SoundtrackCoughing, Garland opened his eyes. The Maester looked over him, running, the frail man actually running to see it. He felt like he was in agony, like there was a blur going on, like the pain was still driving.
"Careful, careful! Don't move, the bandage is barely on!" The Maester exclaimed, as Garland looked across.
"Seven Hells....what happened? Garland said weakly, his throat dry, the blood mixing with the water he had clearly been forced to down, though of course, he had no memory of it. This was the first he had seen any light at all, the distant noise of King's Landing out his window, or at leat, what sounded like it.
"You nearly died, M'Lord. You're in a weak state, as far as I can tell, it is very lucky that you are alive. We had to give you Milk of the Poppy, otherwise you would have surely passed away from the pain." He said, as Garland wheezed a little, not wanting to look at it. But he did, and it wasn't a pretty sight at all.
The scar ran deep, and it had not entirely healed yet. It was covered by a bandage that wrapped itself around Garland's upper ribs, but even through the cloth, it was a distinct cut of red, stained by blood. though it seemed to have stopped bleeding as of now. It ran from the bottom of his armpit to just a little above his second rib, and would have almost surely have killed him, Garland thought to himself. The blade couldn't have fully gone in, he concluded. That was why he was still breathing, only just.
"Fuck....where are we in King's Landing? Alerie, is she okay?" He said, exhaling with a little tension, as he put his head back, looking over at the robed figure.
"We're in the Red Keep, Lord Tyrell. You've been asleep for at least a day and a half, since your injuries. Your sister is in safe hands, she is with Princess Rhaenyra and Baela, and she has visited you by the hour. It wasn't looking good, but we've managed to stop the bleeding, but you're still very frail."
"Shit...thank the Seven for that. " He said, chuckling lightly, shaking his head. Luck had played well to him, the fact he wasn't. He remembered blurrily what had happened....Lorch was dead, so potentially, the siegeing forces had taken a hit. But Garland didn't even want to think, what the fuck had happened to his own forces.
"I have to say, Garland, your armour stopped most of your guts from spilling out. The only problem is, it will take you weeks before you can walk again, depending on how strong you feel. You're going to be frail, and I can't say if you'll ever fight again." He said, Garland swearing under his breath, shaking his head.
"Bollocks...I'm going to fucking walk within the week or die trying. Please, Maester. Tell me it can happen." He spluttered, just rejecting what the Maester said, just knowing he had to, one way, or another.
"Miracles rarely happen twice, but if you can do it, it is possible. I have seen grave injuries, and if you are driven enough, then perhaps you can, Garland. I have to say, it's one of the worst impalements I've seen. You lost almost half your blood when you came in, in normal circumstances, most men would have died."
"Well, at least I kept my promise to Alerie. Told her, I wouldn't die." He said, partially to himself, shaking his head, as he winced a little in pain, looking across at the window, and the distant sight.
"I can't ask you what is going on out there. But send for my sister, Rhaenyra and Baela too. I need to talk to them." Garland said, clutching his ribs a little. It still felt horrid, though he didn't feel like any more Milk of the Poppy. That stuff at Tourneys was addictive,
The noise of what sounded like a sudden thud outside made Garland turn his head a little in his resting position, looking out the window. The roar was distinct, as he looked back.
"That isn't....no, that's not Drogon, is it?" Garland asked, the Maester looking over.
"That's not....wait, it cannot be Visaxes, or Jadefyre...it is, it is Drogon!" The Maester exclaimed, as Garland broke into a smile. They may have been cut down, but they had three dragons their disposal. And that dragon, the most fine, the most mighty of it's species, was here. It had to be for a reason, and if Garland would have known, then perhaps he would have smiled more than he already did, in his frail and wounded state.
Lady Rhaenyra had been awake for the past four hours, sitting sullenly in the throne room of the Red Keep. She looked on at the Iron Throne, the ancient seat of royal power throughout the Seven Kingdoms. She stood alone, or rather, away from the rest of those that were gathered about in quiet conversation. She ran her thumb across the hilt of her ancestral sword, the pommel feeling warm, an odd sensation to say the least. Rhaenyra wondered what this city would have been like back in its heyday, when her family was still numerous and infinitely powerful. Her violet eyes scanned the hundreds, if not thousands of swords that made up the throne, before she turned, her attention being grabbed by something else.
She had done what she could to keep combat from happening, but sadly, the Crakehall forces would not meet for terms, choosing to fire upon the delegation that had tried to ride out to hopefully come to some sort of peaceful resolution to the siege that was now encircling the capital. Rhaenyra shook her head, clearing the thoughts of the hours earlier, to focus upon what was at hand. Before her stood soldiers and officers, men of great power and martial skill that would be of the greatest help in the coming storm. From beyond them, the doors to the throne room were slowly pushed open, and a soldier came running, making a bee line for Rhaenyra and Baela. The soldier came to a stop before the two princesses, before bowing, and beginning to relate his message to the two women from his master.
"What do you mean he was injured? Why were we not informed of this earlier? We could have done something... my sister and I could have helped him for the Seven's sake. Take me to him right away... I must speak with him immediately in order to figure out what we are to do now. The Crakehall forces seem to hell-bent on laying siege to us all, and there will be little we can do if we do not decide on a direction to go." Rhaenyra rushed past her advisors in a swirl of her robes and cloak, the fabric twirling in a stylish fashion. She was shortly followed behind by her sister Baela Targaryen, and a few other Lords of relative importance. The Tyrell soldier led the way, weaving through the hallways and stairwells of the ancient Red Keep.
Thoughts of unease and uncertainty passed through Rhaenyra's head. This unfortunate incident that befell Lord Garland Tyrell could not have come at a worse time. The man was said to a be a natural born leader, one who inspired men to follow him. And yet, now he was lying on his deathbed, fighting for his life. Baela spoke up, seeing that her elder sister was noticeably unsettled by the unfolding events that rapidly swirled around the Targaryen claimants. "Rhaenyra... have faith, it will be alright. I doubt he would be so easily taken from this world." Smiling, she sped up to be in step with her sister, placing her hand upon Rhaenyra's shoulder. "Calm yourself... I know he will be alright, and so will our city and kingdom. An accident like this will not dissuade you from the correct course."
Rhaenyra shook her head, looking away from her sister to a closed door guarded by a swarm of Tyrell guardsmen. The men who guarded their lord looked to be on edge, their faces stern and hard, looking for any signs of danger, even deep within the confines of the Red Keep. The door swung open, a maester rushing out to collect something from a nearby cart that held medical and herbal supplies that could aid in the healing process. The man looked up, having noticed the royal party that had been making its way towards Lord Garland’s room. He bowed his head quickly, before rushing back inside with a handful of medicinal supplies. The door closed shut, blocking the view that had briefly been shone from the inside the room.
The escort turned to Rhaenyra and Baela, bowing to the two quickly, before moving forward to speak with the sergeant at the door. The women and their guards came to a halt, awaiting to be beckoned into the room in order to speak with Lord Garland. Baela turned to look out a window, gazing down into the city below, as she awaited their invitation into the chambers. Her sister joined her, their shoulders touching as they stood side by side, taking in the sights of the early morning sunrise, the fog still being rather present. “It’s hard to believe that there is a war unfolding out there right now… I see the beauty of the land, and yet, the Crakehall’s seek to spoil it all in their vain and unfounded claim upon the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra, take a deep breath and relax, you will be fine, and you have nothing to fear. You are the rightful heir to the throne, and you will prevail.” Baela smiled, holding her sister’s hand tightly, squeezing it in a comforting way, before letting go and looking back out over the city.
Their heads turned to look at the door to Lord Garland’s chambers, it swinging open to reveal the maester, and the personal guard of Lord Garland. The maester nodded, beckoning the two sister’s to come in, and them alone. Rhaenyra nodded her head, turning to face the guards that she had brought with her.
“Ser Trevan, wait here with the rest of the men and augment the Tyrell guardsmen. Ensure that no one bothers us, and be on guard. The Crakehall’s have shown their true colors.” She smiled, before turning about face, moving quickly to enter the chambers of Lord Garland.
The lights were dim within the bed chambers. Lord Garland lay upon the large feather bed covered in a large swathe of bandages, the bandages still gleaming red with fresh blood that was slowly congealing. Rhaenyra covered her mouth, trying her best to hide her dismay at the unsetting sight of a man flirting between life and death. Lord Garland was pale, far paler than she ever thought a man could ever become. His breathing was labored, pained sounding, even though he was awake and alert. Baela looked on in a better manner. She had seen blood before, or rather, more gore than her sister was used to. Lord Garland looked bad to her, but, he’d probably recover, though how much remained to be seen. Only the Seven would be able to decide Lord Garland’s fate now.
Garland looked across, moaning a little as he put his head up, the wound feeling like it still tore a hole in a part of his side, smiling as he saw the two. Their arrival felt like it at least showed that he protected them, and whilst he knew that the two Targaryen sisters were strong, they were still mortal.
"Rhaenyra, Baela....it is good to see you." Garland's voice was weak, the Maester close on hand, as he leant up a little, a smile on his face. Drogon outside, the fact he was still breathing, the fact that Alerie was safe, and that Daenys was imprisioned, all of it felt like too good of a dream on the Milk of the Poppy. Despite that, it seemed that he was back, and even if he was going to be pinned on this bed with this wound of his...though weak and pale, he seemed still like he was in a fairly alert condition, still able to comprehend what was going on around him, albeit it on this bed.
"I am glad you were kept safe, Princesses. By the Seven, if those Crakehalls found you..." Garland added, coughing a little, as he smiled, brushing his hair aside a little, the scar running down by his ear, significant- from where his helm had severed and left a nasty wound, though it was mostly covered by his long hair anyway. For this good looker, he seemed to have gotten a pretty lucky wound, the young Rose looking over at them both, taking them in. It was good to see them, and they did care for him, he felt it already. Like his duty had done what it did, so that they could continue their family's legacy.
"I told Alerie I wasn't going to die like this. So here I am." The Tyrell chuckled, shaking his head, knowing that it was an ill fitting time to make a remark like this, but such was the nature of terrible ironies like his.
Rhaenyra spoke first, stepping closer to the bed that Lord Garland lay upon. Her voice was soft and caring, carrying out across a few feet at most. "Lord Garland, do not worry about us for now. The Crakehalls have to get past the walls first before they can even begin to worry any of us. We are safe here, behind the walls that have stood for hundreds of years. You need to rest, to recover from your wounds, so that you may live to fight another day." She smiled, bowing cordially before the man, before stepping to the side, allowing her sister to speak up as well.
"You look like death warmed over... I thought you were supposed to be a good swordsman, Lord Garland," Baela quipped, a playful smile upon her lips, as she spoke to the Young Rose. She softend her expression, bowing her head slightly, before continuing to speak. "I am glad that you are alright though, and to hell with the Crakehall's, they've yet to face a dragon, let alone two." She turned, looking on to her sister, seeing that Rhaenyra wanted to speak some more.
"Lord Garland, we know that you must be tired, and no doubt taxed from your battle, but, what do you suggest our next move is? You were the Lord Hand, and you've have the most experience running this city at least. So, what now?" Rhaenyra asked, unease unable to be hidden from the tone and inflection within her voice. "Not to mention, from the sound of it... Drogon is about... and who knows what else is with him." She'd finished speaking, and awaited Lord Garland to respond.
"I killed a good few...but Lord Lorch is a big, cumbersome man. I am a young Lord. Bravery has it's problems." Garland replied to her earlier comment, barely being able to grab a small flask of water from behind him on the table to clear his throat with. The Maester helped to place it into his hands, as he barely took a drink, using only his right hand to sip some of the water, resting it by his wounded side, as he moved onto their other questions. They both looked charming, Rhaenyra was clearly the more stateswoman-like of the two, Baela the warrior, and Garland always did have a soft spot for the younger of the two sisters, from a distant blur of a memory at a tourney her remembered, both holding their Targaryen beauty well. Perhaps they were not mad, but born to be great women of their dynasty...perhaps like Aerys would have been. Drogon's arrival had to have reason, and what it meant, Garland did not understand. He was not torching the city, he was not Daenys's, it seemed...or could he be wild? Garland did not know dragons, hence didn't want to respond to that idea.
"You are right, Rhaenyra. I cannot explain it, I am afraid we are far more familliar with our Roses than we are with our Dragons. But as for this city, we need to holdfast. The Crakehalls will continue a siege, and I am prepared to wait it out, we have time. And by the time the news of the fight spreads across the Kingdoms, my own Hand should respond appropriately. Loras is an oaf...but he can make a reasonable decision when he can. And the Redwynes are still able to outflank the Crakehall fleets." Garland said, almost thinking out loud, as he looked across to the two, thinking, just working over things in general.
"We can't fight them in direct confrontation, but you must both remember, whilst you may ride dragons, you are the only two that I know that have any true claim to the Throne, so having you support my forces would be risky. We must take caution." He added, knowing that Baela wasn't going to respond well to it, but he had to speak truth. It was honest- otherwise, two dead dragons and two dead Targaryens would leave the Tyrell position very, very frail.
"As for what with the Throne, I do not know...Dorne is convinced that Aerys is alive. And to some extent, so am I. The words of a madman, of Daenys Targaryen, a man who tried to murder me and is assumed to have murdered the King. Even a madman wouldn't kill his only son. He has a very, very strong claim, and no doubt, would easily become King if he was shown to be alive. Again, we have to be careful, no matter how mad it seems." He said to them both, leaning his right, good side on his arm a little, wincing a little as he looked over.
"As much as I know it could be true...I think we cannot rush. Dorne is an ally in our wars to come if we present this, and if they think Aerys is alive, supporting them for the moment being would be a wise move. It would still keep your Protectorship, and if we find that he is nowhere to be seen, you become Queen, Rhaenyra."
Both Rhaenyra and Baela listened on as Lord Garland spoke. Each reacting differently to the news as it unfolded. Rhaenyra more calm and collected, while Baela amused, if not slightly disappointed that she could not ride out and lay was to the Crakehall armies. Still, it was not her choice in the end, and all that could truly be said, was that Rhaenyra may have some modicum of power, but the true power lay in Lord Garland's hands, for he had laid out the plans, and ensured their continued furthering. Rhaenyra spoke first, looking at Lord Garland with a curious gaze, before speaking in a determined tone. "I will not have the free people of King's Landing cower before a bunch of bandits and highway men. The Crownlands, and the whole of the Seven Kingdoms deserve better than to fear the likes of Lord Crakehall. What can we do to show the people that we have control, and that they should support us, rather than Lord Tygett?"
Baela smiled, letting out a chuckle as her sister spoke. Rhaenyra rarely got this fired up, but it was nice to see it when it did happen. Her gaze turned to look back at Lord Garland, patiently waiting for her sister to finish speaking before she added in what she was thinking about. "Lord Garland, we are both inept in these types of things, but my sister is right, we need to do something about the criminals who are camped out infront of the city's walls. What can we do, that shows not only the Crakehall forces, but the rest of the realm that we are in the position of power?"
Rhaenyra moved to sit upon the edge of Lord Garland's bed, to be at a more even level with him as she spoke with him. This man was far more powerful than she was. He may not be of the Targaryen blood line, but his family was still as wealthy, powerful, and great as her own, if not greater, due to the recent events concening Prince Daenys. She sighed, looking away to her sister, smiling at Baela before turning her attention back to Lord Garland, the Young Rose. Her gaze was one of concern and looking for reasurance, looking to the Lord Hand for guidance.
"Lord Garland, I will be honest with you. The very possibility of Prince Aerys being alive scares me. I have never met my nephew, and I know so little of him. No one has seen him since his birth fourteen years ago. And while my cousin Prince Daenys may be insane, unbalanced, touched with madness, I can not say beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did not commit the foulest of crimes against his own kin, let alone his wife. If, and only if Aerys lives, that means that I have no claim upon the throne, making me as much as a usurper as Lord Crakehall is. While you have the confidence to say that I could become a Queen in my own right, I would not dare to take something that I have no right to, nor not having worked to. I doubt Drogon has gone wild. A dragon as aged as he would not venture forth without due cause. I fear that he has a rider, and that the rider who claims ownership of him is none other than Prince Aerys. So, tell me, what would you do in my position? I am but a young woman, who up until a few weeks ago, had no concerns nor worries in the world other than who I would be marrying. Lord Garland, tell me, what would you have me do? What should we all do, for we are balanced upon the edge of a knife, any mistep leading to disaster." She finished, looking ever concerned as she looked to Lord Garland to speak his mind.
Garland did not know what to think, as he thoought to himself, pondering her words over, just knowing that perhaps she was right. If Aerys rode Drogon... well, it would not be something that would be impossible, but it felt strange to see the large dragon, centuries old, it's enormous span reminding the Tyrell that it was a beast that perhaps breathed the Targaryen dynasty's fire, and that could have been Aerys himself, if he was so chosen by the family's crown jewel of a dragon.
"We all serve the Crown loyally, and perhaps you are right. You are no usurper, as much as we are not. We are Protectors, we protect the right from those who wish to befowl it all. And I paid for it with this." Garland said, nodding to his wound, shaking his head.
"You have done well, the pair of you. Done a duty to the Kingdoms that shall not be forgotten, as the Princesses that ruled in the true heir's absence. Aerys may be the son to a disinherrited twin, but he is the only decendent of the strongest Targaryen line, and you say it yourself. You will likely be needed to stay in King's Landing, to help us run these Seven Kingdoms of ours. As Protector or what have you. I heard from Willas you treat the Lowborn with respect. If they see a Targaryen help them, the smallfolk will surely view us not as occupiers, but as righteous in our cause. We Tyrells do charity well....but that is something far more wonderful." Garland added with a distinct smile, before coughing as he looked out the window once more, sipping a little water as he looked back at the two, smiling.
"It makes me afraid, too about Aerys...but I have a feeling that there are few white-haired, purple eyed boys in this world, so I would guess the pieces shall soon make their moves. And these men that siege us, these foolish men. We may not seem powerful, but if the Prince is alive...then he is here if Drogon watched." The Young Rose continued to ponder, his thoughts not usually as fluid as he liked them to be, as he downed a little more, sitting up against the pillow further.
"So, here is what I propose then... if you are willing, then I shall serve to advise you in the best way I can. Baela can ride Jadefyre against the Southern Westerman forces on the evening, they only need see the dragon close, and a couple of men burnt before they realize they can't fight a war against us. Alone, yes, but it will be enough to send fear into their hearts. Not scores dead...the fuckers may have done this to me, but if we burn a whole army, we lose any face with the other Kingdoms we had. If we can prove to those Westermen that we hold the power, they'll bend the knee, or run. Or die from the swords of the Rose or the flames of Jadefyre. It is dangerous, but wait until then, let us see what Drogon does. And as for these matters, let us leave that as that for now...it is a lot on my mind, and once I am able to finally breathe a little better, I shall began writing letters and . Let us err on caution for now, before we burn the bastards. They shall get their comuppance. I promise you, it shall happen." Garland rounded the topic off nicely, wanting to shift it away. He had something on his mind, and it was from back when Willas wrote to him, before the siege began. Baela did look truly wonderful, and he couldn't help himself.
"Princess Baela, if you don't mind me saying, Willas told me you're still just as beautiful as you were at the Tourney, two years ago. The Hand's Tourney, if you remember....I remember you felling some very skilled Knights indeed." Garland knew he shouldn't have began the flirt, but he did anyway. Even in this wounded state, while Rhaenyra looked charming, Baela's warrior-like looks and rocky nature seemed to remind him so much of Alerie, that if Alerie could fight and ride a dragon, it would be Baela.
Perhaps she was no spider, but Garland recognized a good girl when he saw one, and this was a man who had several unknown bastards to his name, that much he knew himself. Last count, it had to be six wenches, and none had ever come forward about it, nor did anyone beyond the Tyrell household know. All that was truly known was that the Young Rose was a beauty, and a lot of Reachwomen did swoon for him, and they got their chance sometimes. This was the way of the Reach with many things- chivalry, beset with absolute bastardry, the latter being something that wasn't entirely frowned upon. Garland knew that sometimes, alcohol did not combine well, and Jehrilla was his latest and greatest, particularly in the literal sense of the word, conquest off the battlefield. He actually had fond memories of it now...it was so warm, so comfortable! Perhaps those Yunkish women were right to be so gluttonous....but he sickened himself when he reminded himself that she had a terrible flautence.
He calmed himself down in that snapshot of thought, knowing full well he felt for Baela, more so than Rhaenyra, seeing something in her general way, and those memories of the Tourney came back to mind. The Lord Tyrell recognized that it would be a strong person to marry, and she was far within her childbearing years, still developing as a soldier, and most of all, was a fellow jouster and a dragon rider. Dragon's blood had intertwined with the Rose's before, but it had never been on this scale, not of a Lord's marriage, and there was no reason why not with Baela, Garland thought to himself. That and the fact that in honesty, she looked a little different to the regular Reachwomen or other houses, they seemed to have a glaring, wonderful fire in their minds, something he deeply appreciated.
Rhaenyra listened while Lord Garland spoke. He was very right about the matter, in that she had never truly declared herself Queen, and thus, no wrong had been committed in the eyes of the Seven. She still could not shake the ominuous feeling that somehow fell about her shoulders, as she listened to Lord Garland finish speaking. He made a fair point overall, speaking his mind, but leaving room for discussion. It was by his leave that any sort of conflict could occur, and it was his men the were most at risk, let alone the paltry number of soldiers that Rhaenyra and Baela were able to muster to their own cause. Still, it was a fools errand to rush out into battle, risking everything when far more could be gained by seeing what would unfold with the arrival of Drogon, the Black Dread reborn.
"You are right Lord Garland... and I thank you for your sage counsel. As much as it would benefit all of us in the short term to burn this entire Crakehall host to a crisp, it will do little to gain us any allies and friends. The ways of the past sometimes are not best suited for these new and trying times. I simply want to do what is best for myself and my sister, along with the realm. We both serve as Protector's to the realm, in the chaos that has ensued with the death of the rightful King. I will admit, the thought of being a Queen did greatly uplift me, all the while it was terrifying. But, you speak truthfully, in that we must await to see what the Seven have destined for us, whether it is as King's and Queen's, or as loyal and leal subjects to the rightful heir. I trust that you will help guide us in the right direction, wherever that may lead us, and we will both do what we can to be there for you, both in spirit, and through our forces, own hands, and dragons." She smiled, rising up to move across the room to look out a window, to get a breath of fresh air while Baela began to converse with Lord Garland.
"Well, I hope that you will let me show those cowards what it means to anger the dragon sometime soon... but as my sister said, we both defer to you for the time being." Baela smiled, moving her dress about to sit upon the bed, while continuing to speak with the Young Rose.
"You speak rather boldly for a man with one foot in the grave..." Baela started off with a jest, offering a wicked smile to Lord Garland, "And besides, I doubt you could even lift a sword right now, let alone a boquet of roses for such a lovely lady like myself." Baela let loose a soft peel of girlish laughter, smiling at Lord Garland, even batting her eyes at him, before straightening her dress, and rising up to her feet. "But, your compliment has not gone unoticed, I am honored that such a renowned Lord as yourself would find me to be beautiful." She bowed, perhaps mockingly, perhaps out of defered respect, but either way, she twirled about as she moved across the room, her hair and dress swirling in a wave of silver, red, and black, before she made her way to stand at her sister's side, looking at the same window.
Garland chuckled, looking over. He felt terrible, but somehow, seeing visitors like these made him feel better, and his mind was busy at work, trying to rush through at least thinking things over, to clarify the situation, and to at least put his pain somewhere else, to focus on doing what Garland felt like his young years had been spent doing.
"Oh, how I wish I had met you when I wasn't like this. I guess I wouldn't mind having one foot in the Stranger's door, with you close by." He added with a distinct giggle of his own, brushing his hair aside a little behind his curled mane of a beard, knowing full well that Baela was at least receptive to it. Even with his pale face, he seemed to be a man of the Reach, as chivalrious and kind-spirited as they could come across, in their apperance and words. Adjusting his position once more, he looked at his wound. It was not going to improve instantly, that was for certain. Whatever the Maester had done, the bandage and the clay cast that sat a little below it, to hold it better in place, before he looked up at Baela again, watching her stand up and walk to her sister's side. That was, not before she twirled, her dress and hair a flurry, as she looked from the window.
"There are many women in the Reach, my Princess. But very few know how to handle a sword. Especially not with someone who has looks as good as yours. I guess I can't help myself." He added, as an off-hand comment to Baela, finishing the rest of the water, as he put it back, a charming chuckle prior, as he sat up once more.
"And I can't die yet, not with all this unfinished buisness to go. Oh, it shall be most excellent. Daenys to be tried, Seven Kingdoms to be reunited under someone of your dynasty, Crakehalls to burn, and Baela to flirt with. And my health to find again. So little time, so many things." Garland simply added, looking out the window once more, before looking at the Targaryen sisters, smiling. Things were bad, he could have died, and right now, that would be a lukewarm place to go to. But perhaps he had succeeded in defending those he loved, those who he did care for. And all in the while reminding himself of a Targaryen's beauty. Garland knew this was the Lord he was, and that it couldn't change, not easily.
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The Gardens of The Red Keep
The arrival of the Tyrells had not gone smoothly, from what Alerie knew. While Daenys was locked away, and the rest of the soldiering Reachmen inside, they had taken significant casualties. Almost 6,000 dead, and 3,000 had retreated back to Ashford, breaking contact with the Westerman forces. That, and the fact that she had sobbed when she saw Garland, just praying and praying again to the Seven for his health. The last time she had seen him, he was still wounded, badly. She wore her usual attire, the green and gold dress having a little cut off at the arms, furled up, revealing her slender but beautiful frame. She had not entirely buttoned it up, and a little of her cleavage showed, though of course, it was nothing that would be deemed disturbing, just appropriate for a Reachwoman in a nice clime such as this one, her burgandy hair allowed to flow, bringing out the colour in her eyes.
The gardens of King's Landing were similar in size to that of what Highgarden's were yet did not feel as personal, they felt clinical in comparison to home, Alerie thought to herself. Looking at the horizon, through a cutting in a rosebush, Alerie could see the bustling city below, though it did not seem as busy as usual. Drogon had vanished too, it seemed. The sight of Drogon was an impressive one, but she could no longer see it, the Tyrell unaware that the winged beast had flown down to Aerys's side.
She turned to the Rosebush, plucking her hand in. Oh, how she reminded herself, the thorns would hurt anyone else, cut through their skin so easy, but the Tyrells, their sigil was a rose, after all. Like the Starks had their Direwolves, and the Targaryens seemed to be born of their flames, the Tyrells had something of their own, though it was less well known. Being able to stick your hand in a rosebush came from just being used to flowers, she said to herself, it wasn't a trait of the family that came from something of a higher power. Even the Ladies of the Reach were familliar with the sweet smells and the types of flowers that existed, always seeking to find exotic and wonderful varieties for their gardens, and for the Tyrells, it seemed that it had taken a literal meaning, that in that moment, you could have indeed, called her the Lady of Thorns, Alerie pulled a Rose out, white in colour, among the Red and other thorny greenery. Their sigil, no less. A white Rose, well, a golden one, but white was the other colour she could use to show their symbol, and it was a proud one. Not a Wolf, or a Dragon, or a Lion...or a leaping fish or bird of prey. A mere flower. She inhaled it, pushing it down her dress a little, leaving it sticking out by her neck. It smelled good, that much she knew....oh, she missed gardening in Highgarden. Such a pursuit was not for a lady, they kept telling her. But the flowers, the smells, the wonders. It was a good way to relax, if there were no fairs.
Walking on, she made her way to a small marble pavillion, overlooking the city below, and the rest of the gardens, a couple of Tyrell guards keeping their distance, just keepng an eye out, as she took a seat, the burgandy-haired Tyrell exhaling as she sat down. Things were simple once...now, she had to play this game again.
Alyssa rushed into the castle gardens, her guard following closely behind. The sound of clacking armour filled the air as the guards struggled to keep up with the more lightly armoured Alyssa. She was almost running towards the keep. There, she saw a woman in front of a rosebush, with a rose in hand.
"Where is the Lord Garland Tyrell?" she asked, trying to force out her words.
Turning her head, she saw the Baratheon girl, the Tyrell guards closer by now, as they kept their Poleaxes close.
"Alyssa Baratheon, I assume? He's wounded, you understand. He is not in a state to do negotiations right now, my brother is fighting for his life!" She said, standing up, as she walked over, offering out her hand, her own outburst a little pre-empative, as she calmed herself down again.
"For now, you can talk to me, he is not able as of now. I am Alerie Tyrell, sister to this "Young Rose" that you know of. I am pleased to meet you, my lady." She warmly said, a smile on her face, trying to just hide her displeasure at Alyssa's immedate outburst, knowing that it was the Baratheon hot temper at play. Alerie was good at this, at being the beautiful, charming, and warm Lady of the Reach that you could talk to...and that these things happened. You were just charitable, and friendly in return, and they always came down, especially in the dire want that it seemed that Alyssa wished to have with Garland. She drew the rose from between her dress, the stalk barely above her bust, as she placed it down on the table, holding a distinct smile, something about the general way that she beamed seeming to invite hospitality.
Alyssa thought of her father. He never liked King's Landing, and the complicated politics that went into living there. "Nothing people say in King's Landing is true. Words do not escape their mouths as much as poison," he would say when he came back from his visits there.
"Very well. I am Alyssa Baratheon, and I speak on behalf of the Lord of the Stormlands, Gris Baratheon. We recieved a response from your brother, in the previous week. It implored us to swear fealty to Rheanyra Targaryen. I have traveled from Storm's End to accept his offer." She was wary of this other girl, seemingly the perfect diplomat, an actress fitting in perfectly with the backdrop of King's Landing.
Alerie smiled, nodding, knowing full well what Garland had done. Sworn fealty to the Lady Protector, meant sworn fielty to the Crown, and the people that held the city...the Reach. And whilst it was hardly a suprise, Alerie knew that Alyssa came to negociate something too, and that of course, she would ask for The Reach to save her fledglingly rebellious kingdom, led by her incompetent brother. Alyssa seemed smart, like a Lady of the Stormlands ought to have, brave too. Wrothful, of course, but that was the Stormlander way, much like hers was the way of the Reach.
"I am glad to hear of this acceptance, Lady Baratheon. I cannot take it for the Princess, but I would assume that it puts us into alliance. " She simply said, smiling, as she paused for a moment to clear her throat.
"Indeed, I know that you too understand that Princess Rhaenyra is as of yet just the Lady Protector to the Crown, she is no Queen. But we serve her loyally, against any false claimants. It is good to hear that our two Kingdoms will be united in this pursuit." Alerie added, before looking out on the view of King's Landing, not being able to see the walls, but only the Narrow Sea from here.
"As you know, the Westermen engaged Reachman forces, just to get myself, Garland and our recent prisoner, Daenys Targaryen, inside these walls. We gave an awful lot, just to make it here. But we can finally consolidate our position, and show some legitimacy at last. I cannot speak for Garland, as he is the head of the council, but you shall almost certainly be rewarded with a Council Seat for yourself, or Gris, if you so wish to take it." Alerie's tone was a polite, tidy one, her voice as comforting as the sight of a field of flowers, such she seemed to sound. Gone was the playful nature that she seemed to keep with her brother, it was a gregarious and well-kept appearance that she gave off.
"Would you wish to partake in some wine with me? We could have some brought down from the Cellars, our finest Arbor Gold on a day like this, I understand that in The Red Keep, our situation is most secure. Alyssa, it seems to me that we have more in common than you would like think."
"The Red Keep may be safe, but I cannot rest until Storm's End can feel the same way. Just tell me where Rheanyra is, so I may negotiate terms of fealty with her." Alyssa was beginning to grow annoyed with this. There was no time for wine, no time for enjoying the sun, and most certainly no time for debating with a girl that never seems to stop talking. Even now, hundreds of thousands of rebels barrel towards Storm's End, eager to put down Gris and whatever's left of his bannermen.
"The last I saw, they were in the apartments. And while I would not understand that feeling of siege, though we are in one now, I can only say that perhaps I can offer you a solution." Alerie simply stated fact, as she looked out to the ocean once more, before back at Alyssa once more.
"The Reach can help you, Alyssa. My brother didn't seem too confident to send men to you, the last I heard from him. Me and you both know this, Alyssa, that Gris is not a man of war, in a time that requires him to be able to show his steel....it is common knowledge in the Seven Kingdoms. You're a strong woman, I can already tell that...let us not jest, you know how to run your Kingdom and he is not helping. But I know that there are around 20,000 Yunkish Mercenaries that will be setting sail for Westeros this morning, and they will want to shed blood and earn gold when they arrive in two to three weeks time. For your loyalty, we asked you to send the men of Tarth to King's Landing and in return...we shall keep your seat for you, and crush your revolt. When we hear of it, then we can continue our alliance to hold these Seven Kingdoms together, against those who wish to destroy it all. Your men in among the Reach retinues to keep the peace in King's Landing, and ours to keep the peace in your Kingdom. A natural alliance." Lady Tyrell seemed not too overconfident, but proposing, diplomatic, outreaching almost, not wanting to cause alarm. She could read Alyssa well, and firstborns would always feel that way. Of course Alyssa would care for Gris, but stating fact that could not be reputed, due to the sheer comonality of that knowledge, felt like something worthwhile.
"20 thousand Yunkish? Surely that's more power than merely 5000 Tarth knights. Why do you send them to us, instead of keeping them in King's Landing. Why help us?" asked Alyssa. She tried to guess what Alerie was thinking by looking at her face, but it revealed nothing, almost as if she was thinking nothing. However, Alyssa knew this was not true. Everyone had an ulterior motive in the snake pit, and the walls are riddled with piercing eyes and focused ears.
Nodding, Alerie knew that she was right on the face of it, though of course, she knew that this was not a militaristic move, it was a diplomatic and political one. Why send 20,000 men to the Stormlands, when it was clear that the capital needed them far more? That they could land and already augment the forces of the Reach, rather than be diverted to deal with popular uprisings?
"It shows allegience, Alyssa, and it shows that you are comitted to us, as we are comitted to you. I am glad you accept, but the point being, it is a show of trust. Oh, there will be men marching from Highgarden when they hear what happened outside these walls, and there are two dragons that Rhaenyra and Baela have. We can wait, so the number is not of my concern." Alerie said with a slightly more analytical voice, as she looked out on the sea once more, thinking of the mercenaries. It seemed like she had not entirely departed from her young, fresh-faced and beautiful demeanor, but was using something deeper, more convincing, political.
"I know Lord Tarth could be used as a another commander in the city, and his forces are among the best the Stormlands could offer...against a Rebellion, they would be wasted. It will give you an existing stake in the capital, too. You have your forces with ours, and we send our mercenaries to you, as a sign of our alliance. That we work together, not against each other. That we support each other, in these desperate times, be it in soldiers, or food. And if we cannot arrange a marriage as of now, then I would propose this is the best thing to do for us both." She added, finishing off as she looked over the Baratheon of a counterpart, knowing that the Rose and the Deer did not have a natural friendship in times past, but they could make this change now.
"I know of the ability of the Reach warriors, and of their numbers relative to ours. From what I hear, the Dornish to the south are interested in annexing our kingdom to theirs. How do I know you don't share in that goal?" countered Alyssa.
Alerie stood, offering out her her hand, a glowing smile emerging on her face.
"If we sought to destroy you, we would have let those rebels run a riot. We are facing a succession crisis, so whatever resources we can spare, we'll provide. We cannot let you be destroyed, or else, the vaccum of power could create more problems for everyone." She said, watching Alyssa stand, a couple of Baratheon guards in their plate close by, as she made another comment.
"And the Dornish follow the Red God, Alyssa. We share many traits with those Dornishmen in what we wish for the Kingdom, but their conversion of your Kingdom to the Red God could yield terrible, terrible effects. So we shall at the very least, help police your Kingdom from that threat, whether Dorne wishes it or not, that we do not know ourselves. These rebels...the smallfolk never make things clear, and just what it is they want, do they? Annexation in a time when we have no strong alliance would be a fool's move, Alyssa. and we all know that you are a Great House, that which has been around since Aegon's Invasion. Your men are angrier than ours...that is for sure...the peasants just need to be put aside." The Tyrell added to her comment, chuckling lightly, in her soft tone, not to offend but to just make an addition, as she continued, to round things off. "So, we are agreed?"
"Very well. The Stormlands will forever remember the generosity of the Reach. May our alliance stand forever," finished Alyssa, bowing to the other diplomat. She then looked to a guard to her right. "Luftum, I want you to ride for Evenfall Hall like the Seven Hells are after you. Tell them their services are needed here, more so than back in Storm's End." The guard nodded, and ran off. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with Rheanyra Targaryen." Alyssa turned and began walking towards the Red Keep.
"That is good to hear. I will join you later on, Alyssa." Alerie simply replied, knowing that indeed, she was very fast, to the point. The Stormlanders never changed, she reminded herself. "Ours is the Fury". She remembered those words, because they were actually the scariest of any House's, that much the Tyrell knew. Alerie could guess that it worked where she came from, and that at the very least, it was better than a Northman's gruff in diplomacy....Seven Hells, that was difficult to deal with. At least the other Southern Kingdoms respected a pretty, witted Reachwoman when they talked about delicate affairs.
Watching her leave, the Tyrell exhaled. Alerie did not know that her brother had called for her, not as of yet, as she looked back across towards the sea, standing up. She held the rose in her hand once more, and breathed the air in, plucking out the central petal with her soft hand, grinning. Oh, it was fun to at least play this game sometimes. They were the foundations of this, and once the Baratheon revolt was stopped, it would yield benefits. Two Kingdoms that already folded their allegiance to the Iron Throne, potentially three, if Dorne stopped squabbling.
There was much to still do, and Garland would no doubt not be entirely pleased, but she knew that she could handle affairs well such as these, and once he was competent again, he could deal in the logistics and the formal arrangement of such an action. He was broadly in support, so Alerie saw no problem with it, as she clutched the rose once more in her hand, around it's thorned stalk, her fingers a little in pain, but nothing that a gardener's hand would not feel uncomfortable with. The thorns wrapped themselves tighter around this city, and Alerie knew that the Iron Throne was not worth the squabble. That was for everyone else. For them, they were here to keep whoever justly deserved it on their Throne, all while keeping and improving their standing, to continue as the right hand of the Targaryen dynasty. Alerie knew that it was their power to serve, advise and make Kings, and that it had been, since Aegon I Conqueror had made his mark in the Reach. She put the White Rose down, brushing her burgandy hair over her shoulder, as she walked out from the Pavillion, and once more through the gardens.
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The horses were rushing down, and it seemed that what information had spread in King's Landing had made it to Ser Willas Tyrell in time, the Goldcloaks relaying it down. He personally wanted to see Garland once more, but this was something he could not ignore. The boy had been seen, and it was something that did not seem false, it seemed so convincing, so real, they simply had to go. Down at the docks, he had arrived, and the sight of the enormous dragon in the skies seemed to reinforce it. He did not know what in Seven Hells he would find...and if the Kingsguard were by his side.
Willas arrived to the smell of fire, something to the tune of burning meat, though much worse. The sound of pained screams from the nearby smallfolk filled the air, and the dragon was angrily growling, apparently at nothing at particular.
He finally turned a corner to see what he feared, a flaming corpse, absolutely bathed in flames, the black silhouette within unmoving, only twitching occasionally, accompanied by the crack of the flame. Scanning up, he saw a youth standing in front of...Drogon, so what he had been told was correct, he honestly thought it all to have been lies, but the black beast sat, resting it's upper body on it's wings. The youth had white hair, bright as the sun, and was glaring with a kind of fury only a Targaryen could have. To his side, he noticed an overturned carriage, a white cloak peeking around the wheel.
It was a terrible sight, but one that he could not begin to imagine the concequences of. But he had to face this. Willas always told himself, what he did was right, but if by their standards it was not, then he had to face it, rather than run from it. He had a duty, and he had to serve it to his death, if it came to that. It was what he had enlisted in the Kingsguard for, and even if he had broken his vows by doing what he did, he knew it was for the greater good of the boy.
Stopping the horse, he dismounted, with a distinct metallic clank, looking over at the scene in front of him. A man was close to ashes on the floor, burnt to a crisp, and the dragon looked uneasy. Willas knew that Drogon could engulf all of King's Landing in his fires if he wished, and yet, he was merely a dozen meters or so in front of him. But the boy, he was content, calm, a breathing human fire that did not seem uneasy about it at all. He was Aerys Targaryen, the boy that had gone missing, and a boy that Willas did not see as false. He had the white hair, the looks that many had talked about at the Tourney of his birth, albeit in a developed frame. He was barely an adolecent, but he seemed to have seen the fires himself. The shock was what stopped him from realizing what was going on next to him. And Willas knew their faces, they were faces he had served with for almost a decade now. Brothers, he had allegedly ran from. They would not have mercy for him. But he had to do what little he could right here. Worst of all, Lady Dalla Baratheon was dead, and of all the people that
"Rossetier, get a Maester here, now! Keep Jullon still, don't pull the arrow out!" Willas yelled back at one of his men before looking back at the other Kingsguard, as he looked at Aerys, brushing the sweat from his brow, the heat of the dragon something he could even feel from here. It wasn't like Jadefyre or Visaxes, it was a dragon that felt like it breathed an ungodly amount of fire. He turned to the boy, clearing his throat.
"It can't be.....my name is Ser Willas Tyrell....and I will only assume you are Aerys Targaryen, the lost son of Daenys Targaryen. I'm the member of your Kingsguard that didn't come." Willas said, words coming out slow, but confident, feeling a little in shock at all of this. But it was real. Garland had nearly died for this, and as far as Willas knew, the Young Rose's action was perhaps vindicated entirely. But his own, he did not know. He had to turn to the Kingsguard that crowded around. He felt sick, but he had to hold his resolve. There was much to deal with, the bodies, the mess that he had arrived to, it all needed to be dealt with.
"Brothers....I cannot begin to explain why I did what I did. But the city is secure for us, Daenys is locked away in the city's dungeons, and our Hand is back, but injured. Let us get Aerys to the Red Keep, then we can get around to what I did." He simply said, holding a frank and clear expression, not wanting to hear any arguements, the voice authorative and clear.
"That's King Aerys to you, ser!" Walking out from behind a nearby building came a young man dressed in sailor's garb, a sword hanging from his hip. He had yellow hair, nearly as bright as the young Prince. He didn't look twice at Willas, instead walking over to the deceased Queen and kingsguard, making the seven pointed star on his chest, before praying a second.
He stood slowly, turning to Willas, gripping his sword in his left hand, a grin crossing his face, a pained grin, as if his eyes didn't want to smile.
"I'll spare you the need to ask my name, I am Lord Paramount Lyman Lannister of the westerlands, and designated regent if Lord Commander Royce is to fall." He looked at his hands, seemingly ignoring Willas.
"Well, de jure, de facto, the Crakehalls hold my seat." He looked back at Willas, smiling truly this time, blue eyes crunching inwards.
"Too bad for them."
From the right, Lord Commander Royce walked out from behind the carriage, he looked at Willas, his brow furrowed. He stopped, rested on his right leg, and crossed his arms, clearing his throat loudly.
"I forgive you, Ser Willas, now take us to a maester, and hurry, Ser Jullon won't last long without one." He seemed uninterested in every word he said, as if he was reading them from a page. Aerys looked at Willas skeptically, just about a head shorter than him, and already half as muscular.
Willas was suprised. The man was arrogant....usefully arrogant. This wasn't his politics to play, it was Garland's, that much he only knew, as he saw Rossestier, one of the Retinuemen he had kept with his general guard, continue to run down the street. He didn't seem too concerned with Lyman at the moment, mainly because one of his . He didn't know what to make of this man, if he truly was a Lannister or not, he may have looked like one, but so did many people in these Seven Kingdoms...and anyway. he had to help save Jullon's life, the Reachman someone he couldn't let die. There were already low in number, and Willas wasn't going to let a brother he abandoned die here.
"One of my men is fetching one, Ser Royce. Just don't pull it out. Even if it was poisoned, pulling it out is going to cause more blood loss to happen than you can imagine. Once we take a look, we'll carry him to whoever we find can deal with it." He simply said, looking across to Royce, kneeling on the floor, looking to Aerys as the other Reachmen dismounted, covering the area, sweeping through. They warded people away, wanting to completely clear this area of anyone that wasn't directly dealing with the problem.
"The reason I know is because Garland almost died from it merely a day and a half ago, and I won't let it happen to Jullon." The Tyrell said, as he looked over at the whole scene once more, the sight of Dayne with an arrow through his head driving a dagger through Willas's heart. He was a good man, even if he was a Dornishman, he had a good heart, and seeing it just felt like a bittersweet fruit to eat, to see the boy that could rule the Seven Kingdoms peacefully again, contrasted among so many people that he had cared for or served with, dead. The Kingsguard weren't complete, that much he could tell, and he was rather relieved to hear that he wasn't going to have his head on a pike. He had to stay with these men now, not with his family.
Royce nodded, walking over to the carriage, and grabbing around Florent's legs.
"Footly! Help me!" This was followed by two groans, and Footly emerged, hands under Florent's shoulders. They carefully shuffled over to Willas, carefully placing Florent down on the dirt, resting his cloak under his leg to keep it clean. They then proceeded to kneel over the young Reachman, examining the leg. Royce stood, groaning as his knees popped.
"His knee is shattered, there's bone in the wound, and there's a lot of blood coming out, even with the arrow, and..." He frowned, concern written in his eyes.
"The blood is dark, near black, that... can only mean poison... hopefully you get a good maester, because this doesn't look good."
Footly removed his gauntlet carefully, it took longer than it should have. He threw it to the ground, then placed a tanned hand on Jullon's forehead. He then turned to Royce, frowning as he always did.
"He's feverish already." He reached behind his back, pulling out a small flask of wine, opening Florent's mouth and pouring it down his throat.
Rossetier did return with a Maester, the robed man dragged out of some Apothecary of sorts, the rest of the Reachmen keeping their distance from. In the heat of the moment, Willas knew that nobody was distinctly close to Aerys, but he knew that Drogon was close, and that his men were spread out, forming a perimeter throughout most of the street. If there were any more, they would find it very, very difficult indeed. So for now, Willas occupied himself with Jullon, kneeling down by his side, as he looked up, the Reach Retinueman with the Maester, presented before Willas, as the Tyrell took another look at Jullon. It did not look good, but he said to himself, he had saved Garland, they would save Jullon. They would both live, that he had to tell himself, hoping, just knowing the Seven had to listen for once.
"Shit....Maester, what is your name?"
The maester looked at the situation with widened eyes, his hands trembling nervously at his sides.
"Uh... Robyn, Robyn, I..." He continued shaking, before kneeling before the injured knight, hands running through his own hair, forcing it up into a spiked arrangement.
"...Uhh, he's in shock, probably because of the pain, and..." He cringed, his face contorting oddly for a second.
"That blood, that's not normal, I'm inclined to believe it's Dornish poison, but... I can't really treat it without my medicines, fetch them quickly!" He motioned to Willas, before returning to examining Jullon, maesters weren't supposed to be this nervous, right?
Willas gave a simple nod to Rossetier, the Reachman running back up, running down the street once more, the poor man direly out of breath, what with the fact he was wearing a hefty amount of mail on a warm day like today. Looking across at Robyn, the Tyrell shook his head,
"Calm down, Robyn. Just think, and we'll do exactly as you say. Right now, we need to stop the flow of poison to the rest of his body, or provide an antidote. What poison do you think it is, and how long have we got?" He asked, looking across at the Maester, a look of deep concern on his face, as he looked down again at Jullon. It didn't look good, and while the wound looked far less severe than Garland's, it was the sight of black blood forming around the skin that chilled Willas to the bone.
Robyn frowned and shook his head.
"It's not only the Dornish poison, it's mixed with manticore venom, if it reaches his heart, he's dead, my antidotes won't help... we... we have only one choice here." Robyn stood up, shuffling over to Royce, and pointing to his blade.
"Valyrian steel?" Royce nodded.
" Aye, House Royce's sword, lost during the Dance, I found it in some peasant's hovel." The maester nodded.
"Good, it'll cut cleaner that way." Royce's eyes opened slightly, but he solemnly nodded, drawing the blade slowly.
"You all may not want to look at this." He lifted the sword up, grimaced for a moment, his hands trembling slightly, before bringing the blade down.
A shower of blood greeted the rest of the nearby group, Florent awoke and began screaming, clawing at the dirt and crying pitifully.
"Hold him down!" Footly and Royce gripped a shoulder, forcing him to the ground.
"I need a bandage! Quickly!" The maester yelled at Willas, his eyes focused and intense.
The sight was a horrific one, the blade cutting like butter through Jullon's lower thigh, just above his knee. The bone had been sliced through cleanly, but the blood. The blood was not black, but the severed limb looked almost entirely spent, Willas holding his stomach together on this occasion. Willas tore some of the cloth from his goldcloak, pushing it against the wound, physically pressing in, Jullon screaming out in pain.
"Royce, heat the fucking sword somehow, if we don't cauterise the wound, he'll spill his guts here!" Willas yelled, looking at Jullon, then up at Rossetier. He actually didn't know how Royce was going to do it- Willas had seen fights and had to offer some medical help to one of his men, but nothing like this. Nothing, nothing like this.
"Get him some wine, and stuff a rag into his mouth, quick! It'll calm him down, last thing we want is for him to move!" The Reachman responded quickly, one of the other soldiers throwing a cowhide flask, filled with Arbor, as he ran over. Willas held the wound, while Rossetier made his way by Jullon.
"Jullon, just keep calm, we're going to clean the wound and stop the bleeding, if we don't do this, you're going to die. You hear me?" Willas said, looking into his eyes, the screaming horror something that couldn't be produced as a war cry, it was ear-drillingly loud.
Jullon moaned loudly, but his movements slowed, and eventually stopped, but the moans continued, like a dying animal. Royce looked down at his sword, then over to the dragon, his eyes narrowed, and he looked between them for a few seconds.
"This had better not ruin my fucking sword." He grumbled, before rushing over to the dragon's left, as to point the fire away from the injured knight. He then lifted the blade over his head, pointing towards the sun.
"Aerys! Say Draterys or whatever!" Aerys looked at the man, nodding silently, before pointing his finger at the blade. Drogon looked at this attentively, his eyes scanning up the old knight's body. Rossetier took the flask, pouring it down his throat, being careful not to choke him with the Arbor, but aware that in this quantitiy this fast, it would at least numb what was going on, it would take his mind off things quickly, and it would distract him, as he finished the bottle off, Jullong spluttering a little, but most of it down the right hole, Rossetier guessed. Willas looked on, shocked at the sight, as Aerys stood, looking at Drogon, Royce awaiting the command. He was going to heat the sword from dragonfire...it was inventive, not Willas's first thought, but the fastest when a Blacksmith's could be still a walk away.
"Dracarys!" He yelled, his scream urgent and sharp. The dragon's mouth opened, and a cloud of flame followed, consuming the sword, Royce groaned at the head, his body lit up by the immense flame. Aerys lifted up his hand in a fist, and the flames stopped, revealing the valyrian blade, glowing orange and yellow, Royce lowered it carefully, examining it slowly, before rushing over to the injured bodyguard. Rossetier already stuffed it in, as he waited for Royce to begin, the blood spewing out of his severed thigh, watching the Commander of the Kingsguard come down. He dropped to his knees, falling hard into the ground. He groaned and a crack was heard from the old knight's legs, but he began jabbing the blade against the wound, the hissing that followed seemed to make Jullon calm slightly, though he bit his lip to the point of bleeding between gulps of wine, avoiding the rag by biting with his furthest teeth into the corner of his lip.
Royce jabbed haphazardly, Robyn ran in, grabbing the sword out of the knight's hands, and cauterized it much more carefully. After a few jabs, the bleeding had slowed, though the burns were not pretty to look at. He sighed in relief, passing the blade onto it's rightful owner, who looked at it angrily.
"Seven hells do I do now?"
Willas gulped, looking on at Robyn, before looking back down at Jullon.
"Keep giving him wine, get him as numb as possible before we get him some Milk of the Poppy. It'll be the only way to keep him from screaming." Willas said, looking down at him.
"We need to get him out of here. At least it's another death I don't have to see. Seven Hells." The Tyrell said, looking at Royce, nodding.
"We need to get to the Red Keep. There's more medicines and a better place to treat him properly, for now, he'll live. I will pass on whatever City Guard duties I assumed to Ser Davos Maxwell, and Aerys needs to meet his family again."
Looking across, Willas put a hand on Robyn's shoulder. The Maester had served well, and had responded fast, and dutifuly. Willas didn't often like to act all noble, but he knew it was a token of respect he owed to him.
"You did well. Come with us. I don't know what you do for a living in this part of the harbour of King's Landing, but a man like you would serve well to assist the Maesters of The Red Keep, in caring for the sick and wounded. You are owed a debt of the Kingsguard's gratitude, and your deed shall not go forgotten." He simply said across to the Maester, a small smile cracking out, as he knew that it was something that they did owe to the Maester right now. He had done well, and under that pressure, the Tyrell knew he couldn't forget his Knightly ways. None of the Kingsguard could, and he was sure that Royce would have done exactly the same.
Robyn smiled, like a mouse, or some other small pitiful creature, his wrists limp and hands hanging.
"That is quite an honor, Ser Tyrell, but... I don't think I'd be well suited to the Red Keep, I'd much rather remain here, maybe help the smallfolk, I'm not sure, but whatever the case, I'll be sure to help if you ask it of me." He bowed before the knights, and then he turned back towards his apothecary, and walked in that direction, tugging quietly at his maester's chain, he stopped for a second to look at Florent, before walking onwards.
"I understand, Maester. But know that the Kingsguard, we will owe our due to you, when you require it, for saving his life." Willas simply said, looking over as the Maester walked away, before standing up and looking back over at Jullon Florent, now getting copiously drunk and with a pool of red blood around his thigh, black covering the rest of the amputated leg.
Rossetier was helping to grab his good leg, letting one of the other Kingsguards grab his stump and side, to help keep the balance. They would need to load him on a spare horse, which one of the Retinuemen could give up, and get moving quickly to The Red Keep. From here, it would barely be a few minutes, but inside, Willas knew that they had saved another life. First his nephew's, now a sworn brother. He was no Maester, but he knew he had served them both well, and perhaps, it was one small victory among all this. How Jullon would ever fight again....he wouldn't, Willas said to himself. Permenently with a wooden prosthetic for the rest of his days, but he would not fight in the guard. As they mounted Jullon's body, Willas turned to the rest. To Aerys and his dragon, watching on quietly as the Tyrell men stared, and the other Kingsguard.
Lyman had been watching in silent worry, but as the group turned to leave, he frowned, slowly following.
"I Don't have a horse! Wait a second! Seriously!... Others take you all!" He sighed, before walking behind, kicking stones out of his path as he did, as he did, he looked at Dayne's corpse, the sword, Dawn, by his side. Lyman looked around, searching for anyone looking, before snatching it quickly, throwing away his sword, and sheathing it quietly. He chuckled, pleased wih himself.
The rest followed, but the wind blew faster when Drogon took to the air, and dirt and stones flew into the skies, cloaks sent one direction and bodies not. Willas looked back, not seeing Aerys among those following, he worried for a moment, before hearing Royce behind him.
"What? You thought a Targaryen would walk when they have a dragon?" He chuckled, before digging his heels into his horse and cantering past.
Willas chuckled, looking across, yelling back to Royce. It was like old times...well, nothing would ever be the same again. There was so much blood, horror. He felt like he would be sick, and the bitter sweet apple that he felt like he had bit was getting stronger, his mind rushed by what he had seen. Drogon, Aerys, another Lannister....shit, they'd left him behind! Willas just guessed a Reachman would give him a ride up to The Red Keep in time, for now, he had to keep with the rest of the Kingsguard, to his brothers, that man was important, but he would know exactly why they had to move fast, and that there was no time to waste, not when there was certainty about Aerys. The Reach may have been his Kingdom that he served, and indeed, he knew he had done all of this to keep their power in the Kingdoms' capital, but it was so that the Tyrells could continue to serve the right heir, as they had done for centuries prior. Nobody could stop that. And here, Willas knew again, he was back to his duties, as Royce cantered by.
"No doubt! The Dragon Pit has another two that the Targaryens have brought, it's going to be crowded!" Willas yelled back, kicking into his own horse, the sound of wings beating above, and the young Targaryen King, no less, flying to his home. From what he knew, Willas could only guess the tide was finally turning. All this pain, misery, it ended with the cauterisation of Jullon's wound, Willas said to himself.
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Within the Red Keep, it had barely taken minutes for Willas and the Tyrell Retinuemen to arrive, to open the Dragon Pit once more. Storing three dragons in one pit was going to make it crowded, that was for sure, but Willas knew that the Targaryens knew their beasts well enough to build a pit of such epic proportions in order to cater for it, as Willas dismounted his steed once more. It had been a very busy day indeed, and now, taking Aerys up to the Apartments, would be a need. He had much to still explain to the boy, and Willas could guess that there was much even he had to learn. That he rode the legendary dragon, and any man, Targaryen or otherwise that did that, was a man of importance. Aerys may have been a boy, but he had a mantle on his shoulders.
The sight of Visaxes and Jadefyre seemed completely dwarfed by Drogon within the pit, the walls barely even lit up, the dragons all cooped up within a very small space indeed, as Willas looked at the white-haired, purple eyed boy, kneeling. It never got old, and it felt terrifying, it felt truly intimidating. If Aerys was not here, then Willas wouldn't have entered, and he was a brave, brave man...if they smelt the blood of someone that was not their rider come close, it would be almost certain death, the Tyrell assumed. As per usual, the Reachman and Crownlander men were outside, guarding the pit, Willas accompanied by Royce- with Footly assigned to the Targaryen sisters, even though Willas knew that a girl like Baela was more than capable of defeating a foe that came for her. Almost 1,000 men, it was an incredible number, but Rhaenyra's orders were clear, and Willas agreed whole-heartedly. In a city where there was discontent, if there was even a single attempt to kill a dragon, it would undermine any element of power the Reach held in King's Landing.
"Your grace." He simply said to Aerys, as he then stood up once more, clearing his throat.
Aerys nodded at this, not smiling, but still appearing to be pleased by this gesture, from what he assumed the boy had heard, Willas was not a very loyal man, but Willas assumed that he would win the king over.
"It is good to see you alive, Aerys...many in the Kingdom did give up hope, but we held your city for you, in the hope that we could determine what was going on. The Reach is at your disposal, Aerys, as are the 13,000 strong retinue of the Reachman and Crownlander forces." Willas simply stated fact, as he continued.
"I need you to know, that whatever happens, you have to stay strong for the Kingdom. Garland will help you more than I ever will, he will show you how to rule, and he served your uncle without question.The last time I spoke to Rhaenyra and Baela, they were willing for you to take the Throne, so you should not worry. They've acted as Protectors, but it belongs to you, Aerys. Anyone else staking a claim to the Throne, is now an enemy of the realm." Willas added, knowing he had to give a detail on what was going on in this capital to Aerys, knowing he was likely confused, but had to take it in.
Aerys looked at Willas for a second, his eyebrows lowered, and mouth raised nearly to his nose, and his hands clenching into fists. He coughed for a second, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before starting to speak.
"I have to agree, Ser Willas, I was never one for courtesy or the such, so excuse any outbursts, but, I have to ask." He frowned, his purple eyes near aflame, and heavy lines forming on his face as if the mere thought of what he had in mind infuriated him.
"Where in the Seven Hells is my father?" He asked, his voice too strained for one of his tender age.
The Tyrell had to take a breath in, sighing almost.
"Aerys....this is going to come as a shock to you. But he's the man responsible for trying to kill you, and currently, we all suspect that he murdered your uncle, Aerys." Willas said, his voice trying to buffer the blow, as he shook his head.
Aerys seemed to scoff at this, running a hand over his forehead, near laughter.
"Please Ser, I understand that, I would prefer if you let me know something I didn't already know." Willas simply nodded, his face still one of just trying to explain this entirely, not too sure what he could do.
"In which case, you should know of something far more recent. He also attempted to murder my nephew, Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of The Reach, and Aegon's Hand. Left him with nothing more than a scar.." Willas paused for a moment, clearing his throat.
"My nephew is a noble man, so he spared your father after he captured him, and brought him to King's Landing. They will try him in front of the Seven for his crimes." The Tyrell put emphasis on the fact that it was a plural, because in truth, it was. Particularly Garland's attempted assasination, by the laws of the Realm, could have meant that Daenys could have been immediately killed by Garland as a result of unquestioning evidence. Yet this didn't seem to happen, and for Willas, that was not his concern.
Aerys sighed, calming visibly.
"Good, that's good." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously.
"Well, I'll have to deal with that some other time, for now, I need to take my throne, and send for the High Septon, hopefully they still have Aegon the Third's crown." He smiled, but it seemed empty, forced even, and his eyes told the real story. They looked pained, hurt, though having to see what he had seen, it was hardly unwarrented.
Willas couldn't entirely read him, but could at the very least, see he was tired.
"We've got a horse waiting for you, so whenever you are ready, we can take you to the Throne . As for the crown, I am certain we can have it arranged, my King." Willas simply said, as he looked over at the exit, and over at Royce. Willas knew he had to clear facts with Aerys personally, but he knew he was in the way of the two, Royce looking after Aerys, and Willas fully aware that he was just a third party in all of this.
"Aegon is still in the Septry, and I am sure you will wish to see him once again, soon. Rhaenyra and Baela are in the Apartments, they will no doubt wish to come." Willas added, as he looked back at Royce once more.
"We should gather the guard, Royce. King Aerys, Third of his Name, will take his seat, if he wills it." The Tyrell looked worn down, the events of the last few days seeing two people almost die in his arms, of very different meaning to him. But saying those words, it felt like it kept his strength going, a hope of some kind at the very least.
Royce nodded silently, his sword still hot to the touch, and too hot for him to put away, so he held it out, the valyrian steel turning a darker red as it cooled.
"I normally don't take commands from you, but I'll let it slip this time." He laughed, a jolly old laugh, before he left the area, walking towards the barracks. Aerys looked on, a young squire more willful than most, but still too young, many wouldn't take him as their king, but Willas knew that he would be in good company.
"Royce!" Harys turned back for a second, holding his blade at his side.
"Talk to the maester, tell him I'll be there, with a letter." The Lord Commander nodded, before continuing on his way. Aerys turned back, gripping onto the rope belt that held up a pair of brown slacks, he looked at them, frowning.
"I do hope they have something more kingly for me to wear." He turned away, looking over his shoulder at Willas.
"I'm going to sit the throne, I'll meet with the others afterwards, for now, I'm tired." He groaned breathily as the statement went on. And with that, he began walking, despite his clothing, he still appeared to have the walk of a prince.
"Of course, my King. We'll have you fit with robes and a tunic for a King as soon as you establish yourself in the Red Keep." Willas added, before turning back to Royce.
"And that is noted, Harys. I spent too much time with the Goldcloaks, so you must forgive me." Willas chuckled a little, as he followed close to Aerys and Royce,
The three horses waited, as Willas mounted his steed once more, the Reachmen opening the huge steel gates once again, and the three set off once Aerys was on his horse, a far more docile steed for the boy's age, though Willas could only guess "docile" was a word that was never, ever used to describe a dragon, especially not Drogon! A few other Reachmen followed, no banners carried, as they made the short journey, barely under 500m up to the top of the Red Keep, to the Throne Room.
Looking across to Royce on the other horse, Willas held his look of concern a little more.
"I don't know if you heard, but we're under siege at the moment by around 30,000 men, if not more. Crakehalls, allegedly under "King" Tyget. There are pidgeons with better claims." Following closely to Aerys, shielding him almost with his position, he wiped the sweat from his brow, as they trotted through the cobbled track, the city's eerie quiet still something that did remind Willas that there was a military force inside the Seven Kingdoms' capital, and that they had orders beyond the usual remit of a City Watch.
"As for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, Garland will explain it better, but as far as I have been told, the Riverlands, Vale and North are not concerned at all with who sits on the Iron Throne, though I am certain they wiill change their minds when they hear of Aerys. Dorne, I believe they support us, but I can never tell....not with the Church of the Red God."
Royce nodded, running a hand through his beard and spinning his sword in his hand, before finally sheathing it with a quiet rubbing against the leather.
"Aye, I've heard, the latest news came from the Lannister, I was told they were marching on the city, but I thought Garland was riding against them?"
"He did....though . I can't gather what in Seven Hells happened, but he diverted almost 6,000 men to take the Crakehall sieging force head on, whilst getting himself, Alerie and Daenys in with the other 6,000. Out of those, maybe 4,000 are in the city. My nephew is a good jouster and tourneyman, but he took on Lord Lorch....it's lucky he's alive. Brave, but he is young." Royce looked confused, his eyes widening for a second.
"Weren't the forces commanded by Tyget's son? Isn't he a poor leader?"
"Not at all, Lord Lorch was in command, but he was killed after he chased Garland's rear-guard. I haven't a clue where....I think it's Tywin, Tywin Crakehall is, last I heard, he was in Harrenhall." Willas said, as a direct response to Royce's question, as the convoy turned the corner.
" But what concerns me is that we sent almost six thousand men to die. Garland wouldn't have done something as brash as that....he is a solid strategist but he still clings to his chivalry. So it suprises me, I can't imagine him making that order. Fuck, Garland is a good man, but he has a lot to learn about the reality of this world, beyond the rivers and meadows of the Reach." Willas added, pondering over the situation again in general.
"So perhaps we have time, the Crakehall forces are without a strong leader, but they still massively outnumber us, and we cannot get in or out any longer. The Tumbleton Retinue are all set up to await an assault, not to attack."
Royce thought for a second, before smiling, and smacking his chestplate.
"Well, it's a good thing we have a rich Lannister isn't it?" He laughed again.
"And you have me, I'm a good commander, I think." He frowned, looking off somewhere only he could see.
"I haven't actually commanded in years, hopefully I still know the ropes." He placed a hand on Willas' shoulder, a strong clap rang out.
"I understand everything that you have done, and I'm proud of you lad, I doubt any of your brothers would be willing do what you've done." He smiled, his white hair curtaining his face, angering him slightly, and he frowned, pushing it out of the way.
"You think? Royce...you seriously underestimate yourself. The naval route is still clear, for how long, the Warrior only knows. As I say, coin is not a problem, blood is." Willas said, chuckling lightly. It seemed that Royce definitely seemed in a good mood, and he had reason to be, after all this shit that he had been through.
"I did what I did for the Realm, Royce. I can't say there was nothing we lost. But I did what had to be done. Just as we always do. The moment I realized that Garland was not in the city, I had to keep it ready for his presence, and I did not follow you. I am glad you understand...if so be it, I would have let my punishment come. No shame in saying that." Willas added, sighing, as he looked back into Royce's eyes, not really showing too much emotion, a mixture of relief, weariness, and in some way, just acknowledgement that he wasn't going to be without his head.
They were close to the greatness that was the Red Keep, as they pulled into a small stable, Willas clambering off the horse and tying it up, keeping Aerys outside for the moment, as he let Royce do the same. He would not step in horseshit, not before he sat on his, distinctly the Throne that he was made to take, as he walked out, helping Aerys clamber off the steed.
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The apartments of Lord Garland Tyrell, The Red Keep.
Rhaenyra looked away from the window as the door to the chambers was thrust open, a runner who was out of breath standing there, holding a sealed scroll. He caught his breath, taking what felt as though an eternity to finally get his message out.
"King Aerys has returned. He makes his way to the Red Keep now. All are summoned to attend him within the throne room before the Iron Throne. Long live the King." The runner bowed, still out of breath, before offering the scroll to one of the guards, and turning to head back to wherever he had come from. And like that, the world had drastically changed, all the while the three protectors thought their own seperate thoughts.
Both women exchanged a look of utter disbelief, before turning to look at Lord Garland, looking to him for guidance.
Garland looked on at the man, unable to even get up, aware that it wasn't going to be expected that he could go downstairs. But for a moment, things seemed to be suddenly validated, as he looked to Baela and Rhaenyra. The two Princesses had stayed close to his room, that much he knew, and words seemed only a formality.
"Well....he hasn't got much family that can look after him. Just go and serve him for now, it is his time. I won't make it down there, not like this." Lord Tyrell said to the two, simply nodding, as he knew that he had to say it. He was going to miss this moment, and wanted to see the boy....but the cast and the wound were too grevious, he was not going to go anywhere for now with him looking like this. Aerys would perhaps visit later, though even Garland's regenting abillities were cut short....it was a shock. To hear the boy was alive....and in the Throne Room! Such an event felt majestic, noble, and most of all, vindicating to Garland.
Rhaenyra nodded to Garland, bowing before him before speaking quickly before she left. "Lord Garland, I will speak all that I can on your behalf to tell of the great service you've done unto the throne and the realm. King Aerys will be deeply appreciative of all that you have done and and sacrificed, as much as I have been. Is there anything else you would like for me to do for you, or will you be fine till I can return and speak with you, and no doubt, for you to speak with my sister." She offered a wry smile, heading over towards the door, getting ready to leave, but of course, awaiting Lord Garland's response.
"Just send him to me after. I need to see this for myself. Apart from that, I'll be fine." Garland was clear, as he saw Baela came back, Rhaenyra by the door.
"Okay, well....you are right on Baela coming back to speak. Send her too."
Baela spun about from the window to quickly make her way over to the bedside of Lord Garland, offering him a wolfish grin, before blowing him a kiss, and offering a jest to him, "Don't die on me now, Rose man, I expect you to know how to treat a lady and I hear that you have some of the best cooks in the realm. And maybe, you will be able to hold a boquet of flowers without breaking into a sweat from all that hard work you are doing laying there." She smiled, even offering a wink, before dancing away to join her sister, the two such a striking difference from one another, before taking one another's arm, and bowing before Lord Garland.
"I made a promise to Alerie not to pass my soul away to the Stranger. You're helping." He made the comment again, off the cuff, but he smiled as he did it, knowing full well that indeed, she felt exactly the same way back. There were too many emotions going through Garland right now, so he put his head back into thought, watching them leave the room, just knowing that despite all this, everything was going to be alright.
Both sisters bowed once more, before turning to hurry off, taking their guards with them as they made the decending journey to the throne room, and what awaited them there.
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Stepping through the doors, the greatness of the Red Keep's Great Hall came into view, the stained glass pouring light inside, reflecting off of the well kept yellowish brown walls, lighting the room near fully, with only a small dark spot in the corner, where the Master of Whisperers sat in if he was required, damn Aegon and his symbolism, as Willas turned to Royce, by the steps of the great chair itself. The Iron Throne, in all it's empty glory.
"Well....Aerys, Third of his Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Ruler of all the First Men and Andals. I believe this chair belongs to you." Willas reached out his hand, bowing down, knowing it was a momentous moment. It would be the second that would validate it, and watching Aerys, he knew that the young lad was going to be overwhelmed. Even if it was just a chair, it was a duty that had to perform, for the rightful King. Kneeling on the floor, he bowed his head, watching sternly.
Aerys nodded, breathtaken by the hall before him, scanning every part of the golden grand hall, rounding off at the walls and windows. He took a deep breath, and walked up the golden bronze steps to the throne, taking them slowly, and never looking away from the huge chair of melted blades. He reached the top, examining the throne for about ten seconds, before turning slowly, and settling into the chair, resting his head upon his fist, running a hand along the sharp armrest and sighing, staring at his hand, a small cut visible on one of his fingers. He chuckled to himself.
(Soundtrack)"My namesake did that a lot from what I've heard." Resting into the chair, he looked up at the decorated dome above him, art of Aegon The Conqueror and his sisters glaring at him, judging with their eyes.
"This is it, I'm finally home." He knew that he would be a king to make them proud.
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Rhaenyra and Baela had finally arrived before the doors of the throne room. Their personal guards were close behind them, all of them having run to get to the ground levels of the Red Keep with all due haste. They took a moment to compose themselves, staring on at the Tyrell guards who barred entry to the throne room. It was clear that either Aerys, or someone was awaiting them inside. Both sisters pushed their hair back into place, taking deep breaths, and then awaited to be summoned into the throne room at the behest of their new king.
A guard entered the throne room, looking smaller than ever from Aerys' position.
"Your grace, Ladies Rhaenyra and Baela Targaryen of House Targaryen of Dragon's Rest await entry." All those present turned to face the guard, who stood silently, his hands resting on his hips. Aerys cleared his throat and nodded.
"Let them in." The guard nodded, returning to the door, opening it slowly, and peeking his head out.
"My Ladies, King Aerys has allowed you entry." He announced gruffly.
Looking on across the room, Willas turned behind, to see Rhaenyra and Baela. Well, this was now a family reunion, not just a King taking his seat. The two Princesses were allowed to walk in, as he looked across to the Throne once more, at the boy sat in it's uncomfortable but prestigious position. It felt momentous, the air felt heavy to Willas, looking on from the steps, his hand close to his sheath, as he would know Royce and Footly had. The sisters were people he knew would treat Aerys well, and seemed to have a gentle, but proud demeanor that would help to guide Aerys, no doubt. He was not one for politics, Willas thought to himself. But he understood family, and he understood the power, especially of this situation here.
Rhaenyra and Baela steeled themselves for what was to follow. Rhaenyra smiled at her sister, before turning, and taking the lead. She strode through the doors that lead into the throne room, leading her sister Baela, and four of their personal guard, leaving the rest to wait outside in the foyer. With them came Ser Trevan Waters, Lord Mooton, Lord Rykker, and Lord Crabb. They walked the length of the throne room, pressing forward until they stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, or rather, a few paces from it, leaving the Kingsguard to stand between them and the new King, King Aerys. Both sisters looked up at this young man, between boyhood and adulthood, and smiled to him.
And in unison, they all knelt deeply before their King, heads bowed low, in respect and reverence, making sure their swords did not clang against the floor, before Rhaenyra spoke up for the small party. "We are honored to be here before you, your grace. I speak for the Lords of the Northern Crownlands, and we pledge our fealty unto you." She looked up, and smiled at her younger nephew. "It is nice to finally meet you, King Aerys. I am Lady Rhaenyra Targaryen, and this is my sister, Lady Baela Targaryen." She took a small breath, before finishing with, "We are yours to command."
Aerys smiled at these words, but he wasn't sure how much his heart followed his face, he had only just met his... Aunt... Cousin? Cadet branches were confusing, but he still didn't know this woman's character, whether she suffered from the Targaryen madness or not. He decided it really didn't matter, Prince Daemon Targaryen suffered from the madness, but he followed his brother Viserys until the latter's death, and then his heir Rhaenyra... well, she was never a queen, but it still counted just the same.
Aerys made a dismissive motion with his hand, a false smile upon his face.
"Spare the pleasentries, cousin, we're family, I never called my mother 'Your Grace', so I don't expect the same courtesy." He stood, and descended the stairs slowly, his steps echoing from the rounded walls. He approached the Lady, holding out a hand.
"I cannot accept your allegience until you shake my hand." He said coyly, playing a game that even he didn't understand. He smiled, giving his usual hollow smile, a smile that he'd had to learn quickly while in hiding on Driftmark, for everytime his father came to visit.
Lady Rhaenyra rose up, brushing dust from the knees of her dress, before accepting King Aerys outstretched hand. The man had an odd way of conducting himself, but it was not for her to question him. She took the hand that was offered out to her, and shook it firmly, something odd for her, for she was used to proper etequite of a man taking a woman's hand and kissing it. She smiled at her King, her smile true and well meaning. "Thank you your Grace, but I must insist in these formal settings to call you properly at least. I offer my fealty to you King Aerys, and that of all those who are sworn to me." Rhaenyra bowed her head once more, as she spoke those words, to show that she was being honest and truthful.
She looked back up, and allowed her hand to fall as the handshake had completed. It was at this moment that her sister Baela, and the three lords and one knight stood as well, awaiting what was to happen now, what their new King would ask of them, and what the future held. Baela looked curiously at King Aerys, not sure of what to make of him. He seemed rough, in the political sense, but she guessed that whatever he may have been through may have molded him into the man that he was now. Still, she just felt as though something about him was just not... normal. She shrugged, and bowed her head to King Aerys, awaiting for what he was to say next.
Aerys frowned at her words, one half of his head filling with questions as to why she insisted on these worthless courtesies, and the other half filled with her breasts. He shook his head, resting it upon the fingertips of his right hand.
"Well, I thank you for your fealty, but I still don't understand why you insist on these courtesies." He turned away, walking back towards the throne.
He spoke again as he began climbing the steps once more.
"I'm going to need your armies, and your dragons if what I believe is going to happen does happen." He reached the top of the stairs, resting back into the chair, shifting uncomfortably.
"And possibly some scorpions." He added, grimacing as he remembered the news of his father's dragon.
"If Bloodfyre is truly on Dragonstone, then we need to slay it before it can return to my father," He rotated his shoulders as the chair caused them to ache.
"This world has no more room for dragonriders." He grumbled bitterly, worried about what descendants Viserion and Rhaegal had left in Essos, if what Lyman had said was true, than they had settled in the Old Valyrian penninsula, and if anyone was foolhardy enough to claim them, then there would be a powerful man.
Rhaenyra watched King Aerys mount the steps to the Iron Throne, before he sat down upon the mound of melted swords. She let him finish speaking before she responded the best that she could. "Your Grace, perhaps it is but the time that I have spent around court that has made me the way I am. I apologize if it bothers you, but, forgive me if I speak too boldly, you too will have to pay heed to these customs and courtisies for the sake of the realm. Some Lords are easily offended by even the smallest things. But, I digress." She smiled, fixing her dress to try and remove some of the wrinkles in it.
"As for the dragon of your father, Prince Daenys, if it is your decree to have the creature put to death, then we will do what we can to help you ensure that it does not wreak havoc upon you and the realm. As for my armies, we are but few, but we will do all that we can to help you in the path that we all must walk in the coming days." She turned, looking at her sister, and beckoned her to speak.
"King Aerys, the Northern Crownlands have few if any scorpions. There should be a decent amount within the armories of the Red Keep, and they can be assembled quickly no doubt. You need but command the forces here to begin the process." She moved to stand infront of her sister, in a manner of protecting her or shielding her, "My sister means the best, and we will do all that we can to ensure your claim stays rock solid. If it is war that you want, then we shall bring war to your enemies. We only ask that we be allowed to know what you have planned." She did not smile, looking at the King with a gaze of unsurity, as though she did not really know what to make of him. They both awaited his response.
Royce took a breath in through teeth as Rhaenyra first spoke, a noise usually reserved for pain or the such, and Lyman, who had just entered quietly, smiled ear to ear, running a thumb along his throat, tracing the Adam's apple. Aerys' false smile had disappeared, replaced by a cold glare, one that made him look more like his father than anyone else.
"Lords are easily offended eh?" He scoffed, angrily moving in the chair, unable to sit still.
"I'd love to see how offended they are when a dragon burns their hovels." He spoke clearly and with little emotion.
"It is true that a lady's armor is her courtesies, but I am a man, and I am a king, and not only am I a king, I am a king with a dragon, I have little need for your worthless words." He cleared his throat, and immediately his temprament changed.
I must keep my composure. His smile did not return, but his eyes relaxed and he stopped fidgeting.
"Yes, well the order has been given, have Bloodfyre killed immediately, if it lives to see the morrow than I will consider my words ignored." He covered his mouth for about ten seconds as he thought.
"My plans? Well, I've never really had time to consider them, but for now, I know that we must have my father put to trial before the court."
"And I will have it known that Tyget Crakehall is a traitor to the realm, and will be tried as such before the gods, old and new." He sat back in the Throne, shuffling his buttocks against the unforgiving metal.
"Is that known?"
Baela spoke first, cutting off her sister. She could see that this was a touchy situation, and gave her sister a look that brokered no arguement. 'We will speak later.' She turned her attention back to King Aerys. He was what she had feared deep down. Still a child, or at the least very inmature still for his age. His anger had shown through, his true colors coming out as he spoke down at the Crownlanders. She pushed Rhaenyra behind her, cover her from the withering gaze of King Aerys. He was his father's son, and it was clear, at least to Baela, that he had also been passed on the dreaded curse that plagued the Targaryen's for centuries.
"As you command Aerys Targaryen. We, and we alone, will see to the death of Bloodfyre, dragon of Prince Daenys Targaryen." She chose to ignore the comment he had made about burning down the lands of offended Lords... it would not be wise to anger him any more. "My sister is rigid in her customs, and she meant no offense. But we will focus on what you asked of us. My sister and I will sail for Dragonstone today, and we will ensure the demise of Bloodfyre with all due haste. Our forces of the Northern Crownlands, and our forces alone, shall take down this beast for you. I will not allow your command to be ignored." She bowed her head in rather military fashion, before continuing.
She looked to Ser Trevan, beckoning him to begin to move Rhaenyra further back. He nodded, and complied, moving the women to the center of her cadre. Baela turned back to King Aerys, to speak again, "Then you father will face the King's justice, and that of the Seven, may he pay for his crimes against you and the realm. The same goes for Lord Tygett Crakehall. These usurpers will pay for their crimes, and will burn in righteous fire." She moved her hand unconciously across the pommel of her ancestral Valaryian steel sword, "Your plans are known, and we will carry them out with all due haste. Permission to be dismissed, Aerys?" She was ready to leave, to be on her way, with her sister, and heading out on their mission.
Aerys placed a hand over his mouth, something that was well on it's way to becoming his nervous tick.
"Aye, permission granted, but I do have a question." As he spoke, he gestured towards Footly, still looking at Baela.
"Ser Footly will serve as your guard until further notice, but the Kingsguard has vacancies, if there are any knights that you believe worthy, bring them to me, and I will determine their worth." He then motioned them away with his hand, before looking away and losing himself in thought.
Baela bowed before her King, nodding to Ser Footly, before motioning her cadre to follow her out. It was best if they left now, and not a moment to lose. She led her sister out, along with the rest of the Crownlanders, plus Ser Footly, as she made her way from the Red Keep to her destination. She had much to discuss, and little time to speak of it.
(Inside! For refrence's sake, have collabs with
@bluetommy2,
@Abefroeman, and
@bloonewb)
