Chapter 114 - Chapter 109: Icarus

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 109: 𝕴𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖘.

(My apologies for the mistake, guys. There were several repeated paragraphs. I blame the translator and my hangover completely. I'm uploading it again this time correctly.) 

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He was not irritated by the outcome, nor because his plans had failed to unfold perfectly, but because he still had to keep adapting to men who, time and again, chose their immediate self-interest above everything else, forcing him to anticipate absurd reactions and to uphold a form of government he did not want and found increasingly exasperating.

He knew that, even if he gathered every noble in Westeros and presented the threat exactly as it was, many would not only refuse to believe him, but would also try to use it for their own benefit.

That was precisely why he knew that, if he wanted to unite that damned continent, he would have to begin taking into account just how far human stupidity could go.

Fortunately for everyone who intended to stay alive in Westeros, Vlad was a cynical, paranoid bastard, so although he had not foreseen that exact situation, he did have a plan prepared for the moment he was forced to win the favor of the nobility until he could do without it.

He let out a slow breath as he pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose.

—Lena, I'll tell you how to proceed with the nobles —he said firmly as he turned his gaze back to her —For now, keep your people alert for any changes.

He then shifted his gaze to his general and rested one hand on the table before speaking bluntly.

—General —he called firmly —Prepare the troops.

Greylon reacted at once. He rose from his seat and stood at attention, his eyes fixed on him.

—Where are we marching, my lord?—he asked seriously.

—Harrenhal —Vlad replied without hesitation —I want you to secure the fortress and have every one of its towers demolished except the main one.

Greylon remained silent for a few moments, mentally gauging the magnitude of the task that would entail before finally nodding decisively.

—It will be done—he said with determination.

—Easy, General—Vlad added, noticing the calculations running through his mind —My children will help us.

A faint smile crossed Greylon's face as he nodded. If the dragons lent their considerable strength, whether to tear down the thick stone walls or to carry away the rubble, it would go from being a task of years to one of only a few months.

Vlad then turned his gaze to Dorian, yielding him the floor. The merchant rose calmly, drawing the attention of everyone present.

He was not particularly tall, barely reaching one meter seventy, but he made up for it with a carefully cultivated presence: ostentatious clothing, silk, jewelry, and a condescending, proud attitude.

His broad, flat nose somewhat spoiled the refined image he tried to project, although he did not seem to care in the slightest.

There had once been a time when Dorian had been one of those merchants capable of enriching themselves at anyone else's expense, until someone did to him exactly what he had done to others, and he ended up in chains and sold as a slave.

Vlad had found him during one of his campaigns in Essos, freed him along with many others and, recognizing his usefulness, decided to keep him in his service, offering him work and granting him the Embrace.

If anyone were to ask the merchant himself, he would say it had been a poisoned gift. Yes, it had raised him above any ordinary merchant, but it had also bound him to a will that was not his own.

Dorian had accepted both without hesitation and, in time, had learned to live with it, although he never stopped resenting the price he had paid. He enjoyed the abilities he had gained while silently rejecting the bonds that made them possible.

Now, as the man responsible for managing Vlad's financial affairs, he oversaw the flow of resources arriving from the Free Cities and Qarth, investing, negotiating, and making sure every agreement worked in his lord's favor.

Because, in the end, everything always worked in his lord's favor, and that was what bothered him the most.

Dorian clasped his hands before him before beginning his report.

—The agreement for transporting spices from Qarth is progressing as expected—he reported confidently as his gaze swept across the table.—The new direct route across the Dothraki Sea has significantly reduced both travel times and costs, and the profits are as expected.

Lena let out a brief click of her tongue before speaking.

—You're lying,—she contradicted him bluntly.

Dorian did not even bother looking at her. Although the childer had no conflicts among themselves, hierarchies and factions had begun to become commonplace, so it was not unusual for several of Vlad's followers to "compete" for his favor.

—Your information must be mistaken in this case, dear Lena —he replied with a faint, condescending smile —Numbers do not lie, the agreement has been carried out exactly as stipulated.

Lena placed both hands on the table and leaned forward slightly, allowing herself a cold, predatory smile.

—The profits are not within the projected margins,—she replied coldly, never taking her eyes off him.—They're far above them.

Dorian spread his hands slightly, as though it were self-evident.

—Efficiency should not be a cause for concern —he said without losing his composure.

But Vlad found neither his attitude appropriate nor the information he was revealing there for the first time acceptable.

—Discretion is —Vlad interrupted before he could continue justifying himself —Did it never occur to you why we only claim thirty percent of the profits from this agreement?

For the first time since he had begun speaking, the merchant hesitated. In fact, he had asked himself that very question, but had simply assumed that, without his direct involvement, no one possessed sufficient business acumen to achieve better margins.

—The agreement was designed to dilute our presence —Vlad continued as he gestured toward the documents spread across the table —So that our influence would grow without attracting attention, allowing us to approach the last holders of the Iron Bank's keys who are still outside our influence.

He ran a finger across one of the maps, growing less and less pleased with the situation.

People could have a thousand opinions about the way he carried out his conquest, but there was one truth that not even all the magic in the world could conceal. Money was one of the greatest engines of war, so whoever controlled the Iron Bank controlled the most important financial institution in the world.

So Dorian's imprudence did not amuse him in the slightest.

—My direct investment is already considerable, and the front men do the rest—he added, making no attempt to conceal his displeasure.—If the profits rise far beyond what was expected, someone with a brain might follow the money.

He then raised his eyes and fixed them on Dorian.

—And when they do—he concluded without taking his eyes off him.—They will see that a foreign entity has taken control of more than sixty percent of the Iron Bank.

He paused briefly, lightly tapping the table with his fingertips.

—Tell me, Dorian—Vlad continued in a calm tone that only made him more unsettling. —What do you think Braavos will do when it discovers that its main source of income and the greatest financial institution on the continent are under foreign control?

Dorian lowered his gaze to the table, unable to find an answer that could satisfy his lord.

—No? You have no answer?—Vlad insisted with a faint expression of contempt as he slowly swept his gaze over the rest of those present. —General Greylon, what would Braavos do when it saw that the Iron Bank was no longer under its control?

Greylon answered almost before the question was finished. For someone well versed in war, it hardly required any thought.

—War, my lord —he replied with absolute conviction. —They would go to war. They would never allow the jewel of their crown to fall into foreign hands. They would close accounts and mobilize everything within their power to recover their influence.

Dorian kept his head lowered and made no attempt to dispute Greylon's answer, because he knew it was exactly the same conclusion any ruler with a modicum of common sense would have reached.

—So, war —Vlad repeated, letting that single word weigh upon the room before continuing. —Dorian, when you decided to pocket that additional ten percent, did you even stop to think that you were compromising the entire operation?

Dorian opened his mouth, ready to justify himself. He was a brilliant man when it came to numbers, but far less so in any other field.

—It was an innocent mistake, Your Grace —he answered quickly, trying to justify himself. —I'm certain I can correct it immediately.

Vlad did not answer at once. He simply remained watching him, unable to understand what could drive a man to gamble with his own life simply to continue accumulating wealth.

Not wealth to spend. Only a small portion of everything Dorian acquired disappeared into luxuries or indulgences; according to Lena's reports, the rest remained untouched in different vaults of the Iron Bank, as though merely watching that fortune grow was enough to satisfy him, and that recklessness had finally exhausted Vlad's patience.

—An innocent mistake?—he repeated with a smile devoid of even the slightest trace of humor. —How curious, Dorian. Lately, I seem to hear an awful lot about the innocent mistakes you keep making.

Without completely taking his attention off the merchant, he turned his gaze toward Lena.

—Lena, tell me if I am mistaken —he said with complete calm. —Wasn't it I who ordered all my childer that they were strictly forbidden from killing those they fed upon?

Lena held his gaze without hesitation. She herself had passed that order on to the rest of the clans and knew perfectly well the reason behind it.

—Yes, my lord —she replied promptly, careful not to let her satisfaction show in her voice. —It was a direct order to avoid drawing attention to ourselves and to prevent the development of destructive habits toward our source of sustenance.

Vlad inclined his head slightly before continuing.

—And tell me this as well —he continued, turning his full attention back to her. —Isn't it true that, over the past few months, a constant procession of young women has been entering and leaving Dorian's mansion?

Lena did not even need to search her memory.

—It is, my lord —she confirmed calmly. —Although, unfortunately, many of them seem to die shortly afterward from an unknown illness.

The entire room fell silent, that supposed illness was nothing more than the official explanation. In reality, most of those young women died from complications resulting from excessive blood loss.

Whether through negligence, stupidity, or simple incompetence, Dorian had been disobeying Vlad's direct orders, orders designed precisely to avoid unnecessary problems arising from their own nature.

Daenerys remained silent, watching the merchant as the last pieces fell into place. A moment later, she and Vlad exchanged a brief glance before both fixing their eyes on Dorian at the same time.

The sclera of both turned completely black, while their pupils became vertical slits and took on a supernatural glow: gold in Vlad's case, violet in Daenerys's.

Dorian stopped breathing for a moment as Vlad calmly rose to his feet and began walking around the table without haste.

—It seems —he said in a calm, almost kindly voice. —That you've forgotten who dressed you in those fine clothes, Dorian.

He stopped beside him without even deigning to look at him directly.

—Who put you where you are —he continued in the same restrained tone. —And who broke the chains that bound you.

Dorian felt his throat tighten, long ago, he had learned that Vlad's silence was usually far more dangerous than any of his shouts.

—My lord...—he answered hastily, avoiding meeting his gaze. —It was a simple mistake. I'll correct it as soon as possible.

Vlad slowly shook his head, unable to hide his disappointment.

—Mistakes...—he murmured quietly. —Mistakes, mistakes...

Then he raised one hand and gave Dorian's shoulder a couple of light taps, as though he were merely brushing a few specks of dust from the fabric.

The gesture was light, almost absentminded, yet the merchant did not move so much as an inch. Vlad's presence was so close that it felt as though death itself were breathing down his neck.

—Tell me, Dorian—Vlad resumed, barely inclining his head toward him.—Do you believe you are irreplaceable?

Dorian swallowed before answering, making an obvious effort to maintain his composure.

—My lord, I have managed the operations that have brought the greatest profits to our cause—he replied, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to cling to his own merits.—I have earned you hundreds of thousands of gold dragons.

Vlad did not answer. He simply rested his hand gently on Dorian's shoulder, his palm relaxed, as though the gesture carried no significance whatsoever.

The merchant remained completely still.

A few steps away, Greylon kept his eyes forward while Lena watched the scene without blinking. Both knew that a single movement of that hand would be enough to end Dorian's life.

—And that?—Vlad asked, moving only a few inches closer.—Does that give you power over me?

Dorian might have been proud, but he was not an idiot, or at least not that much of one, so he did not need to think long about what the only possible answer was when two dragon eyes were staring at him with the obvious intention of tearing his head from his shoulders.

—You are right, my lord—he admitted, his voice breaking with fear as he dropped to his knees.—The mistake was mine, and I will correct it as soon as possible.

Vlad remained silent for a few more seconds before slowly removing his hand from Dorian's shoulder. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and resumed walking around the table as though nothing had happened, finally returning to his seat.

—I certainly hope so, Dorian—he remarked flatly.—I certainly hope so...

Dorian did not feel the slightest relief. If there was one thing he had learned from Vlad, it was that the calmer he seemed, the more dangerous he became.

—And I also expect you to return the percentage you took from the operation—he added with cold indifference.—Claim whatever you consider necessary, but I do not want to see your name linked to anything involving the Iron Bank.

Dorian nodded immediately, still unable to raise his head.

—Understood, my lord—he replied in a subdued voice.

Vlad made several notes on the documents before him before dismissing him without even granting him a glance.

—You may leave.

Dorian rose from his seat more quickly than necessary and headed toward the door, clearly eager to leave the room.

—Dorian —Vlad called out before he reached the exit.

The merchant froze completely. For a moment, he feared his lord had changed his mind, but gathering every ounce of courage he possessed, he turned around.

—The next time your actions harm me, directly or indirectly—Vlad warned in a calm, gentle voice.—I will have you chained in Valyrian steel and throw you, inside a metal coffin, to the bottom of the sea.

The message was perfectly clear, and grotesque enough to make everyone present shudder. Drowning, reviving, and drowning again over and over for decades did not seem like a pleasant fate.

Dorian bowed his head in a brief bow, avoiding Vlad's gaze.

—Understood, Your Grace—he replied in little more than a whisper before turning and leaving the room with hurried steps.

Vlad watched the closed door for several seconds before breaking the silence.

—Lena—he called without raising his voice.—Keep a close watch on him. Make sure his next mistake is his last.

Lena inclined her head in solemn obedience. If Dorian made another mistake, she would not regret being the one tasked with dealing with the problem.

—Yes, my lord—she replied firmly.

Vlad then turned his attention to Greylon.

—Prepare the troops, General—he ordered with the same calm as always.—We leave for Harrenhal as soon as possible. I do not expect resistance, but I want everything ready in case there is any.

Greylon placed a hand over his chest in salute.

—It will be done, my lord—he replied with an excited smile.

Vlad added nothing more. Instead, he reached for Daenerys's hand and intertwined his fingers with hers as they both rose to their feet.

She gently caressed Vlad's arm, silently appreciating the effort those kinds of meetings demanded of him. She knew well how much her husband hated bureaucracy and politics, so she always made sure he understood how much it meant to her that he sacrificed his own comfort for her.

Without needing to say another word, the two of them left the room together.