41 Ch. 10 Ambition

"So, we are in agreement?" I asked the Lord of Dragonstone.

Stannis Baratheon refrained from agreeing as he reread the contract. I'm a bit surprised he is putting so much effort into the verbiage used. There is nothing nefarious hidden in the sales agreement. I wanted it to be fair to both parties so that he fulfills it promptly.

The contract is for the purchase and delivery of twenty tons of obsidian to Casterly Rock. I knew that would not be enough to outfit the entire Legion with dragonglass daggers and spear tips, but it would be a start. With any luck, I will be able to make several more purchases. We are going to need a massive amount of arrowheads.

Stannis laid the parchment down on the table before looking up at me. His pale blue eyes bored into my own green for a long moment. I patiently waited for him to come to a decision, a decision we both knew he would agree on. I ensured that with the favorable conditions of the contract.

"You are willing to pay three-thousand gold dragons for twenty tons of dragonglass?" Stannis asked as he broke the stare-down. "This seems heavily favored for me. Why?"

"Not even with all the gold in Casterly Rock, would I agree to pay that amount for any kind of stone," I coolly replied to Stannis the Mannis. "No, the majority of my payment is for the delivery expenses. If the winds are in your favor, you are looking at quite a journey on the seas."

"Why not use your own ships?" Stannis asked with a hint of curiosity behind his stoic appearance. "The Lannister's have the fastest ships, and it would be cheaper."

"It's not cost-effective," I said with a simple shrug of my shoulders. "While it is true I would save a decent amount of gold by sending my own ships to pick-up the blocks, our merchants would lose more than I saved in the time those ships are off their trade routes."

Without another word, Stannis took a quill and signed his copy of the contract. I followed suit and signed my own copy before sliding it across the table towards the Baratheon. Once both contracts were signed, I took my copy and rolled it up.

"As per the agreement," Stannis said as he stood up, "The dragonglass will arrive at Lannisport within three moons."

A nod my head as I stand from the worn table. "I'll have two-thousand gold dragons brought to your chambers within the hour, Lord Stannis," I casually replied. The last thousand will be paid upon successful delivery.

"If there is nothing else," Stannis inquired in a tone that stated he was finished talking.

"I bid you a good day, Lord Stannis," I said as I turned for the door. As I pulled the chamber door open, I stop and look back at the infamous teeth-grinder. "Storm's End should have been yours," I respectfully state before exiting the room.

I can not be for certain, but I think I can hear the sound of teeth grinding together as I walk down the hallway. It brings me an odd sense of enjoyment.

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Prince Joffrey Baratheon flinched and bit down on his lip as Grand Maester Pycelle applied a healing salve over Joffrey's bruised ribs. Joffrey turned his head away as the foul smelling ointment was raised closer to his face. The act of turning put his mother in his field of vision.

Queen Cersei was visibly angered at the state of the Crown Prince. Even at his young age, Joffrey could easily tell his mother was devising a plot.

Ignoring the elderly fool treating his various abrasions, Joffrey focused his attention on his royal mother. "Mother," Joffrey called out to get her attention. "Grandfather will be returning to the Westerlands tomorrow. What would be a gift worthy of his status?" Joffrey cleverly asked.

Taking a moment to calm her rage, his mother slowly put on a loving smile. "My sweet," Joffrey's mother began in a kind voice, "You do not need to give your grandfather anything. He will be satisfied with your words of gratitude."

Joffrey thought over that statement as the Pycelle began packing up his leather medical bag. Gingerly sliding on a silk shirt of red, Joffrey stood from the wooden stool. Forgoing the possibility of pain at tucking the shirt into his trousers, the prince faced his mother.

"Why would grandfather settle for my slight praise instead of a gift of value?" Joffrey urged. "What does he gain from my words?"

Before his mother could answer, the decrepit voice of the Grand Measter spoke up. "Lord Tywin, your grandfather," the white-haired measter began, "is one of... of the few men in the kingdoms that wants for nothing." The hunched old man weakly declared.

"Yes," Cersei loudly stated, drawing Joffrey's back towards her. "Your grandfather is the wealthiest man all the kingdoms, perhaps even the world," his mother proudly said as she walked up to him. "But even with all the gold one could wish for, Lord Tywin values family above all else."

Ignoring the heated look the queen cast towards the weathered man, Joffrey's anger and frustration slowly started to mount. "But how does one reward another that has everything?" Joffrey asked with furrowed brows directed at his mother.

Gently taking his hands into her own, Cersei gave a love-filled smile towards her eldest child. "You are all the reward he needs," his mother fondly answered. "Knowing that you will become a wise and good king is all the reward my father desires."

Joffrey glanced towards the wrinkled measter for confirmation of his mother's words. Assuming the quivering of his long beard is a sign of agreement, the prince turned his attention back to his mother.

"Can the same be said for Lancel?" Joffrey curiously asked. "If he is to inherit after grandfather, then can I assume Lancel wishes for me to become a good king as well?"

"A most wise assumption... your grace," Grand Measter Pycelle swiftly answers. "Ser Lancel has been personally... groomed... by Lord Tywin since he was a small child. I have no doubts... your cousin values family just as much as your grandfather," Pycelle wheezed before turning to cough in his hand.

Joffrey watched as his mother stared daggers at the living fossil. The prince wondered why the queen was casting such a look at a man that had no way of seeing it. Ignoring his mother's foolishness, Joffrey asked for the queen's opinion, "What do you think, mother?"

"That may be true," Cersei grudgingly agreed. "But that is no excuse for such a skilled knight to leave bruises on your person," she heatedly said.

Pulling his hands from his mother's grasp, Joffrey turned to fully face the Grand Measter. "Grand Measter," Joffrey authoritatively called to the distracted man, "I need everything you have to speed my recovery. I want to be at my best when I face Ser Lancel in the morning."

"Yes, your grace," Pycelle answered as he began to shuffle items around in his medical bag.

"Joffrey," Cersei called with a voice laced with desperation, "you will not be returning to the training grounds. There is no need for you to..."

"Of course, there is a need," Joffrey heatedly interrupted. "I will have Lancel teach me everything he knows. And when I defeat him, I will prove that I am his better." Joffrey sneered.

Joffrey knew it would not be easy or pleasant. But the day he stood over a broken Lancel Lannister... It would be worth every ounce of suffering he was forced to endure.