GOT : All Left Behind

Ser Vernon Vance was not a man who ever looked particularly happy with his lot in life. At least a decade past his prime, he had long since left his peak and did not hesitate to show it. 

His beard was kept short, but its salt-and-pepper coloration was plainly on display for all to see. His broad face was perpetually marred by a small frown, and his hair was pulled back to display all the wrinkles he had acquired in life.

All of this, however, had little to no bearing on his skill at his job of master-at-arms for the Red Keep. He was, after all, still a fit man with decades of experience. Unfortunately, that experience meant that he had a very focused idea of what was the best way to train a youth into a knight worthy of the title.

"Come on, Darry, you call that a strike?" the aging knight shouted at the squire currently struggling to put up a decent fight. "Get closer! Don't just tickle him!"

That the Darry boy was my opponent probably did not help matters. For reasons beyond my comprehension, he seemed afraid to get close enough to put up a decent fight, content to just timidly swipe at me from the very edge of his range.

Wait, no, I knew exactly why. My fight with Aemon had not exactly been lacking in witnesses. Apparently, I had developed a bit of a reputation. Then again, he had not been the most courageous fighter even before then...

"I won't bite, Darry," I reassured the squire. "Hit me."

The boy froze, unsure if it was a trap or not. After what felt like ages, he finally dared to step forwards and slash at me. It was a pathetic strike, aimed at my shield, an attack that would do nothing were it to hit.

I kept still as the hit landed with a soft clack.

"I told you to hit me, Darry, not point to my house's sigil," I sighed. "Hit me."

Again, the boy lightly tapped my shield. Clearly, this wasn't working.

"Darry, hit me, not the shield," I said slowly. Mayhaps the Daella approach would be more effective.

That time, the boy found the courage to swing at something other than the slab of oak strapped to my left arm, his wooden sword slapping the side of my helm. It was weak, barely even ringing my helm, but it was progress.

"Better," I said. "Again, but harder."

Darry's next strike was something worthy of the name, rushing towards my side where it was stopped by a hastily raised sword of my own. The impact sent a shock through my arm, forcing me back half a step.

"Much better," I said, my voice tinted with satisfaction. A confident strike was as good a start as any. "Go practice against a quintain. And keep those swings strong!"

"Yes, your Grace," the squire nodded eagerly and moved to the row of quintains that lined the edge of the yard. Hopefully, that lesson would stick in his mind for a little while. If not… well, I was going to be back in the training yard at first light again tomorrow. And the day after as well.

Because this was my life now.

"Your Grace?" A new voice interrupted my musings. Turning around, I saw the familiar form of the Beesbury boy. He carried the hammer I had spurned this morning- I was not in the yard to beat people into the ground, but to aid and assist the master-at-arms. "Could you give me another lesson with the hammer?"

Granted, that was a decision I regretted ever so slightly when I saw him. Perhaps he was not yet a danger to my family, but Saera was clearly interested in him. As an older brother, it was my responsibility and duty to ensure that he would never cause her any undue trouble.

Unfortunately, I was a little short on ideas of how to do so.

Especially since I was only two years older.

"Unfortunately not," I said, noting that the dawn light had already lost its luster. The midmorning blue dominated the sky in its place. It was a touch late to give the boy a personal lesson. "I'll be heading into the city for a sermon before long. I still need to clean off. Go ask the master-at-arms, he'll have something for you."

"I already did," the boy muttered. "He told me to ask you."

Well, that was unfortunate.

"My sister will be mightily upset with me if I miss this service because I got distracted fighting," I warned the boy, not even needing to lie. Maegelle had been quite happy to join me for a weekend service in the city, and I did so hate to disappoint her.

"Then make it a quick lesson?" he suggested hesitantly. Oh, he was a bold one, I had to admit. As much as I was tempted to reward that boldness, I really wanted to get ready for the service. Equally as important, my deadline for moving the Cannibal was fast approaching. I needed to get out there or risk damaging my reputation with the people of the city.

"Fine," I sighed, hefting the shield strapped to my arm. It was solidly built, hewn from oak, and rimmed with iron. The Targaryen dragon was proudly displayed across the front. I would get a chance to change it when I got my spurs, wouldn't I? The royal heraldry was not for me. Never for me. For better or worse, it was to be Aemon's. "You see this?"

"A shield, your Grace?" he asked, not comprehending.

"It is more than merely a shield. Strap it to your arm, point forwards," I suggested, indicating how my own was worn the same way. "It lets you strike with the shield. Go punch a quintain. I'll see you in the morning."

The lesson delivered, I made my way out of the training yard and back to Maegor's, doing some quick mental calculations about whether or not I had enough time to a proper bath. Unwilling to take that particular risk, I resigned myself to a damp cloth.

For now, it would serve.

Luckily, my apartments were organized to let me wash up in a hurry. Sweat-soaked training gear was thrown in a basket by the door for the servants to launder. A basin in the corner was swiftly filled with fresh water from the flagon I kept beside it. A clean rag was dipped in it and rapidly used to scrub myself clean.

There was no time was wasted on introspection or admiring the fruits of my training, not when I had places to be.

I was still a touch damp, trusting to my doublet and trousers of red and black to absorb what little moisture remained. Once my boots were laced up, I was back out the door and walking quite briskly for the stables. That was where my escort was told to await me.

And await me they did.

Six knights sworn to house Targaryen, representing the Reach, the Westerlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Vale, and the Riverlands mingled near a small palanquin drawn by a pair of horses. A seventh knight was already ahorse, his white armor shining brilliantly, identity only revealed by the spear he carried.

Hm, an escort of seven knights. I was certain that was merely a happy coincidence.

I nodded a greeting to Ser Pate, who had turned as soon as he heard me approach. He quickly shouted orders to the other knights to mount up as the red curtains on the palanquin suddenly drew aside, revealing a smiling Maegelle.

"I'm not late, I hope?" I asked, climbing in to take a seat next to her. Nominally, the litter could hold four people, still leaving a comfortable amount of room for the two of us on the rear bench. Granted, calling the heavily padded and cushioned seats a bench felt like calling the Red Keep a mere castle, but no other term would really fit.

"A bit early, truthfully," Maegelle answered, leaning into the equally padded wall behind us. "What's the occasion for this trip? Is the family sept not good enough anymore?"

"I have business in the city," I said with a shrug. "It was convenient to attend a sermon in the city."

"And did you invite me out of convenience, or was it something else?" Maegelle asked again. The litter jerked into motion, and I kept silent for a moment. I wanted to say this properly, to find the right words. I kept silent as the palanquin leaned forwards as we descended the hill, my brow scrunched in concentration as I struggled to find the best way to put it.

Once the palanquin leveled out, and the scents of the city drifted in through the curtains to mingle with the perfume, I had decided on what to say.

"Father will be announcing our betrothal next month." I had chosen to keep it simple. I had no desire for miscommunications. "The wedding will be on the first day of the new year. And if we are to be married you deserve to know of my ventures in the city."

Maegelle held her silence for a while. As I came to suspect she was trying to match my silence with one of her own, she slowly lowered her head onto my shoulder.

"So we are betrothed in all but name," she said slowly, as if savoring the words as I felt her relax a bit. "It certainly took Mother and Father long enough. And what are these ventures? Nothing unseemly, I hope?"

"Sweet Seven, no. It's inns. All the ones with word 'Drake' in the name are mine, though a few do not share that particular trait," I admitted. My last few acquisitions, those struggling inns whose fortunes were harmed by the flooding of their suppliers, had to be done through less skilled intermediaries. Concessions had been made out of necessity. "I expect to expand beyond the city in coming years, but I don't yet know where."

"That would explain how you managed to afford that armor," Maegelle said. "But I doubt you chose to buy out so many inns if your only goal was to buy a single suit of armor."

"I did not," I admitted. "My dreams are a touch grander."

My smile was a small but true thing, simply glad that Maegelle was happy with the turn of events.

"Really?" Maegelle raised her head to poke at my cheek, making her annoyance quite clear. "Whatever happened to letting me know of your ventures? Must we return to the Book of the Crone for our next lesson?"

"A bank," I said softly, savoring the taste of the word. It had been a lifetime that I had first learned the complexities of banking, all the boons that it could offer an economy. Knowledge that had remained lodged into my mind even after a decade and a half.

"What?" Confusion was writ clear on her fine features, her brow scrunched in a manner entirely at odds with her otherwise refined demeanor. It took more effort than I would have liked to admit to not laugh at the sight. "A bank?"

The palanquin shuddered as it pitched back slightly, having reached the start of Visenya's Hill.

"Aye, a bank," I confirmed, relaxing back into my seat. "The regular revenues from the inns will allow me to build up a reserve to lend out. Those loans will allow those with good ideas to innovate, will allow aspiring captains to begin their careers, will allow experienced captains to grow their fleets. Given the central location of King's Landing, if I can attract the attention of the new and the old, their efforts will make this place a city worthy of the name."

The concept of banking was nothing new to this world, even if Westeros insisted on relying on personal loans. The Iron Bank of Braavos was the most famous example, though Essos had no shortage of competitors. Those banks, however, catered to wealthy clients. While it was still possible for new money to rise, old money held the keys to power.

In other words, I had an entire market segment that was untapped. A market segment that, once exploited, could promote the growth of my family's holdings at the direct expense of all others without the need for my father to act. If exploited with a tool held only by my family, that was a valuable tool indeed.

"First our sisters, now the city," Maegelle said, a smile growing on her face. "If it weren't for the mess with Aemon, I would assume you were compelled to nurture everyone around you. But you had best not use all that coin to spoil Saera. She is bad enough already."

"Me? Spoil anybody?" I asked as the palanquin ground to a halt, ignoring the comment about Aemon. The smile on my face, now one of amusement, grew to match my dear sister's own. "Perish the thought."

Thankfully, the curtains were thick enough to hide her laughter from what few onlookers were paying attention.

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