Novigrad
Administrative Center
“What exactly would I have to do?” he asked, calmer than he was before. This could be his chance to actually free Temeria. Provided the dragonlord’s words were true.
“The prospects of the northern kingdoms don’t look good,” he said, putting down two sigils, each carrying the banners of the opposing forces. “They can either be ruled by Emhyr or by Radovid. Under the illustrated emperor’s rule, you’d have to live with the shame of defeat. The less said about Radovid and his cruelty the better.”
“I am aware of both. Before you killed Dijkstra, we were working to negotiate with Emhyr.”
A smile slowly crept up his face, reaching his eyes. He reached for the top drawer, pulling out a set of notes written straight by Dijkstra’s hand. “Do you mean where he was planning to have you help him kill Radovid and then kill you all so he could rule all of the north while Emhyr runs out of time and the internal strife kills him?"
Roche snatched the papers, becoming more livid with each word he read. “That fucking bastard.”
“Now, I won’t lie. I considered giving Redenia to Emhyr in return for him to outlaw slavery, as well as improvements to the conditions of the common citizens,” he said, circling the kingdom with his finger.
His eye twitched. That would leave them with virtually no bargaining chip with the emperor. “What made you change your mind?”
“Geralt of Rivia said the nobles would not accept the loss of free labor so easily,” he said. The internal politics of Nilfgaard were not discussed in detail, except for the significant issue of important figures being unhappy with Emhyr’s war. If Geralt, who didn’t like politics, knew that much, he would trust the Witcher’s words.
And verify them, of course.
“You know Geralt?” he asked. He had heard rumors that a white-haired man carrying two swords had frequented the dragonlord’s quarters in the city.
“Why yes. He assisted me in several matters, as did I in return.”
He nodded, grateful for the Witcher’s assistance. “Then he was right.”
“I am inclined to agree with what I managed to pick up on the nobility of Nilfgaard,” he said. Since he wasn’t looking for a weakness, gauging what the reaction of Nilfgaardian nobility would be was possible.
“Onto the matter of the north. Currently, there is no one fit to rule. One of Foltest’s legitimate heirs is a product of incest, which I dislike to say the least. The other is a child, and the Constable of Temeria is nowhere to be seen.” Neither Adda the White, Foltest’s daughter with his sister, nor Anais la Valette, his illegitimate daughter, had any tangible support.
“You,” he pointed at Roche, “however, are still fighting this war even though Temeria is under the black banners. But you are also wise enough to understand the need for compromise. Hence your hamfisted plan for a self-governing Temeria under Nilfgaard.” If only that wisdom were great enough to foresee Dijkstra’s betrayal, Roche would make an excellent ruler.
He put his finger on the northernmost part of Redenia, dragging it down. “I want you to be the regent of Redenia and all the other kingdoms conquered by Nilfgaard down to the Yaruga River.”
Roche slid the black and gold token beyond the indicated location. “That would mean someone has to push Nilfgaard to the other side of Yaruga.”
His laurel, split between scorching flames and lightning, burned brighter. “You are looking at him.”
He turned his head slightly to the side, feeling the heat. “You would start a war with Nilfgaard over slavery?” Either he was too idealistic or just enjoyed war and was looking for an excuse.
“Goodness no. I’ll simply let Emhyr’s internal problems take care of him and then kill Radovid. With the emperor gone, Nilfgaard will have no choice but to retreat due to the chaos. You will be the regent in the meantime.” Not that he was against a war. In fact, the only reason he did not already scour Nilfgaard from the north was because of the potential loss in civilian life, as well as the chaos that would follow.
Monsters, bandits, and more would plague the land, and he didn’t have the forces to protect everywhere.
“Your plan hinges on the accuracy of your intelligence. If you are wrong, then you might just find yourself in a war.” Which worked for him just as well. He didn’t care how many Nilfgaardians had to burn before they were repelled from Temeria.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What I want to know is if you are capable enough to be a regent.”
Radovid’s death had brought an end to the war. However, he would ensure Radovid lived long enough for Emhyr to die. A lot of people wanted revenge, and he would be all too happy to deliver him to them.
“I am a military commander, not an administrator,” he said. He had always been fighting in one place or the other, whether in the shadows or in the light. Ruling a kingdom was not included in any of that.
“If you want a north free from Nilfgaard and Radovid, you will have to be both,” Robert said. He wanted to intervene because he considered Emhyr a cunt. If the northerners could not put in the necessary work, then he wasn’t going to bother.
Roche lowered his head.
—
Novigrad
Var Attre Villa
He stretched his arms, relieving his tense muscles. Sitting inside all day with no physical activity except his morning spars was boring. He didn’t exactly trust the clerks enough to delegate the work.
“I thought you did not enjoy these kinds of affairs,” Sandor said, carrying a chest with the gifts Robert had bought, mostly jewels and such.
“I had nothing better to do, and it would be rude to refuse such an earnest invite,” he said, stopping right in front of the villa. Henry was at Attre; his twin daughters and servants were waiting for him.
Three maids and three male servants stood across while Henry and his daughters were in the middle. The girls, identical twins with wildly differing personalities, were wearing dark and gold gowns, immaculate to the last detail. Hairs were the same, the looks were the same, and even their stances were the same, left hands at the back, right arms staying loose.
On the surface at least.
Edna’s cheeks were softer, slightly more round, details that weren’t apparent in the game. She held herself with pride and grace, where her sister, Rosa, was ready to strike like a true fencer. Her muscles were tense, poised to act while Edna was more relaxed.
“Lord Robert, I welcome you to my humble home,” Henry said, his neck bending down ever so slightly.
“Thank you, Ambassador var Attre. It certainly is a cozy building,” he said, giving a once over to the house.
Var Attre’s right hand rose, gesturing to the girls on his left. “Allow me to introduce my daughters, Edna and Rosa. They are the pride and joy of my family,” he said.
Unaware that Edna wrote letters in Rosa’s name to embarrass her while Rosa was prone to disappearing because she was bored, unless it was a one-time matter with Geralt.
“My lord. It is an honor to host you tonight,” they replied at the same time, pulling the hems of their dresses up slightly, bowing just as their father had done.
He smiled, noticing the slight blush on their cheeks. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my ladies.”
“This is my guard and aide, Sandor Clegane,” he said, patting the man on the shoulder. Sandor gave a short bow, moving aside to hand the gifts to the servants.
“I thought it would be rude to appear empty-handed, so I brought a few gifts.”
“Your generosity is greatly appreciated. Let us move inside. A feast worthy of this occasion awaits us.”
“Of course."
—
Given the size of the villa and the occasion, the feast was worthy. By Asgard’s standards, it would be disappointing. However, the dishes were more refined due to the wealth the empire could afford to spend for diplomacy. Meat, whether pork, beef, lamb, or chicken, was all seasoned or covered with a sauce. Freshly baked pastries of almost every color graced the table.
The deserts, though, were the more impressive section. Compared to the simpler tastes of Westeros, except for the whole chocolate business, they were leagues above. Small cakes, each carrying a different taste, ranging from chocolate to vanilla to fruits and nuts, weren’t even the best part.
It was the souffle.
He actually missed eating it and wanted to get his hands on it as quickly as possible.
“I hope they are to your liking, my lord,” he said, gesturing at the chair on the other end of the table. As the guest of honor, he would sit right across the ambassador himself. Sandor was on one side of the table while the twins were across from him.
“Your chefs have done an excellent job. Even a blind man would be star struck,” he said.
“Then let us not wait.”
—
He might actually hire var Attre’s cooks.
They knew how to make the meat tender and juicy on the inside and how to bake goods with crunchy outsides and soft, fluffy insides. Most importantly, the desserts were sweet enough to satisfy anyone’s cravings but light enough to not overwhelm the stomach.
And of course, the complimentary drinks that would follow the dinner.
The ambassador had brought out his best vintage, serving perfectly aged wine that would match any on Westeros.
“My lord, I wanted to ask, when will you be returning to your home? We are worried that the city might revert to its previous state with you gone,” said Var Attre as they sipped their drinks in the backyard. His question was veiled as concern, but Robert knew the emperor must be dying to see him gone at once.
He shrugged. “I managed to contact Asgard. They are preparing a fleet with special ships for the dragons to rest. Until they are finished, who knows?”
“Then may I be bold enough to make an offer?” he said.
Robert smiled. Finally, the man had decided to spill the beans. “By all means.”
“Nilfgaard is, without a doubt, the strongest nation on the Continent. It is only a matter of time before Redenia falls to the Emperor’s endless legions. Building relations based on trade and mutual respect would be to everyone’s advantage,” Henry said, beaming with a euphoric smile as he praised the empire.
Nilfgaard’s legions might be stronger than Redenia’s troops, but one critical factor was not on their side.
Time.
“You are correct. Asgard always welcomes new trading partners. Why, just in the last few years, I spent more than twenty-two billion crowns equivalent in gold dragons to put an end to slavery in Asgard’s trading partners,” he said, sipping his wine to hide his smile at the dumbfounded look on the ambassador’s face.
“You… did?” he said, suddenly feeling his throat dry. Even crown-wise, that was a significant amount of gold. Robert would have to be a fool to lie when everyone on the Continent was already trying to search for ways to cross the ocean. Which meant that the man before him didn’t like slavery at all.
Something that was common in Nilfgaard, more so in the industrial cities.
“Indeed.” I considered burning them all to ashes, but more innocents than slavers would die,” he said, willing his laurel to flash into existence for a second. “Instead, I invested all that gold into the Free Cities, the collective name of several city states, just to erase the need for slaves. We also built an entire ecosystem just to ensure that the recently freed citizens could join the workforce as proud workers.”
Simply banning slavery and setting those people free would only lead to rebellions and what not. His rehabilitation and orientation programs ensured those people would find work to live on.
“That is incredible to hear,” Henry said, stretching the neck of his dark and gold doublet.
He smiled, raising his drink. “Thank you, Ambassador."
He returned the smile, deciding to change the subject. “Your family must be proud of you.”
“They are, when I am not giving them gray hairs,” he replied, not saying anything else. The ambassador’s lips twitched at the obvious dodge.
“But,” he said, dragging the word out, “if you wanted to know my family, you could ask more directly.”
“Apologies.”
“My father is Steffon Baratheon, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, one of the territories of the Seven Kingdoms,” he began. There was no reason to not give the ambassador information on how the Seven Kingdoms worked. Not only was it all about to change once he returned, it wasn’t exactly secret information either.
His grandmother was a princess; his father’s line came from kings of old. He was the man who had brought dragons back to the world, who had slain a demon that had destroyed the greatest civilization on the other side of the world. Three gods lay dead at his feet, whether they believed it or not.
He was the strongest man on both Westeros and Essos, as well as probably this side of the world.
“Are you not wed, my lord? A man like you must have an endless line of ladies vying to be your wife.”
“You have no idea. I had to create a special correspondence unit to answer all the letters.”
“As for marrying, I have yet to find someone that has my interest,” he said. Once the information-gathering part was over, they engaged in small talk about wine, Novigrad’s underworld, war, and life.
—
Administrative Center
Vernon Roche visited him next thing in the morning, ready to try his hand at learning how to rule. Taxes, solving disputes, responding to emergencies, creating a state with an economy, educational reforms, and sufficient production to prop it up were all the subjects he had to know.
Time was limited, so he had to learn quickly.
It was never as straightforward as fighting. You never had enough of all the necessary resources at a time. If the coin was there, qualified men or materials were hard to come by. If you somehow found the workers, then suddenly you ran out of funds.
Roche wasn’t a quitter, though. The tangible chance to actually earn Temeria’s freedom depended on him. He spent every waking minute learning and learning. Even when Robert was done and left to rest, Vernon Roche worked.
His patriotism was impressive.
His guerilla fighters were moved to Novigrad in the meantime, supplementing the guards. They weren’t certain about trusting him, but they trusted Roche. Since Vernon would need loyal and capable people to help him rule—no one man could do everything by himself—they too were included in different lessons based on their aptitude.
Robert never thought he would play the teacher, but here he was, teaching a group of desperate soldiers how to rule.