King's Landing
Summer, 325 AC
With the rising sun came Aemon. Rhaenys couldn't actually see him from so far away, but there was no mistaking his dragon. It's milk-pale wings stretched across the dawn sky, it's white gold scales gleaming with the day's first light. It could be none other than Snowfyre, and his rider was the Prince of Dragonstone. Aemon was evidently in no hurry as Snowfyre was casually gliding along. He was bigger now than when Rhaenys last saw him; but she bet that her and Lyrax would be faster. She couldn't wait to show Aemon the new tricks she'd been learning. She just hoped he would have time for his little sister in all the commotion. But there was small hope of that, he was getting married after all.
Behind her brother came a fleet, one of the largest Rhaenys had ever seen. There must have been almost three hundred of them by Rhaeny's figuring, though she lost count after sixty. A handful had the gold stars of House Sunglass, a score or two had the swordfish of House Bar Emmon or the Celtigar crabs. Several had the triple spiral of House Massey; more than a third bore the Velaryon Seahorse, though one large dromond flew a sea serpent and Rhaenys knew it to be her uncle Monterys' flagship Sea Snake. Rhaenys smiled at the thought of seeing her sister Daenyra again. Her children all had dragon eggs, perhaps one would hatch while they were here. Rhaenys turned her attention to the larger fleet and saw more than half bore the three-headed dragon, while one massive three-decked galley flew Aemon's colors; a white scaled, red-eyed dragon with it's wings crossed over it's chest. That must have been Ghost. Rhaenys promised herself she'd get on it to explore somehow, whether she would have to beg Aemon or sneak in.
She watched the ships for a few moments longer as they sailed to port and docked near the black or gold sailed ships already there. She had rarely seen the whole royal fleet brought together at once and it was magnificent as ever. Rhaenys knew there'd be more however. There would be ships coming from the Stormlands, from Dorne, the Reach, the West, the Riverlands, the North, even the Stepstones and the Iron Islands. Soon stags, pierced suns, silver moons, red grapes, mermen, lions, gold roses, eagles, white towers, and krakens would all be flying next to the dragon banner. There'd even be merchants from the Summer Isles or dignitaries from the Free Cities. All of them were coming to honor the marriage of the dragon and the lion.
The city was already almost full to bursting, as the travelers had been streaming in for weeks and Rhaenys knew there'd be even more coming today. Merchants, bards, mummers, hedge knights, and all manner of folk had been trickling in. The markets would be full of foreigners and locals alike hawking their goods as jugglers, fire-breathers, and acrobats plied their trade. Soon the lords and knights would be arriving. Her brother Viserys and the people from Summerhall would be coming soon. Uncle Aegon, Aunt Arianne, and their elephants wouldn't be long after. The castle had been in a ceaseless bustle for days getting chambers ready for all the guests. Rhaenys knew her sister Baella would be excited to see the mummers and acrobats perform, and her brother Jaehaerys was itching to discuss theorems with scholars, but she was looking forward to the fighting. Father had let her train with a sword but he was furious when she suggested competing in the melee. She hoped her brothers would do well however.
If Rhaegar was good enough, maybe father would let him join the Kingsguard. Then Rhaegar wouldn't have to marry some lord's daughter and leave her alone with Jahaerys and Baella. She loved them, but they never made mischief with her like she had with Aemon, Daenyra, Viserys, and Rhaegar. But Daenyra and Viserys were both married and almost never home now and Aemon would soon be the same. This would be the first time they were all together again in a long while. Rhaenys vowed she would make the most of it. She watched in her apartment in Maegor's Holdfast, as Snowfyre drew close to the Red Keep. The dragon slowed and skillfully landed on a large perch, barely making a sound. Father had extensive additions made to the castle to make room for the ever-growing dragons.
She saw a distant shape slide off of Snowfyre. Rhaenys smiled wide and ran out of the room in excitement, only pausing to throw on a shirt and trousers and not bothering to close her door. Her black cat, Night, hurried after her. The gold cloaks nearby were startled and called out but she paid no mind. She hurriedly exited the holdfast, slowing slightly as she crossed the bridge over the spiked dry moat. Rhaenys cheerfully hailed the white-cloaked Ser Wex and he grinned in return. She picked up speed again and took the stairs up to the battlements three at a time. She breathed evenly, not even breaking a sweat. Father and mother had both believed in physical education and Rhaenys was glad for it.
Rhaenys forced herself to slow down as she approached the perch where Snowfyre landed. She was older now and couldn't just go running up to Aemon and jumping into his arms like a child, even though she wanted to. He had to see his little sister was nearly a woman grown now. She stepped silently but quickly as Aunt Arya had taught her, and reached to open the door to the landing before she heard faint voices on the other side. Without a second thought, Rhaenys slightly cracked open the door and pressed her ear near the opening. She recognized the voices as Aemon and father.
"...word from Aurane. He says the raiders are getting bolder now."
"They're growing into a real nuisance. Trade and travel is being hampered. Perhaps it's time Asha takes a fleet and straightens them out."
"It's not just local malcontents now. He says rumors are flying about the Daughters and the Empire gearing up for war. They say it could erupt any moment now."
"I hear the same, and any war would be disastrous. Trade to the east would collapse. And if either side wins that wouldn't be the end of it. Tyrion is advising caution and restraint, and I agree, but we must still be ready. The last time either Volantis or the Three Daughters had such ambitions, Westeros bled. Now they both seek conquest. And if that isn't enough, they talk of another Great Khal and the Gold Harpy rising in Essos, the Freemen and Sparrows running amok in the countryside, the Silence and this Stepstone Pirate King raiding the coasts, a new High Chief leading the mountain clans, ghouls and other beasts probing the Wall, monsters and demons preying on the peasantry, the Pureborn sharpening their swords for war with the Bay of Dragons, and now another Vulture King rising in Dorne. We are beset by enemies within and without, and we cannot sit idly by."
"What should we do father? Intervening militarily could prove a disaster."
"Nothing overt. But we must prepare all the same. Once the wedding is over, have Monterys' fleet sail to the Stepstones. The world will think he will be there to help his uncle but if war erupts, we will have a fleet already in position to defend our waters. I will also have Arianne and Shireen ready their fleets. Stepstone raiders are a problem for them as well and the same pretense will suffice. I'll have Asha make sure our own fleet is ready."
"Understood father. Once I return to Dragonstone, I'll have our men ready to muster as well."
A new voice, a woman's voice, suddenly interjected.
"You're not even home for a few minutes and already you talk of war and battle. You're going to be married Aemon, this is to be a time of happiness and content for you. Ah, you're just like your father. Never happy unless some crisis looms on the horizon."
"I know how important today is mother. It is best to keep the Lannisters on our side. We will need them if the violence escalates."
Rhaenys heard her mother utter a long-suffering sigh, "My son. I pray to all the gods that you never experience the kind of war your father and I have. That is why we've spent almost our whole lives creating lasting peace in the hope you would never know war and its horrors. Tyrion sent some of his finest men to treat with the Essosi, have faith in their ability. As such, I will have no further talk of troop movements and battles today. Think of your wedding instead. You've known Julianna since you were both babes. She is a beautiful, kind, intelligent young woman and I know she will make you happy and bear us many rosy-cheeked grandchildren."
"Mother, I..."
"Your mother's right Aemon. These are serious matters, but they can wait for a day or two. I'll not let belligerent Essosi ruin your wedding. We best get ready for the day."
It was then Rhaenys chose to open the door and enter with a grin. She saw Lord Commander Podrick, though she called him Pod, turn and wave cheerfully. Mother was next and she smiled at her youngest child. Rhaenys smiled right back at her. Her mother was surely the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms. Ghost perked up at the sight of Rhaenys and padded silently toward her, licking her hands, and baring his neck for her enthusiastic petting. Night brushed up against Ghost's leg and purred. Father grinned at Rhaenys and even Aemon cracked a rare smile, his violet eyes gleaming.
He looked different from the last time she saw him. His silver hair wasn't shoulder length anymore and he was clean-shaven now. Rhaenys knew he did so because mother would have made him do it anyway. But that wasn't it. Aemon had never been soft, but he had obviously been training extensively at Dragonstone, his travelling leathers were a tight fit. And his skin had been slightly tanned a shade or two, probably from the travel and outdoor training. All this she took in a few moments however, since she decided to abandon her resolution and immediately jump into his arms cheering happily.
Aemon caught her in mid-air and laughed along with her, clutching her tight to his chest and hugging her back. Rhaenys closed her eyes and savored the moment. Snowfyre grunted and she felt his forked tongue lick her forehead. She knew she was grinning like a fool but she didn't care. She was incurably happy now, and at that moment, the future seemed bright as the sun reflecting off of Snowfyre's scales.
They marched into the sept, armed with smiles and armored in finery. First had come the High Septon and the Most Devout with their crystal crowns and silver robes. With them were a large train of lower septons and septas of all orders who swung braziers of incense and recited melodic chants, blessing the ground as they walked. The commons looked on from the crowded alleys and shopfronts, overriding the sounds of prayer with cheering.
After the holy men came the royal army. First came a company of Night Riders, a light cavalry unit of both Dothraki or Westerosi descent. The Dothraki-born wore their hairs in braids, and even the Westerosi sported long beards and flowing manes. Each man wore a curved bow strapped across his chest with a curved arakh at his hip. But unlike the khalasars of Essos, all also wore light armor of hardened leather and minimal steel plate. The officers dismounted and entered the rebuilt Great Sept of Baelor while the enlisted took positions at the bottom of the steps. At their head were the Blood Riders, a cadre of men sworn to defend the royal family to the death.
Following the riders were a company of Mother's Legion, marching in step with shield and spear. The Unsullied of old were no longer created the same, but similar training had been given to volunteers. They were not fanatical in their devotion, but they were highly disciplined all the same. Unlike the Unsullied they wore leather armor and steel helms. They followed the same process as the Night Riders as officers with three-spiked helms ascended the steps.
After both came the men-at-arms, the gold cloaks. Jon had reformed the watch into a standing army and navy, and they made an impressive sight with their gold-gilded armor and matching cloaks. Many of them were shavepates and freedmen from Essos, and added foreign flourishes to the standard armor. The marines of the gold fleet were more lightly attired in gold leather with longswords or axes at their hips. The Lord Commander of the City Watch, Ser Morros Slynt rode a gold-barded destrier before dismounting.
The commons cheered loudly when the Dragon's Teeth rode into view. They wore black and red armor, with leather cloaks and dragon-head helms. Each man bore a dragonbone bow with a longsword at their hip. They were the finest of the Iron Throne's fighting men, a unit of highly trained scouts, marksmen, and soldiers sent on the most dangerous missions. They had so far been the only ones to effectively fight the Freemen Brotherhood and their fame was quickly spreading through the land. Black Visenya led them. The bastard princess, with her short black hair and indigo eyes was also far famed in Westeros. She was the daughter of Robert Baratheon and Jeyne Greystone, herself the natural child of Aerys Targaryen. Cersei Lannister had sought Visenya's death when she was a babe, but Varys had spirited her away to the care of her kinsman Aegon. Now Visenya was one of the Iron Throne's greatest champions.
Those the commons had been long waiting for now finally arrived. Their cheers and applause drowned out all other sound, reverberating through the air. King Jon Stark, the White Wolf rode on a black courser with Queen Daenerys Targaryen at his side on her silver mare. The direwolf ghost stalked behind his master. With the monarchs came their children. Viserys, the Prince of Summerhall, and his wife Princess Ashara Martell rode on Dornish sand steeds with their children in an open-windowed carriage. Viserys with his long snow-white hair, lilac eyes, bright smile, and youthful features; wearing a Dornish robe, with his Braavoshi rapier at his hip cut a striking figure and Aemon saw many maidens blush at the sight of him. Princess Daenyra and her husband Lord Monterys Velaryon rode side by side, their children sharing their carriage with their cousins along with Rhaenys who stared wide-eyed at the crowds. Aemon smiled at the sight of Daenyra, his twin, as beautiful as ever with her braided platinum blonde hair. The Velaryons rode nearby. Prince Jahaerys and Princess Baella rode behind. Jahearys kept his hair silver cropped short, and his stormy grey eyes studied the sights around him with an inquisitive air. Baella with her curled white locks and violet eyes laughed at his side, waving at the commons. Both were unmarried, though many knew they adored each other. The Kingsguard flanked the royal family, resplendent in white armor and white cloaks, and Aemon grinned at the sight of Rhaegar riding next to Lord Commander Podrick.
Another din arose and many pointed to the skies as the dragons, riderless, flew above, roaring above the crowds to shrieks and cheers alike before perching on and around the great sept. Drogon landed on the top of the dome, with Viserion and Rhaegal nearby, while Snowfyre draped himself above the entrance near the other young dragons. There were ten dragons in King's Landing now, and there were likely to be more soon. Viserys and Daenyra had placed eggs in all of their children's cribs, and the first would be hatching any day. Aemon too looked forward to the day he could teach his children how to ride. How to slip the bonds of the Earth and fly free. The hope both gave him solace and strengthened his resolve.
All the great knights and high lords of Westeros followed the royal family. The Starks led by Lord Brandon and his family marched proudly with their train of northmen, direwolves by their sides. The famed Winter Wolves, with their wolven cloaks and wolf helms, flanked them and Aemon could see even some wildling lords with shaggy beards and locks were attending. There were Night's Watchmen with them, among them Lord Commander Theon Greyjoy. A small train of children of the forest rode with the northerners on the back of shadowcats and even a few giants stomped behind them. The Martells were no less fascinating. Princess Arianne and Lord Aegon rode at the head of a long train of Princes and Princesses of Dorne. Edric Dayne rode nearby, the famed Dawn holstered on his back. The exotic Dornishmen were just as striking to the commons as the Targaryens. Many pointed and gasped at the sight of the mounted elephant plodding behind the Dornishmen.
The men and women of the court followed; led by the members of the Small Council and comprising an eclectic mix of Westerosi nobility and Essosi-borne luminaries. Knights rode next to Dothraki warriors with bell-braided hair, Ghiscari shavepates with bare heads, swaggering bravos with colorful tunics, dark-robed alchemists, and Summer Islanders with feather capes. There was even a Red Priest among them. All fell silent, when a handful of white robed figures walked behind the others. Their cloaks seemed to shift colors, and they stepped noiselessly across the cobblestones. Everyone knew who they were, and many dared not to breath until they were past. The following trains were somewhat less exotic but no less magnificent.
All the chivalry and nobility of the Stormlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, and the Vale marched in a procession of splendor and honor. The Lords Baratheon, Tully, Arryn, and Tyrell rode with all their vassals and sworn swords, striding with a bevy of colorful banners atop magnificent mounts. Lord Willas rode in a carriage escorted by the Knights of the Green Hand while the Sweetrobin and Ser Harry Arryn led a formidable column of falcon-helmed Winged Knights. Lady Brienne of Tarth, the Just Maid at her side, sternly advanced while Dickon Tarly waved at the commons, and Edmure Tully freely smiled and threw trinkets at the crowds and occasionally brandishing Oathkeeper to cheers and applause. Even the Ironborn lords with their scars and hard looks, and the Stepstone lords with their gaudy jewelry and finery inspired the commoner's love. Behind all of them came the bride's family, the men of the West, with the Lion of Lannister at their head. Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime drew little love but their train was one of the largest and most splendid, and drew much acclaim besides.
Soon, the lords and ladies of the realm gathered inside the great sept and took their places before the Seven. The Starks, Tullys, Arryns, Velaryons, and Martells were placed closest to the Targaryens on one side of the aisle while the Lannisters took up a large portion of the other side. An honor guard of Targaryen and Stark men-at-arms stood at attention as Aemon strode to the altar to stand with the High Septon, one of the Hightower brood. He waited anxiously in his black doublet, red sash, and black cloak, with a black steel coronet on his head. The High Septon droned on through many verses of the Seven Pointed Star, as the guests excitedly whispered, the collective buzz obscuring most of the High Septon's benediction. No doubt equal parts gossip and scheming was ongoing as the prayers continued.
A flood of emotions coursed through Aemon, who somehow managed to maintain his composure. He felt equal parts nervousness and anticipation with a strong current of bewilderment. He rarely saw Julianna since he assumed the lordship of Dragonstone, and only for a brief moments at that. He wondered if they would be close again or if they had both changed too much. He wondered what she thought about this marriage, if she was happy to be wed to him. It had not been chosen by either of them, as truth be told Aemon had been more concerned with leading Dragonstone than romance. But he vowed to himself to make the most out of this union. He was a lucky man after all. Father and mother would reign for years yet, he and Julianna would have all the time they needed to settle in and get used to one another. He ought to have thanked the gods for such providence. He looked to father and mother, who held hands and smiled at him. Aemon managed a smile back.
The densely packed crowds finally quieted just as the High Septon's recital came to an end and the doors opened. Aemon looked up and down the aisle as the bride approached. She wore a long, flowing white dress with gold embroidery. A gold veil covered her face while a red and gold cloak covered her shoulders. Tyrion limped along with the help of his cane, hand in hand with his daughter. Aemon felt his heart begin to pound monstrously, and he felt a sweat break out under his doublet. Tyrion plodded up the stars and silently presented her to Aemon before retreating back down. She threw back her veil and Aemon stared into her deep vibrant eyes, and felt a smile touch his lips. He took in her rich long hair, her soft skin, and her own dazzling smile. She really was beautiful.
The High Septon broke the silence, "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
The nervousness left Aemon and he felt his hands work automatically as Julianna turned. He quickly removed the lion stamped cloak from her shoulders, folded it, and placed it on a nearby pedestal before removing the cloak from his own back. He unfolded the cloak and hesitating just a fraction of a second, wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, displaying the three-headed dragon to the guests.
The High Septon then proclaimed, "Your grace, your grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
Aemon slowly grasped Julianna soft warm hand in his callused one and they exchanged a look as the High Septon tied a ribbon around their hands, binding them together and speaking, "Let it be known that Prince Aemon of House Targaryen and Lady Julianna of House Lannister, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."
Their hands were tied together now and the Septon continued, "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." He unwrapped the ribbon but they still held onto each other's hands.
The High Septon gazed at them both, "Look upon each other and say the words."
Aemon and Julianna turned to each other and Aemon carefully took her other hand in his. They spoke together, his strong tones flowing in sync with her melodic voice, "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger"
The young prince spoke the words and realized he meant them, and as he looked into her eyes he knew she felt the same, "I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."
Aemon released one of her hands and turned to his family, to his friends, to the realm, "With this kiss, I pledge my love."
Then the Prince of Dragonstone embraced his future queen on the altar, grasping her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. The cheers and applause of the onlookers overwhelmed his own beating heart, and above them all, Aemon thought he could hear the dragons on top of the sept.
Aemon knew he would remember this moment till the day he died.
Jon couldn't remember the last time he had been so happy. The past months had cast a dark cloud over his world, but seeing his young son kiss his beautiful bride made him forget it all. Ghost had howled to the heavens when the pair kissed, and all of the wolves followed suit. The roaring of the dragons had shaken the roof and the smiles and applause of all of Jon's friends and family lifted his spirits immeasurably. When he was young, he had never thought he would live to see this day, to see his son marry while he stood next to his own wife. He truly had not known what he sacrificed when he took his Night's Watch vows, and he counted himself lucky everyday that he was surrounded by those he loved.
The guests had left quickly, cheering and hollering as they followed the Prince and his bride out of the door to the adulation of the commons. Jon watched them leave, these young and happy children and he vowed he would do everything in his power to preserve their bliss. Jon took Daenerys' hand and the two followed the procession out.
The crowds soon filled up the nearby fairgrounds outside the city walls. The crowds in the city streets were simply inconceivable. The market was full to bursting with tradesmen hawking their wares, and commoners flew the dragon banner from windows, drinking to Jon and Daenerys' names and the names of the newlyweds. Music, laughter, and revelry buzzed around them, and the air was thick with the aroma of succulent meats and delectable pastries. The dragons freely roamed, flying about the sky, performing aerial tricks and occasionally blasting out bursts of multi-colored flame.
The lords and ladies had erected scores of pavilions, and hundreds of different banners flapped in the air. Jon, with Daenerys, and a small cadre of companions, drank in the sights and sounds.
"If only we had this kind of army when we fought the walkers."
"Today they're coming for something far more important Jon."
"In that you are correct. Come, I have to start the tourney at least."
The king and queen had then taken their seats on the tourney grounds and Jon had quickly proclaimed the beginning of the games. The tilts began in earnest, with the bravest and most skilled knights of the realm charging down the lists and striking each other with colorful lances atop thoroughbred mounts. Jon himself had little taste for jousting and quickly retired after a few matches, but the jousts continued. No doubt many high knights and courageous warriors would prove their valor and ability today. Jon trusted Daenerys to recognize any competitors of worth. He would of course return for the final rounds, but the jousting would continue all day till the evening feast and for many days after.
The rest of the fairgrounds were no less busy. Merchants also sold their goods here, everything from fine food to fine jewelry to weapons and armor was being traded. All manner of entertainers played music and performed tricks to the delight of their audience. No coin had been spared for the festivities, and many curiosities from around the world were on display. He saw mummers reenact all manner of scenes from the War of Ten Crowns and he heard more than a few songs that had used those events as the subject of their ballads.
He passed by several pavilions were the lords and ladies were having their own large luncheon feasts. No doubt there were many schemes underway, juicy bits of gossip and rumor being spread, and vacuous pleasantries being exchanged as they gorged themselves on rich food. Jon had no love for the Game of Thrones and left the schemers to it. He played only when he needed to. The peasants also were celebrating, loudly singing songs and knocking back barrels of ale as they danced to the music and played many quaint games. Jon whistled to Ghost, who immediately ran off to begin scrounging for food.
Nearby competitions and exhibitions of all variety had sprung up. Daenerys' Essosi ties had brought much foreign pageantry to the celebrations, and a wide variety of foreigners were peddling curiosities, new fashions, and inventions. More than a few claimed to be magicians, though Jon doubted they were truly or if they were, that they had much power. He had seen true magic in his time, and it was not a thing to be trifled with. Nearby a large tent held a dice tournament while one lord hosted cyvasse games in his pavilion, and Jaehearys was playing a match with Willas Tyrell. The archery competition was well under way and Jon could clearly see Visenya among the competitors. Baella was playfully strumming her lute next to a band of travelling bards while Rhaenys charged around the green with a gaggle of other trouble-making children and that black cat of hers. Daenyra was among a number of nobles pleasantly chatting in another pavilion and Jon shook his head with a grin as he watched Viserys duel some bravo while trading witty jests.
One of Brandon's boys was stripped to the waist, covered in mud, and was wrestling a wildling. He flipped the man to the ground to the roar of the watching crowd. The young nobles were devising all kinds of contests to prove their skill, and Jon watched as one Dornish prince skillfully threw a spear into a far-off hay bale while a Reachman unsuccessfully tried to emulate him. Another group of boys tried to see who was the best hand with a hammer by taking turns smashing increasingly ridiculous objects while some others had a knife throwing contest. The ironborn were attempting to introduce the finger-dance to their peers, with mixed results. Jon saw many playful duels and on the fields, mock battles between competing teams of knights raged. He watched it all with a small smile on his face.
However it was the melee that interested him most. Hundreds of warriors were preparing for an all-out brawl and Jon knew he would not be left out. He returned with his Kingsguard, to his great pavilion, itself the size of a house, and made ready to strap on his arms and armor but stopped when he saw a large company of unfamiliar men outside the tent; arguing with the guards posted there. There must have been two score of them, all had the look of cutthroats, and their leader was a Tyroshi with a green beard. Tensions were high, and more than one man had his hand on his sword.
Jon cleared his throat, "What seems to be the problem Serjeant?"
Serjeant Addam, who was posted at the entrance said, "Your grace, these fine gentlemen demanded to speak to you. I said that your grace was enjoying the festivities and had no time for unwashed foreign thugs. They took offense to that."
Jon glared at the men, specifically their leader, "This is my son's wedding, if you wanted an audience, you chose exactly the wrong day to seek one. Forgetting the fact that I don't hold audiences with complete strangers. State who you are and what your business is here, now."
The Tyroshi with his garish silks and gaudy rings turned and Jon saw he was holding a large lacquer box, "Ah but your grace, we reckoned that this would be the perfect time to approach you. My name is of no import but I come bearing gifts for you on this joyous day, on behalf of my master."
Jon heard Podrick's hand slide to his longsword, "And just who are these gifts from?"
"From the new lord of the Stepstones. He hopes this trinket will help demonstrate to you that there are no hard feelings."
The Tyroshi turned and opened the box and Jon glared at the man. In it was the head of a knight, complete with helm. He looked to be one of Aurane's men, no doubt captured in a raid.
"Ah, the so-called Pirate King sends his regards eh?"
"That is correct your grace. He would like you to know that the Iron Throne's imperialism will no longer be tolerated and that, henceforth this adventurism will cease. Aurane will be permitted to retain his land on Torturer's Deep, but he and by extension, you, will evict the other nobles on our lands and surrender all dominion over the Stepstones."
"Well this is surely an eloquently composed message. Allow me to relay my reply."
Jon's hand flashed to his belt and in a blur, his sword cleared, the sheath. A second later, the Tyroshi's head fell from his body which fell soundlessly to the ground. The other men gawped for a moment before drawing their own weapons and shouting in several different languages.
Lightbringer burst into flame and Jon heard Podrick cry out, "To the king!" As the Kingsguard drew swords and followed him. They were a handful against dozens but Jon had faced worse odds before. The clang of the skirmish was loud, and several passing warriors observed the commotion and rushed to Jon's defense. The noise of the festivities continued however, and many did not notice the din over the music and revelry. But if the violence wasn't quelled soon, it cause a panic.
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