The golden rays of the morning sun filtered gently into the royal chambers of King Viserys I Targaryen. The clinking sound of metal tools and the soft hum of a man deep in concentration echoed across the room. The King, hunched over his ever-growing model of Valyria, delicately placed a tiny bridge connecting two towering spires—each detail a monument to a world long vanished.
The door creaked open, and Ser Harrold Westerling stepped aside to allow Lord Rodrik Arryn entry.
"Your Grace," Rodrik bowed, his voice calm and respectful.
Viserys looked up, blinking through the haze of dust and focus. His face softened at the sight of the young Lord.
"Rodrik," he greeted warmly, setting down his tools. "Come. Come, Lord Arryn. You caught me in the middle of... well, whatever madness this is."
Rodrik gave a faint smile, stepping closer. "I did not wish to intrude, Your Grace. I came only to take my leave—and to once more extend my sympathies. The Queen's death is a wound to the realm."
Viserys let out a sigh, wearied and deep. "A wound to my heart, Lord Arryn. One that may never close. She gave me so much... more than I deserved."
The King gestured to a chair across from him.
Rodrik sat, letting the moment of silence between them breathe.
Viserys broke it first. "You're arrival has been most welcoming event in this time of need & I have heard that you have helped Rhaenerya greatly in this time of need as she has told me. I am grateful for that." He smiled faintly. "You have given me much to think Lord Arryn."
Rodrik lowered his gaze as he was a little taken back by the comment Rhaenyra has told to his father & said modestly. "I merely fullfilling my role, Your Grace."
"Well," Viserys leaned back, folding his arms. "When you've matured a little more—learned how to navigate the sharp edges of court life—I believe there may be a seat for you on my council. The realm could use a mind like yours."
Rodrik blinked, surprised but not overwhelmed. "That is a tremendous honour, Your Grace. I will strive to be worthy of such trust."
"Good." Viserys nodded. "But before you run off to your windswept mountains..." He paused, turning back toward the model. "If you're going to do something significant—if you're going to move pieces that ripple across the realm—I expect to be asked & informed." His voice was still warm, but firmer now, tinged with the edge of kingship.
Rodrik felt a cold rush settle over him.
"And," Viserys continued without turning back around, "consider the matter of the volcanic ash finalized. Daemon's terms stand. The Crown is invested, in full. Details you can discuss with Otto"
Rodrik stood there—still, composed, but inwardly stunned. His lips parted slightly, but no words came at first.
Daemon.
So king is aware of their conversation.
"...Of course, Your Grace," Rodrik finally managed, his voice controlled. "I will have a word with Sir Otto before leaving."
"Good lad." Viserys gave him a final smile, half absent as he returned to his stones and spires. "Safe travels back to the Vale. I suspect you'll find yourself returning sooner than you expect."
Rodrik bowed deeply once more and exited with careful steps, his thoughts already moving faster than his feet.
The chamber of the Hand was neat, formal, every corner reflecting the order and control its occupant prized. Otto stood as Rodrik entered, greeting him with his usual cool courtesy.
"Lord Arryn," Otto said with a thin smile. "I trust your preparations for departure are going well?"
"They are, Lord Hand. I wanted to speak with you before I left. I believe the King mentioned the finalization of our agreement regarding the volcanic ash."
"Indeed he did. Please, sit."
They both took seats across a modest desk of black oak, parchment and wax seals scattered neatly in front of them.
"Your innovation has caught the attention of many," Otto began mildly. "The Crown sees great potential in your... cement."
"I hope it benefits the realm, my lord. but please consider the fact I will not sell it immediately. My initial purpose is to rebuild Vale's infrastructure: roads, bridges, foundational supports. All of this comes from my personal coffers."
Otto nodded thoughtfully, but then retrieved a scroll. "As the Crown is now invested in the arrangement, we require certain assurances. Lord Daemon's terms were specific—once your operation becomes commercial, the Crown is entitled to fifty percent of all profits derived from the sale of volcanic ash-based cement within and outside the Seven Kingdoms."
Rodrik gave a measured nod. "That is acceptable. But I must clarify: until the product is sold, there are no profits. However, As Crown is involvement from the outset, I propose this: a fixed rate for the volcanic ash until I begin commercial sale."
Otto tilted his head slightly. "Go on."
"I will pay the Crown three silver stags per barrel of volcanic ash transported from Dragonstone to Vale—until the product enters the open market. After that, the Crown may claim its fifty percent of all profits. But only if the Crown bears the costs of transporting the ash to the Vale and guarantees its security during the journey."
Otto raised an eyebrow. "You seek to avoid risk while shifting it onto the Crown's shoulders."
"I seek to build the future, Lord Otto," Rodrik replied evenly. "If I fail, you lose nothing but logistics. If I succeed, the Crown receives half the gold for centuries to come. Three silver stags is a token for the present. The real treasure lies in the future."
There was a long pause as Otto considered it. His fingers drummed once on the tabletop.
"Very well," he said finally. "Three stags per barrel is something we can agree upon"
Rodrik said. "And any additional expansion—production centers, exports to Essos—will be pre-negotiated with the Crown."
Otto gave a curt nod. "Then we are agreed."
They both stood. Rodrik extended his hand, and after a beat, Otto shook it—cold and calculating as ever.
"Safe travels, Lord Arryn," Otto said as Rodrik turned to leave. "We shall be watching your progress... with interest."
Rodrik offered a faint smile. "I expect nothing less."