Chapter 222

The Vale. The Gates of the Moon. 301 AC.

Axel Arryn.

"Thank you," I said, accepting the cup of steeped herbs from Myrcella.

"You're welcome," she said, and it never failed to surprise me how little it took to draw out such a genuine smile from her. "What are you doing?"

"Going through the bank's affairs, reading through spy reports, and working out how the war is likely to develop," I answered honestly.

"Can I help?" I was about to give her some undemanding little task out of habit, but the hopeful look in her eyes stopped me.

Whatever a treasure Myrcella might be, she wanted to prove herself. It was a natural desire, shared by every living person, and there was nothing to be done about it. At first she had taken pride in the work she was given, but in time it had become clear to her that her assignments carried little real weight and were largely decorative. Naturally, this did not sit well with Myrcella, but she carried out her duties without complaint. Silence, however, is not the same as not hinting. Girls have a particular gift for saying everything they refuse to put into words with nothing but their eyes. It is a fearsome weapon, and the sweet princess had learned to wield it well.

"Help me calculate the expenses for the Gates of the Moon, please." While Myrcella was still puzzling over that, I pulled out a small stack of documents and set them down in front of her. "Look. Take the figures from this column and write them here. Then add them up and tack on another five percent on top, that's the reserve for unforeseen costs. If anything in the second column looks off, note it down here..."

This would serve as both a test and an act of trust. If she managed it, well done, and I could entrust her with more serious tasks. If not, no great loss, I would only lose ten minutes redoing the sums. Either way I would have to recheck the figures myself regardless. Meanwhile Myrcella listened to me attentively, occasionally asking about anything unclear. I answered calmly. Now and then I simplified things to make them easier to grasp, but that happened only twice; the girl was clever, my little treasure.

"Understood?" She nodded. "Any questions?"

"If I need to, I'll ask you," the princess answered, with a hint of mischief.

Chuckling, I left the girl to work through the numbers and turned back to the spy reports, weighing what to do next. It was not easy going. When a man is straightforward and logical, predicting his actions is simple enough, but trying to make sense of someone whose behavior defies reason is enough to break your skull.

Renly was easy enough to read. He wanted to save the Stormlands from being ravaged by the Golden Company. Once Highgarden had fallen, the urgency of a swift return had faded. The smallfolk grumbled, but somehow the Baratheon had managed to hold them together and turn their frustration against the enemy instead. It was working, though not smoothly, and Renly, or more likely his commanders, had settled on an interesting tactic: avoid full scale battles, drag out the fighting, and wait for the enemy to run out of supplies. The Stormlands had not earned their name for nothing; seafaring there was a genuinely risky business, far riskier than in most other regions. Judging by the number of ships and the overall size of their army, the Golden Company could not have brought a great deal of supplies with them. Four or five months without reinforcement from outside was likely their limit. As for the region itself, after the Dothraki invasion there was little left to scrape together but crumbs. What stores remained were locked away in the strongest, best defended castles. If Aegon did nothing, the standoff would drag on, and he would lose.

Now for the real headache: the Targaryens. I had raised Aegon myself, and whatever his emotional streak, he acted rationally, which was more than could be said for his other relatives. Daenerys and her husband, Khal Drogo, were doing nothing whatsoever to further their own stated goal of putting their son Rhaego on the throne. The khalasar simply pillaged, killed, and dragged people off into slavery. The number of Westerosi lords willing to support them was next to nothing, and they showed no interest in changing their approach. Though what else could one expect from a Dothraki barbarian and an uneducated slip of a girl. Rhaenys had her own quarrel with her uncle, and it was stirring up no end of trouble within her army. If the Martells could not settle matters among themselves, Sunspear would drown in blood. Viserys, having gotten a taste of Westerosi politics, had lost his head completely. Dismissing Mormont had been a mistake. The capital's flatterers would now spin the Targaryen however they pleased, with no one left to stop them. Mormont might not have been the ideal man for the office of Hand, but he had efficiently shoveled the king's messes out of sight and kept him from his own stupidity. For that he had been exiled, sort of, and now it remained to be seen whether Mormont would ever find his way back into the great game.

"I'm done, check it over," a nervous Myrcella handed me her calculations and waited for the verdict.

Mm hm... mm hm... hmm... let's see... There's an error, someone's trying to overcharge us but Myrcella couldn't have caught it, she's inexperienced. No critical mistakes. Took her about an hour, but again, this was her first time doing this. All in all, not bad.

"Well done," I said, and at the praise Myrcella positively bloomed. "Though there is a mistake here. It isn't your fault, there's no way you could have known. It's marked that there was a flood, but nothing of the sort was reported from the neighboring settlements, which means someone is lying to us and trying to steal from us."

"I see," the princess said, not the least bit discouraged, simply taking note of it. "Axel... about my family..."

"Myrcella..." I felt an unpleasant subject rearing its head.

"No, listen," and I decided to let her have her say after all. "I understand your reasons, but this is my family. My great uncle, my uncles, my brother, they're all good people, and right now they're fighting not just for their position but for their lives. You said yourself that losing this war would mean the end of my family. I... I don't want to lose them."

"And what do you want from me?" Myrcella was a clever girl, and I found myself curious what she would come up with.

"Approve a loan," she said, and rather than disappoint me, she managed to surprise me.

A bank is a bank, and one of its functions is issuing loans at a set interest rate. The Falcon Bank operated successfully throughout the Vale, extending credit to my own people, but I had never planned to bankroll the civil war raging across Westeros by lending money to one side or another. The war was too destructive; what was at stake now was the very survival of these regions as coherent territories, never mind the Seven Kingdoms as a single state. Once the slaughter was over, perhaps, I had entertained the thought, but not now.

This particular pacifism of mine did not spring from any great love of humanity, but from the simple fact that none of the warring parties could reasonably be expected to pay their debts. Westeros had become a half ruined, scorched wasteland, and even if someone were to win outright this very moment, the harsh, and above all very long, winter would finish off the victor regardless. Under such circumstances, how was a borrower supposed to repay a loan? More likely they would gamble everything and try to claw their way out of ruin at my expense.

"You shouldn't have seen these papers in the first place," I said, trying to fluster her, but the princess's steady gaze did not waver. "Fine, bring them here, let's have a look." A few moments later the documents lay on the table. I was not the least bit surprised that Myrcella knew exactly where they were kept.

She had spent enough time sitting in my study that the guards no longer thought anything of it. That measure of trust had let her broaden her understanding of the state of affairs across Westeros considerably. I knew about it and had never put a stop to it; there was no point. Now I found myself willing to guess that this girl was one of the best informed people on the entire continent. Morgan earned his keep for good reason, keeping me supplied with current intelligence. The Vale's spy network was among the finest anywhere.

The Lannisters' movements were simple enough to follow. They were making steady progress driving the Greyjoys out of the Riverlands. It would not be long before the krakens lost their grip on the region entirely. "A skinny camel is still bigger than a horse," as the old Haradrim saying went, and it summed up the situation between them rather well. Despite my own support for the krakens, of all their most important strongholds only Seagard still flew their banners. Lose that, and Balon's ambitions of reviving the Hoare Yoke would be finished. But even a camel needs water, and it seemed they wished to borrow it from me.

What's surprising is how modest the Lannisters' request is. I expected them to ask for tens of millions, and instead I get this. Then again... why not. The Westerlands may have taken serious damage, but the number of mines hasn't shrunk on that account. At least they have some means of paying the debt back. Give it time, and the lion cubs will fatten up again. Amusing irony, the lions borrowing their own money. Heh.

"As you wish. You may write to your relatives. We'll discuss the particulars in more detail later." With a delighted little squeal she threw her arms around me and kissed me on the lips. That exhausted the whole of her courage, and with some unintelligible mumbling Myrcella fled the study.

"The picture of innocence," I thought, rather charmed by the gesture. "Now this looks interesting."

A letter bearing the direwolf sigil caught my attention at once. Without wasting time, I broke the seal and began to read. The contents astonished me and stirred up no small amount of curiosity. Elena had clearly had a hand in drafting the letter; she knew exactly how to stoke my interest. After building up the intrigue, the letter closed with the outrageous request that I drop everything and come to Gulltown for a meeting. Had it not been for the mystery, the veiled hints, and that unmistakable trace of magic in it, I would have told the Starks where to put it. But as it stood...

"Eyris," I said, as the loyal knight stepped into the study. "Ready a company. We're riding for Gulltown."