At this moment, the great ship from Braavos had already docked. The gangplank was lowered, and a group of men was coming down from the ship. The fat man at the front was especially eye-catching—visually at least 150 kilograms—wearing a dark blue silk robe embroidered with gold thread. His belly stretched his belt tight, and his round face was piled with smiles, his eyes narrowed into two slits.
Aemond was waiting for them on the open ground at the harbor. A large tent had just been set up here. The fabric was sailcloth taken down from the ship, but inside it was laid with carpets and furnished with tables and chairs.
The fat man stopped before the tent, first pausing to adjust his robe, then stepped inside.
The smile on his face grew even broader, almost overflowing.
"Honorable Prince Aemond Targaryen!" the fat man said in a loud voice, smiling.
"Please allow me to introduce myself. Grovar Anken, a representative of the Iron Bank, and also entrusted by His Excellency the Sealord as the plenipotentiary envoy of the Free City of Braavos."
"To be able to meet you at this moment is truly my great honor!"
He spoke in the Common Tongue, with a slight Braavosi accent, but very fluently.
Aemond sat at the main seat in the tent. He did not rise, only lifting a hand to gesture for him to sit.
"Master Grovar, welcome to Dragonstone."
"As you can see, this place has just experienced war. Our reception is lacking; please forgive us."
"Not at all, not at all!" Grovar sat down opposite him, the chair letting out a strained creak. "Only through war can true gold be revealed!"
"Your Highness took Driftmark in a single day, battled many dragons, and in three days captured Dragonstone. Your use of troops is divine—I reckon before long your name will spread across the entire eastern continent!"
There was no expression on Aemond's face. Only after Grovar finished speaking did he open his mouth.
"Master Grovar has come from afar. Presumably not to flatter me."
"Let us be direct. What does Braavos want, and what can it give me?"
Grovar's smile stiffened for a moment, but quickly returned to normal.
He had not expected Aemond to be so direct, skipping even the basic pleasantries.
But that was fine—merchants liked efficiency.
"Your Highness is truly straightforward," Grovar said, rubbing his thick palms together.
"Then I will not beat around the bush."
"We of Braavos… and the Blacks—that is, Princess Rhaenyra's side—do indeed have some commercial cooperation."
As he spoke, he observed Aemond's reaction, but nothing could be read from Aemond's face.
"However!" Grovar abruptly changed tone, his voice turning indignant.
"Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra have gone too far!"
"They are utterly despicable! They have actually allied with Volantis and attacked the Triarchy!"
"Volantis! That slave city, those madmen still dreaming of rebuilding the Valyrian Empire!"
"Your Highness, do you know what the Volantenes want to do?"
"They want to restore the old system, to drag the entire eastern continent back into the age of slavery!"
"This is a regression of civilization—a disaster for both the eastern and western continents!"
He spoke with great fervor, the flesh on his fat face trembling.
Aemond waited until he finished, then spoke slowly: "I have always supported the principle of our ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror."
"After the Targaryens conquered the Seven Kingdoms, they settled in Westeros and no longer returned to the eastern continent to involve themselves in the disputes of the Free Cities."
"I am one who upholds tradition. Braavos must know this."
"Know? Of course we know!" Grovar's eyes lit up, as if he had found a kindred spirit.
"That is precisely why we have come to you! Your Highness, you and your house represent order, tradition, civilization!"
"And Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra—forgive me for speaking bluntly—are blinded by desire, seeking to join hands with those Volantene slavers to rebuild that empire that enslaves all!"
"This is simply a betrayal of your Targaryen ancestors!"
Aemond sneered inwardly, but his expression remained calm.
"So Braavos's meaning is?"
"Cooperation!" Grovar leaned forward, his belly pressing against the edge of the table, staring at Aemond.
"We need you—of course, more importantly, your dragons."
"Volantis—if they truly join hands with the Blacks, the balance of power in the eastern continent will be completely broken."
"And you also need… well, Your Highness, perhaps you should say what you need?"
The probing had come.
Aemond did not hesitate: "Money. I need gold dragons—a large amount of gold dragons."
Grovar's smile deepened.
Talking about money was good. Money was the field Braavosi were best at.
"Roughly… how much?" he asked carefully.
"Two million," Aemond said.
"…"
Grovar's smile froze.
He blinked, as if suspecting he had misheard. Two million gold dragons?
"Your Highness…" Grovar swallowed. "This number… is it perhaps… somewhat beyond the scope of ordinary lending?"
"It can be converted into supplies," Aemond added. "Grain, weapons, armor, warhorses, warships."
"In total, supplies equivalent to two million gold dragons."
"You Braavosi control most of the trade of the eastern continent. This amount should not be difficult for you."
Sweat began to appear on Grovar's forehead. He took out a silk handkerchief to wipe it, his movements somewhat flustered.
"Your Highness, it is not that we do not wish to lend… it is that this amount is truly too large."
"The Iron Bank may be wealthy, but every loan must go through strict review—sufficient collateral is required, and repayment ability must be assessed… two million is nearly the Iron Bank's annual total lending."
"You fear we cannot repay?" Aemond asked.
"Not at all, not at all!" Grovar waved his hands hurriedly. "It is just… according to procedure, we require collateral. What does Your Highness intend to use as collateral? Driftmark? Dragonstone? Or…"
"The Iron Throne," Aemond said.
Grovar's hand trembled, and the handkerchief fell to the ground.
He stared at Aemond. The smile on his fat face vanished completely, replaced by a complex expression of shock, fear, and greed.
The Iron Throne?
To use the Iron Throne as collateral?
What did that mean?
It meant that if Aemond defaulted, Braavos could, in theory, demand to take over the Iron Throne—though in practice, it would be impossible.
"Your Highness…" Grovar's voice turned dry. "You jest. The Iron Throne… how would we dare…"
"I do not jest," Aemond interrupted. "I will not lose."
He paused, looking into Grovar's eyes.
"Or does Braavos not believe I can win?"
Grovar fell into hesitation. Braavos had no other choice.
If Volantis joined hands with the Blacks, the eastern continent would be reshuffled, and Braavos would suffer a fatal blow.
Supporting the Greens, supporting Aemond, was the best choice—even if only for balance.
Grovar took a deep breath and forced a smile again.
"Your Highness, of course we believe in you. However… two million is still no small sum."
"Moreover, as I understand it, on the Blacks' side, Prince Daemon has already borrowed 1.25 million gold dragons from the Iron Bank in Tyrosh, and… there are signs of default."
He watched Aemond's expression and continued: "If we are to lend you two million, the risk of that 1.25 million bad debt must also be counted on your head."
"After all, they are also Targaryens. Their debt is the debt of the Seven Kingdoms, is it not?"
Aemond nodded.
"Agreed."
"Their debt will be counted on us."
"A total of 3.25 million gold dragons—I accept it. But the interest…"
"The interest is easy to discuss!" Grovar's eyes lit up again. "Your Highness is Braavos's best friend. Between friends, naturally one should enjoy the most favorable rate."
"What do you think… five percent? This is already one of the lowest rates in the history of the Iron Bank!"
"Too high," Aemond shook his head.
"Then… four point five percent?"
"Still high."
Grovar gritted his teeth. "Four percent! No lower!"
"Your Highness, this is a principal of 3.25 million. At four percent annual interest, that is 140,000 gold dragons!"
"The Iron Bank also needs to eat, to pay dividends. Any lower and we cannot account for it!"
Aemond said nothing, only looked at him.
"Three point five…" Grovar squeezed it out through his teeth.
"Your Highness, this is my bottom line."
"Any lower, and when I return, the Iron Bank will throw me into the sea to feed the fish."
Aemond finally nodded.
"Agreed."
Grovar let out a breath of relief.
"Then…" he exhaled, "aside from the loan, we also require a potential alliance agreement."
"If Volantis and the Blacks join hands to attack, Braavos has the right to send troops to assist you—and vice versa."
"Of course, military expenses are calculated separately."
"Agreed," Aemond said. "But the Braavosi fleet must dispatch no fewer than one hundred warships to coordinate with my navy."
"…Agreed." Grovar hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Then… when shall the contract be signed?"
"Now." Aemond called out toward the tent, "Willem, bring parchment and pen!"
Grovar froze.
Now?
But seeing Aemond's unquestionable expression, he could only nod.
Willem quickly brought parchment, a quill, and ink.
Grovar's attendants also took out Braavos's official seal and the Iron Bank's ledgers.
In this crude tent, the two sides signed the largest war loan in the history of Westeros.
A long time later, when the final ink had dried, Grovar let out a long breath. The smile returned to his face.
"Then, Your Highness—pleasant cooperation."
Aemond nodded, finally showing a trace of a smile.
"A pleasant cooperation, Master Grovar."
"Will you stay for a simple meal tonight?"
"There is only roast mutton and poor wine, but it is fresh."
"It would be my honor!" Grovar laughed loudly. "I like dealing with straightforward men the most!"
The feast was soon laid out.
Roast mutton, roast fish, some pickled vegetables and dried cheese, and a bottle of Arbor summer red.
Aemond accompanied them. Willem and several officers were also present. Grovar was very talkative, telling anecdotes of Braavos and stories of trade across the Narrow Sea. The atmosphere even seemed harmonious.
All of it was an appearance.
Braavosi were not friends—only vultures.
The alliance between the two sides was only temporary as well.
But it did not matter.
Aemond raised his cup and lightly clinked it against Grovar's.
He needed more money now, more supplies, more allies.
Once the war was won, Braavos's accounts… there would be plenty of ways to default.
If they wanted their debt?
They could go and ask the dragons of House Targaryen.
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