Chapter 227

The Vale. Gulltown. 301 AC.

Axel Arryn.

This place was good, very good in fact. High mountains rich in minerals, enough to last forty generations, abundant timber, fertile soil for farming, and nearby, an outlet to the mouth of the Shortspear that, with some investment, would open onto the sea and provide an excellent strategic position. It was the ideal site for my future capital, one I had marked out long ago. Unfortunately, it was still too early to give real thought to that particular project, and for now my attention was fixed on a spot somewhat further off, where large scale construction was already underway.

“Not a bad spot,” Robar observed. “You can feel the potential in it.”

“And it will be realized,” though decades would pass before everything was properly up and running. “The remnants of the Rangers will be reorganized here, and we’ll build them a small base town as well. In time it will serve as a natural line of defense for my future city.”

“The Rangers… A good pretext. They’ve already proven their worth, and no one will so much as think to object.” Extraordinary authority backed by sensible orders had always proven its effectiveness. “Ah… a prelude to a standing army. How exciting.”

“As soon as the first buildings go up, we’ll begin recruiting two thousand men. Their only task will be war, nothing else. Don’t worry about supply, the lords will be covering part of the army’s upkeep, and I won’t be standing aside either.”

“All well and good, but I think you’ve picked a poor moment for it. Winter is close. This initiative of yours will do nothing but devour enormous resources without giving anything back.”

“You’re thinking too narrowly,” I chided my cousin. “An army has always been a compelling argument in any negotiation, and if you think it won’t pay for itself in time, consider this: the bankers of Braavos are already indignant that we’re trying to muscle into their territory, and they’ve been pressing us rather insistently to abandon the whole idea of the bank.”

“They’ve grown bold, pressuring a Paramount Lord like that.” Braavos was powerful, but their conduct grew more brazen with every passing year.

“In fact, they offered rather generous terms: invest gold, become one of the keyholders, and receive a substantial sum in preferential returns every year. Translated into plain language, what they told me was: hand over the gold, take your steady income, and don’t make trouble. But I refused. The money was only a secondary consideration. For now the bankers are still holding themselves in check, but the moment a united Westeros falls apart for good, expect a great armada off our shores.”

However much I might flatter myself, I doubted my reputation alone, or the strength of the Vale alone, could frighten off the bankers. The Vale was not Qarth. We sat too close to Braavos, and we had every chance of carrying our plans through and brazenly seizing control of the credit system throughout Westeros. In the years after this war, the greatest influence would fall to whoever had preserved the most strength for themselves. My region fit that description perfectly: we had suffered no significant losses in manpower, our lands remained untouched, and I had enormous mountains of gold at my disposal. My region had every chance of becoming the dominant power on the continent. I understood that, and so did the Iron Bank, which was precisely why they preferred not to let things come to war. Once the civil war ended, the Vale would be in a position to turn the continent’s entire war machine against Braavos, and that particular prospect held little appeal for my overseas friends. But the key phrase in all that reasoning was “a united Westeros,” and that was where the trouble lay.

“And the Sealord would go to war for the sake of some bankers?” Robar asked, puzzled.

“Without knowing the details of their internal workings, I could think up three ways off the top of my head that the Iron Bank might force Braavos to take part in a war against us.”

“And us?”

“Were this a battle fought on land, we could declare war on them this very moment, but the fighting would mostly take place at sea.” Our fleet was still in its infancy, and a war against a naval hegemon, even if it didn’t ruin us outright, would certainly leave lasting damage. “There’s no point looking that far ahead, and it isn’t Braavos we’ve gathered here for in any case. Robar, from now on you’ll be captain general of the new army. Do whatever you see fit, all I care about is results.”

“It’s an honor and all that, but might you at least have asked me before making the appointment?”

“Would you have refused?” I asked a question to which I already knew the answer perfectly well.

“Hells, no! I accept, it’s the perfect position for me!” My cousin’s delight knew no bounds.

Robar had been an excellent aide and a man who shared my thinking, someone I trusted completely. Warrior, commander, a knight of honor, all of that described him well, but there was one circumstance weighing heavily on him, one that kept him from ever truly “breathing freely.” Robar was a second son. Andar Royce, his elder brother, already had two daughters, and it was only a matter of time before the long awaited grandson of Bronze Yohn arrived. Since neither I nor Robar himself had ever so much as entertained the thought of doing away with our own close relatives, my cousin’s prospects of inheritance were slim. No, he wouldn’t be thrown out into the street, and he might well be given some important post eventually, but that would be the extent of it. Robar himself was an ambitious man, but he had no wish to become a mere Knight of the Gate, as Waymar had. My cousin’s own desires happened to align neatly with my ambitions, which was exactly why, despite his considerable contributions, Robar had never yet been granted lands or titles. Those honors were being kept in reserve for later.

I had long understood that the loyalty of vassals was not something to be relied upon too heavily. Oaths were oaths, but a strong fist offered far better guarantees that those very oaths would be kept. The plan for a standing army had first been approved back in 296, meant to be realized by the middle of 298, but then the Rotting Fish Rebellion had broken out, and the initiative had to be shelved. Now, with every internal matter settled and the army having gained proper experience in the Riverlands, the time had come to handpick proven fighters and forge them into a formidable force. Once that army was fully formed, the moment of my formal absolutism would arrive. With the bank and my vast wealth behind me, I would control the region’s economy, while a standing army would crush any discontent before it could ever take root.