Someone should do something about that.
Malsero lifted his chin and called something to me, glancing at the other wagon a short ways behind me. The way he ended the sentence sounded like a question, but I didn't understand anything in it, so I offered him a hapless shrug.
There were a number of their armed caravan guards out in a loose spread about the wagons. A couple clearly walked out ahead of the horses at the front, and a further pair walked the back. Stepping left a little to get a look further up, I saw they'd chosen to have an advance scout for the little caravan.
It was either a little paranoid, or indicated the area was well known for being dangerous.
Good to know either way.
All the more reason for them to have assigned someone to watch me. A little delayed for the speed with which I'd committed to action, the man meant to watch me caught up finally, walking to the left of the horses behind me. I gave him a glance over my shoulder, and then looked to the person who'd undeniably assigned him to me.
Malsero looked from the armed man to me and snorted faintly. He gave me a shrug, and a lift of his hands. He said something, and though I couldn't understand it, I was fairly sure in the body language it was a very, "What can you do?" kind of expression.
I was going to assume that, at least.
Between the two men that were clearly the most important in the caravan, I spotted a low box with something that immediately caught my attention. Denorro said something to Malsero that I didn't understand at all, glancing at me. I noticed in his right hand that he had a feather. A quill. A clay container sat on the makeshift table next to something I'd probably seen too many of.
A book sat open before them, a few fresh lines of black symbols I didn't recognize. Denorro was writing something down.
Wait… wait.
I snapped my fingers a couple of times and pushed forward immediately into a jog that let me hop up onto the back of the wagon, grabbing one of the side beams of wood for support.
Malsero leaned back with the abruptness of my motion, looking sideways at me with a furrowed brow. Denorro for his part just seemed curious. I heard the rasp of a sword drawn behind me, and blinked, looking back toward the one that was following me. He was a few steps nearer, watching me warily.
Alright, alright, no fast movements I guess.
It hadn't been a day's travel, so the likelihood I was there just to do something bad was at its highest, admittedly.
I lifted a placating hand to my assigned "guard" or whatever, and then to Malsero who relaxed a little. Then I pointed at the book again. Turning to dig into my pack, I dug around until I managed to fish out the pouch of coins.
I quickly motioned with the pouch, and then to the book again. I hooked my fingertip in a gesture to Denorro's quill in the process, before shaking the pouch again with emphasis.
Malsero's dark eyes drifted from me to the pouch, to the leather-bound book sitting open between him and Denorro. He got that expression on his face again, that slight squint in his eyes he wasn't doing a good job of hiding. Denorro's head cocked, and he asked me something, speaking slowly.
I understood nothing from it.
Denorro repeated himself, and then motioned with his quill, dragging it in the air a few times, and then motioning to the book. I nodded to him, and then looking between them, gave the pouch another pointed shake.
I knew books were valuable, written in or not. Bookbinding took time.
Malsero began to rub at his moustache, and shared a few sentences back and forth with Denorro, before snapping his fingers and calling something to one of the men sitting further in the wagon asleep. He was the one that had taken my sword from me the previous night and set it in the back of the other wagon.
I should probably have picked that up before I came out here.
I wasn't really worried though. There were swords all around if I needed them badly enough.
The man woke up with a blink, as Malsero repeated the sound a little louder.
Bas-teh-lo.
Groggily, Bastelo pushed up and looked toward the caravan leader. Malsero said something else, pointed to one of the crates, and lifted the leatherbound book in front of him pointedly.
Bastelo pulled at the latch nearby and after forcing it open and digging around briefly, pulled out a smaller book. It sat a little more than the size of the man's hand. The leather used for its protective cover and backing wasn't dark or nice like the one opened in front of Malsero, but all the same that was fine with me.
I made a couple grabby motions with my left hand.
It was almost funny. When I first stood up in that red, dust and glass-caked land, I'd dreaded looking around and seeing a black book sitting on the ground somewhere. Now, a book would be the first step to me figuring out that constantly lilting tongue of theirs.
I heard the click of wood sliding into a notch, and turned to Malsero setting up his little table.
Is this a thing? For your people, or just you?
There was a perfectly good, mostly flat surface between him and Denorro, but he'd gotten it out again anyway to make a deal. I almost chuckled, but shifted over and lowered down to sit down at the edge of it. I noticed he and Denorro had little mats to sit on, but no one made an effort to provide me with the same luxury.
Malsero placed the book on his side of the little table, the split that divided the piece of furniture marking a distinct line between our spots. I opened the pouch, and then just before I began to count out coins, glanced over at movement.
Denorro was tapping his feather quill against the little ceramic container, and gave it a subtle shake to me. The corner of his lip was edging toward a smile.
I glanced at Malsero again.
Well that's just not good business.
He was going to let me bargain for the book, and then probably try to rake me over for a bit extra after we'd closed one deal. Better to negotiate for it all at the same time.
I puffed out a breath through my nose and pointed at the container of what was clearly ink, and then the feather.
Malsero let out a beleaguered sigh and motioned encouragingly to Denorro. The man in red chuckled and said something to the merchant that had the fat one grumbling at him. Malsero placed the squat ceramic container on the table on his side, and then dropped the quill next to it after, looking across at me.
I nodded approvingly.
Scooping out a bunch of the coins in the little pouch, I considered how I would approach the negotiations a second time. I didn't know the value of unwritten books, much as I hadn't a wagon ride. I still didn't even know if I'd really been raked over the coals for that.
Probably.
In Skyrim, I'd been good with the merchants. It wasn't hard when everyone loved you, feared you, or didn't want to be the thing between you and the end times. Even the ones that didn't buy into it all were interested in getting in the good graces of a person who found wealth and wanted to move it as often as most travelers found an inn.
Being unable to communicate well was also putting a damper on my ability to negotiate. It was strange being completely unable to talk to the people I had finally found. Worse, I'd also kind of made it so that I couldn't practice, to try to get it under control by finding them.
Somehow, I doubted they'd be happy with me running off into the desert at night or something, only to return a while later, after a bunch of strange sounds rolled through the rocky terrain.
Even I'd be suspicious of people doing that.
They'd probably think I was working with bandits or something and providing information on them.
I gathered up and started to set out stacks of five of the coins with the skulls on them. Working on the assumption that they were something like a Septim each, I put down fifty of them, which seemed like overpaying by the standard I was used to if prices were roughly equivalent.
I motioned between them and the things he had on the table.
Malsero laughed heartily and shook his head immediately.
That wasn't a good sign.
I dumped out the pouch into my palm and was adding a few more stacks of the coins to the table to count them up, when one of the ones with an oval shape and a woman on its surface slipped from the pile and slid across the wooden surface.
Malsero's eyes went to the coin and then drifted back up to me. He lifted an eyebrow at me slowly. Denorro said something, watching on and looking over the pile I had on the table. I took back that one and put it back in the pouch since he didn't seem interested in it.
I didn't really want to give him literally every coin I had for it, and he didn't seem really moved by the amount I'd brought to the table.
My mind went to bartering. I remembered the pair of hoop earrings I'd found among the bandits' things. They had looked to be silver.
I pulled around my pack and dug around inside until I found where I'd rolled them up in a bit of cloth alongside the golden ring.
There's no way I'm giving a gold ring for a blank book. That can't possibly be a fair trade.
I carefully pulled the hoop earrings out and held them up to Malsero. He looked them over with an intrigued twist of his lips and then glanced at my pile of coins. Denorro said something again, a sharp note within the tone of voice. I glanced at him, and he motioned to the coins and my pouch.
Uncertainly, I reached out to the coins I'd put on the table.
Denorro nodded, making the motion again. He reached out for the pair of earrings and urged me by laying his palm over their top to put them on the table. With his other, he reached out to pull my pouch closer, and began to gather up some of the coins I'd set out, returning them to the container.
I glanced at Malsero's face, but the merchant seemed only mildly put off, and gave me a bit of a smirk and a shrug. I ignored the strong urge I had for a moment to seize him by his round little head and fold the table with his nose under force for trying to rip me for everything I had. Maybe for a second time.
It was just typical merchant behavior really, though. For the most part, everything about trading was some balance between getting the lowest price on things you bought, and the highest on what you sold.
I was just the clueless idiot carrying coin that I wasn't going to be long for.
From his perspective.
In a way though, that was the first time in a long time that I was experiencing mercantile interaction as just anyone, and not the dragonborn.
Denorro helped me take back most of my coins, but not all of them. Then he looked to me and after a second bouncing the weight of the hoop earrings in his palm, put them on the table and motioned to Malsero.
The merchant reached out and picked them up, giving them his own heft and inspecting the edge of the earrings, scratching at the little dark spots that had formed in the edge where they connected to the part that went into an ear.
He even retrieved a silvery bright coin to inspect it alongside them. Finally, after one last look over the things on the table, he nodded to me and I glanced at Denorro. The man in red gave me an approving nod in turn.
I reached out to Malsero, who shook my hand. I grabbed the little, leatherbound journal, the ceramic-like little pot with a cork top, and the quill.
Opening the little book that was my prize, I flipped quickly through the pages. It was about as thick as my thumb across its leatherbound spine, and little more than a hand for the size of the pages, so I'd have to write small. There were a fair few despite that. Nothing was written inside, which was exactly what I wanted.
Malsero handed off the earrings to the man that I was fairly sure was named Bastelo and motioned toward the crate the man had retrieved the little journal from. Denorro said something to him that had the merchant looking at him again.
They talked back and forth as I ran my thumb over the leather of my purchase. Then Malsero let out a long sigh and said something to Bastelo again, causing the man who was holding up the crate to dig around inside again. He pulled out a length of parchment and brought it over, handing it to his leader.
Malsero said something, and then flicked a hand.
Rest.
The word filtered into the back of my head without me actually hearing the word spoken.
But I knew he told the man to get some rest.
Denorro said something to Malsero and held out his hand. The merchant nodded wordlessly and passed the parchment to the flame-tattooed man, who pushed aside the book he'd been writing in before. Malsero took it and placed it inside of a small chest sitting next to him. The merchant closed the chest, produced a little key and slid it into a lock on the front.
Denorro was talking to me so I directed my attention back to him. He motioned beside himself, patting the wagon floor and settled the length of parchment in front of himself. When I didn't react, he motioned again, curling fingers.
Alright…
I scooted over more to his side of the makeshift table, and leaned to look at the parchment. He reached out for my hand to take the inkwell I'd purchased, setting it on the surface. He motioned to my journal, and made a motion with his hands to open it. I did as he suggested, placing it carefully on the table next to his parchment.
He took up his own quill and gave me an encouraging smile.
Hmm. How can I make the most of this?
Denorro dipped his quill and then drew a couple of symbols on the page, then looked from them to me. His expression offered curiosity.
I glanced at them, but didn't understand whatever it was supposed to be. I shook my head at him. Denorro frowned faintly.
Then, an idea occurred to me, and I quickly flipped around my quill and pressed it into the inkwell. After I got some into the reservoir, and gave it a quick scrape along the lip, I reached out to the edge of his parchment and motioning with the point of the quill toward his face briefly, drew a tiny, crude impression of some of the flame on his cheek.
Then I motioned to my mouth, and his, lifting my chin.
Denorro's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the drawing. It took a few seconds but then he blinked, and then reached out, drawing a symbol next to it.
I immediately copied his symbol into my book, and then next to it, wrote in the dragon's tongue, "fire". He looked from me, to what I'd written, and then at his own symbol copied, and his mouth opened silently.
Malsero for his part leaned forward with visible interest.
Again, I pointed at the symbol he'd drawn for fire, and motioned with the flat of my fingers pressed together to my mouth, where my cloth was tied, and then his mouth.
Speak it, you fuck. Speak.
Donorro blinked and said something.
Malsero nodded, and said something back.
"Per-zees." Denorro abruptly began to repeat to me, multiple times in a row, at different speeds.
I wrote it immediately in Imperial standard, as it sounded.
The sudden rush, the feeling of relief I got immediately… I could have rode it for a few days.
But I was too excited to languish and miss some of the first opportunities I had.
That's how began an entire day of me riding in their wagon, tapping or pointing to various objects and making crude drawings. I caught Malsero frowning thoughtfully as he studied the symbols I put in the book he'd traded me on occasion.
I couldn't be bothered with discerning the merchant's scrutiny.
I was busy building a different kind of wealth.
A wealth of words.
Jaehaerys found something he wasn't expecting when he arrived back at the Red Keep after his trip to Dragonstone.
One Lord Rogar Baratheon waited for him.
He hadn't seen him in some time. It didn't surprise him however that the Lord would show up for the tournament soon, if not to participate himself since he was getting a bit old, then for others.
"There's a lot of rumors regarding Aerea's return." Rogar mentioned.
"Half of which might have even a little truth." He said to the dark-haired man. "You're quite early for the tournament."
Rogar's jaw set briefly and the man looked around. "And I'm afraid not the entirety of which for good news. Might we speak a little more privately, your grace?"
Jaehaerys glanced around, and then motioned for the older man to follow him, making his way toward the council chambers.
"This feels familiar in a way, doesn't it?" He asked the Baratheon as they stepped in.
The previous Hand, for his limited poise, only smothered a slight wince.
"Is it true that Aerea has taken atop Balerion?" Rogar asked him in that very direct way with which the man often spoke.
"It is." Jaehaerys allowed with a nod, pulling out his chair.
He lowered into it to sit, and then looked to where the man that had married his mother stood. The man that once tried to prevent him from marrying Alysanne, and even went so far as to try to see him unseated in favor of his niece.
Of course, that was all the past as he'd agreed.
Forgiven.
Not forgotten.
"I came for other reasons, but I have heard a great deal in the court since arriving." Rogar said, clasping his hands gently.
There was something different about him. Jaehaerys couldn't put his finger on what though. He had more gray hair than when he'd last seen the Baratheon, and his skin was more pale. He just looked… older. Older than the time they were separate should have made him.
Has it been that long?
"There's people asking about what's going to happen now that Aerea has the dragon that united the Seven Kingdoms." Rogar said.
It was three dragons.
He felt like pointing it out, but the argument in the details would be lost in the telling. Balerion was the greatest of the dragons, without doubt. He wouldn't be arguing with Rogar really, anyways, and it was foolhardy behavior for a king.
"Of course they are." Jaehaerys said with a flick of his hand. "I'll straighten out some of it later. I have it handled as you well know, though I appreciate your loyalty in reporting it. I expect to have her married to my second son, after my first marries Daenerys."
Rogar worked his jaw for a moment of silence.
"I understand." He said, eventually. "The truth, my king, is that I came to King's Landing about a couple of more personal issues."
"Which is?"
"The first is that my maester believes I am dying." Rogar said, plainly. "I have old aches and pains that have only grown worse with time, and lately faster than ever. I resist having the milk of poppy already. I don't know for how much longer I manage even that."
Rogar, dying…
He was thinking over what the Lord could want from him.
"I came to ask if you would take my children, your half-siblings, in as wards here at the Red Keep, so that I can be sure they are well cared for in my inevitable absence. Given the other half of what I've come to speak with you about, it's more likely than not to be sooner."
Jaehaerys blinked slowly, and studied the man in front of him with a little more intent.
He's serious.
"Of course." He granted, immediately. He would never have wanted his mother's children to suffer with no guidance or care at all. "Do not worry a moment further about that. Are you certain about your condition?"
"My maester believes it impossible that I see ten years." Rogar admitted. "He suggests I'd be lucky to see half it."
It was almost fitting in the end. Jaehaerys had never felt like his mother needed to marry again. That she'd chosen someone like Rogar, with all of his faults who was a fair bit younger than her as well, had never sat well with him even before the rest of it. Now, Rogar was going to die not long after her in spite of it.
All the same, there was a begrudging respect he felt for the man in that moment. Rogar had been an important force in enabling him to achieve many of the successes he'd had.
"What of the second reason?" He asked Rogar.
"Over the last few months, I have received a growing number of reports regarding brigands and outlaws raiding lands I am sworn to maintain, out of the Red Mountains of Dorne. Normally, I might wait a bit further to let others over those lands take their own time to give a good go at rooting them out." Rogar began, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "However, I grew suspicious, as the attacks have not only increased, but have become far more effective even beyond the marshes in recent moons. You are aware of my brother Borys, yes?"
He was. The one that would have been the next heir to Storm's End, were it not for the birth of Boremund.
Jaehaerys nodded for him to continue.
"We quarreled, with the change of heirs."
Something that seems never ending.
At least he was not alone in his struggles.
"I found out that he has done a great deal of traveling in the last few years. Some rumors place him as far as Volantis and Myr. If I could believe a source, more recently that he was in Dorne." Rogar explained, calmly. "He came to King's Landing within the last moon, I found out, but Lord Dondarrion mentioned in a letter as we were discussing the issue, that my brother passed through. Which was strange to me."
It is strange.
It would have been far easier even in Dorne to take a ship to King's Landing. There would be others coming to the tournament, no doubt. To cross by land would carry his brother directly through some of the areas that Rogar was suggesting were being raided.
He could have been intending to offer his support to those lords or earn favor with them though…
Rogar probably wouldn't bring it to him unless he had more to support the belief, however.
"You suspect him to be involved."
"I confronted him recently." Rogar said. "I know him to be involved. The manner in which we spoke makes me sure of it."
"But not a confession?" He asked the lord, to be sure.
Rogar shook his head.
"No. But he has since departed King's Landing, without waiting for the tournament." The older man took a step forward toward where he sat, leaning in slightly. "I ask your leave to end these raids before they've grown too commonplace, while my strength is still here. They're calling this new brigand leader a "Vulture King", as suggestion of the last. There's whispers that he's supported by Dorne. I'm asking, because I'd rather die with my axe in hand. Not in a bed, bleeding out my arse."
"Unlikely." Jaehaerys offered with a purse of his lips.
Then, as an afterthought, he clarified, "The Dornish involvement."
Rogar snorted once, a gruff chuckle escaping.
Everywhere he looked, someone was creating problems. This one was peculiarly timed, and the court was already buzzing over Aerea and Balerion.
A thought occurred to him.
He hadn't actually set the date for the tournament in celebration yet, and the Dragon Pit's construction could be continued a bit further, even if only in making sure every little detail was addressed.
It would look very good, all around… and break the attention from Aerea and Balerion.
"You have my leave to deal with this threat to the kingdom." He said to Rogar, before pushing up from his chair. "But more than that, you will have my sword as well. See that Lord Dondarrion can receive us. It was only earlier this year that we were there. I will meet you there, once I've seen to a couple things."
Rogar thanked him, but he didn't have much of a mind for it. His thoughts were already elsewhere, planning his next steps.
Brigands in the mountains would be easy enough to flush out with a dragon's eye view. It wouldn't take an entire moon. If they were caught before they could really swell, it would be even easier.
There's no way they're expecting to be found in those mountains.
Which meant if he acted fast, and hit them hard, he could devastate whatever camps they had. By the time they even thought of resistance or regrouping, he'd already have eliminated most of them.
That was what it was to be a dragon rider.
It would be a very visible victory.
A strong and immediate response to a threat to the kingdom that would go far to reassure people, even before the tournament, that things hadn't changed.
In the meantime, Alysanne can work on bringing Rhaena around. Or at least Aerea.