If any of their children take after her I can just see this becoming their favourite thing.
Valyrian Steel: A Game of Thrones Mod AAR
- Thread starter Henry v. Keiper
- Start date
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If such is the case, there will be a lot of "...and after they were done..." moments in the AAR.
Chapter 8
Rhaekar
“They appear to be lowering their banners, my lord.”
Rhaekar held up the lens-tube and placed it before one of his eyes. Sure enough, he could see the banner of House Fossoway descending from one of the towers of Cider Hall castle. The red apple, surrounded by a field of gold, descended along the pole from one of the towers, getting lower and lower with each second. At long last, it disappeared behind the ramparts. Rhaekar curled his lips into a smile, then gave a short nod. “Indeed. It appears the fight has at last gone out of them.”
Alliser Langward stood beside him. He patted the hilt of his sword twice. “Seven hells, I had not known it would take this long. What were they doing inside? Humping their swine for good luck?”
Some of the soldiers nearby laughed at that. Rhaekar himself gave a chuckle and then held the lens-tube out to Alliser. “Would you like to join? I hear you love to break fast with bacon.”
More laughter from the soldiers. Despite the obvious jab at his personal expense, Alliser himself shared in the mirth. “Yes I do! Perhaps you should ask your mother – I break fast with her often.”
“My mother is dead, so that just betrays your desperation. Or perhaps lack of viable options.”
More laughter from the nearby soldiers. Once again, Alliser joined in on the revelry. He smacked Rhaekar hard on the shoulder and waved a finger at him.
The humor was good enough to break some of the exhaustion that had developed during the long campaign. Rhaekar has spent a few months besieging Silverhill. When it finally fell, the war in the Westerlands came to an end. Jason Lannister had lost miserably in every battle against the forces loyal to Queen Rhaenyra. What’s more, his lords had gradually turned against him, one by one, as they saw the large armies of the Iron Throne advance on Casterly Rock. Payne Hall, Kayce… one by one his vassals joined the other side, or refused to raise their banners to support him. Rather than see Casterly Rock or Lannisport looted and burned down, Jason Lannister had bent the knee and pleaded for mercy. Rhaenyra took the title of Lord Paramount of the Westerlands from Jason and cast the Lannister patriarch into the dungeons of King’s Landing.
The war against the Hightowers was going just as splendidly. Randyll Hightower, a knight in the ancient family, had been captured in battle, and the Reach was permitting the Iron Throne to march against Oldtown. Rhaekar had marched his forces down to take care of Cider Hall and the Fossoways; Nettles, leading another large army, was maneuvering around it, keeping any reinforcements from attempting to relieve the siege. Everything was working in favor of the newly enthroned queen – but that didn’t make being so far away from the family, let alone everyday comforts, wear down both nobleman and footman.
“Someone seems to be coming out,” an officer remarked.
“I do believe that is what the whore said,” Alliser remarked. He elbowed Rhaekar, who didn’t get the joke.
Of greater concern for Rhaekar was the small force leaving through the portcullis of Cider Hall and towards the Iron Throne footmen marching against them. The closer they came, the more Rhaekar realized that it wasn’t a force proper at all. There were women and children among the group, none with horses. The soldiers gathered around them, holding their spears at an angle, and marched them towards the camp. Rhaekar could only guess who they were: Lady Dorna, eldest daughter of Owen Fossoway; Meryn, Lord Owen’s second wife; Meryn, a granddaughter of his; and Ser Franklyn, Lord Owen’s son and heir.
Rhaekar collapsed the lens-tube and handed it to a nearby commander. Free of the eyepiece, Rhaekar stepped forward, heading for the small group. Lady Dorna and Meryn the younger both looked away as he approached. Ser Franklyn stared coldly at Rhaekar, while Meryn the elder seemed indifferent. Rhaekar only briefly glanced at each one of them as he drew near, then stopped within several feet.
“You have done well surrendering,” Rhaekar began. Now he looked to individual persons. “Well met, Ser Franklyn, and you as well, Lady Dorna.”
Franklyn Fossoway did not respond in kind. “What do you intend to do with us, Unicorn Prince?”
Alliser appeared behind the Unicorn Prince. “I suggest we throw them in the dungeons. Let them sit in their own filth for a while. Queen Rhaenyra would be pleased by that.”
“If you think this will cause us to yield our spirits, you are sorely mistaken!” Franklyn cried.
Rhaekar glanced at Alliser, then back at the group. His violet eyes studied the entire Fossoway family that stood before him. To Alliser, he said, “You wish to put even children into the dungeons, Lord Alliser?”
“Do you think they would show us the same hospitality?” Alliser asked.
Rhaekar waved a hand. “That is of no concern to me. As far as I am concerned, they are free to go.”
Alliser sneered, but then relaxed. He bowed his head low. “Very well, lord commander.”
Franklyn Fossoway blinked, clearly taken aback by this. The other members of the lord’s family turned to the Unicorn Prince, various looks of surprise and relief seen on their faces. Lady Dorna herself lifted her gaze, and, in a quiet whisper, said, “Thank you.”
Rhaekar nodded to her, then turned and began to walk away. Alliser hesitated for only a moment, then began to step in line behind him. “Is your mother truly dead?” the lord asked.
“Her, and my father,” Rhaekar replied. He tapped one set of fingers over his knuckles, as he stared in the distance in thought. “When the Darklyns betrayed the Targaryens, in fact. My father was an emissary for the Iron Throne, and was visiting the Dun Fort with my mother. They were all killed, for some perceived wrong the Targaryens had inflicted on them. Daemon went to meet him then, but killed Lord Darklyn in the field. The king gave Duskendale to me as recompense.” He turned and gave Alliser a grin. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
Alliser snorted. “The only curiosity I have is how many ways a whore can bring me to heaven. I just wanted to know more of the Unicorn Prince.”
“How kind,” came Rhaekar’s reply. He turned his eyes back to his front. He was facing the south. He lifted up a hand and pointed towards the horizon. “After we have secured this, we will head south, and support Nettles in her campaign against the Hightowers. As far as I am concerned, the Fossoways are out of the war. Once we take care of the Hightowers, Queen Rhaenyra should sleep well at night.”
How she could, Rhaekar wasn’t certain. He’d heard about what had become of Aegon the Usurper. Oh, Queen Rhaenyra had seen fit to spare his life. After all, his wife had passed away in prison, due partially to her poor health after the Siege of King’s Landing – the man had suffered enough for his attempt to take the throne. Instead of having him executed, Rhaenyra chose a lighter sentence...namely, to have him gelded. She had decreed it better that the Usurper not have any other seed. He would continue to serve as a commander in her forces, but never again could he lay claim to the throne.
Other men had not been so lucky. Sharp Point, inspired by the courage shown by the Lannisters, Hightowers, and others, had risen up in rebellion against Queen Rhaenyra as well. This was more so the doing of the Sharp Point council, rather than Lord Clarence Bar Emmon – what with the fact he was only seven name days into his life. Still, when Sharp Point’s levies were brutally crushed by loyalist forces, Rhaenyra showed no mercy. A raven was sent straight from King’s Landing, ordering the boy to be hung. From the watchtower at the very end of Massey’s Point, the boy was tossed down. When the rope reached the end, his tender neck broke instantly. He was left hanging there for the ravens and seagulls to feed on.
Rhaekar frowned at the memory of reading the report on that. It had seemed unnecessarily cruel, especially for such a young boy. When Rhaenyra’s son Joffrey was killed several days later, slain by his own dragon Tyraxes, it was said by some to have been justice from the Seven for Clarence’s execution. Rhaekar didn’t believe in such superstitious ideas about the terrible events of life, nonetheless he hoped Joffrey’s death would teach the queen a thing or two about mercy.
The Unicorn Prince had found himself becoming much more sensitive to matters pertaining to children, ever since he’d received a raven from King’s Landing, not from the queen, but from his maester. As it turned out, his wife, Rhaena, had become pregnant. He’d been most surprised that she had been eager to make love, given he was almost old enough to be her father. Still, he couldn’t complain, given she was an extremely beautiful young lady. It had seemed that his seed had proven strong, and it had only taken one night to make her a mother. He would have an heir, and his line would be secure.
“Lord Alliser, I think I shall retire to my tent for a spell,” Rhaekar finally said.
Alliser shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He moved into his tent and sat down at the desk, the book of the Valyrian Freehold resting, open, on his desk. He walked over and sat down, returning his eyes to the paragraph he had left off with the night before. It had been refreshing to read this book, as it gave him encouragement during this campaign, as well as inspiration on how to handle certain situations. For one who was bred from a mostly merchant family, Rhaekar considered it amusing that he was gradually moving up in the ranks of the Iron Throne’s army. Lord Alliser said he might end up being Master at Arms for the queen herself. Perhaps he might even become the Hand!
A messenger stepped in. “Beggin’ m’lord’s pardon. It is urgent.”
“What is it?”
The messenger handed Rhaekar a small slip of paper. Rhaekar took it and read it over. At once, his eyes widened. He was on his feet in a second. “Fetch me Lord Alliser. At once. Hurry, man!”
Alliser was in the tent a few moments later. “What is it, Unicorn? What is the matter?”
Rhaekar turned and looked Alliser right in the eyes. “We need to prepare the army to march east at once.”
“Why? What has happened?”
Rhaekar handed Alliser the message. The lord unrolled it and gazed across its contents...
Stop.
Hammer Time
...And now that that's out of the way:
I do have to say that, once again, I like the way you write your characters. Alliser seems to have a very earthy feel to him that plays well off Rhaekar's more refined sensibilities; he strikes me as one of those career soldier types who is more at home in camp than anywhere else.
Hammer Time
...And now that that's out of the way:
I do have to say that, once again, I like the way you write your characters. Alliser seems to have a very earthy feel to him that plays well off Rhaekar's more refined sensibilities; he strikes me as one of those career soldier types who is more at home in camp than anywhere else.
Stop.
Hammer Time
DURR HURR.
That does it. Maester Dermot's gonna make a canon-breaking appearance as the new king of the Iron Throne.
Aw, thanks! I love to write and develop characters, and Crusader Kings makes for interesting source material for writing narrative AARs like this because they practically TELL you the personalities. The only difficult aspect is, of course, translating that into the writing itself. It can be too tempting to want to write a character in a way contrary to how the game defines them. Of course, one has to obviously tamper with the gameplay-narrative a little bit to explain odd AI decisions (as I explained earlier), but still, what makes such AAR writing fun is translating the in-game stats into a living, breathing character.
Hey hey hey, six kingdoms. Dorne is still off gallivanting around, doing Dornish things like...I dunno. Dorning.
The Dance of the Dragons never ended - it merely paused in between songs.
#Im14AndThisIsDeep
These events are eerily close to the canon, especially Hugh's betrayal and the Defiance of Duskendale.
Let's start a thing:
#TeamHammer
#TeamDragon
Pick sides now.
RE: Duskendale - I did draw inspiration from the actual, canonical Defiance of Duskendale for Rhaekar's house backstory. Basically I just moved it closer to this event and fudged some of the specific details.
RE: Hugh - Mere coincidence. The Hugh AI really has declared a rebellion.
Fornicating.
I'm with Hugh, but I doubt Rhaekar would see it that way... Is Nettles with his host? If so, he certainly won't be as easy to stop.
However this war turns out, that's going to be one awkward family reunion.
Chapter 9
Albar
Albar had sent Rhaena to the library, telling her he would meet her later on that day. By then, she would most likely be finished with her reading assignment – and by then, the trial would be over.
Albar stood at the open terrain within the walls of the Red Keep. The Queensguard stood around Queen Rhaenyra, who had her arms crossed over her generous chest. Many members of the small council, as well as various other lords, stood in the space between Rhaenyra and Albar. The maester recognized Grand Maester Orwyle especially, the older man standing in the far back. Jason Lannister, bent to his knee, was before the entire group. Albar lifted his eyes from the Westerlands lord to the Red Keep’s walls, and saw Rhaenyra’s dragon Syrax resting comfortably on the ramparts. A massive chain led from the dragon’s throat down to an emptied stable at the other end of the courtyard. As the golden scales glinted in the sunlight, a hint of smoke came from Syrax’s nostrils. Albar found himself absentmindedly tugging on his maester chain.
“It was foolish of you to rise up so soon, Lord Jason,” Rhaenyra said, “for you had seen how quickly Aegon’s host was crushed. Did you think the entirety of the six kingdoms would raise their banners in your favor?”
“I would have done it all the same, false queen,” Jason Lannister replied. He lifted up his eyes and squinted them. “Whether I would be defeated or victorious, I had to rise against your tyranny. It was my duty as a knight of the kingdom, and as a Lannister. Whether the six kingdoms struggled with me, or against me, I knew my calling.”
“Indeed.” Rhaenyra looked up at the wall, towards her dragon. Her lips curled into a smile. Albar saw Syrax open its mouth, a long, moist tongue extending to lick along its muzzle. The queen looked back at Jason Lannister. “Lord Jason Lannister, you have been found guilty of treason, against the kingdoms, and against the throne. You are hereby sentenced, by royal decree, to death.”
The Queensguard stepped forward. Two of them grabbed Jason Lannister by the arms and lifted him up. The proud lord spat on the ground. “You will see the justice of the Seven before old age, dragonspawn! You shall see! A Lannister pays his debts, even from beyond the grave!”
Without showing even a hint that she had heard the lord’s words, Rhaenyra looked up. “Syrax, darling...”
The Queensguard walked Jason Lannister a few more feet, then threw him down. At once they rushed back towards their queen. Jason fell to the ground and blinked in confusion at his captors. Then he looked up at the dragon. It was staring back down at him, sharp teeth on display.
Lord Jason’s eyes widened.
Rhaenyra grinned more. “Syrax… dinner...”
Syrax leaped onto the ground. Albar felt the ground tremble under his feet, and his own legs nearly gave way. Jason at once stood up and tried to run. Syrax was on him in a second. The maester saw the great maw open wide, revealing teeth as sharp and long as broadswords. Albar looked away just as the dragon’s head reached the Lannister. He heard the crunch of bones. He heard the scream. He heard the scream intensify as the crunching continued. Then, all at once, there was silence. When Albar opened his eyes, he saw that he was not the only one on the scene who have averted their gaze; even Grand Maester Orwyle had turned his head away, a grimace on his lips.
“What a good girl,” Rhaenyra stepped forward and patted her mount on the head. The dragon was licking its chops, smoke still bellowing from its nostrils. A trail of blood leaked down from the sides of its jaw. “What a very good girl...”
Albar had seen enough. He turned away and continued on to the library. When he entered, he found Rhaena at the far end of the room, seated at a nook. The thick book Albar had left her with was spread out over it, and her violet eyes were regarding the words written on the pages. As he drew nearer, a large reptile leaped out from the other side of the nook. It was scaly, blue, and had great wings which grew out of its back. Albar gave a jump at the first sight of the monster. It opened its mouth and curled its forked tongue, letting out a wet, breathy noise.
“Valzyryx!” Rhaena cried. “You know Albar, you silly thing. Stop hissing at him.”
The small dragon turned and gave Rhaena a hiss.
“And do not speak to your mother that way!”
Mother, Albar thought. She thinks she is a mother to the beast? And yet she raises him like a noblewoman raising a spoiled child. He eyed the dragon wearily, deciding not to take a step closer. How Rhaena felt so comfortable around it, he didn’t know. For now, Valzyryx turned and hopped off the nook. He stepped a few feet over to the nearby corner, where he immediately curled around and laid himself to sleep. A steady stream of smoke trailed out of his nostrils.
The maester tried his best to avoid gazing at the creature for too long. He turned his attention back to the new Lady of Duskendale. “Have you completed your reading?”
“I am on the last paragraph,” Rhaena said. “I do not understand why I need to read on childbearing. Does it not come naturally?”
“So does sleep,” Albar said, “and yet infants must be taught how to sleep properly.”
Rhaena laughed at that. “Do they? I have never heard of such a thing.”
Albar smirked. “Then I shall have you read books about child rearing when you finish reading about childbearing.”
Rhaena reached down, below Albar’s line of vision. He knew she was feeling her tummy, which had already begun to swell. By now, kicking could be felt against the skin. “The child has been very active as of late.”
“Standard, for this time in its development,” Albar said. He glanced over at the dragon, who had one eye open. It was staring right at the maester. Albar shivered, then looked back at the princess.
“Baela says if it is kicking frequently, it must be a boy.”
Albar made a tsk-ing noise. “Do not listen to wives tales, my lady. I have heard them all. If it kicks in the lower belly, it will be a girl. If it runs its fingers along the inside, it will be a boy. If it leaps when the mother sees flowers, it will be a girl. If a mother looks at horses too long, it will have an excessive nose. I promise you that such tales are correct by mere accident.”
Rhaena frowned. “I suppose you will have to tell me when you deliver the child, then.”
A prospect I assure you I am not looking forward to, Albar thought.
Albar had other worries than seeing the nether regions of a young girl, of course. Word had reached the city quite some time ago that Hugh Hammer had betrayed Rhaenyra, and instead of supporting the queen’s rule had opted to take the Iron Throne for himself. This was, perhaps, why Jason Lannister had received such a harsh punishment. In the meantime, the Hammer had raised an army of 7,000 men, or so estimates were, with most of them mercenaries or men who had served under him in the last war. The Iron Throne had been taken off guard, with most of their troops out west attempting to put down the various rebellions that had erupted shortly after the queen’s coronation. In a rush to meet the usurper’s threat, Addam Velaryon was amassing armies from all around the Crownlands, and had sent ravens to the Red Keep, announcing that he could muster a force equal to the Hammer’s. They were expected to cut him from King’s Landing before he could near the walls.
Albar kept his mind occupied from the war with his tutoring of Rhaena, as well as his studies of the skies. The clouds of King’s Landing proved to be much duller than the clouds of Duskendale, given how the storms from the bay often crashed into Massey’s Point or Duskendale before reaching the capitol. Albar’s journal were often full of dull entries: Clouds moving southward. Sunny day. One day he wrote: Saw lightning in the distance. Expected a storm. It dissipated once it hit the city. Depressing.
“Why do you study the weather so often, Maester Albar?” Rhaena asked him one morning.
“I have always been fascinated by it, ever since I was a boy,” Albar said.
“Perhaps when Valzyryx is older, and I am able to ride him, I will let you see the world above the clouds.”
I would not ride that beast if he were my only escape from certain death, the maester thought. Out loud, he said with a smile, “I would be delighted, my lady!”
One day, Albar went to visit Grand Maester Orwyle in his study. Albar’s superior seemed very troubled, for he was holding a parchment in his hand that had just been delivered by raven, and was tapping a foot in quick succession.
“Lord Addam Velaryon has been defeated, and is in retreat,” said Grand Maester Orwyle. He lifted his eyebrows, then forced a smile. “But I would not worry. It was a hard fought victory for the Hammer, and with great loss. In the meantime, Aegon himself is on the way, with troops from the west. He brings 10,000 men in a host that will surely crush this new usurper. Behind him are an additional 7,000 men. With such an array of fighting men, Hugh does not have a chance against Aegon’s army.”
The old usurper crushing the new, Albar thought. What a strange world this is. The more he thought on it later, the more he found himself tugging on his chain, worried by how insane Westeros had become. This is why I study what goes on in the clouds, and not what happens on the land. Out loud, he asked, “How many men does the Hammer have left?”
“It is supposed he has only four thousand of his original host,” Orwyle replied. “Hardly a force one can take King’s Landing with.”
“He has taken King’s Landing before.”
Orwyle waggled a finger. “He had dozens of thousands of men then, and quite a few dragons. Now he has barely a fifth of that, and only one or two dragons. Hardly the same force as before.”
That gave Albar some peace of mind. It meant that even if – if – Aegon were defeated, the city would be safe. The Hammer would be forced to continue the siege, which would quickly prove disastrous; his men were surely tired after the battle against Lord Addam’s host, and would be even more tired after the fight with Aegon. If he continued a siege, he would face losses from desertion rather than battle. If he chose to lift the siege and fight a prolonged war in the Crownlands, he would only give the Iron Throne more time to assemble a new host to defeat him. It was getting clearer and clearer with each new taste of information that the Hammer had gambled for the crown, and failed.
Some days later, the battle was joined, some miles from King’s Landing. Aegon arrived with the western armies, and was engaged in battle with the Hammer’s host. Albar took only a few moments glance at the battle, from the top window of his quarters, late that evening when it began. He could see the silhouettes of the dragons flying about over the dusk sky, and see the fires that had already erupted within the villages unfortunate enough to be close to the battle. The cries of those in pain from wounds or their dying rose up and were carried by the wind towards the city.
Albar turned his gaze away and retreated back into his study. Sitting at his desk, he took a parchment from a pile of his work and placed it before him. Dipping his quill into the ink, he let out a sigh as he tried to drown out the faint noise that invaded his room. He placed the quill on the parchment and began to write. I wish to put forward why the erratic and irrational theory regarding the Arm of Dorne and rising waters from the north is merely pushed by maesters seeking to further their agenda. While there are accusations of speculation lodged at their opponents, the facts pertaining to their understanding of the issue have been skewed at best. It must be understood that-
A giant roar.
Albar jumped. His hand skidded across the parchment, casting a line across his words. He hit the ink bottle, and it toppled over, spilling its contents onto the stone floor. The maester cursed and stood to clean it up. The roar sounded again. Albar’s heart thumped within his chest as if it was preparing to burst out. He turned his eyes towards the window of his study, and saw the flames again.
Only this time, the flames had drawn closer.
He ran to the window and looked out. Down below, a good quarter of the city was on fire. Men, women, and children were darting about the streets in a panic. Bells were sounded from septs and city gates alike. Rhaenyra’s men were rushing about the walls, while the gold cloaks attempted to restore some order to the ground below. Above all this, a hideous reptilian beast soared. Albar recognized the rider easily enough: it was Hugh Hammer, decked in his familiar armor.
The beast inhaled, and then breathed out its flames. They crashed against the wall like waves against the rocks. Guards lit aflame fell off the side. The armor of some footmen was now brightly lit, surely heating the flesh of whoever wore it. A few arrows flew up, but the dragon rose up and swung around, preparing to strike another part of the capitol. In the distance, large masses of soldiers were charging over the hills and across the open fields, right for the city.
Now the sounds of panic spread below the window. Albar looked to the courtyard of the Red Keep, and saw footmen darting around. In the halls outside his room, he heard the flutter of footsteps rushing back and forth.
Rhaena, came a thought. I need to find Princess Rhaena.
Forsaking all that was his in that room, he rushed to the door and opened it. He nearly ran into a serving girl running down the hall. She only paid him a second’s notice before continuing her flight. A gold cloak came rushing the other way, shoving the poor girl aside as he went.
“What is happening?” Albar asked.
The gold cloak did not even pause his steps. “Aegon is dead! Rhaenyra is lost!”
Albar felt all blood leave his face.
It cannot be, the maester thought. It cannot be… every single factor was against him. How did the Hammer win? How did this happen?
Another roar – a different one. It was a blood curdling sound, like an explosion prolonged for several seconds. Albar knew that Vermithor was striking in the courtyard of the Red Keep. He could hear the screams of the poor souls – man and woman alike – as they were burned up by the dragon’s wrath. The cries of battle could be heard out the windows, along the walls of the city. Inside the Keep, people ran around like hens chased by a pack of foxes. The entire city was engulfed in utter and complete chaos.
Albar’s eyes widened as a thought came upon him. Rhaena. Where is my lady? Where is she?
He ran for her quarters. As he ran, he passed by two serving girls, huddled in a corner, sobbing hysterically as they clung to one another. He passed by an officer reprimanding a cowardly footman; the latter pulled out his sword and stabbed the former in the belly before running off. Albar came upon a large window, where a bowman had notched and just let loose a bolt. A split second later, a torrent of fire burst through the window. Albar covered his face and backed up. He lost his step and nearly tumbled down the steps, saved only by his back colliding with the wall. When he removed his arm, he saw the smoldering husk that had been the bowman tumble down the steps, smoking and still. Albar could do little for him, he knew, and continued his ascent.
When he finally reached the doorway to Rhaena’s quarters, he found the door open. He paused in the middle of the hall when he spotted something on the floor. It was red, and went from her room, down the hall, and around a corner. Albar’s heart raced as he realized what it was: blood.
“No,” he muttered, “please, Father, no...”
A flurry of possibilities entered his mind. A traitor in the castle, killing off the Targaryens. A guardsmen looting the noble quarters, and stabbing Rhaena when she resisted. He even imagined the girl committing suicide when she discovered the sudden change in affairs. He tried to push all those thoughts aside, and forced himself forward. He followed the trail, turned the corner, and froze.
Rhaena sat there, against the wall. She was weeping hysterically. Her hair was in the ponytail she had begun to place it in, similar to her sister, and strands of loose locks hung over her face. Tears smeared her drenched cheeks. She was clutching her other arm.
Albar saw the blood dripping from her wrist.
A hand was missing.
The maester rushed over. “Rhaena! My Lady Rhaena, what happened?”
She looked up at him. “Maester Albar!” The words were barely audible from her tears. “Maester Albar, it hurts! It hurts!”
“Stay still, my lady.” At once, his training at the Citadel set him on his course. He undid his belt, brought it to her arm, and wrapped it tight halfway between the missing hand and her elbow. He snatched a handkerchief from his sleeve pocket and brought it down around the open wound. In an instant, he had wrapped it into a crude knot, covering the bleeding extremity. “What happened, my lady? Who did this?”
“Valzyryx!” Rhaena cried. Her lips curled into a perfect, upside-down u-shape as she said those words. “I was trying to help him flee with me, and he attacked me!”
I could have warned you about that beast! came an angry thought in Albar’s head. He subdued it by biting down on his lower lip for just a moment. This was not the time to grow bitter over mistakes. He took the girl by the underarms and helped to lift her up. He knew his one priority, at this moment, was to see his lady safely out of this insanity. She was his ward, and his lady – he could not fail her now. If he did, he might as well hang himself by the chain he wore around his neck. “Come with me, my lady.”
A roar from outside. More screams. More shouts. More cries of death.
“Rhaekar,” came the sobbing words. “Where is my lord husband?”
“He is fine, my lady,” Albar said. He had no way of knowing that for certain, and he knew that. For all he knew, Rhaekar had perished in the battles outside of King’s Landing. It would make his duty all the more important: Rhaena had, within her womb, the next Valzyren heir. “Please, we must hurry.”
Rhaena shifted her feet, but leaned against Rhaekar all the while they moved. She was only half supporting herself, while Albar carried much of her weight. Thankfully, she was a small, thin girl – had he been forced to carry Annara Darklyn, things might have been much different. As they moved down the steps, passing the burning husk of the bowman on the way, the Targaryen girl continued to clutch her bleeding arm and weep. “It hurts, Maester Albar! It hurts!”
“I know, my lady,” was all Albar could think to say. He was a maester, not a septon – he could not offer any further condolences other than he knew his medical attention had saved her from bleeding to death. Now, however, was not the time for a medical diagnosis. “Please, we need to hurry.”
“Where are we going? Where is my lord husband?”
Albar ignored the questions. He wasn’t entirely sure himself. He knew they couldn’t go out into the courtyard, for the roars of Vermithor continued to be shouted outside the Keep. If they tried to escape along the walls, they would most likely be caught by the Hammer’s men. All he could do was continue their downward trek, as they went from one flight of stairs to the next. All the while they passed sobbing servants, guardsmen who were hunched into corners, shivering uncontrollably, and two or three gold cloaks darting here and there, oblivious to anyone not an immediate threat. No one seemed to notice Rhaena, her silver, Targaryen hair, or the bleeding stump that was her arm.
They came towards the bottom floor. A great archway rested against the wall, leading into the courtyard. The light of great fires cast light and shadows against the hallway. As Albar led Rhaena down the way, a serving girl suddenly leaped up, in the open light coming through the archway.
“You!” she cried. The girl lifted up a finger, pointing it at Rhaena. Albar froze and clutched his lady close. “You! Dragon slut! You brought this upon us! You and your family! Your and your wicked mother!” The girl spat in the air. “The Others take you! You and your-”
Vermithor’s great head snapped through the archway. The girl was bitten down the middle. Blood spewed from her lips. In a second she was snatched away, through the opening Her skull collided against the stone top of the archway, and was immediately shattered.
Albar clutched Rhaena all the tighter as he immediately turned around and went another way.
The deeper the maester went, the darker it became. He found a torch and tore it from the wall, doing his best to keep Rhaena upright as they moved. Thankfully, the pain seemed to be entering a numbing state. He could see her head lolling from side to side, but she kept enough consciousness to walk. Eventually they came across what to be one of the supply rooms for the scullery. Albar sat Rhaena in a chair, making certain she wouldn’t fall out of it once he let go before he got up and explored the room. In a matter of seconds, he found what he was looking for: a bottle of liquor. He popped the cork, then brought it to the young girl. Her half-opened eyes stared at it as if she had never seen it before.
“What is this…?”
“A strong drink,” Albar said. “Take it. Drink.”
“Why…? Will it heal me…?”
“No, but it will take away much of the pain.”
Rhaena took the bottle with her hand – her only hand, now – and brought it to her lips. Her nose immediately wrinkled. “It smells horrid!”
Up above, the roar of Vermithor caused the stones of the walls to vibrate. Dust fell from the crevices.
Albar spoke more tersely. “Drink it.”
Rhaena did so. She gave a few good gulps before plopping the bottle onto her lap. Some of the liquid poured down her chin, from her hanging lips. Albar covered his hand with his sleeve, then wiped it gently. He turned eyed the walls. Holding up the torch with one hand, he used the other to feel around the stones.
“Where are we?” Rhaena asked. Her voice was slurring now.
Albar didn’t answer. When Rhaena didn’t repeat her question, or show any annoyance at not receiving a response, he guessed that she was beginning to be overcome with exhaustion. In truth, he wasn’t entirely certain, other than it was a supply room, with dried foods and various bottles of different forms of alcohol and hard drinks. Another roar from above caused the stones to rattle, and at once Albar noticed one of the support beams shift in a strange manner. What appeared to be a cabinet rested against it. After some prying, he managed to get the cabinet to move. To his delight, a tunnel appeared.
“My lady, can you walk?”
A groan was all that left the girl’s lips. Albar cursed softly, then returned to her. When he bent down to help her up, she fell forward. He quickly adjusted himself, letting her plop over his shoulder. With a grunt, he pushed up with his legs and lifted her up off the chair. Thanking the Seven again that she wasn’t Annara, the maester carried the lady across the room, and into the tunnel. He could feel her bulging belly press against his shoulder, and felt the child shifting inside, no doubt concerned itself, in a strange, infant-like way. Reminded again that he was carrying his lord’s lady and his heir in his arms, Albar continued on into the dark, damp tunnel. The smell of mildew and wet stone lifted up to his nostrils, but he was thankful it wasn’t burnt flesh and sulfur.
“All I wanted to do was live quietly in Duskendale and study the skies,” Albar remarked, “instead, here I am, entering the bowls of the world...”
Albar is turning into that rarest of things: a brave coward. There is some steel in his spine, of that there can be no doubt.
The Hammer may have lacked numbers, but he's more than made up for the lack with his audacity. With both of the claimants defeated and one dead, the Dance of the Dragons has suddenly taken quite the uncertain turn.
Rhaena may have been hurt by her lost hand, but undoubtedly Rhaekar's ambitions will be stung in turn by the lost dragon. I don't doubt his affection for Rhaena herself, but undoubtedly her dragon and her royal ties were compelling reasons for a match. Now it seems both have been dashed in one monstrous Hammer blow.
Rhaena may have been hurt by her lost hand, but undoubtedly Rhaekar's ambitions will be stung in turn by the lost dragon. I don't doubt his affection for Rhaena herself, but undoubtedly her dragon and her royal ties were compelling reasons for a match. Now it seems both have been dashed in one monstrous Hammer blow.
The Hammer has crushed the Dragons. It is time for the unicorns to ally themselves to the Usurper.
And Rhaekar should really deal with the newest resident of Duskendale, in the only way a Valyrian can, by taming it.
And Rhaekar should really deal with the newest resident of Duskendale, in the only way a Valyrian can, by taming it.
In fairness to Albar, there is little one can do when an entire city is erupting into chaos and all you have on you is a metal neck-chain.
The Hammer is ruining a lot of things for a lot of people, to say the least. I was also surprised this worked out for him so well. Seriously, during gameplay, the war score kept reaching positive numbers for Rhaenyra, then suddenly...BOOM! It's one of those moments where you turn your face away from the computer screen, turn it back around, and go, "Wait, what?"
Little confession here: I was wondering what would happen if I tried the "tame the dragon" option. I saved, tried it out, and Rhaekar got toasted. I reloaded, since it was just an experiment any way.
