Chapter 17
Daemon Targaryen was led to one of the largest and most prestigious manses in Meereen, the city Guard keeping a close eye on him as he was led into the Halls of the richest Family in Meereen, the Pahl's. Though its Great Masters ruled Meereen, heads of the slaving families. The truth was that true power lay in the hands of the richest of them, and Pahl's were the richest and also controlled the city guard.
As he entered the Hall, his eyes fell upon Drius Pahl, the Master of the Pahl, and Enias Glare, the head of the second richest family. But it was the third figure, a man he knew all too well, that caught his attention. It was Furha Zhaq, the young master of the Zhaq's, a man whose debt to him could bring ruin upon his entire family.
"Welcome, we have been waiting for you," Drius Pahl began as he rose from his seat and motioned to a seat.
"Why have you called me here?" he ignored the gesture as he stared at the man, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the young master of Zhaq's continued to glare at him.
"Such rudeness, especially to people who are to be your family," he said as he clicked his tongue, his eyes narrowing as he looked into his eyes.
"I believe you have called in your debts from my friend's family, and I need you to forgive those debts," he cut straight to the point.
"And why would I do that?" he questioned with a scoff, and the man smiled.
"Because what are debts between families? You are rich enough. The Zhaq have two daughters, and we offer you a chance to wed into the family and join us in ruling this marvelous city," he offered with a grand gesture as two women from behind stepped forward.
"I am afraid I am not in need of a wife as lovely as the two ladies behind maybe. I would much prefer the gold owed to me," he replied, denying the offer, and saw the man's eyes narrow as Zhaq shouted.
"You bastar..." but Drius Pahl stopped him with a raise of his hand.
"I would implore you to reconsider. There is nothing to be gained by going against us," he threatened, and Daemon met his gaze and saw a frown appear on his features as he looked at his eyes.
"I am not going against you. I only ask for what is owed, nothing more," he answered.
"That would be going against us," he snarled.
Daemon pretended to think about it for a moment before he shrugged.
"Then so be it." He said and saw the City guard close up, about two dozen of them, and his own hand inched towards his blade as Drius Pahl stood up and began to walk towards the balcony, turning away from him.
The guards inched closer, and Daemon's grip over the hilt of his sword, when suddenly the man spoke up.
"Stop," he ordered as he looked out the balcony. The guards halted their movements at his words, making him frown.
He then turned towards him.
"Go and see then what it means to go against the Great Masters of Meereen," he said, and Daemon frowned before his eyes followed the man's gaze, and he saw the rising smoke from several parts of the city.
And then he would run to his fields and watch them engulfed in massive flames, with his own workers tied inside.
0000
TYWIN LANNISTER
The ruler of the Westerlands sat in his solar, contemplating the contents of the missive he had received early in the morning. Lords high and low had received a similar missive all over the realm. The war that had gripped the realm for over a year now had entered its final stages.
What had once seemed a sure victory for the rebel cause had become a contested battle once Prince Daemon Targaryen had made his return, and soon enough, with enough cunning, the young Prince had turned the tables.
With a new alliance with himself, Dorne, and the Reach, he had cornered the Rebel alliance, trapping their army between a naval anvil and a very strong and hungry hammer. He had the Baratheon brothers as hostages, a smart move that would make Rebellion's flag bearer, Robert Baratheon, hesitate while also lowering his appeal for his won castle had fallen, and his own lands were now under the Crown's control.
The Crown was on its way to winning the war without any need for battle. They could choke out the enemy, strategically draining them of their resources before striking a final blow. He had expected the Prince to do the same, yet the Prince had surprised him once more.
"A duel," Genna spoke, surprised as he had been once he had read the missive. That was until he had let his mind contemplate the Crown's reasoning behind this decision.
"Indeed, and it is a smart move. But one that shows the Prince's caution and distrust of his won allies," Tywin elaborated.
Genna thought at his words, setting down the missive. His sister had an astute head on her shoulders, a shame that their father thought Walder Frey was a good enough match for her. An insult that Tywin would never forget.
And so, as soon as he had replaced his father, he had offered her a place in the castle, away from the old and decrypt Lord of the Crossing, only the strategic location of those lands stopping him from calling for the annulment of this farce. And if an opportunity arose, he planned to seat his own kin at the crossing, a valuable asset.
"He wishes to preserve the strength of the rebelling lands as a counter against Dorne, the Reach, and the Lannisters," she was quick to reason it out after his hint, her green eyes glinting, with her golden locks tied down in a simple braid, a simple dress of their House colors draped around.
"Indeed, but still, I believe it to be reckless. He did not even consult his allies over this. It is an insult and overture," he barked as he ground his teeth.
"That it is, but Kevan wrote that the Prince has assured him of a victory, and according to him, from what he has seen of the Prince in the yard, he believes that as well," which was disturbing. Kevan, his younger brother, was a man of duty.
He had seen great knights fight all his life, yet his brother had been awestruck in his words, and he wrote of the Prince as if he wrote of a demon, one who could not be felled. Tywin expected that, and the Prince had assured them of a reasonable reward for their service, of such there were only two.
A Royal Match, the Prince was yet unwed, much like his firstborn Cersei, who had been quite surprised by the return of the Prince. She was the most suitable match for the Royal Prince of all the ladies yet unwed. Other than that, there was the issue of his heir, a topic that had come up during their parley as well.
Jamie was his heir, the proper heir. Yet he wore around him the white cloak of the Kingsgaurd. A duty for life. His other son was not suited for his seat, so he needed Jamie back in his lands, a feat which was only possible through the Crown's acceptance.
During their parley, he had brought it up discreetly, of course, and had been assured that the Crown would reward loyalty appropriately, and he had thought that the subsequent services rendered by his House in the war would be enough to make a bargain.
Yet now, the whole war had been reduced to a simple duel that Kevan believed had already been won. He had also been assured that one of the two would become a reality after this whole affair.
"Is Cersei ready?" he asked, and Genna nodded.
"Preparations have been made; we will depart by the evening," she assured him, and that was good.
"Will you not join us," and he shook his head.
"No, that is why I am sending you. I must make preparations if this coin toss lands on the other side."
0000
ELIA MARTELL
The dreaded day of the duel arrived, and despite everything she had seen with her own eyes, a certain nervousness thrummed around her as the hundreds of lords and ladies gathered at the accursed castle of Harrenhall.
It was the only castle big enough to accommodate everyone and had been declared as neutral grounds for the affair to take place. Ironically, it was also the place where it all began.
"I still do not like it," Obery insisted from the side as he led her through the crowd towards the vaunted place where the duel was set to take place.
"Putting all of this in one person's hands. It does not sit right with me," Oberyn elaborated as they made their way to the Royal booth.
"I have no problem with it," she replied sharply, still not forgetting how Dorne had withheld full support from Rhaegar despite her being held hostage. It was an overture that could have had devastating results for her.
"You trust him too much," Obery chided her, and she gave him a sharp glance.
"If you knew him as much as I do, you would do the same," she answered, and he reeled back as she sat down in the Royal booth, a nostalgic feeling erupting through her as she found herself looking at the place where this whole disaster had begun.
"It is somewhat poetic," Obery added, and she nodded.
"That it is," she agreed.
"I saw Baratheon spar with a dozen men yesterday. He fought Blackfish and his friend Eddard," he began as he wet his lips.
"He wields that Warhammer as a beacon of destruction. I saw him shatter shields and break full-plated armor with a single strike. And despite his size, he moved with the agility of a stag, much like his sigil. Even I would fear to face a man as such in battle," he praised the Baratheon lord who entered the grounds alongside Lord Arryn and Stark.
Baratheon was beaming, filled with energy as he laughed and japed with men. He was clad in full plate, and his squire was carrying a helm fashioned with stag horns behind him.
This man had killed Rhaegar. She thought. Slain him in a single battle, and she could see why. She had seen him fight in the tourney before, and Robert Baratheon was a menace. His size and agility set him apart.
Yet Daemon was not Rhaegar.
And he would fall.
"You should," she replied to Oberyn, who perked up at her words.
"Yet it shall all be futile. He will lose. I would stake my life on it."
"In a way, you already have," Oberyn added.
"We all have."
"I believe we have a new Royal Princess," he questioned after some silence as the booths were filled, and she did not miss how the booth to their left was occupied by none other than House Lannister and seated Cersei Lannister herself.
Lord Lannister's daughter had ridden from Casterly Rock, much like the hundreds of young, unwed ladies with a single intention of trying to bed the winner of this fight to secure their House.
"We do," the child had come after a troubling labor, with Daemon riding through the night to make it back to the capital just for his mother. The Queen had held firm and given birth to a healthy girl, yet it would take a toll on her, and her condition was precarious still, as she fought with death every day.
"Daenerys, Daenerys Targaryen," she told him the name.
"Daenerys Targaryen, an interesting name."
0000
EDDARD STARK
The time for words was over. Lord Tully had raved about their decision of putting all our faiths into a single duel, yet his words were futile for he was wedded to their cause, and despite his anger anger, rage and frustrations could do little to separate himself from them.
And it was his shores that lay wide open for an attack, with the Royal Navy surrounding his harbors, ready to pounce. And all that had led to this day as the lords gathered once more at Harrenhall for a duel that would shape the future of the Continent.
He did not know what awaited him after this duel, for despite their various attempts, the Prince had remained tight-lipped about the fate that awaited them in case of his triumph. Only a few assurances had been made by both sides regarding the safety of the families, Robert had been assured of safety of his brothers as had the King been of the safety of his own family.
The rest hung in the balance.
The gathering was smaller than it had been a year ago, though many lords were present to witness this momentous day. Robert stepped into the ground, his armor glistened in the Sun as he waved his Warhammer in the air swinging it like a piece of stick, a display of strength as the allies cheered him.
He was always fond of showmanship. Eddard had faced Robert in spars for days; his muscles were sore from all the fighting as they sought to prepare him for the fight best. He, Jon, and even Blackfish had joined in, helping the Lord of Storm's End prepare for this.
The King entered the grounds from the other side, and there was a cheer from him, yet smaller, for the Prince made no overtures as he walked ahead. Clad in black, charred armor, with his own sigil inscribed into the chest plate, he wore no helm apart from the usual steel mask that covered his face. The armor was a lighter set aimed at preserving its wearer's speed rather than providing much protection.
The crowd's thrum died down as the two men stared at one another fifteen paces apart, and it felt as if it dawned on the crowd that this was not a tourney battle. This was a battle to the death.
Eddard's heart raced as Jon Arryn stepped forward. Just as Lord Velaryon did so for the Prince, an exchange of terms was done, as the subjective 'Hands' of the two, King Daemon and Robert Baratheon, exchanged terms.
Jon walked back to him as he stood beside Ser Brynden Tully, the infamous Blackfish.
Then the King took out his blade as Robert picked up his Warhammer, and the drums of war began to beat. The Prince's eyes gleamed from behind his mask, and Robert narrowed his gaze at the Prince.
And then it happened, with a massive shout the battle began as Robert rushed towards the Prince, as his own heart skipped a beat.
"AHHHHH!" he shouted as he rushed towards the Prince and parried his strike with his shield before he swung his Warhammer from under him in a mighty swing, only for it to hit nothing but air.
0000
Read ahead and support me on Patre 0n. Help me write this and other such stories, by becoming a Patr 0n. It would be pretty cool of you
www.Patre 0n.com/Drkest
Have an awesome day!