Chapter 91: Interlude: Fyre VINotes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Visenya and Rhaella,
Warrior and Lady,
Daemon Hundred-Eyes,
Youngest and most deadly."
-Sixth and final verse in song 'The Dragonseeds'
114 AC, Red Keep,
"King Viserys is dead!"
It had not even been an hour since the King Viserys was discovered dead in his quarters by his potboy, but already a small army of criers had been mobilised to inform the denizens of the city. They stood at every square and street corner, announcing the royal succession to anyone whom had ears.
"May he Rest In Peace!"
The very same Silent Sisters whom had been called to see to the Queen's corpse barely had any time to rest before they were once more called upon to see to that of her husband.
"All hail King Rhaenyra Targaryen!"
An emergency session of the royal court had been called, later that day. King Rhaenyra would be addressing the recent deaths in the family, announcing the funerary plans as well as those of her own coronation.
A coronation that was a mere formality anyway.
Everyone and their mother knew that Rhaenyra had been the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms for the last half a decade, perhaps ever since old Jaehaerys croaked. Viserys was little more than a glorified puppet while his daughter reigned in all but name.
The former Crown Prince was highly popular with the smallfolk for her many improvements to their quality of life, had broad support from over half the nobility and held King's Landing and the Red Keep. Rhaenyra controlled the lion's share of the dragons, could call on two of the continent's three greatest naval armadas and commanded the first professional army Westeros had ever seen.
Coups had succeeded on less than a fifth of the support Rhaenyra had behind her.
And yet…
Rhaella was milling among the assembled nobility and officials that made up the Royal Court, under veil of illusion as a common serving girl. And there was a distinct taste of uncertainty and fear in the air.
Lords and ladies clumped up in small circles, whispering furiously amongst themselves.
Relief.
Admiration.
Loyalty.
Honour.
Pride.
Envy.
Wrath.
Lust.
All of these, and more, swirled around the throne room like ingredients in a bowl of stew.
The royal court was unnerved by the sudden deaths of both King and Queen, and though Rhaenyra was respected, many of the Lords and Ladies were still leery at the prospect of serving under a woman. They would kneel though, for only the mad or fools would stand against Rhaenyra's armada of dragons.
And everyone knew that the Dragonqueen was not above committing a bloody purge if she deemed it necessary.
The doors to the grand throne room opened, and the brewing storm was aborted as suddenly as a match lit.
A deafening silence spread as whispers stilled and the crowd parted like the sea before the lady of the hour.
Though now an orphan, Rhaenyra Targaryen wasn't dressed to mourn. Instead, she was dressed in something fit for the ballroom or some other form of celebration. The former Heir to the Iron Throne wore a flamboyant and billowy outfit of red, orange and yellow silk. Her every movement set the dress to rippling, making it look as though she was clad in flickering flame itself.
The Dragonqueen had dispensed with most of her default regalia, bearing not the slim coronet she wore as Crown Prince, the golden brooch of the Hand of the King or her usual Maester's chain. Even Dark Sister was gone.
And why not? King Rhaenyra no longer needed such artefacts to command authority.
As the Dragonqueen walked alone down the middle of the court, Rhaella quietly slipped back into the pack of royal family members assembled on the dais the Iron Throne rested upon.
Rhaenyra stopped at the foot to the throne, staring up at the titanic behemoth of scorched metal for a single contemplative and reverent moment, before beginning her ascent. Climbing atop the bent and broken blades of fools whom had once thought the House Targaryen mere mortals.
A heartbeat later, and Rhaenyra had reached the summit of the throne.
As the former Hand of the King, this was hardly the first time Rhaenyra had sat the Iron Throne, but this was the first time she would be doing it as King in her own right.
As soon as Rhaenyra sat atop the seat, it felt like the entire court had let out a breath as one.
"All kneel before King Rhaenyra I Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." The court herald proclaimed.
———
Naturally, things went to shit almost immediately.
The herald had barely spoken those few words, when the doors to the Throne Room opened once more. Dozens of fully armoured men entered the throne room in full parade march. Four ruler-straight rows of steel-clad soldiers, their feet landing on the group as one crisp sound. They all bore the same livery, with green cloaks streaming proudly down their backs.
And at the front, four men marched.
Knights, all of them. Knights of the Kingsguard, specifically.
Ser Gwayne Hightower, Ser Lorent Marbrand, Ser Willas Fell and Ser Donald Flowers.
Ripples spread through the crowd as the armed soldiers approached, the entire court backing away as one to the edges of the room like a single living creature, shying away from a blow.
Visenya moved to draw her sword. She wasn't the only one— the Redfort siblings looked fit to murder the other four members of their sworn brotherhood—but they all returned their blades to their scabbard when the new King of the Seven Kingdoms raised a hand to halt her loyalists.
"Ser Gwayne Hightower." Rhaenyra greeted, drumming her fingers on the armrest of the Iron Throne. "I take it the Silent Sisters are done with their work?"
She got no reply from the horde of Hightower guardsmen, whom stood ramrod-straight like statues, eyes all glaring out at the King.
"I must say, you are here earlier than expected."
As one, all four knights of the Kingsguard drew their swords, as did the entire battalion of Green soldiers following them. Most wore the tower-shaped helmets of House Hightower, but Visenya could pick out the livery of half a dozen Green houses amongst the crowd. Ser Gwayne must have assembled his sister the Queen's royal guardsmen and every other Green soldier and sellsword in the capital for this stunt.
"In the name of the Seven Kingdoms, you are under arrest, Princess Rhaenyra." Ser Gwayne called out.
"Are you threatening me, Ser knight?"
"The King will decide your fate."
"I am the King."
"Not yet."
In utter silence, Rhaenyra rose to her feet. A twitch of her fingers, and Dark Sister slapped itself into her palm. Telekinetically called from wherever it had been.
It was telling of just how suffocating the tension was in the throne room that none of the royal court even so much as commented on Rhaenyra's open display of magic.
"It's treason then." She growled, drawing the fabled sword of Queen Visenya.
She brought the sword down, and a great pressure descended onto all of the rebelling soldiers. Daenys yelped and immediately threw up a shield, which was the only thing that protected the rest of the court.
With cries of shock and pain, all of the steel-clad men crumpled to the ground as the marble floor beneath their feet was turned into a ridiculously overpowered electromagnet.
Screams erupted as the shock finally broke, half the court falling to their knees in prayer or making religious gestures to ward off sorcery, while the other half outright broke ranks and tried to run, only for Rhaenyra to wave her hand, every single exit out of the room slamming shut and boarding themselves with wards.
"I thought she was supposed to be pretending we couldn't do magic?!" Visenya yelped.
"I guess that now she's King, Nyra thinks herself powerful enough not to care." Rhaella gulped, as Rhaenyra slowly descended the sharp iron steps of the Throne, magic wafting off her like red steam. So much so that it visible to the naked eye, making it appear as though the Dragonqueen was wreathed in flames.
"Do not worry, I shall not kill you four." Rhaenyra reassured, patting Ser Gwayne's shoulder almost lovingly as she walked right past the four knights, unaffected by her own spell.
She stood before the remaining Hightower guardsmen, all stuck to the floor, unable to even rise.
"You lot on the other hand, I have no use for." The Dragonqueen declared, and it had the ring of a judge handing down the death penalty.
She brought down a hand. There was a great flash and by the time people in the throne room had regained their sight, the guardsmen were gone.
Clothes deflated without bodies within them to hold them up. Empty helmets and gauntlets rolled pitifully as the electromagnetic field was released.
Nothing was left of the guardsmen.
Only the smallest smidgeons of dust and ash within scorched armour, each sitting in their own pile within a circle of flash-scorched ground.
Those paltry remnants were all that was left of the forty guardsman. Erased so thoroughly from the mortal plane with a wave of Rhaenyra's hand that one could scoop all of their remains into a single coffin and still have room left over.
Ser Lorent Marbrand was the fastest to recover.
While the rest of his compatriots stared in complete shock at the sheer carnage, the Westerlands Kingsguard took advantage of Rhaenyra releasing her electromagnetic trap to strike out at the King.
His sword halted an inch from Rhaenyra's neck.
The Dragonqueen lazily turned around, indigo eyes glinting with vicious amusement.
"Did you really think that would work?" Rhaenyra smirked, as Ser Lorent screamed with all his might, trying and failing to wrest his sword free. A physical impossibility, Visenya knew.
After all, Rhaenyra had frozen the sword in time. It was now trapped there, like a fly in honey. Unable to move or fall until Rhaenyra released the spell. An inviolable unmovable object.
With great battlecries, the remaining three moved to strike.
And like Ser Lorent, their blades were all halted before they could strike Rhaenyra. Frozen in time as well.
Ser Gwayne was the quickest to realise the futility of trying to wrest their swords free. Releasing his grip, he snatched up a discarded spear from the floor, immediately thrusting out at Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra sighed, casually gathering magic in her left hand.
The speartip struck Rhaenyra's palm, and immediately disintegrated. Reduced to it's constituent atoms by Rhaenyra's patented Electron Cutter.
All that was left of the once seven-foot long spear was a tiny wooden baton.
Ser Wilas tried to strike Rhaenyra from behind, hoping to catch her off guard, but the the borrowed sword immediately got timelocked before it could harm Rhaenyra.
"We can't hurt her." Ser Willas said, backing away warily to join his brothers.
"No shit." Ser Lorent grunted.
"Anyone have any ideas?" Ser Gwayne asked. "I'm open to suggestions."
"Is it too late to surrender?" Ser Donald tried. "Because I'm starting to think that I might be on the wrong side."
He died a heartbeat later, Ser Gwayne ripping his dirk out of his sworn brother's neck.
"Coward." He muttered in disgust.
"You forgot idiot and craven." Rhaenyra japed.
"Why did we hire him again?" Ser Lorent asked.
"Because Alicent prioritised loyalty over skill, and picked that nincompoop as Ser Steffon Darklyn's replacement on the Kingsguard." Rhaenyra dryly explained.
"Well nincompoop or no, we shouldn't have killed him." Ser Willas complained. "Now there's only three of us."
"I'm willing to accept surrender." Rhaenyra offered.
Ser Gwayne killed that offer when he tried to stab Rhaenyra in the face, the Electron Cutter casually disintegrating the steel sword down to the hilt.
The Dragonqueen's fingers twitched, and all three Kingsguard immediately rose into the air, grasping at their throats as Rhaenyra telekinetically choked them.
"Ah well, death sentence it is." Rhaenyra sighed. "I, King Rhaenyra I Targaryen, do hearby sentence you three to death."
She released the three knights, letting them and their unfrozen swords clatter to the ground in a heap.
"Your method of execution… hmm, let's see… ah. That would do." Mind made up, Rhaenyra nodded, turning to face the assembled Dragonseeds, watching quietly in the corner.
Dark Sister was thrust into the floor, before the three recovering Kingsguard.
"Daemon." Rhaenyra called, gesturing at the famed blade of Queen Visenya. "Earn your birthright."
The Dragonqueen teleported, reappearing atop the Iron Throne as nine-year-old Daemon Fyre stepped up.
"With pleasure." Visenya's youngest brother grinned, his magic rippling out and generating a hundred invisible eyes all around him. The nine-year-old drew knives in his hands.
Paltry things little more than butter knives. Held by a small boy in a simple cotton tunic and pants.
He faced down three of the deadliest warriors on the continent, armoured head-to-toe in castle-forged steel and armed with swords almost as long as Daemon was tall.
It was hardly a fair fight.
As she watched the four duellists, an image came to Visenya's mind. One of a mother teaching her baby how to play Cyvasse, occasionally scolding the child for gnawing on the pieces.
Daemon danced around the three traitor Kingsguard, the small boy moving with unnatural grace. It wasn't just his omnidirectional vision and reflex boosters at work, but something else…
Blows missed the Youngest Dragonseed by less than a tenth of an inch. Swords were nudged aside by the lightest taps of Daemon's knives. Half the time, Visenya's bother dodged in such a way that another Kingsguard ate the missed blow.
Ser Willas Fell was the first to fall, Daemon sidestepped his signature counterthrust, the blade sailing past his chin so close it could have been used to shave stubble… had Daemon been old enough to have any.
The knife in Daemon's left hand was thrust through the links in the mail covering Ser Willas' side, sliding into the man's ribs almost daintily. A twist of the knife and a slight kick to the back of the Kingsguard's knee, and down the tall man went. Falling downwards enough for short four-foot-tall boy to be able to reach high enough and plunge his other knife into the man's right eye.
Ser Lorent Marbrand yelled out in rage, throwing knives at Daemon, but the young boy causally snatched the three knives out of the air and threw them back one after the other.
The Kingsguard knight dodged the first, let the second glance off his pauldron harmlessly and parried the third with his sword. Only for the fourth to embed itself into his left eye.
Daemon had thrown his own knife at the white knight, aiming it such that it was hidden right behind the third knife. A variation of Daena's favourite trick of hiding a second arrow in the curve of the first.
Pulling out another pair of knives, Daemon casually twirled them in his hands, the two blades spinning in glittering circles of silver.
"Your move." He grinned, staring down the last of the Green kingsguard.
There was a long beat as Ser Gwayne slowly sheathed his sword, picking up another discarded spear.
"Well, someone is overcompensating for something." Daemon grinned, before moving in to attack.
The spear was the right choice, keeping small Daemon and his even smaller knives further away from Ser Gwayne. But it was an ultimately futile gesture.
Dropping one of his knives, Daemon casually grabbed ahold of the spear. Whirling around, Daemon hooked the spear underneath one armpit, the bent to catch it in the other. He twisted, and the spear was forced right out of Ser Gwayne's grasp.
It didn't matter that the latter was an adult thrice Daemon's size and age, for leverage was in the small boy's favour.
Wrenching the spear out of the white knight's hands, Daemon moved to counterattack. Ser Gwayne drew his sword and struck in the exact same movement, but Daemon ducked beneath the blade. Sliding between the Kingsguard's legs, Daemon rammed his knife into the back of the man's left knee. Backflipping to his feet as the knight fell.
Ser Gwayne struck out, hilt of the sword swinging out like an improvised mace. A last desperate attempt.
Daemon laughed and caught the hilt of the sword, rolling with the blow such that much of the force behind the impact washed harmlessly off him like a river around a rock. Tugging the sword out of Ser Gwayne's hands, Daemon turn his roll into a full spin, smirking as he rammed the blade into the knight's back, piercing right through a weak point in the mail around Ser Gwayne's right shoulder.
Slowly, delicately, Daemon walked across the throne room, over to where Dark Sister awaited, by the foot of the Iron Throne. Visenya's youngest brother reached out and yanked Queen Visenya's famed blade out of the floor.
He walked back over to Ser Gwayne, kneeling and defeated. Unable to rise to his feet or fight any more.
"Any last words?" He asked, raising Dark Sister.
Ser Gwayne moved to speak, only to find the top of his head lopped off. His tongue flapping uselessly in the bottom half of his jaw.
"Yeah, we don't care." Daemon glibly remarked, as the corpse struck the ground.
———
"Where are we going?" Prince Aemond demanded angrily. "You cannot take us away!"
"It's for your own good." Rhaella insisted. "You will all be safe on Dragonstone."
"Safe?!" Prince Aegon shouted. "Father is dead! Mother is dead! Uncle Gwayne is dead! How do we know we're not next?"
"Wait six-and-ten years. Then it will be your turn." Princess Helaena serenely said. Eyes somewhat glazed as she observed the massive millipede in her hand. "It will be a lot sooner for this one, I think. I don't think it can live sixteen years."
There was a heartbeat before both Targaryen brothers decided to ignore their sister.
Rhaella paused at the non-sequitur, squinting a bit at Helaena. Viserys' second daughter had been a perfectly happy girl, a couple of years back. Now the five-year-old was in this weird phase where she muttered strange oddities and fawned over creepy-crawlies the way other noble girls would kittens.
"Regardless." Rhaella spoke assertively. "Her majesty the King has ordered that all royal children be evacuated to Dragonstone castle for the foreseeable future. She expects full compliance from all of you."
"Well tell her that we are not going anywhere!" Aegon yelled, stomping his foot. "You do not get to command our obedience, bastard!"
Several vases in the general vicinity shattered before Rhaella managed to spool her sorcery back in. Eyes twitching, the second youngest Dragonseed reminded herself that well-bred ladies did not summarily execute bratty cousins. However, well-bred ladies were not above ordering the trunks of said bratty cousins be emptied of all their clothes, and replaced with those of their sister. She'd even ensure that only Helaena's frilliest and girliest dresses be packed for this little jaunt to Dragonstone.
Rhaella opened her mouth to admonish Aegon, only for the boy to be spared by the nursery door opening. Visenya slouched in, looking as though storm clouds were brewing within her head.
"That bad huh?" Rhaella rhetorically asked, subtly gesturing for the nursemaids to take over while she moved to a quiet corner with her sister.
"She won't let me go with her." Visenya sulked. "Says that I'm more important guarding the kids."
"You're too young. We're too young." Rhaella reminded her sister.
"We're ten years old, or close enough." Visenya complained. "There are squires our age whom fight on the battlefield. And Daemon is going with Rhaenyra, and he's even younger than us!"
"Daemon is Daemon." Rhaella shrugged. "It's pointless to compare ourselves to Short, Pale and Murderous. Besides, Lucerys is older than us both, with a dragon of his own to boot, yet you don't see him marching to war."
"Aemon is though." Visenya sulked. "He's going as the Redfort siblings' squire."
"Well nothing much you can do about it." Rhaella shrugged. "Nyra's orders are absolute."
"That they are." Visenya dismally grunted, reluctantly agreeing.
Hmm, that was odd. Why was Visenya so culled? Rhaella knew her sister, and she would not have folded so easily.
"So what did she say to persuade you?" Rhaella curiously asked. "You're notoriously stubborn."
"Nyra said that I had two choices; Either I willingly be sent to Dragonstone as babysitter, or I unwillingly be sent to Dragonstone with Vaelon and Baelon as my assistant babysitters."
"No." Rhaella gasped, appalled. "She didn't."
"Yeah, she did."
"That is cruel, even by my standards." Rhaella muttered, reluctantly awed.
Small wonder why Visenya folded, then. Those two numbskulls were at times even worse to deal with than Aerion. Torment was too light a word to describe the company of the idiot twins.
"Anyway, back on topic. So what exactly is the plan?" Rhaella asked. She'd been absent from the meeting Rhaenyra had called in the wake of her ascension to the Iron Throne, discussing battle plans for the upcoming campaign against the Greens.
"Lord Corlys is now Hand of the King. He shall be ruling the Realm while Rhaenyra and the Legions march to war." Visenya reported. "Lucerys is remaining here to serve as liaison. Meanwhile, the two of us will be taking the children to Dragonstone and waiting out the war. Auntie Rhaenys will meet us there."
"What of our siblings in the Reach?"
"Rhaegar has his orders. He and the rest of them should have made themselves scarce by now on their dragons. I wouldn't be surprised if he was already halfway to King's Landing now."
There was a long pause, Rhaella frowning as the full implications of everything fell into place.
"Why the long face?" Visenya frowned.
"Something is wrong." Rhaella frowned. "I can't put my hand on it, but something is deeply wrong. This whole situation feels off to me."
"What do you mean?"
"Call it instinct. But I just know something is wrong." Rhaella insisted. "I can feel it in the air. Everything has gone according to Rhaenyra's plan so far. But I feel like the other shoe is about to drop."
"Thread of green, thread of black." Helaena suddenly spoke. "Weaving a tapestry dyed with blood. Armies of men, armies of horses, armies of dogs and birds. But where are the dragons?
"Where are the dragons?"
———
114 AC, Dragonpit
In the dead of night, a single figure slunk into the Dragonpit.
A figure with malice in his eyes and greed in his heart.
Shaera's orders were clear in his mind: Come dawn, Rhaenyra was not to have a single dragon at her disposal.
Notes:
And so, Dark Sister has a new wielder. Meet Daemon Hundred-Eyes, House Targaryen's new champion.
Daemon's gimmick, apart from the hundred eyes, is that he's a combat precognitive. He can see attacks coming, identify how to dodge them with minimal movement, and land sledgehammer blows on weak points. It's basically Bismark's geass in Code Geass or like the Tharsis from Aldnoah Zero, but one that also lets him see weaknesses.
He's not invincible. Daena was able to beat his future self in the House of the Undying by destroying his eyes with Wildfire and then blinding him with sharp light. But dang if he isn't lethal enough anyway.