14 Rodrick III

Authors Note: This is a shorter chapter, but I thought the ending of it should be reserved for the beginning of the next one instead, so look forward to a super long one next.

I am very grateful for the support that you're giving, just please understand that with university and my part-time job (full-time on the weekends) that I cannot write as much as I hope to do, so please forgive me for the poor update schedule.

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"Mysaria? Why do you need to meet her?" Prince Daemon abruptly lifted his head in mild surprise.

"Since your separation, she has built quite a nest egg for herself. The woman really blossomed after leaving your shadow." Replied Baelon.

"Hah, that woman was never in my shadow, she stayed because I brought her freedom, and when she thought I was no longer able to do so, she left me quite decisively."

The Prince's porcelain cup touched the table.

"That does not matter, I need Mysaria's assistance, can you arrange a meeting?"

Daemon scratched his chin in thought.

"I may be able to... But it will cost you a favor."

Baelon let out an exasperated sigh.

"Just... Get on with it, as good as you are at sowing death, you really lack skills in politicking. What do you want?"

"The City Watch."

"No."

Daemon's gaze darkened, he had definitely expected at least a pause.

"Why not?" The Rogue Prince purposefully kept his voice low, aiming -or hoping- to intimidate.

"What you're giving me doesn't even come close to that privilege, the only reason I'm coming to you instead of looking for her myself is to not scare her off."

Daemon stood abruptly, loudly slamming his palm on the table. Causing the cup of tea to spill on Bealon.

"They are my men! I deserve that position."

The Prince clicked his tongue out of annoyance, while Daemon slightly backed off in response to Rodrick taking a step forward.

Baelon wiped his clothes with a napkin. "They may hold loyalty towards you, but they are not your men. The City Watch is meant to protect the city and make the people of Kingslanding safe, but whenever the smallfolk see one of your "Men" they cower in fear. I do not agree with your methods, and neither am I willing to give you such a position just to fulfill your sense of pride."

Daemon stilled, before lifting his arms and making for the door.

"Then I wish you good luck in your endeavors, but do not expect my help in finding the woman."

The brother of the King may have hoped to cause Baelon to change his mind at that statement, but he was wrong and too proud not to follow up on his words.

Daemon's exit coincided with a handmaid's entry, as the woman slowly walked up to the Prince and picked up the plates.

Baelon followed her to the door, as he was already leaving himself.

Rodrick stood behind the Prince in front of the door as he watched the servant march down to the corridor.

"Watch her." He spoke.

One of the purple mantles guarding the doors from the inside silently nodded and marched off.

Rodrick shook his head out of amusement as he saw the scene unfold. Baelon had predicted that Mysaria may have some unsaid attachment towards Daemon, add to it the fact that Baelon's new position puts him in a prime position to affect any of the powers in the city, it was no brainer really that any spymaster, or spymistress, worth his or her salt would send someone to spy on him.

There was only a question of when and where, and a meeting between her former lover and the Prince was the answer.

"You don't walk into the lair of a spider, you cut off its threads first." Mused Baelon loudly.

He then turned towards Rodryck, took a deep breath, and with a wide smirk he spoke. "Let's go see how my brothers are doing."

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A much smaller shield collided with his in a contest of strength, one that he won quite handily.

A small figure fell on the floor, their blond-silver hair getting marred with dirt.

Aemond throws his sword and shield on the ground, a mighty pout on his face.

"Why do I always have to fight you?! You're more than six feet tall and you have that ridiculous shield of yours." Complained the Prince.

Rodrick's shadow covered Aemond's whole body as he stood over him. "Because, my Prince, you are smaller and slimmer than your peers, you have to get used to fighting larger, stronger opponents." He picked up the wooden sword from the floor and gave it back to the child.

"'Tis why the Prince chose for you such a light sword and shield, you are to learn how to leverage your advantage in speed, you have to think cleverly against your opponents because anything else would make you lose."

"But I want to spar with Bael! Not you, you-..." Aemond spent moments thinking "Big brute!"

A smile led its way into Rodrick's face, his gaze shifted to the sight of Baelon instructing his other squire on how to better his footwork. Aemond must have felt jealous of his nephew.

He looked back at the Prince. "Sparring with the Prince will not make you better at fighting, your Grace. But have no worries, he is not leaving you to me meaninglessly, and your squireship under him does not only include your training here."

An expression of apprehension formed on the young teen's face. "Are you sure?" He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.

Rodrick nodded. "Of course, and if you do well, I may impress on him later the depth of your accomplishments."

Aemond mused silently for a while before he steeled his eyes, tightened his grip on the sword and hefted his shield.

With a scream, the young prince charged at the Guardian.

Rodrick stealthily took a step forward and slammed his shield on the child's path. "Do not scream, your Grace" He warned as he anticipated the prince to collide with his makeshift barrier.

But to his surprise, the boy hit the tower shield on its low end with his foot instead of his usual sword strikes. The surprising action caused him to slightly let go of his shield, lowering his shield just enough for his helmeted head to surface.

Aemond naturally tried to take an advantage of the opening, but sadly, Rodrick managed to react fast enough to lift his shield in order to collide with the boy's sword.

The prince staggers back, allowing the sworn shield to once again slam his shield against his, and the prince fell again.

"You are finally using your head, good. Again."

Aemond stood up without any complaint and charged again. He fell again and again, but he didn't complain once.

After a while, Rodrick lowered his shield.

"That is enough for today, you may rest."

Aemond defiantly lifted his sword again. "I can still go on." His sword arm trembled from merely lifting the blade.

"Rest is as important as effort, your Grace. You did well."

Before Aemond could retort, a call interrupted them. "Hey, Aem! Come here." Called Baelon, sitting on one of the benches on the side, a table with two golden cups and a silver bottle.

The one-eyed prince relents, before walking up to his brother.

"Why do I have to go on while he gets to stop so early?! This is unfair!" Complained a brown-haired boy while still performing his stances on a dummy.

"If you wish to spar with Rodrick for as long as he did, then you are welcome to try, Luce." Answered Baelon. Lucerys just pouts and continues his chores.

"I'm sorry, your Grace. But I resent that." Interjects Rodrick.

"Resent what? Look at what you have done to poor Aem!"

"The... training was at your orders, your Grace."

Aemond ignored his brother's mock argument, already used to his antics, as he sat next to him.

Baelon, still bantering with his sworn shield, pours a cup of orange liquid for him.

Aemond, apprehensive, drinks out of the cup nonetheless. His eyes widen at the taste of it, much to the humor of his older brother.

He ignores Baelon's laughter while drinking the rest of the content of the cup in one single shot.

"It is cold, why is it cold?" Aemond turns to his brother.

"The first shipment of ice from the North came yesterday, Lord Stark has been dismissing my advice to sell it for too long, but I hear that with his recent illness, Cregan took the reign of much of their mercantile interests."

Aemond looks down at the cup to see small ice chips at the bottom of his empty cup. He then pours himself another cup.

"I never believed that Lemon juice could be so refreshing" He comments.

"It is orange juice." Corrects Baelon.

"Orange?"

"Yes, a fruit that mainly grows in Dorne, can't you see, brother? Kingslanding is shaping up to be the true center of the realm, with products ranging from the North to the South, we are in a position where we can bring the Realm into something wonderful, the sums of its parts can make something greater, better than their individual strengths."

Aemond didn't really understand at the time, but he nodded nonetheless.

Rodrick looked on with warm eyes at the scene of brothers sitting in peace, with Aemond snickering every time Baelon had to correct his nephew's stance.

One of the purple mantles subtly approaches the prince and whispers something in his ears.

Baelon stands up and ruffles his brother's hair.

"I have to go, you can stay here before your lessons with the Grandmaester, Aem. And Luce! Keep up your efforts, you're doing great." He says.

Aemond simply nods and takes another sip from his cup, while Lucerys smiles at his uncle before continuing with renewed strength.

"Lead the way." Says Baelon to the guard.

The purple mantle nods before leading them out of the castle.

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The guard leads them deep to the bowels of Kingslanding, in a dingy building that sat between two taverns.

A gaggle followed behind the Prince and his guardian, just in case.

The man-at-arms stands in front of the building while turning to the prince.

"This is it, your Grace."

Baelon taps the man on the shoulder. "Good man." He says while heading inside.

After the inconspicuous door lays another guarded by two men in brown gambesons.

At the sight of the prince, they both put a hand on the seat of their swords. But Baelon just raises an eyebrow while four of his guards raise crossbows pointing at the two men's heads.

One of the two lets out a sigh as he grabs the other arm. The other man looks at his companion questionably, but the former just shakes his head.

The Prince chuckles as he takes a couple of steps forward. "Good choice." He comments as he lifts his foot.

The door gets slammed open by Baelon's kick, showing a small luxurious room with a medium-sized, comfortable-looking bed, and an ornate table in the middle.

A beautiful woman with Yi-Tish features and a white dress sat at one side of the table, she looks up furtively at the door, but her expression remained controlled, showing no signs of surprise.

On the other side, a cup overflows of wine, as Daemon looks incredulously at his nephew, definitely not expecting his presence.

"What? Am I interrupting something?" Asks Baelon.

Daemon slowly puts the bottle down. "What are you doing here?" He asks.

Baelon drags a wooden chair, the sound of its screeching echoing through the room. His guards flood the small room, closing any avenues of escape, while Rodrick stands unwavering behind him.

He puts the chair in reverse, his hands leaning on its top rail.

Baelon grabs the overflowed cup of wine and gulps it all down. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, Uncle?" He answers.

Daemon's face scrunches up in distaste, his face turning back towards the woman.

"It is my pleasure to meet you, your Grace." Mysaria stands up and curtsies at the Prince.

Baelon waves his hand in her direction. "Is it? Because you seemed to be quite adamant in hiding from me." He answers.

She sits back down, a slight wince on her face. "If you may understand, my... profession, requires secrecy above all else, I meant no disrespect."

"It doesn't matter now, we are meeting now." He takes pause. "I hope you won't mind accepting my request, even though I barged into your residence like this."

"Not at all, how may I help you?" Mysaria recognizes when she is helpless, it is what allowed her to navigate the world of arrogant lords and powerful men.

"The Clubfoot, he has been trying and failing, to interrupt my dealings in the city and the Crownlands. I heard you have been clashing against him for a while, so I sought to get your help in order to get rid of his threat as handily as possible."

Recognition flashes in Mysaria's eyes, but she also couldn't hide the signs of confusion in her eyes.

"You didn't know?" Baelon asked. "The bastard is responsible for most of the unsavory establishments in the underbelly of the city, the things he's done, or what he pushed other people to do were despicable beyond belief."

Mysaria schools her expression, a thoughtful look on her face. "I was of the belief that these were backed by several lordly men, I didn't think that the Clubfoot was responsible." She then turns towards Baelon. "If you are right, your Grace. Then the reach of Larys' web may be more than I can contend with, not to sound greedy, but I need compensation in exchange for my... service."

"Your compensation IS your service." He promptly replies. "You are lucky that I let you be, you are an unknown element within the capital of the Kingdom, just the fact that I allow you to resume your... profession freely is more than you can wish for. The only reason you survived is because of your secrecy, and now that your existence is no longer a secret, your neutrality is all that can keep you afloat."

After letting his words simmer, Baelon continues. "But! If you were to help us with this endeavor and to keep the Kingdom abreast of any threat to its stability and prosperity, I will allow you to keep your freedom, you will be able to not only keep your business as a merchant of secrets, but you may even receive support and compensation but most importantly, protection, directly from the throne. I will not ask you to directly serve, but to be a distant and amicable... friend to our interests." Baelon stands up from his chair, turning towards the woman. "This is what any spymaster dreams of, you may have to limit your clientele but in exchange you get support from the largest Kingdom in the world, some doors may close, but imagine the countless others that will open."

Baelon extends a gloved hand to Mysaria. "Do we have a deal?" He asked.

The White worm incredulously looks at Daemon, as if looking for answers that she could not get. And Rodrick could see the gears shifting in her mind.

But while Baelon made it seem like a choice, it was anything but. This is exactly what they meant by the stick and the carrot.

Mysaria stands up, locking her gingerly hands with Baelon's larger ones. "I believe we have a deal, your Grace."

"Good, first I want you to give one of my men a list of all of the Clubfoot's spies and agents within the City. People cut the trunk of a tree before pulling out by its roots, we will cut the roots first."