Chapter 34.2- The Seadragon's Roar

“Presenting: their majesties, the representatives of the Grand Council of the Triarchy…” They had brought an orator, of course. A very long winded one it seemed as I shared a look of long suffering with Laena before we took our seats. The man was still talking, taking great care, it seemed not to forget a single irrelevant and undoubtedly self-invented title this group of eight had given themselves in their long and insignificant lives.

The gist of it was that there were four of them fro Tyrosh, two from Lys, and two from Myr. Undoubtedly because Tyrosh was still considered the ‘injured’ party in this war of ours, and would probably be the ones to push the most. But then I had too wonder— if they wanted peace, why bring so many Tyroshi. Enough to fuck things up if they got it in their heads to.

They couldn’t be stupid enough to think there was some way out of this for them without making a deal of some doprt, so the other possibility was that it was some sort of tactic. Feign not wanting a deal until the very last second so they could then get the very best deal possible in the end. Not a bad idea, and maybe it could even have worked with someone else. Someone who cared more about peace. Someone that did not have a list of ambitions they considered non-negotiable and who wouldn’t go straight back to wear to get what they wanted by force.

When they finally finished the pomp and circumstance, taking their seats across from us, it felt like the sun had visibly lowered in the sky. Vhagar had yawned once, forcing the announcer to stop and stare, losing track of his place and having to start a bit behind.

I hadn’t brought anyone trained in announcing or anything of the sort out of the mistaken belief that these lot would just want to get to business, so I took the duty on to myself.

“I am Laenor Velaryon, Lord Protector of the Stepstones, Lord of Driftmark, Master of the tides. This is my sister, Laena Velaryon, rider of the Queen of Dragons, Vhagar, and my Uncle, Vaemond, Captain of the Seahorse’s Wrath, Driftmark’s Fury, and Corlys’ Rest. Here to make note of what we discuss and agree is the Maester Bernard of the Citadel, attached to High Tide and briefly loaned to Bloodstone” I said, taking a fraction of the time, and taking my seat thereafter.

The announcer, it seemed, doubled as a translator and after I spoke to them, he turned and relayed my words in Bastard Valyrian. A language that seemed to be at least somewhat mutually intelligible with the High Valyrian I could speak. I turned to looking around the small island as my words were relayed. Beyond the twenty-three proper islands that called this region home, we had dozens of floating landmasses like this one. Too small to usefully be considered any thing other than rocks for your ship to dash itself against most of the time, and too large to be ignored and just left unattended. These islands would house my first ‘inventions’. Proper lighthouses.