Chapter 19
Two months had passed since the Great Burning of Meereen, where several manses and fields in the city had been burnt by what was declared a Dothraki raid. A lie yet one written by those in power, and so few could challenge their word.
The Dothraki had come indeed, more accurately they had been led to many manses and fields, with both getting burnt and looted, their occupants either taken away as slaves or pushed into the very flames that raged around them. Thousands had died, and nearly the same number had been taken away.
It was a loss for Meereen as a whole, yet in one of the more affluent manses in the city, the young master of the Zhaq family celebrated with the other rich sons and daughters of the city's ruling families.
"None have seen a glimpse of the man in the mask, some believe he was burnt as he tried to rescue the slaves from the fire, others say that he went chasing after the Dothraki," Furha Zhaq announced in a joyous mood, a contrast from the sombreness from a week ago.
"Good riddance, it is good that we are finally rod that scourge. He was beginning to give the slaves some bolder ideas," one of the distant cousins of the family spoke.
"Yes, this should get them back in line. Still, I cannot believe the idiot denied an offer to join the family," one of the other people related to him.
"He was delusional," he added, drunk and disoriented as the slaves danced around him.
"He thought he could overthrow us, beat us. US! The rulers of MEEREEN!" he shouted in a drunken pride, his words slurring as he recalled those amethyst eyes looking at him like an insignificant bug.
Now, he was gone. Ashes and bones, for he had not learned his place and had tried to reach beyond his means.
"LET ME RAISE A GLASS!" he slurred as he picked up a goblet, as others cheered him on, many of them the very people who had skirted away their gazes when he had been in trouble.
"TO THE DAMNED MONSTER WITH THE MASK...." and the roar was deafening as the music flowed, and slaves danced all around, some languished in the pleasures of the flesh being offered, from Lyseni whores, to Pentoshi singers, there was variety enough to satisfy anyone and everyone.
Lost in such pleasure, he missed the screams of the guards until a few of them rushed in through the closed gates.
"MY LORD...." but before they could get more out, they were struck down as well as screams and shrieks filled the massive Hall. The sight of blood sent the celebrating lords and ladies screaming, as a small group of men entered the Hall.
The drunkenness had been wiped away from him by the sight of blood, and the young master of the Zhaq family tried to cover himself up as he roared.
"Who DARESS TO DEFILE THESE HALL...." but his words stopped as he saw an all too familiar face enter the Hall, clad in black armor and a steel mask over his face. It was him again, the Liberator, and as he felt those eyes land on him.
"YOU!" he shrieked in rage as two dozen men wearing the same masks began to slaughter all the guards and spill away all the wine and the oils.
"YOU LIVE," he uttered in a daze, recognizing that stature, that mask, and those amethyst eyes. The very eyes that had brought him and his House to near desolation. He had thought this chapter ended, yet it seemed it was not quite over yet.
"HAVE YOU NOT LEARNT YOUR LESSON? LET US GO!" he shouted as he tried to rush towards the man, taking out the dagger from his pocket to attack him.
"ARGH!" but the man broke his hands as he pinned him to the ground with his leg.
"Now all of you are quite fond of burning people, right?" the liberator in the mask began as he saw flames flare up. The man took out his sword and closed the gates, and the others left.
THUNK!
"Now let us see how you like the heat yourself!" and he put down his blade, pushing it into the ground as shrieks filled the room. Many tried to attack the man, yet he would slaughter them all with a swing of his blades. Others would try and jump out of the windows only to be slaughtered by men standing down.
In all this, Furhaq Zhaq would remain pushed to the ground, watching his manse burn, and his peers get slaughtered until only he remained.
All the people that had gathered, sons and daughters of the Ruling families, were now dead, many by fire, most by this man's blade as the masked man crouched down, as Zhaq glared at him hatefully.
"Do you know what fire does to a man?" he spoke as he titled his head, before reaching for his mask.
"Let me show you!"
And then, even before the fire had touched him, his screams would fill the Manse, and they would be the last sound to come out of the manse.
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RHAELLA TARGARYEN
Rhaella Targaryen had thought she would never wake up again where her labors had begun. She had lost many a child to the birthing bed, yet this would be the last time she would give birth, and so she would struggle, use every ounce of strength in her to bring into the world a little girl.
Yet she would feel her consciousness slip from her again, with barely enough strength she would use her last breath to name the child. Daenerys a name from the histories.
As the darkness took her, she prayed, not to the gods but to anyone who would listen to her son. For Daemon.
Yet she would wake again, a miracle according to the Grandmaester, for many had thought her life ended when she had lost consciousness. Yet she would wake again days later, weak, tired, but alive.
And to a new world. To a rejoicing castle, as the Rebellion that nearly pushed the Targaryen dynasty to extinction came to an end with the House of the Dragon emerging victorious, defying the odds.
And now he rode back to the capital with his armies and the prisoners as the Rebellion forces laid down their arms, their figurehead dead, slain in single combat, their lands besieged by the Royal forces.
The war was over, and now, only the consequences remained to be dolled out, yet that all would come later. She found herself sitting across a desolate girl, a girl whose life had been ruined by her own son.
Lyanna Stark gave birth to a young boy with brown hair and grey eyes, the characteristic Stark features, yet his face was not that of a Stark. No, it was all Rhaegar, even if his other features were not.
The young girl herself was pale and desolate, eyes sunken, with thin arms, alive yet dead in all but breath.
"Why don't they let me kill myself?" she pleaded, and it broke her seeing a young girl like this, more so because a part of her felt responsible for putting her in this condition.
"I caused this!" she rambled on, reminding Rhaella of her own helplessness.
"All of this! The war. The deaths. All of it, I am to blame for all of it, my father, my broth... even Rob....," and she sniffed as her words failed her, and she began to sob.
"All I wanted was to marry for lov...." and it affected her seeing her like this.
"You may believe that you caused this war, but the truth is that you did not," Rhaella spoke, her tone soft and measured as the Stark girl sobbed infront of her.
She should hate the girl, hate her for what she had done. Yet she could not. Rhaella Targaryen had given all her hate to one man, and he was dead now, but she was free from her demons.
"Do not lie to me. This all began with me! ME!" The Stark girl roared in self-rage.
"I do not deserve to live! I caused this war! A war that killed my brother and my father, and now my other brother has lost this war and is a prisoner of the crown! Thousands are dead! All because of me! Let me kill myse..."
The girl looked into her eyes.
"I caused the death of your son. Rhaegar Targaryen died because of me! ME! You should hate me! HATE ME!"
"I do not hate you," Rhaella said softly, interrupting the young girl.
"I am sad at what became of Rhaegar and your father and brother. What happened to them was cruelty, a fate even enemies shall be spared," she said truly and out of her heart.
"Yet you are deluded if you think you caused all this. All this had been building up for years, years, you, my dear," she spoke as she looked her in the eye.
"You were just unfortunate enough to trigger this whole thing." She consoled her with half-truths, for she did not wish to see her die. There had been enough death already.
"You made a mistake, and you have suffered for it, and I will not lie to you, but you will suffer more, suffer for years more. Yet you must live, struggle," as she had.
"If not for yourself, then for the life you have brought into this world," she said as she looked at the child sleeping beside the girl.
"Why?"
"Because that is what a mother must do. What a child deserves," and she saw the young girl look to her side at the babe before breaking out into sobs, and Rhaella saw a reflection of herself in her.
Their circumstances were different yet still alike.
"Do not lose heart," she added as she held her hand.
"I know that you were wronged in all this, and so does Daemon. I shall try and speak up on your and your family's behalf," she assured her and saw her nod.
"Thank you," she replied through sobs.
And as she was about to be wheeled away, she spoke.
"The lords were right to rebel, especially the North," she began as she looked at the Girl.
"Their true crime is..."
"....that they did it too late."
0000
JON ARRYN
The war was over. Robert Baratheon was dead, his skull crushed by his own Warhammer. With his death, the rebellion had come to an end, and their fates sealed as they were forced to bend their knees to the House Targaryen once more, leaving their eventual fates to the better sense and mercy of King Daemon Targaryen.
Many had tried to wiggle their way out of the afore-signed agreement, especially a few Lords from the Riverlands, yet the Crown had been firm in its grip as its armies had landed and surrounded the Riverlands, laying nearly the whole area under siege.
The North and the Vale had heeded the calls of their liege lords and had surrendered their arms, honoring their pledge, even though many had done so reluctantly, yet after a year of fighting, many had been relieved by the end of hostilities.
The continent's landscape had shifted greatly since the start of the war. There was no more King Aerys, or Prince Rhaegar. The Targaryen family is on the brink of extinction had been revived with young blood. He could feel the shift in times, as he was brought once more to the throne room, alongside the rest of the leaders of the rebellion, chained not chained, yet surrounded by armed men, as the whole court waited for their sentencing.
Queen Rhaella and Elia Martell were present as well and stood along the Tyrells and the Lannisters, and he expected the former to be rewarded quite handsomely for their service to the Crown.
Of course, the Lannisters would desire a reward as well, and he could already tell that they were eying the seat besides the King, for Tywin Lannister had sent his own daughter Lady Cersei to the capital for this purpose, the Jewel of the West, Cersei Lannister was the most striking woman at court, and he could see her eyeing the King as he sat on the monstrosity that was the Iron Throne.
King Daemon wore Maegor's crown as he looked down at them from the throne made of metal steel.
"Bring forth the prisoners," the King announced as all four of them were pushed forward, Stannis replacing his lord and brother.
"Lord Stannis," the king announced, and Robert's younger brother stepped forth.
"House Baratheon began with Orys Baratheon a man my ancestors called a brother, for years House Baratheon stood side by side with the Iron Throne and kept faith, yet your brother broke that faith, spitting on my House's generosity and indulgence, proclaiming himself King, and you stood by him. What have you to say for yourself?" the King asked and he saw the young Stannis hesitate before he spoke up.
"I did as a second son should and followed my brother. As a son of House Baratheon, I know of my vows to the throne, yet there are more ancient laws that a younger brother must follow the elder, that no man must eye another man's betr..."
"Utter another word, and I shall have your tongue!" King Daemon roared as the young Lord Stannis reeled back.
"You speak of matters you do not understand, Baratheon!" the King roared.
"I see...," but Jon decided that it was enough.
"I apologize on behalf of the young lord Baratheon," he spoke as he stepped forward, eyeing Robert's younger brother as he shook his head, halting him from speaking anymore over this matter.
"He is young and has lost his lord and brother. I beg the King to show mercy," he said as he lowered his head. It was what he could do for Robert.
"I apologize for my words, your grace," Stannis followed his advice and knelt down as well.
"For the hundreds of years, House Baratheon kept the faith, and for the friendship shared between our sires, I offer you, Stannis Baratheon, a chance to take the Black for your part in the rebellion. Renly Baratheon shall squire for me and would assume the lordship of Storms End and guard our Eastern shores as his forefathers have until his death," it was a lighter sentence than he had hoped.
"I am thankful...."
"I am not finished," the King roared, cutting off Stannis as he felt those amethyst eyes land on him as a chill ran down his spine.
"The Stormlands rose with Robert Baratheon, breaking their oaths to the crown, and they shall pay restitution and shall pay the Crown double of what it is owed for ten years, and subsequently Haystack Hall and the lands leading up to it shall be stripped from the Stormlands and join the Crownlands." The whole court became quiet at that.
And then there was an uproar.
"This is pre..."
"CHOOSE YOUR WORDS WISELY!" the King roared as the guards all struck the ground with the tails of the spear, making the whole throne room shake as the King shouted.
"YOU ROSE AGAINST THE CROWN. BROKE YOUR OATHS. NAMED A NEW KING. FEEL GRATEFUL THAT I HAVE NOT PUT ALL YOUR HEADS ON PIKES! THE LANDS YOU KEEP, THE SONS YOU HAVE, YOU HAVE BECAUSE OF MY MERCY." He roared, and Jon saw the Lord of the Riverlands splutter, for much like the Stormlands, the Riverlands bordered the Crownlands.
"Hostages and assurances will be sought from the rest of the houses who participated in this farce, and they shall not be harmed as long as you keep to your vows. Vows that I shall have right now," the King ordered, and the lords from the storm lands were pushed forth. Though they glared at the King, they knew they had no choice as they began to kneel down one by one, as they renewed their vows.
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