Highgarden’s house in the city is proof against the hazy heat of late afternoon; its windows have been flung open, and the sound of cool fountains and stirring leaves in the gardens outside provide the senses with a degree of relief. Inside there are few enough present; Ser Ardon Tyrell, a few servants and attendants, and a table of refreshments.
Indeed, the rich but understated manse is turned out for guests today; or more properly for -a- guest, an extension to the Iron Bank’s representative having been extended. Ardon sits with one booted foot propped up on a table as maids make final preparations.
And that worthy arrives, not by horseback, but in a litter carried by some sturdy men. Hailed at the gates, they are ushered through. At the door, Donalo Prestayn is helped out of the curtained litter, and eyes the manse with an appraising gaze… And then, adroitly, he presents himself. More servants usher him in, and show him the way, and—
“A good day to you, Ser Ardon, I am hoping,” the banker says, faced marked with beads of sweat—and no wonder, with the heavy black velvet of his Braavosi doublet, and the rich brocade of his trousers, and the lavish plumed hat upon his head. He offers a bow, even as a hand pulls a kerchief from a sleeve.
“A warm day,” Ardon replies, rising to greet the Braavosi banker with a courteous smile. “Please, won’t you be seated, and take some refreshment?” The knight makes a sign to one of the servants to pour a cup of iced Arbor gold for Prestayne; the cold wine instantly dews the sides of the goblet. “Thank you for coming. I trust that your visit to King’s Landing has been pleasant so far?”
Mopping at his brow, the merchant-lord is glad to sit, and for the iced wine. “It has been profitable,” the man says, Braavosi accent not so strong as that of the Sealord, but still present. He grins, before taking a swallow of the wine. Admiring the appointments, he remarks, “You roses of Highgarden are not so like your fellows lords, yes? You understand the finer things. That Lord Stark ... brr! The man brings the cold with him.”
“It is cold in the North, true,” laughs Ardon, taking up a cup of his own. “It takes a special sort to rule there.” He waves away Donalo’s compliment modestly. “There is great diversity among the lords of these kingdoms,” Ardon replies. “Some favor gross displays of wealth. Highgarden prefers quality, for what good are riches if one does not know what do do with them?”
He regards the Braavosi banker for a moment. “You mentioned that your visit has been profitable; indeed, there is a saying that the Iron Bank always has its due. Is it true?”
“Just so,” says Donalo, before another sip of wine. The cup lingers near his mouth, as he regards Ardon over its rim. Then, carefully, he sets it down; a finger toys with the cup’s edge. “You seem, ser, a man not ashamed to speak of business, yes? More proof that the Reach is a civilized place.” Still he smiles.
“I would not claim expertise remotely close to yours in such things,” Ardon answers diffidently. “I was bred to the profession of arms, rather than of ledgers and sums. And yet, I cannot help but wonder that important matters, financial matters, are often sadly overlooked by the lords of my land because it is somehow deemed ‘unsuitable’.” The knight plucks a grape from a gilded plate, toying with it.
“Take, for instance, the matter of the recent war in Dorne,” Ardon offers. “It was, and continues to be, an expensive enterprise on behalf of the kingdom; and I know that we rely heavily on the Iron Bank to finance our efforts. Yet I suspect few of my comrades, save perhaps the Master of Coin and his minions, understand how important the Bank’s assistance has been. Am I wrong?”
There’s the briefest of pauses there, as Donalo’s green-gold eyes turn calculating as they regard the knight. And then a smile, “Just so, Ser Ardon. You are a wise man, I see this.” His hand shifts, takes up the iced wine, and he takes a long, thoughtful sip. Then he remarks, “Of course, I cannot say how much assistance we have given, yes? Or their terms. It is between the Bank and the client. But your King Daeron has needed funds for his war, yes? And he turned to his good friends in Braavos.”
“Of course,” answers Ardon smoothly. “All know of Braavos’ vital assistance to the king and his lords. It is a relationship of great value, and I hope, will remain mutually beneficial for years to come.” He pauses, popping the grape into his mouth. “Still, though, war is a costly business, and the repayment of debts takes time.”
“You have the reputation of a shrewd businessman,” adds Ardon. “And as I have intimated, I am no expert in such things. But I wonder if there is an opportunity here that would be profitable for both of us; for my family, and for your bank?”
“Hmm,” Donalo replies, at first. Another sip of wine, and then he sets down the cup, and leans back a little in his seat. He folds his hands across his belly. “Hmm. It is an interesting question, ser. And you have an answer to it, yes?” He waits.
“This is only an idea,” offers Ardon. “But what if my house were to purchase a portion of the royal debt to the Iron Bank? At the same terms as it was loaned, of course. In this way, the Iron Bank gets its due, but sooner rather than later. House Tyrell is privileged to potentially provide our King with some relief on the terms of its loan, if it becomes necessary.”
He shrugs casually. “As I said, I am no master of such matters, but it seems sensible to me. What say you?”
A longer silence follows, as numbers and figures doubtless run through the banker’s head, his gaze now distant. And then, he smiles and remarks, “The Iron Bank is not unfamiliar with such transactions, ser. It does have some sense to it, certainly.” At ease with whatever suppositions that his thoughts have led him to, he takes up the cup one more and takes another drink. “As I said, I could not share the precise terms of the loan. Or its size, at least. But it is a substantial amount. As is the usury, of course, though your king thinks it worth it, yes? An investment in Dorne today, profit for the Seven Kingdoms tomorrow, perhaps.”
“Good, good.” Ardon seems gratified that Donalo is in accord on the matter. “Wars are expensive, both in blood and treasure, alas. The latter is much easier to replace than the former, and it would please me to be of some help to my king in this affair.” He smiles, noticing the banker’s affinity for the wine. “I will have my factor draw up a formal proposal and send it to your quarters, if that would be acceptable. Along with a cask of that Arbor Gold, if you find it pleasing?”
“Indeed, Ser Ardon. Arbor Gold is always pleasing. So is Highgarden gold, I assure you,” Donalo says, and he chuckles at his own jest. Another swallow of wine and he remarks, “I am sure we will come to swift agreement, yes?”