The Crowned Dragons - A Game of Thrones Mod
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CHAPTER XX - THE LAUGHING DRAGON
The Sept of Baelor was utterly silent. Excluding myself, there was not a living soul to be found beneath its domed roof, 'living' being the key word. I stood alone in the Sept, staring in silence at the raised alter in the very heart of it. On that alter was a man of middle age, tall and lean but cutting an impressive figure nonetheless. His silver hair lay flat against the alter, his scruffy beard hid his chiseled features and his violet eyes were forever shut from the world. Though he was known for his skills on the field of battle, the man preferred to be remembered for his diplomacy, and as such was laid to rest in one of his finest ceremonial garbs. The black fabrics were interlaced with etchings of red silk. In the light of the sun, it looked as if the suit itself was alive, with a heartbeat and blood of its own. In his hands sat a sword of unrivaled magnificence- it's blade rippling in the sunlight, it's hilt as black as the night- adorned with a ruby just smaller than my own clenched fist. It was a blade worthy of the man himself. To them, he was a king, but to me, he was simply a father.
My father had left for the Vale months ago, to bring Lord Kyle Arryn to justice. Lord Kyle had declared war for his claim on the North against the Starks of Winterfell. As the daughter of Sansa Stark, who herself was the daughter of the famed Lord Eddard Stark, Kyle Arryn was cousin of Lord Beron Stark, and shared much of his blood with the wolves of the North. Feeling that this gave him as good a claim as any to the lordship of the North, the armies of the Vale marched North to meet the Northmen in battle. My father King Rhaegar had commanded Lord Kyle to stand down, but his refusal left my father with no choice but to brand the Eyrie's lord a traitor to the realm. War ensued and the forces of the Iron Throne marched on the Vale and I said goodbye to my father, as it turns out, for the last time.
The fighting with the Valemen did not last long. Facing enemies to both the North and South, Kyle Arryn was forced to split his armies and fight on two fronts. My father was at the Bloody Gate when news reached him of Kyle Arryn's capture at the hands of the Northmen. Kyle Arryn was sent to my father in the Vale, to be brought back to the capital to be held for his crimes. However, according to my father's loyal bannermen, he began to fall ill in the last days of his stay in the Vale. Within days, he was dead, found lifeless in his own wheelhouse when they stopped to camp for the night. My father was only three-and-thirty at the time of his passing- far too young for any many of his health to be taken. Upon the arrival of his body in the capital, the crown and sword of my forefathers was passed on to me. Still only thirteen, I was now a king, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I could only hope my kingship would go well, for the last time the kingdoms saw a boy king, the realm bled for it.
The days following my fathers death were spent preparing for my coronation. The lords paramount and any other lord or lady of note were invited to the capital to attend the crowning of Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name. Ravens arrived from all those who were invited to attend, barring one. Two weeks passed and still no word had reached us from Casterly Rock. The Rock was the seat of my uncle Maelor, who had been named the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West some years ago. In an act of utter lunacy, my uncle put House Lannister to the sword, forever tarnishing his legacy in the process. Whispers from the Westerlands tell of how my uncle cackled hysterically as the bodies of the Lannisters were thrown before him, lifeless, earning him the moniker of 'the Laughing Dragon.' Though somewhat mad as he was, it was expected that my uncle would attend my coronation, and the lack of a raven from him had both me and my councilors worried, that was, until, a rider appeared as the gates of the Red Keep.
This rider carried word from the Westerlands, but not from my brother as one might have expected. Rather, this news came from a collection of vassals in the Westerlands. I bring news from Casterly Rock, your grace, the man said. He had been brought to the Tower of the Hand, where myself, my grandmother and regent Margaery and my Hand of the King, Willas Tyrell, were gathered. Lord Willas questioned why a rider was sent instead of a raven, to which the man's reply was simply, They deemed it safer this way, m'lord. Safer? It was at this point that my grandmother questioned my Hand if it was acceptable for me to be in the room to hear what was about to be said. He is the king, replied Lord Willas, he is nearly a man-grown and as king he needs to hear about the dealings of his vassals, regardless of their severity.
With Lord Willas' judgement passed, the messenger proceeded to explain the events of the last two weeks and beyond. For weeks before my father's passing, Maelor was not himself, the man said. Part of why they calling him the Laughing Dragon was because he was seldom quite or without words or laughter. However, for weeks he had kept to himself, delegating tasks to his council and remaining tight-lipped about his goings-on. Then, one day, he left. No word was given to his vassals or courtiers, no messages were left behind. Luckily, someone was smart enough to have my uncle followed, and it turns out he had bought passage on a ship, though they did not know its destination at the time. Though the actions of my uncle were already suspect, what the messenger said next brought our suspicion to a new level. It was the day we received word of the King's passing, m'lord, that was when Lord Maelor left. When word reached of Casterly Rock of Lord Maelor's whereabouts, that's when I was sent to find you m'lord. The Hand gave the messenger a stare, as if to broach the words from his mouth. Meereen, m'lord.
The men he traveled with thought it was a sickness, the Grandmaester thought it was a sickness, I thought it was a sickness. No, my father did not die from some fever he caught in the mountains, my father was murdered, on the orders of my uncle no less. Whatever killed my father left no trace. It ate away at his bowels and his appetite, slowly killing him from the inside. From the time of its consumption, it was only a matter of days before it took my father's life. The Tears of Lys was the only poison that matched such descriptions, according to the Grandmaester. Though there are some who have it in the Seven Kingdoms, it is far easier to acquire it in Essos, particularly in it's namesake- Lys- or in Slaver's Bay, where it has been known to be the bane of many a slave master. It seemed logical then to assume that my uncle procured such a poison from a connection in Essos, and judging by where he fled to, it seemed clear as to whom that connection was. Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains. These were all names given to my kin- Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of Meereen. There was no doubt in the mind of my Small Council that it was her who supplied my uncle with the Tears. Now, the two of them were together in Meereen, no doubt with ill intentions towards the Seven Kingdoms.
My Small Council began working on ensuring that we had as many eyes and ears around my uncle as possible, to ensure we knew his every move before he even made it. The informant from the Westerlands that had followed Maelor had gained passage on the same ship to Meereen, and now served as an avenue for information in Slaver's Bay. Alongside the crown's various other spies and agents, my council would ensure that no harm would come to me or my siblings, as to afford my uncle and the mother of dragons an opportunity to claim the Seven Kingdoms for himself. To make matters worse, it wasn't long before we received word from Meereen detailing the full extent my uncle would go to to ensure his own ascension. Though nothing could be stated officially, shortly after my uncle's arrival in Meereen, the Queen died of an illness bearing the same description of the one that felled my own father. No doubt Maelor had used the Tears on her as well. Now, my uncle had claimed Kingship over Meereen, and the three dragons of Daenerys as well. With a Meereenese army, a force of Unsullied, multiple sellsword companies and three dragons under his control, my uncle was a greater threat to the realm than we could ever have imagined. With our informants all around him, all we could do now was hope that we would receive word if he ever intended to launch an invasion, for if he managed to catch us by surprise, we might very well suffer the same fate as the kings of Westeros did over three hundred years ago.
The Sept of Baelor was utterly silent. Excluding myself, there was not a living soul to be found beneath its domed roof, 'living' being the key word. I stood alone in the Sept, staring in silence at the raised alter in the very heart of it. On that alter was a man of middle age, tall and lean but cutting an impressive figure nonetheless. His silver hair lay flat against the alter, his scruffy beard hid his chiseled features and his violet eyes were forever shut from the world. Though he was known for his skills on the field of battle, the man preferred to be remembered for his diplomacy, and as such was laid to rest in one of his finest ceremonial garbs. The black fabrics were interlaced with etchings of red silk. In the light of the sun, it looked as if the suit itself was alive, with a heartbeat and blood of its own. In his hands sat a sword of unrivaled magnificence- it's blade rippling in the sunlight, it's hilt as black as the night- adorned with a ruby just smaller than my own clenched fist. It was a blade worthy of the man himself. To them, he was a king, but to me, he was simply a father.
My father had left for the Vale months ago, to bring Lord Kyle Arryn to justice. Lord Kyle had declared war for his claim on the North against the Starks of Winterfell. As the daughter of Sansa Stark, who herself was the daughter of the famed Lord Eddard Stark, Kyle Arryn was cousin of Lord Beron Stark, and shared much of his blood with the wolves of the North. Feeling that this gave him as good a claim as any to the lordship of the North, the armies of the Vale marched North to meet the Northmen in battle. My father King Rhaegar had commanded Lord Kyle to stand down, but his refusal left my father with no choice but to brand the Eyrie's lord a traitor to the realm. War ensued and the forces of the Iron Throne marched on the Vale and I said goodbye to my father, as it turns out, for the last time.
The fighting with the Valemen did not last long. Facing enemies to both the North and South, Kyle Arryn was forced to split his armies and fight on two fronts. My father was at the Bloody Gate when news reached him of Kyle Arryn's capture at the hands of the Northmen. Kyle Arryn was sent to my father in the Vale, to be brought back to the capital to be held for his crimes. However, according to my father's loyal bannermen, he began to fall ill in the last days of his stay in the Vale. Within days, he was dead, found lifeless in his own wheelhouse when they stopped to camp for the night. My father was only three-and-thirty at the time of his passing- far too young for any many of his health to be taken. Upon the arrival of his body in the capital, the crown and sword of my forefathers was passed on to me. Still only thirteen, I was now a king, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I could only hope my kingship would go well, for the last time the kingdoms saw a boy king, the realm bled for it.
The days following my fathers death were spent preparing for my coronation. The lords paramount and any other lord or lady of note were invited to the capital to attend the crowning of Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name. Ravens arrived from all those who were invited to attend, barring one. Two weeks passed and still no word had reached us from Casterly Rock. The Rock was the seat of my uncle Maelor, who had been named the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West some years ago. In an act of utter lunacy, my uncle put House Lannister to the sword, forever tarnishing his legacy in the process. Whispers from the Westerlands tell of how my uncle cackled hysterically as the bodies of the Lannisters were thrown before him, lifeless, earning him the moniker of 'the Laughing Dragon.' Though somewhat mad as he was, it was expected that my uncle would attend my coronation, and the lack of a raven from him had both me and my councilors worried, that was, until, a rider appeared as the gates of the Red Keep.
This rider carried word from the Westerlands, but not from my brother as one might have expected. Rather, this news came from a collection of vassals in the Westerlands. I bring news from Casterly Rock, your grace, the man said. He had been brought to the Tower of the Hand, where myself, my grandmother and regent Margaery and my Hand of the King, Willas Tyrell, were gathered. Lord Willas questioned why a rider was sent instead of a raven, to which the man's reply was simply, They deemed it safer this way, m'lord. Safer? It was at this point that my grandmother questioned my Hand if it was acceptable for me to be in the room to hear what was about to be said. He is the king, replied Lord Willas, he is nearly a man-grown and as king he needs to hear about the dealings of his vassals, regardless of their severity.
With Lord Willas' judgement passed, the messenger proceeded to explain the events of the last two weeks and beyond. For weeks before my father's passing, Maelor was not himself, the man said. Part of why they calling him the Laughing Dragon was because he was seldom quite or without words or laughter. However, for weeks he had kept to himself, delegating tasks to his council and remaining tight-lipped about his goings-on. Then, one day, he left. No word was given to his vassals or courtiers, no messages were left behind. Luckily, someone was smart enough to have my uncle followed, and it turns out he had bought passage on a ship, though they did not know its destination at the time. Though the actions of my uncle were already suspect, what the messenger said next brought our suspicion to a new level. It was the day we received word of the King's passing, m'lord, that was when Lord Maelor left. When word reached of Casterly Rock of Lord Maelor's whereabouts, that's when I was sent to find you m'lord. The Hand gave the messenger a stare, as if to broach the words from his mouth. Meereen, m'lord.
The men he traveled with thought it was a sickness, the Grandmaester thought it was a sickness, I thought it was a sickness. No, my father did not die from some fever he caught in the mountains, my father was murdered, on the orders of my uncle no less. Whatever killed my father left no trace. It ate away at his bowels and his appetite, slowly killing him from the inside. From the time of its consumption, it was only a matter of days before it took my father's life. The Tears of Lys was the only poison that matched such descriptions, according to the Grandmaester. Though there are some who have it in the Seven Kingdoms, it is far easier to acquire it in Essos, particularly in it's namesake- Lys- or in Slaver's Bay, where it has been known to be the bane of many a slave master. It seemed logical then to assume that my uncle procured such a poison from a connection in Essos, and judging by where he fled to, it seemed clear as to whom that connection was. Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains. These were all names given to my kin- Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of Meereen. There was no doubt in the mind of my Small Council that it was her who supplied my uncle with the Tears. Now, the two of them were together in Meereen, no doubt with ill intentions towards the Seven Kingdoms.
My Small Council began working on ensuring that we had as many eyes and ears around my uncle as possible, to ensure we knew his every move before he even made it. The informant from the Westerlands that had followed Maelor had gained passage on the same ship to Meereen, and now served as an avenue for information in Slaver's Bay. Alongside the crown's various other spies and agents, my council would ensure that no harm would come to me or my siblings, as to afford my uncle and the mother of dragons an opportunity to claim the Seven Kingdoms for himself. To make matters worse, it wasn't long before we received word from Meereen detailing the full extent my uncle would go to to ensure his own ascension. Though nothing could be stated officially, shortly after my uncle's arrival in Meereen, the Queen died of an illness bearing the same description of the one that felled my own father. No doubt Maelor had used the Tears on her as well. Now, my uncle had claimed Kingship over Meereen, and the three dragons of Daenerys as well. With a Meereenese army, a force of Unsullied, multiple sellsword companies and three dragons under his control, my uncle was a greater threat to the realm than we could ever have imagined. With our informants all around him, all we could do now was hope that we would receive word if he ever intended to launch an invasion, for if he managed to catch us by surprise, we might very well suffer the same fate as the kings of Westeros did over three hundred years ago.
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Holy Mother Of... We have another Aerys who has a dragon, and claims on the Iron Throne. I wish you luck.
Does Maelor have a fleet? If no then you are relatively safe as long as you have a good Master of Whispers. If he does then prepare for war.
Damn I hope he actually invades. Bad for you game wise, but excellent for a narrative!
Dragons. This can be interesting.
Why thank you. Three dragons and three Targaryens currently reside in Meereen. That doesn't bode well for me.
He does, but it isn't that large. He has a big army, but he'd have to send it in fragments to get it to Westeros. Plus, the journey is a long one, so I feel like I could smash an invading force, then wait for the next one, and rinse and repeat. Hopefully- if it comes to war- it'll be that simple.
I agree. As Aemond, I'm not looking forward to facing a lunatic with an army and a dragon at his back. As me, I think it would be quite entertaining.
CHAPTER XXI - THE SEVENTH POINT
With my uncle fleeing to and becoming king of Meereen, the Seven Kingdoms were without a Warden of the West. My council deliberated on whom should be awarded the title and the seat of Casterly Rock. Candidates from within the Westerlands were listed- House Lefford, House Westerling, House Kenning- all noble houses from the Westerlands, stretching back generations. However, they were also all loyal to the Lannisters in years past, and the actions of my uncle might spur any one of them to rash action should they be granted control of the Westerlands. Eventually, it was decided that, as it was with my father, my brother would take up the seat of Casterly Rock, and fill the roll of my Warden of the West. Though he shared his name with our uncle and his predecessor, he was not like the new king of Meereen. Maelor and I were close, closer than my father had been with my uncle, he would serve our family well in his new role. Yet still, Maelor was younger than myself, still only a boy. It was decided that my grandmother Margaery would travel with him to the Rock, to serve as his chief advisor until he comes of age, while my Hand Willas would stay in the capital and advise me.
Many months after my brother's departure for the Rock, another man of note also departed the capital, though not at my behest. Kyle Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Paramount of the Vale, had been imprisoned in the Red Keep for just over a year now, on the basis of his treasonous acts while my father was still king. At first he was kept in a standard cell, but was eventually awarded the comfort of a room in the Red Keep, where he was kept under lock and key every day. However, one morning, two guardsmen were found dead at their post, and Lord Kyle's room was found empty. Kyle Arryn had managed to slip out of his room in the dead of night and had fled the city, making directly for the Eyrie. Though Lord Kyle was lost to us, the man responsible for his release was not.
Upon the searching of Lord Kyle's chambers, a number of letters were found. These letters were coded in a way that to the unaware, they would appear as nothing more than correspondence, yet with the revelation of Lord Kyle's escape, it was clear that they were details and instructions sent between the two parties involved. Each letter was signed by a figure going by the name 'the Seventh Point', though for a time it was unclear what this meant. Lord Willas began investigating if there had been any men from the Vale of note in the capital in recent months, and one of those whose name cropped up was Ser Harrold Templeton. Ser Harrold was the head of House Templeton, a knightly house of little worth in service to House Arryn. Ser Harrold had claimed that he was in the capital at the behest of House Royce, to pick up and escort Elyse Hothwell to the Vale, to be wed to to the heir to Runestone, Robar Royce.
However, Ser Harrold had been in the capital for a number of months now, far longer than it would take to pick up someone and depart, surely. Lord Willas sent men to keep an eye on Ser Harrold, while he personally investigated the matter. In his searches, Lord Willas came across a book written by Maester Malleon many years ago. It was a massive book, a detailed description of all of the great houses of Westeros, as well as their members and appearances. Though House Templeton was not a storied house, worthy of an entry in such a book, there was a passage that listed the minor houses sworn to House Arryn. House Templeton was found there, as well as the description of their sigil. House Templeton, Seat: Ninestars, Sigil: A saltire of gold on a field of black, the saltire charged with nine black stars, eight with six points and the ninth and central star bearing a seventh point. That was all that the histories had to say about House Templeton.
Lord Willas began to take his leave, in search of more convincing leads when he remembered something. He rushed back to the book and opened it once more. the ninth and central star bearing a seventh point. A seventh point. The man who had been organizing and plotting the release of Lord Kyle had referred to himself only as 'the Seventh Point'. The Hand of the King immediately issued a decree for the arrest of Ser Harrold Templeton, for his involvement in the release of Lord Kyle Arryn. He would be brought before a trial of the court, where he would answer for his crimes and be sentenced accordingly. With Ser Harrold's arrest imminent, it was decided that Lord Kyle would be allowed to return to the Eyrie. My Hand had determined that if we were to best understand the motives and plans of Lord Kyle, we should let them play out a little while longer. That way, when the time came for him to finally act, our evidence against him would be far more damning, and there would be little anyone could do to protect him from a swift and harsh punishment.
The trial was not a grand affair, but still it caught the attention of many a highborn lord and lady. The trial was preceded over by the Hand of the King himself, and was to last two days, with any testimonies to be heard throughout, before the sentence was delivered at the end of the second day. Robar Royce was invited to the capital, but was not afforded the luxury of being told the reason why. Upon his arrival, both he and Elyse Hothwell were questioned about the legitimacy of Ser Harrold's claims. Not knowing why they were summoned, both the Royce lad and the girl answered truthfully- neither had any inkling as to who the other was, nor were they ever made aware of any plans to be wed to one another. As expected, Ser Harrold's reasoning for being in the capital proved to be little more than an alibi, but it still was not enough to condemn him to his punishment.
Over the next few days, a number of testimonies were heard, and evidence was brought forth, the most damning of which were the letters found in Lord Kyle's chambers. A number of Goldcloaks were brought forth, describing how they had seen Ser Harrold almost daily, seemingly enjoying the gardens and pathways around the Red Keep. Smithies and shopkeeps who had gained the Templeton lord's patronage explained how inquisitive he was about the Red Keep, something that appeared to be a simple infatuation with such a grand structure. All of the testimonies were damning to Ser Harrold, but were still only customary- the trial was not even necessary, for the letters were all the evidence that was required. At the end of the second day, Lord Willas rendered a guilty verdict, and the King's Justice took Ser Harrold's head only hours later. With justice served, we could now only wait and see what the Eyrie had in store.
With my uncle fleeing to and becoming king of Meereen, the Seven Kingdoms were without a Warden of the West. My council deliberated on whom should be awarded the title and the seat of Casterly Rock. Candidates from within the Westerlands were listed- House Lefford, House Westerling, House Kenning- all noble houses from the Westerlands, stretching back generations. However, they were also all loyal to the Lannisters in years past, and the actions of my uncle might spur any one of them to rash action should they be granted control of the Westerlands. Eventually, it was decided that, as it was with my father, my brother would take up the seat of Casterly Rock, and fill the roll of my Warden of the West. Though he shared his name with our uncle and his predecessor, he was not like the new king of Meereen. Maelor and I were close, closer than my father had been with my uncle, he would serve our family well in his new role. Yet still, Maelor was younger than myself, still only a boy. It was decided that my grandmother Margaery would travel with him to the Rock, to serve as his chief advisor until he comes of age, while my Hand Willas would stay in the capital and advise me.
Many months after my brother's departure for the Rock, another man of note also departed the capital, though not at my behest. Kyle Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Paramount of the Vale, had been imprisoned in the Red Keep for just over a year now, on the basis of his treasonous acts while my father was still king. At first he was kept in a standard cell, but was eventually awarded the comfort of a room in the Red Keep, where he was kept under lock and key every day. However, one morning, two guardsmen were found dead at their post, and Lord Kyle's room was found empty. Kyle Arryn had managed to slip out of his room in the dead of night and had fled the city, making directly for the Eyrie. Though Lord Kyle was lost to us, the man responsible for his release was not.
Upon the searching of Lord Kyle's chambers, a number of letters were found. These letters were coded in a way that to the unaware, they would appear as nothing more than correspondence, yet with the revelation of Lord Kyle's escape, it was clear that they were details and instructions sent between the two parties involved. Each letter was signed by a figure going by the name 'the Seventh Point', though for a time it was unclear what this meant. Lord Willas began investigating if there had been any men from the Vale of note in the capital in recent months, and one of those whose name cropped up was Ser Harrold Templeton. Ser Harrold was the head of House Templeton, a knightly house of little worth in service to House Arryn. Ser Harrold had claimed that he was in the capital at the behest of House Royce, to pick up and escort Elyse Hothwell to the Vale, to be wed to to the heir to Runestone, Robar Royce.
However, Ser Harrold had been in the capital for a number of months now, far longer than it would take to pick up someone and depart, surely. Lord Willas sent men to keep an eye on Ser Harrold, while he personally investigated the matter. In his searches, Lord Willas came across a book written by Maester Malleon many years ago. It was a massive book, a detailed description of all of the great houses of Westeros, as well as their members and appearances. Though House Templeton was not a storied house, worthy of an entry in such a book, there was a passage that listed the minor houses sworn to House Arryn. House Templeton was found there, as well as the description of their sigil. House Templeton, Seat: Ninestars, Sigil: A saltire of gold on a field of black, the saltire charged with nine black stars, eight with six points and the ninth and central star bearing a seventh point. That was all that the histories had to say about House Templeton.
Lord Willas began to take his leave, in search of more convincing leads when he remembered something. He rushed back to the book and opened it once more. the ninth and central star bearing a seventh point. A seventh point. The man who had been organizing and plotting the release of Lord Kyle had referred to himself only as 'the Seventh Point'. The Hand of the King immediately issued a decree for the arrest of Ser Harrold Templeton, for his involvement in the release of Lord Kyle Arryn. He would be brought before a trial of the court, where he would answer for his crimes and be sentenced accordingly. With Ser Harrold's arrest imminent, it was decided that Lord Kyle would be allowed to return to the Eyrie. My Hand had determined that if we were to best understand the motives and plans of Lord Kyle, we should let them play out a little while longer. That way, when the time came for him to finally act, our evidence against him would be far more damning, and there would be little anyone could do to protect him from a swift and harsh punishment.
The trial was not a grand affair, but still it caught the attention of many a highborn lord and lady. The trial was preceded over by the Hand of the King himself, and was to last two days, with any testimonies to be heard throughout, before the sentence was delivered at the end of the second day. Robar Royce was invited to the capital, but was not afforded the luxury of being told the reason why. Upon his arrival, both he and Elyse Hothwell were questioned about the legitimacy of Ser Harrold's claims. Not knowing why they were summoned, both the Royce lad and the girl answered truthfully- neither had any inkling as to who the other was, nor were they ever made aware of any plans to be wed to one another. As expected, Ser Harrold's reasoning for being in the capital proved to be little more than an alibi, but it still was not enough to condemn him to his punishment.
Over the next few days, a number of testimonies were heard, and evidence was brought forth, the most damning of which were the letters found in Lord Kyle's chambers. A number of Goldcloaks were brought forth, describing how they had seen Ser Harrold almost daily, seemingly enjoying the gardens and pathways around the Red Keep. Smithies and shopkeeps who had gained the Templeton lord's patronage explained how inquisitive he was about the Red Keep, something that appeared to be a simple infatuation with such a grand structure. All of the testimonies were damning to Ser Harrold, but were still only customary- the trial was not even necessary, for the letters were all the evidence that was required. At the end of the second day, Lord Willas rendered a guilty verdict, and the King's Justice took Ser Harrold's head only hours later. With justice served, we could now only wait and see what the Eyrie had in store.
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Could the Vale possibly be an ally for Maelon if he decides to come for "his" chair?
Go team Laughing Dragon! I knew he was the greater and wiser Targaryean from the way he handled the Lannisters. His possession of a dragon confirms his divine mandate. He will bring cleansing fire and creative destruction to Slavers Bay and the rest of Essos.
If he has any daughters, betroth them to the king and/or his brother at once. We can't let these superior genes go to waste.
If he has any daughters, betroth them to the king and/or his brother at once. We can't let these superior genes go to waste.
bad idea giving the control of the Rock to an ambitious lad... he might become a lion on his own right
I certainly hope not. I'm hoping Maelor's actions in the Westerlands were enough to deter others from supporting his cause. I guess we'll have to wait and see, though.
That is a treasonous statement, sir!
Perhaps, but right now I need someone with clear loyalty to the crown. My brother- a child no less- will at least serve that purpose for the time being.
CHAPTER XXII - THE HAND'S PLAN
Lord Kyle Arryn made his escape back to the Eyrie with haste. A number of groups of riders were sent out to find him, in hopes that they could return him to the capital, but to no avail. Men were sent up the Kingsroad and the various other routes leading towards the Vale, but were given orders to end their pursuit at the crossing of the Trident at the Ruby Ford. Not long after the crossing, the men would be entering into the Vale, and with hostilities high between the crown and the Arryns, it would be unwise to send any men into uneasy territory. Some of my councilors urged me to pursue Lord Kyle with an army, to bring him to justice in the same manner my father had done, but the Hand of the King suggested otherwise. The mountains are to the Valemen as the swamps are to the Crannogmen, your grace. No doubt Lord Kyle will be expecting a military retaliation, rendering the Vale all but impregnable. Bide your time, Aemond, be patient, and in time, the Arryns will be brought to heel.
With the issue of the Valemen put to the side, at least for the time being, I began looking towards my own future. I would be seeing my fourteenth nameday in a few months time, and before long, I would be a man, no longer under the regency of my advisers. The first priority was to find me a suitable match to marry one day. My father and mother had only produced two daughters, both of whom were far younger than I was. Regardless of our family's customs, it wouldn't be logical to wait well into my twenties before marrying one of my sisters. As such, my council began the task of searching for a suitable match. After much searching, it was decided that Roelle Lentorys would be the most suitable match. House Lantorys, now a noble house in Dorne, was of West Valyrian origins, and the blood of Valyria still flowed through their veins. Though the match would not result in a powerful alliance or great wealth, it ensured that my family's Valyrian bloodline remained strong- something my forefathers had always considered of great importance.
For the next year, most of my time was spent in my studies, learning to become the ruler my father had hoped I would one day be. I practiced with a blade during the early hours of the morning, attended to my subjects during the day, and read my books during the night. This was my daily life, not one every boy would dream of, but one that was expected of a king. As often as I could, I would attend the meetings of my Small Council, to hear of the news throughout the realm, and beyond. During one such meeting, I was informed that some of our informants in Meereen had sent word that my aunt- the wife of my uncle and the King of Meereen, Maelor- had tamed the dragon Viserion. There were only three dragons in all the known world, and all three were in Meereen, now under the control of three Targaryens with claims on the Iron Throne. I knew that one day it was likely that I would have to face this threat, and all I could do was pray that the blood of the dragon within me was strong enough to content with real dragons.
Roelle Lentorys had also come to the capital, to live in the Red Keep until we were to be wed in the years to come. She was slightly older than I was, having already seen her fifteenth nameday before I had seen my fourteenth, but we got along well enough. She was an attractive girl, but her main strength was her wit. She was cunning, good with her words and her actions- I had a feeling she would make a good queen. I tried to see her as much as I could, in hopes that a relationship could blossom before the wedding. Though we would both no doubt do our duty regardless, it would always be beneficial for a husband and wife to get along. When time allowed it, we spent some days in the gardens of the Red Keep, discussing the dragons, my grandfather's reclaiming of the throne, and many other things. I asked her of Dorne and her home, but she was often very coy when it came to discussing her past. She claimed it would be an embarrassment to even discuss her family's history with a dragon king, but I promised her that one day we would travel to her home together, and that whatever it was it would be worthy of my admiration.
Though while my relationship was blossoming with Roelle, news from the Westerlands left me with a heavy heart. My brother at Casterly Rock sent word to the capital that our grandmother, Margaery Tyrell, had passed away in her sleep. My grandmother had married my grandfather, Aegon VI, to secure the aid of the Tyrells in his war to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms. With the help of the Tyrells, my grandfather restored our family to their rightful seat, and the Tyrells have been a staunch ally of the crown ever since. The passing of Lady Margaery robbed me of my grandmother, and the capital of one of it's most shrewd minds. My grandmother had taken after her own grandmother- the legendary Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Tyrell- in her ability to manipulate men and women alike with her words. She had served the realm faithfully for many years, and had bore my grandfather many sons and daughters, who in turn bore their own children, restoring the Targaryen dynasty to a place it had not seen in decades. She would be sorely missed.
With the passing of my grandmother, my mother Rhaenys took on the role as my designated regent, and went to Casterly Rock to guide my brother Maelor, while Lord Willas continued to preside over me and the kingdoms as my Hand. While life was going well for me in the capital, the Seven Kingdoms has its own demans, many of which are unpleasant in nature. Within the span of four months, three conflicts had broken out throughout the kingdoms. In the South, a revolt began festering in the Reach, aiming to replace Lord Paramount Willas with one of his sons. This was done on the basis that Lord Willas had been in the capital for so many years, and had grown disconnected from his own land. Though some lords and ladies rose up, the Reach had a vast army at their disposal, and there was no doubt in the Hand's mind that one of his sons would swiftly put it down.
The second and third conflicts were occurring in the North, as often was the case. Lord Beron Stark had converted to the Faith of the Seven as a child, when he lived in the capital as my father's ward. In his adulthood, he took the Seven back to Winterfell, where he ruled over the North and its sworn vassals. However, the northern lords did not take kindly to this slight against their gods, and had now risen up in retaliation. Sensing the impending struggle occurring internally in the North, Lord Kyle Arryn finally made a move, declaring war for one of his bannermen's claim on White Harbor. It was Lord Kyle's acts years ago that drove your father to brand him a traitor and have him imprisoned, your grace, Lord Willas reminded me, acts not unlike those he is committing now. Do you remember what I told you, Aemond, about the Valemen and their mountains? Without the mountains to shield him, Lord Kyle is defenseless. Now is the time to act.
The Hand's words struck deep. Lord Kyle had been a nuisance to my family for years, and has spat in our faces on a number of occasions. Now, we had an opportunity to bring him to justice at last, to right the wrongs he has committed for many years now. Once again, there were those in my court who called for war, but my Hand was quick to silence them. Open warfare was one way of dealing with your enemies, but there were other ways, too. Lord Kyle Arryn would see justice, the Hand of the King guaranteed it.
Lord Kyle Arryn made his escape back to the Eyrie with haste. A number of groups of riders were sent out to find him, in hopes that they could return him to the capital, but to no avail. Men were sent up the Kingsroad and the various other routes leading towards the Vale, but were given orders to end their pursuit at the crossing of the Trident at the Ruby Ford. Not long after the crossing, the men would be entering into the Vale, and with hostilities high between the crown and the Arryns, it would be unwise to send any men into uneasy territory. Some of my councilors urged me to pursue Lord Kyle with an army, to bring him to justice in the same manner my father had done, but the Hand of the King suggested otherwise. The mountains are to the Valemen as the swamps are to the Crannogmen, your grace. No doubt Lord Kyle will be expecting a military retaliation, rendering the Vale all but impregnable. Bide your time, Aemond, be patient, and in time, the Arryns will be brought to heel.
With the issue of the Valemen put to the side, at least for the time being, I began looking towards my own future. I would be seeing my fourteenth nameday in a few months time, and before long, I would be a man, no longer under the regency of my advisers. The first priority was to find me a suitable match to marry one day. My father and mother had only produced two daughters, both of whom were far younger than I was. Regardless of our family's customs, it wouldn't be logical to wait well into my twenties before marrying one of my sisters. As such, my council began the task of searching for a suitable match. After much searching, it was decided that Roelle Lentorys would be the most suitable match. House Lantorys, now a noble house in Dorne, was of West Valyrian origins, and the blood of Valyria still flowed through their veins. Though the match would not result in a powerful alliance or great wealth, it ensured that my family's Valyrian bloodline remained strong- something my forefathers had always considered of great importance.
For the next year, most of my time was spent in my studies, learning to become the ruler my father had hoped I would one day be. I practiced with a blade during the early hours of the morning, attended to my subjects during the day, and read my books during the night. This was my daily life, not one every boy would dream of, but one that was expected of a king. As often as I could, I would attend the meetings of my Small Council, to hear of the news throughout the realm, and beyond. During one such meeting, I was informed that some of our informants in Meereen had sent word that my aunt- the wife of my uncle and the King of Meereen, Maelor- had tamed the dragon Viserion. There were only three dragons in all the known world, and all three were in Meereen, now under the control of three Targaryens with claims on the Iron Throne. I knew that one day it was likely that I would have to face this threat, and all I could do was pray that the blood of the dragon within me was strong enough to content with real dragons.
Roelle Lentorys had also come to the capital, to live in the Red Keep until we were to be wed in the years to come. She was slightly older than I was, having already seen her fifteenth nameday before I had seen my fourteenth, but we got along well enough. She was an attractive girl, but her main strength was her wit. She was cunning, good with her words and her actions- I had a feeling she would make a good queen. I tried to see her as much as I could, in hopes that a relationship could blossom before the wedding. Though we would both no doubt do our duty regardless, it would always be beneficial for a husband and wife to get along. When time allowed it, we spent some days in the gardens of the Red Keep, discussing the dragons, my grandfather's reclaiming of the throne, and many other things. I asked her of Dorne and her home, but she was often very coy when it came to discussing her past. She claimed it would be an embarrassment to even discuss her family's history with a dragon king, but I promised her that one day we would travel to her home together, and that whatever it was it would be worthy of my admiration.
Though while my relationship was blossoming with Roelle, news from the Westerlands left me with a heavy heart. My brother at Casterly Rock sent word to the capital that our grandmother, Margaery Tyrell, had passed away in her sleep. My grandmother had married my grandfather, Aegon VI, to secure the aid of the Tyrells in his war to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms. With the help of the Tyrells, my grandfather restored our family to their rightful seat, and the Tyrells have been a staunch ally of the crown ever since. The passing of Lady Margaery robbed me of my grandmother, and the capital of one of it's most shrewd minds. My grandmother had taken after her own grandmother- the legendary Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Tyrell- in her ability to manipulate men and women alike with her words. She had served the realm faithfully for many years, and had bore my grandfather many sons and daughters, who in turn bore their own children, restoring the Targaryen dynasty to a place it had not seen in decades. She would be sorely missed.
With the passing of my grandmother, my mother Rhaenys took on the role as my designated regent, and went to Casterly Rock to guide my brother Maelor, while Lord Willas continued to preside over me and the kingdoms as my Hand. While life was going well for me in the capital, the Seven Kingdoms has its own demans, many of which are unpleasant in nature. Within the span of four months, three conflicts had broken out throughout the kingdoms. In the South, a revolt began festering in the Reach, aiming to replace Lord Paramount Willas with one of his sons. This was done on the basis that Lord Willas had been in the capital for so many years, and had grown disconnected from his own land. Though some lords and ladies rose up, the Reach had a vast army at their disposal, and there was no doubt in the Hand's mind that one of his sons would swiftly put it down.
The second and third conflicts were occurring in the North, as often was the case. Lord Beron Stark had converted to the Faith of the Seven as a child, when he lived in the capital as my father's ward. In his adulthood, he took the Seven back to Winterfell, where he ruled over the North and its sworn vassals. However, the northern lords did not take kindly to this slight against their gods, and had now risen up in retaliation. Sensing the impending struggle occurring internally in the North, Lord Kyle Arryn finally made a move, declaring war for one of his bannermen's claim on White Harbor. It was Lord Kyle's acts years ago that drove your father to brand him a traitor and have him imprisoned, your grace, Lord Willas reminded me, acts not unlike those he is committing now. Do you remember what I told you, Aemond, about the Valemen and their mountains? Without the mountains to shield him, Lord Kyle is defenseless. Now is the time to act.
The Hand's words struck deep. Lord Kyle had been a nuisance to my family for years, and has spat in our faces on a number of occasions. Now, we had an opportunity to bring him to justice at last, to right the wrongs he has committed for many years now. Once again, there were those in my court who called for war, but my Hand was quick to silence them. Open warfare was one way of dealing with your enemies, but there were other ways, too. Lord Kyle Arryn would see justice, the Hand of the King guaranteed it.
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CHAPTER XXIII - A COMING OF AGE
With such confidence in his plan, I let lord Willas proceed in bringing Lord Kyle to justice, though he did assure me it would take time, as any well thought out plan would. For the time being, Lord Kyle was allowed to continue in his conflict against the northmen, to ensure his attentions were solely focused as far away from the capital as possible. Lord Beron Stark was marching south with a massive host, and would likely encounter the valemen somewhere in the Riverlands, as was often the case when the realms went to war. The Riverlands were situated in the heart of Westeros, and was bordered by four of the kingdoms, along with the Crownlands and the Iron Islands off the western coast. More oft than not, the civil wars of Westeros occurred in the largely-flat lands of House Tully, and it appeared as though this time would be no different.
While the Arryns and Starks marched towards one another to the north, the revolt in the Reach ended as swiftly as it had began. Lord Willas' eldest son Steffon had been given command of the reachmen army, and had marched eight thousand swords against the rebels. Only one battle was required to put down the rebellion, and that battle occurred on the banks of the Cockleswhent. The rebels could only muster a third of the manpower Steffon Tyrell had brought with him, and after a hefty defeat in battle, the rebel leaders realized the error of their ways, and surrendered themselves to Lord Steffon. With the south cleansed of conflict for now, the eyes of the realm looked towards the north, in anticipation of how the conflict between the Starks and Arryns might conclude.
The conflict between the northmen and the valemen was months old by the time of my coming-of-age. Upon my sixteenth nameday, the regency of my mother and the Hand of the King would end, and I would be allowed to rule outright. To mark such an occasion, I decided to kill three ravens with a single stone by holding a grand celebration. A tourney was arranged to take place during the week leading up to my nameday, which would be capped off with my wedding to Roelle Lentorys. All of the Lord's Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms were invited, though it came as no surprise that Lord Kyle and Lord Beron would not be attending. Though the lords of House Stark and House Arryn would not be present, they at least gave their words that they would honor the celebrations by ceasing their conflict for two weeks, one week on either side of my nameday. While lords and ladies poured into the capital from every corner of Westeros, knights-aplenty rode in seeking fame and fortune in the tourney. It would prove to be the grandest spectacle the realm had seen in years.
The tourney drew the greatest knights in Westeros to the capital, with a hefty purse and their name etched in the annals of history at stake. For the week leading up to my nameday, thirty two knights faced off in the jousts, with each passing day seeing the elimination of more and more of them. While most of the kingsguard stood by my side, two chose to participate in the jousts- Ser Aemon and Ser Thaddeus. Ser Aemon was given his white cloak in his eigtheenth year, when my grandfather was still the king. Twenty years had passed since then, but Ser Aemon had lost little of his famed strength and skill. Considered the favorite to win the tourney, Ser Aemon faced the other Kingsguard member, Ser Thaddeus, in the early rounds. Ser Thaddeus had not been in the Kingsguard for long, chosen by my grandmother when I was still a boy. Though skilled at arms, he could not hope to match Ser Aemon, and was swiftly unhorsed in the first tilt. Ser Aemon lifted his brother from the dirt and let out a hearty laugh. Thaddeus looked unnerved by his swift elimination, but took to heart Ser Aemon's words: Don't fret brother, I don't think even the Warrior himself could unseat me in a joust!
On the day before my nameday, the tourney began drawing to a close. The archery contest was decided first thing in the morning, with the winner being awarded a standard purse of five thousand dragons. The melee was contested shortly after the archery ended. Thirty men competed in the grueling fight, when only one was left standing after nearly two hours. The knight opted to remain helmed, in an odd turn of events, but took his winnings no less- another five thousand dragons. At midday, a crown gathered around the tiltyard to watch the final two competitors meet in the final joust. As expected, Ser Aemon Snow sat atop his horse at one end of the yard, while the rather unexpected Lord Donnel Pryor waited for him at the other end.
Lord Donnel was the lord of the Pebble, a minuscule island belonging to the Vale of Arryn. House Pryor was often the subject of mockery, most notably from other valemen lords themselves, for their small and utterly insignificant holding. They were viewed as such an insignificance that Lord Kyle Arryn had chosen not to call House Pryor into his conflict with the Starks, humiliating the house before the entirety of the realm. Yet, despite all that, here Lord Donnel sat, the finalist in the tourney of the king, facing down one of the best jousters in the Seven Kingdoms. In the first tilt, Ser Aemon's lance struck Lord Donnel's shield, splintering under the weight of the impact, while Lord Donnel could only score a brushing hit on Ser Aemon's shoulder. The second tilt saw both men land heavy blows to one another, with both men rendering their lances useless after the hits were delivered. On the third tilt, Lord Donnel shocked the capital by brushing the lance of Ser Aemon to the side with his shield arm, before unseating the giant Kingsguard knight with a hefty blow to the chest. Deemed utterly insignificant by his own people, Lord Donnel now stood as the champion of the king's tourney, with a purse of ten thousand dragons in hand, and the begrudging respect of one of the finest jousters in the realm. With that, the tourney concluded, and all attention shifted to the events of the next day- the royal wedding.
The day after the tourney, focus swiftly shifted from blood and sweat of combat to the riches and splendor of a royal wedding. The Red Keep was laden with the colors of my family- banners of black and tents of red and ornaments of both lined the walls and gardens of the keep, while lords and ladies alike filled the castle with conversation, laughter and entertainment. Exotic dancers from the Summer Isles and fire breathers from the Free Cities entertained the guests, while bards and musicians ensured there was never a lull in excitement. The celebrations lasted for hours, before anyone and everyone of note gathered in the Great Sept of Baelor, to bear witness to my cloaking of Roelle.
We stood across from one another, Roelle and I, and said the words in the sights of gods and men. I gave cloaked her in the sigil of my family, a symbolic gesture to the gods that she would forever be under my protection. With that, the High Septon gave his blessing to our union, and the festivities continued. Wine was drank, food was eaten and all that the royal wedding had to offer was enjoyed. Gifts from every corner of Westeros were brought to us, while envoys of the Free Cities brought rare and valued gifts from Essos, as a token of good will between themselves and the crown. After a full day of festivities, guests began taking their leave, and myself and Roelle retreated into the Red Keep for our first night as man and wife.
With the the wedding taking place on my nameday, I was now a man-grown, and as such, the regency ended and I was granted sole governance over the Seven Kingdoms. It was fortunate timing too, for my Hand of the King began falling ill, and worsening with every day. There was no sickness plaguing the capital, nor was there any tainted food to be eaten at the wedding, Lord Willas was merely succumbing to the cold embrace of advanced age. Within weeks of the wedding, the bells of the Red Keep tolled high above King's Landing, marking the passing of one of the realm's greatest servants. For fourty years, Willas Tyrell had been a servant and ally of my family, serving as the hand of the king with honor for nearly twenty years. With his passing, I began the search for a new Hand, while the remaining members of the late Lord Willas' household making their preparations to return to Highgarden. On one afternoon, one of Lord Willas' courtiers approached me, seeking my audience before their departure. Lord Willas wanted you to have this, your grace, should he pass before he could inform you personally. The courtier handed me a letter, kept closed by the personal seal of Lord Willas- a hand atop a rose, an ode to both his house and his title. One last thing, your grace, from Lord Willas, said the courtier. His lordship told me to tell you to keep the contents of the letter private, your grace, until the time is right, of course. He said that otherwise, there will be consequences.
With such confidence in his plan, I let lord Willas proceed in bringing Lord Kyle to justice, though he did assure me it would take time, as any well thought out plan would. For the time being, Lord Kyle was allowed to continue in his conflict against the northmen, to ensure his attentions were solely focused as far away from the capital as possible. Lord Beron Stark was marching south with a massive host, and would likely encounter the valemen somewhere in the Riverlands, as was often the case when the realms went to war. The Riverlands were situated in the heart of Westeros, and was bordered by four of the kingdoms, along with the Crownlands and the Iron Islands off the western coast. More oft than not, the civil wars of Westeros occurred in the largely-flat lands of House Tully, and it appeared as though this time would be no different.
While the Arryns and Starks marched towards one another to the north, the revolt in the Reach ended as swiftly as it had began. Lord Willas' eldest son Steffon had been given command of the reachmen army, and had marched eight thousand swords against the rebels. Only one battle was required to put down the rebellion, and that battle occurred on the banks of the Cockleswhent. The rebels could only muster a third of the manpower Steffon Tyrell had brought with him, and after a hefty defeat in battle, the rebel leaders realized the error of their ways, and surrendered themselves to Lord Steffon. With the south cleansed of conflict for now, the eyes of the realm looked towards the north, in anticipation of how the conflict between the Starks and Arryns might conclude.
The conflict between the northmen and the valemen was months old by the time of my coming-of-age. Upon my sixteenth nameday, the regency of my mother and the Hand of the King would end, and I would be allowed to rule outright. To mark such an occasion, I decided to kill three ravens with a single stone by holding a grand celebration. A tourney was arranged to take place during the week leading up to my nameday, which would be capped off with my wedding to Roelle Lentorys. All of the Lord's Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms were invited, though it came as no surprise that Lord Kyle and Lord Beron would not be attending. Though the lords of House Stark and House Arryn would not be present, they at least gave their words that they would honor the celebrations by ceasing their conflict for two weeks, one week on either side of my nameday. While lords and ladies poured into the capital from every corner of Westeros, knights-aplenty rode in seeking fame and fortune in the tourney. It would prove to be the grandest spectacle the realm had seen in years.
The tourney drew the greatest knights in Westeros to the capital, with a hefty purse and their name etched in the annals of history at stake. For the week leading up to my nameday, thirty two knights faced off in the jousts, with each passing day seeing the elimination of more and more of them. While most of the kingsguard stood by my side, two chose to participate in the jousts- Ser Aemon and Ser Thaddeus. Ser Aemon was given his white cloak in his eigtheenth year, when my grandfather was still the king. Twenty years had passed since then, but Ser Aemon had lost little of his famed strength and skill. Considered the favorite to win the tourney, Ser Aemon faced the other Kingsguard member, Ser Thaddeus, in the early rounds. Ser Thaddeus had not been in the Kingsguard for long, chosen by my grandmother when I was still a boy. Though skilled at arms, he could not hope to match Ser Aemon, and was swiftly unhorsed in the first tilt. Ser Aemon lifted his brother from the dirt and let out a hearty laugh. Thaddeus looked unnerved by his swift elimination, but took to heart Ser Aemon's words: Don't fret brother, I don't think even the Warrior himself could unseat me in a joust!
On the day before my nameday, the tourney began drawing to a close. The archery contest was decided first thing in the morning, with the winner being awarded a standard purse of five thousand dragons. The melee was contested shortly after the archery ended. Thirty men competed in the grueling fight, when only one was left standing after nearly two hours. The knight opted to remain helmed, in an odd turn of events, but took his winnings no less- another five thousand dragons. At midday, a crown gathered around the tiltyard to watch the final two competitors meet in the final joust. As expected, Ser Aemon Snow sat atop his horse at one end of the yard, while the rather unexpected Lord Donnel Pryor waited for him at the other end.
Lord Donnel was the lord of the Pebble, a minuscule island belonging to the Vale of Arryn. House Pryor was often the subject of mockery, most notably from other valemen lords themselves, for their small and utterly insignificant holding. They were viewed as such an insignificance that Lord Kyle Arryn had chosen not to call House Pryor into his conflict with the Starks, humiliating the house before the entirety of the realm. Yet, despite all that, here Lord Donnel sat, the finalist in the tourney of the king, facing down one of the best jousters in the Seven Kingdoms. In the first tilt, Ser Aemon's lance struck Lord Donnel's shield, splintering under the weight of the impact, while Lord Donnel could only score a brushing hit on Ser Aemon's shoulder. The second tilt saw both men land heavy blows to one another, with both men rendering their lances useless after the hits were delivered. On the third tilt, Lord Donnel shocked the capital by brushing the lance of Ser Aemon to the side with his shield arm, before unseating the giant Kingsguard knight with a hefty blow to the chest. Deemed utterly insignificant by his own people, Lord Donnel now stood as the champion of the king's tourney, with a purse of ten thousand dragons in hand, and the begrudging respect of one of the finest jousters in the realm. With that, the tourney concluded, and all attention shifted to the events of the next day- the royal wedding.
The day after the tourney, focus swiftly shifted from blood and sweat of combat to the riches and splendor of a royal wedding. The Red Keep was laden with the colors of my family- banners of black and tents of red and ornaments of both lined the walls and gardens of the keep, while lords and ladies alike filled the castle with conversation, laughter and entertainment. Exotic dancers from the Summer Isles and fire breathers from the Free Cities entertained the guests, while bards and musicians ensured there was never a lull in excitement. The celebrations lasted for hours, before anyone and everyone of note gathered in the Great Sept of Baelor, to bear witness to my cloaking of Roelle.
We stood across from one another, Roelle and I, and said the words in the sights of gods and men. I gave cloaked her in the sigil of my family, a symbolic gesture to the gods that she would forever be under my protection. With that, the High Septon gave his blessing to our union, and the festivities continued. Wine was drank, food was eaten and all that the royal wedding had to offer was enjoyed. Gifts from every corner of Westeros were brought to us, while envoys of the Free Cities brought rare and valued gifts from Essos, as a token of good will between themselves and the crown. After a full day of festivities, guests began taking their leave, and myself and Roelle retreated into the Red Keep for our first night as man and wife.
With the the wedding taking place on my nameday, I was now a man-grown, and as such, the regency ended and I was granted sole governance over the Seven Kingdoms. It was fortunate timing too, for my Hand of the King began falling ill, and worsening with every day. There was no sickness plaguing the capital, nor was there any tainted food to be eaten at the wedding, Lord Willas was merely succumbing to the cold embrace of advanced age. Within weeks of the wedding, the bells of the Red Keep tolled high above King's Landing, marking the passing of one of the realm's greatest servants. For fourty years, Willas Tyrell had been a servant and ally of my family, serving as the hand of the king with honor for nearly twenty years. With his passing, I began the search for a new Hand, while the remaining members of the late Lord Willas' household making their preparations to return to Highgarden. On one afternoon, one of Lord Willas' courtiers approached me, seeking my audience before their departure. Lord Willas wanted you to have this, your grace, should he pass before he could inform you personally. The courtier handed me a letter, kept closed by the personal seal of Lord Willas- a hand atop a rose, an ode to both his house and his title. One last thing, your grace, from Lord Willas, said the courtier. His lordship told me to tell you to keep the contents of the letter private, your grace, until the time is right, of course. He said that otherwise, there will be consequences.
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CHAPTER XXIV - THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD
Late at night, in the privacy of my own chambers, I went to my lock box, and removed a letter from within. Kept closed by the official seal of my now ex-Hand, the contents of the letter were still a mystery, but they came with a warning. Keep the contents of the letter private, I was told, otherwise, there will be consequences. Roelle was asleep on the bed, and apart from her, the room was vacant, only myself and the letter remained. I lit a candle on the desk to illuminate the room somewhat, and grabbed a nearby knife. I ran the blade down the fold of the letter, splitting the seal. Written by the Hand himself shortly before his passing, the letter was long and detailed. The letters I was used to receiving were usually kind words from my vassals, or updates from around the realm. This one, however, was none of this. This was a plan.
I scanned the letter for a time, taking in each and every word that Lord Willas had written down. A while back, the troublesome lord of the Vale, Kyle Arryn, had begun raising his forces to engage the Starks, in a bid to claim White Harbor for the Vale. For months now, the northmen and the valemen had been engaged in battle, mostly minor skirmishes, with a decisive battle yet to occur. Lord Willas had asked that I entrust in him the task of dealing with Lord Kyle, and bringing the Vale back into check, though Lord Willas had passed before his plan could come to fruition. However, the Hand of the King was no fool, he knew his days were numbered, and he wrote the letter so that I might carry out his plans. I would honor him one last time by trusting in his advice, but this was not the plan that I had expected.
The letter detailed how a number of lords in the Vale had been in contact with Lord Willas, detailing their frustrations at their lord's obsession with the North. It had become clear to them that Lord Kyle was not waging wars for honor or duty, but for power. The man wanted lands, titles and status. Even with the Vale under his control, that was apparently still not enough for the Arryn lord. Lord Willas had thus concocted a plan to end the conflicts with the Stark, and ensure the submission of the Vale. Lord Willas had intended to name Lord Kyle as my new Master of Coin, on the condition that he stand down and end his ambitions in the North. With the man craving only power and status, Lord Willas had no doubt that Kyle Arryn would accept the proposition, and on his arrival in the capital, my Hand of the King intended on arresting the Arryn lord, to answer for his crimes against the crown. He would face trial- a trial that would likely see him found guilty- and would be banished to Castle Black, leaving his far more lenient brother Odron as Lord of the Vale.
The plan startled me, but Lord Willas had faith that it would succeed, and I had faith in my Hand. As such, I drew up the letter that was to be sent to Lord Kyle, but I altered the original plan slightly. With Lord Willas' passing, I was in need of a new Hand, a role that I offered to Lord Kyle instead of that of Master of Coin. Within a week, a raven had arrived in the capital, declaring that Lord Kyle was riding to the capital to take up his new positions, and that all of his bannermen were marching back to the Vale. Two weeks later, Lord Kyle arrived at the gates of the city, and once he was within the walls of the Red Keep itself, the city watch surrounded his household and demanded that Lord Kyle submit himself to a trial. The two dozen or valemen guards drew their blades to defend their lord, but Lord Kyle calmed them. Fuck your trial, he yelled up the steps to where I was stood, I wont have you crooks judging me, the Gods will preside over my trial! I demand a trial by combat!
Kyle Arryn was escorted to his quarters, where he was kept under lock and key all day, while his personal guard was housed elsewhere in the Red Keep. The trial was to be held during the week, and as such, Lord Kyle would not have enough time to summon a champion from the Vale to fight for him, and as such, he made due with the members of his personal guard. In the end, he settled on the obvious choice of Jon Lynderly, the son of Lord Terrence Lynderly of the Snakewood and Captain of Kyle Arryn's guard. He wasn't a large man, nor did he look particularly strong, but as Captain of the Guard, you could be sure that he was skilled with a blade.
With Lord Kyle's champion chosen, I began thinking of who to choose myself. I met with my Small Council to discuss the matter more. At first, I put forth the notion that I should stand in the trial. After all, what better way to send a message than by doing it yourself? However, my council put down the suggestion outright, on the basis that they could not sit idly by and risk the life of their king in single combat. Instead, we began looking at the next logical choice- the Kingsguard. Lord Commander Loras offered to be my champion, but as my council could not sit by and risk their king, I too could not sit by and risk my Lord Commander. May I suggest Ser Thaddeus then, your grace?
The members of the royal court gathered at the end of the week, in the terraces overlooking the Blackwater. Below, in the plaza, stood Jon Lynderly, and across from him, Ser Thaddeus. Upon being approached to be my champion, the young Kingsguard knight was quick to accept such an honor. Young, brash and extremely talented with a blade, Ser Thaddeus had been named to the Kingsguard two years ago, on the recommendation of the Lord Commander himself, who had observed the young man's skill when he was still a squire. Ser Thaddeus was notably shorter than Jon Lynderly, but had a speed about him that few men could match. I silenced the onlookers, and stood. In the sight of gods and men, we are gathered to ascertain the guilt or innocence of Lord Kyle Arryn. May the Mother grant him mercy, may the Father give them such justice as they deserve, and may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion.
With that, the combat commenced. Ser Thaddeus fought with speed and grace, as one might expect from a young and utterly confident knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Jon, however, fought as any seasons soldier would- no nonsense, no flair, only effectiveness. They danced for a while, trading blows to each other's shields and blades, the ringing of steel serving as music to the onlooking crowd. Throughout, Ser Thaddeus had a grin on his face, and spoke to Ser Jon, promising to give him an clean and honorable death. Ser Jon did not reply. After countering of one of Thaddeus' lunges, the Captain of the Guard lunged forward with his shield, only to to see his arm met with cold steel. The leather armor that was typical of a household guard was not enough to stop the blade, and it found it's mark on Ser Jon's forearm. It was a solid enough blow to force the valeman to drop his shield, who was now limited to only his sword arm for defense.
Sensing victory, Thaddeus pressed his attack, limiting Ser Jon to a panicked defense. He blocked and parried blow after blow from the Kingsguard knight, blows that would likely have ended many a knight or swordsman. Yet, through Ser Thaddeus' frenzied assault, he had not touched the heir to Snakewood, and grew frustrated with the difficulty he had in dispatching what he deemed to be only a household guard. Ser Thaddeus lunged forward with little caution. Ser Jon replied by circling to Thaddeus' right, slamming the pommel of his blade into the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Though it was not enough to even dent the heavy white plate of the Kingsguard, it staggered the knight enough for Ser Jon to capitalize.
The Captain of Kyle Arryn's guard continued to circle around, this time sweeping the staggered Thaddeus off his feet. The weight of his own body and armor hitting the floor took the breath from Thaddeus, and left him all but defenseless, sprawled out on the cobbled stones of the plaza. Ser Jon placed the tip of his blade at Ser Thaddeus' throat, and through weighted breaths, asked him a question: Yield? I stood from my chair, prepared to call a stop to the combat when Thaddeus gave his reply. I am Kingsguard, he muttered, I will not yie-. Sensing what was about to happen, I yelled at the top of my voice. STOP! Stop this now! However, it was too late. Jon Lynderly gave the gentlest push forward from his shoulder, but it was enough to plunge the tip of his blade into Thaddeus' throat. He removed his sword, and the brash young Kingsguard drowned in his own blood within seconds. It was done.
With regret, I rendered the innocent verdict, and ordered the immediate release of Lord Kyle, who was to return unhindered to the Vale within three days. Lord Kyle, who was stood in chains off to the side, was uttering curses towards me, but I took no heed of it. There were those in attendance yelling, traitor! and others yelling, justice!, and there were those, like myself, who were left without words at the verdict. However, none of the cries from the crowd were as loud as the cry from a goldcloak who had come running into the plaza, clearly distraught and out of breath. Ships! Ships! he yelled. I urged the guard to calm himself, and to collect his thoughts. A fleet has been sighted sailing up the Narrow Sea, past the Island of Tarth. Ships? And what sails do they fly? I asked.
The dragon and the harpy.
Late at night, in the privacy of my own chambers, I went to my lock box, and removed a letter from within. Kept closed by the official seal of my now ex-Hand, the contents of the letter were still a mystery, but they came with a warning. Keep the contents of the letter private, I was told, otherwise, there will be consequences. Roelle was asleep on the bed, and apart from her, the room was vacant, only myself and the letter remained. I lit a candle on the desk to illuminate the room somewhat, and grabbed a nearby knife. I ran the blade down the fold of the letter, splitting the seal. Written by the Hand himself shortly before his passing, the letter was long and detailed. The letters I was used to receiving were usually kind words from my vassals, or updates from around the realm. This one, however, was none of this. This was a plan.
I scanned the letter for a time, taking in each and every word that Lord Willas had written down. A while back, the troublesome lord of the Vale, Kyle Arryn, had begun raising his forces to engage the Starks, in a bid to claim White Harbor for the Vale. For months now, the northmen and the valemen had been engaged in battle, mostly minor skirmishes, with a decisive battle yet to occur. Lord Willas had asked that I entrust in him the task of dealing with Lord Kyle, and bringing the Vale back into check, though Lord Willas had passed before his plan could come to fruition. However, the Hand of the King was no fool, he knew his days were numbered, and he wrote the letter so that I might carry out his plans. I would honor him one last time by trusting in his advice, but this was not the plan that I had expected.
The letter detailed how a number of lords in the Vale had been in contact with Lord Willas, detailing their frustrations at their lord's obsession with the North. It had become clear to them that Lord Kyle was not waging wars for honor or duty, but for power. The man wanted lands, titles and status. Even with the Vale under his control, that was apparently still not enough for the Arryn lord. Lord Willas had thus concocted a plan to end the conflicts with the Stark, and ensure the submission of the Vale. Lord Willas had intended to name Lord Kyle as my new Master of Coin, on the condition that he stand down and end his ambitions in the North. With the man craving only power and status, Lord Willas had no doubt that Kyle Arryn would accept the proposition, and on his arrival in the capital, my Hand of the King intended on arresting the Arryn lord, to answer for his crimes against the crown. He would face trial- a trial that would likely see him found guilty- and would be banished to Castle Black, leaving his far more lenient brother Odron as Lord of the Vale.
The plan startled me, but Lord Willas had faith that it would succeed, and I had faith in my Hand. As such, I drew up the letter that was to be sent to Lord Kyle, but I altered the original plan slightly. With Lord Willas' passing, I was in need of a new Hand, a role that I offered to Lord Kyle instead of that of Master of Coin. Within a week, a raven had arrived in the capital, declaring that Lord Kyle was riding to the capital to take up his new positions, and that all of his bannermen were marching back to the Vale. Two weeks later, Lord Kyle arrived at the gates of the city, and once he was within the walls of the Red Keep itself, the city watch surrounded his household and demanded that Lord Kyle submit himself to a trial. The two dozen or valemen guards drew their blades to defend their lord, but Lord Kyle calmed them. Fuck your trial, he yelled up the steps to where I was stood, I wont have you crooks judging me, the Gods will preside over my trial! I demand a trial by combat!
Kyle Arryn was escorted to his quarters, where he was kept under lock and key all day, while his personal guard was housed elsewhere in the Red Keep. The trial was to be held during the week, and as such, Lord Kyle would not have enough time to summon a champion from the Vale to fight for him, and as such, he made due with the members of his personal guard. In the end, he settled on the obvious choice of Jon Lynderly, the son of Lord Terrence Lynderly of the Snakewood and Captain of Kyle Arryn's guard. He wasn't a large man, nor did he look particularly strong, but as Captain of the Guard, you could be sure that he was skilled with a blade.
With Lord Kyle's champion chosen, I began thinking of who to choose myself. I met with my Small Council to discuss the matter more. At first, I put forth the notion that I should stand in the trial. After all, what better way to send a message than by doing it yourself? However, my council put down the suggestion outright, on the basis that they could not sit idly by and risk the life of their king in single combat. Instead, we began looking at the next logical choice- the Kingsguard. Lord Commander Loras offered to be my champion, but as my council could not sit by and risk their king, I too could not sit by and risk my Lord Commander. May I suggest Ser Thaddeus then, your grace?
The members of the royal court gathered at the end of the week, in the terraces overlooking the Blackwater. Below, in the plaza, stood Jon Lynderly, and across from him, Ser Thaddeus. Upon being approached to be my champion, the young Kingsguard knight was quick to accept such an honor. Young, brash and extremely talented with a blade, Ser Thaddeus had been named to the Kingsguard two years ago, on the recommendation of the Lord Commander himself, who had observed the young man's skill when he was still a squire. Ser Thaddeus was notably shorter than Jon Lynderly, but had a speed about him that few men could match. I silenced the onlookers, and stood. In the sight of gods and men, we are gathered to ascertain the guilt or innocence of Lord Kyle Arryn. May the Mother grant him mercy, may the Father give them such justice as they deserve, and may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion.
With that, the combat commenced. Ser Thaddeus fought with speed and grace, as one might expect from a young and utterly confident knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Jon, however, fought as any seasons soldier would- no nonsense, no flair, only effectiveness. They danced for a while, trading blows to each other's shields and blades, the ringing of steel serving as music to the onlooking crowd. Throughout, Ser Thaddeus had a grin on his face, and spoke to Ser Jon, promising to give him an clean and honorable death. Ser Jon did not reply. After countering of one of Thaddeus' lunges, the Captain of the Guard lunged forward with his shield, only to to see his arm met with cold steel. The leather armor that was typical of a household guard was not enough to stop the blade, and it found it's mark on Ser Jon's forearm. It was a solid enough blow to force the valeman to drop his shield, who was now limited to only his sword arm for defense.
Sensing victory, Thaddeus pressed his attack, limiting Ser Jon to a panicked defense. He blocked and parried blow after blow from the Kingsguard knight, blows that would likely have ended many a knight or swordsman. Yet, through Ser Thaddeus' frenzied assault, he had not touched the heir to Snakewood, and grew frustrated with the difficulty he had in dispatching what he deemed to be only a household guard. Ser Thaddeus lunged forward with little caution. Ser Jon replied by circling to Thaddeus' right, slamming the pommel of his blade into the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Though it was not enough to even dent the heavy white plate of the Kingsguard, it staggered the knight enough for Ser Jon to capitalize.
The Captain of Kyle Arryn's guard continued to circle around, this time sweeping the staggered Thaddeus off his feet. The weight of his own body and armor hitting the floor took the breath from Thaddeus, and left him all but defenseless, sprawled out on the cobbled stones of the plaza. Ser Jon placed the tip of his blade at Ser Thaddeus' throat, and through weighted breaths, asked him a question: Yield? I stood from my chair, prepared to call a stop to the combat when Thaddeus gave his reply. I am Kingsguard, he muttered, I will not yie-. Sensing what was about to happen, I yelled at the top of my voice. STOP! Stop this now! However, it was too late. Jon Lynderly gave the gentlest push forward from his shoulder, but it was enough to plunge the tip of his blade into Thaddeus' throat. He removed his sword, and the brash young Kingsguard drowned in his own blood within seconds. It was done.
With regret, I rendered the innocent verdict, and ordered the immediate release of Lord Kyle, who was to return unhindered to the Vale within three days. Lord Kyle, who was stood in chains off to the side, was uttering curses towards me, but I took no heed of it. There were those in attendance yelling, traitor! and others yelling, justice!, and there were those, like myself, who were left without words at the verdict. However, none of the cries from the crowd were as loud as the cry from a goldcloak who had come running into the plaza, clearly distraught and out of breath. Ships! Ships! he yelled. I urged the guard to calm himself, and to collect his thoughts. A fleet has been sighted sailing up the Narrow Sea, past the Island of Tarth. Ships? And what sails do they fly? I asked.
The dragon and the harpy.
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So as some of you are probably aware, the change to the new forums backtracked my AAR a few entries, so I had to re-post them here.
I figured I'd just post them all at once, so if anyone missed them, or only thinks the 'latest' chapter is a new one, chapters XXII, XXIII and XXIV are all new as of right now. Enjoy.
I figured I'd just post them all at once, so if anyone missed them, or only thinks the 'latest' chapter is a new one, chapters XXII, XXIII and XXIV are all new as of right now. Enjoy.
great we can now resume with the AARs, I was kind of boring at work withput something to read
CHAPTER XXV - DUSKENDALE
A massive fleet had been spotted sailing up the Narrow Sea by some fishermen from the Stormlands; their ships adorned with the dragon and the harpy- the personalized sigil of the King of Meereen, my uncle Maelor- no doubt with a force of thousands of men at his back. I began mustering my own forces to prepare for the landing, but word reached me of grievous news. While some brave fishermen kept us informed of the fleet's progress, the burning of some coastal villages in the Stormlands proved that my uncle was bringing more than just an army.
Three dragons had hit the mainland, razing various farms and communities on the coast, before returning to their masters on their ships. Tales of Daenerys' dragons had spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms for three decades, but even then it was hard to believe they were real. I prayed to the Seven to guide me and sent ravens to every corner of the realm, for I knew that despite my blood and my name, I could not hope to match dragons alone.
I gathered ten thousand men from the Crownlands at Largetree, in hopes that I could meet any landing force away from the capital. While my force gathered, I sent the Ser Aemon to bring men from Harrenhal and it's holdings to reinforce our position in the Crownlands. Within a few days ravens were arriving from Sunspear, Winterfell,Casterly Rock and even the Eyrie, much to my surprise, with each lord promising to fend off these invaders from the east. Though no word came from Highgarden, our scouts and informants told us of a host marching in our direction, and so it appeared that Lord Steffon was joining the fight as well.
Word reached us at Largetree that my uncle's fleet was passing Massey's Hook, and would be able to land in the Crownlands within days. I decided to move against the fleet, who appeared to be making for Cracklaw Point, but I waited a day longer to allow the forces from Harrenhal and Highgarden to join with us. However, when Lord Steffon's forces approached, it soon became apparent that he was not coming as an ally.
While I was positioned within the keep alongside a small garrison, the majority of my forces were camped outside the walls of Largetree. When Lord Steffon's army approached, they flew their banners and sounded their horns, and charged on our position. Many of my men fell before they realized what was happening, but our force soon rallied a defense against the reachmen. My ten thousand men held a valiant defence against Lord Steffon's ten thousand, but being caught unawares severely damaged our chances of success.
Luckily, the forces from Harrenhal arrived, bringing five thousand swords. Seeing a battle ensuing, our reinforcements joined the fighting, smashing into the rear of Lord Steffon's position, locking them in place between them and the keep. The battle began turning in our favor, with the reachmen fending off an attack on two fronts, and when Lord Steffon fell in the thick of the fighting, their army broke and the day was ours. More than half of the reachmen army was destroyed in the fighting, and with a girl child their new liege, the Reach would likely play no further part in the war.
With the remainder of Lord Steffon's army scurring back to the Reach, my force marched north. Word had arrived from the Riverlands that the Tullys were marching a massive host towards the Crownlands,having received news that my uncle had landed at Cracklaw Point with nearly twenty thousand men. The Meereenese were slowly advancing south, taking towns and keeps with little opposition. I could only hope that my fifteen thousand men and the army of the Tully's would be enough to fend off twenty thousand and dragons.
Two weeks had passed when we arrived at Duskendale, where Lord Harsley Tully had set up camp with over thirty thousand riverlanders. Having landed at Cracklaw Point, my uncle had taken Rook's Nest and Hollard Hall and was only a day or two away from Duskendale. Many years ago, my great-grandfather was imprisoned here, where the Lord of Duskendale led a now-famed defiance against the crown. It was here that I too would make my defiance- win or lose, it would be at Duskendale where the war would be decided.
My uncle's forces arrived at Duskendale, quite appropriately, at dusk. The sun was setting over our enemy's host. I readied my horse and took up my place at the head of the right flank of our force. Lord Harsley commanded the centre, with the majority of the men being his own. As the sun continued it's descent, now almost resting atop the heads of the men across the field from us, the sound for charge was made and the battle commenced.
Seventy thousand men danced the dance of death, with blood and steel sprawling across the fields of Duskendale. Hours passed and our superiority in manpower began to show, with our own forces inflicting heavy losses on my uncle's. The sun had set and we now clashed in the darkness, our only light coming from the stars above. Then, as if the sun had set and was now rising again, they were unleashed.
Flashes of light filled the sky as my uncle and aunt took to the sky atop their winged beasts. It seemed for a moment that time itself stopped, as gods and men gathered to bear witness to fire made flesh. Within seconds, flames engulfed our position, setting the fields around us ablaze and felling many of our men. The companies of archers and crossbowmen in our ranks all focused their attentions on the two dragons soaring above. Our scorpions were similarly brought forth, in a desperate attempt to stop the assault from the skies.
Dragonfire reigned down on us, so much so that even I was not untouched my it's grasp. The gods were surely looking down on me when Viserion descended on our right flank, bathing us in fire and blood. On one particularly assault, the flames reached my position. I raised my shield and defended myself as best I could, though wood and iron were not much against the power of the dragons. Fortunately my shield took the blast, but a few seconds of dragonfire was enough to render it a charred stump and my arm scorched. The armor on my forearm wilted and deformed from the intense heat, and the pain shot up my arm unlike anything I had ever felt before. I threw the shield from my grasp, an act that probably saved my arm, but I was now largely defenseless should the beast take another dive at our flank.
While the dragons bathed many of my men in fire, those of us still fighting were now cutting down our enemies with increasing efficiency, though even with such a numerical advantage, we could not hope to succeed against the dragons. Fortunately, my aunt had grown too confident in her beast, and a scorpion shot found it's mark on Viserion's wing. The shot ripped a hole through the beast's wing, and sent it into a frenzy. My aunt would surely have been thrown to her death had she not managed to ground the dragon, removing it from the fray.
Seeing his sister-wife retreating from the skies, my uncle Maelor began to break. In his lunacy, my uncle had always had shown signs of utter bravery and an intense cravenness alike. He was surely reminded then that even dragons could be killed, and after one final assault, he too retreated to the rear and landed his dragon. The invaders were noticeably shocked by their king's retreat, and their defense wavered. This lapse in morale proved enough for our forces to make a final push. After a few more hours of bloody conflict, the remaining Meereenese routed and scattered to the winds, while my uncle took to the skies and made for his captured keeps to the north. Viserion somehow managed to take to the skies, and it made a direct path to the Narrow Sea, though with great difficulty, and without it's rider. Without her beast to carry her away, my men captured my aunt Daella and brought her before me as a prisoner.
The sun was rising when the battle finally came to a close. Out of the twenty thousand men my uncle had brought with him, three in every four of them had fallen or routed in the battle, with the remaining making north to make for their ships, according to my outriders. While victory was ours, it came with a great cost. Five thousand men fell to the dragonflames, with thousands more being burned or wounded in the many hours of fighting. Of the over fifty thousand men that had gathered to defend Duskendale, less than forty thousand were still fit for battle.
While the flames abated, I sent a raven to the capital to make known my intentions to my Small Council. I sent word to have the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, Loras Tyrell, imprisoned for the actions of his nephew and family, to await trial upon my return. My second declaration was a simple one:
Make ready the Royal Fleet and sail it to Duskendale. We make for Meereen.
A massive fleet had been spotted sailing up the Narrow Sea by some fishermen from the Stormlands; their ships adorned with the dragon and the harpy- the personalized sigil of the King of Meereen, my uncle Maelor- no doubt with a force of thousands of men at his back. I began mustering my own forces to prepare for the landing, but word reached me of grievous news. While some brave fishermen kept us informed of the fleet's progress, the burning of some coastal villages in the Stormlands proved that my uncle was bringing more than just an army.
Three dragons had hit the mainland, razing various farms and communities on the coast, before returning to their masters on their ships. Tales of Daenerys' dragons had spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms for three decades, but even then it was hard to believe they were real. I prayed to the Seven to guide me and sent ravens to every corner of the realm, for I knew that despite my blood and my name, I could not hope to match dragons alone.
I gathered ten thousand men from the Crownlands at Largetree, in hopes that I could meet any landing force away from the capital. While my force gathered, I sent the Ser Aemon to bring men from Harrenhal and it's holdings to reinforce our position in the Crownlands. Within a few days ravens were arriving from Sunspear, Winterfell,Casterly Rock and even the Eyrie, much to my surprise, with each lord promising to fend off these invaders from the east. Though no word came from Highgarden, our scouts and informants told us of a host marching in our direction, and so it appeared that Lord Steffon was joining the fight as well.
Word reached us at Largetree that my uncle's fleet was passing Massey's Hook, and would be able to land in the Crownlands within days. I decided to move against the fleet, who appeared to be making for Cracklaw Point, but I waited a day longer to allow the forces from Harrenhal and Highgarden to join with us. However, when Lord Steffon's forces approached, it soon became apparent that he was not coming as an ally.
While I was positioned within the keep alongside a small garrison, the majority of my forces were camped outside the walls of Largetree. When Lord Steffon's army approached, they flew their banners and sounded their horns, and charged on our position. Many of my men fell before they realized what was happening, but our force soon rallied a defense against the reachmen. My ten thousand men held a valiant defence against Lord Steffon's ten thousand, but being caught unawares severely damaged our chances of success.
Luckily, the forces from Harrenhal arrived, bringing five thousand swords. Seeing a battle ensuing, our reinforcements joined the fighting, smashing into the rear of Lord Steffon's position, locking them in place between them and the keep. The battle began turning in our favor, with the reachmen fending off an attack on two fronts, and when Lord Steffon fell in the thick of the fighting, their army broke and the day was ours. More than half of the reachmen army was destroyed in the fighting, and with a girl child their new liege, the Reach would likely play no further part in the war.
With the remainder of Lord Steffon's army scurring back to the Reach, my force marched north. Word had arrived from the Riverlands that the Tullys were marching a massive host towards the Crownlands,having received news that my uncle had landed at Cracklaw Point with nearly twenty thousand men. The Meereenese were slowly advancing south, taking towns and keeps with little opposition. I could only hope that my fifteen thousand men and the army of the Tully's would be enough to fend off twenty thousand and dragons.
Two weeks had passed when we arrived at Duskendale, where Lord Harsley Tully had set up camp with over thirty thousand riverlanders. Having landed at Cracklaw Point, my uncle had taken Rook's Nest and Hollard Hall and was only a day or two away from Duskendale. Many years ago, my great-grandfather was imprisoned here, where the Lord of Duskendale led a now-famed defiance against the crown. It was here that I too would make my defiance- win or lose, it would be at Duskendale where the war would be decided.
My uncle's forces arrived at Duskendale, quite appropriately, at dusk. The sun was setting over our enemy's host. I readied my horse and took up my place at the head of the right flank of our force. Lord Harsley commanded the centre, with the majority of the men being his own. As the sun continued it's descent, now almost resting atop the heads of the men across the field from us, the sound for charge was made and the battle commenced.
Seventy thousand men danced the dance of death, with blood and steel sprawling across the fields of Duskendale. Hours passed and our superiority in manpower began to show, with our own forces inflicting heavy losses on my uncle's. The sun had set and we now clashed in the darkness, our only light coming from the stars above. Then, as if the sun had set and was now rising again, they were unleashed.
Flashes of light filled the sky as my uncle and aunt took to the sky atop their winged beasts. It seemed for a moment that time itself stopped, as gods and men gathered to bear witness to fire made flesh. Within seconds, flames engulfed our position, setting the fields around us ablaze and felling many of our men. The companies of archers and crossbowmen in our ranks all focused their attentions on the two dragons soaring above. Our scorpions were similarly brought forth, in a desperate attempt to stop the assault from the skies.
Dragonfire reigned down on us, so much so that even I was not untouched my it's grasp. The gods were surely looking down on me when Viserion descended on our right flank, bathing us in fire and blood. On one particularly assault, the flames reached my position. I raised my shield and defended myself as best I could, though wood and iron were not much against the power of the dragons. Fortunately my shield took the blast, but a few seconds of dragonfire was enough to render it a charred stump and my arm scorched. The armor on my forearm wilted and deformed from the intense heat, and the pain shot up my arm unlike anything I had ever felt before. I threw the shield from my grasp, an act that probably saved my arm, but I was now largely defenseless should the beast take another dive at our flank.
While the dragons bathed many of my men in fire, those of us still fighting were now cutting down our enemies with increasing efficiency, though even with such a numerical advantage, we could not hope to succeed against the dragons. Fortunately, my aunt had grown too confident in her beast, and a scorpion shot found it's mark on Viserion's wing. The shot ripped a hole through the beast's wing, and sent it into a frenzy. My aunt would surely have been thrown to her death had she not managed to ground the dragon, removing it from the fray.
Seeing his sister-wife retreating from the skies, my uncle Maelor began to break. In his lunacy, my uncle had always had shown signs of utter bravery and an intense cravenness alike. He was surely reminded then that even dragons could be killed, and after one final assault, he too retreated to the rear and landed his dragon. The invaders were noticeably shocked by their king's retreat, and their defense wavered. This lapse in morale proved enough for our forces to make a final push. After a few more hours of bloody conflict, the remaining Meereenese routed and scattered to the winds, while my uncle took to the skies and made for his captured keeps to the north. Viserion somehow managed to take to the skies, and it made a direct path to the Narrow Sea, though with great difficulty, and without it's rider. Without her beast to carry her away, my men captured my aunt Daella and brought her before me as a prisoner.
The sun was rising when the battle finally came to a close. Out of the twenty thousand men my uncle had brought with him, three in every four of them had fallen or routed in the battle, with the remaining making north to make for their ships, according to my outriders. While victory was ours, it came with a great cost. Five thousand men fell to the dragonflames, with thousands more being burned or wounded in the many hours of fighting. Of the over fifty thousand men that had gathered to defend Duskendale, less than forty thousand were still fit for battle.
While the flames abated, I sent a raven to the capital to make known my intentions to my Small Council. I sent word to have the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, Loras Tyrell, imprisoned for the actions of his nephew and family, to await trial upon my return. My second declaration was a simple one:
Make ready the Royal Fleet and sail it to Duskendale. We make for Meereen.
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