King Viserys Targaryen, the Second of His Name
"Do you truly believe this to be necessary, my lord?" Viserys drawled with doubt.
"I fear so, Your Grace," Lord Beesbury nodded. "We can monitor the mood in the Red Keep, King's Landing, even in Oldtown, but the situation is such that we require reliable intelligence from Tyrosh, Pentos, and other Free Cities, and require it swiftly. I, as Master of Laws, cannot cast such a wide net and constantly maintain it intact, verifying every rumor, gossip, and tall tale, comparing them with seven other fables. And none of Your Grace's councilors can achieve the same result."
"Speak for yourself, Lord Lyman," Daemon chuckled. "I have reliable whisperers here, and in Tyrosh, and in Pentos."
"And what of White Harbor? Or Lannisport?"
"For rumors from Lannisport, we have Lord Tyland."
"Naturally, my Prince, but these are all separate patches that we all have to stitch together to get at least some semblance of a whole picture. But even so, we see only our own patch better, while the others recede into the background. We need a man capable of hearing and seeing what happens throughout the continent and on both shores of the Narrow Sea."
The Small Council had spoken repeatedly of the necessity of restoring the office of Master of Whisperers, but always somewhat in passing. At meetings, the royal councilors referred to various information, obtained by gods knew whom and by what means, sometimes contradicting each other in absolutely everything, and they had to waste time arguing, determining whose gossip more fully reflected reality and deserved greater trust, comparing rumors, trying to extract the truth from tall tales. Often they had to dig through such a quantity of the nobility's dirty laundry that Viserys began to feel nauseous as soon as he saw at court someone they had recently discussed in very unpleasant detail.
For a time, they managed thus, leaving the summarization of rumors to the Master of Laws. Of all the members of his Small Council, Viserys valued Beesbury most, naturally after his brothers: Lord Lyman had started under their grandfather, had managed to settle in at court and become a truly valuable advisor, intelligent, faithful, devoted, capable of delving into and solving any task set, from financing a war to resolving lawsuits. Sometimes the thought slipped through the King's mind that in other circumstances he would have made an excellent Hand; however, even now the Lord of Honeyholt substituted for Daemon and performed his duties when the King of Tyrosh returned to his domains. Evidently, the necessity of overseeing whisperers as well became that small thing that overflowed the cup of patience of the usually calm and balanced councilor.
"The office of Master of Whisperers is an invention of Maegor the Usurper," Otto reminded them. "Since he tore out Tyanna of the Tower's heart, no one has held it."
"Let the Usurper's name not frighten you, Lord Otto," the Master of Laws replied condescendingly. "The office of Master of Whisperers is a good undertaking, but one born in a cruel mind and serving an unlawful king in an unrighteous manner. King Jaehaerys, gods rest his soul, appointed no one to it, but neither did he abolish it completely."
"One of many dubious decisions of our grandfather," Aegon grumbled.
"I confess, my lords, I am troubled by a certain contradiction," Lord Tyland spoke up. "If House Targaryen denies the legacy of the Usurper and Kinslayer, is it wise to restore an office created by him for terror and holding a seized throne?"
"Does it not trouble you, Lord Tyland, that House Lannister has a fleet?" Daemon inquired with a malicious smirk. He was not at enmity with Lord Tyland, at least not as with Otto, but sometimes teased him as elders usually tease juniors. His mockery was seemingly not malicious, and the Master of Coin, despite his age, proved an intelligent man and found a way to coexist with the Prince Hand.
"And what has our fleet to do with it?"
"Why, how can you ask? The Ironborn fleet ravaged the coast of the West for centuries. Is there no contradiction in the fact that Lannisport shipyards build ships, though other ships brought so much evil to this city?"
Lannister smiled tactfully into his golden beard but remained silent. Viserys hastened to intervene and declared conciliatorily:
"My brother evidently meant that any tool is harmful only in unrighteous hands."
"It remains only to understand whose hands are righteous enough for such a task," Aegon remarked caustically, leaning back in his chair.
In recent days, the Prince had been flying to High Tide almost every other day, where his spouse was preparing for childbirth; hours of flight, anxiety, nerves, and the Master of Dragons' most terrible enemy, lack of sleep, spilled out onto those around him in irritation and a stream of particularly sophisticated sarcasms. Fortunately for all, Aegon tried to distract himself with state affairs and questions of his fief, where to Viserys's own joy he intended to rebuild everything. With the coming of spring, builders would begin restoring Dragon's Heart; it was planned to rebuild Harrenton in stone and build another residence for quiet family rest. It remained only to hope that in the remaining months the Prince would not kill anyone.
Viserys understood his brother—Alicent herself had been delivered of her burden only a couple of months ago, presenting him with a second daughter, a charming, quiet girl whom they named Helaena. Moreover, Rhaenyra was also expecting her firstborn, sending a letter a day from Tyrosh to the capital at his persuasive and strict request.
"Fortunately, my Prince, I have precisely righteous hands in mind," Beesbury smiled victoriously, habitually letting the grumbling pass his ears. "I wished to propose that His Grace consider the candidacy of one of my informers."
"Surprise me, my lord. Is it truly some Most Devout?" Aegon said just as cantankerously.
"Not quite. It is a junior septon of the Royal Sept. His name is Eustace; he hails from the Riverlands, from Stoney Sept, I believe. He has been at court for six years already, managed to settle in..."
"And from having nothing to do began to gather rumors?" Lord Corlys clarified in bewilderment.
"Divulging the seal of confession?" Otto asked again with doubt, and the royal father-in-law's red eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose.
"By his words, he does not violate the precepts of the Faith, and I leave this to his conscience. His information has always proven fuller than the information of my other whisperers, and his warnings and assumptions more accurate and closer to the truth than many hypotheses of maesters or predictions of warlocks."
"It is not difficult to outstrip both," Aegon snorted.
Grand Maester Mellos sniffed offendedly, jingled his two dozen chains, and out of a sense of contradiction uttered:
"Septons have served Your Grace's ancestors before. The example of Septon Murmison can hardly be called successful, but I suppose My Sovereign still remembers Barth..."
"Yes, of course," Viserys nodded.
He truly remembered Barth, though mostly for their joint decision with Aegon to dissect Balerion. The memory of his own dragon echoed in his heart with a dull, old pain and almost ghostly longing. Sometimes the King dreamed that they were flying over King's Landing, the Blackwater, the Gullet again, spiraling up to the very crater of the Dragonmont...
"And what is good about this Eustace of yours?" Otto asked again, tearing his son-in-law from sad memories.
"I wanted to propose that His Grace and my lords speak with him and test him themselves," Lord Lyman announced. "With your permission, my Sovereign..."
Viserys nodded, and Lord Lyman left the Chamber.
"Do we truly wish to see a septon here?" the Sea Snake doubted.
"Why not?" Mellos jingled his chains, leaving unspoken: "Well, a maester sits here."
"If his whisperers are truly so good, and his nets so reliable as Lord Beesbury says, then I see no reason why we cannot do this," Tyland Lannister shrugged. "Rank and vows are no obstacle to holding office in the Small Council; everything depends on the degree of utility to the Iron Throne."
It seemed Lord Tyland spoke of septons, but it was not hard to guess that the last remark was said by him in his own defense. At twenty-two, he had managed to dispose of the revenues the war in the Stepstones had brought the Seven Kingdoms very competently, and now was engaged in selling grain to the impoverished Dornishmen and buying up their red wines. Despite the fact that as a result of dragon raids and the subsequent overthrow of the Martells some vineyards had fallen into desolation, the Master of Coin had managed to drive down the price of "Dornish blood" several times over. Of course, the agreement signed by Daemon and Qoren Martell (Note: In the Russian text it says "Olivar Yronwood", but usually Daemon fights against Dorne/Martells or Triarchy. Assuming consistent context with ASOIAF lore or fanfic logic where Yronwoods might be key or Daemon dealt with them. Sticking to text: Olivar Yronwood) played its role in this, and Lord Tyland willingly acknowledged the Hand's role, but Viserys understood that achieving the fulfillment of the treaty was not easy at all.
"I am more concerned with the question of his conscience," Otto remarked. "Whisperers, informers, spies, corrupt wenches, agents, secret assassins are not very fitting company for a septon."
"You judge others by yourself, Lord Otto," Daemon responded, and a smile bloomed on his lips. "Perhaps your whisperers commit all sorts of obscenities and sins, but that does not mean that a pious servant of the Faith has exactly the same. Who knows, perhaps his whisperers are all septas and Silent Sisters?"
Aegon chuckled, evidently appreciating his brother's pun; Viserys himself could not suppress a smirk:
"It is unlikely Lord Lyman would recommend him were it so, but since he is ready to vouch for him..."
"Then the candidate is truly not bad in secret affairs," the Master of Dragons finished for him. "Lord Lyman would not offer us a dilettante."
At that moment the doors opened, admitting the Master of Laws accompanied by a septon into the Small Council Chamber.
"Your Grace, my Princes, my lords," Beesbury addressed everyone in turn with a light bow. "This is Septon Eustace."
The potential Master of Whisperers proved not very tall; in appearance, he was about ten years older than Viserys—some years past forty, but not yet fifty. A high forehead transitioned into a small, carefully shaved tonsure, which the septon demonstrated to the King with a bow, but the lack of vegetation on the crown was somewhat compensated by neat light brown sideburns with a reddish tint. Respect devoid of servility was reflected on his round face; hazel eyes looked attentively and keenly, but there was in them some fatherly kindness with which septons usually looked at their flock. Over his light cassock was thrown something like a long-skirted vest with wide slits and seven-pointed stars embroidered in gold on the lapels (this element of vestment had some special meaning, something about the armor of true faith or something similar, but Viserys had forgotten it along with the name of the vest).
The King remembered that it was this Eustace who had brought the holy oil to the High Septon of the Royal Sept when in the seventh week he and Alicent first presented their daughter to the gaze of the gods. Then almost no attention was paid to the acolyte of Septon Pollytor, who bore the surname Hollard before taking vows, but who could have known that his duties were not limited to divine services alone? The thought accidentally flashed through Viserys's mind that Eustace must have brought the oil at Aegon's presentation as well.
"My Sovereign, my lords, may the mercy of the Seven be with you. How may I serve?" the septon inquired respectfully.
"Lord Beesbury told us," the King began. "That you, Septon, know how to watch, listen, and compare what others say and see. In other words, that you are very good at what whisperers do."
"As Your Grace said, I merely listen to what others say," Eustace replied modestly.
"Demonstrate your talents to us," Daemon suggested. "What do they say, for example, in Braavos?"
The septon blinked, but was not disconcerted and answered, not hiding his gaze:
"The Braavosi rabble discusses that it is restless in Lorath, since the Sealord sends one ship with mercenaries there after another. They, of course, believe that the rebels will wash themselves in blood, but for this swords are needed, which must be paid for. The Iron Bank has allocated not a very large subsidy, at least not as large as the Sealord counted on, therefore the townsfolk expect a tax increase, and primarily on grain and fishing. Some believe this unlikely, others, especially merchants who have climbed higher, on the contrary, believe it inevitable. At evening receptions, rumors circulate that the Sealord wants to marry his daughter to the heir of the King of Pentos, so that he might supply grain at low prices all winter."
Viserys noticed how his brothers exchanged glances. They both knew Callio Karlaris much better than he, imagined what kind of man he was and what he was like in politics, therefore in relations with Pentos the King relied on their recommendations. In answer to an unspoken question, Daemon deigned to explain:
"No, Callio spoke not of such."
"And your Pentoshi whisperers?"
"They say the King would sooner die than allow Braavos to persuade him."
"If I may, my Prince," Eustace inserted cautiously. "Not all say so. Some of the magisters believe King Callio will agree. His son Cassio is still unmarried, and the marriage of the heir to the Sealord's daughter may prove quite useful for normalizing relations."
"The Sealord of Braavos cannot pass power by inheritance; his agreements, marriages, and alliances will be reviewed by his successor," the Sea Snake said. "There is no sense for him in a dynastic marriage."
"Moreover, this strengthens the Braavosi party at court too much," Aegon objected. "As soon as Cassio marries, the King will be found dead—the Sealord will hire an assassin, faceless or not, so that not his daughter's father-in-law rules Pentos, but his son-in-law, that is, his own daughter, and thus himself. Callio is no fool, he will not agree to this."
"And yet, my Prince, the King of Pentos inclines to accept this proposal."
"Whence do you know this?"
"Septon Ronnio, the royal confessor, addressed the Most Devout in King's Landing and the High Septs of Andalos with the question whether the future wife of Cassio Karlaris is obliged to belong to the Faith, and if not, whether one should agree to conduct a double wedding rite. The answer of the Most Devout to both questions was 'no', however, I was alerted by the fact of how practical our brother's approach is. If matters have reached the discussion of ceremonies and faiths, then it is worth assuming that a fundamental agreement has been reached."
Silence hung over the table. The restoration of the alliance of Braavos and Pentos weakened Westerosi influence at court and could potentially threaten anything: from the destruction of House Karlaris in a civil war unleashed by the Braavosi to the exit of Pentos from under the dragon's wing. His brothers came to similar conclusions.
"Well, I suppose I ought to pay my daughter's uncle a small visit," Daemon announced. "I must remind him that ships from Braavos take several days to reach him, while a dragon flies across the Narrow Sea in a day."
"Only without fire and blood, my brother," Viserys grimaced. "We need an ally and friend, not a slave trembling with fear."
"Naturally," the Hand could not restrain himself and rolled his eyes theatrically.
Of course, he would not burn his late wife's family alive, but Viserys decided that this condition was worth speaking aloud. Turning to Eustace, the King addressed him:
"By the petition of Lord Beesbury, you, Septon, become our Master of Whisperers. Expand your net as far as is possible, and do not allow us to miss such trifles."
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