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A Legacy Written in Fire and Blood (ASOIAF SI)

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    • I'm not super happy with this one. But skipping it didn't feel right either. Either way, it's something, and I'm trying to get into the habit of writing every day.

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    Six
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    I had never liked the water. I had a distinct terror of drowning. The very idea that I might sink into the sea and never return filled me with dread. I could swim, I was even good at it by most accounts, yet getting me to swim in anything deeper than a public pool always required significant pressure from my friends or family.

    And yet as I stood atop the forecastle of the carack sailing away from King's Landing down the coast of the Crownlands, with salt wind blowing in my face, I felt no fear.

    In fact, it was exhilarating. The sway of the ship and the creak of the wood as the sails caught the wind. It was all a positively unique experience, so different from the sanitary coldness of a modern boat.

    I laughed into the wind. Wasn't that a crazy thing? Medieval life, even a life as fine as a royal prince's was so far removed from anything I had ever known as to be almost unrecognizable. And yet, there was something compelling about the little things.

    The ship's name was Dragon's Scale, Ser Willem told me as we were being rowed out to the largest of the three huge sailing ships.

    "How many ships does our fleet have," I asked as I stared up at the main-mast, the tallest of the Dragon's Scale's three masts. Her sister ships floated further out in the water.

    "One hundred and fifty, perhaps a hundred and sixty ships, my lord," Ser Willem said. "At least, I think that is about right. Eighty or so are galleys."

    He pointed to the smaller ships. They were not so tall as the massive, deep-sea worthy caracks, but long compared to their height, with two rows of oars on each side, one atop the other, numbering perhaps forty or fifty to a side. They were fast ships, designed for waters near to land, and were very fast.

    "How many of these." I jerked my head up to the deck of the ship, where the sailors were lowering a ladder for us to climb up.

    "The caracks? I would expect a dozen or so. The rest are mostly cogs, for carrying supplies and troops."

    I grabbed onto the rope ladder and began my climb. I was helped up from the top of the ladder by a couple of burly, shirtless sailors, and was greeted by the captain.

    "Welcome aboard the Dragon's Scale, my lord." He was a tall man, broad shouldered, with a thick brown beard, and he knelt before me.

    "Rise," I said by rote. Behind me, Ser Willem had climbed up on deck. "Your name, ser?"

    "Captain Arrus, my lord. But I'm no ser, just a soldier."

    "I see."

    Farther aft, a rowboat was being winched up to the deck, my mother and Rhaenys had been pulled up in it.

    "Go greet my mother, captain," I said. "Will you have someone show Ser Willem and I to our cabins?"

    "Yes, right away," the captain turned to one of is men, a thin, gaunt man with a scarred face. "Show the little lord and the knight to their cabins, Willas."

    The scarred man just grunted in acknowledgment, and led us back towards the aftcastle.

    And now, we were sailing away from King's Landing, and my insane father, and towards Dragonstone. A spray of water flew up the bow of the ship, drops of water scattering in the air before us.

    "Be careful, my lord!" The captain's voice called from behind me. "Your mother would have me hanged if you were to fall over the side and drown on my watch."

    "Do not worry, captain." I turned away from the bowsprit and gazed up at the fore-mast, billowed out above me in the wind. "Would you teach me about the ship?"

    "Teach you?" The captain said. "I am a busy man, boy."

    I frowned. "I would stay out of your way. And I know a little bit about sailing. Would you let me observe you at work, and ask questions at least?"

    He ran a hand through his beard. "Aye. Watch and ask if you wish, my lord. But if you are in the way and I tell you to go, you will go, and not trouble me further."

    "Done."

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    283 AC - Entry Twenty Two

    I have learned more in the last twelve days than I have in the last six months. The captain was a hard man, and not much for softening his words or acting "courtly" as he put it, but by the third day of me following him around and pestering him with questions (only when he wasn't notably busy of course) he seemed to warm to me.

    Or perhaps he was simply surprised by my enthusiasm for learning everything about the running of a ship. The captain sent me off to follow other members of the crew, the ones who worked the sails, the ones who handled the cargo, even the bilge boys (Mother was none to pleased when she heard where I had been that day).

    I don't know that I'll ever be a great sailor, but I believe that I will be well served by the knowledge I have gained. Ser Willem had wanted to start my swordsmanship training immediately, but I was able to persuade him to put it off until Dragonstone, so I could devote myself to learning the ins and outs of running a carack.

    Rhaenys spent most of the first week sea a complete mess. She was seasick, which left her weak, and she wanted nothing more than for her mother to be there to comfort her. My mother did her best, but Rhaenys spent almost the whole voyage either sick or crying.

    I think I got her to come out of her shell yesterday. She always wants me to tell her stories, ever since that day in King's Landing.

    I do need to find some more stories soon, otherwise I shall be forced to repeat myself in the near future.

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    "That's it? Dragonstone?"

    "Aye," the captain said. I was standing next to him at the top of the aftcastle, where he would bellow commands to the sailors on deck.

    It was early morning, just after the dawn on the thirteenth day of our travel. The sun was a bright spot, hanging directly above the island in the distance. There was no fog, and the sky was clear.

    Dragonstone was a rocky volcanic island, formed by the volcano Dragonmont, which rose from the sea like a great black slab of rock. Soon, by the time the sun rose to its apex, we would be able to see the fortress itself on the other side of the mountain.

    "I'm going to go tell Mother and Rhaenys," I said to no one in particular. The captain wouldn't care, and it wasn't as though I was asking his permission.

    I vaulted over one of the railings and landed on the level below. On this level and the level below were the officer's quarters, two of which had been taken by our party, one for Ser Willem and I, the other for Rhaenys and the Queen.

    I knocked on the cabin door. "Mother!"

    It was Rhaenys that opened the door, rubbing at her eyes. "Come in," she slurred sleepily.

    Rhaella was sitting on the bed. Our beds on the ship were nice enough, but compared to the luxurious ones in the palace, they were not particularly comfortable.

    "Mother, we are in sight of Dragonstone. The captain says we'll reach the island in a few hours, and dock perhaps an hour or two after that."

    "Good," she said fervently. "I am tired of this ship. It will be nice to stand on solid ground again."

    I smiled and agreed.

    "You'll join us for our breakfast today, won't you?" Mother asked me. "You have eaten with the captain and his officers the these last days, and have seen so little of you."

    "Of course. I would be happy to."

    We ate together, Rhaella and Rhaenys and I, and then I went back to the captain for the last hours of hour journey.

    Dragonstone was not a large island. It was ill-suited to raising animals, and even worse as farmland. The only real resource of the island was the copious fish in the waters, which were the staple food of its population. All things considered, were it not for Dragonstone's powerful strategic position, from which the Royal Navy could control the entrance to Blackwater Bay, Dragonstone might never have been lived upon at all.

    "There it is," Ser Willem said to me, directing my attention back to Dragonmont.

    Slowly, as our ships sailed further along the volcano, a mass of stone that was black as night, blacker than the rock of the volcano it sat upon. The fortress of Dragonstone revealed itself to us, the seat of House Targaryen from before the construction of the Red Keep.

    Dragonstone was built using methods long lost. Ancient Valyrian stonework that none could remember. In those days this place was the westernmost outpost of the old Valyrian Empire. The three windswept towers were fashioned in the shape of dragons. They overlooked the town, the ocean, and the volcano itself, with the fortress's curtain walls stretching between them. And in the center of the fortress was the Stone Drum, the central keep, so named for the noise the wind made when it blew against and around and through the tower during storms.

    Soon enough, our ship had sailed past and towards the waiting docks. There were so many docks, over a hundred, built along the coast in the shadow of the mountain and the town. This was where the ships of the Royal Fleet remained docked when they were not in use.

    Slowly, and with great caution, the captain brought the Dragon's Scale to a stop at her dock. The other ships were docking too, all along the uniform docks, and I could see many men laboring on the docks below, prepared for our arrival.

    "Come on, Ser Willem," I said. "It's time to acquaint ourselves with our new home."

    "Yes," Ser Willem replied. "And the day after tomorrow, I'll see you in the yard to begin your training. We've put off starting your swordsmanship for too long."

    I flexed my hand, as though I had a sword's hilt to grasp. I wasn't sure that I would be a good swordsman, but I would try my best. I couldn't afford to be weak. Weakness gets you killed, or worse, taken advantage of.

    "Excellent." I looked back up at the stone dragons that watched over Dragonstone with their unblinking eyes.

    I had four, maybe as many as five months, I thought. I needed to consult my notes. The Sack of King's Landing was close, the time for action fast approaching.
     
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    Seven
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    I was bored near to tears. If there was one thing in particular about my life as a prince that I could not stand, it was the duty my Mother enforced on me, to join her in prayer in the septs.

    I found the septons and septas frustrating, always droning on about their seven gods. And the self-important way that they went about their business grated on me. I stayed well away from them whenever possible. I rejected my own religion when I was reborn, and I reject theirs as well.

    I have no need for gods, especially not the Seven. At least the priests of R'hllor have real power. Whether it is just magic or actually the blessing of their god matters little to me. They can at least give the appearance that their god is real - the godsworn can't even manage that.

    I had no need of the Faith's moralizing either. Perhaps it was hypocritical, considering that in my old life I had been a staunch believer in good and evil, and in objective morality, but I didn't anymore. Good, evil, right, wrong... I didn't know what to think about such things anymore. What I did know, was that I didn't need or want priests telling me what I could and could not, or should or should not do.

    The droning voice of Dragonstone's septon was putting me to sleep by my mother's side. I blinked and shook my head, trying to stay awake. I didn't want to be here, when I could be out in the yard, or practicing my swordsmanship or archery under Ser Willem, or in my room making plans, or exploring the Dragonstone. Anything other than listening to a puffed up priest give a too-long sermon because he was being "graced" by the presence of Queen Rhaella.

    Mother seemed to be fairly devout. Apart from the whole incestuous marriage anyway.

    My eyes were half shut, when there came a tugging on my collar. To my left, Rhaenys had reached up to grab my shirt.

    "No sleep," she said. "Listen." She was so serious for a child of three.

    Blearily, I blinked at her, and turned my attention to the priest. He was reading from one of the books, it sounded like the Book of the Mother, I couldn't be bothered to recall its real name, or where in the book he was.

    That was rather gutsy of the priest I considered. The Book of the Mother held some the Faith's most notable condemnations against incest. I suspected the priest would skip those parts. It takes a man of real courage - or stupidity - to preach against incest to Targaryens. It was as the people often said; Targaryens, like their dragons, do not bow to the laws of men or gods.

    I sniffed and turned my eyes elsewhere, tracing the cracks in the black stone above our heads.

    Finally, after what seemed an hour, but was really only ten minutes or so, the priest came to the conclusion of his service, and I was able to leave without giving offense.

    I leaned against the door outside the sept, and considered what I ought to do. There were so many options.

    "Vis-er-ys."

    Rhaenys was looking up at me, attempting a grave look that looked funny on her face. I threw my emotions off my face and gave her a flat look.

    "Rhaenys."

    She poked me in the stomach, hard. "You didn't pay attention."

    "No," I agreed.

    She pursed her little lips and glared. "You're bad."

    I chuckled. "I'm bad?"

    She poked me again. "You didn't do what your mama said."

    "And what should I do to make up for that?"

    "Story time," Rhaenys said. She pronounced it like a sentence of dire consequence.

    Struggling not to burst into laughter, I gave in. "I accept my punishment, Princess."

    She nodded, satisfied, and grabbed me by the hand, marching me away down the corridors of Dragonstone, past the dragons etched into the walls.

    There were dragons everywhere on Dragonstone. It had not been so obvious from a distance as we sailed by, but once we got past the town and were riding up to the fortress, it became much more apparent.

    And more awe-inspiring too. The great dragons perched atop the towers were so life-like. Carved with exquisite detail. The closer we rode, the more details I could make out. It looked like if I was to climb the towers, I would be able to see each individual scale of them.

    The gate was shaped like a massive dragon's head, possibly modeled after Balerion himself, the Black Dread. I liked to think so, anyway. And to enter the fortress you had to pass through the gaping maw of the dragon.

    And it didn't stop there. Gargoyles of all sorts stood in the place of crenellations atop the curtain walls, dragons and sphinxes and hellhounds and wyverns and other beasts. Everything was intricately designed, far beyond anything I would have ever thought was possible.

    The Great Hall itself was in the shape of a dragon, such that you entered it through the mouth, and the hall was inside the dragon itself. Torches and candles are held by the claws of dragons, and the stairwells are dragon's tails.

    All in all, Dragonstone was the most incredible piece of architecture I think I had ever seen. It was a pity that it was wasted on such a dreary island, where there were so few people who would ever appreciate it.

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    A wooden sword slashed through the air, striking my own aside with a loud clack. I jerked my sword back to intercept the next blow, but not fast enough.

    The blunt weapons struck my side hard, and I stumbled and fell. My heart hammered in my chest, my lungs were burning, and my ribs hurt.

    I forced myself up to my feet and faced Ser Willem. He was an old knight, with hair that was all grey. But he was stronger than me, and faster, and far more experienced.

    "Again! Faster, boy. Do you want to die?" He demanded, stepping forward to attack me again.

    My own weapon was also a training sword, wooden with lead on the insides to give it the approximate weight and balance of an arming sword.

    Contrary to popular belief, swords are not heavy. Even a child can wield one with little difficulty. A one-handed sword like the arming sword weighs only two to two and a half pounds. Longswords are bit heavier, maybe as much as four pounds, and greatswords heavier still, around seven at the high end, but still well within the reach of almost anyone, man or woman.

    The real problem was wielding them for an extended period, with a certain level of agility, and most important of all, always striking with proper blade alignment. That was the part that requires the most practice. Unlike a hammer or spear or even an axe, if you strike your opponent with an improperly aligned blade, you're liable to barely hurt them at all.

    I brought up my sword and stepped towards the knight to catch his blow and parry it, just like the knight had taught me to.

    I had to parry it, I thought to myself. That wasn't a wooden sword coming towards me, but live steel, and the knight was not my instructor, but a Baratheon soldier out to kill me.

    I failed. I was aching all over, and my arm muscles were trembling. Ser Willem had me doing basic drills before this, and had been swinging that sword at me for who knows how long.

    My grip wasn't strong enough. When Ser Willem's clean blow struck my sword, the force ripped it from my hand painfully. And then he struck me in the chest, a blow that would have spilled my organs all over the dirt, had the blade been sharp.

    "Dead again. And you lost your sword."

    I gasped in air, and glared up at the old knight. It had only been a little over a week, but this training was brutal. I could only imagine what this had been like for other, less fit boys.

    "We're done for the day," Ser Willem said after a while, watching me gasp for breath on the ground. "Go see the maester, and get some rest."

    "Yes," I whispered. "I think I will."

    It took me almost half an hour to make my way to the maester's study. His rooms were in the Stone Drum, and Ser Willem and I had been in the yards on the other side of Dragonstone, near the gate.

    I pushed open the door and stepped in. "Maester Lorel?"

    "My lord Viserys." The maester greeted me with a smile. He wasn't an old man, but wasn't young either, with just a hint of grey in his brown hair. "Here for bruise ointment again?"

    "Yes." I sat down in a wooden chair and pulled off my shirt. My upper body had a number of bruises, on my stomach and over my ribs and on my arms.

    The maester clicked his tongue and shook his head, but said nothing as he began to rub the ointment over my bruises.

    When he began on one of the larger bruises, I winced and clenched my eyes shut. I asked for this, I reminded myself. I told Ser Willem that I refused to be anything other than the best I could be and demanded that he make me as good a knight as any in the Realm.

    Maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew. It was something that had been commented on often enough by my old parents. Once I decided I was interested in something, I had to know everything I could, and do it as well as I could, to hell with the consequences.

    I would like to think I was not quite so single-minded now as I was then, but if I was going to do something then I was damn well going to do it right, I hated being seen as bad or unskilled at anything I put my hand to.

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    283 AC - Entry Twenty Eight

    My mother is pregnant. I'm not surprised, of course. It was expected. Six weeks into a pregnancy is about when the morning sickness can be expected, and five and a half ago was shortly before we left for Dragonstone. The timing suggests that everything is still on track and Daenerys is growing inside my mother.

    But I can't know for certain, not until the child is born.

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    I was alone in the darkness. My only refuge was the single candle I carried with me, casting dim light about me.

    I was not supposed to be here, deep down in the lowest levels of Dragonstone. But I refused to stay away. There was one thing on Dragonstone that I desperately wanted to find.

    The dragon eggs.

    Mother wouldn't say where they were, nor the steward of the Keep, but I knew they were here somewhere.

    I was so close, so very close to something I had desired to see from the moment I knew just where I had been reborn.

    I was as deep as I could go, having made my way down stairs that seemed endless. And here I was.

    In front of me, the candle's light reflected off gleaming metal. It was the entrance to a vault, built into the stone. The vault door was either steel, or stone with a steel cover, and the key-hole, well, that was unique.

    The keyhole was Valyrian steel, the maw of a dragon, with the keyhole as its throat.

    I glared at the vault. It stood between me and the dragon eggs, I was certain of it.

    The only question was, where was the key? If Aerys has it in King's Landing, it is lost to me. But if the steward holds it, or Mother... maybe I could get my hands on it.

    I would get my hands on the eggs. One way or another.
     
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    • I would just like to say that your story got me to stop being a lurking lurker who lurks. This story is awesome and I look forward to more of it.
     
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    Eight
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    It was a cold, dreary morning on Dragonstone. There was no rain, but dark clouds covered the sky, and the shadows were deep.

    Ser Willem had me practicing my archery today, to my great pleasure. Archery was a pastime of mine before, and while these bows were not made of as light or advanced materials, and the arrows heavier and less uniform, it was still archery.

    It was something akin to meditation at times.

    Draw the arrow, notch to the string, draw and aim in the same motion, release at full draw. Repeat.

    I was younger than I had been when I began shooting, but stronger. I had been ten when I picked up a bow for the first time and sixteen when it became a proper hobby of mine.

    The difference was fairly significant. My bow was finely made, a recurve composite bow, polished until it shone. Strong for my age I may have been, but it took significant effort to draw, and I could only barely pull it to full draw.

    But my aim was good.

    "Unnaturally good," Ser Willem had muttered during his first lesson. I had not been using the real bow then, instead it had been a practice shortbow, with a low draw weight.

    He had given me basic instruction, which I only half listened to. I knew well the proper stance, and how to use my back muscles to draw the bow and not just my arm. It had taken only a few shots to get used to the bow before I was hitting the target every time with a fair degree of accuracy.

    The next day, Ser Willem had given me the composite bow to use, saying that if I was such a natural, I ought to work on achieving the strength to use a man's weapon.

    Thunk. My arrow struck the man-shaped target in the breast near the heart. I drew my next arrow, only one left. My back and arm muscles were burning from the constant exertion.

    Nock, draw and aim, release. Thunk. The chest again, a few inches below the first. Another arrow. I went through the motions once more, but changed my target. The arrow flew towards the target's throat, just below the head of straw, only to whiff. The arrow whizzed by just too far to the left.

    I reached for my next arrow, only for my hand to meet empty air, and frowned. I didn't like ending a set on a missed shot, but that was all for now. The dull ache in my arm screamed at me to rest it.

    No doubt it was in part due to my new workouts. I had increased my upper body strength work for one reason. In my father's personal chambers in the Stone Drum, which I had snuck into to look for the key to the vault, I had been distracted by a magnificent sight.

    There, hanging on the wall from a pair of dragonclaw hooks, was a beautiful longbow. Six and a half, perhaps seven feet of jet black dragonbone, recurved and begging to be shot. It was unstrung, just hanging there unused.

    A dragonbone longbow. Another lost art from Old Valyria. Dragonbone is made from the bones of dragons, thus the name, but it is more akin to metal than anything else. The bow had been carved such that its ends were the tails of the dragons, which stretched out along the curved shaft and ended with their heads just below and above the grip, which was wrapped in red leather, darkened by age.

    It was gorgeous. Although it occurred to me that perhaps, if you were going to make a bow out of a material like dragonbone, which was already superior in range to even the goldenheart bows of the Summer Islanders, maybe you didn't need to make a full-size longbow out of it.

    I wanted to shoot it so badly it hurt. And that's why I needed to be stronger. The draw weight of that monster must be immense, well over a hundred and twenty pounds.

    "My Prince!" The call came from overhead. I glanced up. On one of the walls around the practice yard, a knight I did not recognize stood, calling out to me.

    "Yes," I yelled. "What is it, Ser..."

    "Ser Faris, my lord," the knight called back. "In service to House Sunglass. Her Grace commands your presence, my lord, in the Chamber of the Painted Table."

    "Thank you, Ser Faris." I hurried to put away the bow and called for one of the servants to retrieve the arrows while I went to see Mother.

    If she wanted to see me in the Chamber, where the Painted Table, perhaps the largest map in the world stood, it must be important. It was all the way at the top of the Stone Drum, and a pain to climb all the stairs to reach.

    When I arrived, there were only perhaps a three men in the room, plus my mother.

    "The Prince arrives," said a tall man, with graying hair and purple eyes. He was Lucerys Velaryon, my father's Master of Ships, now commanding the Royal Fleet here. It was unusual to see him, since he preferred to be out meeting or drinking with his captains, when he wasn't commanding a patrol personally.

    "Lord Velaryon," I acknowledge with a small bow, just enough to be respectful.

    I repeated the bow to each of the others in turn. "Ser Willem. Lord Sunglass."

    Ser Daros Sunglass was in command of the infantry and knights assigned to the Royal Fleet while Ser Willem commanded the knights and men of Dragonstone itself.

    "Mother. You called for me?"

    "Viserys." Mother's eyes were puffy and red, like she had been crying. Had she had another attack of nausea? "Tell him, Ser Willem."

    The old knight's face was more serious than usual, and the Lords Velaryon and Sunglass were equally grave.

    "Your father, Aerys II Targaryen, is dead."

    I was careful not to betray my feelings. A grin and happy dancing is not the appropriate response to hearing that your father is dead.

    "Killed by his own Kingsguard," Lord Velaryon spat. "Jaime Lannister killed the king himself it is written."

    The parchment lay just out of my reach on the Painted Table.

    "I see." Swallowing, I asked the question that I really cared about. "What about the Elia and Aegon. If Father is dead, he's the heir apparent."

    "There is no word of them," Ser Willem said. "Maybe they escaped the castle, but I doubt it. How could they?"

    "It was the Lannisters," Lord Sunglass told me. "It seems they approached King's Landing and were let in by the king, only for them to turn on him and sack the city."

    Lord Velaryon was staring at the Red Keep figurine that sat on the Painted Table. "I the king is dead, and the Princess and her babe are missing..." He looked me in the eye.

    "Then Prince Viserys is next in line for the throne."

    "He'll require a Regent," Lord Sunglass said. "He's just a boy."

    Ser Willem grunted. "Aye, that may be the case. We should wait a few days first, I think, my lords. We may yet get word of the Princess and her son. Until we are reasonably certain hat they are dead, naming Viserys heir would be hasty."

    I remained silent, watching the exchange. A boy I was to them, no matter what I thought of the matter.

    I attempted to make my voice waver, like I was holding back tears and grief.

    "Would... would you excuse me, my lords." I blinked rapidly, and let some tears come to my eyes. "I need to- I think that-"

    "Come with me, Viserys." Mother said. She crossed the room and hugged me tight in her arms. "We must pray for Aerys soul, and for your sister and her son, that they are safe and well."

    I acquiesced without any struggle. I wouldn't pray however. Whether or not Elia and Aegon were safe would have nothing to do with gods.

    Varys on the other hand... it may well have everything to do with him.

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    The raven came two days later.

    The Lords Velaryon and Sunglass, Ser Willem and I were in the Chamber of the Painted Table. I had not been required to come, but I insisted to Ser Willem that I wanted to be there, even if only to observe. Mother was in her room still, grieving for her dead husband and brother.

    The Lords were discussing the state of the Royal Fleet, as well as what we might be able to do about Baratheon.

    Maester Lorel entered the chamber and handed the message to Ser Willem.

    "What news," Lord Sunglass asked.

    "Elia and Aegon are dead," Ser Willem pronounced in a quiet voice. "They had attempted to escape the city by boat when the Lannisters arrived. The boat broke up, and Elia's body washed up on the shore yesterday. The boy Aegon's body has not been found, but is presumed to have drowned."

    "There it is then," Lucerys declared. "The king is dead, as is his heir. Viserys is the rightful king, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

    "Yes," Ser Willem agreed. "We must speak to the septon and arrange a coronation, and my Lord Velaryon can act as his regent until he comes of age."

    "You wish to crown me king? King of what?" I demanded. The Lords were startled, as though they had forgotten I was there at all. "The Seven Kingdoms? I can hardly be king of seven kingdoms when five are in open rebellion."

    "You are the rightful king," Lord Sunglass said, but I overrode him.

    "Do you honestly think you can put me on the throne?" I glared at them. "Correct me if I am wrong my lords," I said with disdain, "but we have at our disposal the Royal Fleet. And that is all. We are cut off from both the Tyrells and the Martells, who are our only support."

    "We can send messages by raven, and-"

    "And get them and us killed? We do not have the manpower to retake King's Landing, let alone defeat the other kingdoms anymore. If King's Landing hadn't fallen without a fight, held out long enough for the Tyrell and Martell banners to break the siege, maybe then we could fight."

    "My lord-"


    "I will accept a crown on the day I have a kingdom to rule, and not a day before." I sat down in the chair that took the place of Dragonstone. "Do you understand?"

    Lord Velaryon stared at me in shock, and Lord Sunglass laughed.

    "That was..." He pounded on his chest, trying to stop his laughter. "I do believe the boy has the right of it."

    "He has the arrogance of a king," Velaryon groused, but his lips curled up slightly, as though he almost liked it. "Then what do you suggest we do, Prince? Give up? Surrender?"

    I licked my lips. "Eat? I'm rather hungry, and we need to inform my mother."

    Sunglass collapsed into laughter again.

    Surrender? No. Give up. Basically, for a time. Dragonstone cannot be held. It is only a matter of time before Stannis begins building a fleet at Robert's command to take Dragonstone. And even if we beat Stannis' fleet, they would come again, and again, until we fell.

    Robert will have my head if he can get his hands on it, and Rhaenys' and Rhaella's unborn child's. But I have no intention of letting him.

    Now I just have to convince Ser Willem and the Lords commanding the fleet to listen to me.

    I wondered if my outburst had hurt me or helped. I had said it almost without thinking, just reacting to the suggestion. I'm not a king. A king without a kingdom is no king at all.
     
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    • So take the fleet to Essos maybe pull a Dany with the Unsullied, meet up with the Golden Company and then come back when Balon pulls his stupid shit to give you a great opening in five years or so?
     
    All of this is assuming that the body was hers and not some body double or water logged corpse dressed in her cloths and jewelry. Elia's body wasn't found right away and the child wasn't found at all. The best way to get someone to stop looking for something is to make them think they've found it after all.
     
    Waruiko said:
    All of this is assuming that the body was hers and not some body double or water logged corpse dressed in her cloths and jewelry. Elia's body wasn't found right away and the child wasn't found at all. The best way to get someone to stop looking for something is to make them think they've found it after all.
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    Doubt it.
     
    Tazered said:
    Depending on the length of time, water damage can distort a person's features. It's possible.
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    Yea, but it seems to me like Ellia's corpse was only in the water for a few days, and was i presume still recognizable.
    The Lannisters are not retarded i think they would notice if they had found a fake Ellia. I think Varys managed to slip Aegon away but Ellia died.
     
    tinkerbell said:
    Yea, but it seems to me like Ellia's corpse was only in the water for a few days, and was i presume still recognizable.
    The Lannisters are not retarded i think they would notice if they had found a fake Ellia. I think Varys managed to slip Aegon away but Ellia died.
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    Could be she was carrying clothes or jewelry, like a tiara or something that made them think it was her. To be honest it's ambiguous enough to be possible, remember, unreliable narrator.
     
    Yeah its not a sure shot either way honestly. Theres a chance that they both got out, or maybe only the child got out, or maybe neither got out. I do know if I wanted to fake someone's death by drowning at sea in a mid-evil setting I'd be trying to use as close a look alike as possible, then maybe cut up the face a bit from the 'shipwreck' and to attract fish that would eat at the face some, and use that and the water damage to obscure the body's id while confirming it to be the person who's death you're faking with their cloths and mementos like jewelry or a favored weapon.

    That sounds super creepy on reflection, but it's worked well in DnD for buying a few days grace when the town your running from either doesn't have resurrection on tap or won't bother for whatever reason. Yay evil campaigns!
     
    tinkerbell said:
    It's not like the Lannisters did not know what Ellia looked like.
    Oh wait they did.
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    Do you not understand what a body double is? Or what water damage is? It wouldn't be that hard to fake Elia's death, if someone tried to. And nobody but nobody would know the difference, not even Viserys.

    I assume she's still dead, but it would be easy to fake it if she wasn't.
     
    Dark Abstraction said:
    Do you not understand what a body double is? Or what water damage is? It wouldn't be that hard to fake Elia's death, if someone tried to. And nobody but nobody would know the difference, not even Viserys.

    I assume she's still dead, but it would be easy to fake it if she wasn't.
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    Sure everyone has a body double its so obvious.
    I cant remember anyone ever having a body double in ASOIAF.
    Except if you count a corpse of a gutter kid without a face because it got punched so hard it was unrecognizable.
     
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    • |=====|=====|=====|=====|=====|
    Nine
    |=====|=====|=====|=====|=====|

    The Painted Table was magnificent. Fifty feet long, twenty five wide at its widest and four at its thinnest, shaped in a likeness of Westeros itself. I can scarcely imagine the effort that must have gone into its carving.

    There are times however, when such a map is not very useful. This was such a time. Spread out on top of a large chunk of Dorne was a much smaller map.

    I found myself staring at maps often. Tracing coasts, estimating distances, recalling everything I could remember about the places the maps showed, from The Wall to the Summer Islands, and East to Volantis and beyond that Slaver's Bay. It was all there on paper, but turning my knowledge into action was proving more difficult than I had anticipated.

    I reached out and poured the last of my water from its pitcher into a silver cup.

    "Sella," I called to the servant outside the room.

    "My lord?"

    I held out the pitcher with one hand. "Tell one of the other servants to bring me more water, and remind them to boil it first. Then go and ask Ser Willem to come see me."

    "Right away." The girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old by the look of her, took the pitcher and left.

    I drank from my cup and returned my attention to the map, tracing my finger along the Westerosi coastline down the Narrow Sea.

    Robert Baratheon was in King's Landing and Ned Stark was marching to break the siege at Storm's End.

    The problem was that the positions of my loyalists were precarious at best. The bulk of the Royal Fleet was manned by my own men, or by men who owed their allegiance to me as Lord of Dragonstone, but it wasn't that simple.

    I couldn't rely entirely on the loyalty of my fleet. I was reasonably certain of the loyalty of Lord Velaryon, but Sunglass was in a more dangerous position. His lands were on the mainland, and Robert could easily march an army North to harry my vassal's holdings on Crackclaw Point. And once the Siege of Storm's End broke, Ned Stark would be free to attack my bannermen's lands on Massey's Hook as well.

    If that happened, I would be forced to choose between using my fleet to send tropps to reinforce the remaining garrisons, weakening my control over Blackwater Bay and my defenses of Dragonstone and Driftmark, or else lose the respect and loyalty of the lords sworn to me.

    "My Prince."

    "Ser Willem, take a seat." I glared at my map. "I want your opinion."

    Once I had explained my conclusions, Ser Willem looked weary.

    "That would seem to be the case. I wonder though whether or not Baratheon will realize it."

    "We need to get in touch with both the Tyrells and the Martells," I said suddenly. "They're our only support, and I need to hear their views. Do you think that if we act quickly, we could arrange a meeting before everything falls apart?"

    Ser Willem frowned. "Perhaps. We should speak to your mother about this, as well as Lords Velaryon and Sunglass."

    I grimaced. "Mother is still holed up in her room. She has expressed no interest in anything other than insisting I let myself be crowned king since Aerys died."

    "Then let us call them. We'll need their assistance to draft letters in any case."

    |=====|=====|=====|=====|=====|

    283 AC - Entry Thirty One

    A course of action has been agreed upon. Even in the worst-case scenario it will be at least four months before Robert can gather and build a sufficiently large force to threaten Dragonstone.

    In the meantime, word has been sent to Dorne and the Reach, requesting an audience with their Lords or representatives of the same.

    We should have word back by next week.

    For the first time since I heard of Elia's death, I truly cursed my warning to her. It was foolhardy of me. Admirable, perhaps, but foolhardy. She is still dead, Aegon is still either dead or in the clutches of Varys, who knows which, and I have lost a huge boon to my cause.

    Because the Mountain that Rides did not rape and kill Elia, the Martells aren't going to feel the same hatred towards the Lannisters and by extension the Baratheon's that they would have otherwise.

    I can hope that the Martells still blame the Lannisters at least a litte bit for Elia's death. It was them who sacked the city after all. And I do have Rhaenys, Prince Doran's niece, who he will doubtless want protected.

    So I feel reasonably certain of Martell support.

    I do not know what to expect from the Tyrells. It comes to mind that the best case scenario might be to wait a few years and approach them cautiously about an arranged marriage once everything starts to unravel in Westeros.

    By all accounts Margaery Tyrell will not only be a beauty, but also a shrewd political actor who seems to genuinely desire to do good for her people. Alongside her ambition that is.

    I'm going to lay awake all night worrying, I'm sure of it.

    |=====|=====|=====|=====|=====|

    It was just Ser Willem and I, deep down in the depths of Dragonstone.

    Twined about my fingers was a chain of Valyrian steel. From it hung a single key of the same metal.

    King Viserys I may not be, but Prince Viserys is still powerful. My mother had not been able to refuse me anymore, and commanded the steward of the keep to retrieve for me the key. It was ornate, the handle shaped such that it looked like tongues of fire. Fitting indeed.

    Ser Willem held the torch, and shadows twisted on the walls. The dragon vault's door was before us, the dragon's mouth waiting for its fire.

    Slowly, with a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the hole and twisted. Nothing happened. I put my hands on the vault door and pushed. The vault door swung inward, silent as the grave.

    A soft wind brushed at our legs, sweeping out of the vault. The air was stale. I stepped into the vault, followed by Ser Willem and his torch.

    I was momentarily blinded by the sight.

    Ser Willem's breath caught in his throat.

    There they were, glinting like gems in the torchlight. Dragon eggs. Each egg sat on a an individual pedestal, and the walls were covered in pedestals, but almost all were empty. My eyes flicked across them, counting.

    One, two, three, four, five, nine, twelve... so many eggs. More eggs than I had ever dreamed of seeing.

    "By the Seven," he whispered, staring at all the eggs. "I never imagined..."

    They were all different, you could see it at a glance, the way the room was lit up in a rainbow of coruscating light as the eggs glittered in the torchlight,

    I approached one of the eggs. Its red, orange, and yellow scales seemed randomly placed, but gave the impression that it was a burning fire.

    I picked it up. It was heavy for its size and I could feel the individual scales as I turned it in my fingers. As it moved in the light, the scales shimmered like metal in the sun.

    But what really caught my attention about it was that it was not petrified. This was not old enough. it must have been one of the more recent eggs.

    I could see why the eggs were so highly prized by those who had them, even fossilized ones. They made the most beautiful gemstones look like trash in comparison.

    It was ever so slightly warm in my hands, like there was some source of heat within.

    "Touch it," I said, offering it to Ser Willem. "Tell me what you feel." I needed confirmation.

    Ser Willem hooked his torch into a setting in the wall and reached out to pick up the egg himself.

    "Scales?" I frowned.

    "Is it warm?"

    "No. Cold." Ser Willem gave me an odd look.

    Carefully I took the egg and placed it back in its spot. The I picked up another, sapphire blue with white whorls. It felt just barely warm as well.

    Another, green and gold. Slightly warm.

    The one above it was black as night with deep purple stripes. That one was cold as the grave. A stone egg.

    Another stone egg, this one in blue and red, and still another in bronze and silver. Everywhere I looked was a different color scheme, though black and red were prominent among them.

    And that was when I saw it. It was sitting on one of the lower pedestals, almost hidden down there.

    Silver scales that glinted like platinum, with streaks of crimson scales the color of blood.

    I froze. The dragon from my dreams...

    "My Prince?" Ser Willem asked. "Are you alright."

    I clenched my teeth and turned back to him. "Yes, I'm fine. Let's go. Yes. I need to think."

    Ser Willem gave me an odd look, but dutifully took up the torch and I followed him out of the vault. And as I was shutting the vault behind me, I found my eyes drawn back to that silver and crimson egg.

    I'd be back. I knew that much for certain.
     
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