Chapter 116: The Alliance of Five Kings
On Bloodstone, the scene fell into a deathly silence.
Beneath the banner of the black dragon on a red field, one table could not contain the grudges and conflicts of several nations at once.
"If Lys and Myr have no desire for peace, then let my son discuss war with you! He has already secured one great victory and would not mind having another." Crown Prince Aerys swept his sleeves and departed, turning to leave with Lord Tywin Lannister and Lord Steffon Baratheon.
"We came with the desire for peace, and Prince Rhaegar should appreciate our goodwill. Once fighting begins, it will reignite a prolonged war, which would be unwise." The Myr envoy spoke kindly, putting on a benevolent face.
"Now that sounds reasonable!" Rhaegar glanced at him. The two envoys were very nervous. A reputation still carried weight; the blade of the Valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt was invincible, and their strength was meager. Even with dozens of sellswords protecting them nearby, it likely wouldn't be enough for Rhaegar to cut through. Unlike King Jaehaerys II Targaryen and the arrogant Crown Prince Aerys, they all knew Rhaegar was the youngest in age and generation, yet the most like a born warrior, and the young man's temper was the most volatile and wild. His nicknames were the Butcher of the Narrow Sea and The Tyrant; he could truly make battlefields run red with blood.
"However, you brought fifty warships to the peace talks. If you don't explain yourselves clearly, I might think this is an ambush, mimicking the Battle of the Gullet! If a dragon happens to fire on its own, that won't be our responsibility." Rhaegar sat on one side of the negotiating table, watching the two envoys. Ser Barristan the Bold stood beside him.
The fleets on the sea were still confronting each other. With the support of the Tyroshi, the royal fleet already held a favorable advantage. If fighting truly began, the combined Lys and Myr fleet might be annihilated, and the Magister of Lys and the Council of Governors of Myr would be deposed or even killed due to the defeat; those vicious rival vipers would leap out to tear at them. In the Free Cities, being a ruler also meant danger and bloodshed.
The envoys of Lys and Myr stammered, starting to quibble over words, initiating a delaying tactic. They needed to hold out until Braavos entered the scene.
Rhaegar saw through their current mindset but did not expose them.
After a moment, Ser Thalassar walked over and whispered a few words into Rhaegar's ear.
"Envoys, your savior has arrived. The Braavosi delegation is here." Rhaegar looked at the two men, his smile as clear and bright as a blade, yet it left the envoys feeling completely baffled.
After a while, the Purple Fleet of Braavos appeared. Although the Braavosi fleet had few warships, the arrival of the Braavosi delegation into the harbor still brought immense pressure. After all, it was the strongest and wealthiest of the Free Cities, and many even considered it the First Daughter.
The Braavosi delegation and the Tyroshi delegation began landing on Bloodstone. The Tyroshi delegation was personally led by the Archon, whose beard was split and dyed purple. Rhaegar did not see Shireen, but he did see Princess Shireen's somewhat hostile younger brother. The leader of the Braavosi delegation was Rhaegar's acquaintance, Fergo. All delegations consisted of envoys, translators, officials, and dozens to a hundred guards.
The banner of House Targaryen was symmetrically unfurled, fluttering fiercely in the wind. Two thousand soldiers, baptized by war, lined up to welcome the two foreign delegations. Their spears, longswords, and armor were all brightly polished, and the soldiers' expressions were as cold as their armor. At the Bloodstone assembly, the ranks were like a forest. Most of the soldiers were Rhaegar's personal guards, with the rest being other troops.
The dragons also began to skim the ground, and the fireballs they spat out made the delegations below feel a scorching heat. Three dragons flaunted their power above their heads; their beautiful and magnificent scales instilled fear in their enemies.
The two foreign delegations stepped onto Bloodstone amidst such a welcome of swords and blades, attended by the dragons. Rather than a cheer, it was a display of intimidation and a show of force.
Those handsome, young Westerosi soldiers regarded the signing of the peace treaty as a disgrace; the gleam of their weapons was as sharp as their expressions.
Soldiers are herd animals; with just one command from Rhaegar, they could truly slaughter the entire delegation. The solidified killing intent was palpable, causing discomfort and suffocation.
"Change the tables, get a bigger one! Bring fruit and drinks, the best we have." Rhaegar spoke a few words, and Ser Thalassar began diligently giving orders.
Rhaegar realized there were four groups of guests, and the negotiation table in front of him was too small.
A giant, makeshift negotiation table was set up.
The number of delegations on the two sides was quite disproportionate. The Braavosi delegation, the Tyroshi delegation, and the envoys of Myr and Lys were on one side, while Rhaegar sat alone on the other, coldly observing the four foreign delegations. However, he was surrounded by heroes and elites: Prince Lewyn Martell, Ser Mace Tyrell, Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Yohn Royce, Ser Oswell Whent, and Lord Jason Mallister stood behind him. These Westerosi knights inherently held a poor impression of the Free Cities. Corlys Velaryon managed the protocol, busy inside and out.
Five principal seats represented five powers: the Iron Throne of Westeros, the Magister of Lys, the Council of Governors of Myr, the Archon of Tyrosh, and the Sealord of Braavos.
The envoys also looked different from one another. Rhaegar possessed the standard beauty of a Dragonrider—silver hair and purple eyes. The Tyroshi Archon had his hair and beard dyed purple. The Myrmen resembled the Rhoynar, with black hair, black eyes, and olive skin. The Lysene people had blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, supposedly carrying some Valyrian blood. The Braavosi were ethnically diverse and hard to distinguish. However, perhaps because Braavos had been hidden for so long, the upper class favored dark brown clothing, unlike Westeros, which pursued gorgeous jewels, gold, or bright colors.
"I said we would meet again," Fergo said. He was dressed in dark clothing, the standard attire for a Braavosi noble.
"It is truly an honor to see your distinguished face on such an occasion." Rhaegar replied noncommittally. He and Fergo were merely surface acquaintances; if it came to blows, neither would show mercy.
"Prince, my promise to you still stands," Fergo said with a smile.
"Likewise," Rhaegar replied to Fergo.
"Welcoming everyone here today was sudden, and we lack proper military etiquette, so the envoys will have to bear with this hasty arrangement." Rhaegar first fulfilled his duties as host. The Assembly of Five Powers, the clash of five authorities—such a grand meeting felt too crude as a battlefield negotiation on Bloodstone, but this was decided by blood and fire; etiquette must yield before the military.
The negotiations officially began, but the Braavosi had yet to speak.
The impulsive purple-haired son of the Tyroshi Archon had already spoken. "The Stepstones were originally ownerless lands. Now that the pirates have been cleared out, it would be best if our four nations divided them and governed them together."
Rhaegar remained silent. Ser Thalassar stepped forward and angrily rebuked him, "The Tyroshi principal envoy has not spoken yet, how dare you open your mouth? Say a few more words, and I will have someone escort you out."
"Let's not start off so aggressively. Everyone is here for a new order in the Stepstones and for permanent peace!" Fergo stepped in to mediate, while the Tyroshi Archon glared at his worthless son.
"I won the war from the pirates and the Lysene traitors, and I seized the land from the pirates and the Lysene traitors. Leaving aside the distance between the Stepstones and the Dornish coast, and our history with Westeros, the Iron Throne army has bled twice in the Stepstones over the past few years to clear the sea lanes. Is it too much for us to claim these few broken islands? Strictly speaking, we cleared traitors for you Lysene people and cleared pirates for all the Free Cities. Should you not be thanking me?" Rhaegar looked at the four principal envoys, his voice like steel, every word expressing iron will and dissatisfaction.
"Prince Rhaegar, there is no need to be so aggressive. Dragons are not omnipotent, and yours are still small. Furthermore, the Iron Throne only has you as a dragonrider." Fergo scoffed, his expression turning as cold as winter. The chill at the negotiating table grew thicker.
"I forgot, the Arsenal of Braavos can produce one warship a day, and the professional skills of the Faceless Men are superb. They cannot destroy King's Landing or fill the streets with corpses, but they certainly can kill people, including me! But a true dragon fears neither fire nor intimidation. My dragons are small, but they possess twice the ferocity and sharpness. However, I have already shattered two crowns, and I don't mind continuing to shatter more." Rhaegar looked at Fergo.
"Prince Rhaegar, I consider your words a provocation," Fergo stated sternly, and the Braavosi guards behind him glared angrily.
"Is Braavos the only great power in the world? The swords of House Targaryen are not blunt either!" The moment Rhaegar's voice fell, the knights behind him drew their longswords.
Corlys Velaryon was the first to react, drawing his sword and glaring at the four foreign envoys, brandishing his longsword wildly in the air. Following suit, Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Jason Mallister, Ser Oswell Whent, Lord Yohn Royce, and several other lords' knights also drew their swords.
Seeing their superiors act this way, the two thousand fierce knights and soldiers who had been serving as guards also surged forward, drawing their blades. Their necks were flushed red, their faces twisted into ferocious expressions, and they began to cheer and shout encouragement.
The three dragons sensed the emotions of their companions, circling wildly in the sky, spitting fireballs and smoke, as if thunderbolts were bursting open in the clear sky.
The Lys and Myr envoys were terrified, their faces pale. In the crowd, only Fergo and the Tyroshi Archon remained composed, showing no emotion. The Tyroshi Archon glanced at his son, whose body was trembling slightly, lamenting that he had sired such a child.
The soldiers completely surrounded the four foreign delegations. The blood of the young is always hotter and more volatile than that of the middle-aged.
"Today, we will get the peace we want!" the Westerosi threatened.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics