Chapter 99 96

The Vale. 298 AC.

Lord Axel Arryn.

A flowering meadow is an abundance of vivid color and varied scent. Tall green grass and open blossoms. Among them one can find wild berries: strawberries, raspberries, and wood sorrel. Their fragrance drifts through the air, mingling into a single symphony of smells. This is where the air is cleanest and freshest, where natural beauty is most itself. And what a sky hangs above the meadow, seemingly bottomless, with snow-white clouds drifting across it like butterflies. The colors of sky and grass and flower together create a feeling of warmth and closeness to the living world. A picture worthy of the Valar themselves. And it could all be destroyed by the battle to come. The little streams would run red with the blood of thousands, the green meadows would be churned to mud beneath the hooves of warhorses, and the vultures would feast on the fallen.

All of this would happen if two stubborn men failed to reach an agreement. Westerosi manners irritate me endlessly. Punctuality is supposedly the hallmark of noble lords, yet a king may arrive whenever he pleases, for only a king is granted that particular indulgence. Stannis had decided to be difficult and was in no hurry to approach. Only after five minutes did His Grace condescend to come forward.

A crown with points shaped like antler tines sat atop Stannis's head. His belt was set with garnets and yellow topazes, and a large black amethyst adorned the pommel of his sword. Beyond that, he was dressed plainly: a leather jerkin with steel rivets over a checkered doublet, worn boots, and rough brown breeches. His banner bore the standard Baratheon stag, with only a crown added to it.

His face was haggard, as were the faces of those in his retinue. That was a good sign. If the king himself and those closest to him looked so worn from want of food, the common soldiers must feel considerably worse. Should the talks fail, that would reduce our losses in the coming battle considerably.

"Before you stands Stannis of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," announced his herald. It had been some time since I had seen Davos. I liked the smuggler. I had even offered him a place in my service once, but he had refused.

"Lord Axel of House Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, sends his greetings," my herald was Ser Eyris, whom I had knighted and formally appointed commander of my household guard.

"And which usurper do you serve, Arryn?" Stannis had not changed at all.

"No usurper. A king," Stannis's brows drew together in a flicker of irritation. "King Robert, First of His Name."

"My brother is dead. The Queen's children are not his. They are bastards and have no claim to the throne. I am Robert's lawful heir, and the throne is mine by right. Bend the knee as you bent it before my brother, swear your loyalty, and I will forgive you all your transgressions. You will keep the Eyrie, receive honorable titles and high distinctions for yourself and your men."

Well. He had apparently learned something about the art of negotiation. Though the Vale was already mine regardless, it was only a matter of time, and titles held little meaning to me at present.

"I would gladly, but I took a wound and my knee will not bend properly," I said. My answer clearly did not please him, though I could not have cared less. If anyone believes I would grovel before a man simply because he wore a crown, they are a fool.

"You speak dangerous words. Any man who denies my right to the throne is my enemy!" Baratheon snapped, though he composed himself a moment later. "In honor of your past service to my brother, I offer you one more chance."

"I do not deny your rights," I said, though I refuse to be a hypocrite. "But a man who demands that the laws of succession be respected, while trampling them himself where others are concerned, will never have my loyalty."

"What do you want, Arryn?" The conversation had finally taken a constructive turn.

"Shall we ride?" Sometimes an audience makes even wise men act foolishly, and Stannis was no wise man to begin with. Alone together, we would manage better.

"Your Grace, this is dangerous," said some knight of House Florent whose name I did not know.

"Stay here," Baratheon ordered, then turned to me. "Lead on." We rode easily out to about thirty paces' distance.

"I will not dance around the matter, so let us speak plainly." Stannis had always appreciated that approach, and he gave a short nod. "The eyes of all Westeros are turned here. This battle will shape the entire war for the throne. I have five thousand men, with another two and a half thousand in the fortifications. I will not lose." An army is more than numbers alone. It is the sum of many factors bearing on the outcome of a battle. And right now, the forces are unequally matched to an excessive degree.

"You are proud, but you dislike boasting," Stannis said. He did not bother denying the obvious. "What are you proposing?" A good sign. He was willing to negotiate.

"I will give you ships, provisions, and supplies. You will withdraw from the Vale."

Baratheon looked surprised. The terms were exceedingly generous.

"What do you gain from this? Are you planning a rebellion?" The suspicion was not entirely unfounded. It was not unreasonable to suppose I might declare myself king.

"It is quite simple. I despise the Lannisters, and I have little love for Renly and his weeds," meaning the Tyrells. "To do what benefits them? No. Out of spite for them alone, I will let you go and furnish you with everything you need."

"I will not tolerate regions breaking away from my kingdom."

"The moment you take the Iron Throne, I will swear fealty to you," I promised.

Stannis fell into deep thought. In Westeros, among the noble classes, Stannis Baratheon has a reputation as an uncompromising military man, and from the outside that is exactly what he appears to be. But Stannis had often engaged in questionable dealings that did not fit his character when it served his purposes. During the crackdown on crime in King's Landing, when he was serving as Master of Ships, he had quietly looked the other way on my own arrangements with certain criminal elements, in exchange for advancing his agenda on the Small Council. Much the same had happened during the reshuffling of power within the royalist faction after my father's death. He had understood he could not win that particular contest, and in exchange for certain concessions, he had ceased making trouble. Now I had placed him in much the same difficult position.

"...I agree," Stannis said at last, forcing the words out.

-------------------------

Patreon Advance Chapters: patreon .com / ElvenKing20

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.