NOVEL NEXT Chapter 23: Interplay
Rhaenar's proposal unfolded with an air of sincerity and passion that captivated the small council within the grand chamber of the royal castle. His words carried a noble sentiment, aiming to uplift the marginalized and provide them with purpose.
He painted a vivid picture of the countless orphans and destitute individuals adrift in the streets of King's Landing, their potential squandered and talents untapped.
"It is a tragic waste," the Prince remarked, his ethereal countenance exuding charm and persuasion. "Many of them are of my own age, yearning for direction and a sense of belonging. Shouldn't we offer them an opportunity to run free, to learn invaluable skills, and to contribute to our kingdom?"
Rhaenar's vision was clear: to gather the underprivileged from all corners of the realm and offer them a place in his envisioned "boot camp" — a transformative program where individuals could come together, learn, grow, and secure a means to provide for their families and the realm at large.
The small council raised valid concerns, questioning the logistics and feasibility of such an endeavor.
"It is an opportunity for all," Rhaenar declared, unwavering in his conviction. "They would be required to make their own journey here, relying on their own two feet. This is not a handout; it is a chance for them to take control of their destinies."
As doubts lingered, Rhaenar addressed the economic implications. "Rest assured, the investment we make in them will be repaid manifold. Imagine the influx of skilled labor: stonemasons, carpenters, bakers, farmers... Their expertise would significantly enhance productivity throughout the kingdom!"
With each answer, Rhaenar's enthusiasm swelled, his rhetoric fueled by a hidden agenda that remained concealed beneath the guise of benevolence. Little did the council know that this proposed boot camp was but a clever façade, concealing Rhaenar's true ambition.
As the small council deliberated, Rhaenar's impassioned pitch resonated in their minds, sowing seeds of both hope and skepticism.
Rhaenar's eloquent arguments had effectively cornered any dissenters within the small council. To reject his proposal now would be to dismiss a well-founded initiative that aimed to transform idle citizens into skilled and conscientious laborers serving the realm.
Prince Daemon leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips as he observed the mixed expressions of apprehension and intrigue on the faces of the council members.
Lord Corlys Velaryon nodded, displaying a mix of respect and disbelief, while Ser Otto maintained his composure, patiently awaiting the king's response.
Even the typically outspoken Ser Lyonel Strong chose to bide his time, recognizing that this discussion was ultimately a matter between father and son, prince and king.
The outcome seemed predetermined, for everyone knew the king's soft-heartedness towards his children.
"I suppose there may be merit in such a plan," the King finally spoke, his voice betraying a touch of reluctance. "But I cannot permit you to divert funds from the nameday celebrations. Instead, consider this venture a gift from your mother and me. I can see that it holds great significance for you."
That's what the King said initially. However, as politics goes, voices in the small council gradually worked their magic.
As Rhaenar negotiated the terms with his father, concessions had to be made. Instead of recruiting from the entire realm, he was limited to the Crownlands.
Every expense would require meticulous accounting, a task that fell upon Theodore, despite his reluctance to have his ledgers scrutinized.
Adequate security measures, regular updates, and a host of other conditions were imposed. Yet, Rhaenar maintained a calm smile, nodding in agreement to each demand.
Once again, a shiver ran down my spine.
I hadn't paid much attention to Prince Rhaenar and Theodore's economic persuasion and deal discussions. However, fragments of their conversations occasionally reached my ears.
.
..
"If you begin a negotiation with outrageously high demands," Theodore had once advised, "then gradually negotiate down to a 'mutual' understanding, the other party will believe they have successfully talked you down.
"In reality, they have unwittingly settled on the exact terms you desired from the start."
..
.
"These terms are agreeable," declared the King, satisfied with Rhaenar's proposal. He turned to Ser Otto, awaiting his response.
Ser Otto seemed lost in thought for a moment before finally speaking, "I suppose the benefits outweigh the drawbacks, Your Grace."
The King's smile widened. "Then it is settled!"
But a wave of nausea washed over me, and Theodore's words again echoed in my mind.
.
..
"Now," Theodore had said to Rhaenar, "in negotiations, all you need is to get your counterpart to say 'yes' to something.
"You can even knock on anyone's door and find success with this principle. Just make them agree to something, even something insignificant, and you have a foot in the door.
"From there, you can gradually make them agree with you, step by step.
"'Nice day we're having?' turns into a foot in the door, turns into being let inside, turns into selling your goods. Once you're inside, there's no stopping you, unless you really botch it up."
..
.
It was then that I realized Rhaenar's true game. He wasn't starting an educational camp to empower the destitute, at least not as his primary intention. It was merely his "foot in the door."
In reality, Rhaenar was building an army.
It was easier to seek forgiveness later — to pretend that things had spiralled out of control — than to outright ask for something audacious.
Lost in the realms of imagination, I suddenly realized how engrossed I had become in the mysteries of distant lands.
My daydreams wandered to the Basilisk Isles, pondering what sights awaited there. I imagined standing atop the Bone Mountains, gazing at the breathtaking view.
Countless hours were spent studying drawings of exotic butterflies from Naath, said to possess such beauty that they became poisonous. The natives of Naath, immune to their allure, were resistant to their deadly toxins. Foreigners who dared to step on their shores met a slow and agonizing demise.
Then there were the Thousand Islands, a sprawling archipelago in the vast expanse of the Shimmering Sea, where women with sharp teeth and men who sliced their foreskins revered their fish gods.
Amidst these reveries, I had utterly neglected the strategic discussions of Rhaenar and Theodore. How long had Prince Rhaenar been plotting this course of action?
That would be answered the following night.
-Brien Flowers, 107 AC.