the sharp turn of Hook Street, disappeared into the endless alleys of the continent's largest city.

In fact, they were my backup in case the negotiations with Baratheon failed, but knowing that the best-laid plans often go awry, it was better to be safe than sorry.

In the meantime, the hulk of the royal residence appeared ahead, its mere appearance foretelling trouble. And when I noticed the green flames and something remotely resembling mad laughter coming from the other side, I was even more convinced of my assertion.

***

Aerys II Targanien had changed since I had last seen him, and not for the better.

Now, in the throne room of the Red Castle, on the majestic and dangerous Iron Throne, fused from hundreds of swords of defeated warriors, symbol of the unity of the Seven Kingdoms, sat a painfully thin old man in rich and expensive clothes. His hands and feet were covered with unhealed scabs and cuts, judging from the bloodstains left by the blades of his own throne, and his long silver hair and disheveled beard, more like white dyed straw, and long yellow fingernails that reached several inches in length, made him look even more like a madman, only complementing his eyes.

When I first began my journey, almost ten years ago, I had the chance to see the king at the entrance to Lannisport from the top of a tavern roof. Even then, his eyes were constantly running, glittering, changing the tone and meaning of his gaze several times in a minute, with the characteristic black bags of sleep deprivation. But now all of that had deteriorated dozens, if not hundreds of times.

From the seat of the ruler of Westeros, the eyes of a madman whose mind and will had long ago surrendered and fallen to pieces, leaving only one reminder that the man sitting there was a king, in the form of the ornate crown of Aegon IV, adorned with images of the three Great Dragons.

«Your Majesty. - I said, kneeling down and bowing my head as low as I could, careful not to let our gazes meet. I was well aware that madmen often reacted like wild and dangerous beasts that should never make eye contact.

«Your Majesty. - My retinue, who had learned one simple rule during their long voyage - to repeat exactly what I said at the king's reception and to keep quiet, even if they were asked.

The silence that followed was such that it seemed as if my breath was echoing off the walls and could be heard by all the lizos present... yes, the lizobudes. The rest of the courtiers who had a shred of honor or reason had long since been burned in the flames of Wildfire, or had fled far away from King's Harbor to escape the Mad King.

«The bloody Dornish finally showed up. - The words and tone, familiar to all the locals, cut me and my companions very deeply. Surprise, stupor, incomprehension, rage, disappointment, and understanding flashed through my mind in seconds, leaving only sadness behind. I mustn't forget that I was sitting in front of a man who had lost his mind, and to take his words to heart would be tantamount to taking offense at a small child. - I thought that puppy Doran had forgotten who had honored him by letting a Dornish whore into his home. What's your name-- Temper! How many men did you bring with you from your barren desert?

«Eight and a half thousand men ready to die for you, your majesty. - I answered without looking up and continued to stare at the mirror-clear marble of the floor.

«Not enough..." Aerys said grumpily, somehow managing to fit hysterical and childish notes into one word. - Your entire desert, which I have forgotten, should have sent all the warriors it had. Not these miserable scraps. Shall I burn you for a lesson, so the Dornish will remember what happens when they upset a dragon?

Hearing his words, filled with barely restrained anticipation, a wave of goosebumps ran down my back, against my will.

"But this ub***** isn't kidding. He can really do it!" - The cold sweat and involuntarily clenched fist on my knee was a vivid demonstration of how panicked I was right now. Death doesn't scare me. Having died once, I began to treat it with a certain amount of indifference, realizing that someday it would come for me, and it didn't matter when it would be. Tomorrow or decades from now.

But it was worth remembering the agony of those whom the Madman burned in the Wildfire... How their skin and bones gradually melted, how their eyes leaked out of their eye sockets, and their internal organs were baked right into their bodies, how their screams, filled with unbearable pain and suffering, spread for many kilometers around....

"Scary."

«But I won't do that. - His words seemed to release the tense spring twisted inside me, allowing me to relax. - Soon enough my new Hand, John Conington, will smash the damn rebels and bring me their severed heads! For no man dare rebel against the dragon! Go back to your camp, Temper, and watch these bugs go up in flames! Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!!!!!

And so I left the throne room. Under the laughter of the mad tyrant and discreetly handed over a diploma, signed by the Small Council, where Prince Lieven Martell became the official leader of the Dornish corps.

***

The Dornish camp remained in place for another three months.

That's how long it took Baratheon to retreat to the Stone Sept, hide there for a few days from Jon Conington's army, wait for Stark and Tully reinforcements to arrive, and finally turn his enemy to flight in a battle with a rather poetic name.

The Battle of the Bells.

Aerys tore and tore, burning and torturing everyone he could get his hands on. Poor Conington, before even reaching King's Landing, was sent into exile from Westeros, with the threat of "cutting off his ugly bird's head if he ever set foot in the land of dragons again," and the new Hand was Quarlton Chelstead, a cowardly and cowardly man whose only talent was to fill the treasury so he could rob it himself.

But with that, the king finally realized that the rebellion of the four kingdoms was no joke. He realized that he was dealing with a real threat to his power, the biggest since the first Blackfire rebellion, and so he did more than just change the Hand. The only people the king trusted were the knights of the Kingsguard, and so he used them as commanders, commissioning Barristan, whom I never got to see, and Jonotor Darry to gather the scattered remnants of Connington's army and take command of them. And Prince Leaven was finally forced to inspect the forces entrusted to him, which had long since taken root on the Kingsroad.

I have not sat idle these three months. Every single day I went around the mercenary units under my command and did my best to make them indistinguishable from the real Dornish. Dyeing the hair of the Lysenians, teaching those who knew only Valyrian the basics of Andalos, taking away the Oriental bling and gestures unique to the Essossians, teaching them to stand in formation and make them look like a normal army... Sounds easy, but if you remember that there were almost seven and a half thousand mercenaries in this camp... I did a Herculean job. But I had to keep in mind the finer points of espionage and logistics. It wasn't enough to keep Varys' famous mute birds out of the camp. It was necessary to organize everything so that they would visit areas with real Dornish and report the necessary information to their master.

The only thing that saved me was the fact that Quarlton Chelstead had the good sense to allocate the necessary amount of money to buy provisions, and my connections with the local merchant guild allowed me to buy good quality food without a significant markup. And that's not forgetting the whores, vagrants, peddlers, and other trash that flocked to the soldiers' camp like flies to honey.

So when Lieven, accompanied by the Gold Cloaks, rode into the camp he saw only what he should have seen. A well-trained and armed "Dornish" army, over which he immediately assumed command. The fact that this crowd would scatter and run away if they met a more or less serious opponent, the prince naturally did not know and in fact, left the management of "minor issues" to me, most of the time spent in the king's guard or in his room in the White Sword Tower, where his mistress was rumored to live.

But the final point in our sitting was marked by the return of the prodigal son - Rhaegar Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, had returned from his "journey".

***

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