Chapter 14
As the people sitting above in the booths reserved for the elites of the elite, the Ten Ruling Families, the rulers of Meereen, watched the masked men step into the ring, they became quiet even as the cheer around the pit was deafening.
The half a dozen people gathered there in that booth looked at each other as one of the younger members of the family of Zhaq broke the silence.
"How is he still alive?" the same question plagued the mind of everyone present there.
"We sent Ottar there. The people reported to me that they burnt the whole manse, the fire still raged only until a few hours ago," someone questioned.
"Did no one question or check with Ottar, whether the task was completed or not?" questioned the young master from Pahl and everyone shrugged.
"It was Ottar," came the answer, for it had always been enough. The hulking giant had yet to fail. That was until today.
"I am doomed," the young master Zhak added as everyone turned to face the young Master, who was now pacing nervously as he gripped his head.
"I had bet heavily against him today, knowing that he would not be alive to show up. The odds were good, and I had a man of my own in the fight," he said as everyone realized just how badly he had messed up.
"If he wins today, it would beggar me," he finished as silence hung in the air.
"Go to the bet master, there is still ti..." but before the words could be aired, the bell rang loudly to proclaim the beginning of the fight, and with that noise, the face of the young master Zhaq paled further as sweat began to drip down his brows.
The gathered young masters rushed forward towards the balcony to catch a glimpse of the ring below, for that was all that remained in their power.
The others backed off the masked man who stood in the center while the other warriors skirted around him. His reputation had made them gang up on him. It was a first, yet even with a dozen surrounding him, the man himself didn't look bothered as he stood there in the center, his iconic sword in hand as he glanced up, toward them.
And then it began as two of the fighters rushed towards him with a shout, and the masked man moved as well, slashing his sword across the sandy ground kicking up a storm of dirt obscuring their vision, and then all they could see were dark shadows moving through the thick cloud of dust as screams of pain and agony filled the pit until there was nothing but silence.
As the dust settled down, a lone man stood in the center of the pit. His body covered in fresh crimson blood as the bodies of all other fighters lay there beside him, all of them unmoving and bleeding, some headless, others cleaved in half. The crowd roared in cheer as the masked man once more looked towards them and then walked away as the young master from Zhaq stumbled back.
"Shit! I am doomed! They are going to kill me!" he spoke in fear of retribution from his own kin, kin which would show him no mercy.
"Perhaps there is something else we can do," another spoke up as young master Zhaq looked up at one of his fellows.
"Perhaps we need to send a message through other means."
0000
ARTHUR DAYNE
The Sword of the Morning, Arthur let his eyes roam across the capital of the continent as their ship docked in Blackwater Bay. The city was bustling, and it was easy to reason why they were at war.
Though for the first time in a year, it seemed as if they were on the precipice of peace. A truce had been called as the two sides waited to sit down for a parley, a parley which was set to happen in a day.
Carriages arrived for them, led by none other than one of their brothers in white, Ser Jamie, who led two dozen guards as Arthur and his other two brothers-in-arms stepped down.
"Ser Jamie," all three of them greeted the young knight in white as Lord Commander Ser Gerold stepped forward.
"Lord Commander, the King has sent me to escort you and Lady Lyanna to the capital post haste," Ser Jamie told him as Ser Gerold nodded and let the guards escort Lady Lyanna to the carriage arranged for her as all three of them were given horses.
"So, it is true," Ser Gerold questioned, and Ser Jamie nodded as they rode through the streets of Kingslanding and watched as the city prepared for war. Smiths were everywhere working metal, along with young men drilling under the command of some soldiers. Arthur didn't miss how some of them appeared foreign to him in their origins.
Ser Gerold and Ser Jamie talked in a hushed voice as they rode through the city. No questions were asked about the demise of King Aerys, for none wished to know how it had all transpired.
"Who are those men?" Ser Oswell Whent questioned.
"These are King Daemon's men. They came with him from across the Narrow Sea," was the answer as they neared the walls of the Red Keep, and Arthur saw the same men drilling levies as they rode past them. His eyes finally landed on the person of the hour.
There he stood at the castle doors surrounded by half a dozen men, his face was covered by a steel mask, and a piece of white cloth covered his head, falling behind him as a pair of amethyst eyes looked on at them through small slits.
Eyes he would never forget.
"Daemon," he gasped out as they all unmounted from their horses. Ser Gerold and Ser Whent recognized him as well if the shift in their expression was anything to go by.
All three of them stepped forward and knelt down infront of their new King as Daemon looked beyond them.
"Settle down, Lady Lyanna, in the room," he ordered as the servants rushed the carriage past them, and then those eyes landed on them once again.
"It's time we had a talk."
.
.
.
The general rebuke by Daemon had been a sight. He had torn into all three of them for the part they had played in enabling Rhaegar and causing this whole rebellion, yet the Kingsgaurd's oaths were for life. And a Kangsguard didn't judge.
And now, with all of his other brethren gone, he alone remained in his solar sitting opposite to him, thousand questions and thoughts lingering in his mind as he looked on at the bot who had been a brother to him once.
"How?" the words slipped out of his mouth, his intellect unable to reason the question in any better form.
"Through a lot of pain," came the answer after moments of silence as Daemon looked towards him through his mask.
"The Mask?"
"You wouldn't want to look underneath," he answered sharply. Arthur nodded as he leaned back.
"Elia is wroth with all of you, especially you," he told him, and Arthur's mood was further dampened by those words.
"She should be," for there was no excuse for their actions. They should have done something to prevent this whole war. I should have, but now it was too late for such thoughts.
"What will you do with the Stark girl?" he questioned, recalling Rhaegar's last command.
"I do not know, it will all depend on the parlay tomorrow and how the lords of the rebellion handle the truth of her actions," he told him and given that the lords would never believe the words of Daemon, the only way to convince them of the truth was to have the Stark girl herself write it.
"That would be quite cruel to her," Arthur offered, and Daemon shrugged. His eyes didn't dim at that. They would have a long time ago, yet he could tell the Daemon who sat opposite to him was not the young man he had known. The horrors he had endured and the life he had lived had changed him, and he did not know if it was all for the better.
"It may be, but it is the only way we can end this whole thing," Daemon commented as he stood up.
"There is much to do. We shall talk later."
0000
LYANNA STARK
Lyanna Stark found herself in the capital, a place she had once wished to visit. Yet as she looked at the red walls that rose around her, all she could feel was fear—fear and self-loathing. These were the Halls in which Brandon and his father had been burnt by the Mad King—burnt as a Prince once had been. And it was all her fault.
Had she not participated in that tourney as a mystery knight, had she not humiliated the King, had she not run away with Prince Rhaegar, all of this would have been avoided. Thousands of people wouldn't have died. Her father wouldn't have died. Her brother wouldn't have died.
Even now, a war was being fought around her. A war which had begun with her own foolishness.
Her tears had long run dry as she lay in her bed, barely alive. The doors to her room opened, and she heard someone enter. He was different than his brother, Rhaegar. Rhaegar was leaned, softer, and much gentler, yet his brother was different.
She couldn't compare their faces, for steel covered his face. He was a little shorter than Rhaegar, yet broader, and carried with him an air that reminded her of her own father.
"Lady Lyanna," he called out her name, and it carried with it neither the love of Rhaegar nor the indulgence of Brandon as he walked up to her, placed a wooden stool beside her bed, and sat down.
"I am..."
"I know who you are," she cut in her voice weak and parched as she looked towards him.
"You are Daemon Targaryen," she spoke, and he nodded.
"I am," she was his hostage. A glorified hostage.
"What will become of me?" she questioned.
"I do not know," he answered as he placed some parchment and a quill on the table beside her bed.
"I am to meet with your brother tomorrow, Eddard." He spoke, and the words cut through her as she was reminded of just what she had begun.
"I will not lie," she replied, in a display of courage she had long thought dead as she looked him in the eye, and he did not rage and gave a simple nod.
"I do not ask you to. However, I will need you to write the truth," he said, and her heart sank at those words.
"All of it."
0000
JON ARRYN
Getting Robert to agree to the parley had been a monumental task. One which they had been able to accomplish after many nights of fights and arguments. And so the letters were sent, missives exchanged, terms set all leading to this day.
He watched as the Prince rode into the venue with his retinue, fifty armed men, and three councillors. However, it seemed that the Prince had not brought any councillor, though he was accompanied by Lord Kevan Lannister, the man stayed behind as the King walked towards them with the commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold.
His appearance was as his 'friends' in the city had described. He wore a steel mask that covered much of his face with a white cloth draped across the other parts of his face, so the only thing one could see of his face were his eyes through the slits made in the mask.
He wore little armour and was dressed in a simple black. He saw Ser Gerold take a piece of the bread and bite into it as per ceremony. Robert was growling in rage beside him, yet thankfully, it had not gotten beyond growling.
The Prince walked up to him, and he didn't miss how his retinue had carried several wooden caskets with them. His heart pained as he realized just what they might be.
"Greetings," he said, and Daemon Targaryen nodded along.
"Greetings to you as well, Lord Arryn," he said as all of them sat down once more.
The location of the parley was a little clearing beyond Harrenhall near God's Eye. And all the arrangements had been made by the Lady of Harrenhall and the Lord of Maidenpool.
"First of all, I would like to apologize for the actions of my father, King Aerys, and the injustice he did to Lord Stark, his heir, and their whole retinue. Their remains are inside those caskets and have been tended to by the Silent Sisters," he began, and Jon did not miss how the Daemon had not mentioned his brother's crimes alongside her fathers, and that felt somewhat deliberate.
"They are yours, regardless of the outcome of this parley," he finished, and Jon nodded.
'Thank you..."
"And what of your brother's crimes!" Robert's voice boomed from the side as Jon sighed.
"Where is Lyanna? Where is my wife!" Robert roared, shaking the table from his strike. He saw Ser Gerold reach for his blade, but Daemon stopped him with a raise of his hand, and his eyes narrowed towards Robert.
"You have no right to demand anything of me! This is a parley, one which you proposed," the Prince said in a chilling voice as he admonished Robert. Robert was about to retort, but Jon decided to cut in.
"Enough, Robert!" he said, and the Lord of Storm's End halted his retort at his words as Ned tried to calm him down.
"I thank you for the gesture, my Prince.."
"Your grace," the Prince's voice cut in sharply.
"I am the King, and you shall address me as such," the Pr..the King cut in, and Jon had hoped that such a thing would have been avoided, yet he nodded nonetheless.
"I shall have the remains of Prince Rhaegar and those who fought alongside him sent to you as well," and the King nodded.
"Your gesture is appreciated," the King said as he leaned forward.
"Now, Lord Arryn, you were the one who called this parley. Tell me what you propose," the King said. Jon took the proposal they had prepared and handed it to the Prince.
It was simple. To end the war, a Great Council would be called to decide on the succession, as it had been various times throughout history. All claimants would be heard, and the whole conflict would be resolved without any more bloodshed and kin slaying.
"A Great Council," the King scoffed as he put down the missive. Arryn waited for the response, and the King shook his head.
"I am afraid that it is too late for that," the King said scathingly, and his tone told Jon that the King was not keen on the offer.
"This would end the war, your grace. The realm has bled enough, and autumn has already come. If the war is to continue and more lives are lost, the whole realm shall suffer," he pleaded, and the Prince leaned back.
"Didn't you and the other lords reject a similar proposal many times when Rhaegar made it to you over all these years?" the Prince said scathingly. He saw Eddard and Robert frown at those words, their gaze turning towards him.
He had hoped that the Prince would be unaware of this, yet it seems he was wrong. And it was true, after Duskendale and the subsequent Trial of Fire, Prince Rhaegar had tried to discreetly call for a Council many times. Yet a Grand Council was no small matter, especially not whilst a King ruled on the throne, one as volatile as King Aerys.
The tourney of Harrenhall had been a step in that direction as well, as the Prince had sought to meet them all face to face to plead his case once more so he would replace his father on the throne. Yet the King's arrival had made a few of them go cold feet, and many lords feared the reach of the King's spymaster, the Spider.
They had backed out once more, fearing the Mad King's fiery retribution.
"Calling a council to oust a King while he sits on the throne," the Prince cut in, looking towards him.
"Tell me, how is that any different than what Rhaegar proposed," he questioned, and Jon had little justification.
"You are no King!" Robert roared from the side.
"And your brother was Cur, who stole away my bride! My Lyanna! He was just as mad as your father!" Robert roared, and Jon raised his hand, stopping Robert.
"Though Robert's words are crass, he is right. Your brother's actions after Harrenhall do him little justice; he stole away the bride of a Lord Paramount, starting the chain of events that has led us all to this," Jon accused, and the Prince didn't seem affected by his words.
"Where is my sister, your grace?" Eddard spoke up for the first time since the beginning, and the King's gaze turned towards him.
"I do not speak in support of brother's actions. Though I am afraid we must clear up some facts about who truly led us all to this place," and the Prince reached into his pocket and took out a letter.
Jon did not miss the seal on it, and it was a werewolf. The Stark werewolf.
"I believe I have something for you, Lord Stark," the Prince said as he pushed the missive towards Eddard, who took it after some apprehension and began to read it.
And Jon did not miss how his face paled with every passing second.
"This is a lie!" Eddard roared in rage, though his voice was weak. Very weak, and the Prince shook his head.
"Everything in that missive is the truth, and your sister wrote it all of her own free will. She has not been pressured, I swear on my family's legacy," the Prince said, and he saw Eddard's handshake as Jon spoke up.
"What does it say?" he questioned, and Eddard passed him the missive, and as Jon's eyes skimmed over it, he took a shaky breath as he realized, truly, just how they had all gotten here.
Robert plucked it out of his hands and, before he could stop him, began to read it. He saw his face flush in rage as he read the contents of the letter.
"You all blame Rhaegar and his actions for this rebellion, and they were egregious, no doubt," the Prince began as he looked towards all three of them.
"But it was not his actions alone that led us to this point," the Prince said as Robert's fists balled up and he glared at the Prince in rage.
"Each House, sitting here, had a part to play in this whole ordeal. Each and every one of you."
"Lies!" Robert roared.
"This is a bunch of lies! I will have your head for this!" Robert roared as he tore Lyanna's letter and threw the pieces at the Prince's face.
"You claim to love Lyanna Stark, call her the love of your life, yet how many women have you slept with since the betrothal, Baratheon," the Prince uttered in a taunting tone as he reached into his pocket.
"How many have you slept since this war began?" he continued, putting another missive on the table. Robert's fingers dug into the table's wood, splintering it with his strength as he glared at the Prince.
"Ten, twenty, maybe even more," continued the Prince as he stood up.
"That is a copy of Lyanna Stark's letter, and I brought it suspecting something like this could happen. I will leave it with you, and we shall reconvene in an hour," the Prince said as he began to walk away. Jon realized that maybe calling the parley had not been as good a move as he had thought.
"When we return, I shall make my offer."
0000
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