Chapter 23: Control - 110 AC

Within the confines of his abode situated on the Grey Gallows, Clement perched atop his seat, his gaze fixated upon the ornate horn clutched within his trembling hand. His countenance remained pallid, refusing to relinquish the ghostly pallor that had consumed it, and his brow was drenched in a profusion of perspiration. The exact cause of his ailment eluded understanding, whether it be an adverse repercussion of blowing the enigmatic horn or a manifestation of the sheer terror that had beset him. Nonetheless, it was unequivocally evident that the young man's well-being was far from robust.

Upon his return, Clement discovered that the other fleets had yet to arrive. The contingent responsible for launching the assault on the Tyroshi vessels had presently blockaded their harbor, employing this strategic maneuver to compel their adversaries into a diplomatic parley. Meanwhile, Corlys was en route, still exulting in the spoils of the naval assault, acquiring the enemy's confiscated ships. As for Clement's own fleet, they were convalescing within the confines of the harbor, engaging in necessary repairs, while the quartermasters meticulously tallied the extent of their losses, ensuring that ample compensation would be dispatched to their families residing in their far-flung homelands.

Abruptly, a resounding knock reverberated through the door, shattering the tranquility of the room. In stepped Laena, clad in her resplendent dragonrider garb, her countenance a tapestry of anxiety and incredulity. With measured steps, she advanced toward Clement, positioning herself directly before him, her hands delicately entwined.

"You look pale," she uttered softly, her voice a gentle murmur.

Clement emitted a feeble chuckle, his voice strained. "What do you think? My actions were... imprudent."

"What is this?" she inquired, gesturing towards the horn clenched in his hand. "A mere fortuity that a kraken should choose to ravage our enemies' vessels? Or does it entail something more profound?"

"What kraken?" Clement responded composedly. "Vhagar incinerated everything."

"Cease your dalliance with words in my presence, husband," Laena admonished, her brow furrowing. "When you sound the horn, the krakens appear seemingly out of nowhere."

"The deep sea is as enigmatic as it can be, Laena," Clement intoned thoughtfully. "In one fleeting moment, there is naught but emptiness. In the next, a leviathan traverses beneath your fleet."

Laena expressed her concern, her voice resonating with worry, as she remarked, "Never have I witnessed such a state in you." A genuine offer was extended by her, suggesting, "Do you want me to fetch a maester?"

Clement brushed off the notion, dismissing it outright. "Don't bother. I'll be healthy in a day or two." Attempting to rise from his seat, though his legs swiftly betrayed him, compelling Laena to lend him support, ensuring his stability. Clement sensed an overwhelming depletion of vitality from his being, his muscles stubbornly refusing to respond.

"At least eat." she advised, skillfully guiding Clement back onto his seat. The evidence of his exhaustion was undeniable. "Whatever you experienced with that... horn has sapped you of your vigor."

"I am fully aware," Clement chuckled, acknowledging the truth behind Laena's observation.

"I'll summon the servants to bring some food," Laena offered, relinquishing her hold on Clement, intending to distance herself. However, Clement's grip tightened around her arm, compelling Laena to face him once more.

"Stay," he stated simply.

Laena met his gaze, contemplating his words momentarily before exhaling audibly. "Very well." The young woman sat near him on another chair, she looked at him calmly, placing her hands on her lap. "Be honest with me, husband. What in the seven hells did you do?"

Clement chuckled softly, his gaze fixed upon the horn once more. "I must confess, I am uncertain," he admitted. "Curiosity drove me to explore the validity of the rumors, and in some twisted way, they hold a grain of truth. Although it was not what I had anticipated. Now I understand why my ancestors chose to throw it inside the vault and never used it again."

Carefully, Clement placed the horn upon the table, its intricate runes clearly visible to Laena. The young woman examined it attentively, her eyes scanning the enigmatic symbols in a fruitless attempt to decipher their meaning. "Where did your ancestors gain this artifact? It is not a language that I could read." she said, curious.

"Tis not the Valyrian tongue, that much is evident," Clement mused, as Laena gingerly returned the horn to the table, her reluctance to touch it growing. "It leaves me feeling... utterly helpless. Perhaps this is what it feels like for our enemies when they encounter Vhagar, when they see her fire burn brightly from the sky."

A soft chuckle escaped Laena's lips. "After facing countless battles alongside dragons, you find yourself fearful?" she remarked with amusement.

"In all my previous battles, at least the axe in my hand had purpose, and the dragons soaring above were not adversaries to be conquered," Clement countered. His voice grew solemn as he continued, "But... confronting that kraken... it's an entirely different matter."

"I see." Laena nodded. "The Greyjoys would want this if they ever heard the tales."

Clement pondered thoughtfully, his eyes distant as he gazed into the distance. "In the grand scheme of things, these accounts shall merely wither away into mere whispers once more. I instructed Ser Phineas to administer a harsh punishment to those who attempted to propagate them as undeniable truths."

A wistful sigh escaped Laena's lips, tinged with a hint of resignation. "You are aware, dear husband, that your efforts will be in vain."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Clement's mouth. "Indeed, I am well aware. Yet, if we choose silence, these tales shall inevitably be distorted once more, once again to be folklore or superstition."

"Will you refrain from using it in the future?" inquired Laena, her curiosity piqued. She gazed at Clement, awaiting his response.

"Such a notion would be utterly foolish," Clement retorted, accompanied by a theatrical eye roll. "Should the circumstances warrant, I shall undoubtedly employ it once more." With a deliberate motion, he retrieved the horn from the table and safeguarded it within a drawer, ensuring its protection. "Let us divert our attention to another matter. How fare our sons?"

"They are slumbering," she replied, a faint smile gracing her lips. "Throughout the day, they waited on the shore with the servants in our absence."

"Is that not dangerous?" Clement queried, arching an eyebrow in concern.

Laena rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Usually, it is the mother's role to fret over trivialities, Clement, not the father's. Allow them to frolic upon the sands; our staff is proficient in their duties."

Clement chuckled softly. "Very well," he acquiesced, his hands settling upon the armrest of his chair. He rhythmically tapped his finger against the wooden surface before continuing. "Once I have concluded tidying this abode, I shall embark upon a voyage to King's Landing, to pay a visit to the king. I suspect Daemon shall make his return as well."

"The prince?" Laena raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Why would he return? He possesses his own realm, removed from the king's influence."

"Daemon's motives extend beyond self-interest, my dear," Clement explained. "He seeks his brother's acknowledgement. I am confident he would relinquish the crown to curry favor with the king once more."

"And what evidence supports your claim?" Laena inquired skeptically.

"It is as plain as the midday sun, my love," Clement chuckled, confidently expressing his insight. "I shall engage with the king regarding the dragon eggs, should your heart still yearn for it."

"Should my heart still yearn for it?" Laena's brow furrowed in a delightful blend of perplexity and amusement. "Was it not you who harbored the fervent desire for it from the very beginning? Hence, the reason you sought my hand in marriage?"

"Why do we persist in this banter? I did not marry you solely for your aptitude in dragon-riding," Clement retorted, his eyes performing a subtle dance of exasperation. 

"The banter persists until you stop mocking Vhagar's age." Laena chuckled softly, her delicate features adorned with an exuberant smile that stretched across her face. With a graceful motion, she lifted herself from the chair, distancing herself from Clement's presence. "I'll fetch the servants for your food, don't stand up again, you'll fall."

======

The year drew to a close, and amidst the rugged landscape of Bloodstone, Clement stood resolutely beside a makeshift throne. Within the open chamber, devoid of a roof, Daemon sat upon the imposing seat, adorned with his crown, while Corlys occupied the opposite side, facing Clement. Although the young man harbored no joy in this situation, the time for peace and reconstruction had arrived, with Daemon assuming the temporary mantle of the "King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea."

Positioned before the throne stood a Tyroshi emissary, his countenance flushed with rage upon hearing Daemon's demand for a substantial sum of gold as recompense for the war, in exchange for ending the blockade.

"This is sheer lunacy!" the representative spat, his voice filled with indignation. "Do you truly believe we would accede to such an exorbitant demand?!"

Corlys responded with an air of calm authority, stating, "It was your actions that sparked this conflict. We seek restitution for the damages incurred."

"You already control the Stepstones; that should be compensation enough," the representative retorted, his brow furrowed in consternation.

"This is our offer to you," Corlys declared firmly. "Should you refuse, the blockade shall persist. It is a simple matter. We merely require gold and your assurance not to encroach upon our sovereignty within this region. In return, you and your city will be spared further threats."

The representative scoffed, derisively remarking, "This is no kingdom, but a haven for pirates."

Daemon, who had remained silent until now, interjected, "And do you consider the banners of Targaryen, Velaryon, and Celtigar to be those of mere pirates? You, free cities, are but remnants of Old Valyria's colonies, standing before you are the vestiges of a once-mighty civilization. Consider yourselves fortunate that we did not reduce your city to ashes."

In an instant, Caraxes, Daemon's dragon, descended from the hill, its serpentine head looming atop the throne. The dragon emitted a menacing growl, unleashing a piercing roar that sent tremors through the core of the trembling representative.

The emissary took a cautious step back, concealing his fear in both his countenance and posture. "And what fate awaits the remaining two cities? Is Tyrosh the sole target of your demands?" he stammered.

"Assuming you represent the Triarchy," Corlys replied, his tone tinged with authority, "your role extends beyond the confines of your own city."

"I see, so this... demand... encompasses all three cities," the emissary mused. "You intend to tear us asunder."

"I am at a loss as to what you insinuate," Corlys continued. "You instigated this war, and we seek rightful retribution. That is all."

The emissary scoffed disdainfully. "You issue a threat solely against our city."

"We could dispatch our fleet to the remaining two whores," Daemon interjected, rising from his seat and descending the modest dais, his hand resting upon the pommel of his sword. Eventually, he stood face to face with the emissary, Caraxes looming behind him. "Convey this message to them. If they refuse to comply, I shall ensure that every one of your cities is reduced to smoldering ruins, their leaders' heads displayed on spikes for whatever what's left of it."

Caraxes drew closer, emitting a low, menacing growl, causing the emissary to recoil in fear once more, his eyes betraying his trepidation.

"Fear not, emissary," Clement, who had maintained silence until now, interjected. "Pay the retribution and recognize Prince Daemon's ownership of the Stepstones, and you shall be granted safe passage through the region, exempt from taxes. It shall be a safer route than ever before. Unlike barbarians such as yourselves, we possess civility."

"And how can you guarantee such assurance?" the emissary sneered.

"The Iron Bank shall guarantee it," Clement added. "Of course, it is a two-way agreement. Should you violate the terms, as Prince Daemon mentioned, your heads shall either adorn spikes or be reduced to ashes. The Iron Bank will exact compensation from you for breaching the pact. You shall truly be left destitute. I recommend that you accept this term, emissary. After all, a functioning city is better to cooperate with than a smoldering one."

The emissary's brows knitted together in a troubled expression as he contemplated the proposition. "Even after all that has transpired, you still seek cooperation?" he queried, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"The answer lies with you," Corlys replied. "Will you, in your wisdom, choose to let bygones be bygones and reap the benefits of a safer Stepstones? Or shall you persist in perpetuating hostilities, disrupting your own trade routes once again, and depleting your coffers for meager gains?"

"Very well," the emissary replied in a composed tone. "I shall engage in earnest deliberations with the leaders of the three cities. However, I must candidly confess that I cannot provide unequivocal assurance regarding their inclination to embrace your demands."

Corlys emitted a soft, contemplative hum, his eyes fixated on the emissary. "Indeed, I am well aware of your station as an emissary," he mused. "In that case, you are at liberty to return to your city unscathed, no harm shall befall you during your voyage."

With an inclination of his head, conveying a measure of deference, the emissary acknowledged Corlys, Prince Daemon, and Ser Clement. "I extend my gratitude to you, Lord Corlys, Prince Daemon, and Ser Clement," he spoke, his voice touched with respect. As he took measured steps, gradually distancing himself from the chamber's expanse, the three men stood rooted in place, their gazes lingering upon his retreating figure. Accompanied by their retinue, the emissary was gently ushered towards a waiting vessel that would ferry him to the port of Tyrosh, bearing the weight of momentous tidings.

Without warning, Daemon abruptly turned his gaze towards the other two men, while Caraxes gracefully sauntered away from their present location. "I will be flying to King's Landing next year, to treat with my brother during his marriage anniversary celebration."

"What?" Corlys expressed his confusion with a furrowed brow. "And what shall be your course of action?"

"To pledge my unwavering loyalty to him," Daemon responded, striding away with an air of indifference, evidently unwilling to entertain any potential sermon from the Sea Snake. "It is high time this charade of jesters reaches its conclusion. The Stepstones shall rightfully become the domain of the Seven Kingdoms. Ser Clement, do with this revelation as you deem fit."

As the prince walked away from his 'throne room,' Clement turned his head towards his good-father, who looked to be at a loss. "Good-father, you don't think he will actually keep the title, don't you?"

"I am aware of his yearning for glory and recognition from the king," Corlys replied. "Yet, I surmise he shall play the role of a sovereign for a few more years. Regardless, it matters not. We shall recover our losses and garrison our troops on the islands in the interim, I myself is going home to Driftmark. I assume you, too, shall set sail for King's Landing? After all, you have accepted the king's diplomatic mission to Dorne."

"Indeed, I shall," Clement affirmed with a nod.

"Then, may fortune favor your endeavor." Corlys murmured. "I have heard rumors of mounting tensions within the court..."