Boots clicking on the stone floor, guards and servants stepped protectively to the side as they bowed. Fury was something oft seen among hot-tempered, martial lords of the Westerlands, but never something so aflame as that written on the face of Prince Maegor Targaryen. It seemed as if the Prince was alight in dragonfire as he stalked down the corridor.
No one could blame him if they knew what he knew. A dreadful business.
But some were fools… or had their priorities elsewhere than the Prince. "Your Grace, please slow down…"
"No." Maegor whipped around, finger in the face of the trembling Lord Arryn. "You gave your opinion and it's an insult to myself and all of House Targaryen!"
"Think about this," replied the Master of Laws to the Crown - beside him, Ser Gawen and Lord Tybolt Reyne watched silently. "You're intruding on the right of Lord Loren to judge crimes committed in his keep…"
"Committed against a member of the Royal family! My niece!" Maegor's hands clenched so hard he swore he drew blood. "I will not let them slap him on the wrist."
Running a hand through his hair, Ronnel looked to his compatriots. "Ser Gawen, you must understand my position. Help me."
The Corbray knight crossed his arms, Lady Forlorn prominently displayed at his hip. "I agree with the Prince."
"Tybolt, please."
The Reyne knight shook his head. "I as well, but my Prince. Be careful. You are intruding on something held sacred by the Lords of the Realm. Had your father taken away their right of pit and gallows he likely would've had to burn far more to win his realm."
Maegor shook his head. "I would burn it all to protect my niece." And with that, he shoved aside the guards and threw open the double doors to the great hall.
"And it was then I found…" All voices stopped as Maegor strode in. The Lords of the Westerlands were assembled, standing off to the sides or seated in chairs to watch the spectacle. Seated on the High Table were Lord Loren, his wife, Ser Tyrion, and other senior Lords of the Westerlands. Two boxes were set up for the accused to stand in, with another box for witnesses… both Ser Lyonel Lorch and young Dick Bean were posited in the former, Bean looking a bit roughed up.
Ser Lyonel was untouched apart from a bruise on the forehead.
Taking a seat next to Elissa Farman, Maegor leaned back and crossed his legs. "By all means, continue." He was oddly calm. Ser Gawen sighed. Oh, he is ready to burst…
Nodding, Lord Loren motioned to the witness - a guard of the keep. "You may go on, Hill."
The bastard guard gulped. "As I was sayin', mi'Lord… I found the man-at-arms hunched o'er the knight. The Princess… she had her gown rumpled and was pantin' on the floor."
"See!" Ser Lyonel proclaimed. "This monster interrupted my tryst with Princess Rhaena…"
"Speak the Princess' name again and I'll kill you!" Bean bellowed, moving to lunge at Ser Lyonel but restrained by the guards. His loyalty outweighed his brains it appeared.
Lyonel laughed. "This trial is a sham. He all but confessed to attacking me. The Princess was begging for my cock!"
"Liar!" screamed Elissa, only for her father to squeeze her arm in warning.
Ser Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Lady Elissa, you gave your testimony. Sit down and shut it."
"No! I will not!" She stood, pointing at the high table. "You scum are covering up this monster's attempted rape and I won't stand for it!"
Lord Westerling laughed. "And who are you to make demands of us?"
"She cannot make demands, but I can." Maegor stood, drawing murmurs from the crowd as he stood forward. "Firstly, you have no authority to try my sworn sword. Bean, go sit by Lady Elissa."
Bean made to do so, but was stopped by the guards. "This is my keep, your Grace. I can try him if I wish." Lord Loren was firm… but surprisingly wasn't resolute. It wasn't like him.
Maegor wouldn't look this horse in the mouth. "He is my man and it is my wroth he would face if he disobeys. Bean, get over there and if you men stop him I'll feed you to Balerion, understood?" Pale, the guards didn't restrain him and Bean did as bidded. "As for the rest, this trial is a farce. Only one witness needs to be called and she is Princess Rhaena."
"This is a trial to determine if she was attacked by Ser Lyonel," scoffed Tyrion. "If she was, then a woman - weak and frail creatures they are - would be far too emotional to render proper testimony."
Narrowing his eyes at the heir to Casterly Rock, Maegor felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing him flinch. "As is my right as a Prince of the Realm, I appoint myself as judge of this proceeding. Bring forth Princess Rhaena."
Even in his anger, the Prince had prepared himself for this. He knew that the trial would be a sick joke - that Joffrey Dogget of the Warrior's Sons was on the tribunal and not even one man from the small council said as much. As such, he had sent Ser Crane and both of Rhaena's ladies to bring her. Through a side door she entered. Her gait was firm, but the bruises on her face and neck told a different story. Maegor's soul plummeted into grief. Seeing her hurt drove him to the greatest sorrow he felt besides the death of his father…
And only fueled the fire at Ser Lyonel. Once Rhaena was at the witness stand, he clapped his hands. "Princess Rhaena, what happened to you on the night of the feast?"
She simply stared ahead. "I had enjoyed myself at the feast, even seeking a dance from my Prince uncle." Maegor winced at that. Perhaps had he accepted her dance this would've been avoided. "Needing air, I walked to the balcony, and Ser Lyonel joined me." Her gaze drifted to him, and fury blazed in them. "We talked, and when I tried to walk away he grabbed me, pinned me to the ground, and attempted to rape me."
"Lies!" Ser Lyonel screamed.
"I would've lost my maidenhead to his demon seed had Dick Bean not saved me."
"You wanted my seed you whore!"
"SILENCE!" A dragon roar shook the keep, alarming the onlookers. "This trial is over," Maegor said.
"We have more testimony to wade through, your Grace," insisted Maester Desmond, shifting through his copious notes.
"I've seen enough," Maegor declared, drawing Blackfyre from its sheath. "Bring me the block, Ser Gawen. I shall carry the sentence out now."
The accused suddenly paled, seeing the seriousness in the gaze of the Prince and the lack of response from the others in the hall - he was clearly expendable. "Your Grace… we cannot sentence him without a proper trial," warned Lord Loren, though his words were half-hearted. As if spoken for merely the sake of uttering his mind. "And on charges as extensive as this, more time must be granted to properly investigate…"
Twirling his blade, Maegor looked coldly up at the high table. From outside the keep, powerful wingbeats and a shriek echoed through the great hall, causing quite the alarm - many here were survivors of the Field of Fire, and no one was keen to play the part of House Gardener. "My Lord, you don't seem to understand the authority here. I, as Prince, hold the right of pit and gallows wherever I go. That I choose to use it sparingly doesn't mean I won't employ it at the right time." His deathly gaze found its way to Ser Lyonel, who visibly cringed. "Between the word of a smarmy, lesser lordling and that of the bruised Princess Rhaena, I take the latter each time. Ser Lyonel dies now."
Arriving back, Ser Gawen had quickly found a block of wood. With a flourish he smacked it on the ground. The smack echoed through the great hall for everyone to hear.
Terrified, Ser Lyonel cast a pleading look at Lord Loren. "My Lord! You can't let him do this! I am innocent!"
A deep, dark chuckle left Maegor's throat. "If you're innocent and my niece a liar, good Ser, then why not present your claim to the gods and let them decide?" He'd rather kill the fucker here and now - glimpsed first hand at Rhaena's deep anguish and needing to end it - but a part of him wished to inflict true suffering. A darkness within his soul, fiery and urging proper vengeance.
Take the bait… take the bait you insolent fuck…
That darkness got its wish. "I… I demand a trial by combat!" Lyonel's voice was halting at first, but grew more confident and bold as he spoke. "Seems I cannot get a fair trial from a woman and her dog-dragon of an uncle. The gods shall prove me right! For my champion I call…"
"Oh no. You aren't some weakling," Ser Gawen announced, reputation tall and powerful even with the Westerlords. "You must accept the challenge personally and face her Grace's champion, since she is your accuser."
Sucking in a breath, Ser Lyonel found no defense from his peers and lieges. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Let the bitch name her champion."
"Your Grace," announced Dick Bean, his young features contorted in affront. "Allow me to dispatch this monster."
"No, allow me, your Grace," asked Ser Symond Crane of the Kingsguard.
Androw Farman also strode forward, urged by his sister. "None would be more honored to fight for you than I, Princess." A half-dozen knights and Lords offered their services, some out of loyalty and others out of simply seeking the favor of the Crown.
Gulping, Rhaena was still only just keeping herself together. Face to face with the man that nearly tainted her with his seed, she fought a shudder that would brand her as weak before the entirety of the martial westerlords. "I…" she spoke, clearing her throat. "I thank you for your loyalty, fair Sers." Her inner dragon began to stir as she spoke, seeking out the one she held in the most esteem - if instinctively. "But there is only one that can deliver proper justice."
Lord Loren saw where her eyes traveled, and shared a look with Joffrey Doggett. Both smirked softly in triumph.
"I name Prince Maegor Targaryen as my champion."
Grinning, Maegor pounded his chest and leveled Blackfyre dangerously at Ser Lyonel. "I accept."
She woke up to the roar of the dragons… not that it scared her anymore. Lady Tyanna had long gotten used to it, with being intimately around dragonriders for years now. Rhaena was off and Aegon now flew among the gods, but her mistress was still present on Dragonstone alongside Vhagar… as was the beast residing in the Dragonmont. A wild dragon, untamed and fierce.
That was likely the set of roars she had heard earlier. The wild dragon and Vhagar squabbling over territory yet again. Hell of a life. Swinging out of bed, draping a robe over her bare form, she began to quickly brush and style her hair in the looking glass in preparation for the day.
Her hand drifted to the little necklace draped round her neck. A little arrowhead of dragonglass, not worth much as a diamond or ruby, but priceless for her. Never did she go without it, even if it disappeared underneath her clothing.
Thick black hair cascading in waves down her back, Tyanna had dressed in a black dress with grey lines, something as northern as it was Valyrian that had been the trend in capitol fashion two years previously. Around her, the servants - mostly local stock since court hadn't relocated here - nodded their friendly greetings. She smiled back, as opposed to the more hateful or lustful stares that came her way elsewhere.
Smallfolk and retainers here had grown up with the magic of Old Valyria… it didn't scare them, nor did Tyanna scare them. She found it welcome, especially from being without her dear friends.
The stablehands and maids that shared her bed just didn't give the same sense of companionship. If it wasn't for her mistress, Tyanna swore she'd have died of boredom. Luckily, the two black and red-coated Targaryen guards indicated her presence in the Lord's bedchamber - wouldn't be a slow morning, thank the gods.
Dowager Queen Visenya was as Tyanna expected, dressed in her riding leathers. "Good morning, your Grace," she said, curtseying.
Visenya turned, hair sticking out every which way in tangled knots. "Ah. Morning, Tyanna." The Queen chuckled, emphasizing the dimples on her cheeks. "No matter how tight your braid, when you have an eager young dragon all of it ends a mess."
"I wouldn't know, your Grace," replied Tyanna, smirking slightly. "Though I've had the same trouble with horses from time to time."
"Not nearly the same, but close." Taking a seat by her vanity, Tyanna picked up the hairbrush and moved to tame the dragonrider's unruly silver mane. "I oft wished to cut it short like my husband, but Egg always refused to let me. Said he couldn't stand to see me parted with my hair."
Tyanna clucked. "Few men can order you to do anything, your Grace."
A snort. "Egg especially couldn't, but I chose to let him have his way. That look of rapture and lust when I swayed my hair at him… couldn't get rid of that." She sighed dreamily, like a maiden rather than a powerful dragonrider… only for her melancholy to return. "Have you ever been in love, Tyanna?"
That paused her efforts, only slightly. "Um… no, I have not." She bit her lip, to which Visenya noticed but said nothing. "I've known the touch of men and women before, but not love."
"Men and women?" She couldn't help but pry a bit. "I've heard the giggles of the maids when you walk past them, though I haven't seen the same attitudes in the stablehands or men-at-arms."
"Women… they are graceful and sweet. I'm much more… discriminating in the men I allow into my bed. One cannot fall with child with a woman."
"Do not be as sure… Aegon and I shared our bed with fiery ardor, and I only fell with child twice." She sighed, regret in her tone. "But I pray you do not outlive the one you finally do fall in love with, Tyanna. I've outlived both my loves and all it brings me is pain. Without my children and grandchildren needing me, I would contemplate simply ending it where I stand."
"Your Grace… do not speak of such things."
Visenya looked saddened. "I know I shouldn't, Tyanna, but it's grievous to wake alone in my bed after so long with warmth. And I am too old to sleep against Vhagar anymore - that's a young woman's game."
Laughing at the jape for Visenya's sake, Tyanna finished off the last tangle before beginning to rebraid the silver hair. "Take it from me, your Grace, as a baseborn girl to someone of high rank, the acquisition of duty is one fraught with peril and limited options." After her father took her from her mother's corpse, Tyanna was sure she'd have grown up into a courtesan on his behalf, until Visenya saved her from that life. "With your mind still sharp and your children still loving, you have much use to the Realm."
A mirthless chuckle. "I used to think you reminded me of myself, Tyanna, with Rhaena as Rhaenys - but recently I've seen the opposite to be true. Testament to my continuing industriousness, I suppose." Her frown was gone, replaced with a soft smile. "Besides, I received a raven today." Visenya gestured to the dispatch opened on the bedside table. "My son, requesting my presence in court. He is about to take a moons long tour of the Free Cities with my gooddaughter and wishes that I help young Egg oversee the ship of state." She was confident in her son, so didn't see this as a crutch for him. "I've already sent a reply accepting."
"Are you sure you can handle it, your Grace?"
"Aegon… my love would not want to see me suffer." Suffer she did - while the pale, fierce beauty Visenya was known for hadn't disappeared, age had begun to creep up. Her face was more wrinkled, body more spindly. Rheumatism was starting to affect her limbs, though constant dragonriding and exercise staved that off as much as possible. "I am still the third-head of the dragon, fierce and proud."
Nodding, Tyanna fixed the last of her hair into a simple braid. "Of course, my Queen. And you'll have me always by your side."
A smirk was cast her way - Tyanna could see through the looking glass. "I'm sure you would jump at the chance to see your friends… including my niece once she returns from the Westerlands."
"A happy coincidence," Tyanna replied, though she couldn't hide her smile.
Dismissed to her quarters after breaking their fast, the Lady in Waiting to her Grace the Queen Dowager immediately made for her personal effects. When Queen Visenya made travel plans, she made them to travel nigh immediately. Forget a day's notice, they were likely to fly to King's Landing before supper. She stuffed the clothes she wished to take in a large saddlebag that would be strapped to Vhagar's back. Several dresses and a pair of red trousers for when Rhaena insisted they do something unladylike.
The sweet girl she had met several years prior did little of that aside from interacting with the animals, but as she grew and Dreamfyre grew, Rhaena grew more and more adventurous. Like her grandmother, she was - and it was said that Queen Rhaenys was much like that in spite of the characterization of her in court as a perfect, if spirited, lady.
Moving on to her personal effects, Tyanna found the stack of letters she kept with her. The most recent correspondence with all her friends. Updates on court from Alys and Larissa, a bubbly letter of the most unadulterated joy from Samantha about her new home in White Harbor - Tyanna lamented that she wouldn't be able to attend her wedding to Ser Theomore, though that was only the beginning of her grief there - dry annoyance about the balls of the Westerlands from Elissa, and humorous reports of the journey along the Goldroad from Melony and Alayne.
And then there was Rhaena. Her letters were the most precious of them all for the quiet, secretive girl far from home. Far from the one person that actually cared about her in her life. Their correspondence was in High Valyrian, 'You could always use the practice,' Tyanna had told Rhaena in one of her more silly moments. It worked, Rhaena was now fluent in it.
I don't know what to do, Tyanna… I suppose there isn't some sort of love potion or something you could grant me? Damn, it's pointless. I love being here, yet also I don't and wish I was home where all of you could give me comfort.
Never love, Tyanna. It isn't worth the heartbreak sometimes.
"Have you ever been in love?"
A sigh. Looking at Visenya, at Rhaena… the foreign-born bastard daughter of Old Valyria could only agree with the both of them - though perhaps… it was too late for that.
No matter, she had duties to attend to.
"She's not here?" Maegor frowned at that. He wanted her present when he delivered justice in the sight of all the gods - both true and false.
Sighing, Alayne shook her head. "She and Melony remained in Casterly Rock… we thought it was best." Both the Royce maiden and Elissa Farman were present, the former to bear witness and the latter because she was of the Westerlands. Every major Lord of the Westerlands and their family had crowded upon the dias set up in the great Square of Lannisport - on top of tens of thousands in the crowd eager to watch. It wasn't every day that a Prince fought personally in a trial by combat.
Looking over to Ser Gawen, the man shrugged. "You shouldn't begrudge her pain."
"I don't… fine. I will still deliver justice for you." Maegor knew he should go to her. Comfort her as she deserved… but she needed justice as much as she did comfort. Watching the monster strutting around like a proud knight of the songs, his blood boiled. "Time to finish this."
Clearing his throat, the old Septon was uncomfortable about this. Granted, a trial by combat against an accused in which the Seven would decide guilt, but with the massive dragon of the late King resting menacingly in a corner of the square… This did not seem in the proper tradition of the most sacred tradition.
He had heard one Targaryen lord naming his dragon as his champion in one of these. Perhaps the Septon should make thanks that Prince Maegor would fight himself - though what sort of choice was that?
"Children of the Seven," he announced to the gathered crowd. "We are here to see justice delivered under the auspices of the gods. The wisdom of the Father flows combined with the strength of the Warrior to decide the truth of whether the accused, Ser Lyonel Lorch, is guilty of the crime of attempted rape upon Princess Rhaena Targaryen. Ser Lyonel will be representing himself before the gods, while Princess Rhaena's champion is decreed to be Prince Maegor Targaryen."
Trying not to visibly seethe, Maegor could hear most of the crowd cheering the manticore knight. 'Shall we burn these bugs, valonqar?' he heard Balerion growl.
Maegor was sorely tempted to give Balerion the go ahead, but merely scowled. 'Don't, some support Rhaena.' While outnumbered two to one, there were a strong minority that howled abuse at Ser Lyonel. 'I'd rather not have them burned.'
'You don't trust my precision?'
'No… I don't.' He could feel Balerion's annoyance and it made Maegor relax a bit, grinning softly. Ser Lyonel stared at him with half-disgust, half-puzzlement. He must think I'm mad.
'Let him. You'll benefit.' Balerion had fought more battles than namedays Maegor had been alive, so he would be a fool to refuse his advice. 'Just remember to…'
'I know, I know…'
'No one hurts my niece without me finishing things.'
Luckily for his anxiety, the silent conversation with his dragon allowed Maegor to avoid the majority of the long-winded sermon from the Septon. Merely enough to catch the tail end of it. "...And we ask the warrior to grant his blessings to these two champions. Ser Lyonel, Prince Maegor, may the Father's sense of justice channel themselves through you so as to find the truth and lies of your stories. In the name of the Seven, I consecrate this field of battle." Making a seven-pointed star with his fingers, the Septon scurried off, leaving only the two of them and their seconds.
"No showboating, my Prince," ser Gawen said blithely.
"I shall try not to."
"If you do, I'll have Lord Snow brought down from Winterfell."
Drawing Blackfyre from the sheath that Ser Gawen held, Maeger looked perturbed. "If you do I would rather die here and now." They shared a mirthless chuckle before Maegor turned away… sparing one last glance towards the massive form of Casterly Rock looming over the city. For you, niece. This is for you.
The two champions moved to the center of the courtyard, Lorch smirking and Maegor scowling. "They say you're good," the Manticore knight began. "Fighting against savages North of the wall must've been hard."
"It was." He owed this monster no explanation.
"You don't fight in any melees or tourneys. Something to hide?" The smirk widened. "I'll give you a chance to just give in right now - accept that the Princess wanted my cock."
It took everything in Maegor not to strangle this cunt where he stood. "Before the day is out my dragon will snack on you." With that, he roared and attacked. His thrust was only just parried by Ser Lorch, the latter swinging at him and driving Maegor on the defensive.
"That's it?" Alayne was incredulous. "He's already being driven back."
Ser Gawen snorted. "You don't know how the Prince fights."
Maegor knew he could've ended this without much effort. Lorch was skilled but a tourney knight. He hadn't been trained by the best warriors in the realm. He hadn't been exposed to the harshest of elements, hadn't fought for his survival against the most brutal of men. With only a roar and a push he could end this puissant in front of him…
But he wanted more. The fire in the pit of his belly… in his very blood wanted the cunt to have hope. To have confidence in victory only to have it dashed away. Such was even more agonizing than physical pain, Maegor knew from serving under Brandon Snow. Lorch would suffer this pain, endure the agony that tore through one's soul.
And so Maegor feigned retreat. Drawing Lorch back and back, giving ground in a defensive flurry to take Lorch's attacks. The knight smirked underneath his visor, thinking the Targaryen Prince was off his game. His greatsword met Blackfyre again and again, a sudden burst of energy emerging to overcome the massive weight to hack downward in a quick frenzy. Crash, crash, crash did the steel meet, each time seeming to weaken Maegor's parries. Grinning, Lorch put all of his power into a final chop that would certainly send Blackfyre clattering to the floor and leave the child of Aegon and Visenya a bloody corpse upon the ground…
Only for Maegor to twirl out of the way in a maneuver more in common to dance than combat - the burly Prince far more agile than any could imagine him to be. Never did he fight in melees so all but Ser Gawen were watching in surprise.
Lorch's hack was unopposed, crashing onto the stone floor and cracking it - sending him stumbling. Maegor was far quicker on his feet, finding his footing and slashing at his foe's side. Drawing blood and sending it sprinkling the ground. The knight snarled and lashed out. Just what Maegor was hoping for.
He leapt back, waited for the thrust to shoot towards where he had been, and then swung Blackfyre down in a hack of his own. A collective gasp came from the crowd at the winning move.
Clutching the stump of his arm, blood spurting through the severed blood vessels of Blackfyre's clean cut, Ser Lyonel screamed at the top of his lungs. As if it would lessen his agony. Above, Maegor kicked away the sword… his foe's hand still clamped on the hilt. Circling the knight, his lips were curled into a deep scowl, eyes blazing with hate. "Look at me." When Ser Lyonel just kept screaming, Maegor kicked him in the chest. "Look at me, you shit!" Slowly, hesitantly, the defeated Lyonel complied.
Sighing, Lord Loren rose from his seat. "In the sights of the gods and men, the champion of Princess Rhaena has triumphed, indicating the accused's guilt on the crime of attempted rape. His sentencing shall commence forthwith."
"There can be only one sentence," Maegor bellowed, causing Lord Loren to blink. "Death."
"Your Grace," blubbered the septon. "Lord Lannister has the right of pit and gallows in the lands that he surveys."
"And I am the Prince of the Realm, ordained by my brother - your King - to proscribe justice where I see fit!" His fiery gaze cast directly at the Lords of the Westerlands seated on the dias. Apart from the Farmans and Crakehalls, all were either in disagreement or disbelief. Some outright disgusted. He did not give a shit. "Never will I let you sentence this scum to the black… or to some form of imprisonment. Only death is worth what he has done!"
The knight was shaking in terror. "Please, your Grace! Mercy!"
"Mercy?" He was incredulous. "Mercy!" Sword slashing through the air, another scream rang out as he severed Lorch's foot. "You don't fucking deserve mercy!" Setting Blackfyre on the stone ground, Maegor knelt and grabbed Lorch by the collar. "You deserve to die!" He punched him, mailed fist breaking the man's nose. "You deserve to suffer!" Another flurry of punches, breaking his teeth. "YOU DESERVE TO BURN!" he roared like the dragon he was.
"Father," Ser Tyrion whispered to Loren. "This is madness. Stop him."
Loren shrugged. "He is the Prince. It is his right."
"Ser Lorch's fate is yours to judge."
"Not while he's here." It was time Tyrion learned how things actually worked… hopefully it would focus him to what needed to be done.
Rising, Maegor grabbed Blackfyre and held it menacingly. "In the north," he proclaimed to the crowd. "They have a saying - he who passes the sentence must swing the sword. I pass the sentence of death upon Ser Lyonel Lorch for the crime of attempted rape upon Princess Rhaena. For my sword, I call upon my bonded dragon, Balerion the Black Dread!"
A roar nearly shook the entire city of Lannisport. Many flinched, quite a few booking out of there as fast as their legs could carry them. 'Now we're talking, valonqar.' Roused from his place, Balerion ambled forward, smoke seeping from his nostrils and maw.
The Septon stood. "Your Grace… I must protest! This is not the traditional sentence of death…"
"It is the death rapists deserve."
"You say you must swing the sword, yet have your dragon do it!" Tyrion challenged, essentially calling Maegor a coward and a hypocrite.
Maegor didn't take the bait. "The bond between a dragon and its rider is beyond your comprehension, Lannister. He is an extension of me and I of him." Cheeks burning, Tyrion sat down to a smirk from Maegor. Looking down at Ser Lyonel, Maegor cocked his head. "Any last words?"
'Just let me burn him, valonqar.'
Realizing his fate was already ordained, Lorch did his best to scowl through his agony. "I only regret I… didn't put my bastard in her belly."
'He won't burn! This fucker will die slowly!'
Maegor's rage mirrored Balerion's. "Eat him, brother."
Roaring at the top of his massive lungs, Balerion clamped down his jaws onto Lyonel's legs. If his pain was unbearable before, this was excruciating. With a flourish, Balerion tossed the condemned knight into the air, reveling in his screams before chomping down. Puffing a tiny blast of flame into his mouth and then swallowing.
So ended Ser Lyonel Lorch.
"Let this be a lesson to the lot of you!" Maegor proclaimed. "All rapists will meet the flames, by my order and the authority of Aenys Targaryen, first of his Name, King of all Westeros and Shield of his people!" Glaring once more at the trembling Westerlords, he sheathed Blackfyre and climbed upon his dragon. "Sovegon." Balerion hooted and beat his wings airborne.
Gazing through the spyglass, Rhaena felt herself shudder at seeing her uncle take to the sky. She had seen all… and felt the heat course through her body and core at the entire sight.
It wasn't often that young Viserys saw his father as anything but the loving man that so cared about him and his siblings. Always jovial and eager to please them in whatever manner necessary, not that Viserys asked beyond his station. But, seated off to the side in a meeting of the Small Council, the more reserved figure of King Aenys I Targaryen was one he was unfamiliar with… but one that he watched with awe. "And the preparations have been set, cousin?"
"Aye, your Grace," replied Viserys' uncle Aethan, the Master of Ships. "A fleet of fifty ships, all centered around the great galleass Balerion's Might. The deck is large enough for Quicksilver to land upon, small and agile that he is."
"Excellent, quite excellent." The King clapped his hands, showing his pleasure with the situation.
Curious, Viserys raised a hand. "Father… may I ask…"
"Don't bother father, Vis," Aegon replied, seated right beside Aenys with their mother on the other side.
But the King stilled his eldest son with a raised hand. "Egg, if your brother wishes to ask a question, he has the right and the duty. This is why he is here, to learn how to govern - Viserys could be your Hand one day." Chastened, Aegon nodded, crossing his arms. Aenys then smiled warmly at his middle child. "Yes, Viserys?"
Biting his lip, the taciturn prince forced his way through his inclination to quiet. "Father, it would be faster to simply fly you and mother to Essos on Quicksilver." He was intimately familiar with the sweet dragon, Aenys having never spared letting his children watch, pet, or speak with the beast. "You could cover a lot more ground that way."
Aenys laughed warmly. "Aye, my son. We could definitely cover more ground in less time with the dragons, and in an emergency I would do just that, but this is different." He leaned forward, gesturing with his arms. "A royal progress, especially to a foreign land, must show off all of our might and prosperity. The glory of the Realm shall be displayed upon the conclusion of receiving the ambassadors, so as our rivals and allies can see we are thriving even after your grandfather's tragic passing. Do you understand?"
Viserys nodded. "I think so."
"Good boy." He smiled. "Additionally…" It was clear he was speaking to the entire small council. "I shall be requiring Lord Butterwell to join me alongside Lord Aethan and the Queen for the entirety of the journey."
Alton Butterwell, Master of Coin, nodded his head. "It is a great honor, my King." He was a competent administrator, but quite fawning. Not one that Viserys held in high esteem.
Neither, it seemed, did his mother. "Your Grace, is that necessary? With Lord Arryn and Lord Reyne in the Westerlands, having the small council be so fractured could have adverse effects."
"You worry too much, my love," Aenys replied. "Lord Stark and Lord Strong remain." His eyes flickered to the Hand of the King and Master of Whisperers, the latter retained for his experience even after the council reshuffle upon Aenys' ascension. "And my mother returns from Dragonstone this afternoon." He looked pleased with that eventuality.
So did Viserys. He loved his grandmother.
"Besides," Aenys continued. "I need Lord Butterwell for the dealings with the Iron Bank and Rogare Bank. Lord Lucas reports negotiations proceeding well but the Master of Coin is required for the final ones." Alyssa sighed, but conceded the point. "Now, to other business. My son, how is progress on the Dragonpalace?"
Since prior to his coronation, Aenys had been responsible for the building of the Dragonpalace - as a result, with great pride he gave the new responsibility to his eldest son. Aegon, puffing out his chest, was determined to repay his father's trust. "I have replaced the master builder in charge of the project, father."
A raised eyebrow. "Why, my son? He is an expert architect."
"I know that, and plan on rehiring him in the future." The last was tacked on quickly - Aegon hadn't intended it. "But I felt it was more important to build up the walls surrounding the High Hill before we continue with the remainder of the buildings and keep within."
Nodding, Aenys patted his son on the back. "Good job. You have your mother's good sense, Egg. How goes progress on the walls."
Aegon winced. "Forgive me father, but the cliffs and uneven ground are making progress difficult. I want the walls to be siege-proof, and thus more stone has to be quarried in the Stormlands and Vale. May take an entire year before we have enough, but I've started on the gatehouses."
"Try to expedite it, Egg. You must do better."
The gentle reminder made Egg bristle, but he got over it… at least overtly. "Father… may I speak with you and mother in private after the meeting?"
Aenys blinked, but agreed. "Of course. We're done with pressing business anyway. Dismissed," he told the rest of the council. When Viserys rose, Aenys motioned for him to sit. "You're family, you may be present." Once the last councilor left and Ser Maladon Moore shut the door behind him, the King looked at his son. "Yes, Egg?"
Aegon took a breath. "Father, it has been many moons since you became King and still I have not been named Crown Prince."
The jovial expression on the King's face changed to a neutral one. "You have presumption to demand this of me, my son."
"I do not demand anything, but merely state the truth," Aegon replied. "I am your eldest son, and by all the laws of this realm I am to be King after you."
"That is simply by the laws of the Andals," replied Alyssa. She thought Aegon should be King, but respected the position of Aenys - Rhaena being the heir and Aegon marrying her to become the consort was plenty fine with her. "We seek to operate differently if we so choose."
The Prince looked incredulous. "Our subjects are Andals and we follow the Faith of the Seven. A woman is not equipped to inherit any land or title ahead that of a man…"
"Do not disrespect your sister that way," Aenys insisted, his voice raising. "I have yet not decided of which path to follow, and you will not try to undermine Rhaena simply to get your own way. I will not tolerate it."
"She will be my Queen when we marry," Aegon insisted. That only seemed to ire their father more.
Ser Maladon then entered. "Forgive me, your Grace, but an urgent dispatch from Casterly Rock."
Raising his eyebrow at that, Aenys took the letter and opened it. All color drained from his face. "Husband?" Alyssa asked, only receiving the letter. "Oh gods…" she clasped her mouth, tears in her eyes.
Viserys was concerned. "Father?"
"Saddle Quicksilver!" he ordered the Kingsguard. "We depart in an hour!"
"Father, you cannot go so quickly," Aegon insisted. "We still have to discuss this…"
"The matter is closed!" Aenys thundered, surprising both of his sons. He was never enraged, let alone like this. "Speak of it once more and you have no chance of being my heir!" The King stormed out, followed quickly by their shaken mother. Neither Prince had anything to say.
Two hours later, Viserys had long since heard the roar of Quicksilver as his parents journeyed towards the Westerlands. No explanation was given to him… or anyone else in the Red Keep apart from Lord Hand Torrhen Stark, who looked grim. Jaehaerys and Alysanne were concerned as expected, but the prospect of their grandmother arriving later that day calmed them.
Aside from that, Viserys was also puzzled as to the last conversation between his brother and his father. So much so that his normally vigilant self was distracted in his lessons. "Your Grace, please pay attention," Grand Maester Gawen responded with a curt tone.
"Forgive me," he said sheepishly. "What was the question?"
"The House words for House Lannister."
"Um…" By the gods, he was stumped. "A Lannister always pays his debts?" he replied.
Gawen shook his head. "A common saying, but not their true sigil. Again."
Viserys wracked his brain. "Ours is the Fury."
"That's House Durrandon, adopted by House Baratheon." Gawen sighed. "You seem to be distracted, your Grace."
Only able to nod, Viserys slumped in his chair. "Grand Maester, why do eldest sons succeed their fathers upon the latter's death?"
Confused as to why it was asked of him, Gawen was smart and figured it out. Aegon is the eldest son yet not the eldest child… he must've asked. This sort of conflict was foreseen by the Citadel and Starry Sept. "Prince Viserys, such is the tradition of all tribes in Westeros, besides the Rhoynar of Dorne and the Mormonts of Bear Island. Absolute male primogeniture… and if there is no direct male of the name, then the male child of the female line will take the name of the house and rule."
"I know that, but why do women not inherit?"
"How can I explain this to you, my Prince." Viserys was young, and thus not aware of the vagaries of the differences between the sexes. "Women… they are emotional creatures. While a man is ruled by his logic and his sense of honor and boldness, a woman is ruled by her desires. That makes them fickle and hard to predict." He would've preferred a septon explain the next, but felt confident enough to delve into spiritual matters as well as scientific ones. "The Faith teaches women to be pious and serve as the moral guardian of hearth and home, but in ruling, there cannot be a risk of emotion clouding one's logical judgement. Do you understand?"
Blinking, Viserys hesitantly nodded. "I think so… but my mother and grandmother serve the crown closely."
"They can be advisors, but full authority must rest with the man and man alone. You'll understand when you're older why this must be." Hopefully the lad would engrain this and be an ally against his sister should the latter try and usurp the throne.
Wondering why it needed to wait till he was older, a loud dragon roar echoed over the city. Grandmother's here!
Attempting to close the door behind her, Elissa jumped with a yelp as a finger tapped her shoulder. Turning, she immediately lowered her head. "Prince Maegor."
The Prince looked as if he had heard at least some of the conversation within. His face was contorted in worry and sorrow, clearly driven to the limit now that vengeance and justice had been achieved… the anger was gone. "How is she?" he asked.
Elissa sighed. "As well as can be expected, but as her friends Melony, Alayne, and I can only do so much."
"She needs her blood." It wasn't a question, but a statement.
"Her parents aren't here, nor are her siblings or aunt. You are the only one that can truly comfort her, my Prince." She knew what Maegor meant to Rhaena - he was probably the only person other than maybe Queen Visenya that could truly balm her friend. Elissa wouldn't betray such truths without Rhaena's approval, but she had to make him know. "She asked for you… only you after I arrived."
This caused Maegor to blink. "I… I didn't know."
"Why didn't you go to her."
"I knew the Lannisters would try to sweep it under the rug, so that drew all my attention…" It was a strong defense, but he still felt like shit.
A soft smile formed on Elissa's lips. "You're here now. You care." She began to leave for her guest chambers, but only turned the corner when she saw Maegor go in. You should've been betrothed to her.
Entering, Maegor's heart broke at the sight. His beloved niece, head buried in her pillow and sobbing softly. She was so gentle, so innocent underneath the surface of the fierce dragon. What that monster did… no, he had gotten his vengeance for her. Now was time for love and comfort. "Niece?"
She was up almost immediately. "Uncle," she choked out. Her eyes were bloodshot and lined with tears - when Maegor opened his arms, she ran into them desperately. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry…"
Rubbing her back, he was suddenly confused. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for?" His hold never slackened even in his incredulity.
"I'm sorry… I couldn't stop him… I'm weak and no dragon…"
"No!" He hugged her ever tighter, squeezing - making sure she felt safe and protected. "Don't say that, dear niece. This was not your fault."
"Ser… Ser Gawen trained me. I… I should know how to fight," she sobbed, face still buried in his chest.
Moving his hand to cup her cheek, Maegor made Rhaena look at him. "Niece." Their eyes met, and he felt a surge of affection for her. "You are ten and four. No one begrudges you if you need a guard for protection." That didn't help, leading to a minute of tears and trembling to which he patiently just embraced her. He changed tactics. "Did you know this happened to your grandmother?"
That truly surprised Rhaena, looking up at him with shock. "Grandmother Visenya?"
"Aye." She had told him long ago, when he was just starting to pursue the opposite sex. To warn him about the out of control lusts of men - the lessons had been taken to heart. "She was set upon by a knight in Oldtown when she was only slightly older than you are now."
"Did she kill the man?" she said through her tears.
"She did… but it was a close run thing." He sighed. "We all have to struggle, dear niece. I struggled and had my ass kicked for years in the North, not just by Lord Snow. By the gods, we all escaped true injury and suffering and we must be thankful for it, but never can we allow it to happen again. You will be just like your grandmother, fierce and merciless against those that attack you, but only if you stay strong. Do you understand?"
Sucking in a breath, Rhaena nodded before resting her head back on his chest. "Thank you, uncle. I… I love you."
He smiled. "I love you too, sweet niece."
Rhaena sighed in a sense of relief, savoring his touch. "Thank you… for killing him."
Maegor's face darkened. "He deserved worse for what he tried to do to you."
"Still… thank you. You're my savior along with that Dick Bean."
I'll have that lad knighted when we get back to King's Landing. Nevertheless, it felt wonderful… the praise of his niece. Maegor had been praised before, but only that of his parents or Ser Gawen and Brandon Snow could compare to Rhaena's - he didn't know why. He wouldn't question it though. "I am glad to be of service to you, Rhaena."
The way he said her name, she couldn't help but shudder. It was sweet, loving - said with the best of care. Was it perverse that she was turned on by it? That her core pulsed with desire? Rhaena still barely knew what such feelings were and now she was having them. Calm… calm… "People say you're a brute… but you're not. You're the most wonderful, kind, strong man in the Seven Kingdoms."
His eyebrow rose. "More than your kepa?"
She giggled. "Well… mayhaps he's kinder." They both shared a chuckle at that before Rhaena frowned slightly. "Uncle?"
"Yes, niece?"
Rhaena bit her lip. "I… that monster, he was my first kiss."
"Oh." Yet another justification for feeding him to Balerion. "I'm sorry, niece, truly." While it hadn't gone anywhere, Maegor didn't regret his first kiss with Lady Wylla Poole, the Winterfell Steward's daughter - she was sweet and kind, much like Rhaena but in a more wild northern way. "Such is supposed to be an amazing thing."
Still chewing on her lip, Rhaena fought a blush. "Can you kiss me?"
He blinked. "Me?"
"Aye… you're the only one I trust. Please, uncle?" She was not averse to batting her eyelashes innocently.
Was it wrong? It's just a kiss… But this was his little niece, the babe he had held in his arms after she was born… 'Just do it, you idiot!' he heard Balerion practically growl. Ah, hells with it. Maegor leaned forward and pressed his lips gently on hers.
It lasted but a few seconds, but when they pulled back… Rhaena blushed madly, tilting her face away and averting her gaze. Not that it wasn't good… That. Was. Incredible. She wanted it, every day. Stronger, harder, sloppier kisses that would make her toes curl - and only from him.
"Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck. It was just his niece, and Maegor didn't intend to be anything but innocent, but there was for an instant a spark. One never felt for Ralla, and not felt with Ceryse since their first miscarriage. He didn't know how to place it. "Was that satisfactory?"
Doing her best to compose herself, Rhaena only nodded. "I liked it, though I've only had two. Not fair to make a judgement without more to compare to." She grinned in spite of herself.
He frowned, then laughed. "There's my dear niece." She had her grandmother's dry humor and he found it refreshing. Perhaps she would soon get out of this.
A banging on the door revealed Ser Gawen. His lips were pressed into a thin like. "Your Graces, we need you to mount the dragons."
Maegor raised a brow. "What for?" Rhaena looked nervous.
"Lodos the twice-drowned, his fleet approaches Fair Isle."