Robert 7 293 AC

"Peace?" The words tasted like Ash on Robert's tongue. "After all of that, you want peace?"

"Please, hear me out your grace, my master offers you a favorable accord."

The court was in session, though smaller than it normally would be seeing as how it was operating inside the hall of a formerly Myrish barracks the army had taken over as his and Stannis' forces pursued the last remnants of the Red Cult from the Disputed Lands. It was bittersweet that he could not participate in the purging himself.

Robert almost got up and strangled the messenger right then. Indeed, he probably would have if he wasn't confined to his chair for the moment by his injuries, though they were hidden beneath his heavy robes. "Your Master will have peace when he cedes Norvos and hands over all the money in Qohor, and not a day before."

"He will do no such thing, for unlike every other army on the continent, his forces are intact. Why, if he sought its destruction I am sure that Pentos would not survive the year, and despite all this, he still offers you peace, and at favorable terms as well."

Robert's eyes narrowed, glaring down at the black-clad messenger from the new lord of Qohor and Norvos.

"Speak."

"My Master is willing to cede a full half of disputed territory formerly of Norvos to the cities of Braavos, Lorath, and Pentos, in exchange for a pact of nonaggression lasting no more than five years, restoring Norvos borders to their lowest point since the Century of blood. Furthermore, he is willing to deliver no less than eight million Golden Imperials to the kingdom of Westeros in exchange for an end to hostilities. Smaller payments will be afforded to Tyrosh and Lys. My master intends to exit this war amicably."

Robert glanced at the man harshly. That was a good deal, what he did not understand was why the rumored Goat-King would want to leave the war with his army still intact. "Why is he willing to offer these terms?"

"My Lord believes that the devastation wrought across Essos needs time to heal and that the economic damage of continued warfare outweighs any benefit he could feasibly earn through continued warfare."

Robert eyed the messenger, he had not read the ambitious King Aurion for a coin-counter.

Jon would want him to take the deal. Eight Million Imperials was enough to pay for the war, even after conversion to dragons.

Renly would want revenge for Norvos.

Robert tapped his chin idly "What of Volantis?"

"What of them? They are falling apart, my Master cares little whether you continue your war against them or not."

"No loyalty to your allies eh…" Robert glared at the man. "And how will I know that your master will honor this treaty?"

"Even if he does not you will have your money, and the Free Cities their territory."

Robert paused for a moment, he was no penny pincher, such things were for Jon, or maybe Baelish to handle, but still, he had just killed his blasted Dragon. If the goat wanted peace then he would have to offer more than a pittance to win it.

"Twelve Million," Robert said, at last, his eyes meeting the messenger's, daring him to refuse. "The Eight is mine, but the other four will go to the Norvosi in exile. Small recompense for what your master stole from them."

The messenger paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "Deal," he said, at last, his brow unfurrowing like a shaken out tapestry. "I am sure my master will see to it that your wealth is delivered within a few months. Should we send it to you through Pentos?"

"...Yes. Pentos is acceptable." part of him wanted to say that Braavos would be better, but the Pentoshi had supplied their army through the war, even if they were shakier allies when compared to the city of islands.

"I will depart in the morning then your grace." the messenger bowed, before pulling his hood up over his head and leaving the makeshift court, back into the pounding rain outside of the too-small chamber.

Robert grumbled, his hand fishing for his hammer at his side. Dragonslayer, the men were calling it, and Demonslayer the blade which clung to his other thigh.

The Demon had hurt him far more than the dragon though, indeed he could still feel its touch. "More Wine, Justin," he grumbled, nodding as the squire ran off. It dulled the pain a bit if nothing else, and he would not feel too ashamed of it in his victory.

And it was victory, that was sure. Not just in this war even, but victory over Viserys as well. While his sister ran, her claim was far worse than the prince's, and she had no army.

And with that victory, he knew to a degree that he had secured his Throne. The Ironborn were shattered, the last Targaryen's killed or put to rout, and not a house would dare rise against him after this victory, not after a battle where the very ground had been stained red with the blood of the enemy, where the magic of the cultists and the dragon had bled the very soil Red with their ashes.

No, he chuckled, after this, he would be unquestionable.

And he had no idea what to do with that sort of power. Go back to Westeros? Sure, but what then? His claim was iron more than his throne now, but did he have much interest in ruling it?

Not really.

'Well, maybe I can support Jon at least.' The seven knew the man had done enough for him, and Jon would know what to do, even if he didn't.

And he would need a new master of Laws too, without Renly.

His mind immediately leaped to Ned, but he wanted him to get Joffrey out of King's Landing, so that would be pointless.

'Eh' Robert grinned, choking down a proffered goblet of wine. 'Jon will know what to do.'