Chapter 28: The Second Coming
I entered the Small Council chamber after washing the filth of the night away, wrapped in green silk robes thick enough to keep at bay the chill. The mood in the room felt fit for a funeral, most notably my puffy eyed mother. What a surprise. Better to ask forgiveness than permission with her, and by now I'm well experienced enough to keep that notion to myself. She sat near my grandfather, who seemingly aged a decade in the moon since we last saw each other. Stoop shouldered, hunched, hands wringing with as much nervousness I've ever seen out of mother.
Tyland Lannister remained hard eyed and faced as he and the others stood to acknowledge my entrance, every bit the man capable of sustained disfiguring torture and coming out the other side harder and stronger. Larys Strong struggled to keep the amusement out of his countenance, a true sadist through and through. Lord Jaspar Wylde, my best friend kept a stiff jaw and a stiffer hold of a pitcher of wine.
All stood in acknowledgment of my arrival.
"The Small Council." I greeted them as I strode to my place at the head of the long red burl table, "A sight for sore eyes to the blind if ever there was one." I waited as Ser Criston pulled out my gilded black brocade seat, then carefully lowered myself into it, "Last night shall live on in infamy evermore. A cautionary tale against the dangers of factionism." I gladly observed as the audacity of my statement cut through the gloom of the assembled instilling wide eyed shock in my small audience, "Go forth and sin no more, dedicated to girding the new Westeros with unity, duty, and destiny manifested in the will of the sovereign."
Jaws grit and breath came uneasy amongst the ministers of my state. To these genteel men unaccustomed to war, none of whom knew the fullness of the plan save my psychotic brother, my actions this past night constituted the single most traumatic event in their lives, but I know them as true sons of Westeros. Though decades of peace made them uneasy with the unprovoked slaughter of the people of King's Landing, they now have the taste of blood on their lips. I must assert control before their long slumbering murderous instincts take over, frothing at the mouth red eyed charging at every sighted foe.
"Sin no more?" my mother asserted herself.
Women.
"Peace, Mother, before your mouth shames you." I raised a hand to silence her, "Look around at the men who administer my kingdom. The heaviness of their hearts needs no interpreter to understand, yet they act for they know the necessity of our rapid and extreme opening to this conflict. This city is no bastion, but a quagmire, and ownership of it a millstone. As the city reels from the damage, men loyal to me pile high a wagon train the envy of any merchant prince the world over with all the treasure and half the food. My final gift to my sister, the Iron Throne, a fine perch for her to watch as the blood in the street rises up ankle deep. Speeking of which, what is the current population of our cells, brother."
"Fit to bursting with thieves spared their hands." Aemond smirked, knowing my mind from long mentorship.
"Good." I nodded to him, "The last our our men to leave the city will turn them loose with the King's pardon. By the time our sister arrives, they'll have stolen all the food that's left. What a mess... but, cleaning is woman's work. How fitting for the 'first ruling Queen of Westeros'."
I paused, patiently observing the room with a slow shifting of my posture and when I saw my mother about to burst with outrage opening her lips I resumed, "Seven disparate kingdoms no longer. Three rival peoples no longer. The hardest choices require the strongest wills, and I ask of you all: Do you have the will to continue? The course is set, the path perilous, the obstacles as numerous as the stars in the sky. You shall never see the end of the road when travelling with me. Do you have the will? Can you strive for a better tomorrow, knowing you shall not see it dawn? Can you plant the tree knowing that you shall never enjoy its shade? I offer no comfort, nor respite, only the invitation to follow me on the path to the world I envision if you have the will to walk behind me."
Larys Strong rose from his seat and took a dagger from his belt. "A blood oath." he announced as he dragged the blade across his palm, "That we shall follow the King to the death as brothers unified."
The corners of my mouth raised in amusement at the dramatics of my most intuitive and adaptive servant. The least ambitious as well. Despite his extensive access to my plans and full support, he has never sought to expand his holdings nor his wealth. He indulges his sadism in far more moderation than his station allows, as he does with his other base desires. He participates for love of the game, and if all men were as he we would live in the most interesting nightmare imaginable.
The other participants, gave their uneasy ascent, but when it came to Aemond, Larys wisely passed over him. It is fine for my servants to share an oath of brotherhood with each other, but not for my brother to lower his status to match theirs. My Grandfather grit his teeth in disapproval at the display by the younger men, but still ascended and joined providing some familial nature to the oath.
"I see and seal this oath." I bound them, "May the gods bless and keep you in your steadfastness." then I leaned my elbows onto the table and moved this meeting along, "Now, let us discuss our exodus from King's Landing in detail, lest we error and leave anything of value for my sister."
And so we joined our minds to the task of further screwing over Rhaenyra. A pastime that has brought me a consistent if mild pleasure over the years.
-Rhaenyra-
The Crown Princess of Dragonstone sat in her solar with white knuckle fists clenched as she pretended to stoically coordinate the defense of her island. Ser Steffen Darklyn, the last of the members of the Kingsguard she trusted, kept her informed of the slow coming updates while the master-at-arms and captain of her guard kept the castle on lockdown, especially preventing her oldest sons from accessing their dragons.
Her mind churned with regret, at the possibility that if she and her sons mounted their dragons as soon as the alarm rang out warning them of the lit signal fires then they could have perhaps prevented the theft of the wild dragons, Grey Ghost and the godsdamned Cannibal. The phantom of her brother with three of the five largest dragons in the world behind him refused to leave the forefront of her plagued thoughts until Daemon finally returned from patrolling the island atop Caraxes.
He came covered in soot and exhausted, pouring himself a full cup of wine before collapsing into the seat in front of her writing table.
"In times of trouble, the Pentoshi sacrifice their prince to appease the wrath of the gods. When I get the chance, I'll fly across the Narrow Sea and burn his whole palace down around him and we will see if it is enough to appease my fury." Daemon snarled then tilted back his cup before continuing, "'The finest sell swords in Pentos'" he mocked in a nasally voice as he pantomimed a flapping mouth with his unoccupied hand, "We might as well have hung up strawmen dressed as warriors for all the good their lot did us in the night. It took Caraxes roasting a number of them to drive them into the cave the last of the invaders took shelter in. I wasn't sure they even managed the job until a handful of them came back out looking like the Stranger took their souls while their life still remained and our own men checked the bodies."
Daemon gained a far away look in his eyes then refocused, "They weren't even equipped for combat against men."
Rhaenyra made her lack of understanding clear and Daemon explained, "The armor was double layered glued leather over thick wool. Tower shields covered in the same. Ungodly heavy and hot. Terrible protection against swords and spears for the weight of it, but against fire… the absolute best protection a man could have conceived." Daemon leaned foreword, his elbows on his knees as both hands held his half filled cup, looking down into as if seeing a dark pit just in front of him, "The Pentoshi were only good for lighting the signal fires, and if they hadn't we would have lost every unclaimed dragon."
A knocking on the door and the announcement of Maester Geradrys saw the grey robed man enter with somber countenance.
"Word from Hayford Castle." Geradrys announced, "Smoke over King's Landing. Golden flames bar entrance to the city by the north gates and Flea Bottom burns beyond them."
Daemon clutched his brow and grit his teeth before announcing, "Our men are barracked at those gates."
His words allowed Rhaenyra to see the trap in hindsight. They viewed the manning of those positions as a sign that Aegon's faction was losing the last of their influence in the Crownlands. Obvious now they retreated to maximize the effectiveness of this fire attack. Beyond those gates lay Flee Bottom, a portion of the city her brother made no effort to hide his intentions for. 'Burn the lot of it down and build back something worthwhile.' They placed so many of their men in a location that her obviously psychotic half brother openly wanted to incinerate. How could they have been so blind? So stupid?
All hope that their increasing forces in the city could hold on to the gates long enough for men loyal to Rhaenyra to flood the city from the Crownlands after her father's death burnt down with the very gates they defended. What could those loyal to her possibly achieve with now at least four dragons holding the city and any possibility of the dragon riders staying their fire for non-combatant casualties already burned down.
All the discussions of army sizes and marching speeds were wasted, Aegon never meant to fight alongside his allies to begin with. His marching speed is dragonflight and his riders entirely expendable. They killed scores of Aegon's bastard sons last night and she knew he wouldn't even lose a moment's rest over the loss. He fathered that many sons in a moon, maybe less! Conversely she only possessed seven trustworthy riders not completely precious to her, and none of them are disposable so long as her brother lives. Once they put one of Daemon's squire's on Sheepstealer and Seasmoke they only had to replacements should any dragon survive the loss of its rider, and that only matters if Aegon doesn't manage to get another of his bastards atop them first.
She needed to break this momentum he built up so suddenly and she needed it yesterday. Her mind worked through a mental map of positions and maneuvers both military and political until she her thoughts rested on a joke her half-brother shared with her. 'But muh Maegor!'. A jab at how the Andals try to henpeck the aggression out of their family by reminding them of the specter of the greatest villain of their line.
She tilted her head back and smiled, 'You want to be the second coming of the Cruel, brother? Fine, I'll help you.'
"Geradrys, ready ravens to everyone." she began her command, "Tell them Aegon has murdered our father and set King's Landing ablaze. Call on every righteous gods fearing man in Westeros to rise up and fight against the Second Coming of Maegor the Cruel."
Daemon looked initially hurt and confused by the command, but quickly came to terms with the obvious passing of his brother and instead barked in laughter at the irony, "That cunt always said that I could never be allowed to take the Iron Throne as I would be Maegor reborn. I always told Viserys he was a hypocrite through and through."
Rhaenyra nodded, then turned her gaze back on the maester, "Summon our bannermen. It's time for our first official war council."
The days passed in tense anxiety as the Houses sworn directly to Dragonstone and its vassals marshalled. When Rhaenyra informed Jacaerys, Lucaerys, and Joffrey that Aegon slew their grandfather and set King's Landing ablaze the looks of immediate panic and terror on their faces alerted her to the blunder. The boys grew up in the shadow of Aegon's domination, oft bullied by the little brothers of the figure who loomed impossibly large over their entire childhoods, and now she cemented him in their minds as demon from the pits, something from the deepest Hells stalking the earth and coming for their blood.
She instinctively wanted to comfort them, but realized quickly the utility of the terror. Sunfyre could tear her boys dragons apart mid air and barely even slow down its flight in the process. She needed them to fear the very sight of him on the horizon, so that they flee any situation that may see them come against him and preserve their lives. Aegon and Sunfyre needed to be herded and slaughtered by at least three dragons bigger than the golden beast. Meleys, Vermithor, and Silverwing the ideal candidates currently.
Slowly they arrived: the lords of Driftmark, Claw Isle, Rook's Rest, Stonedance, Sharp Point, and Duskendale among other lesser nobles. After witnessing the gold and ruby circlet the smithy of Dragonstone hastily crafted for her placed upon her brow and oaths of fealty sworn, the lords assembled for a war council, and the bickering and blistering stupidity amongst them added to Rhaenyra's many doubts and regrets. Fortunately Daemon managed to wrestle control and the ears of the stubborn bastards sworn to her.
"Aegon want's to battle dragons against dragons, a quick and violent resolution to this war." Daemon lectured on the family strategy for the conflict, "One of the great guiding principles of warfare is, don't do that your enemy wants you to do. He wants to fight in the air, so we must push the battle on the ground and sea. We must aggress his allies on multiple fronts simultaneously to put pressure on him to split his force of dragon riders and then begin picking off his younger dragons with our older larger beasts."
"We will need many men to contend with Aegon's hold over the Reach and the Westerlands." Rhaenyra grimaced at the manpower of that alliance between the richest and strongest kingdoms sworn to the Iron Throne, "Riverrun, the Eyrie, Pyke, and Storm's End."
She wisely kept quiet about the connection ins Essos Daemon cultivated: Pentos, Braavos, and Lorath. That foreign source of manpower shall arrive after the lords of Westeros commit so as not to sway potential allies away before their oaths are sworn.
"Ravens will not be enough." Jacaerys spoke, the boy visibly girded from his prior fright days past, "Send us. The lords of Westeros needs to see us, to see our dragons, so they will know that any claims of our falseness are just the lies of a mad usurper."
Lucaerys and Joffrey both rallied behind their brother, and Rhaenyra pondered his proposal. She immediately rejected Joffrey's participation, his eleven name days and small dragon stood no chance of swaying anyone to her side, but Jacaerys and Lucaerys rightly declared themselves near enough to manhood to matter little against them. She considered the routes of diplomacy each could take, the smaller boy and dragon to Storm's End, the flight route taking him well around King's Landing, but the notoriously obnoxious and rude Boros Baratheon required a more able and firm hand.
She chose to send Princess Rhaenys to bring her kin into the fold, and to send Lucaerys on the far easier task of supporting her cousin Jeyne Arryn while the Vale assembles, and finally route Jacaerys - the oldest and most capable of her sons - to White Harbor and onwards to Winterfell. The North factored least in her plans, but the need for every sword's weight to tip the scales of destiny in her favor committed her to rallying them still.
With a deep breath, she locked in her diplomatic choices and announced it to the room. Two of her sons looked ecstatic to fly off an help the cause, but Joffrey's pout failed to move her. The elder Princess faintly nodded her acquiescence, obviously seeing the wisdom in sending kin to kin.
With that matter settled they moved on to the dozens of other pressing issues demanding their attention.
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