The Black Dragon (AGOT AAR)

Once again, thanks for the replies. I'm glad you're really enjoying Aegor's character, he is such fun to write.

Aegor​

The room was still alive with sound as Aegor sat there, still taking in the fact he had just been made Lord of the Reach. Daemon still had that ridiculous grin on his face.

Aegor didn’t know what to think. He was feeling anger, gratitude and worry. Daemon’s gift should have been an army, to take across the narrow sea and hunt down Bloodraven. But yet, he had made Aegor one of the greatest lords in the realm, and for that Aegor felt some kind of gratitude. But still, the Reachmen will not bow. Half fought for the Longthorn and half wanted the reach for themselves. Only the new Lord Hightower, whose grandfather had died fighting the Longthorn, seemed to be the only content one.

After the gifts, it was time for the wedding ceremony. It took twenty minutes to calm the Lords of the Reach. Aegor, Lyessa and all the others went to dress for the ceremony. After that, all the lords and ladies gathered in the sept of Highgarden.

As Aegor took his place, he looked to see where everyone was seated. Daemon and his family were at the front, on the right. On the left was the guests who Aegor had chosen specifically: Robb Reyne and his new wife, three of the Kingsguard, them being Lord Commander Kenric Darry, Bertand Crakehall and Gareth the Grey. The other three were the only armed men there, patrolling the sept. Also on that side was the bride’s family, and the Brackens. Aegor’s uncle, the elderly Lord Harys, gave him a smile.

The middle section of the sept was reserved for all the lords of the Reach. Those who had fought for Daemon where on his side, on the right. The others were on the opposite side. Behind them were all the other lords and nobles important enough to be invited. The Blackfyre supporters were on the right, with the two lords from Dorne. ‘A shame Lord Yronwood couldn’t be here. A good man, and the only Dornishman to fight for our cause.’ The Lord Paramounts, except for Lord Stark who couldn’t come south in time, were on the left.

Aegor had been dressed in fine cloth and silk. His doublet and trousers were both gold coloured, with brown stiching. His leather boots and gloves were dyed Blackfyre red. On the right of his chest, his personal symbol, the winged horse, faced inwards. As did the Blackfyre dragon on the left of his chest.
The doors of the sept opened and everyone stood as Lyessa Belmore was led into the hall by her father, who had a stupidly proud smile on his face. ‘I bet he’s elated to have a daughter marrying the Lord of the Reach.’ His daughter, a fairly pretty girl Aegor thought, was dressed in a beautiful dress of woven purple and silver. Her auburn hair was tied up with a purple hairnet garnished with small, cream stones. And Aegor could see the fear in her face.

She hid it well, but Aegor had seen the look in the eyes of many men, the men he had killed. And why shouldn’t she be scared. For the whole day Aegor had been ignoring her, and tales of his… personality were probably never far from her ears. ‘Poor guy.’ Aegor thought. Seeing her in the flesh made it harder for him to hate her as he did when he first heard of the betrothal. ‘She hates this as much as me. It shouldn’t be her walking down that path. It should be Shiera. My Shiera.’ Aegor breathed deeply, trying to work the anger out of him. He closed his eyes and emptied his thoughts.

When he opened them, she was standing next to him. She seemed so fragile. She was rather small, even for a girl of her age, and Aegor stood over most men. The septon rambled on about the importance of caring and cherishing and all that, while all Aegor did was realise how real this all was.
Aegor had only ever wanted one woman, Shiera, and he always knew he would marry her. And yet here he was, getting married to a different woman. He looked into Lyessa’s eyes. What secrets, whats fears and what dreams were behind them? Had she ever loved another? Had she always dreamed about one man marrying her?

The septon called on for their vows. They said them in unison, neither of them truly meaning it. However Aegor had to finish by himself. “And with this cloak.” He said, lifting the Bittersteel cloak in his hands. “I take her under my protection.” Lyessa swallowed nervously and turned as Bittersteel cloaked her. ‘She’s my wife now.’ Aegor let that thought sink in.

After the ceremony, the feast was started, with Aegor and Lyessa sat at the high table. “Twenty courses, prepared by the royal cooks.” King Daemon boasted to Lord Arion Baratheon, the Lord of Storm’s End. Soups, breads, birds, meats and fruits were brought to the table on after the other. The hall soon filled with jovial laughter and good conversation, and the hatreds that had come with war seemed to have faded. ‘They haven’t.’ Aegor thought to himself. ‘Men will kill one another until the end of time.’

Aegor noticed Lyessa wasn’t eating much, but to be fair neither was he. He forced himself to talk to her. “Tell me about Strongsong.” He said. She turned, surprised by the sudden conversation.

“Well, Strongsong is deep within the mountains of the Vale, and the Belmore’s have ruled for a thousand generation and longer. It is one of the finest castles in all of the Vale, and our men are in constant conflict with the Mountain Clans.”

“Mountain Clans? They sound terrifying.” Aegor mused. She offered him a weak smile.

“Not really, just raiders and bandits who flee at the first sight of Knights. Tell me about… your life.” She said. It must have been awkward for her, coming from such a rich background compared to his bastardry.

“I was the third son of Aegon IV, and his third bastard.” He looked at her awkwardly shift her eyes at the word. “Yes, bastard. Get used to it, because you’re going to hear it a lot.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, so only she can hear it.

“Daemon’s made himself trueborn, and secured my legitimisation. And he’s made our elder brother a bastard. But it’s all talk. Him and I are bastards to the end, and Daeron is Aegon’s son. Its an insult to the Dragonknight to call Daeron his child.”

“Did you know the Dragonknight well?” He was probably her hero, as he was for all highborn maids and lads for the last forty years or so.

“I knew him somewhat. I used to watch him train with… with my closest friend. We would watch him fight against one, two, three or more opponents. He was the finest fighter we ever saw. Everyone called him a true knight.” Aegor laughed bitterly at the memoery as Shiera… no Lyessa raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

“There’s no such thing as a true knight, my dear wife. Aemon Targaryen was simply better than everyone else and had a soft heart, and for some reason everyone loved him for it. And it’s happened again with Daemon.” Aegor looked over his shoulder, but the King was busy laughing with Lords Belmore and Bracken. “My… friend and I, we saw through it all, all the falsities and stupidity. Look at you, you see the King and think he’s such an honourable and brave man, how could he not win? Honour and bravery didn’t win his wars. Steel and brutes to wield the steel did. That’s how you win a war.” He said, his voice getting angrier and angrier as he remembered telling someone the exact same thing, years ago when he felt so proud and high for being a kings bastard.

Lyessa’s eyes were wide with fear. “Why are you telling me this?” She wimpered.

Aegor stopped. “I am sorry my lady, I just… I just…” Suddenly King Daemon rose.

“I believe.” He said in a drunken slur. “It is time… for the bedding!” He shouted. All the lords and ladies yelled and hollered agreements. They rose, coming to
seize the newlyweds.

“Before we do this, Lord Bittersteel.” Lyessa said softly. “Who was your closest friend? Was It King Daemon?”

Bittersteel clenched his fists as he brought himself to say it. “No. My friend’s mother, she replaced my mother as the King’s mistress, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. He was my bastard brother, my little brother. Brynden Rivers was my closest friend as a child.”

siempie78 said:

Excellent once more... I'm kind of hoping some kind of confrontation with the fled Targs will take place now

Click to expand...

Oh don't worry… There are a few Targs kicking around a little closer to home than Daemon knows.

Young Lion said:

little correction,its brynden rivers,not waters

Click to expand...

Thanks, just realised that is true for both Brynden and Aegor, so i'll change that quickly.

Aegon​

“THEY REFUSED?” Father shouted from atop the Iron Throne. Ser Melwys confirmed it.

“Yes, Your Grace. Lord Strickland, as well as Lord Crakehall, has refused to attend your coronation. They have said their reasons are...” Father waved his hand dismissively.

“I know their reasons. They’re angry I didn’t make them higher lords. Any other Lords refuse?”

“Lord Stark has said he has left Lord Hornwood in the North to keep the uneasy peace.” Murmurs rose from the crowd. Lord Jonnel Stark had successfully crushed a rebellion from the small island of Skagos, and now he and all the Lords of the North, barring Lord Hornwood and the Skagosi, where marching south at some speed.

“Very well, if that is all for today, I retire for now. Ser Melwys, you can take care of the rest of today’s affairs. Aegon, Aemon, with me.”

Aegon quickly dashed over. He realised he was doing things more efficiently recently. Maybe the responsibilities of being a prince was starting to affect him. Aemon was already by his father’s side as he reached them. Daemon ruffled their hair. “We’ll do some sparring today. Just the three of us.” He promised.

They left the throne room, with Bertand Crakehall and Alyn Connington escorting them. The castle was alive with activity, as the servants prepared the Red Keep to host the nobility of Westeros. The number of guests would make it the grandest coronation in the history of Westeros.

“King Daemon. King Daemon” Called out a voice. The party turned around to see Grand Maetser Lyman running over, with Daena Targaryen, the Queen Mother. Grandmother Daena, the younger children called her, but she demanded the upmost respect from the eldest four boys, as a sign of their royalty. Father sighed when he saw Lyman, as he disliked the man, but smiled at the sight of his mother, who had practically raised him by herself.

“Mother, Lyman, what is it?” He asked. Daena had a wicked smile on her face.

“A letter.” She said, holding it out. “From your sister, Princess Daenerys.” An uncomfortable silence hanged over the procession. Daemon, despite being married, had a great love for Daenerys, so much as he named his first daughter after her. It was always an awkward subject when around family.

“What is it?” He asked.

“She has had the audacity to ask for the release of her husband, Prince Maron Martell.” Lyman informed the King. Daemon stood there, taken back before regaining his composure, before going into deep thought. “We should gather the council, to discuss what to do with the matter.”

Daemon remained in his thouhgts, no doubt weiging all the different options. Maron Martell had fought for the Targaryens after all, but he was a cowardly man and would likely not try to fight for his nephews’ claims. However, keeping him under arrest would keep the Dornish in line, and help feed the idea Uller and Dayne seemed to have of becoming the new Princes of Dorne, securing their loyalty. But Daenerys meant a great deal to Daemon.

“No, there shall be no council meeting.” Daemon said suddenly. “Lyman you are dismissed, mother you two. We’re going to the dungeons.”

Bertand Crakehall led the way as they made their way to the dungeons of the Red Keep. Maron Martell was being kept in a dungeon suitable for a Prince of Dorne, in a reasonable room. Below him, the more unsavoury criminals rotted: thieves, murderers and ex-kings.

They reached Maron’s quarters, where two guards stood. They quickly stepped aside as they let King Daemon and the other through. No doubt Maron’s life ended today. Father had shown how ruthless he could be with traitors, as a King should be. But there was always the wall…

Maron Martell, a man in his mid-forties, was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He quickly averted his gaze to see who had entered the room, before returning his eyes to the ceiling. There was a moment of peaceful silence.

“I wondered when you’d visit, Daemon. No matter how busy, I knew you’d make time to visit me.” Maron stated.
King Daemon gave a short laugh. “No doubt. You have many friends at court, and they’ve been urging me to show mercy.”

“And yet here I am.”

“Here you are.” The father agreed.

“So, which one of you shall do it? You’re an honourable man, Daemon, or at least you claim to be. Or will one of your brutes in white do it? I’d prefer Crakehall.” He sat up, staring at Alyn Connington. “I was the one who told King Daemon to give you the White Cloak, you know? You showed such promise… But now
you’re a turncloak like the rest.”

To Ser Alyn’s credit, he showed no emotions. Father continued “I’m not going to have you executed. I’m setting you free.” Aegon looked at his father. What was he thinking? He looked over to Aemon and his twin had the identical expression on his face. Even Maron Martell looked surprised.

“King Daemon… I… I thank you.” Prince Maron said. He threw himself onto his knees. “You’re… too kind. I will never figth against you again. Dorne will always be loyal to you. I am your humble servant.” King Daemon helped him up and had the two guards outside escort him away.

As they were leaving Maron’s cells, Aegon hanged back slightly. He couldn’t believe his father, after all that had happened, with Dorne fighting against him. Alyn Connington seemed to notice and walked beside the Prince.

“What is wrong, my lord?” The young knight asked. Aegon looked up at him.

“Father spared Prince Martell. Isn’t a King meant to be just? Doesn’t a King strike down his enemies?” He told the Kingsguard. Alyn nodded.

“Yes. But a good King is not only just, by kind and forgiving. You’re father forgave me, Darry and Corbray. You defeat your foes, but if they bow you help them back up again. Forgive, my lord. Forgive…” he looked back up at Daemon. “But never forget.” As they passed the stairs leading down, further into the dungeons, farther came to a stop. “Your Grace, what is it?” Alyn asked.

Daemon looked down the stairs. “I say we pay a visit to some old friends.”

The Black Cells where derserving of their names. It was pitch black except for the torches along the wall and the ones in the hands of the three guardsmen escorting the royal party. In the cells themselves, it was completely black. “Where is Leo Tyrell?” The King asked.

“This way, Your Grace. ‘Es all the way down ‘ere.” Said the leader of the guards, a fat, stout man.

“King Daemon?” Came a familiar voice from a door to the right. The procession stopped dead. Daemon’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword. “Is that you? Have you forgotten about me? Have you forgotten about your trueborn brother?”

Father threw himself against the door, seizing a torch with his left hand, his right unsheathing Blackfyre. Aegon followed him through. The sight that greeted them was a sorry one. The man sat there, in plain clothing. He was thin from a lack of food, and sat in his own mess. However upon seeing Daemon his eyes became alive with hate. Daeron Waters, former King of Westeros, stared intensely at the King.

“So you’ve come at last, have you?” Daeron taunted. He spat at Daemon. Bertand Crakehall, who had now entered the cell, kicked the man in the gut.
“How dare you spit at the king!” He shouted. Daeron turned on him.

“Crakehall, you damned son of a whore! When I take back my throne, the head of traitors shall be struck off.”

Aemon, now standing on father’s left, laughed. “And where shall you take the throne? From here, in this cell?” Daeron growled at Aegon’s twin.

Alyn Connington entered, drawing his longsword. “The man threatens you, your Grace. What will you have me do?” He asked. Daemon grinded his teeth.

“Leave him, the shattered man that he is. Everyone knows the Kinslayer is accursed.” He looked down at Daeron, anger burning in his eyes, hand clenched around Blackfyre’s hilt. He spun around and left. Everyone else left as well, but Aegon remained for a moment longer than everyone else.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Daeron.” He said. Seeing the once proud King like that saddened him. He saw Daeron’s violet eyes soften slighty before he left.
The guards continued to escort the group down, before stopping. The fat guard opened the door on their left and they entered.

Sitting down was Leo Tyrell, head down. He looked up, squinting in the sudden light. “King Daeron. Are you here for my head?”

Father shook his head. “No. You said as long as you live, I’d have an enemy. Well I think keeping you alive for as long as possible might help think on that, and regret your actions.. So I’m going to keep you here.”

The Longthorn looked down at his maimed right leg and grinned darkly. “Well that might not be for too much longer. But I find these cells uncomfortable. I’d rather die fighting.”

“You had that chance.” Bertand Crakehall said.

“Did I? I didn’t have enough time to pick up my sword before one of Bittersteel’s Knights knocked me out. There went my chances… Until you walked in Daemon.”

All eyes rested on the King. “How so?” He asked. Leo Tyrell smiled venomously.

“I am guilty of no crime, yet here I rot, waiting to die. I don’t fancy letting death take. I’d rather go to him, arms open. I, Leo Tyrell, King of the Reach and Lord of Highgarden, demand a trial by combat. I will be my own champion.”

“And I will be mine.” Said Daemon. The Longthorn, to Aegon's surprise, grinned happily at that.

"Good... A nice clean death at the hands of a fine warrior. Terrible King, but fine warrior..."

The next morning, the entire court gathered in the courtyard as the trial was set to begin. Haegon had offered to personally squire for Leo Tyrell, and father had let him. At the other end of the courtyard, Aegon could see Haegon rushing around, attaching pieces of armour onto Leo Tyrell, before handing him his walking stick and longsword.

“Do we really have to go through with this folly?” Aemon complained as he attached father’s right shoulder pauldron. Daemon took a drink from his watered down ale.

“A King must respect the demands of his foes and friends alike, as well as follow traditions.” As Aemon left to get Blackfyre, Aegon swore he could hear him mumbling about one King not doing that. Aegon finished his father’s armour with his left gauntlet. Daemon stretched and flexed his fingers a few times, checking the practicality of the armour. It was his normal set, black with red trim. He seized him helmet, which was adorned with red dragon wings, and donned it.

“If only Bittersteel was here. I’d have enjoyed to watch the two Lords of the Reach fight it out.” Daemon mused. Aemon returned with Blackyre, which Daemon took in his right hand. When Aegon offered him his shield, he turned it away, lowered his visor and took Blackfyre in both hands.
Leo Tyrell was wearing a drab, grey set of plate, with no emblems or decorative pieces. His legs were restricted to mail, as his right leg couldn’t bear full plate and mail, and in his right hand he held a sturdy, oaken walking stick. In his left was his longsword.

The High Septon rambled on about the God’s deciding the just man and then called for the combat to begin.

Father wasted no time. He sprinted across the courtyard, egged on by the cheers of the court. He raised Blackfyre above his head sand slashed down with a mighty force at the Longthorn’s right shoulder joint. However Tyrell raised his blade, blocking the attack and used King Daemon’s force to push the King aside, before regaining his footing.

A gasp went up as Daemon fell over, but he pulled himself into a roll and vaulted back up, to the cheers of the crowd. Leo Tyrell never took his eyes off him, but remained stationary.

‘He can’t move due to his leg. All he can hope for is for father to slip up.’ Aegon thought to himself. Daemon circled the Longthorn, who struggled to turn with him. Then, like a viper, Daemon lunged at Tyrell’s waist, aiming for where the plate met the mail. Tyrell forced himself to turn with a great speed, shouting out in pain and his right leg turned. But he managed to parry the blow. But the turn had left him unbalanced.

Daemon exploited this, and started a furious onslaught, forcing the hobbling Leo Longthorn back and back. Loud grunts and curses could be heard as more pain shot through Leo’s leg. The slashes and cuts came from every direction, and then all of a sudden Tyrell’s guard was down.

Daemon swung Blackfyre around behind his head, and brought it round with full strength, aiming right for the neck. The blade flew through the air as it reached its target…

…Which was no longer there. Leo Tyrell had dropped down onto his right knee, with his left knee in preparation to rush forward. Throwing his walking stick to the side, he opened his arms, like an embrace, and pushed forward with his left knee. He tackeld father to the floor.

Daemon lied on his back, dazed. The tackled had made him drop Blackfyre, which was just out of reach. Leo sat atop him, legs on either side of him. With his free right hand, he grabbed his dagger from behind his waist, ripping it free and raising it in the air. Someone screamed as he brought it down towards father’s throat.

Daemon Blackfyre wasn’t finished, however. He grabbed Leo’s wrist, his strength making it possible for him to stop the attack. Longthorn then took his longsword, trying to slip the point into father’s left side. Daemon, showing his strength once more, threw Leo Tyrell to the side, onto his back.
Daemon picked himself up, dashing to pick up Blackfyre. The grey, Valyrian steel flashed in the sun as Daemon rushed forward at Leo Tyrell. The Longthorn had shifted himself onto both knees, holding his longsword in both hands.

The two resumed their fight, Leo parrying and blocking every attack. The only sound to be heard was the clash of steel on steel and Longthorn’s grunts of pain.

Then Daemon struck hard near the hilt of Leo’s sword. Leo jerked backwards, placing his sword at an awkward angle, allowing Daemon to strike it out of his hands. Leo Tyrell was unarmed.

Father rested the point of Blackfyre inches from Tyrell’s throat. “Yield, my lord.” He shouted for everyone to hear. “Yield, or die.”

“I… I yield, curse you.” Leo Tyrell said. Daemon nodded at Bryen Flowers and Bertand Crakehall. The two knights. They ran over, grabbing Leo Tyrell. They removed his helmet and gorget, and forced him to bear his neck.

“Lord Leo Tyrell. I, King Daemon Blackfyre, the first of his name, hereby sentence you…” He raised Blackfyre. “…to the Wall, where you shall live and die serving the realms of men. Taken him away.” The crowd burst into discussion as the two kingsguard carried him off.

‘Forgive… But never forget.’ Alyn Connington’s words rang through Aegon’s head as the former Lord of the Reach was carried off.