GOT : All Left Behind

83 AC

"Sheer the sheep of only its wool, not its skin."

Sitting in my solar, it was hard to deny that operating a bank was far from lucrative. The cash inflows from individual loans were small. I only received those cash flows a few times each year. It had taken years to get the staff trained well enough that I did not need to verify and check each and every loan application. The riskier and more lucrative deals, however, those I checked.

A loan application by an established merchant to fund a voyage to the Shivering Sea was not something I had to handle. A standard rate of one percent above inflation was applied, plus a one-time insurance fee. One of my loan officers could approve that. Same with expanding a shop. Or building a new manse. But an aspiring captain looking to buy his first ship? My merchant fleet's next expedition? Those I did handle personally.

Which was why I needed to spend a couple of hours every morning at the bank. Well, that and analyzing the information my singers brought me.

But it had to be said that merely having the bank itself was worth it. Not simply because it gave me a convenient location to centralize my work, though that was a factor. No, it was because the former manse in the center of the city gave me a vault to store my wealth. No longer did I have to reinvest all of my earnings immediately, or try to hide ever-growing amounts of coin in my chambers, lest I earn some pointed questions.

And having to sell off twenty ships' worth of eastern treasure all at once would have been economically ruinous. Granted, I had already had the warehouses to store the wealth, but that had been far too expensive to guard and too complicated to arrange transport for my liking. Thanks to the vault, I could slowly sell small portions of it to maximize profits and minimize ruining my father's economy.

Like the deal that was currently on my desk, carefully negotiated by some of my best men. Five talents of white jade to be sold to the aging Lord Arryn, to be delivered to Gulltown. Or the next one in the pile, for three talents of saffron to be delivered to Casterly Rock. Each request came bearing the seal of the lord in question, so their authenticity was not in doubt. Instructions were quickly drafted and sealed, authorizing the removal of the proper amount of goods from the vault.

And that was it. I had developed the bank to not need my direct input on everything. If the bank was to outlive me and grow beyond its current scope, it could not rely on me too much. Besides, it meant I had more time to work on non-banking work. Or to relax.

But this time, as I was about to enjoy a few minutes of peace, a knock sounded on the door.

"Enter," I called from across the room, and the heavy door swung open on well-oiled hinges not a moment later, revealing the familiar features of one of my singers. His face was lined by age, and his hair more salt than pepper, but I recognized him immediately. "Brynden. Come in. What brings you here?"

Giving a shallow bow, the singer crossed the solar in a few easy strides. The room had once been a bed-chamber, well-lit by a row of windows along the wall, but now it just felt imposingly empty. An intentional choice. No distractions save for windows and pious tapestries, only the Prince.

"My report, Your Grace," the singer said, sliding into the chair on the other side of the desk. He had been among the first singers who had taken me up on my offer, part of the first group I had recruited with Maegelle.

"Your report?" I asked, suppressing a frown. The singers usually handed over their reports to an aide in the eastern wing of the bank in exchange for their reward. The aides would then bring the information to me for analysis and consolidation. And, eventually, sale to the Master of Whisperers. "Was the aide busy?"

"No, Your Grace, she just figured you would want to get this information sooner." He slid a sheaf of papers towards me. His handwriting was neat and regular, listing the songs he played, when he played them, and where he played them. Next to each was a ranking of which was the most popular when he played it. Notably, he had been in Dorne, visiting a dozen or so towns and villages from Skyreach to Wyl over the past year. They had quite appreciated songs like The March on Oldtown, Raiders from the Mountains, and Rise Noble Vulture.

I had heard of them before. Years ago, back when I had gotten the first reports from Dornish journeys, they had not been nearly as popular. Naturally, I had done a bit more research and did not like what I had found.

They were war songs, celebrating the glories of Dorne against the outsiders.

"She was right," I said, reaching into my desk to retrieve a small leather pouch. Dumping out the contents, I handed over the dozen lead tokens it had contained. One side emblazoned with a lute, the other with the number one, they served as an easy way for the singers to claim their discounted rooms at my inns. Brynden would already have been paid by the aide, but a little extra never hurt. A few coppers from my main purse joined the stack. "Good work getting this to me. Best go relax. You've earned it."

He made some appreciative noises and left, leaving me alone once more. This news was complicated to handle. If I simply gave it to the Master of Whisperers for free, since this might be a hint of something more dangerous in the future, he would be less willing to buy other, lesser secrets in the future. If I tried to barter for this information, the small council might be… upset with me.

No, I would talk to Father about this. Official channels could wait.

Glancing into the water clock in the corner, I found it still dripping. Well, I could afford to take my leave a bit earlier. The list of information went into a satchel, and I closed up my solar for the day. The water clock was emptied, the windows barred, and the door locked behind me.

Taking the main stairs down, it was hard to tell the bank had ever been a home. Many of the internal walls had been knocked down to create a single large hall. Smaller rooms lined it, but those were meant for negotiations. Most of the focus was on the main hall, lined with intricate tapestries and statues, the floors covered in fine Myrish carpets. This was where most of the business took place, and it looked the part, boasting of my bank's power and wealth.

I left the instructions I had written with the head of security to be carried out as I left the bank. I had acquired a lot of guards over the years, mostly for my inns and warehouses, so it had been easy enough to get some trustworthy men for my purpose.

The late morning sun was high in the sky, most of the glare having long since dissipated. What little remained was blocked by the rather elaborate awning I had commissioned and installed. Brightly colored ribbons of linen had been tightly wrapped around a wooden frame in the shape of a dragon, wings stretched out to protect the entrance from the elements, the head staring off into the distance.

It had been designed to be as striking as possible. That it rose above the roofs of the surrounding houses was just an added bonus.

I recovered my horse from the bank's stables and prepared myself for the journey back home. Located by the crossing of the Muddy Way and the street to the Gate of the Gods, the bank boasted a central location in the city that was impossible to miss. Unfortunately, that same central location made traffic a headache.

As I settled in for the boring ride back, interrupted only by donating to beggars that occasionally sat by the side of the street, I let my gaze roam along the skyline of the city. Or the start of one, anyway. Fleabottom, still full of slums, now boasted a single multi-story apartment building, built of solid stone.

What can I say? Land was cheap and I needed to diversify my investments. And loyal workers.

And it did not sit well with me to simply let people suffer without the opportunity to help themselves.

Before I had time to further congratulate myself, a loud roar rang out across the city. Most creatures of the city were used to it, but the sound of a dragon's roar always earned the attention of all who listened. I was no exception, craning my head to look at who was approaching.

The familiar pink and scarlet shape of Meleys swooped low over the city, with massive Vhagar's bronze form only slightly behind her with an even deeper and more impressive roar of her own. A few seconds later, two comparatively tiny forms fluttered across the sky, one dark grey and the other a pale yellow, their roars more screeches than proper bellowed challenges, and a broad grin split my face.

I knew those two little ones well enough.

The great blue form of Dreamfyre followed placidly behind them, but I barely noticed her, my gaze locked squarely on the shape of two small dragons. My children's dragons.

My children were flying.

My grin only grew as I whirled my horse around and made my way to the Dragonpit.

My children were flying!

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