Chapter 51: Of Septons and Slavers (Jaerion, Aemorys, Aurion, Septon Arstan, Valerion)
4th Moon, 99 AC
The Red Keep, Kings Landing
Chapter 51: Of Septons and Slavers
The King stood in his dressing chambers as the servants dressed him in a fine long black robe with silver trim, placing a necklace of blood red rubies upon his neck and a fine ermine cloak upon his shoulders.
The room had a stench to it, a sickly sweet smell that made even the King tight lipped, and the servants in the room were all pale, even the sweet smelling scents the King's servants were applying to the King's body did little to mask it.
Jaerion remembered little of what came after the fight with the boar, only hazy images of being drawn through the Kingswood on a cart…..he had not brought his carriage with him on the hunting trip. All he remembered was waking up to the concerned faces of his father, brother and son Aurion, who dutifully did his best to wash the wound and keep his temperature down, before losing consciousness frequently…though he remembered the pain…terrible pain amplified by the rough forest tracks of the Kingsroad.
He could not have said how long it took them to reach Chyttering Brook, a castle on the outskirts of the Kingswood and the seat of House Chyttering. The castle maester had seen to his wounds as best he could while a raven was sent to the capitol, summoning the Grandmaester and his acolytes to the castle, along with all of his potions and healing remedies.
He began to regain consciousness around this time, and refused to allow the castles young maester to remove his maimed hand, he would not allow himself to be made a cripple, even though the Maester cautioned the wounded flesh could easily become infected….Jaerion was not willing to give up on his sword hand, claiming he would wait for the Grandmaester and his surgeons to ‘’patch it up.’’
When the Grandmaester arrived however, one glance at the wound was enough for him, he furiously berated the young Maester of Chyttering Brook for not removing the hand immediately, paying no heed to the defense it was the King's wishes.
Jaerion again persisted that the Grandmaester must make some attempt to save his hand, the King of Westeros could not be a cripple but the old man would hear none of it, stating what remained of the hand had already begun to rot and it was beyond saving the minute the boar had taken a tusk to it, if it remained one more day then the King, who had already begun to grow feverish would be dead within the day.
Jaerion had been prepared to order the Grandmaester to attempt to save it all the same if it were not for his son Aurion, who rather bluntly told him he was going to die if he did not listen to the Grandmaester. The boy did not stop there, even going so far as to say his father was being a coward, who would rather die than face this difficulty and the future, afraid of what others would think of him.
Jaerion had of course been wroth when the words had left his son's mouth, and if he had not been so weakened he likely would have struck the boy, though in his condition all he could do was wordlessly order Aurion out of his chambers, red in the face.
Even with his son banished from his sick chambers, his words remained, echoing in the King's ears. His son's words made him see the situation clearly for the first time. The boy was young, too young to face the burden that resisting the Grandmaesters advice would bring. Aurion put on a brave face to be sure, but Jaerion saw it in his eyes, the boy was afraid. Aurion had spoken true on other things as well, Jaerion had to admit he had been a coward, willing to throw away all his ambitions, his chance to become a great king, all because he was afraid of being seen as a cripple.
Hours after his son's words, Jaerion summoned the Grandmaster to his quarters and instructed him to remove what remained of his hand.
The days following the amputation seemed to bode well for his condition, his fever abated and the king, albeit weakened, was conscious on the journey from Chyttering Brook back to King's Landing.
However this recovery was not to last. Shortly after the Kings return to the capitol, the wound began to fester and stink, something the Maesters attributed to its exposure to the rotted flesh of the hand. The Grandmaester and his acolytes prescribed regular treatments but the wound had remained much the same for months, as the King was a particularly difficult patient who paid little heed to their council, particularly in the context of leaving the wound undisturbed.
The King was shaken from his thinking when one of his serving men cleared his throat, holding an ornately engraved golden hand, carved with Valyrian runes and even equipped with a blood ruby ring on one of the fingers, the hand was the work being of the finest goldsmith in Lannisport, specially commissioned by the King.
‘’I will wear it today.’’ Jaerion instructed, the Maesters had warned for weeks that placing the heavy golden hand upon his wounded stump was contributing to the infection by denying it a chance to heal and damaging it, but the King was deaf to their words, wearing it whenever he was seen by anyone other than his servants or immediate family, he would not sit the Throne as a cripple.
The King's servants moved around him, well practiced at this point, one grabbed his arm while the other approached with the hand and the restraints, a servant offered him the use of a leather gag for his mouth, but the King shook his head, he would not be trussed up like a pig at the feast table with an apple in his mouth, he could manage the pain.
‘’Do it.’’ The King commanded, preparing himself.
The servant moved the heavy golden hand on top of the blackened stump, oozing with puss, the mere touch of the cold metal sending shivers of pain down his body, he then fastened the hand with the restraints on his forearm, pressing the hand down firmly on the stump.
Despite Jaerions resolve to remain dignified and kingly, an involuntary gasp rose from his chest, bolts of fiery pain immobilizing him, and for a moment he blacked out, hot flashes of pure agony coursing through his hand, while his servants held him up.
It went on like that for several moments as the King gasped, fighting the onset of tears, he was a King, a Targaryen, he would not allow himself to be so weakened. In time the pain slowly subsided to a dull aching throb and Jaerion felt well enough to get to his feet, dismissing his servants.
Outside his chambers stood his brother Aemorys, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his sworn brother, Ser Maynard Arryn, whose crystal pendant to the warrior shone just as brilliantly as his white cloak.
‘’The delegation has arrived?’’ Jaerion questioned his brother, recovering his breath.
‘’They await you in the throne room your Grace.’’ His brother nodded, his eyes focused downwards on the golden hand, his expression hidden by his plate helmet however.
Jaerion nodded, gesturing for the two to escort him, his brother made a move to grab his shoulder and support him but Jaerion waved him away, he was not an old woman who needed steadying.
It took them some time to reach the throne room, walking through from his apartments to the courtyard from Vaemonds Holdfast to the Great Hall, the hot sun soon making the King clammy and sweaty to the touch, and it was a relief when they entered the cavernous great hall and the cooler air that came along with it.
Sure enough, the delegation from Essos was already present in the hall as he walked through, there were perhaps a dozen of them, dressed in silk robes and samite gowns, many of them brightly colored, Almost all of them had ivory pendants, pins and jewelry, no doubt the fruits and abundance of the Volantene ivory market which stemmed from the elephants which the region was so famed for.
On the other side of the crowd were other members of his court, minor courtiers and his councilors alike, most notable among them his hand, Lord Bar Emmon and his kinsman and Marshal, Ellard Tyrell, he spotted his son Aurion and his pregnant wife Belle Tully above in the gallery as well.
The King did his best to remain dignified as he made his way up the stairs to his throne, ignoring the aching of his hand.
It was a relief when he reached the top and he sat himself upon the throne, about as comfortably as he could in a throne bristling with sharp swords.
He gestured the delegation forward, and they all approached the throne and knelt, led by a young man with long silver hair.
‘’Oh Great King…..we have heard tales of your splendor and the beauty of your capital, and these tales did not disappoint, we humble ourselves before you.’’ The man said.
‘’The hospitality of Kings Landing and my court are yours…..rise and be welcome.’’ Jaerion commanded, gesturing with his golden hand.
The long haired man rose to his feet, followed by the rest of the delegation ‘’A most splendid hand if I may say so your grace, most impressive indeed.’’
Jaerion forced himself to put on a smile ‘’And quite economic as well, my steward has informed me that our expenditure on gloves has decreased by half.’’
That earned a hearty laugh from both his court and the gathered delegation, with the kings laugh the loudest of all, though his hand and body ached in pain from the exertion.
As the laughter died down, the long haired man introduced himself ‘’I have the honor to be Innyllo Maegyr, Freeholder in service to Lord Illoquo Turgon, master of the lands you know as the Volantene Disputed Lands.’’
The man went on to introduce his other companions, who had names Jaerion could scarcely pronounce, yet he gathered they were quite a diverse coalition from the region around Volantis, with emissaries from the Orange Shore and the city of Selhorys present, and of course several representing the city of Volantis itself, there was even a spindly and thin dignitary representing far off Mantarys, a city the King's great uncle Vaekar had once visited.
When the introductions were finished, Jaerion nodded and spoke ‘’I am pleased to have such worthy guests in attendance, what brings you all before my throne?’’
The long haired man, Inyllo Maegyrs face darkened at that.
‘’Your Grace, I fear I must bring you ill tidings of affairs beyond the sea, you are familiar with the events in Tyrosh?’’
Jaerion nodded slightly, he vaguely remembered some time ago he had been briefed by his aunt Vaella of a slave uprising in Tyrosh which had spread to Myr and overthrown the local nobility there.
‘’These slaves,thieves and murderous criminals in truth committed many great atrocities while overthrowing the old families in Tyrosh and Myr, noblewoman of great lineage were raped in their dozens while young babes were torn from their mothers breasts and fed to the dogs, while the men were forced to watch before being given to the ax….this and countless other savageries were committed in Tyrosh and Myr.’’ Inyllo began before continuing, a murmur rising throughout the hall.
‘’The wicked criminals turned their sights on Lys as well, but were soundly humbled, however, their thirst for blood has not yet been sated, and now they turn their sights east, towards old Volantis, they have declared a so called liberation on my Lord Turgons lands, where doubtless they have similar designs on the good folk and old nobility of our people, thousands of criminals, ruffians, vagrants and rapists have flocked to their banner to launch an attack on my Lords lands, and doubtless they wish to continue their bloody path of plunder and pillage on towards the flourishing estates and towns of all the Volantene principalities.’’ He finished.
‘’And this war has brought you before me?’’ Jaerion asked with interest, leaning forward in his throne.
‘’Oh great King, tales of your ancestors in old Valyria are still told across the sea today, stories of your ancestors splendor and grandeur told in hushed and awed tones, heavy with respect, you are the blood of the dragon o’ great king, rider of dragons, the blood of old Valyria runs through your veins….as it does all the old and great families in Volantis…..we have come to ask for your assistance, to help your kin repel these demons, lend us your dragons and armies o’great King, and old Volantis and her people shall not forget….you are in a prime position to strike from the west with your great fleet and dragons, while the armies of Volantis shall trod them underfoot in the east.’’ The man said passionately.
‘’And why should we send men to fight and die in a foreign war, upstarts or no, these slaves have done us no harm…..to own a man is a sin.’’ Lord Bar Emmon, Jaerions hand and a devout follower of the seven pointed out.
Inyllo turned towards him ‘’These criminals and slaves do not fight a war for liberation as they claim…but rather of destruction noble lord, they are the enemy of progress, they look with eyes of greed and lust towards the great civilizations and accomplishments of their betters, overstepping their natural place in our order with impunity, with every great family they kill and rape, they grow in arrogance and lust and add numbers to their army of pillagers, how long before raiders turn their eyes to the riches of your lands my lord…to the fishing villages and coastal castles?’’
At this, the court began to murmur loudly and voice their assent.
Jaerion let this go on for a moment, pondering, he had great ambitions to the east, and an expedition to help the Volantenes fight these former slaves was not without its benefits, not only would he gain influence with the Volantene principalities, but depending on how the war went he could perhaps even arrange for the free city and island of Tyrosh to be annexed into his realm. After another few moments, he made his decision and raised his golden hand
‘’You have done well to humble yourself before me and seek my help……your words have moved me……as you have said, my ancestors once held influence and power across the sea and kept order in Essos….let everyone see that the Targaryens are alive and well and our power extends east as well as west….I will help you to defeat this rabble Lord Maegyr….go back to your Lord and tell him the Targaryens have returned to defend Essos….tell him that Jaerion Targaryen, first of his name and King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men is coming.’’
The emissaries all bowed, paying homage, thanks and respect to the King of Westeros.
Three Weeks Later
The Red Keep, Kings Landing
Aemorys made his way through the hallways of the royal apartments of the Red Keep, turning a corner and walking towards the expansive royal suite of his brother, where his sworn brothers Ser Maynard Mormont and Uthreydes Cressey had the guard.
‘’The King awaits you inside Lord Commander.’’ Cressey said, bowing his head, the boy was quite young to be a knight of the Kingsguard, being only 19 years of age, but he had a certain boldness about him, and unlike many youths his age was humble and eager to learn and obey.
Aemorys thanked them and let himself into his brother's chambers, despite the weather of the day being warm, the hearth was burning high, freshly lit, his brother had oft been complaining of chills lately.
He found his brother standing over a table peering at a map of the Stepstones and the west coast of Essos, the names of the Tyroshi and Myrish cities highlighted with red ink, beside his brother stood Lord Ellard Tyrell, the marshal of the realm.
Lord Tyrell gave a curt nod towards Aemorys, said a final word to the King and withdrew from his chambers.
‘’You summoned me, your Grace?’’ Aemorys asked, standing at attention.
‘’I did…..come.’’ His brother replied, summoning him to the table.
Jaerion was dressed resplendently as always in a black and gold silk tunic with a golden necklace of emeralds upon his neck, his golden hand was attached as well.
His physical appearance stood in stark contrast to his rich attire however. His brother, like Aemorys was naturally a large man, tall and strong, but in the last few weeks his skin had begun to hang over his bones slightly despite his healthy appetite, his skin pale and blotchy, a rough patch of silver stubble upon his chin. Only his eyes seemed to be healthy, just as startling lilac as always, sparkling in the light of the hearth.
‘’The expedition will leave for Tyrosh soon….some 3400 men and 72 galleys, Lord Massey and Lord Tyrell assure me that they will be fit to sail within the month, 1200 from Kings Landing and 2200 in Stonedance, they will merge in the Stepstones and sail due east from there.’’ His brother said, pouring himself a cup of wine.
‘’That is good to hear.’’ Aemorys responded politely.
‘’It is….but you shall do more than just hear of the campaign…. I have a command for you, as you know I am unfit for travel at the moment, yet the crown must be represented upon the field of battle…..I want you to lead this campaign….at least until I am well enough’’ His older brother said.
Aemorys took the news in silence, in truth he was not overly surprised by the proposition.
‘’Your Grace…..you honor me, but I am no battle commander, there are many more experienced commanders, those with more ability……my place is by your side.’’ Aemorys said hesitantly.
‘’Your place is where your King commands.’’ His brother said sharply with a sharp gasp, taking a sip of wine, a sign Aemorys knew meant his stump was in pain.
Jaerion drained the cup and placed a hand on Aemorys’s shoulder, his tone gentler ‘’It is just for appearances brother…..Lord Massey as my master of ships will handle all the naval arrangements, our aunt Vaella has pledged her support as well as her dragon Narrah for the campaign….the old bird wants some excitement no doubt….she has experience leading campaigns as well, they will take care of the logistics, I just need you to bear my banner and represent the King on the field of battle until I recover and join our forces….who better than the King's own brother to represent him in the field?’’
Aemorys nodded slightly at that, he had managed to lead his six sworn brothers in defense of the royal family quite effectively, but leading an entire host, even with help was something he felt wholly unprepared for, but he saw little chance of escaping this task, and he would do as his brother commanded.
‘’Besides…I have another task for you, one that I could entrust to no one else.’’ the King continued.
‘’I'm sending Aurion with you to serve as your squire….the boy is almost 13, he needs seasoning and experience, this campaign is the perfect opportunity for it.’’ Jaerion said.
‘’I am honored your Grace….but….perhaps…..’’ Aemorys said with his usual courtesy before seemingly without thinking he began to hesitantly voice his thoughts before thinking better of it.
‘’Go on brother….speak your mind.’’ Jaerion gestured for him to continue and Aemorys obliged reluctantly.
‘’Your Grace….perhaps….perhaps it would be better if the Prince were to remain close…. in the capitol.’’ He said slowly, his eyes glancing instinctively downwards at his brother's golden hand, of which even the finery of the gold or the scents his brother wore could not hide the sickly sweet stench.
Jaerion understood at once ‘’No….No….I will be fine Aemorys….this damnable wound will heal shortly…it will run its course soon enough….I will join you in Tyrosh brother…..until then, you have your orders……your ship leaves within the week.’’
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, never one to argue, nodded and placed a plated fist to his chest in salute and withdrew from his chambers, giving a last look to his brother leaning over the map, planning his conquests.
Later That Day
The Red Keep
Prince Aurion made his way through the halls of the Red Keep towards his fathers solar, the afternoon rays shining lazily through the windows, while a cool breeze from Blackwater Bay came in through open walkways.
For a moment he considered turning back, but quickly resolved to continue on, he wanted to make his thoughts known, for all the good that it would do him.
The Kingsguard on duty recognized him instantly and granted him access to the solar, where he found his father sitting at his desk, a map on the table.
His father looked up at him, and for a moment the Prince thought he was looking at a skeleton, his father, normally an imposing figure looked like a shadow of himself, his skin pale and blotchy, despite this his father did not seem to be in any apparent pain and his bright eyes were as warm as ever.
‘’Aurion.’’ The King said, slightly smiling pushing the map and a plate of roast venison to the side and gesturing him forward.
‘’You seem to have had a good day of training, back when I was a youth I was the terror of the training yard….from what I have heard you are growing into much of the same.’’ His father said kindly.
Aurion nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he had been training in the yard when he had heard the news.
‘’Uncle Aemorys says I am to accompany him across the Narrow Sea, to serve as his squire.’’ Aemorys said.
His father nodded ‘’You are…I thought it was best you get some experience…..the trainers assure me you are ready, you sit a horse well and never fail to fulfill your duties….ah, and if it is equipment you are wondering about I have commissioned you the very best, black enamel plate embossed with silver trim in the sigil of a dragon, a new gorget, helm, sword and shield, the craftsman seemed surprised when I mentioned your age but you've inherited my stature clearly.’’
Aurion was silent at that, still trying to think of how to phrase his words.
His father, noticing the silence frowned ‘’I had thought you would be more excited boy.’’
‘’I am father it is just…..well…’’ Aurion hesitated.
‘’Go on.’’ The King gestured.
‘’I don't know….I don't know if this campaign is right…..helping slavers I mean.’’ Aurion finished, regathering his composure.
The King was silent at that, his lips pursed, though he made no move to interject.
‘’In my studies I've heard of the practices of slavery in Essos…..I dont think it's right to own another person, and some of the things they do to the slaves…..I dont think we should be helping them.’’ Aurion continued, aware of his fathers piercing gaze upon him.
After a moment of silence, his father stood, turning around towards the roaring hearth and taking a sword from the mantle, drawing it slowly from the sheath, the ripples in the blade reflected off the light of the fire, marking it as Valyrian Steel not that Aurion needed any further hints, he had seen his fathers sword many times.
‘’Do you know who wielded this blade boy?’’ His father asked, turning Blackfyre slightly, watching the light of the flames dance upon it.
‘’Vaekar Targaryen.’’ Aurion answered, he knew that the sword had been in the possession of his great grandmother's brother for many years before returning to the crown after his death.
‘’Before that.’’ His father demanded.
‘’Aegon the Conqueror.’’ Aurion answered dutifully.
‘’Aegon the Conqueror.’’ The King said softly, still turning the blade slowly, never taking his eyes off of it, transfixed, as if the sword was speaking to him, as if he saw something no one else did.
After a moment, he sheathed the sword and returned it to the mantle, turning to face Aurion.
‘’Do you think Aegon conquered the seven Kingdoms and became the first King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First men because it was right?’’
The Prince was silent at that.
‘No….he did it to establish the greatest dynasty the world has ever known….to ensure the blood of the dragon did not fade into obscurity, but rather rose to take its place among the empires….and in his conquest he achieved immortality throughout the generations…his name shall never be forgotten’’ His father continued, a gleam present in his startling eyes.
‘’I aim to do the same thing boy…..greatness does not come to you….you must take it…you must earn the right to bear the crown of the conqueror, to be his heir…..this war strengthens your birthright Aurion….it may very well win us Tyrosh and influence in the Volantene principalities…..it brings us closer to Valyria, the land of our forefathers, to the great cities of the east and beyond’’ the King said, the same hungry look in his eyes.
‘’I won't force you to go if you don't want to boy…perhaps it is for the best, both my brother and Lord Tyrell seem to think it more prudent for you to remain in the capital…the heir cannot be risked, Lord Tyrell says….but I say the only way to become the heir…the true heir is to risk…so what will it be boy, will you take your part of greatness, or will you allow others to go in your place?’’ His father finished.
Aurion was silent for a moment before he answered.
‘’Ill go…..Ill go father.’’ He said softly.
“Good….now go and make me proud Aurion.’’ The King said, gesturing to the door.
Morning of 20th of 5th Moon, 99 AC
Castle of Stonedance, Masseys Hook
Prince Valerion watched from the window of his chambers as men, horses, and carts departed through the gates of Stonedance, the courtyard a busy blur of servants, soldiers, and knights moving in and out of the castle.
In the distance, beyond the castle, large cloth tents could be seen, no doubt housing the levies of Stonedance and the surrounding hamlets, who were gathering in preparation to embark upon the fleet which would take them across the narrow sea.
It's not fair. The prince, a boy of eight, thought to himself for what seemed like the tenth time that day. He had been serving as a squire to Lord Massey, his fathers Master of Ships for about a year at Stonedance, yet he had been deemed to young to accompany Lord Massey on the campaign, even though he had accompanied the Lord of Stonedance on several naval patrols throughout the Narrow Sea and was fast becoming accustomed to life on a ship.
What made things even more miserable was the fact he had heard that his older brother Aurion was accompanying their uncle across the sea on the campaign, and he was only a few years older.
It had not been a particularly exciting year at Stonedance, during his few months in King's Landing the Prince Valerion had never had so much fun, the Red Keep was absolutely massive, and he spent hours at a time exploring every nook and cranny of the castle, sometimes with Aurion, but even more often alone, often shirking his lessons with the Maesters to go explore.
His mother had quickly put a stop to it, and imposed a curfew, for his own protection she claimed, forcing him to report to his chambers every day and study the books in his room, yet Valerion made plans for his escape. With the use of straw, he managed to create a rather realistic looking figure of himself, dressed it in his clothes and placed it in his bed, before climbing out of the windows of his chamber.
He enjoyed a few precious hours of freedom until his deception was at last discovered and he was found in the castle kitchens, helping himself to an ample amount of apple cakes and it was back to his chambers, and shortly after his father sent him as a ward to Stonedance.
There was little excitement at Stonedance, he was not yet allowed to train with sword and shield and instead served as a page, watching the older squires train and mirroring their motions alone with a wooden sword, seeing to the horses, and running messages, which was the Prince's favorite task, as despite being quite skinny and lanky for his age, he was quite fast. On rare occasions Lord Massey permitted him to join him at sea, but these were infrequent trips, and most of his days were quite boring and lacking in excitement. When word of the campaign reached him, he had been excited, packing all of his gear for the trip, but his hopes were soon crushed when he learned he would not be accompanying Lord Massey and his levies on the adventure across the narrow sea.
The prospect of having to spend weeks alone in the depopulated castle of Stonedance, devoid of all the squires and knights, with only Lord Massey's fat wife and daughter for company was hardly an exciting prospect, and caused the prince to fully make up his mind then…he was not going to be left behind.
Fully determined at this point, he pulled on a plain cloak of brown wool he wore whenever he accompanied Lord Massey at sea, and also grabbed a cap that most cabin boys wore on ships, as he knew that his silver hair would cause him to become recognized immediately.
Leaving the castle was easier than he could ever have imagined, there were few guards in the castle, and he found it easy to blend in with the hubbub of movement in the courtyard as dozens of people moved in and out.
It was a short walk down the road from the castle to the camp where the levies of Stonedance were gathering, and none of the men paid him any mind as they diced, chopped firewood and conversed with the female camp followers.
Valerion made his way in between the tents, narrowly avoiding a horseman who cursed foully at him, having no idea he addressed the second son of King Jaerion Targaryen, which was no problem for the prince.
Turning, he saw a middle aged man dressed in stained septons robes, though unusually for a septon he carried a sword at his side, and was accompanied by at least two dozen armed companions, walking with an air of authority, Valerion moved out of the way to let them past, and they paid him not even a second glance.
‘’The boy will be inside the castle my sources say.’’ Valerion overheard one of the men tell the septon, who nodded. For a moment Valerion grew anxious they were talking about him, but quickly forgot about the whole affair, there were plenty of boys in Stonedance, if that was even the castle they were talking about and he returned to his business.
After asking a few potboys, he gathered that the ships were quite a distance away, too far for walking. The ships were to depart in a few hours and sail to King's Landing, merging with the fleet gathered there before returning to embark the levies at Stonedance who would be fully gathered at this point.
Realizing it was too far to walk, the young prince hopped in the back of a cart laden with onions after overhearing they were bound as rations for the soon departing ships, pulling the cloth over him and relaxing, albeit as much as one could surrounded by onions as the oxen driven cart was steered towards the coast.
When he saw they were close to the coast, he discreetly hopped out of the cart, reeking of onions and found several cabin boys playing at dice, waiting to embark on the ships. There he found out that while most of the ships would be going to King's Landing, Lord Massey’s personal war galley Stone Hook would be heading to the stepstones and the narrow sea to scout for any opposing Tyroshi fleets, that was the ship Valerion must board he resolved, he had no wish to sail back to King's Landing, ending his adventure as quickly as it would begin.
It was a simple enough affair to board the ship, he knew it by sight having sailed with Lord Massey on Stone Hook before, and no one paid him a second glance as he joined the knights, sailors and men at arms, just another cabin boy and servant among a dozen.
They set sail late in the afternoon, the last orange rays of the sun setting over the dark waters of Blackwater Bay, and the young prince quickly made himself busy as they sailed out towards the Narrow Sea.
His deception did not last long after that, as while mopping the decks, he bumped into the captain of Stone Hook, who instantly recognized him by his purple eyes, even with the hood as the captain had been aboard when the Prince had last sailed on the ship.
Valerion was taken before Lord Massey, who, fitting with his nature was furious at the boys disobedience, and was not particularly swayed by the boys promises that he would work harder than any other cabin boy, and stated that ‘’Father as my witness if you were not the son of the King I would have you flogged.’’
Nevertheless, being that they were already several hours offshore, it was deemed a waste of time to sail back to Stonedance and drop the boy off, so Lord Massey begrudgingly allowed the boy to remain with him, though he stated that if the boy wanted to do a ‘’man's job, he would do a man's work’’, and promised him sore feet and blisters by the end of the trip.
The heavy workload did little to dampen the Prince's happiness, and he did all the tasks with a smile on his lips and the wind in his face, he at last had the adventure he was seeking.
Unbeknownst to all parties involved, the young stow-aways actions would prove a great stroke of luck for the Targaryen family, as back in Stonedance, a storm was brewing.
Night of 20th of the 5th Moon, 99 AC
Levy Camp outside of Stonedance
Arstan watched in silence, fiddling with the wooden necklace to the Father as he watched the woman dress herself, pulling on her septa's robe, and tidying her hair.
Father forgive me The septon, a rather common looking man of thirty three thought to himself, forcing himself to avert his gaze from the half naked septa.
It was a sin he knew, but there was nothing like a woman to strengthen one's resolve before a fight, and a fight was coming, for tonight was the night.
I shall cleanse myself and atone through action….forgive this humble sinner and show your favor upon this righteous cause if it is your will Arstan thought to himself, beginning to dress himself in his plain and dusty robes.
The septa, a woman who had joined his cause quite early on, pulled on her septa's headdress, pulling it tight before facing him.
‘’I shall tell them you are ready to speak……Father be with us.’’ The woman said, and Arstan nodded, dismissing her.
He fastened his sword and sheath to his belt, a rather poor and paltry weapon, rusted and brittle, but it was a weapon to match the man he thought, only when he had fulfilled the Fathers work would he allow himself to take a new fine sword from the spoils that awaited them.
When he had prepared himself, he stepped out of his tent into the cool night air, a gentle breeze coming from the Blackwater Bay.
The calm before the Warriors storm The septon thought to himself, making his way from his tent where his personal guard fell in behind him, wielding cudgels, axes, spears and the occasional sword, most of them were common men, levies from Stonedance and the surrounding areas, but there were a few knights among his most loyal followers, men who had managed to find the fathers light through the foggy snare of noble and rich living.
They walked in silence a good distance away from the camp, following a faint light in the distance, a thin trail of smoke climbing from the nearby forest into the night sky. It had been duly named as the Fathers Light…with his recruiters and acolytes preaching to all they thought likely to join to ‘’find the fathers light’’.
He had no idea how many awaited him at the bonfire, though his acolytes, who had been preaching seemed confident they would have enough for the task that awaited him. His acolytes had been preaching in the levy camp outside of Stonedance castle, as well as the villages of Luna, Woodmere, and the hamlets outside of Glasswater Hall, some had gone even further, west to the outskirts of the Kingswood, or south to the Stormlands, following the Wendwater.
He and his men walked in silence for what seemed to be an hour, through the dark trees, with only the faint smoke to light their way, the only noise the creatures of the night, but Arstan was not afraid of the darkness, not when the fathers light shone brightly.
Eventually the coastal forest opened up into a large clearing where his army awaited him. His acolytes had not lied, there were at least fifteen hundred there, perhaps as many as two thousand, most of them seemed to be common men from the surrounding villages armed with shovels, pitchforks and cudgels, but there were several hundred that seemed to be levies from the camp at Stonedance, armed with spear and shield and in leather brigandines and jerkins.
Arstan gave silent thanks to the Father that so many had answered his call, and made his way to the massive burning bonfire in the center of the clearing, the crowd parting for him to pass, his guards close behind him.
He took in the sight for a moment, the crowds murmuring gradually growing silent.
‘’I won't tell you my name…for it is not important….all that you must know about me is that I am a humble man…..a sinner, just like all gathered here today….I am not here to be your King, or your ruler, only to point out the evils that this humble man has witnessed, I am here to tell you the truth of the path of darkness we have been led to, and what steps we must take to return to the Fathers road of righteousness.’’ Arstan began, speaking loudly.
‘’We stand here as men from different backgrounds, farmers, shoemakers, blacksmiths and soldiers, yet we are all united by one thing…all of us have been conscripted by the Targaryens….the rabid spawn of incestous and unnatural relations…foreigners from across the narrow sea…into a war. We have been conscripted to fight with slavers, evil men who think it right and moral to OWN another man. Whether by smithing for Masseys soldiers, crafting their boots, their horseshoes, or yes…by even being sent across the sea to kill other poor men….the poor wretches of Tyrosh and Myr…we have all been made complicit in this crime….made to stand against the poor of this world.’’ Arstan continued.
‘’I am here to tell you brothers that we…are similarly shackled, just as much as the former slaves of Tyrosh and Myr…..tied to an anchor of depravity the sister fucking kings of silver hair afflict upon us, forced to lend our goods, our labor…and your very soul to advancing their dark ambitions and rule….DO YOU FEEL THE CHAINS BROTHERS….FEEL THE IRON UPON YOUR WRIST…THE SHACKLES UPON YOUR ANKLES.’’ The septon continued, his voice growing in intensity, a loud murmur growing in the crowd.
‘’Such is the fate of all the poor and common folk in this world….but it is not the warriors will that the downtrodden of the earth kneel and feel the sting of the lash obediently….it is his will that we FIGHT and end our oppression by the evil forces which kneel upon our neck……look across the narrow sea, the men of Tyrosh and Myr have thrown off their chains, slain their cruel masters, despoiled the women who bedeck themselves in jewels and silks, the fruits of their labor, and put their spawn to the sword……and yet we are being sent to kill these brave men…no…no, heathens they may be, but the father granted them strength in their uprising to show us his light…his example…AND HIS WILL.’’
‘’I know the question on the tips of your tongues…the doubt in your heart…WHAT OF THE DRAGONS…what of the demonic creatures of the east, the dark servants of the silver haired tyrants you ask….but the Father has shown me the way forward brothers…the path to victory. Just as the Targaryens have held our very souls captive and hostage to their dark desires, so too must we have our own hostage….and we need to look no further than the castle of our Lord Massey….there we will find a young prince he is harboring, silver haired…the spawn of generations of unnatural relations….a demon named Valerion…so named after his heathonous forebearers…we shall seize this prince, a child born to luxury and privilege….the Targaryens shall never march against us when we hold their own kin….with this ransom brothers we shall liberate not only Stonedance but the whole of Masseys Hook, and we shall only release the boy following a peace negotiation overseen by the High Septon of Oldtown himself….in which the evil usurper Jaerion must recognize the independence of our lands and the rulership of a theocracy of seven septons….he shall not dare break the agreement for the whole of the realm shall rise up if he breaks an oath made before his the High Septon himself….we shall build a good and devout land…where all believers may live in peace.’’ Arstan finished, catching his breath.
‘’But before we can create this paradise brothers we must fight…..not all in the camp outside of Stonedance are evil men, I have left some dozens there myself to aid us when we march from the front, but there are others, rich knights and nobles who like a dog licking his master's boot are content to follow their dark overlords….we must attack this camp brothers, the good and righteous shall have to choose quickly on whos side they stand on…READY YOUR WEAPONS MEN, we shall storm this camp and kill the impure among them and then we shall storm the very walls of Stonedance and take the prince….SPARE THEM NOT THE SWORD.’’ The septon finished, and a great roar rose up from the crowd, who waved their weapons in the air and shouted death upon the Targaryens and their servants.
Two hours later, this large force would strike the siege camp outside of Stonedance, and a chaotic melee would ensue as Arstans men rushed into the camp, joined by his men hidden within. Knights were targeted, as most were assumed to be unyielding in their loyalty to the crown. Few records of this fight exist, but what is clear is that by the end of it, nearly six hundred were dead or heavily wounded, though it is hard to say how many were loyalists and how many were Arstans men. The levies of Lord Massey would then disperse, either fleeing back to their homes or in the case of many, joining Arstans cause. Among the dead was Ser Tanton Bulwer, a talented young cavalry commander who had been one of the companions of King Jaerion, serving as master of horse at the Red Keep and one of his chosen commanders for the campaign.
The rebels then prepared to storm the walls of Stonedance, until just before the order was given, Septon Arstan received word from his spies within the castle that the Prince Valerion was nowhere to be found and not within the castle.
Despite the weakened and small garrison of the castle, the rather formidable walls of Stonedance were deemed too much of an obstacle now that the primary objective of taking the castle was impossible and the rebels moved on to easier spoils.
Using fishing ships from the village of Luna, Arstan sent several hundred of his men to sail across the gullet under the cover of darkness towards the nearby island of Sweetport Sound, seat of House Sunglass.
In the morning, Arstans forces scaled the walls of the small castle where a melee ensued leaving around 200 total dead and wounded, but due to the element of surprise the small castle was eventually subdued and Arstans banner, a crystal hammer was raised over the castle, meant to signify the new realm he meant to be forged.
Another island castle, Rambton had more time to prepare, but Arstans men, well armed and armored with the spoils from the camp and castle stormed the castle, though at the cost of several hundred dead and wounded. Arstan would then proclaim these conquests as the beginning of his new realm, calling all devout followers to flock to his banner, and soon his forces would swell to nearly six thousand men.
When news of this uprising reached the capitol, the King at once ordered his brother Aemorys to postpone the expedition to Essos and instead deal with the threat much closer to home, with the levy of Dragonstone and the Kingswood being raised to aid in defeating the wicked septon.
2nd of 7th Moon, 99 AC
Outskirts of Stonedance, Lord Commander Aemorys’s Tent
Aurion, satisfied that the helmet was polished enough, held it out in front of him, the white plate of the Kingsguard helmet being so clear he could almost see his reflection in it. Satisfied, he placed the helmet down on the table next to his uncle's recently sharpened longsword, cloak and recently polished plate armor.
He then went to the chest at the corner of the tent by his cot, and took out the equipment his father had commissioned for him, strapping on the fine black plate armor and gorget, as well as strapping a sword onto his side, despite the prince only being 12 years old, the equipment could pass for belonging to a boy several years older as Aurion was tall for his age.
Warm rays of light shone through the white cloth of the tent, and Aurion sat down, his fingers drumming the table, nervous excitement coursing through his body. Outside he could hear the clamoring of soldiers, and the neighing of horses.
Shortly after, the tent flap opened and his uncle, dressed in a plain white tunic, walked in.
He stopped when he saw his nephew sitting down, fully armored and ready to go.
‘’You certainly look the part.’’ The Lord Commander said with a tight smile.
‘’Is it time?’’ Aurion asked, standing.
‘’Yes….we march within the hour.’’ His uncle said, making his way towards his armor on the table, and grabbing the white plate breastplate.
Aurion quickly walked towards his uncle, standing behind him and helping him with the straps and fastenings.
‘’I can see to my own armor Aurion.’’ The Lord Commander said, but nevertheless he allowed his nephew and squire to help him ready for battle.
When he was ready, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard looked truly magnificent, armored in white plate and a snowy white cloak, sword buckled at his side.
‘’This is it.’’ Aemorys said finally, breaking the silence, looking at his nephew, studying his face.
Aurion, sensing something was expected of him spoke ‘’Im not…Im not afraid, i'm ready Uncle it's just….I don't know what to expect.’’
His Uncle nodded ‘’I've been where you are standing….though I was a few years older than you…there's nothing I can truly say to prepare you for it…..you won't be fighting my Prince, hold the banner and stay close to me and Ser Utherydes…I don't expect the fighting to last long…..they won't withstand Narrah and our calvary for long.’’
Aurion nodded, but his uncle kept looking at him, as if he sensed there was something else bothering his nephew.
‘’I'm worried about my father….I have been for a while’’ Aurion admitted simply, looking his uncle in the eyes, and for a moment he saw a flash of something pass through his uncle's purple eyes.
He's worried about the same thing Aurion realized.
‘’Best not to go into battle with any distractions…..clear your mind my Prince’’ His uncle said curtly after a moment's silence, putting a hand on Aurions shoulder before walking out of the tent, Aurion close behind him.
They mounted up as the army of over six thousand broke camp, it would not be a long march, the rebel army was encamped a few miles outside of the castle of Stonedance a little over an hour's ride away. Aurion, who had already seen and readied his uncle's horse early that morning, mounted his own and joined the collum marching to battle.
Sensing a shift in the air, he turned and looked overheard, seeing a large red dragon with horns white as bone flying through the air over the column, over 50 feet long, mounted by an older woman with shining silver hair.
It was his great Aunt Vaella and her dragon Narrah, a battle hardened dragon as evidenced by the still visible slight tatters in its left wing, a wound it had sustained from a scorpion in Pentos, despite this the beast still cut through the air powerfully. It was to be the only dragon present at the coming battle as Aemorys’s dragon Tridax was still too small to fly.
The troops let out a cheer at the sight, emboldened and confident, assured of their victory….the rabble knew they would be facing a dragon as Vaella had flown several scouting missions in an attempt to perhaps scare them off, but few of the fanatic rebels had fled, determined to make their stand, and Aurion had overheard his aunt say that her spies reported their only defense against the dragon seemed to be a line of archers and a ragged band of septons who wished to ‘’strike my dragon from the skies with prayer.’’
Aurion turned to his uncle who was riding beside him ‘’It is a good thing my brother slipped out of Stonedance, if they had captured him…..’’
His uncle grunted acknowledgement, and Aurion pushed the thought from his mind, it was unpleasant to think that they might have had to march against the enemy whilst they held his little brother Valerion, luckily enough his brother was safe and back in King's Landing, where Massey had sent him following the news from Stonedance and the postponement of the Tyroshi campaign.
It did not take the army long to reach the outskirts of the rebel camps, their troops were emboldened and in fine spirits due to the presence of ‘’their’’ dragon, singing marching songs for the duration of their journey.
The fanatics were arranged in a long line on the expanse of a small hill before them, standing behind sharpened wooden stakes. There seemed to be few knights or heavily armored troops in general, though there were thousands of them, a sea of peasants, dressed in cloth tunics and leather brigandines with the occasional man in chainmail, there were more horseman than Aurion would have thought, likely due to the fact that the rebels had taken two castles and their stables, as well as plundered several small settlements that opposed them.
His uncle's plan was simple, they would try to end the fighting as quickly as possible with a brute charge of calvary, with Vaella supporting with Narrah from above, the peasants, fanatics or no could not hope to stand against castle forged steel and dragonfire. Lord Massey would also follow with heavy infantry and attack the wooden palisades from the sides.
Aurion gripped the banner in his hand tightly, a large white pendant denoting the Kingsguard whipping in the air, with a smaller one with the dragon sigil of his house below it.
His uncle turned to him ‘’You stay close to me and Cressey my Prince……we shall be at your side, don't draw your sword unless it is absolutely necessary and allow us to do our duty…your father instructed me he wants you to accompany us on the field….do not make me regret obeying that command Aurion.’’
Cressey, a young blonde Kingsguard knight who was just seven years older than the prince, flashed him a reassuring smile before putting his helm and drawing closer to the Princes side.
‘’CALVARY….PREPARE TO CHARGE.’’ The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard shouted, and around one hundred heavy knights assembled around him, most in plate armor with horses bound in colorful caprisons, they would form the ‘’fist’’ of the attack while the more lightly armored cavalry and hedge knights would follow behind.
‘’ATTACK….FOR THE KING…FOR THE CROWN.’’ Aemorys yelled, drawing his sword and thundering forward, inciting a roar from the knights, Aurion raised the standard in the air as high as he could with one hand while guiding his horse with another.
For just a moment the Prince found himself at the very forefront of the charge, standard raised high as he led the charge of heavy calvary, the trumpets blaring almost as loud as his beating heart, it was one of the best moments of his life.
Quickly however, the more experienced horseman thundered past him, and his two Kingsguard rode in front of him. Aurion saw the rebels prepare their own counter charge of calvary, several hundred forming up and riding at the royal forces. Luckily they faced little fire from archers, as almost all the rebel archers were on the left flank watching Vaella and Narrah in the skies, circling behind as her men charged below.
They came together in a clash of steel,sounds of horses shrieking with pain and grunts as men fell to the ground heavy in the air, even from his position in the middle, Aurion felt the collision, and also felt they were having the better push as the heavily armored knights drove their lances into the rebels.
The prince and his escort reached the front in seconds as the armored first drove deep into the enemy light cavalry, he watched his uncle slash a mounted horseman shoulder to groin with a powerful strike, knocking him from the saddle, while Cressey exchanged blows with another before his blade took the man in the neck, causing him to wordlessly slump to the ground, a smile of red on his face.
‘’Shield Aurion!’’ He barely made out his uncle's shout as they drove deeper into the wedge, and Aurion obliged, strapping a shield to his free forearm while holding the banner high.
To the right he heard the sounds of a fresh collision, and turning he saw Masseys infantry were clambering over the wooden palisades and spikes, engaging in a fierce melee with the desperate fanatics.
Deeper and deeper they rode into the enemy, and Aurion at one point was almost knocked from the saddle as the man in front of him, wearing a surcoat depicting the gray helmet of House Pyle fell backwards off of his horse after being pierced from chest to back by a dismounted rebel pikeman on the ground, the man's fall nearly took Aurion down with him but the Prince managed to steady himself.
After a few more moments, the ragged calvary of the enemy began to withdraw, no match for the heavy knights and light cavalry of the nobility.
Having a moment to collect himself, Aurion turned to the left where the shouting seemed loudest. What he saw chilled him to the very bone.
He saw his great aunt Vaella atop Narrah indiscriminately strafing the lines on the left, the large red dragon flying through the sky as desperate lines of archers filled the sky with arrows which harmlessly bounced off the beast unlike the fire which consumed the archers.
He saw a Targaryen banner in the middle of the melee, burning with dragonfire.
She's burning our own men Aurion thought in shock.
His great aunts strategy may have been callous and arbitrary, however it was very effective as the indiscriminate unleashing of dragonfire caused panic on the rebel right and within moments the large line there began to retreat and run for the hills, similarly on the right, Masseys men had gained the palisades after a bloody melee and the right flank began to buckle.
That left just the enemy center to contend with, their cavalry charge had eliminated most of the rebel horsemen, but there was still a large force of rebel infantry behind a palisade. Aemorys began to shout for his men to dismount and await their infantry to prepare a direct charge on the palisade but it was unneeded, Arstans fanatics in the center realized quickly where things were headed with a force of infantry to their right and a fifty foot dragon on their left and abandoned the palisades, fleeing into the countryside.
It seemed the battle was over, and a raucous cheer emerged from the royal troops, though it was somewhat quieter on the left, who were still startled from being subjected to dragonfire.
Aurion began to relax, and started to take off his helm when he saw something in the corner of his vision, a horseman with a lowered spear riding at them, right at his uncle who was similarly beginning to relax.
Aurion, thinking quickly, rode at the riders side, raising his shield in the air and colliding with the rider, ending his desperate charge and sending the man flying from his horse with an audible thump.
Aemorys, overcoming his surprise, dismounted, drawing his longsword and walking towards the rider, a grim look on his face.
‘’Uncle.’’ Aurion called out, also dismounting and holding up a hand to halt the Lord Commander.
Aurion drew his own sword and slowly approached the dismounted rider, his Uncle, seeing this nodded and motioned for Cressey to step aside, though they both stayed close.
The Prince approached the groaning rider, his hand gripping his sword tightly, slick with sweat while his heart beat swiftly.
He approached, raising his sword slightly, and despite his best efforts he allowed himself a quick glance at the man he was going to kill.
It was a boy, not much older than him and clearly no older than fifteen or sixteen, the faintest hints of facial hair upon his face, a fearful look in his eyes.
Aurion placed his sword on the boy's neck, willing himself to bring it down, but he could not do it….the fight was over and enough had died.
He removed the cold steel from the peasant boy's neck.
‘’Go in peace.’’ Aurion said and the boy scampered off, turning, he looked to his uncle who was staring at him with a look that was hard to discern, though Aurion did not sense disapproval.
The battle of Stonedance would be a bloody affair, and by its end nearly 1400 men would be dead, wounded or heavily burned. It was not as one sided as one might imagine as the royal army suffered nearly 550 casualties, many of them as a result on the brutal melee on the right or as a result of being burned by Varellas indiscriminate fire strafing of the left, yet despite the costs, the Targaryens had victory and the uprising would be put down.
As for the figure known as Septon Arstan, the man would escape the battle at Stonedance, disappearing from the area never to be seen again. Some sources claim he went to the Riverlands and led a small group of fanatics who were little more than bandits, though this cannot be proven and all that is known is that the wicked septons place in the histories ended the day his dreams for an independent state were crushed.
Aurion and his two Kingsguard rode back towards the camp, the young prince's heart still beating fast as the adrenaline slowly wore off.
‘’You did well, Aurion.’’ His uncle said, and he looked as if he were about to say something else when a rider from the outskirts of the battle approached them, greeting the Lord Commander.
Aurion left the two to their business, taking his uncle's horse, watering it and brushing the tangles from the tired beast, turning back to see the messenger and his uncle still talking, before the messenger nodded, mounted his horse, and rode away.
The Red Keep, Kings Landing
Chapter 51: Of Septons and Slavers
The King stood in his dressing chambers as the servants dressed him in a fine long black robe with silver trim, placing a necklace of blood red rubies upon his neck and a fine ermine cloak upon his shoulders.
The room had a stench to it, a sickly sweet smell that made even the King tight lipped, and the servants in the room were all pale, even the sweet smelling scents the King's servants were applying to the King's body did little to mask it.
Jaerion remembered little of what came after the fight with the boar, only hazy images of being drawn through the Kingswood on a cart…..he had not brought his carriage with him on the hunting trip. All he remembered was waking up to the concerned faces of his father, brother and son Aurion, who dutifully did his best to wash the wound and keep his temperature down, before losing consciousness frequently…though he remembered the pain…terrible pain amplified by the rough forest tracks of the Kingsroad.
He could not have said how long it took them to reach Chyttering Brook, a castle on the outskirts of the Kingswood and the seat of House Chyttering. The castle maester had seen to his wounds as best he could while a raven was sent to the capitol, summoning the Grandmaester and his acolytes to the castle, along with all of his potions and healing remedies.
He began to regain consciousness around this time, and refused to allow the castles young maester to remove his maimed hand, he would not allow himself to be made a cripple, even though the Maester cautioned the wounded flesh could easily become infected….Jaerion was not willing to give up on his sword hand, claiming he would wait for the Grandmaester and his surgeons to ‘’patch it up.’’
When the Grandmaester arrived however, one glance at the wound was enough for him, he furiously berated the young Maester of Chyttering Brook for not removing the hand immediately, paying no heed to the defense it was the King's wishes.
Jaerion again persisted that the Grandmaester must make some attempt to save his hand, the King of Westeros could not be a cripple but the old man would hear none of it, stating what remained of the hand had already begun to rot and it was beyond saving the minute the boar had taken a tusk to it, if it remained one more day then the King, who had already begun to grow feverish would be dead within the day.
Jaerion had been prepared to order the Grandmaester to attempt to save it all the same if it were not for his son Aurion, who rather bluntly told him he was going to die if he did not listen to the Grandmaester. The boy did not stop there, even going so far as to say his father was being a coward, who would rather die than face this difficulty and the future, afraid of what others would think of him.
Jaerion had of course been wroth when the words had left his son's mouth, and if he had not been so weakened he likely would have struck the boy, though in his condition all he could do was wordlessly order Aurion out of his chambers, red in the face.
Even with his son banished from his sick chambers, his words remained, echoing in the King's ears. His son's words made him see the situation clearly for the first time. The boy was young, too young to face the burden that resisting the Grandmaesters advice would bring. Aurion put on a brave face to be sure, but Jaerion saw it in his eyes, the boy was afraid. Aurion had spoken true on other things as well, Jaerion had to admit he had been a coward, willing to throw away all his ambitions, his chance to become a great king, all because he was afraid of being seen as a cripple.
Hours after his son's words, Jaerion summoned the Grandmaster to his quarters and instructed him to remove what remained of his hand.
The days following the amputation seemed to bode well for his condition, his fever abated and the king, albeit weakened, was conscious on the journey from Chyttering Brook back to King's Landing.
However this recovery was not to last. Shortly after the Kings return to the capitol, the wound began to fester and stink, something the Maesters attributed to its exposure to the rotted flesh of the hand. The Grandmaester and his acolytes prescribed regular treatments but the wound had remained much the same for months, as the King was a particularly difficult patient who paid little heed to their council, particularly in the context of leaving the wound undisturbed.
The King was shaken from his thinking when one of his serving men cleared his throat, holding an ornately engraved golden hand, carved with Valyrian runes and even equipped with a blood ruby ring on one of the fingers, the hand was the work being of the finest goldsmith in Lannisport, specially commissioned by the King.
‘’I will wear it today.’’ Jaerion instructed, the Maesters had warned for weeks that placing the heavy golden hand upon his wounded stump was contributing to the infection by denying it a chance to heal and damaging it, but the King was deaf to their words, wearing it whenever he was seen by anyone other than his servants or immediate family, he would not sit the Throne as a cripple.
The King's servants moved around him, well practiced at this point, one grabbed his arm while the other approached with the hand and the restraints, a servant offered him the use of a leather gag for his mouth, but the King shook his head, he would not be trussed up like a pig at the feast table with an apple in his mouth, he could manage the pain.
‘’Do it.’’ The King commanded, preparing himself.
The servant moved the heavy golden hand on top of the blackened stump, oozing with puss, the mere touch of the cold metal sending shivers of pain down his body, he then fastened the hand with the restraints on his forearm, pressing the hand down firmly on the stump.
Despite Jaerions resolve to remain dignified and kingly, an involuntary gasp rose from his chest, bolts of fiery pain immobilizing him, and for a moment he blacked out, hot flashes of pure agony coursing through his hand, while his servants held him up.
It went on like that for several moments as the King gasped, fighting the onset of tears, he was a King, a Targaryen, he would not allow himself to be so weakened. In time the pain slowly subsided to a dull aching throb and Jaerion felt well enough to get to his feet, dismissing his servants.
Outside his chambers stood his brother Aemorys, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his sworn brother, Ser Maynard Arryn, whose crystal pendant to the warrior shone just as brilliantly as his white cloak.
‘’The delegation has arrived?’’ Jaerion questioned his brother, recovering his breath.
‘’They await you in the throne room your Grace.’’ His brother nodded, his eyes focused downwards on the golden hand, his expression hidden by his plate helmet however.
Jaerion nodded, gesturing for the two to escort him, his brother made a move to grab his shoulder and support him but Jaerion waved him away, he was not an old woman who needed steadying.
It took them some time to reach the throne room, walking through from his apartments to the courtyard from Vaemonds Holdfast to the Great Hall, the hot sun soon making the King clammy and sweaty to the touch, and it was a relief when they entered the cavernous great hall and the cooler air that came along with it.
Sure enough, the delegation from Essos was already present in the hall as he walked through, there were perhaps a dozen of them, dressed in silk robes and samite gowns, many of them brightly colored, Almost all of them had ivory pendants, pins and jewelry, no doubt the fruits and abundance of the Volantene ivory market which stemmed from the elephants which the region was so famed for.
On the other side of the crowd were other members of his court, minor courtiers and his councilors alike, most notable among them his hand, Lord Bar Emmon and his kinsman and Marshal, Ellard Tyrell, he spotted his son Aurion and his pregnant wife Belle Tully above in the gallery as well.
The King did his best to remain dignified as he made his way up the stairs to his throne, ignoring the aching of his hand.
It was a relief when he reached the top and he sat himself upon the throne, about as comfortably as he could in a throne bristling with sharp swords.
He gestured the delegation forward, and they all approached the throne and knelt, led by a young man with long silver hair.
‘’Oh Great King…..we have heard tales of your splendor and the beauty of your capital, and these tales did not disappoint, we humble ourselves before you.’’ The man said.
‘’The hospitality of Kings Landing and my court are yours…..rise and be welcome.’’ Jaerion commanded, gesturing with his golden hand.
The long haired man rose to his feet, followed by the rest of the delegation ‘’A most splendid hand if I may say so your grace, most impressive indeed.’’
Jaerion forced himself to put on a smile ‘’And quite economic as well, my steward has informed me that our expenditure on gloves has decreased by half.’’
That earned a hearty laugh from both his court and the gathered delegation, with the kings laugh the loudest of all, though his hand and body ached in pain from the exertion.
As the laughter died down, the long haired man introduced himself ‘’I have the honor to be Innyllo Maegyr, Freeholder in service to Lord Illoquo Turgon, master of the lands you know as the Volantene Disputed Lands.’’
The man went on to introduce his other companions, who had names Jaerion could scarcely pronounce, yet he gathered they were quite a diverse coalition from the region around Volantis, with emissaries from the Orange Shore and the city of Selhorys present, and of course several representing the city of Volantis itself, there was even a spindly and thin dignitary representing far off Mantarys, a city the King's great uncle Vaekar had once visited.
When the introductions were finished, Jaerion nodded and spoke ‘’I am pleased to have such worthy guests in attendance, what brings you all before my throne?’’
The long haired man, Inyllo Maegyrs face darkened at that.
‘’Your Grace, I fear I must bring you ill tidings of affairs beyond the sea, you are familiar with the events in Tyrosh?’’
Jaerion nodded slightly, he vaguely remembered some time ago he had been briefed by his aunt Vaella of a slave uprising in Tyrosh which had spread to Myr and overthrown the local nobility there.
‘’These slaves,thieves and murderous criminals in truth committed many great atrocities while overthrowing the old families in Tyrosh and Myr, noblewoman of great lineage were raped in their dozens while young babes were torn from their mothers breasts and fed to the dogs, while the men were forced to watch before being given to the ax….this and countless other savageries were committed in Tyrosh and Myr.’’ Inyllo began before continuing, a murmur rising throughout the hall.
‘’The wicked criminals turned their sights on Lys as well, but were soundly humbled, however, their thirst for blood has not yet been sated, and now they turn their sights east, towards old Volantis, they have declared a so called liberation on my Lord Turgons lands, where doubtless they have similar designs on the good folk and old nobility of our people, thousands of criminals, ruffians, vagrants and rapists have flocked to their banner to launch an attack on my Lords lands, and doubtless they wish to continue their bloody path of plunder and pillage on towards the flourishing estates and towns of all the Volantene principalities.’’ He finished.
‘’And this war has brought you before me?’’ Jaerion asked with interest, leaning forward in his throne.
‘’Oh great King, tales of your ancestors in old Valyria are still told across the sea today, stories of your ancestors splendor and grandeur told in hushed and awed tones, heavy with respect, you are the blood of the dragon o’ great king, rider of dragons, the blood of old Valyria runs through your veins….as it does all the old and great families in Volantis…..we have come to ask for your assistance, to help your kin repel these demons, lend us your dragons and armies o’great King, and old Volantis and her people shall not forget….you are in a prime position to strike from the west with your great fleet and dragons, while the armies of Volantis shall trod them underfoot in the east.’’ The man said passionately.
‘’And why should we send men to fight and die in a foreign war, upstarts or no, these slaves have done us no harm…..to own a man is a sin.’’ Lord Bar Emmon, Jaerions hand and a devout follower of the seven pointed out.
Inyllo turned towards him ‘’These criminals and slaves do not fight a war for liberation as they claim…but rather of destruction noble lord, they are the enemy of progress, they look with eyes of greed and lust towards the great civilizations and accomplishments of their betters, overstepping their natural place in our order with impunity, with every great family they kill and rape, they grow in arrogance and lust and add numbers to their army of pillagers, how long before raiders turn their eyes to the riches of your lands my lord…to the fishing villages and coastal castles?’’
At this, the court began to murmur loudly and voice their assent.
Jaerion let this go on for a moment, pondering, he had great ambitions to the east, and an expedition to help the Volantenes fight these former slaves was not without its benefits, not only would he gain influence with the Volantene principalities, but depending on how the war went he could perhaps even arrange for the free city and island of Tyrosh to be annexed into his realm. After another few moments, he made his decision and raised his golden hand
‘’You have done well to humble yourself before me and seek my help……your words have moved me……as you have said, my ancestors once held influence and power across the sea and kept order in Essos….let everyone see that the Targaryens are alive and well and our power extends east as well as west….I will help you to defeat this rabble Lord Maegyr….go back to your Lord and tell him the Targaryens have returned to defend Essos….tell him that Jaerion Targaryen, first of his name and King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men is coming.’’
The emissaries all bowed, paying homage, thanks and respect to the King of Westeros.
Three Weeks Later
The Red Keep, Kings Landing
Aemorys made his way through the hallways of the royal apartments of the Red Keep, turning a corner and walking towards the expansive royal suite of his brother, where his sworn brothers Ser Maynard Mormont and Uthreydes Cressey had the guard.
‘’The King awaits you inside Lord Commander.’’ Cressey said, bowing his head, the boy was quite young to be a knight of the Kingsguard, being only 19 years of age, but he had a certain boldness about him, and unlike many youths his age was humble and eager to learn and obey.
Aemorys thanked them and let himself into his brother's chambers, despite the weather of the day being warm, the hearth was burning high, freshly lit, his brother had oft been complaining of chills lately.
He found his brother standing over a table peering at a map of the Stepstones and the west coast of Essos, the names of the Tyroshi and Myrish cities highlighted with red ink, beside his brother stood Lord Ellard Tyrell, the marshal of the realm.
Lord Tyrell gave a curt nod towards Aemorys, said a final word to the King and withdrew from his chambers.
‘’You summoned me, your Grace?’’ Aemorys asked, standing at attention.
‘’I did…..come.’’ His brother replied, summoning him to the table.
Jaerion was dressed resplendently as always in a black and gold silk tunic with a golden necklace of emeralds upon his neck, his golden hand was attached as well.
His physical appearance stood in stark contrast to his rich attire however. His brother, like Aemorys was naturally a large man, tall and strong, but in the last few weeks his skin had begun to hang over his bones slightly despite his healthy appetite, his skin pale and blotchy, a rough patch of silver stubble upon his chin. Only his eyes seemed to be healthy, just as startling lilac as always, sparkling in the light of the hearth.
‘’The expedition will leave for Tyrosh soon….some 3400 men and 72 galleys, Lord Massey and Lord Tyrell assure me that they will be fit to sail within the month, 1200 from Kings Landing and 2200 in Stonedance, they will merge in the Stepstones and sail due east from there.’’ His brother said, pouring himself a cup of wine.
‘’That is good to hear.’’ Aemorys responded politely.
‘’It is….but you shall do more than just hear of the campaign…. I have a command for you, as you know I am unfit for travel at the moment, yet the crown must be represented upon the field of battle…..I want you to lead this campaign….at least until I am well enough’’ His older brother said.
Aemorys took the news in silence, in truth he was not overly surprised by the proposition.
‘’Your Grace…..you honor me, but I am no battle commander, there are many more experienced commanders, those with more ability……my place is by your side.’’ Aemorys said hesitantly.
‘’Your place is where your King commands.’’ His brother said sharply with a sharp gasp, taking a sip of wine, a sign Aemorys knew meant his stump was in pain.
Jaerion drained the cup and placed a hand on Aemorys’s shoulder, his tone gentler ‘’It is just for appearances brother…..Lord Massey as my master of ships will handle all the naval arrangements, our aunt Vaella has pledged her support as well as her dragon Narrah for the campaign….the old bird wants some excitement no doubt….she has experience leading campaigns as well, they will take care of the logistics, I just need you to bear my banner and represent the King on the field of battle until I recover and join our forces….who better than the King's own brother to represent him in the field?’’
Aemorys nodded slightly at that, he had managed to lead his six sworn brothers in defense of the royal family quite effectively, but leading an entire host, even with help was something he felt wholly unprepared for, but he saw little chance of escaping this task, and he would do as his brother commanded.
‘’Besides…I have another task for you, one that I could entrust to no one else.’’ the King continued.
‘’I'm sending Aurion with you to serve as your squire….the boy is almost 13, he needs seasoning and experience, this campaign is the perfect opportunity for it.’’ Jaerion said.
‘’I am honored your Grace….but….perhaps…..’’ Aemorys said with his usual courtesy before seemingly without thinking he began to hesitantly voice his thoughts before thinking better of it.
‘’Go on brother….speak your mind.’’ Jaerion gestured for him to continue and Aemorys obliged reluctantly.
‘’Your Grace….perhaps….perhaps it would be better if the Prince were to remain close…. in the capitol.’’ He said slowly, his eyes glancing instinctively downwards at his brother's golden hand, of which even the finery of the gold or the scents his brother wore could not hide the sickly sweet stench.
Jaerion understood at once ‘’No….No….I will be fine Aemorys….this damnable wound will heal shortly…it will run its course soon enough….I will join you in Tyrosh brother…..until then, you have your orders……your ship leaves within the week.’’
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, never one to argue, nodded and placed a plated fist to his chest in salute and withdrew from his chambers, giving a last look to his brother leaning over the map, planning his conquests.
Later That Day
The Red Keep
Prince Aurion made his way through the halls of the Red Keep towards his fathers solar, the afternoon rays shining lazily through the windows, while a cool breeze from Blackwater Bay came in through open walkways.
For a moment he considered turning back, but quickly resolved to continue on, he wanted to make his thoughts known, for all the good that it would do him.
The Kingsguard on duty recognized him instantly and granted him access to the solar, where he found his father sitting at his desk, a map on the table.
His father looked up at him, and for a moment the Prince thought he was looking at a skeleton, his father, normally an imposing figure looked like a shadow of himself, his skin pale and blotchy, despite this his father did not seem to be in any apparent pain and his bright eyes were as warm as ever.
‘’Aurion.’’ The King said, slightly smiling pushing the map and a plate of roast venison to the side and gesturing him forward.
‘’You seem to have had a good day of training, back when I was a youth I was the terror of the training yard….from what I have heard you are growing into much of the same.’’ His father said kindly.
Aurion nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he had been training in the yard when he had heard the news.
‘’Uncle Aemorys says I am to accompany him across the Narrow Sea, to serve as his squire.’’ Aemorys said.
His father nodded ‘’You are…I thought it was best you get some experience…..the trainers assure me you are ready, you sit a horse well and never fail to fulfill your duties….ah, and if it is equipment you are wondering about I have commissioned you the very best, black enamel plate embossed with silver trim in the sigil of a dragon, a new gorget, helm, sword and shield, the craftsman seemed surprised when I mentioned your age but you've inherited my stature clearly.’’
Aurion was silent at that, still trying to think of how to phrase his words.
His father, noticing the silence frowned ‘’I had thought you would be more excited boy.’’
‘’I am father it is just…..well…’’ Aurion hesitated.
‘’Go on.’’ The King gestured.
‘’I don't know….I don't know if this campaign is right…..helping slavers I mean.’’ Aurion finished, regathering his composure.
The King was silent at that, his lips pursed, though he made no move to interject.
‘’In my studies I've heard of the practices of slavery in Essos…..I dont think it's right to own another person, and some of the things they do to the slaves…..I dont think we should be helping them.’’ Aurion continued, aware of his fathers piercing gaze upon him.
After a moment of silence, his father stood, turning around towards the roaring hearth and taking a sword from the mantle, drawing it slowly from the sheath, the ripples in the blade reflected off the light of the fire, marking it as Valyrian Steel not that Aurion needed any further hints, he had seen his fathers sword many times.
‘’Do you know who wielded this blade boy?’’ His father asked, turning Blackfyre slightly, watching the light of the flames dance upon it.
‘’Vaekar Targaryen.’’ Aurion answered, he knew that the sword had been in the possession of his great grandmother's brother for many years before returning to the crown after his death.
‘’Before that.’’ His father demanded.
‘’Aegon the Conqueror.’’ Aurion answered dutifully.
‘’Aegon the Conqueror.’’ The King said softly, still turning the blade slowly, never taking his eyes off of it, transfixed, as if the sword was speaking to him, as if he saw something no one else did.
After a moment, he sheathed the sword and returned it to the mantle, turning to face Aurion.
‘’Do you think Aegon conquered the seven Kingdoms and became the first King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First men because it was right?’’
The Prince was silent at that.
‘No….he did it to establish the greatest dynasty the world has ever known….to ensure the blood of the dragon did not fade into obscurity, but rather rose to take its place among the empires….and in his conquest he achieved immortality throughout the generations…his name shall never be forgotten’’ His father continued, a gleam present in his startling eyes.
‘’I aim to do the same thing boy…..greatness does not come to you….you must take it…you must earn the right to bear the crown of the conqueror, to be his heir…..this war strengthens your birthright Aurion….it may very well win us Tyrosh and influence in the Volantene principalities…..it brings us closer to Valyria, the land of our forefathers, to the great cities of the east and beyond’’ the King said, the same hungry look in his eyes.
‘’I won't force you to go if you don't want to boy…perhaps it is for the best, both my brother and Lord Tyrell seem to think it more prudent for you to remain in the capital…the heir cannot be risked, Lord Tyrell says….but I say the only way to become the heir…the true heir is to risk…so what will it be boy, will you take your part of greatness, or will you allow others to go in your place?’’ His father finished.
Aurion was silent for a moment before he answered.
‘’Ill go…..Ill go father.’’ He said softly.
“Good….now go and make me proud Aurion.’’ The King said, gesturing to the door.
Morning of 20th of 5th Moon, 99 AC
Castle of Stonedance, Masseys Hook
Prince Valerion watched from the window of his chambers as men, horses, and carts departed through the gates of Stonedance, the courtyard a busy blur of servants, soldiers, and knights moving in and out of the castle.
In the distance, beyond the castle, large cloth tents could be seen, no doubt housing the levies of Stonedance and the surrounding hamlets, who were gathering in preparation to embark upon the fleet which would take them across the narrow sea.
It's not fair. The prince, a boy of eight, thought to himself for what seemed like the tenth time that day. He had been serving as a squire to Lord Massey, his fathers Master of Ships for about a year at Stonedance, yet he had been deemed to young to accompany Lord Massey on the campaign, even though he had accompanied the Lord of Stonedance on several naval patrols throughout the Narrow Sea and was fast becoming accustomed to life on a ship.
What made things even more miserable was the fact he had heard that his older brother Aurion was accompanying their uncle across the sea on the campaign, and he was only a few years older.
It had not been a particularly exciting year at Stonedance, during his few months in King's Landing the Prince Valerion had never had so much fun, the Red Keep was absolutely massive, and he spent hours at a time exploring every nook and cranny of the castle, sometimes with Aurion, but even more often alone, often shirking his lessons with the Maesters to go explore.
His mother had quickly put a stop to it, and imposed a curfew, for his own protection she claimed, forcing him to report to his chambers every day and study the books in his room, yet Valerion made plans for his escape. With the use of straw, he managed to create a rather realistic looking figure of himself, dressed it in his clothes and placed it in his bed, before climbing out of the windows of his chamber.
He enjoyed a few precious hours of freedom until his deception was at last discovered and he was found in the castle kitchens, helping himself to an ample amount of apple cakes and it was back to his chambers, and shortly after his father sent him as a ward to Stonedance.
There was little excitement at Stonedance, he was not yet allowed to train with sword and shield and instead served as a page, watching the older squires train and mirroring their motions alone with a wooden sword, seeing to the horses, and running messages, which was the Prince's favorite task, as despite being quite skinny and lanky for his age, he was quite fast. On rare occasions Lord Massey permitted him to join him at sea, but these were infrequent trips, and most of his days were quite boring and lacking in excitement. When word of the campaign reached him, he had been excited, packing all of his gear for the trip, but his hopes were soon crushed when he learned he would not be accompanying Lord Massey and his levies on the adventure across the narrow sea.
The prospect of having to spend weeks alone in the depopulated castle of Stonedance, devoid of all the squires and knights, with only Lord Massey's fat wife and daughter for company was hardly an exciting prospect, and caused the prince to fully make up his mind then…he was not going to be left behind.
Fully determined at this point, he pulled on a plain cloak of brown wool he wore whenever he accompanied Lord Massey at sea, and also grabbed a cap that most cabin boys wore on ships, as he knew that his silver hair would cause him to become recognized immediately.
Leaving the castle was easier than he could ever have imagined, there were few guards in the castle, and he found it easy to blend in with the hubbub of movement in the courtyard as dozens of people moved in and out.
It was a short walk down the road from the castle to the camp where the levies of Stonedance were gathering, and none of the men paid him any mind as they diced, chopped firewood and conversed with the female camp followers.
Valerion made his way in between the tents, narrowly avoiding a horseman who cursed foully at him, having no idea he addressed the second son of King Jaerion Targaryen, which was no problem for the prince.
Turning, he saw a middle aged man dressed in stained septons robes, though unusually for a septon he carried a sword at his side, and was accompanied by at least two dozen armed companions, walking with an air of authority, Valerion moved out of the way to let them past, and they paid him not even a second glance.
‘’The boy will be inside the castle my sources say.’’ Valerion overheard one of the men tell the septon, who nodded. For a moment Valerion grew anxious they were talking about him, but quickly forgot about the whole affair, there were plenty of boys in Stonedance, if that was even the castle they were talking about and he returned to his business.
After asking a few potboys, he gathered that the ships were quite a distance away, too far for walking. The ships were to depart in a few hours and sail to King's Landing, merging with the fleet gathered there before returning to embark the levies at Stonedance who would be fully gathered at this point.
Realizing it was too far to walk, the young prince hopped in the back of a cart laden with onions after overhearing they were bound as rations for the soon departing ships, pulling the cloth over him and relaxing, albeit as much as one could surrounded by onions as the oxen driven cart was steered towards the coast.
When he saw they were close to the coast, he discreetly hopped out of the cart, reeking of onions and found several cabin boys playing at dice, waiting to embark on the ships. There he found out that while most of the ships would be going to King's Landing, Lord Massey’s personal war galley Stone Hook would be heading to the stepstones and the narrow sea to scout for any opposing Tyroshi fleets, that was the ship Valerion must board he resolved, he had no wish to sail back to King's Landing, ending his adventure as quickly as it would begin.
It was a simple enough affair to board the ship, he knew it by sight having sailed with Lord Massey on Stone Hook before, and no one paid him a second glance as he joined the knights, sailors and men at arms, just another cabin boy and servant among a dozen.
They set sail late in the afternoon, the last orange rays of the sun setting over the dark waters of Blackwater Bay, and the young prince quickly made himself busy as they sailed out towards the Narrow Sea.
His deception did not last long after that, as while mopping the decks, he bumped into the captain of Stone Hook, who instantly recognized him by his purple eyes, even with the hood as the captain had been aboard when the Prince had last sailed on the ship.
Valerion was taken before Lord Massey, who, fitting with his nature was furious at the boys disobedience, and was not particularly swayed by the boys promises that he would work harder than any other cabin boy, and stated that ‘’Father as my witness if you were not the son of the King I would have you flogged.’’
Nevertheless, being that they were already several hours offshore, it was deemed a waste of time to sail back to Stonedance and drop the boy off, so Lord Massey begrudgingly allowed the boy to remain with him, though he stated that if the boy wanted to do a ‘’man's job, he would do a man's work’’, and promised him sore feet and blisters by the end of the trip.
The heavy workload did little to dampen the Prince's happiness, and he did all the tasks with a smile on his lips and the wind in his face, he at last had the adventure he was seeking.
Unbeknownst to all parties involved, the young stow-aways actions would prove a great stroke of luck for the Targaryen family, as back in Stonedance, a storm was brewing.
Night of 20th of the 5th Moon, 99 AC
Levy Camp outside of Stonedance
Arstan watched in silence, fiddling with the wooden necklace to the Father as he watched the woman dress herself, pulling on her septa's robe, and tidying her hair.
Father forgive me The septon, a rather common looking man of thirty three thought to himself, forcing himself to avert his gaze from the half naked septa.
It was a sin he knew, but there was nothing like a woman to strengthen one's resolve before a fight, and a fight was coming, for tonight was the night.
I shall cleanse myself and atone through action….forgive this humble sinner and show your favor upon this righteous cause if it is your will Arstan thought to himself, beginning to dress himself in his plain and dusty robes.
The septa, a woman who had joined his cause quite early on, pulled on her septa's headdress, pulling it tight before facing him.
‘’I shall tell them you are ready to speak……Father be with us.’’ The woman said, and Arstan nodded, dismissing her.
He fastened his sword and sheath to his belt, a rather poor and paltry weapon, rusted and brittle, but it was a weapon to match the man he thought, only when he had fulfilled the Fathers work would he allow himself to take a new fine sword from the spoils that awaited them.
When he had prepared himself, he stepped out of his tent into the cool night air, a gentle breeze coming from the Blackwater Bay.
The calm before the Warriors storm The septon thought to himself, making his way from his tent where his personal guard fell in behind him, wielding cudgels, axes, spears and the occasional sword, most of them were common men, levies from Stonedance and the surrounding areas, but there were a few knights among his most loyal followers, men who had managed to find the fathers light through the foggy snare of noble and rich living.
They walked in silence a good distance away from the camp, following a faint light in the distance, a thin trail of smoke climbing from the nearby forest into the night sky. It had been duly named as the Fathers Light…with his recruiters and acolytes preaching to all they thought likely to join to ‘’find the fathers light’’.
He had no idea how many awaited him at the bonfire, though his acolytes, who had been preaching seemed confident they would have enough for the task that awaited him. His acolytes had been preaching in the levy camp outside of Stonedance castle, as well as the villages of Luna, Woodmere, and the hamlets outside of Glasswater Hall, some had gone even further, west to the outskirts of the Kingswood, or south to the Stormlands, following the Wendwater.
He and his men walked in silence for what seemed to be an hour, through the dark trees, with only the faint smoke to light their way, the only noise the creatures of the night, but Arstan was not afraid of the darkness, not when the fathers light shone brightly.
Eventually the coastal forest opened up into a large clearing where his army awaited him. His acolytes had not lied, there were at least fifteen hundred there, perhaps as many as two thousand, most of them seemed to be common men from the surrounding villages armed with shovels, pitchforks and cudgels, but there were several hundred that seemed to be levies from the camp at Stonedance, armed with spear and shield and in leather brigandines and jerkins.
Arstan gave silent thanks to the Father that so many had answered his call, and made his way to the massive burning bonfire in the center of the clearing, the crowd parting for him to pass, his guards close behind him.
He took in the sight for a moment, the crowds murmuring gradually growing silent.
‘’I won't tell you my name…for it is not important….all that you must know about me is that I am a humble man…..a sinner, just like all gathered here today….I am not here to be your King, or your ruler, only to point out the evils that this humble man has witnessed, I am here to tell you the truth of the path of darkness we have been led to, and what steps we must take to return to the Fathers road of righteousness.’’ Arstan began, speaking loudly.
‘’We stand here as men from different backgrounds, farmers, shoemakers, blacksmiths and soldiers, yet we are all united by one thing…all of us have been conscripted by the Targaryens….the rabid spawn of incestous and unnatural relations…foreigners from across the narrow sea…into a war. We have been conscripted to fight with slavers, evil men who think it right and moral to OWN another man. Whether by smithing for Masseys soldiers, crafting their boots, their horseshoes, or yes…by even being sent across the sea to kill other poor men….the poor wretches of Tyrosh and Myr…we have all been made complicit in this crime….made to stand against the poor of this world.’’ Arstan continued.
‘’I am here to tell you brothers that we…are similarly shackled, just as much as the former slaves of Tyrosh and Myr…..tied to an anchor of depravity the sister fucking kings of silver hair afflict upon us, forced to lend our goods, our labor…and your very soul to advancing their dark ambitions and rule….DO YOU FEEL THE CHAINS BROTHERS….FEEL THE IRON UPON YOUR WRIST…THE SHACKLES UPON YOUR ANKLES.’’ The septon continued, his voice growing in intensity, a loud murmur growing in the crowd.
‘’Such is the fate of all the poor and common folk in this world….but it is not the warriors will that the downtrodden of the earth kneel and feel the sting of the lash obediently….it is his will that we FIGHT and end our oppression by the evil forces which kneel upon our neck……look across the narrow sea, the men of Tyrosh and Myr have thrown off their chains, slain their cruel masters, despoiled the women who bedeck themselves in jewels and silks, the fruits of their labor, and put their spawn to the sword……and yet we are being sent to kill these brave men…no…no, heathens they may be, but the father granted them strength in their uprising to show us his light…his example…AND HIS WILL.’’
‘’I know the question on the tips of your tongues…the doubt in your heart…WHAT OF THE DRAGONS…what of the demonic creatures of the east, the dark servants of the silver haired tyrants you ask….but the Father has shown me the way forward brothers…the path to victory. Just as the Targaryens have held our very souls captive and hostage to their dark desires, so too must we have our own hostage….and we need to look no further than the castle of our Lord Massey….there we will find a young prince he is harboring, silver haired…the spawn of generations of unnatural relations….a demon named Valerion…so named after his heathonous forebearers…we shall seize this prince, a child born to luxury and privilege….the Targaryens shall never march against us when we hold their own kin….with this ransom brothers we shall liberate not only Stonedance but the whole of Masseys Hook, and we shall only release the boy following a peace negotiation overseen by the High Septon of Oldtown himself….in which the evil usurper Jaerion must recognize the independence of our lands and the rulership of a theocracy of seven septons….he shall not dare break the agreement for the whole of the realm shall rise up if he breaks an oath made before his the High Septon himself….we shall build a good and devout land…where all believers may live in peace.’’ Arstan finished, catching his breath.
‘’But before we can create this paradise brothers we must fight…..not all in the camp outside of Stonedance are evil men, I have left some dozens there myself to aid us when we march from the front, but there are others, rich knights and nobles who like a dog licking his master's boot are content to follow their dark overlords….we must attack this camp brothers, the good and righteous shall have to choose quickly on whos side they stand on…READY YOUR WEAPONS MEN, we shall storm this camp and kill the impure among them and then we shall storm the very walls of Stonedance and take the prince….SPARE THEM NOT THE SWORD.’’ The septon finished, and a great roar rose up from the crowd, who waved their weapons in the air and shouted death upon the Targaryens and their servants.
Two hours later, this large force would strike the siege camp outside of Stonedance, and a chaotic melee would ensue as Arstans men rushed into the camp, joined by his men hidden within. Knights were targeted, as most were assumed to be unyielding in their loyalty to the crown. Few records of this fight exist, but what is clear is that by the end of it, nearly six hundred were dead or heavily wounded, though it is hard to say how many were loyalists and how many were Arstans men. The levies of Lord Massey would then disperse, either fleeing back to their homes or in the case of many, joining Arstans cause. Among the dead was Ser Tanton Bulwer, a talented young cavalry commander who had been one of the companions of King Jaerion, serving as master of horse at the Red Keep and one of his chosen commanders for the campaign.
The rebels then prepared to storm the walls of Stonedance, until just before the order was given, Septon Arstan received word from his spies within the castle that the Prince Valerion was nowhere to be found and not within the castle.
Despite the weakened and small garrison of the castle, the rather formidable walls of Stonedance were deemed too much of an obstacle now that the primary objective of taking the castle was impossible and the rebels moved on to easier spoils.
Using fishing ships from the village of Luna, Arstan sent several hundred of his men to sail across the gullet under the cover of darkness towards the nearby island of Sweetport Sound, seat of House Sunglass.
In the morning, Arstans forces scaled the walls of the small castle where a melee ensued leaving around 200 total dead and wounded, but due to the element of surprise the small castle was eventually subdued and Arstans banner, a crystal hammer was raised over the castle, meant to signify the new realm he meant to be forged.
Another island castle, Rambton had more time to prepare, but Arstans men, well armed and armored with the spoils from the camp and castle stormed the castle, though at the cost of several hundred dead and wounded. Arstan would then proclaim these conquests as the beginning of his new realm, calling all devout followers to flock to his banner, and soon his forces would swell to nearly six thousand men.
When news of this uprising reached the capitol, the King at once ordered his brother Aemorys to postpone the expedition to Essos and instead deal with the threat much closer to home, with the levy of Dragonstone and the Kingswood being raised to aid in defeating the wicked septon.
2nd of 7th Moon, 99 AC
Outskirts of Stonedance, Lord Commander Aemorys’s Tent
Aurion, satisfied that the helmet was polished enough, held it out in front of him, the white plate of the Kingsguard helmet being so clear he could almost see his reflection in it. Satisfied, he placed the helmet down on the table next to his uncle's recently sharpened longsword, cloak and recently polished plate armor.
He then went to the chest at the corner of the tent by his cot, and took out the equipment his father had commissioned for him, strapping on the fine black plate armor and gorget, as well as strapping a sword onto his side, despite the prince only being 12 years old, the equipment could pass for belonging to a boy several years older as Aurion was tall for his age.
Warm rays of light shone through the white cloth of the tent, and Aurion sat down, his fingers drumming the table, nervous excitement coursing through his body. Outside he could hear the clamoring of soldiers, and the neighing of horses.
Shortly after, the tent flap opened and his uncle, dressed in a plain white tunic, walked in.
He stopped when he saw his nephew sitting down, fully armored and ready to go.
‘’You certainly look the part.’’ The Lord Commander said with a tight smile.
‘’Is it time?’’ Aurion asked, standing.
‘’Yes….we march within the hour.’’ His uncle said, making his way towards his armor on the table, and grabbing the white plate breastplate.
Aurion quickly walked towards his uncle, standing behind him and helping him with the straps and fastenings.
‘’I can see to my own armor Aurion.’’ The Lord Commander said, but nevertheless he allowed his nephew and squire to help him ready for battle.
When he was ready, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard looked truly magnificent, armored in white plate and a snowy white cloak, sword buckled at his side.
‘’This is it.’’ Aemorys said finally, breaking the silence, looking at his nephew, studying his face.
Aurion, sensing something was expected of him spoke ‘’Im not…Im not afraid, i'm ready Uncle it's just….I don't know what to expect.’’
His Uncle nodded ‘’I've been where you are standing….though I was a few years older than you…there's nothing I can truly say to prepare you for it…..you won't be fighting my Prince, hold the banner and stay close to me and Ser Utherydes…I don't expect the fighting to last long…..they won't withstand Narrah and our calvary for long.’’
Aurion nodded, but his uncle kept looking at him, as if he sensed there was something else bothering his nephew.
‘’I'm worried about my father….I have been for a while’’ Aurion admitted simply, looking his uncle in the eyes, and for a moment he saw a flash of something pass through his uncle's purple eyes.
He's worried about the same thing Aurion realized.
‘’Best not to go into battle with any distractions…..clear your mind my Prince’’ His uncle said curtly after a moment's silence, putting a hand on Aurions shoulder before walking out of the tent, Aurion close behind him.
They mounted up as the army of over six thousand broke camp, it would not be a long march, the rebel army was encamped a few miles outside of the castle of Stonedance a little over an hour's ride away. Aurion, who had already seen and readied his uncle's horse early that morning, mounted his own and joined the collum marching to battle.
Sensing a shift in the air, he turned and looked overheard, seeing a large red dragon with horns white as bone flying through the air over the column, over 50 feet long, mounted by an older woman with shining silver hair.
It was his great Aunt Vaella and her dragon Narrah, a battle hardened dragon as evidenced by the still visible slight tatters in its left wing, a wound it had sustained from a scorpion in Pentos, despite this the beast still cut through the air powerfully. It was to be the only dragon present at the coming battle as Aemorys’s dragon Tridax was still too small to fly.
The troops let out a cheer at the sight, emboldened and confident, assured of their victory….the rabble knew they would be facing a dragon as Vaella had flown several scouting missions in an attempt to perhaps scare them off, but few of the fanatic rebels had fled, determined to make their stand, and Aurion had overheard his aunt say that her spies reported their only defense against the dragon seemed to be a line of archers and a ragged band of septons who wished to ‘’strike my dragon from the skies with prayer.’’
Aurion turned to his uncle who was riding beside him ‘’It is a good thing my brother slipped out of Stonedance, if they had captured him…..’’
His uncle grunted acknowledgement, and Aurion pushed the thought from his mind, it was unpleasant to think that they might have had to march against the enemy whilst they held his little brother Valerion, luckily enough his brother was safe and back in King's Landing, where Massey had sent him following the news from Stonedance and the postponement of the Tyroshi campaign.
It did not take the army long to reach the outskirts of the rebel camps, their troops were emboldened and in fine spirits due to the presence of ‘’their’’ dragon, singing marching songs for the duration of their journey.
The fanatics were arranged in a long line on the expanse of a small hill before them, standing behind sharpened wooden stakes. There seemed to be few knights or heavily armored troops in general, though there were thousands of them, a sea of peasants, dressed in cloth tunics and leather brigandines with the occasional man in chainmail, there were more horseman than Aurion would have thought, likely due to the fact that the rebels had taken two castles and their stables, as well as plundered several small settlements that opposed them.
His uncle's plan was simple, they would try to end the fighting as quickly as possible with a brute charge of calvary, with Vaella supporting with Narrah from above, the peasants, fanatics or no could not hope to stand against castle forged steel and dragonfire. Lord Massey would also follow with heavy infantry and attack the wooden palisades from the sides.
Aurion gripped the banner in his hand tightly, a large white pendant denoting the Kingsguard whipping in the air, with a smaller one with the dragon sigil of his house below it.
His uncle turned to him ‘’You stay close to me and Cressey my Prince……we shall be at your side, don't draw your sword unless it is absolutely necessary and allow us to do our duty…your father instructed me he wants you to accompany us on the field….do not make me regret obeying that command Aurion.’’
Cressey, a young blonde Kingsguard knight who was just seven years older than the prince, flashed him a reassuring smile before putting his helm and drawing closer to the Princes side.
‘’CALVARY….PREPARE TO CHARGE.’’ The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard shouted, and around one hundred heavy knights assembled around him, most in plate armor with horses bound in colorful caprisons, they would form the ‘’fist’’ of the attack while the more lightly armored cavalry and hedge knights would follow behind.
‘’ATTACK….FOR THE KING…FOR THE CROWN.’’ Aemorys yelled, drawing his sword and thundering forward, inciting a roar from the knights, Aurion raised the standard in the air as high as he could with one hand while guiding his horse with another.
For just a moment the Prince found himself at the very forefront of the charge, standard raised high as he led the charge of heavy calvary, the trumpets blaring almost as loud as his beating heart, it was one of the best moments of his life.
Quickly however, the more experienced horseman thundered past him, and his two Kingsguard rode in front of him. Aurion saw the rebels prepare their own counter charge of calvary, several hundred forming up and riding at the royal forces. Luckily they faced little fire from archers, as almost all the rebel archers were on the left flank watching Vaella and Narrah in the skies, circling behind as her men charged below.
They came together in a clash of steel,sounds of horses shrieking with pain and grunts as men fell to the ground heavy in the air, even from his position in the middle, Aurion felt the collision, and also felt they were having the better push as the heavily armored knights drove their lances into the rebels.
The prince and his escort reached the front in seconds as the armored first drove deep into the enemy light cavalry, he watched his uncle slash a mounted horseman shoulder to groin with a powerful strike, knocking him from the saddle, while Cressey exchanged blows with another before his blade took the man in the neck, causing him to wordlessly slump to the ground, a smile of red on his face.
‘’Shield Aurion!’’ He barely made out his uncle's shout as they drove deeper into the wedge, and Aurion obliged, strapping a shield to his free forearm while holding the banner high.
To the right he heard the sounds of a fresh collision, and turning he saw Masseys infantry were clambering over the wooden palisades and spikes, engaging in a fierce melee with the desperate fanatics.
Deeper and deeper they rode into the enemy, and Aurion at one point was almost knocked from the saddle as the man in front of him, wearing a surcoat depicting the gray helmet of House Pyle fell backwards off of his horse after being pierced from chest to back by a dismounted rebel pikeman on the ground, the man's fall nearly took Aurion down with him but the Prince managed to steady himself.
After a few more moments, the ragged calvary of the enemy began to withdraw, no match for the heavy knights and light cavalry of the nobility.
Having a moment to collect himself, Aurion turned to the left where the shouting seemed loudest. What he saw chilled him to the very bone.
He saw his great aunt Vaella atop Narrah indiscriminately strafing the lines on the left, the large red dragon flying through the sky as desperate lines of archers filled the sky with arrows which harmlessly bounced off the beast unlike the fire which consumed the archers.
He saw a Targaryen banner in the middle of the melee, burning with dragonfire.
She's burning our own men Aurion thought in shock.
His great aunts strategy may have been callous and arbitrary, however it was very effective as the indiscriminate unleashing of dragonfire caused panic on the rebel right and within moments the large line there began to retreat and run for the hills, similarly on the right, Masseys men had gained the palisades after a bloody melee and the right flank began to buckle.
That left just the enemy center to contend with, their cavalry charge had eliminated most of the rebel horsemen, but there was still a large force of rebel infantry behind a palisade. Aemorys began to shout for his men to dismount and await their infantry to prepare a direct charge on the palisade but it was unneeded, Arstans fanatics in the center realized quickly where things were headed with a force of infantry to their right and a fifty foot dragon on their left and abandoned the palisades, fleeing into the countryside.
It seemed the battle was over, and a raucous cheer emerged from the royal troops, though it was somewhat quieter on the left, who were still startled from being subjected to dragonfire.
Aurion began to relax, and started to take off his helm when he saw something in the corner of his vision, a horseman with a lowered spear riding at them, right at his uncle who was similarly beginning to relax.
Aurion, thinking quickly, rode at the riders side, raising his shield in the air and colliding with the rider, ending his desperate charge and sending the man flying from his horse with an audible thump.
Aemorys, overcoming his surprise, dismounted, drawing his longsword and walking towards the rider, a grim look on his face.
‘’Uncle.’’ Aurion called out, also dismounting and holding up a hand to halt the Lord Commander.
Aurion drew his own sword and slowly approached the dismounted rider, his Uncle, seeing this nodded and motioned for Cressey to step aside, though they both stayed close.
The Prince approached the groaning rider, his hand gripping his sword tightly, slick with sweat while his heart beat swiftly.
He approached, raising his sword slightly, and despite his best efforts he allowed himself a quick glance at the man he was going to kill.
It was a boy, not much older than him and clearly no older than fifteen or sixteen, the faintest hints of facial hair upon his face, a fearful look in his eyes.
Aurion placed his sword on the boy's neck, willing himself to bring it down, but he could not do it….the fight was over and enough had died.
He removed the cold steel from the peasant boy's neck.
‘’Go in peace.’’ Aurion said and the boy scampered off, turning, he looked to his uncle who was staring at him with a look that was hard to discern, though Aurion did not sense disapproval.
The battle of Stonedance would be a bloody affair, and by its end nearly 1400 men would be dead, wounded or heavily burned. It was not as one sided as one might imagine as the royal army suffered nearly 550 casualties, many of them as a result on the brutal melee on the right or as a result of being burned by Varellas indiscriminate fire strafing of the left, yet despite the costs, the Targaryens had victory and the uprising would be put down.
As for the figure known as Septon Arstan, the man would escape the battle at Stonedance, disappearing from the area never to be seen again. Some sources claim he went to the Riverlands and led a small group of fanatics who were little more than bandits, though this cannot be proven and all that is known is that the wicked septons place in the histories ended the day his dreams for an independent state were crushed.
Aurion and his two Kingsguard rode back towards the camp, the young prince's heart still beating fast as the adrenaline slowly wore off.
‘’You did well, Aurion.’’ His uncle said, and he looked as if he were about to say something else when a rider from the outskirts of the battle approached them, greeting the Lord Commander.
Aurion left the two to their business, taking his uncle's horse, watering it and brushing the tangles from the tired beast, turning back to see the messenger and his uncle still talking, before the messenger nodded, mounted his horse, and rode away.
He sensed something strange in his uncle's reaction, the way he was looking at him, so Aurion quickly finished seeing to his uncle's horse and returned to the Lord Commander, who had not moved from his spot, still holding a scroll, a strange look in his eyes.
‘’What is it?’’ Aurion questioned.
The Lord Commander was silent for a moment, looking off at the battlefield, before gently taking his nephew by the shoulder.
‘’Aurion.’’ His uncle began, his face full of grief.
The Prince froze, a small buzzing in his ears, his blood running cold.
‘’Aurion…..I am sorry….your father is dead.’’ His uncle said, a great sadness in his voice.
And so it was that on the seventh moon of 99 AC, King Jaerion, henceforth known to the histories as Jaerion the Brief, succumbed to his infected wound at the age of 31, ruling for just one year and 10 months.
While in a separate chamber his wife Belle Tully lay facing the birthing bed, King Jaerion lay dying in another. Hours later, his wife would give birth to another son, their sixth, a prince whom would be named Balaeron, when servants went to the King's chambers to deliver the summer days good news they found him dead in his bed, his golden hand holding up the covers as a fire roared in the hearth.
Thus began the rule of Aurion Targaryen, First of his Name.
‘’What is it?’’ Aurion questioned.
The Lord Commander was silent for a moment, looking off at the battlefield, before gently taking his nephew by the shoulder.
‘’Aurion.’’ His uncle began, his face full of grief.
The Prince froze, a small buzzing in his ears, his blood running cold.
‘’Aurion…..I am sorry….your father is dead.’’ His uncle said, a great sadness in his voice.
And so it was that on the seventh moon of 99 AC, King Jaerion, henceforth known to the histories as Jaerion the Brief, succumbed to his infected wound at the age of 31, ruling for just one year and 10 months.
While in a separate chamber his wife Belle Tully lay facing the birthing bed, King Jaerion lay dying in another. Hours later, his wife would give birth to another son, their sixth, a prince whom would be named Balaeron, when servants went to the King's chambers to deliver the summer days good news they found him dead in his bed, his golden hand holding up the covers as a fire roared in the hearth.
Thus began the rule of Aurion Targaryen, First of his Name.
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