[b]Symon Rivers[/b], [i]in service to House Hightower[/i]
[b]King's Landing, present day[/b]

“Does Lord Hightower regard House Florent so poorly that he sends a bastard to treat with me?”

Symon was disappointed, but not surprised. It had started out well enough, Lord Florent had agreed to meet and listened calmly as Symon made his proposal. And so, he had spent the last couple of minutes extolling the virtues of House Hightower and carefully presenting the benefits a marriage between the two Houses would provide. He had prepared the speech and all his arguments the night before, but after Lord Florent’s remark he suspected that it had all been in vain. 

None of that showed on his face, however, as he calmly replied: 

“Lord Hightower means no offense, my lord. He trusts that his dignified lineage and the prestige of his House lend enough weight to his seal.” He paused to gesture at the signet ring positioned on the table between them, wrought of the finest gold as befits a Hightower, before continuing. “I beg forgiveness if my presence offends, but the words I speak are those of Lord Otho himself and they have merit – even spoken by one such as I.” 

“Save your flowery talk for the whores, Rivers.” Lord Florent waved a hand to silence him “Your words have merit, aye, but my answer is clear – no.” 

The head of House Florent let the words hang in the air, perhaps trying to provoke a reaction from Symon, though he would have to try harder than that. He took a sip of his wine, still keeping his eyes on his guest. Symon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was sitting face to face with House Florent’s sigil and not a man, such was the lord’s resemblance to the animal. With his prominent ears and narrow face, he was the very image of a fox. He was as sly as one too – he’d quite purposefully left Symon talk to get his hopes up, only to dash them with a single sentence. [i]Bastard…[/i]

“There’s also the matter with the attacks on our traders…” Symon decided to change the topic, knowing that he would get nothing if he continued pursuing that avenue. 

“What….? The merchants?” Lord Florent shrugged, making it clear what he thought of that. “I have no time for such things, discuss it with my seneschal.” He nodded at a man standing nearby, before giving Symon one last look “You have my message, now take it to your lord.” 

Symon knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he got to his feet, pocketed his lord’s seal and bowed respectfully before leaving Lord Florent’s presence. Accompanying him were two Florent men, as well as Luthor Serry, the so-called seneschal. They walked through the manse’s hallways in silence, giving Symon plenty of time to gather his thoughts. 

It was a lavish residence, well-decorated and spacious – the Reach had many wealthy Houses and they weren’t afraid of flaunting their wealth when they came to the capital. Nevertheless, Symon noticed a few cracks in the walls here and there, blemishes on the wood, the smaller number of servants. Try as they might to hide it, the Dance had taken a heavy toll on House Tyrell’s bannermen. Though a generation had come and gone, the conflict still left its mark and few Houses could boast of having recovered completely. 

They halted on a small balcony overlooking the busy street below. The Florent residence was located on the hill of Rhaenys, which provided a spectacular view of this part of the city. He could see the gold cloaks manning the Old Gate in the distance, the flow of people going up and down the Street of Silk even at this early hour – from up here, even the stench that permeated  everything wasn’t as detectable and the city could almost be called beautiful. Almost. 

Leaning on the stone railing, Luthor Serry turned to face him, doing little to hide his smug expression.

“As I already told Lord Florent-“ Symon began.

Serry raised a hand to stop him. “Please, Lord Rivers, I was present and heard your account, there is no need to go over it again.” 

The way he said “Lord Rivers” made it plainly obvious it was spoken in mockery, but this was yet another thing Symon was used to. These arrogant nobles thought that by constantly reminding others of their rank it somehow made them better or smarter than him. A mistake they would often regret. 

“In that case, I will reiterate Lord Hightower’s request – these attacks on our transports must stop. Trade between our two Houses has flowed freely in the past and I doubt Lord Florent would wish it to stop now. As Lord of Brightwater Keep, it is his duty to keep the roads safe for travellers.” 

In truth, it was a trivial matter, one that could be solved by a knight with a few seasoned men. A number of caravans from Oldtown had been attacked in Florent lands, near their border with House Hightower. Symon doubted that the brigands were affiliated with the Florents in any way, but the House’s continuous toleration of this nuisance was reason enough for Lord Otho to bring the matter up. 

“Surely you do not expect Lord Florent to concern himself with a few cutthroats harassing traders and money-lenders? My lord is a busy man and he has greater matters to attend to.” 

Symon expected that reply, he had hoped for it, in fact. 

“Aye, our lords must concern themselves with the important affairs of the realm. I do not expect men of such high standing to express interest in the day-to-day activities of their demense. After all, that is why they have servants like us.” 

Serry smiled, but said nothing. He was regal in appearance, tall and muscled, with a pleasant face and features that would make most women swoon. He seemed perfectly in control of the situation, feeling he had the upper hand in this exchange. 

“Of course, being free of such lofty duties allows one to notice minute details, which a busier man might overlook.” Now it was Symon’s turn to smile, the corner of his mouth twisting ever so slightly. “Take for example a certain brothel in Oldtown, near the docks. Now, a perceptive man might notice that you have a tendency to frequent it during your visits to our city.” 

For the first time since their meeting, Luthor Serry’s ingratiating smile slipped from his face. He attempted to open his mouth, but Symon didn’t let him speak. [i]Now I have you, you pathetic cunt.[/i]

“Now, now, Lord Serry,” he patted him on the shoulder, leaning in conspiratorially, “As a man, I perfectly understand the desire to unwind after a long day of doing business for your lord. And what better way than in the warm embrace of a girl?” Symon lowered his voice, until it became almost a whisper. “However, there is something unusual about this brothel in particular. All of the whores there are male, as is the entire clientele.” 

Even if he had achieved nothing else, the colour draining from Serry’s face was reward enough. Symon took a step back, but kept his eyes on the other man. He let the silence stretch, knowing that a man’s worst fears were his own thoughts. Well, that was the main reason, but he couldn’t deny that watching Serry squirm was the most enjoyable thing he had seen all week. When a few more moments had passed, he decided it was time to end this. 

“I’m just a bastard, as your lord rightfully pointed out, so who am I to judge?” Symon finally looked away, turning his eyes to the city and the fields beyond it. “However, a pious man such as yourself,” he tsked, “what would the septons say? And what of your wife? I am told she is a beautiful woman and a cousin to Lord Florent himself! No…it would not do for your little secret to come out, not at all.” 

“You filthy, up-jumped son of a whore…” to say that Serry’s voice had taken on an edge would be an understatement, the malice dripping from it could almost be heard. His hand unconsciously went to the dagger at his belt, but Symon wasn’t afraid. The Florent guards nearby would not allow an emissary of the Hightowers to be killed under their lord’s roof and even if they did, Serry would have to explain his violent outburst.  

“You wound me, my lord. My mother was a seamstress and she earned her coin honestly, unlike some people. Now, I trust the matter is settled and no more brigands will plague the northern roads?” 

“I will personally see to it that they are hanged,” Serry spoke in a flat voice, “now be gone from my sight. You breathe a word of this to anyone and I swear on the Seven I’ll see you dead, even if it’s the last thing I do.” He gestured at his guards and they moved in to escort Symon. 

“Have a pleasant day, my lord.” 

[hr]
A few moments later he was already out in the street and walking away from the Florent manse. This was the second prominent House in the Reach that had refused Lord Otho’s offer of marriage. Symon’s task had seemed easy enough at first, after all who wouldn’t want to marry Orthos Hightower, heir to the Hightower and Oldtown? This was one of the rare cases in which Symon had grossly underestimated the situation. 

Though he knew little of his lord’s plans, he had an inkling as to what these marriages meant for the Reach. Unfortunately, so did the other lords and they were scared, as they should be. The Good Lady Merry had spies everywhere and she kept a particularly watchful gaze on her son’s most powerful bannermen. Symon shuddered, if she wanted to, she could probably destroy his entire network of contacts with a few letters. There was no shame in admitting it - he was good, but there were always bigger fish in the pond.

However, there was no point in worrying over eventualities and he still had much to do before his return to the Red Keep. Drawing the hood of his cloak up, Symon turned in the direction of Flea Bottom and began making his way to that sinking shithole. It was always an unpleasant experience, but he had a favour to return…