The Red Deer

The morning of the new day began with a guest.

 I woke up around eight o'clock, and the first thing I did was take a good wash in a barrel of hot water. By the end of this procedure, breakfast was already waiting for me in my chambers, which I began with pleasure, already refreshed and in a clean white shirt.

 The breakfast was quite simple, an omelette with ham and cheese, fresh bread and orange juice. While I was finishing my meal, Marik and Vigmar, the Siren's son, were fussing around me. There were still pale bruises on Wigmar's face and it was clearly noticeable that his chest was aching from a broken rib, but the guy was demonstratively cheerful and active, joining my service as a page. Both boys, as befits their new status, dressed up, now racing in embroidered doublets with gold brooches in the form of a rebellious deer. Unlike Wigmar, and to his obvious envy, Marik had a boarding cleaver and a pair of smaller and more utilitarian knives on his belt. I wouldn't be surprised if a dagger is periodically hidden in the same boot. Good boy.

 While I was talking to the guys and sharing with them plans for their education, training and duties, there was a knock on the door leading to the chambers. Vigmar, after my nod, bowed and went to find out what had happened.

"The master of the coin is asking for you, my Lord." – The kid turned around pretty quickly, although what a kid... he's not much younger than Marik.

- Please, you shouldn't keep such an expensive guest waiting. And bring more food! Knowing Lord Baelish's diligence, I wouldn't be surprised if he might have forgotten about breakfast.

 With these last words, Lord Baelish himself entered the room, smiling affably.

"I am glad to welcome you, my lord," Littlefinger sat across from me at the table, looking with interest at my new squire, "and you are absolutely right. I've been busy with urgent and urgent matters since this morning, and I haven't really done anything else.

- Don't worry, we'll fix this case in no time. Also, let me introduce you, Marik Seaworth, my new squire, and Vigmar, my page. The son of the Lady Siren you already know.

"My Lord! The boys bowed together, showing respect.

- Ah, I remember those years when I was in your place in the service of Lord Hoster Tully. I was also young and…

"Brave! I grinned at Petyr, who looked visibly embarrassed. "Challenge Brandon Stark to a duel!" It takes a lot of courage.

- Now I would call it stupidity.

 Petyr returned my smile with a sly twinkle in his eyes, a trait so familiar to him that over time it became harder to pay attention to it. I nodded my head and sent the guys off to run errands and arrange breakfast for Baelish, and I asked the guest the question I was so interested in.

"What brings you to my place so early?"

- I had two reasons – duty and gratitude.

"Gratitude?"

- Exactly! Yesterday you stopped the destruction of one of my gems, for which I am extremely grateful.

"Just 'suspended'?" So, the merit is small.

"Oh, no, my lord! Never mind, Ironborn customers are shoddy, but they're solvent. Baelish broke into a smile, gratefully accepting a cup of juice from me.

- So you are not at a loss?

- Absolutely not! Lady Greyjoy paid well to play the conqueror. And as you know, I provide noble gentlemen and, of course, ladies with any services... for an appropriate fee, of course.

- Of course... - I chuckled in surprise, - it turns out that I've meddled in the wrong business again!

"Oh, my lord, and you're very good at it!" Baelish grinned like a fox again. – But don't beat yourself up, because thanks to you, I've saved a lot. After your arrival, the Ironborn continued their fun with much less fervor and enthusiasm. So I'm owed, I think, a couple of visits at my expense!

"Not there, not after the Ironborn!" – raising his palms at chest level, feigning indignation. – I still didn't have enough sores from distant ports!

"Oh, come on, my lord! Baby Ann spent the whole night with Lady Yara, so you don't have to worry about her cleanliness.

"But allow me," he asked with genuine curiosity, "you talk about it so easily... as if it happens regularly."

"You're right about that," Baelish broke off, the boys brought him his portion of omelet and some other food, "guests from the Iron Islands don't often visit the capital, but once every couple of years they must.

"And for what purpose?"

- And this already concerns the second reason for my visit to you!

"Oh, what am I trying to pull out of you, Lord Baelish, like I'm being interrogated! Eat quickly and tell me! How much is allowed?!

 My sensitive soul couldn't stand it.

"The Lord Reaper has sent envoys, my lord," Baelish didn't play any more riddles and told me everything pretty quickly, "there is a strong shortage in the Iron Islands, so he sent Greyjoy to the capital Harlow to ask for royal favor. In this regard, the Lord-hand ordered a small council to be assembled at noon and receive the ambassadors.

- That's another matter.…

***

This time, the entire small council was positioned facing the entrance to the hall, assuming the most preoccupied and pompous look. In the center, as expected, was the Lord Hand, looking impassively at the petitioners, exuding authority, but at the same time wisdom, expected from such a high-ranking dignitary. On his right were Ser Barristan, Varys, and Pycelle. On the left are Petyr, me, and Stannis.

 I've been looking at Balon's ambassadors with great interest. Roderick Harlow, known as The Reader, was a middle-aged man with a rather ordinary appearance. Not handsome or ugly, not tall or short, without scars or deformities. Brown hair, neatly trimmed beard. A calm, balanced and obviously confident man, without any hiccups. He was accompanied, as befitted one of the most prominent and richest lords of the Iron Islands, by a large retinue of ten people, including Harlow's direct vassals. But two really stood out vividly.

 The first is Yara Greyjoy, the beloved daughter of the Lord of Pike, dressed up well, but again, in men's clothes. A black jacket richly embroidered with gold threads, leather trousers, which I already had the pleasure to visually get acquainted with not so long ago, and high boots made of soft leather. Yara couldn't stop frowning, casting meaningful glances at me, but each time she pulled herself back. Did you really like it? Although not. No, he's probably just thinking about how to kill me.

 The second was Harras Harlow, who was being driven by a "Knight", as it is not difficult to guess, and indeed a knight. One of the few on the Iron Islands. Lord Roderick's cousin. A tall and strong man with the features of his cousin, but much younger. By his manners and clothes, it is difficult to classify him as an ironborn. At first, second and third glance, he looks more like a wealthy knight from the Open.

 The question immediately springs to mind, why on earth would the proud, vain, selfish, and despising non-island Balon Greyjoy send ambassadors to King's Landing at all? As it turned out, there was a reason, fortunately, Baelish suggested it. Her name is hunger! Or rather, the threat of one. The Iron Islands, like other subregions of Westeros, are quite an autonomous and self-sufficient territory. In addition to mining and smelting iron, tin and lead, islands such as Bolshoy Vick, Orkmont and Harlow can boast vast, forested areas of land that are painfully cultivated by the local population. Adding to this animal husbandry and marine fishing, the islands managed to feed themselves quite tolerably, until once again and inevitably Mother Nature intervened. A powerful cyclone that came from the west struck Bolshoy Vik, Salty Cliff and Pike, killing crops, livestock and washing away crops. And all this was superimposed on the poor harvest on other islands of the archipelago.

 Crop failures or a riot of nature are not uncommon in those places, but a double blow overtook the Iron Islands, God willing, once in a generation. There are plenty of supplies in the barns so far, but how much will they last? Something will be eaten, and something else needs to be preserved for crops, a large shortage of food can lead to very unpleasant consequences that can destabilize not only the islands, but also the entire west coast.

 Although it would seem that the islanders should board their ships, load up with useful goods and go to trade, and use the proceeds to buy grain. But here is the most interesting thing - the deep historical relationships of the locals in the region. It just so happens that in the Western and River Lands and in the North, an unspoken law rules, I saw an ironborn – kill the ironborn. The rarest exceptions only confirm the rule. It's a little better in the Open. Ships from the Iron Islands are accepted in Oldtown, but without enthusiasm, and local merchants charge triple or even quadruple the price ... especially for the notorious grain. That's why, until now, the Ironborn went to Dorne, the free cities and King's Landing for the goods and raw materials they needed, where prices were lower and, most importantly, the Ironborn themselves did not have much need for anything.

 Before accusing the inhabitants of the west coast of Westeros of being callous and biased towards the poor people from the Iron Islands, you need to take a closer look at them yourself. If anyone thinks that after the suppression of the Balon rebellion, the Ironborn suddenly stopped engaging in piracy, then they are deeply mistaken. Any ship that sets sail and heads north of the Shield Islands is at risk of being attacked and is likely to be attacked by pirates. No one in Westeros has satellite phones, radios, telegraphs, or pagers, so there is no one to report the identity and signs of the attackers, because few people, and more often absolutely no one, survive these attacks. Ships sink, crews are slaughtered, goods disappear. Mysticism is all, but for some reason the locals are sure that there are people from the Iron Islands here. And no matter what anyone says... yes, attacks on coastal settlements of "unknown" also happen. But much less often.

 Of course, this is such a dashing era that on the high seas any ship is the worst enemy of another ship. Whether it's in the west, north, south or east. Any trader can easily "finish off" and appropriate a badly battered vessel after a storm, or raid a seaside village, confident in his own strength and impunity. But, the circumstances have developed in such a way that strangers do not poke into the Sunset Sea, because they are afraid. This also helped to generate local hostility and distrust of their maritime neighbors. Especially the Old Lion, who explicitly forbade trading with the Iron Islands and accepting their ships in Lannisport, although his subjects didn't really want to anyway. So Balon was faced with a difficult choice, to eat a fish or on... or were there two thrones? However, it doesn't really matter.

 What matters is who exactly came to King's Landing as ambassador. Balon may be a crappy diplomat and politician, but he has certain skills and an understanding of the processes taking place... or thinks he does.

 Whatever it may seem to outside observers, there is no question of any solidity or unity of the lords of the Iron Islands in their views. The cornerstone of the entire social life of the islands is the Old Law. An ancient set of rules requiring the Ironborn to lead a life according to "concepts", only robbery and robbery. It is worth noting that such an idea is as familiar and attractive to the Iron Islands as it is disastrous. The Hoars also understood this, vainly trying to cross the hedgehog and the snake, namely faith in the Seven and faith in the Drowned God, and openly forbidding the Old Law, knowing full well that a strong state could not be built at such a pace and in "proven ways". This was also realized by the lords of the Iron Islands after years of devastating and bloody civil strife, who themselves (!) invited the Targaryens to reign, and then, with their highest permission, chose the Greyjoy Lord Reaper at the veche. And the Old law? Well, it was abolished, and it was remembered again two hundred years later, during the rebellion of Dagon Greyjoy, who took advantage of the turmoil of those times, but suffered a crushing defeat. The second time the old law went through a period of restoration was during the Baylon Rebellion, which also ended disappointingly for the Iron Islands. By the way, during the rebellion of the Red Kraken, Dalton Greyjoy, during the time of the Dragon Dance, the question of restoring the old law was not even raised, because no one needed it.

Despite the numerous uprisings of the Ironborn in the past, the causes of which could be extremely prosaic (up to the banal crop failure), the most destructive for this people was the last one – the Balon rebellion. This is probably the first time in their history that the Ironborn have faced strong and well-organized opposition. Robert Baratheon turned out to be neither Aerys I the Scribe, who was afraid to send a fleet to the west, nor Aegon II, who was trying to buy the Red Kraken. Robert Baratheon was himself. Gathering all his strength into a single fist, he struck, and his blow was terrible. The Iron Fleet has been defeated, and the soles of the Sabaton Knights have set foot on the lands of the Iron Islands for the first time in history. This land has never known anything like this before. Castles that once seemed impregnable to the locals were taken by decisive assaults, and the knight's cavalry trampled into the mud the hordes of fools who decided to fight the royal army in the open field. In this war, not only Balon lost his eldest sons, but also Lord Roderick Harlow himself, as well as many other representatives of the island nobility.

 The terrible defeat at the hands of Robert, as well as the captivity of many youths and heirs of noble families who had already grown up in a completely different culture, became a catalyst for many internal processes on the islands, among which one of the most significant is the strengthening, let's call them that, of the Green Party. Many lords, having stopped hiding their views, increasingly began to declare that the old law in modern realities is complete crap that no longer meets the needs of society. According to their logic, the Ironborn do not need stinking drowned priests and primitive economic life, but new lands, progressive laws and developed economic relations. The leader of just such an unofficial party is Roderick Harlow, whose own sister is the wife of Lord Reaper Balon Greyjoy and the mother of all his children. At the same time, despite his views, Rodrik is one of the pillars of Balon's own power, despite all the differences between them. This suggests that Balon can be both a politician and a diplomat whenever he wants.

 At least he had the brains to send Roderick to the capital instead of one of his brothers.

"The Lord Hand, my lords…

 Roderick came forward and bowed slightly. He spoke evenly and somehow melancholy, if not to say "doomed," as if he himself did not believe in the success of his enterprise.

- The ruthless will of the ferocious Gods has brought disaster and ruin to our land. Crops were destroyed, livestock was beaten, and many ships were lost in storms.…

 The Harlow delegation has been in the capital for more than a week and they have just received an audience. Of course, they tried to do everything as quickly and "beautifully" as possible. Of course, the ambassadors were properly presented to the King and the court. Of course, they accompanied their visit and their requests for an audience with certain gifts. But the answer was simple and clear –"wait." Most likely, Jon was waiting for Stannis and me to look more significant in the eyes of the petitioners.

"... the Lord Reaper of Pike, Balon Greyjoy, requests His Majesty Robert I to provide assistance and support to his loyal subjects in the amount of: fifty thousand bushels of wheat and barley, twenty thousand bushels of oats and rye."…

 Under Baelish's interested gaze, he began to carefully multiply the requested volumes in a column on paper. A bushel is a purely English unit of volume, equal, if my memory serves me correctly, to about thirty–five kilograms. Total: the total weight of all requests is almost three thousand tons. On the one hand, it's not very much for Open Spaces or River lands, in the capital they eat a similar amount of food in a couple of months, and on the other… This is an opportunity to experience the whole season for the whole region.

"Lord Harlow, my lords, my ladies," John behaved patronizingly and demonstratively good-naturedly, "the pleas of His Royal Majesty's loyal vassal have been heard by the small council and will be immediately transmitted to His Majesty. As soon as His Majesty decides on your requests with the help of the small council, you will be notified immediately. In the meantime, be our guests!

 As soon as the Ironborn left the small council hall, Pycelle couldn't help himself.

"The lost seed! The gods have sent down punishment on their heads for their unholy faith.…

 Judging by the expression on the hand's face, which changed dramatically as soon as Harlow left the room, Pycelle found a grateful listener.

***

About an hour later, Bailish and I left the small council hall. If it were up to me, I would have left sooner, not having to listen to all the trash that the old generation was willing to share. I don't have much sympathy for the Ironborn, nor do I have any negativity. Yes, they are a peculiar people with peculiar traditions and culture. But what have the kings done in three hundred years to make a difference? No way!

 John is strongly opposed to providing any assistance to the Ironborn, in which he was warmly supported by Pycelle, Selmy, Varys and Bailish. With the latter, everything is clear – the sycophants are ordinary. Selmy is a warrior who grew up in an ancient and glorious family, where from childhood they are taught to hate Dornishmen, ironborn and other "savages". Pycelle is a loyal dog of the Lannisters, who will never, ever help their neighbors for nothing, and especially the Iron Islands, and will not allow them to help at their own expense. And John... what about John? To Arren, the Ironborn are no better than the Moonlanders. An annoying boil on the body of the kingdom he built. The only voices of reason in the council were us, the Baratheon brothers.

 Stannis, I repeat, is a legist. The vassal needs help, and it is the duty of the suzerain to provide this help. That's what the law says. That's what vassal oaths say. This is the foundation of the feudal system, and it doesn't matter what happened in the past between you. Do what you have to do and come what may. I took similar positions, adding that by ignoring the request for help, we could doom the Iron Islands to serious trials, the consequences of which could lead to extremely sad events for everyone, including pushing for a new uprising. It cannot be ruled out that it was the difficult economic situation of the islands that, along with other factors, caused the second rebellion of Balon Greyjoy. But who would listen to Stannis and me!

"Lord Renly! – a familiar female voice sounded very close by, bringing me out of my gloomy thoughts.

 Yara was waiting for me in the corridor around the corner with a serious expression on her face.

"Lady Greyjoy! – Baelish bowed and, looking at both of us, broke into a nasty smile, - I'll leave you.

"My Lord! Yara waited until Baelish disappeared from the radar and continued in a serious voice. – I want to apologize for last night. The behavior of my people was undignified.

 Yara obviously found these words difficult. And she was very angry. Either because of the situation, or because of me, or because of her uncle, who made her apologize to me here.

"Don't worry, my lady," I smiled gently, as usual, "you can tell Lord Harlow that I never mix the personal and the public, and our little conflict will not affect my desire to alleviate the fate of your people.

- what? You!.. – Yara was covered with red spots and bit her lip, glaring at me angrily, - No one forced me, it's solely my will!

"Then it does you even more honor, my lady." Admitting your mistake brings you closer to correcting it.

"Don't lecture me, Lord Renly!

 Again the angry look and the predatory squint of the gray-green eyes. Anger is understandable, she will also be moralized by the greedy "green lord", who is also a couple of years younger than her. Lingering involuntarily at the same lips, I couldn't help but notice that she was charming after all. Apparently, sensing something in my gaze, Yara smiled broadly, showing even white teeth to the light, and straightened up, spreading her shoulders.

- I see that people's rumors are not lying, you are still... a sensualist!

- Human rumor is like foam from an incoming wave – noisy, beautiful, spectacular, but often meaningless. Besides, it's your own fault for being so charming.

 If Yara was embarrassed, she didn't show it.

- I've heard a lot about the greenies' ability to use beautiful words, but when it comes down to it, you give up on real men!

 The sharp tongue of the kraken's daughter, apparently, often brought problems to her mistress, which is why, as soon as she put an end to her own words and realized after the fact what she had said and to whom, she was covered with spots again. But I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Well, well, my lady. Apparently, because you are in awe of the islander men, baby Ann warmed your bed yesterday!

 Yara turned crimson red and, hiding her gaze and turning on her heels, tried to walk away with a banal pride and indignation. What a twist of psychology! Surely, until recently, these cute hands were cutting the throats of losers on the high seas, and their mistress was leading a crowd of repeatedly inveterate thugs into battle. And now? Embarrassed by the injection into her sexual preferences, which, most likely, everyone is already aware of.

"Lady Yara," Greyjoy stopped and looked defiantly into her eyes, "tell Lord Harlow that I would be happy to meet with him and have a chat."

 Yara nodded curtly, and almost ran away.

***

Once again, a stuffy late evening descended on the capital, a weak wind fluttered the light curtains, hiding my figure leaning against the window. In the distance, to the east, thunderclouds are gathering, and the air is full of ozone. A storm is coming. But despite the breathtaking view of the Blackwater Bay that opens from my chambers, my thoughts were far from these places.

 Admittedly, real life strongly influences and reverses your attitude towards certain people, despite the artificially invested attitude towards certain personalities by Martin or the filmmakers. Take the same Iron Islands. What have we been shown? Beaten-up fanatics, sadists and thugs. But in fact, they are beaten off by fanatics, sadists, thugs and a whole cohort of people who are different from their relatives and sincerely want change. But the initiatives of these people are being stifled both from the inside and from the outside, uprooting and condemning an entire nation to a specific fate. It remains only to understand whether malice or banal stupidity rules here.

 The warlike Ironborn, in their perpetual "excited state," are a permanent threat to the lords of the West Coast. Forcing the latter to spend enormous resources to defend their lands and trade routes, which naturally weakens them. As soon as the Tyrells or Lannisters feel the power in their hands, the ninth wave descends from the Sunset Sea, and the great lords who cherish enormous ambitions are forced to give up everything and fight off the next strain of the "black plague". Which cannot but bring satisfaction to the "eastern" lords. But the problem with the Ironborn could have been solved ten years ago! To pacify the region once and for all. Take more hostages, populate the islands with people from the mainland and vice versa. It's trivial to buy local lords. And a lot of things could have been thought up, but some forces benefited from the current status quo. Among these forces was Jon Arryn, who could not have been unaware of what was being prepared on the islands, and where the first blow would be delivered. Had John warned Tywin? I doubt. The old lion was dragged away by the tail, depriving him of both military and civilian fleets, tying all the trade of the western lands to King's Landing for a long time, if not forever. Although... maybe I'm winding myself up? I'm looking for a double bottom where it shouldn't be at all.

 While building conspiracy theories, I did not immediately pay attention to the strange rustling. Most of the candles had already gone out, which made the room dim, but my eyes, accustomed to the darkness, got a good look at the small stealthy shadow. When the little spy approached my desk, I managed to get a good look at him. The spy turned out to be a spy. A girl of about ten, dirty and covered in soot, dressed in rags. She carefully, without touching anything, began to examine the letters and reports scattered on my desk, pausing over each one for several minutes. Does he really remember the contents?

 The next moment, the bird, who could be no other, took out a piece of paper from behind her rags, approached the large box where I keep my mail and, opening it, carefully put it there. Most likely, she returned something. The child already wanted to run away, as he noticed a nice piece of ham on the tray. After looking around, the bird approached the tray, picked up a knife lying neatly next to it and cut off a thin piece, hastily stuffing it into her mouth. After hesitating over the ham, the little girl carefully cut off another piece, another and another.

"You can finish it." My voice boomed through the chambers.

 The bird froze like a pillar of salt. I could see how she was breathing fast, afraid to move, but, overcoming herself, she slowly turned in my direction. His eyes were wide with horror and seemed to occupy a good half of his face. An emaciated and emaciated child's face. Slowly coming out of his dark corner, he approached the table and settled into an armchair, not taking his eyes off the intruder. The feeling of pity, looking at this poor child, hurt my heart. Varys can talk and convince as much as he likes about how loyal he is to the kingdom and the common people, but using children? Yes, even so…

"Stick out your tongue!"

 The girl shuddered, but obediently opened her mouth, showing a stump.

- I see, - he barely restrained a heavy sigh, fighting with inner anger, - finish the meat, little bird, and fly to your master. I won't hurt you. And remember, poor child, there will always be food waiting for you here.

 The bird, frightened and not believing in her own happiness, ran away with a jerk, diving like a fish into the fireplace. So that's where our "emergency exit" is. I looked at the letters scattered on the table, checked the box, and chuckled with satisfaction. Everything is in place. There was nothing archived here, just ordinary business correspondence, which doesn't really matter. Everything that is valuable to Varys or his colleagues in the shop, I burn immediately.

 Birds, birds, birds... it can be used.