Chapter 1. The ASB strikes back!
A moment ago I'm on a deathmarch for my exams.
Now, as I...
A moment ago I'm on a deathmarch for my exams.
Now, as I...
Dragon Chancellor (ASoIaF SI)
- Thread starter LordKragan
- Start date
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 93
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 5
-
Statistics (5 threadmarks, 6k words)
User Total LordKragan 5 Threadmarks Reader mode
chapter 1
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Chapter 1. The ASB strikes back!
A moment ago I'm on a deathmarch for my exams.
Now, as I vaguely become aware of my surroundings after a strange momentaneous blur, I notice my hips-nay, my whole body- is swinging around.
Then I feel that oh-so loved ectasis. I feel the moans and grunts and creaks. I hear the heavy breathing as I finally note the sweet grinding and see the exotic, brown skin.
And at that moment the door behind opens. I spring, the climax flowering ipso-facto and getting us off guard in a way it's not that pleasant.
Two men in stark white armor, clearly uncomfortable with the scene, approach. One clears his throught while I gawk at him.
"My prince, your father King Viserys has died."
With a nod they excused themselves out of my room, the woman behind them with a clearly ashamed face.
I turned and saw a polished copper mirror.
I see my face is pale white, my hair platinum blonde and my eyes are purple-ish.
The king of Westeros is dead, and I had been informed while shagging someone. My money was dead set in a very specific person.
I'm Aegon II targaryen during the Dance of Dragon's advent.
Why I can't have nice things?
A moment ago I'm on a deathmarch for my exams.
Now, as I vaguely become aware of my surroundings after a strange momentaneous blur, I notice my hips-nay, my whole body- is swinging around.
Then I feel that oh-so loved ectasis. I feel the moans and grunts and creaks. I hear the heavy breathing as I finally note the sweet grinding and see the exotic, brown skin.
And at that moment the door behind opens. I spring, the climax flowering ipso-facto and getting us off guard in a way it's not that pleasant.
Two men in stark white armor, clearly uncomfortable with the scene, approach. One clears his throught while I gawk at him.
"My prince, your father King Viserys has died."
With a nod they excused themselves out of my room, the woman behind them with a clearly ashamed face.
I turned and saw a polished copper mirror.
I see my face is pale white, my hair platinum blonde and my eyes are purple-ish.
The king of Westeros is dead, and I had been informed while shagging someone. My money was dead set in a very specific person.
I'm Aegon II targaryen during the Dance of Dragon's advent.
Why I can't have nice things?
Chapter 2
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Chapter 2. The Queen's fist.
Within two days we held the funeral of "my" father, Viserys the first. Guy had grown so fat they needed twice as many hands to rise the larger than usual coffin.
Everyone cried, I noticed many of the tears looked like a crocodiles (ie: fake). Chiefly amongst them were Preston... wait, sorry...Criston Cole's and my uncle Daemon. Oh yeah and Aegon, guy's memories were still pretty much there and the guy would clearly have gone and jumped over the coffin and grabbed a pair of reolvers as he made a cowboy dance a la that mad texan from the simpsons.
Seriously, what an ass... ok no, I'd not cry for my father either, but I certainly would NOT make a cowboy dance.
So I tried to make my best impression that I was devastated: thousand miles gaze, absent and slow demeanor. I know the drill, I've been to microeconomics three with a guy who spend a third of the lessons berating us. Meanwhile let's focus on the shitshow we have at hand, shall we?
I am Aegon, the guy who buttfucked the targaryens harder than anyone else in the dinasty barring, maybe, Aerys II. Right now we are at our strongest holding, what? A dozen or more dragons? Doesn't really matter because we are going to lose, at least, eight of them in the following year as we go and ravage the country in a brutal civil war.
Right, not my cup of tea. Specially considering "my" sons will die horribly. Westerosi morals be damned but I don't want six years and the like to die horrible deaths if I can avoid it.
I think about their fates and tears start to fall down from my eyes. It's just not fair that they have to go through that.
I'm going to have a bad time here, won't I?
Rhaenyra just arrived from Dragonstone. She looks haggard, devastated. Can't blame her, she was daddy's favourite. I mean, a westerosi woman designated as heiress when there's males (even if said males are... me and aemond) next in the line of succession? Dude loved her greatly, and she did return that love with kindness.
At this moment, Pres- CRISTON (for fuck's sake) approaches me.
"My lord, it's very sad that the king is dead, but you must take this situation in your stride and start preparing yourself for the announcement as the rightful king: Princess Rhaenyra will go back to dragonstone for a few days to gather properly her household."
Excuse me? EXCUUSE ME?
"Stop." I say, anger rising from the sheer indignation. "Just, stop."
"Your majesty?" Asks a confused Shitston the Civilwarmaker.
Some people are eyeing us now. I don't care, I'm just outraged.
"See there, you braindead moron? See that huge wooden box? You see it, don't you? After all the part that has rotten away is your brain, not your eyeballs."
Criston is now outraged and is about to counter my words but I cut him short.
"That is my father, he's dead, we are honoring his memory, do you understand that?" My voice is now ice but the heat is rising as I start boiling my blood in wrath. "Do you know what a funeral entails, don't you? People cry and mourn, people speak of the dead man or woman and cry furthermore as they try to respect his wishes as he's departed this world. A funeral doesn't involve scheming and shatting upon his will when the corpse is still warm. A funeral isn't a giant FUCK YOU to the person in question. See there?" I point at my kids, who are staring at me, all with half of the room to. "They loved their grandfather, they thought he was a good man. They don't deserve that you go and further taint this black day with your hunger for glory, you brainless maggot."
At this point Rhaenyra and Daemon approach us, flanked by two kingsguard knights.
"And who are you to go ordering royals? Who gave you the right to be the kingmaker? You're a servant, not a lord and puppetmaster."
Rhaenyra half hears me and asks.
"What's happening, Aegon? What's the meaning of this rucus?"
I bark a short and dry laugh before speaking and pointing at the moronic knight.
"Good Criston has come to me with an idea you'll soon find hilarious: he says that I be the king of Westeros, not you. Because you're a woman, you know? Of course it's a fine moment, to say it right in front of our dead father and violating his last wish? Nevermind that seems to sound like an act of treason against Queen," I put a lot of emphasis in the word. A fer people murmur, and Rhaenyra looks a bit shocked, albeit slightly pleased and-most of all- relieved." Rhaenyra, though I dare not speak in your behalf, the judgement is yours to make, your majesty," I say in a sincere tone.
It doesn't even take an order. The two kingsguard take Cole and apprehend him. Rhaenyra looks livid at the knight.
"Take him to the dragonpit, the dragons won't need catering tonight."
==========
That night I'm called to the Queen's chambers.
Rhaenyra is wearing a loose and informal attire and has left her mane go wild. Even with the tribulations she must have gone through she still looks gorgeous.
Hey, junior, today it's not camping day.
"Take a seat and a bit of wine."
She looks she's drunk her fair share, with the face she has. Cried her fair share too. Can't blame her.
"Thanks, considering your state it wouldn't be far for me to be in full use of his mental faculties and take advantage of the queen."
I think I stepped a landmine, haven't I?
"Why?" She asks flatly. "Why did you sell out your loyal green?"
Oh, so this is going to be an interrogation? Well, time to improvise I guess.
"Tell me sister, what is our family name? Targaryen. Who rules the Seven Kingdoms? You, of course, but by and large let's say it's the Targaryen. Yet you have Criston, a knight, a kingsguard, a glorified warrior slave-and don't deny that, their entire lifes are dedicated to us and they have no other option after the vow- giving a Targaryen orders. We rule the seven kingdoms, don't we?"
"Yes," she said, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Then why, may ask, should we obey this kind of people: our lessers, our servants. We are the rulers, we don't take orders. Rhaenyra, for all that we'd like to natter about it, we aren't greens or blacks, were are fucking dragons. Cole has forgotten it.. well I'm sure he has remembered by now with the debate he must be holding at the dragonpit. The dragons must be tearing apart his counterarguments and body. Still the point remains: It is the targaryen that rule the seven kingdoms: not Cole, not Stark, not Arryn, not Hightower and not Velaryon. Yet the kingdoms have forgotten, it is the sad truth."
I knew jackshit of engineering and chemistry. I could not uplift people on a technological level-barring the printing press, but that shit has been running around her for a while in the form of wine presses. But I could uplift them on a political level, move them, at least, a tier above the current system.
"What I did, wasn't out of pure charity. In exchange of me not trying to do something stupid-and I'm sure idiots like Cole abound in the nobility- I want to be the Hand of the Queen," I perch my body frontwards. "We cannot allow this to repeat in the following generation. What if a decadent idiot is picked as the successor instead of a honorable warrior? What if a madman is left in the throne instead of a very promising candidate? What if OUR descendants' mandate is ignored by the petty lords who serve OUR descendants? I'm asking you for the power to be not your hand, but your fist. Grant me the position and I swear by the seven and the gods of old and whatever mumbo-jumbo we prayed on valyria that I'll break down the nobility and we will be the undisputed masters of Westeros, our wishes made manifest without a rucus or dragons be needed. I promise you total loyalty and the crushing of these western barbarians WE are overlords of, not the other way around."
After a few minutes of arguing and me spouting propaganda, she agrees with the main reason her saving up the trouble that is a civil war.
Fear me Westeros, hide away and cower in fear. For I'm planning to bring absolutism and administrative centralization. The Sun Queen and it's Iron-nay, DRAGON- chancellor are out for you.
WE. ARE. THE. STATE.
Within two days we held the funeral of "my" father, Viserys the first. Guy had grown so fat they needed twice as many hands to rise the larger than usual coffin.
Everyone cried, I noticed many of the tears looked like a crocodiles (ie: fake). Chiefly amongst them were Preston... wait, sorry...Criston Cole's and my uncle Daemon. Oh yeah and Aegon, guy's memories were still pretty much there and the guy would clearly have gone and jumped over the coffin and grabbed a pair of reolvers as he made a cowboy dance a la that mad texan from the simpsons.
Seriously, what an ass... ok no, I'd not cry for my father either, but I certainly would NOT make a cowboy dance.
So I tried to make my best impression that I was devastated: thousand miles gaze, absent and slow demeanor. I know the drill, I've been to microeconomics three with a guy who spend a third of the lessons berating us. Meanwhile let's focus on the shitshow we have at hand, shall we?
I am Aegon, the guy who buttfucked the targaryens harder than anyone else in the dinasty barring, maybe, Aerys II. Right now we are at our strongest holding, what? A dozen or more dragons? Doesn't really matter because we are going to lose, at least, eight of them in the following year as we go and ravage the country in a brutal civil war.
Right, not my cup of tea. Specially considering "my" sons will die horribly. Westerosi morals be damned but I don't want six years and the like to die horrible deaths if I can avoid it.
I think about their fates and tears start to fall down from my eyes. It's just not fair that they have to go through that.
I'm going to have a bad time here, won't I?
Rhaenyra just arrived from Dragonstone. She looks haggard, devastated. Can't blame her, she was daddy's favourite. I mean, a westerosi woman designated as heiress when there's males (even if said males are... me and aemond) next in the line of succession? Dude loved her greatly, and she did return that love with kindness.
At this moment, Pres- CRISTON (for fuck's sake) approaches me.
"My lord, it's very sad that the king is dead, but you must take this situation in your stride and start preparing yourself for the announcement as the rightful king: Princess Rhaenyra will go back to dragonstone for a few days to gather properly her household."
Excuse me? EXCUUSE ME?
"Stop." I say, anger rising from the sheer indignation. "Just, stop."
"Your majesty?" Asks a confused Shitston the Civilwarmaker.
Some people are eyeing us now. I don't care, I'm just outraged.
"See there, you braindead moron? See that huge wooden box? You see it, don't you? After all the part that has rotten away is your brain, not your eyeballs."
Criston is now outraged and is about to counter my words but I cut him short.
"That is my father, he's dead, we are honoring his memory, do you understand that?" My voice is now ice but the heat is rising as I start boiling my blood in wrath. "Do you know what a funeral entails, don't you? People cry and mourn, people speak of the dead man or woman and cry furthermore as they try to respect his wishes as he's departed this world. A funeral doesn't involve scheming and shatting upon his will when the corpse is still warm. A funeral isn't a giant FUCK YOU to the person in question. See there?" I point at my kids, who are staring at me, all with half of the room to. "They loved their grandfather, they thought he was a good man. They don't deserve that you go and further taint this black day with your hunger for glory, you brainless maggot."
At this point Rhaenyra and Daemon approach us, flanked by two kingsguard knights.
"And who are you to go ordering royals? Who gave you the right to be the kingmaker? You're a servant, not a lord and puppetmaster."
Rhaenyra half hears me and asks.
"What's happening, Aegon? What's the meaning of this rucus?"
I bark a short and dry laugh before speaking and pointing at the moronic knight.
"Good Criston has come to me with an idea you'll soon find hilarious: he says that I be the king of Westeros, not you. Because you're a woman, you know? Of course it's a fine moment, to say it right in front of our dead father and violating his last wish? Nevermind that seems to sound like an act of treason against Queen," I put a lot of emphasis in the word. A fer people murmur, and Rhaenyra looks a bit shocked, albeit slightly pleased and-most of all- relieved." Rhaenyra, though I dare not speak in your behalf, the judgement is yours to make, your majesty," I say in a sincere tone.
It doesn't even take an order. The two kingsguard take Cole and apprehend him. Rhaenyra looks livid at the knight.
"Take him to the dragonpit, the dragons won't need catering tonight."
==========
That night I'm called to the Queen's chambers.
Rhaenyra is wearing a loose and informal attire and has left her mane go wild. Even with the tribulations she must have gone through she still looks gorgeous.
Hey, junior, today it's not camping day.
"Take a seat and a bit of wine."
She looks she's drunk her fair share, with the face she has. Cried her fair share too. Can't blame her.
"Thanks, considering your state it wouldn't be far for me to be in full use of his mental faculties and take advantage of the queen."
I think I stepped a landmine, haven't I?
"Why?" She asks flatly. "Why did you sell out your loyal green?"
Oh, so this is going to be an interrogation? Well, time to improvise I guess.
"Tell me sister, what is our family name? Targaryen. Who rules the Seven Kingdoms? You, of course, but by and large let's say it's the Targaryen. Yet you have Criston, a knight, a kingsguard, a glorified warrior slave-and don't deny that, their entire lifes are dedicated to us and they have no other option after the vow- giving a Targaryen orders. We rule the seven kingdoms, don't we?"
"Yes," she said, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Then why, may ask, should we obey this kind of people: our lessers, our servants. We are the rulers, we don't take orders. Rhaenyra, for all that we'd like to natter about it, we aren't greens or blacks, were are fucking dragons. Cole has forgotten it.. well I'm sure he has remembered by now with the debate he must be holding at the dragonpit. The dragons must be tearing apart his counterarguments and body. Still the point remains: It is the targaryen that rule the seven kingdoms: not Cole, not Stark, not Arryn, not Hightower and not Velaryon. Yet the kingdoms have forgotten, it is the sad truth."
I knew jackshit of engineering and chemistry. I could not uplift people on a technological level-barring the printing press, but that shit has been running around her for a while in the form of wine presses. But I could uplift them on a political level, move them, at least, a tier above the current system.
"What I did, wasn't out of pure charity. In exchange of me not trying to do something stupid-and I'm sure idiots like Cole abound in the nobility- I want to be the Hand of the Queen," I perch my body frontwards. "We cannot allow this to repeat in the following generation. What if a decadent idiot is picked as the successor instead of a honorable warrior? What if a madman is left in the throne instead of a very promising candidate? What if OUR descendants' mandate is ignored by the petty lords who serve OUR descendants? I'm asking you for the power to be not your hand, but your fist. Grant me the position and I swear by the seven and the gods of old and whatever mumbo-jumbo we prayed on valyria that I'll break down the nobility and we will be the undisputed masters of Westeros, our wishes made manifest without a rucus or dragons be needed. I promise you total loyalty and the crushing of these western barbarians WE are overlords of, not the other way around."
After a few minutes of arguing and me spouting propaganda, she agrees with the main reason her saving up the trouble that is a civil war.
Fear me Westeros, hide away and cower in fear. For I'm planning to bring absolutism and administrative centralization. The Sun Queen and it's Iron-nay, DRAGON- chancellor are out for you.
WE. ARE. THE. STATE.
chapter 3
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Chapter 3. No one expects it.
Today Rhaenyra had departed. After the last two days were I commented some of my short to mid term plans, all while making clear it was ultimately his decision which ones would get greenlit since SHE was the ruler.
Today, thus, was the harder part of the first stage. My mother.
Alicent Hightower was an ambitious woman, a bit on the bitchy side, if you asked me.
She was, obviously, crossed by my actions. Criston, a key member of the greens, was dead and had been replaced with a black. The balance of power in the small council, previously stacked in the greens' favour at 6 to 1, had been recalibrated to a tense 4 to 3 with the most important post, hand of the king, within our ranks. And there lay hanging a hidden threat for those now daring to question the rulership of Rhaenyra. The Greens were not exactly that eager to take action with the threat of being fed to dragons and be associated with the increasingly called Criston the Blackgard. Ser Fellis and one of the twins had been sent to the wall and quickly replaced by blacks. Only a kingsguard, a fucking Thorne at that, remained loyal to the greens.
That didn't mean, of course, that they wouldn't hate my guts and try anything funny. Sure, Dragons are excellent battlefield assets and that the westerosi may view poison as a womanly weapons. Thing is, westerosi lords have wifes. It hadn't been lunch yet when I had gotten myself a solid food taster and sent envoys to Lys and the other free cities to scour for poison experts to make quickly a counter.
When I approached the throne room I was approached by my mother and my younger brother Aemond. Guy was probably better swordsman than me even with a single eye so I must try to not make him wroth.
"Brother, what madness has possessed you!?" hissed Aemond, his remaining eye shinning with hostility.
He grabbed my shoulderblade but I gently displaced his hand with my own.
"Do not fret, I'm just looking for our best interests,"
Well, my interests at least. When I'm done I'll have purged every single ounce of green manpower from the kingdoms, if I can help it. Still cannot deny that having more than a year of life expectancy would be within his interests.
"Sending to the wall men loyal to our cause is within our interests?"
"Sending to the wall destabilizing elements when the Kingdoms are in a transition, and thus make the new goverment run more easily, is within the interests of house Targaryen," I say in laid back tone barring the last word, uttered with sharpness and a cutting edge. "I think we have yet to switch names, though I think we don't have really many choices in the rooster and Hightower certainly doesn't really stick in with the Iron Throne's shtick."
My mother stared at me, half-flabbegasted. Aemond was a bit amused at my initial quip, but most likely was thinking what the hell had happened to me and where I was going to. A bit like a snake following its prey. I don't wanna lost may kids, bro.
I leave them behind and go to the throne room. The show must have been on a particularly low budget with the room, because it-and the nightmare that is the throne- are faaar bigger.
The mass of bodies splits like the red sea to Moses' path. A kingsguard follows me with an oaken chair and plants it a few steps to the side of the iron throne. I take my seat there.
Everyone murmurs at the occurence and a noble asks.
"My prince, shouldn't you take your seat in the Iron Throne?"
Certainly, that had been the logic of the place. It also gave the impression the hand was the king in all but name when he got the chance. No.no, not anymore.
I, for one, had decided to take an approach slightly similar to good old Fritz.
"I may be her hand, but only the Queen should have the right to sit on the Iron Throne, for she is the one that truly rules Westeros and we are her servants, thus deserving to place lower than her. I may bear her family name but hers is the crown and thus I must take consolation in being the humble First Servant of the State and its obligations, now shall we begin?
========
The current high septon was a lean and old man, still keen and sharp though. He had made the journey from the Starry Sept (yeah, since Baelor wasn't even born it was a bit clear he'd not reside in Baelor's Sept).
We chit-chatted for a while until I decided to start dropping the bombs.
"I and my sister, long may she reign, have been slightly worried about the moral integrity of the kingdoms. We have heard a few cases of debauchery that are offensive to the Seven. And how many more there may be that we are unaware of, do I ask? Certainly
"My lord Hand, are you saying you want to reinstate the faith militant?" He said, a note of joy mixed with a note of apprehension seeping through.
BAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAH! LOL NOPE!
"Not entirely. Certainly we considered of an organization that would guard the purity and integrity of the faith but we think that giving them the strength of arms may distract them: a terrenal power would taint their role as keepers of the divine, focus on gaining land rather than purging the sinners. We were speaking of a force of priests that would guard the people's "purity" and orthodoxy as they investigated communities. But of course, such force would receive guidance from the crown. My reasoning: while, for an hypothetical example, the twin sos of the Lord Lannister may have incestous relationships, it would be expedient to punish them but it wouldn't be expedient to do so outright and without the proper guidance of sources that understand politics, as such actions may upset the terrenal balance of power and bring turmoil and even worse crimes and affronts against the seven. The punishers would have had all the best intentions in their service of the seven but would have caused a great catastrophe and wrought even greater sins!"
"So you want... a force that inspects the nobles and smallfolk, an observer backed by the crown to whom they may report and receiv
"Of course! We will provide manpower as well as a few assets plus counseling on a few political issues that may help those mans lectured and knowleadgable of the seven-pointed-star, they take the actions in the field with our counseling. I'm sure the realm would greatly benefit if the crown and Faith would cooperate, specially the people's souls!"
I waxed lyric on the matter for a while, bringing yet another issue that would interesting to work out.
After half an hour I got the compromise of holding a meeting to create bishops and the "cardinal" system. The old coots at the Starry Sept would be extatic at this one, since it entailed that they now controlled more than one sept instead of the one they held under their direction, more power to them and an easier way to get info and get the things I wanted via buying off less loyalties. The second was something I was dying to tell Rhaenyra. The third?
I had just created the Inquisition.
For all their bragging around, Westerosi had their fair share of vices. Sure, they "repented" from them but that made them juicier targets to control from the curia. A curia that I would control I was given half a chance. Then came the hammer of witches: the Spanish Inquisition, which would be the model the Westerosi one would follow had been deeply tied to the crown and had been one of the best attack dogs at the service of the Spanish kings. Sure it was a nasty thing to do and think of, with all the shit they pulled around. *shrug* I've never been a good person.
Varys was a powerful master of whispers because he had the birds, who spied all the secrets of the lords. I planned to introduce those, somewhere in the future and with the help of the faith. Meanwhile confessors all over the kingdoms would do as I began shaping my hammer to punish "heretics" and "heathens". Control of the masses through brimstone and fire without the need to park out the dragons and make a mess of the locale. Beautiful.
I muttered to myself, half amused half cruelly, that no one expects the Westerosi Inquisition.
Today Rhaenyra had departed. After the last two days were I commented some of my short to mid term plans, all while making clear it was ultimately his decision which ones would get greenlit since SHE was the ruler.
Today, thus, was the harder part of the first stage. My mother.
Alicent Hightower was an ambitious woman, a bit on the bitchy side, if you asked me.
She was, obviously, crossed by my actions. Criston, a key member of the greens, was dead and had been replaced with a black. The balance of power in the small council, previously stacked in the greens' favour at 6 to 1, had been recalibrated to a tense 4 to 3 with the most important post, hand of the king, within our ranks. And there lay hanging a hidden threat for those now daring to question the rulership of Rhaenyra. The Greens were not exactly that eager to take action with the threat of being fed to dragons and be associated with the increasingly called Criston the Blackgard. Ser Fellis and one of the twins had been sent to the wall and quickly replaced by blacks. Only a kingsguard, a fucking Thorne at that, remained loyal to the greens.
That didn't mean, of course, that they wouldn't hate my guts and try anything funny. Sure, Dragons are excellent battlefield assets and that the westerosi may view poison as a womanly weapons. Thing is, westerosi lords have wifes. It hadn't been lunch yet when I had gotten myself a solid food taster and sent envoys to Lys and the other free cities to scour for poison experts to make quickly a counter.
When I approached the throne room I was approached by my mother and my younger brother Aemond. Guy was probably better swordsman than me even with a single eye so I must try to not make him wroth.
"Brother, what madness has possessed you!?" hissed Aemond, his remaining eye shinning with hostility.
He grabbed my shoulderblade but I gently displaced his hand with my own.
"Do not fret, I'm just looking for our best interests,"
Well, my interests at least. When I'm done I'll have purged every single ounce of green manpower from the kingdoms, if I can help it. Still cannot deny that having more than a year of life expectancy would be within his interests.
"Sending to the wall men loyal to our cause is within our interests?"
"Sending to the wall destabilizing elements when the Kingdoms are in a transition, and thus make the new goverment run more easily, is within the interests of house Targaryen," I say in laid back tone barring the last word, uttered with sharpness and a cutting edge. "I think we have yet to switch names, though I think we don't have really many choices in the rooster and Hightower certainly doesn't really stick in with the Iron Throne's shtick."
My mother stared at me, half-flabbegasted. Aemond was a bit amused at my initial quip, but most likely was thinking what the hell had happened to me and where I was going to. A bit like a snake following its prey. I don't wanna lost may kids, bro.
I leave them behind and go to the throne room. The show must have been on a particularly low budget with the room, because it-and the nightmare that is the throne- are faaar bigger.
The mass of bodies splits like the red sea to Moses' path. A kingsguard follows me with an oaken chair and plants it a few steps to the side of the iron throne. I take my seat there.
Everyone murmurs at the occurence and a noble asks.
"My prince, shouldn't you take your seat in the Iron Throne?"
Certainly, that had been the logic of the place. It also gave the impression the hand was the king in all but name when he got the chance. No.no, not anymore.
I, for one, had decided to take an approach slightly similar to good old Fritz.
"I may be her hand, but only the Queen should have the right to sit on the Iron Throne, for she is the one that truly rules Westeros and we are her servants, thus deserving to place lower than her. I may bear her family name but hers is the crown and thus I must take consolation in being the humble First Servant of the State and its obligations, now shall we begin?
========
The current high septon was a lean and old man, still keen and sharp though. He had made the journey from the Starry Sept (yeah, since Baelor wasn't even born it was a bit clear he'd not reside in Baelor's Sept).
We chit-chatted for a while until I decided to start dropping the bombs.
"I and my sister, long may she reign, have been slightly worried about the moral integrity of the kingdoms. We have heard a few cases of debauchery that are offensive to the Seven. And how many more there may be that we are unaware of, do I ask? Certainly
"My lord Hand, are you saying you want to reinstate the faith militant?" He said, a note of joy mixed with a note of apprehension seeping through.
BAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAH! LOL NOPE!
"Not entirely. Certainly we considered of an organization that would guard the purity and integrity of the faith but we think that giving them the strength of arms may distract them: a terrenal power would taint their role as keepers of the divine, focus on gaining land rather than purging the sinners. We were speaking of a force of priests that would guard the people's "purity" and orthodoxy as they investigated communities. But of course, such force would receive guidance from the crown. My reasoning: while, for an hypothetical example, the twin sos of the Lord Lannister may have incestous relationships, it would be expedient to punish them but it wouldn't be expedient to do so outright and without the proper guidance of sources that understand politics, as such actions may upset the terrenal balance of power and bring turmoil and even worse crimes and affronts against the seven. The punishers would have had all the best intentions in their service of the seven but would have caused a great catastrophe and wrought even greater sins!"
"So you want... a force that inspects the nobles and smallfolk, an observer backed by the crown to whom they may report and receiv
"Of course! We will provide manpower as well as a few assets plus counseling on a few political issues that may help those mans lectured and knowleadgable of the seven-pointed-star, they take the actions in the field with our counseling. I'm sure the realm would greatly benefit if the crown and Faith would cooperate, specially the people's souls!"
I waxed lyric on the matter for a while, bringing yet another issue that would interesting to work out.
After half an hour I got the compromise of holding a meeting to create bishops and the "cardinal" system. The old coots at the Starry Sept would be extatic at this one, since it entailed that they now controlled more than one sept instead of the one they held under their direction, more power to them and an easier way to get info and get the things I wanted via buying off less loyalties. The second was something I was dying to tell Rhaenyra. The third?
I had just created the Inquisition.
For all their bragging around, Westerosi had their fair share of vices. Sure, they "repented" from them but that made them juicier targets to control from the curia. A curia that I would control I was given half a chance. Then came the hammer of witches: the Spanish Inquisition, which would be the model the Westerosi one would follow had been deeply tied to the crown and had been one of the best attack dogs at the service of the Spanish kings. Sure it was a nasty thing to do and think of, with all the shit they pulled around. *shrug* I've never been a good person.
Varys was a powerful master of whispers because he had the birds, who spied all the secrets of the lords. I planned to introduce those, somewhere in the future and with the help of the faith. Meanwhile confessors all over the kingdoms would do as I began shaping my hammer to punish "heretics" and "heathens". Control of the masses through brimstone and fire without the need to park out the dragons and make a mess of the locale. Beautiful.
I muttered to myself, half amused half cruelly, that no one expects the Westerosi Inquisition.
XelianEmperor
Fragile. Handle with care
Like and watched
Taíno
Thinker. Reader. Writer. Fan.
- Location
- PR
Love the concept. I like how there are some good bits where your S.I. gets to shine and show what he's made-of but, you really need a beta reader. There are a lot of orthographic mistakes, once or twice you used the wrong pronouns, and, at one point, you accidentally cut-off dialogue mid-sentence. It's a shame because you seem to have an idea of where you want to go with the story.
what he said.
darkkrusty
The Forsaken
- Location
- England
interesting...watched
chapter 4
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Beta-reader wanted. Dead or alive, preferably alive unless necromancer/lych.
Also, chapter 4.
Also, chapter 4.
Chapter 4. The Dance's interlude.
Things weren't going well. Things were about to go down the shitter.
Picture me and Ser Steffon Darklyn, new lord commander, and Lyman Beesbury on one side.
Picture then Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde and the other two whose name I can't be arsed to remember sitting on the other side of the table.
We are glaring at each other, almost growling.
"King Jahaerys passed twice princess Rhaenys over the succession, clearl-" began Jasper before I rose my had and cut him mid-sentence.
"May I beg your pardon?" I asked, he nodded weakly. I perched my frame onwards turned my head sideways and placed my hand next to my ear frowning and making a face as if I was trying hard to hear something. "Could you repeat please?" I asked as I made my free hand swing in circles twice.
"King Jahaerys-" began repeated Wylde before I rose the hand next to my ear again and, for the second time, interrupted him.
"That's it, thank you. Well, gentlemen Lord Wylde himself has solved the issue quite handily: King Jahaerys determined the succession in both cases, ergo it's the king's will the one that determinates who gets the crown. King Viserys said the crown should go to Rhaenyra, thus as per the precedent of the king being the one to determinate the one who would succeed him in case there was issues in the line of succession. And that, my friends we can interfere that, since there's the royal seal and the name written in it we can assume it was Viserys I the author of the will where, in a rather roundabout way, says that Rhaenyra, whom was announced quite a few times as successor of the throne, be Queen," I clapped my hands twice, and during all this time I maintained an almost stony face, specially with the following words. "Good job everyone, we've done a great job. The heir to the throne has been decided. Long live my Sister. Go home and fuck your wifes senseless, you've earned it."
The greens were flabbergasted to say the least. Well, Tyland wasn't. Motherfucker had the gall, I'd give it to him.
"She's not capacitated for the task," began Tyland. "Too mercurial, too wroth. She'll slaughter half of the realm when she comes to power. She's quick to take offense and slow, if ever, to abandon it. Ruling involves conceding and agreeing with your subjects, your... hand."
No, ruling involves giving commands and having an efficient administration carry them out. And trust me, after I get my Richelieu going I'll do so.
"It is the job of the hand of the Queen to counsel her, rest assured I'll manage to dissuade there from such a... drastic measure."
Things went on and on. Steffon was a wall, never speaking. Leesbury actually proved to be a staunch and clever defender of the queen. If only he had been given time he'd have done good. Luckily this wouldn't turn into a massive gangbang, with the biggest stick in the room being sheathed on our pants... well it was Steffon's sword and it was in its scabbard. But it was touching its pants! I digress.
We, of course, got fucking nowhere and had to adjourn the meeting. The thing was that the grandmaester already was saying that we should have a Great Council. Considering that the last one the male candidate won by 20 to 1... yeah, I'm not holding my breath.
I've gotta defuse this bomb before the shitstorm comes in. Cripple the Greens before they get their hands on their blades. Because this wasn't a Rhaenyra versus Aegon. Ohh no. Poor oaf never was really the true focuse. The leader of the greens is Alicent and by this point she's either going to endorse Aemond or Daeron. But in the meantime, as the change goes, I'll do as much damages as possible, plan in advantage as much as possible and try to hold Rhaenyra on a leash as I intend to keep as many of us alive and more or less way.
Now, there was an issue in my strategy. Daemon.
I walk to Maegor's Holdfast and ask for a meal, something light. I feel more tired than hungry, as per my usual routine.
THey bring me beef. Apparently light means red meat in the seven kingdoms. Huh, now I can see how Robert got there.
Roasted beef with a bit of rich vegetables on the side as well as light and tasty cream of carrots are served to me. While I'm eating someone rather unexpected.
Well, unexpected in the sense I didn't remember she was here.
Rhaenys Targaryen, the queen that never was, my aunt. Wow. Talk about Valyrian looks. Platinum blonde and lilac eyes, very well toned body and looking more pretty and almost younger in appearance than the twenty years younger Rhaenyra. Are we sure we can't name her queen?
Junior, seriously what's wrong with you and your camping obssession? Seriously, Aegon the II was as horny as a dog in mating season.
She too is brough something light and for a few awkward seconds we eat and say nothing. Then she breaks the silence.
"Now I guess it's the thousand golden dragons' question, why are you suddenly stepping down and helping your bitter rival?"
I slump down on my chair, tired from the day, managing to make a weak chuckle.
"Bitter rival? I was merely a pawn in mother's scheme, everyone knew that much," I sigh tiredly, as the energy that I had during the day has been spent in the meeting and the preparations that I've been making across the city. Starting to prepare committes of neighboors defense, rounding up mercenaries least they join the greens. And getting a few cutthroats to get out of the way a few low-key members of the Greens, as well as speaking with the septons to inform me about potential agents of the master of whisperers. "Kingship has been the cause of death for... most of our lineage let's be honest. It's burnt us. The throne isn't just a pile of pointy swords that wants to kill you, it's a pire that will consume you as the years go by. I don't want that. I don't want the mess that are great councils, people wanting you to solve all their ailing while taking all the responsability and no privilege for it. I don't want to wear a crown that its weight.
"And yet you still want handship,"say the elder woman half amusedly. "Where you can feign all those things."
H
"Yes, and once I'm fed up or have made things go tits up leave to Volantis and life like a petty king," we both grin slightly at that comment. "I've been a nefarious father, husband and son. And dad may have had a ton of flaws-we are human after all!- but he was a caring dad, even if he just saw me as the spare. Maybe he deserves I pay him attention on at least one thing, the one he wanted the most..." I trail off and then go back, this time with more energy. "And I can help her rule, paving the way and getting the crown to dominate this petty lords that think they can make us dance to their tune and not the other way around."
"Daemon won't let you do as you please. Certainly not... whatever is you planned to do with the High Septon. Daemon's anything but gullible... and competent when it comes to politics," she hestitates for a second and adds. "A good soldier, yes, but he'll make a nefarious ruler and he'll be as meddlesome as they come."
"He needs to be removed," I say idly, further slumping myself.
"Accidents happen during wars and we, no matter what you try, dear nephew, are heading to one."
"A pity," I say pensive, now my mood fully ruined. "We need more dragon raiders and as much lands supporting us as possible. Both sides have dragons, we need something else to tip the balance, something outside the box that are the Kingdom's politics..."
At that moment a bulb (well, most likely a candle, these are the middle ages in all but name) lights up. I turn my face to Rhaenys. She has a face that all but screams: I've got an idea.
"Does it involve the three daughters? I ask.
She nods affirmatively, a wolfish grin drawn.
Man, aunty is the best!
Things weren't going well. Things were about to go down the shitter.
Picture me and Ser Steffon Darklyn, new lord commander, and Lyman Beesbury on one side.
Picture then Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde and the other two whose name I can't be arsed to remember sitting on the other side of the table.
We are glaring at each other, almost growling.
"King Jahaerys passed twice princess Rhaenys over the succession, clearl-" began Jasper before I rose my had and cut him mid-sentence.
"May I beg your pardon?" I asked, he nodded weakly. I perched my frame onwards turned my head sideways and placed my hand next to my ear frowning and making a face as if I was trying hard to hear something. "Could you repeat please?" I asked as I made my free hand swing in circles twice.
"King Jahaerys-" began repeated Wylde before I rose the hand next to my ear again and, for the second time, interrupted him.
"That's it, thank you. Well, gentlemen Lord Wylde himself has solved the issue quite handily: King Jahaerys determined the succession in both cases, ergo it's the king's will the one that determinates who gets the crown. King Viserys said the crown should go to Rhaenyra, thus as per the precedent of the king being the one to determinate the one who would succeed him in case there was issues in the line of succession. And that, my friends we can interfere that, since there's the royal seal and the name written in it we can assume it was Viserys I the author of the will where, in a rather roundabout way, says that Rhaenyra, whom was announced quite a few times as successor of the throne, be Queen," I clapped my hands twice, and during all this time I maintained an almost stony face, specially with the following words. "Good job everyone, we've done a great job. The heir to the throne has been decided. Long live my Sister. Go home and fuck your wifes senseless, you've earned it."
The greens were flabbergasted to say the least. Well, Tyland wasn't. Motherfucker had the gall, I'd give it to him.
"She's not capacitated for the task," began Tyland. "Too mercurial, too wroth. She'll slaughter half of the realm when she comes to power. She's quick to take offense and slow, if ever, to abandon it. Ruling involves conceding and agreeing with your subjects, your... hand."
No, ruling involves giving commands and having an efficient administration carry them out. And trust me, after I get my Richelieu going I'll do so.
"It is the job of the hand of the Queen to counsel her, rest assured I'll manage to dissuade there from such a... drastic measure."
Things went on and on. Steffon was a wall, never speaking. Leesbury actually proved to be a staunch and clever defender of the queen. If only he had been given time he'd have done good. Luckily this wouldn't turn into a massive gangbang, with the biggest stick in the room being sheathed on our pants... well it was Steffon's sword and it was in its scabbard. But it was touching its pants! I digress.
We, of course, got fucking nowhere and had to adjourn the meeting. The thing was that the grandmaester already was saying that we should have a Great Council. Considering that the last one the male candidate won by 20 to 1... yeah, I'm not holding my breath.
I've gotta defuse this bomb before the shitstorm comes in. Cripple the Greens before they get their hands on their blades. Because this wasn't a Rhaenyra versus Aegon. Ohh no. Poor oaf never was really the true focuse. The leader of the greens is Alicent and by this point she's either going to endorse Aemond or Daeron. But in the meantime, as the change goes, I'll do as much damages as possible, plan in advantage as much as possible and try to hold Rhaenyra on a leash as I intend to keep as many of us alive and more or less way.
Now, there was an issue in my strategy. Daemon.
I walk to Maegor's Holdfast and ask for a meal, something light. I feel more tired than hungry, as per my usual routine.
THey bring me beef. Apparently light means red meat in the seven kingdoms. Huh, now I can see how Robert got there.
Roasted beef with a bit of rich vegetables on the side as well as light and tasty cream of carrots are served to me. While I'm eating someone rather unexpected.
Well, unexpected in the sense I didn't remember she was here.
Rhaenys Targaryen, the queen that never was, my aunt. Wow. Talk about Valyrian looks. Platinum blonde and lilac eyes, very well toned body and looking more pretty and almost younger in appearance than the twenty years younger Rhaenyra. Are we sure we can't name her queen?
Junior, seriously what's wrong with you and your camping obssession? Seriously, Aegon the II was as horny as a dog in mating season.
She too is brough something light and for a few awkward seconds we eat and say nothing. Then she breaks the silence.
"Now I guess it's the thousand golden dragons' question, why are you suddenly stepping down and helping your bitter rival?"
I slump down on my chair, tired from the day, managing to make a weak chuckle.
"Bitter rival? I was merely a pawn in mother's scheme, everyone knew that much," I sigh tiredly, as the energy that I had during the day has been spent in the meeting and the preparations that I've been making across the city. Starting to prepare committes of neighboors defense, rounding up mercenaries least they join the greens. And getting a few cutthroats to get out of the way a few low-key members of the Greens, as well as speaking with the septons to inform me about potential agents of the master of whisperers. "Kingship has been the cause of death for... most of our lineage let's be honest. It's burnt us. The throne isn't just a pile of pointy swords that wants to kill you, it's a pire that will consume you as the years go by. I don't want that. I don't want the mess that are great councils, people wanting you to solve all their ailing while taking all the responsability and no privilege for it. I don't want to wear a crown that its weight.
"And yet you still want handship,"say the elder woman half amusedly. "Where you can feign all those things."
H
"Yes, and once I'm fed up or have made things go tits up leave to Volantis and life like a petty king," we both grin slightly at that comment. "I've been a nefarious father, husband and son. And dad may have had a ton of flaws-we are human after all!- but he was a caring dad, even if he just saw me as the spare. Maybe he deserves I pay him attention on at least one thing, the one he wanted the most..." I trail off and then go back, this time with more energy. "And I can help her rule, paving the way and getting the crown to dominate this petty lords that think they can make us dance to their tune and not the other way around."
"Daemon won't let you do as you please. Certainly not... whatever is you planned to do with the High Septon. Daemon's anything but gullible... and competent when it comes to politics," she hestitates for a second and adds. "A good soldier, yes, but he'll make a nefarious ruler and he'll be as meddlesome as they come."
"He needs to be removed," I say idly, further slumping myself.
"Accidents happen during wars and we, no matter what you try, dear nephew, are heading to one."
"A pity," I say pensive, now my mood fully ruined. "We need more dragon raiders and as much lands supporting us as possible. Both sides have dragons, we need something else to tip the balance, something outside the box that are the Kingdom's politics..."
At that moment a bulb (well, most likely a candle, these are the middle ages in all but name) lights up. I turn my face to Rhaenys. She has a face that all but screams: I've got an idea.
"Does it involve the three daughters? I ask.
She nods affirmatively, a wolfish grin drawn.
Man, aunty is the best!
TriviaFreak
Time of reluctance.
Cliffhangers...
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
The kingdom of the three daughters: Lys, Myr and Tyrosh. They fought for the greens back then. Now...
- Location
- Error 505: pending move
Watched, we need some more fics like this on SV.
I would offer Beta but I don't have the time. Maybe you should pull a Hiver and announce that a chapter is ready for beta in the thread?
I would offer Beta but I don't have the time. Maybe you should pull a Hiver and announce that a chapter is ready for beta in the thread?
That'd be a good idea. Or just wait a week and then I could beta it for you. I'll be free of finals after december 15th
chapter 5
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Chapter 5. Letters.
Sister, they are hellbent on calling a Great Council. A farce, all said and done, for their true intent, or so tell me septon Barth's collegues, seems to be gather support to make a major offensive on King's Landing and seize power. Things are getting out of control with a fight between both parties breaking out in the docks. Luckily we got the edge in that event and imprisoned all the greens. We've intercepted a few ravens but more have escaped our archers.
Still we cannot be sitting around tumbling our fingers. I recommend you go throw the Crackclaw and the Western Crownlands. Get as many lords from there and ensure our northern flank. I also suggest you gather the dragonseed and see wether or not we can tame more of the dragons. Their loyalty may be dubious but if you give them the right incentives and control they'll come in handy. Ultimately the decision is yours, my Queen, we will obey it to the end and defend King's Landing to the last drop.
We must move, though.
I placed my quill on the pot. It had been awkward to use it but I got used to it.
It had been twelve days since my arrival. Twelve days of arguing with the small council, touring inns and tabers to get as many mercenaries as possible and overseeing the defenses as the septons loyal to the blacks (or at least had heeded the High Septon) gathered information on all the nobles around.
I leave my studio and take a walk around the city to inspect the Mud Gate, the fourth in my list of inspections. Additional Scorpions and catapults are being commissioned, plus a few reinforcements for the walls, should it come down to a siege.
Since three days ago, when Alicent left the Red Keep with Aemond in tow, we have dropped the pretense we are discussing the succession. The fact that I gave the tears of Lys to the Maester the day prior to the voting may have influenced. It could have been such a good move: picture me informing the black council members of the poison mixed in the wine. Picture the greens drinking it while we crack a few jokes. BLAM! The greens die and we place one or two more blacks (doubt we can get away with an all black council and them not throwing a chimpout of rodney king-esque proportions) to ensure supremacy. Unluckily the other three took a while to drink and the old Maester was affected rapidly by the poison. They couldn't suspect us outright (we could have been poisoned too) but all chances of trust were blown away, as well as deciding soon who would rule. For the next four days we bickered and after a heated discussion we came to fists. The same afternoon the greens, knowing full well we had the city guard and close to four thousand mercenaries plus a bigger number of households behind our backs, decided to leave the town... for the most part, they most likely still had spies and a few hidden blades.
At noon I ride to the sept of King's Landing, finding in the way a heated discussion between smallfolk. Quickly knifes are drawn and fight erupts. This has happened thrice in the last week. People thinking which side is the best getting a bit hotheaded. Nothing than a bit of steel and black cells doesn't cool down.
But I digress. Time to focus on the sept. I enter the rather sober religious building and go to a discreet side of its innards, where a small wooden cell is there. I enter and begin speaking.
"I've sinned, septon Barth, I've failed my duty and Queen," I say the keywords for our meetings. "I need to know... will I find respite?"
"Queen Dowager Alicent seems intent on using your younger brother, prince Daeron, as the kingly candidate."
Huh. It actually makes sense. Daeron is safe in Oldtown, the Green's main bastion. He's also a very likeable and charming fellow, handsome as Valyrians come. The ideal posterboy. Furthermore, he's easier to manipulate. Aegon was a greedy fellow easy to goad with promises of power and might, something Alice could take care of easily. But Aemond? He was good, clever and cunning. An accomplished swordsman and commander. And a Glory Hound, too independent and unruly to be held in a leash. Of course, IF he was the king. As the second son and without power of his own? He could only obey until a chance to seize power presented itself. Which meant he was under Alicent's thumb. Same as Daeron.
So this means it's going to explode on us soon? We are going to be on eacht other's throats and with the blades at hand so soon?
He speaks about some minor lords present in King's Landing who have doubts about siding with the Greens but have half a mind. I'll need to pay them a visit too. Also deal with the Red Manticores, a small mercenary band that is going to serve the greens. These two groups are potential threats that need to be defused.
====
Back in the Red Keep, already late night, I put into bed my children. Sweet little rascals... they don't deserve what's coming down on them. On all of us.
I sigh, puffing down my cheeks. Take a seat in the... living room I guess, this big place is still a bit disorienting for me. The hearthfire crackles and warms the place, being the only source of ilumination.
I hear steps and turn. Rhaenys approaches. Tired too, and with her eyes stabbing mine, filled with distrust. I have noticed someone following me, most likely an agent loyal to her. Of course, I was a political rival before all this.
"People are getting worried about your actions, they fear you plan in makng a civil war," she shrugged and admited the following point. "Then again, I'm pretty sure the people of Oldtown is worried that the Hightowers are gathering knights too. So there's that. And the people of casterly rock with the Lannisters and... pretty much anyone with a big lord with pretensions of greatness and glory."
"So all the Seven Kingdoms are getting worried..." I murmur, sipping ever so slightly the wine.
"Those that have received ravens. A sizeable part but otherwise news can travel so fast," she said as she stared the fire in a distracted fashion.
"It would have broken his heart," I say after a brief and tense silence, my voice filled with grief and guilt. "He tried half his life to avoid this, to keep a functional family and as soon as the corpse has cooled we are about to ravage the bones. We truly are a model family, aren't we?"
Rhaenys stares at me, half vacant and nods.
"My nephew and sister-in-law aren't the most agreeable beings, guess this was kind of bound to happen, given their characters," she draws a thin smile in her face and stares at me. I notice that the smile doesn't reach those fiery, but calculating, eyes. "Still it's not bad you've gone and lost your mind."
"Aunt, any news from the Three Daughters?" I ask.
"Otto had been maintaining contact with them for a while," she huffed in disdain. "Goes to show how he respected his king's will, even before dying. So I guess they are privy to their deals and the event may proceed without incidence. At least I pray that much."
She is well informed, goes to show she was once-well, twice- the candidate for the throne. How she's been a woman that pretty much has dictated her life. Even at a rather advantaged age, the odd wrinkle does little to avoid the inner fire that rages inside her. She looks calm and her body language radiates confidence, even if her words seem a bit dubitative.
"The three daughters are on the verge of collapse. That union has lasted longer than it should and it shows," I mutter. "They most likely won't bother and go back to their old relations of one-up-manship. Better safe than sorry."
"I hope so," she barks a short chuckle and then swings vaguely her hand as if trying to draw a broad stroke. "This either backfires horribly... or we go in a blaze of glory as we assure the south for us and deny the far-east to the greens."
We shrug both at the same time. Not that we can do much under the current status quo.
====
"My lord!" Bellowed a boy as he approached the halls of Admiral-Prince of Myr with a writ in hand. "We are betrayed!"
Sister, they are hellbent on calling a Great Council. A farce, all said and done, for their true intent, or so tell me septon Barth's collegues, seems to be gather support to make a major offensive on King's Landing and seize power. Things are getting out of control with a fight between both parties breaking out in the docks. Luckily we got the edge in that event and imprisoned all the greens. We've intercepted a few ravens but more have escaped our archers.
Still we cannot be sitting around tumbling our fingers. I recommend you go throw the Crackclaw and the Western Crownlands. Get as many lords from there and ensure our northern flank. I also suggest you gather the dragonseed and see wether or not we can tame more of the dragons. Their loyalty may be dubious but if you give them the right incentives and control they'll come in handy. Ultimately the decision is yours, my Queen, we will obey it to the end and defend King's Landing to the last drop.
We must move, though.
I placed my quill on the pot. It had been awkward to use it but I got used to it.
It had been twelve days since my arrival. Twelve days of arguing with the small council, touring inns and tabers to get as many mercenaries as possible and overseeing the defenses as the septons loyal to the blacks (or at least had heeded the High Septon) gathered information on all the nobles around.
I leave my studio and take a walk around the city to inspect the Mud Gate, the fourth in my list of inspections. Additional Scorpions and catapults are being commissioned, plus a few reinforcements for the walls, should it come down to a siege.
Since three days ago, when Alicent left the Red Keep with Aemond in tow, we have dropped the pretense we are discussing the succession. The fact that I gave the tears of Lys to the Maester the day prior to the voting may have influenced. It could have been such a good move: picture me informing the black council members of the poison mixed in the wine. Picture the greens drinking it while we crack a few jokes. BLAM! The greens die and we place one or two more blacks (doubt we can get away with an all black council and them not throwing a chimpout of rodney king-esque proportions) to ensure supremacy. Unluckily the other three took a while to drink and the old Maester was affected rapidly by the poison. They couldn't suspect us outright (we could have been poisoned too) but all chances of trust were blown away, as well as deciding soon who would rule. For the next four days we bickered and after a heated discussion we came to fists. The same afternoon the greens, knowing full well we had the city guard and close to four thousand mercenaries plus a bigger number of households behind our backs, decided to leave the town... for the most part, they most likely still had spies and a few hidden blades.
At noon I ride to the sept of King's Landing, finding in the way a heated discussion between smallfolk. Quickly knifes are drawn and fight erupts. This has happened thrice in the last week. People thinking which side is the best getting a bit hotheaded. Nothing than a bit of steel and black cells doesn't cool down.
But I digress. Time to focus on the sept. I enter the rather sober religious building and go to a discreet side of its innards, where a small wooden cell is there. I enter and begin speaking.
"I've sinned, septon Barth, I've failed my duty and Queen," I say the keywords for our meetings. "I need to know... will I find respite?"
"Queen Dowager Alicent seems intent on using your younger brother, prince Daeron, as the kingly candidate."
Huh. It actually makes sense. Daeron is safe in Oldtown, the Green's main bastion. He's also a very likeable and charming fellow, handsome as Valyrians come. The ideal posterboy. Furthermore, he's easier to manipulate. Aegon was a greedy fellow easy to goad with promises of power and might, something Alice could take care of easily. But Aemond? He was good, clever and cunning. An accomplished swordsman and commander. And a Glory Hound, too independent and unruly to be held in a leash. Of course, IF he was the king. As the second son and without power of his own? He could only obey until a chance to seize power presented itself. Which meant he was under Alicent's thumb. Same as Daeron.
So this means it's going to explode on us soon? We are going to be on eacht other's throats and with the blades at hand so soon?
He speaks about some minor lords present in King's Landing who have doubts about siding with the Greens but have half a mind. I'll need to pay them a visit too. Also deal with the Red Manticores, a small mercenary band that is going to serve the greens. These two groups are potential threats that need to be defused.
====
Back in the Red Keep, already late night, I put into bed my children. Sweet little rascals... they don't deserve what's coming down on them. On all of us.
I sigh, puffing down my cheeks. Take a seat in the... living room I guess, this big place is still a bit disorienting for me. The hearthfire crackles and warms the place, being the only source of ilumination.
I hear steps and turn. Rhaenys approaches. Tired too, and with her eyes stabbing mine, filled with distrust. I have noticed someone following me, most likely an agent loyal to her. Of course, I was a political rival before all this.
"People are getting worried about your actions, they fear you plan in makng a civil war," she shrugged and admited the following point. "Then again, I'm pretty sure the people of Oldtown is worried that the Hightowers are gathering knights too. So there's that. And the people of casterly rock with the Lannisters and... pretty much anyone with a big lord with pretensions of greatness and glory."
"So all the Seven Kingdoms are getting worried..." I murmur, sipping ever so slightly the wine.
"Those that have received ravens. A sizeable part but otherwise news can travel so fast," she said as she stared the fire in a distracted fashion.
"It would have broken his heart," I say after a brief and tense silence, my voice filled with grief and guilt. "He tried half his life to avoid this, to keep a functional family and as soon as the corpse has cooled we are about to ravage the bones. We truly are a model family, aren't we?"
Rhaenys stares at me, half vacant and nods.
"My nephew and sister-in-law aren't the most agreeable beings, guess this was kind of bound to happen, given their characters," she draws a thin smile in her face and stares at me. I notice that the smile doesn't reach those fiery, but calculating, eyes. "Still it's not bad you've gone and lost your mind."
"Aunt, any news from the Three Daughters?" I ask.
"Otto had been maintaining contact with them for a while," she huffed in disdain. "Goes to show how he respected his king's will, even before dying. So I guess they are privy to their deals and the event may proceed without incidence. At least I pray that much."
She is well informed, goes to show she was once-well, twice- the candidate for the throne. How she's been a woman that pretty much has dictated her life. Even at a rather advantaged age, the odd wrinkle does little to avoid the inner fire that rages inside her. She looks calm and her body language radiates confidence, even if her words seem a bit dubitative.
"The three daughters are on the verge of collapse. That union has lasted longer than it should and it shows," I mutter. "They most likely won't bother and go back to their old relations of one-up-manship. Better safe than sorry."
"I hope so," she barks a short chuckle and then swings vaguely her hand as if trying to draw a broad stroke. "This either backfires horribly... or we go in a blaze of glory as we assure the south for us and deny the far-east to the greens."
We shrug both at the same time. Not that we can do much under the current status quo.
====
"My lord!" Bellowed a boy as he approached the halls of Admiral-Prince of Myr with a writ in hand. "We are betrayed!"
- Location
- Error 505: pending move
And here comes the Shit and the Fan >.>