Blessed Baelor SI (ASOIAF)

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Blessed Baelor – a SI​

When news came of Daeron's death in Dorne under the banner of truce, I was stuck inside a chamber near the Starry Sept, working on plagiarizing the Proverbs of Solomon, which I wished to present to the Most Devout as inspiration from the Crone. It was sometimes frustrating, trying to remember verses from the Scriptures but changing wisdom with the Crone and "G-d" or "the Lord" with the name of one of the Seven was easy enough. The Seven knows it was easier work that the time when Daeron made me ghostwrite his "Conquest of Dorne."

I had been pulled away from my first life at the ripe old age of four and twenty, by the very Crone herself, who was rather upset by the fact that the vast majority of her Faithful had no idea what the Seven-Pointed Star even preached. Her plan was to use me to reform the Faith, preferably by acquiring the reins of its power, not by nailing ninety-five theses on the door of the Starry Sept.

The initial plan was to be sent to Oldtown, to study the holy scriptures of the Faith and take the vows of a septon, and then work my way to the top of the career ladder. It was quite a quite brilliant plan that I made at the age of seven years – Daeron ruling with the temporal iron fist over the people of the Seven Kingdoms, and me, with a crystal crown upon my head and a soft silk glove over the souls of the Faithful, bestowing my charity on the orphan, the widow and the infirm and seeing to septons learning to read and preach the holy writ, as the Crone bade me do.

It did not work out as planned, for dear father had a dwarvely grudge towards the Hightower, one to great to allow me to set foot in Oldtown. Yet by the time of Daeron's death, there I was. It was the same grudge towards the Hightowers that the sons of Rhaenyra had that led me there. My uncle Hand had sent me there post-haste, for His High Holiness had died and the Iron Throne wished to ensure that the next Shepperd of the Faithful was not of their accursed line. So there I went with great haste, to exercise the crown's right of exclusion and ruin the career path of the Most Devout Abelar, who had the misfortune of being of the same blood as Queen Alicent. (i)

****​

The news of my brother's death were sadly not surprised, for he had not heeded my warnings on the treacherous nature of the Dornish and his chivalrous nature prevented him from showing up in force at a gathering of truce. I had still held hope that Daeron would live, that my existence would butterfly away his fate. Yet my hopes all had come crashing down and now my fate was a crown made of gold.

I had not married Daena, for reasons including my aversion to incest and the conflict of my mental and physical age strong enough to provoke me existential angst. My insertion into Baelor did not come with existential horror, for the Crone made me aware of the reason for my second life and I was obviously aware of the divine means of my transmogrification. Having convinced my uncle of the benefits of holding the Iron Throne and the Crystal Crown in the hands of the Targaryens, I was yet unwed and presumed to take the holy orders soon enough.

Now that I was king, I was in no hurry to marry, even if I had no heir. Beyond the very horror at the idea of incest, Daena's nature was so different from mine, that our marriage would have fared worse than that of Robert and Cersei. Rhaena's piousness far outweighed my own, and while a celibate marriage between the two of us would have worked well enough, my heart would not deny her the desire of becoming a septa. I was already halfway set in my plans to name Daeron, the son of my worthless cousin, as my heir and Prince of Dragonstone once he reached the age of six and ten and won his spurs.

****​

I hurried to the Citadel to send word to King's Landing, to stay my uncle's hand against the Dornish hostages, until I found a way to rescue the Dragonknight from the hands of the Dornish. Oh, how I lamented the fact that the wrong cousin was in the hands of my enemies, for Aegon was a cousin who I well afforded to lose. I was tempted to pull a move from the original Baelor and recover Aemon from the Wyls, and while I was convinced that a quick S.O.S. to the Crone would have saved me from the bites of Wyl's vipers, I had no intention to make peace with the Dornish, and so that way was shut to me. Perhaps I could find twenty good men and attempt to free my cousin, by I doubted that even the Crone herself could afford so much plot armor.

Ravens went to the lords of the Dornish Marches, bidding them to keep their men armed and ready. My coronation in King's Landing could wait, and soon, with five hundred men that Lord Hightower graciously provided I was on the Roseroad, riding towards Highgarden, and then Blackhaven.

I was king now, and the Blessed Baelor would be quite a different king than Baelor the Befuddled. I had no need and reason to imprison my sisters in a Maidenvault, for I was determined to wed Daena to Lord Stark's new heir, if yet unwed. Rhaena was to join the Faith, and Eleana's marriage was to wait quite a few more years, though I planned to keep Oakenfist as far away from her as possible. The bastard was five and thirty year her elder, and I was sorely tempted to shorten him of his head the moment his eyes turned towards her.

While I was the Crone's very champion and at least an outwardly pious man, I had no intentions of following the other Baelor's folly. The brothels of King's Landing were the Red Keep' sewers, for if I took away the whores from the city, Aegon would fill the palace with them. (ii)

The king's dole towards the poor of Fleabottom was a welcome idea, as long as it did not empty the treasury, though I judged that the "panem" needed the addition of a bit of "circenses." The idea of using doves instead of ravens was, to me, a Terran, not so absurd, but it was hardly worth the bother and the hassle.

I was king, and I would be the greatest king that the Seven Kingdoms had, for the shepherd of the flock should seek the good of their flock, and every ruler the good of the people subject to him. (iii)

So begins the reign of the Blessed Baelor.

A.N. : This is an attempt at a Baelor self-insert, while preserving the character of Baelor as godly and pious man, something akin to Saint Louis of France, but at the same time very different. The plot instrument of the Crone – the avatar of wisdom – serves as a guiding path for the SI, who is a man who would rather take his ideas of ruling from Aquinas rather than Machiavelli, and wants to make the word a better place – by changing mentalities rather than technology. That is were the Faith comes in the plot – Me-Baelor want to raise literacy under the guise of spreading the word of the Seven-Pointed Star, and insert in Westeros an ideology of ruling that is one step above "Might makes right", mainly Thomistic ethics and the idea of the common good. So expect a whole lot more of Aquinas quotes – that is if I find the time, the muse and the motivation to continue this beyond the initial concept.

All feedback welcome – as long as it does not try to convince me to just add some incest. Realpolitik criticism is welcomed too, but just a little, as a treat.


(i) The right of exclusion is taken from the real life right that monarchs of Europe had of preventing the elections of a cardinal they deemed unseemly by sending a crown cardinal to exercise their veto. In Westeros, my worldbuilding is that the right of exclusion was won many centuries ago by the kings in the South, to prevent the Faith from being monopolized by the Hightowers or the Reach. After the Conquest, that right rests solely upon the Iron Throne, who sends a representative to the Conclave to make their will known.
(ii) Adapted from a quote by Ptolemy of Lucca: Remove the sewer, and you will fill the palace with a stench.' .' – Ptolemy of Lucca and Thomas Aquinas, On the Government of Rulers (1997)
(iii) Another adaptation of a quote from Thomas Aquinas.

 

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A runner bolting on his steed
With reins clenched tight and head uncover'd
A speck arising, growth in sight
The horizons are for him too tight
With ravens croaking close behind and flapping by

To Baelor King he brings a brief dispatch
From battlefield. And hidden low
In soaking togs
The hero worthiest of them all
The only sign of battle fall
And it sufficed

It's Daeron dead! On foreign land
Brought down by wicked hand
His lovely garment white appears
But blood is dripping like red tears
And the bare chest of the now dead
By lances is impaled

Daeron is dead, who rode the dunes?
How was he killed by wicked knaves
How die the cowards if the braves
Perish like this?
And you , who always burned to fight
Lie now and lost your might
You laughed at Stranger day and night
But He prevailed

In silver casket now you lay
Full armor, honors to convey
Blues skies would tremor under feet
When Gods you meet *

Aemon – Blackhaven

After more than a moon's turn spent in Wyl's cage, Aemon was once again free. Not free in the general understanding of the word, but on his way to it. Word came to Wyl from his brother Baelor, who offered his hostages in exchange for the Dragonknight. Even the cruel Lord of Wyl, so eager for vengeance against one of dragonkin, would not wager the life of his kin to satisfy his need for blood. The fact that to refuse the release of Ser Aemon Targaryen would ensure the enmity of several other Dornish houses, whose kin were graciously housed in the black cells of the Red Keep, most obviously played its part.

Weeks spent under the scorching sun of Dorne, with wounds barely treated, left Aemon in a state of weakness. But as Blackhaven approached, instead of having his heart lightened, its burdens seemed to grow heavier. The guilt and despair of failed duty seemed now to loom more threatening, and as much as he welcomed his release, he feared facing the brother of his fallen king.

Daeron's bones had arrived at Blackhaven a week before and had been delivered in the hands of the King's men and sent on towards King's Landing. His funeral rites would wait until King Baelor made his way back to the capital.

The exchange of prisoners happened beneath the walls of the Dondarrion seat. The fear of Dornish treachery saw King Baelor surrounded by what quite seemed to be the entire valor of the Marches. It is not to be said that the Dornish came few, for two hundred men accompanied Lord Wyl and the envoys of the Prince of Dorne. But under the glowering eyes of the Stormlanders, their numbers seemed barely a dozen, and the Dornish lances looked uneasily and almost spooked.

Vows were taken before the gods, solemn promises of drawing no swords and shedding no blood, under pain of damnation. The fact that the Stormlords view the Dornish vows as nought, but a farce escaped no one's attention. **

King Baelor bade his men to bring forth his fourteen captives, and the Dornish brought forth Aemon. The hostages were delivered, and Baelor himself helped Aemon of his horse and helped him towards his men.

His feverish attempt to ask for Baelor's forgiveness for his failure were met with an entreaty to silence. "Rest now, cousin, for matters such as these can await your better health. But be assured, that the fault lies not in you, but in those who break the Seven' own bond, the truce of gods. Go see the master, and let your heart lighten, for my wrath is not for you, but for trucebreakers and those who deceive the gods."

The king then turned to the Dornish envoys. "Lord Wyl, a word, if you will. It is good to know you value your kin so much that you forfeit your own life."

As the Lord Wyl reached for his sword, fearful for his life, Baelor reassured him. "I am no such sinner before the gods as the break parley as you once did, for I walk in the way of good men, and keep the paths of the righteous. But know this, that only my cousin's captivity stayed my hand against your house, and by giving Ser Aemon his freedom, you have unchained me and allowed me to see your affronts to the Seven punished. Sleep easy, 'till you have cause, and pray for your deliverance from the Seven Hells. For the wicked will be cut off from the earth, and the treacherous will be torn away from it." ***

And with these words, Baelor turned his horse, the deed was done, and Aemon exchanged the hold of his captors, for his new ones, for the King had brought with him a dozen healers, and he would not escape their hands for a fortnight.


Viserys – The Red Keep

The news of Daeron's death had so enraged the Lord Hand, that he ordered the Dornish hostages to be sent to the Black Cells to await their hanging.

Such orders were soon countermanded by the new king. For all that Viserys ruled in the absence of the King, his actions were ruled by ravens. Ravens from Oldtown, ravens from Highgarden, from Cider Hall, from Blackhaven.

Baelor sent word to stay the executions, Baelor sent word to halt Daeron's marriage negotiations with Braavos, to recall the envoys in expectance of new ones, with new instructions. Words were sent to see to the readiness of Daena's dowry, a strange request, since Baelor just halted the negotiations for her hand. Instruction came to see that the realm's levies and fleets be kept ready, for siege engines to be built in their multitude.

Baelor's ravens were followed by Viserys' own. On black wings, words were sent to the High Lords of the Seven Kingdoms, summoning them for the coronation of the new King and oaths of fealty.

Baelor's plans were soon unveiled, for word came for the hostages to be sent to Blackhaven. Viserys' would have raged at His Grace's plans for peace, if his messages had not made clear that he meant but to secure Aemon's release, not to leave the Dornish unpunished. It seemed the King's piousness inclined him not to peace, for he saw Daeron's murder an affront to the Seven.

Ravens were soon followed by more preparations, for the funerals of Daeron and the coronation were to put in place. The new Septon and his gaggle of the Most Devout arrived from Oldtown, and Viserys was thankful that the unfortunate circumstances allowed Baelor to prevent the election of the wretched Abelar, that Hightower spawn. Being a Hightower was one thing but there were rumors of some youthful follies of him with some septa named Eloyse. What good would a High Septon be, if he could not even keep his vows of chastity? ****

Contrary to the established traditions of House Targaryen and given the state of the body of the Young Dragon, Baelor had sent word that he should not be incinerated, rather that he be entombed in the Royal sept, beneath the statue of the Warrior, but only once he arrived in King's Landing. Already, master carvers had been entrusted to carve his likeness in stone, his youth retained in its eternal embrace.

Baelor had arranged the commission of a crown, for that of the Conqueror was lost in Dorne. It was to be made of a circlet of gold encrusted with rubies and polished dragonglass, with seven sharp spike of iron and two bands over the head, a seven-pointed star above them.

Several moons would occupy such festivities and preparations for war and then the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms would once again fix themselves upon Dorne, and lords and knights and men-at-arms would once again march to war.

Notes:
* A translation and adaption of the poem "Moartea lui Fulger" by George Cosbuc.
** I have made some variation of the medieval Peace and Truce of God. As such, in Seven-worshipping Westeros, truces are established by swearing vows before the Seven to not use weapons, draw blood and the like. The fact that it is broken is an affront to the gods and a mortal sin.
*** Quotes from proverbs, as expected.
*** *I had chosen the name Abelar for the Most Devout from a list of historical Hightowers. I only later realised the likeness in name. But an Heloise does not exists in Planetos. The whole "youthful folly" are rumours made by Baelor to discredit him, and a sort of cosmic joke that Baelor had allowed himself to play. Viserys believes it to be truth of course, since he heard it from Baelor's own mouth, and he doesn't expect the kid to lie.

 

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The body of King Daeron arrived from Dorne ahead of a large procession. More than a thousand lords and knights, and septons followed the Young Dragon's body from the Gate of the Gods to the Red Keep. First came the knight who had fought with him in Dorne, then various lords who had joined the procession on its way from Blackhaven. Nearer to the litter carrying the King's remains where Silent Sisters and members of the Most Devout. Surrounding the coffin where what remained of the Kingsguard: Ser Aemon Targaryen, freshly confirmed by King Baelor as the order's Lord Commander and carrying the drawn sword Blackfyre with him; Ser Edmund Warrick and Ser Dennis Withfield.
A litter carried the bones of the fallen king, hid under a lifelike effigy, dressed in clothes of black velvet, crowned with the Dragonbane's circlet. The effigy was covered under a cloth of woven gold, above it a canopy of the same. Following the litter was Viserys Targaryen, Hand of the King, King Baelor and his sisters, accompanied by the Great Lords who had reached King's Landing in time: Stark and Arryn, Lannister and Tully, Baratheon and Tyrell.
Between the Gate of the Gods and the Red Keep the entirety of the men of the City Watch were lined with torches, dressed in cloths of black. Soon, the remains arrived at the Red Keep and were placed on a catafalque in the Royal Sept, covered with black velvet and veiled with a crimson cloth bearing the Targaryen dragon. The sept was likewise covered in the banners of House Targaryen and full of lit candles. The body was to lay there for seven days, under the vigil of both King Baelor and the Dragonknight.
When the King's body was lowered under the floors of the Sept, the Hand of the King and the Masters of the Small Council laid their signs of office over the coffin. Following such, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard laid Blackfyre, the sword of kings, over the coffin and the herald cried: "Seven willing, have pity and mercy on the soul of the most excellent, most high and most powerful Daeron, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm". Then Ser Aemon took the sword again and having risen it high, the herald cried again: "God give a long life to Baelor, by the grace of the Seven King".
The funerals of King Daeron were unlike any of the kings that came before him, the ceremony being of the new King's making. Though some maesters argue that Baelor meant to show the might and splendor of his House, it was more likely a way to honor his brother, for before the moment of his own death, he requested that his own funeral be the same as any man's, with no pomp or ceremony.
Septon Jonos, The Life of Blessed Baelor

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The Red Keep
Small Council Chamber
Baelor

My first meeting with the Small Council was quite the portent of change. Beyond the fact that another expedition to Dorne was to be planned, those in the Council were worried about their own seats, some more than others. My uncle was quite assured of his own power, and so did the Oakenfist. As it was the first of my meetings and because the occasion permitted, I had invited the Great Lords of the realm to offer me their counsel.

Having seated ourselves at the oak table in the Chamber, the Hand took the initiative in starting its proceedings.

"First amongst our concerns, Your Grace, is if the Small Council will keep its members under your new reign. Have you any of your own men in mind for these posts?", he started.

"I have no intention of changing you with a septon, uncle. As for my late brother's counsellors, I believe they are competent enough to advise me. What needs to concern us is the fact that my Kingsguard has only three of its members, four if you count Ser Joffrey Staunton. We need not seek for a new Lord Commander, for I trust my cousin with that honor. As for Ser Jeffrey, his shameful surrender to the Dornish is not one I would forget and as such I had not bothered to ransom him from Lord Wyl. I suspect that his soul has reached the Father's judgement, knowing his captor."

Lord Hunter, the Master of Laws, interjected: "Have you in mind any knights for these honors, Your Grace ?"

"I have no men that I favor, save for Sir Olyvar Ferren, with who's worth I do not doubt that my Lord Lannister agrees. His feats in Dorne have brought him fame enough so that he may honor his white cloak, instead of the reverse, and I find his temperament suited for one who might guard me." I replied. Ser Olyvar was a man near forty years of few words, taciturn and melancholy, on account of some romantic misfortunes in his youth, which had turned his hair to silver. He had a tendency to drink when he was without purpose, but the man was responsible for my martial education since Blackhaven, and I had grown found of the man since.

The Lord Lannister was quick to assent to my words, extolling the Silver Ferret's deeds in such flattering words as if the man was his own son. The young Lord Tyrell was quite enthusiastic in naming what appeared to be the entirety of flower of the Reach's chivalry, and Tully followed him with the suggestion of his own uncle Oscar, a man near fifty, but covered in glory since the days of the Dance of Dragons. Lord Hunter had his own nephew in mind, though he was not one to be considered, since the man managed not to find his way in Dorne during Daeron's wars. Ossifer Plum, who held the treasury, offered the name of one of his household knights, Lord Baratheon that of his wife's cousin, Joffrey Arryn graciously agreed with the Master of Laws, and Baratheon assured me there where plenty men among the Marcher houses that would be honored to serve me. Cregan Stark sat and said nought.

Names were considered and discarded, knights where lauded and insulted. After long deliberations and countless names thrown around, some semblance of unanimity was reached. My counsellors were quick to assent on Ser Olyvar, eager to earn my favor, but other names were not that easily agreed upon. Yet agreed upon they were. As such Ser Karyl, the Bat Knight of Castle More, Ser Olyvar's cousin Ser Vallyn of Lannisport and Ser Armen Storm, the Bastard of Rain House (of whom it was rumored that he once sought to become a septon) had been chosen.

Once that matter had been settled, I took once again the reins of the meeting and proposed that alms be given to the poor of King's Landing on the occasion of my coronation so the smallfolk may be joyful alongside the highborn, a proposal that only met some murmurs from Lord Plumm and praises from most of the other lords. Having easily settled that, I took to matters of a more serious nature, that of the administration of the Crownlands.

"I have no intention to speak ill of my late brother, but his attention was more often than not preoccupied with matters of war rather than peace. As such, though not of his fault, the Crownlands have suffered. It is my intent to see my lands put to rights. Thus, let it be known that I will take no men into my service whose hearts are not bent towards justice. Let it be known that for the officers of my own household, or my bailiffs, seneschals and provosts in the Crownlands, are not to receive, either themselves or through their families, any presents of anyone, save food and drink. They are not to receive oaths from those under their power, or those who seek redress from them."

"Your Grace, such is the custom for such men," said Lord Hunter. "I cannot be judged for faults that were not seen as such during your father's and brother's reigns. May the Seven rest their souls!"

"I do not seek to find fault in you, my lord. But in my reign, my men shall follow my will. I ask you, Lord Hunter, to send knights inquisitors to all men in my service to see if their conduct is just and honest and if they safeguard the privileges offered to my subjects by my royal predecessors, and if not, to relieve them of their offices. I mean to establish the Iron Throne as a throne of justice. Find then men of valor and send them to me so I may ascertain their worth and send them forth in my kingdom. Bid them to swear every man to an oath to render justice, without distinction of persons, according to the approved customs of the place; to swear that they would give or send nothing to any member of my own Council, or their kin, or to said knights inquisitors. And bide them to keep any disgraced men in the land of their office, until charges are brought against them, and that as such time they should appear before the Iron Throne, on pain of death."

" I will see to have your will done forthwith, my king" said the Master of Laws, with a pained expression on his face. I began to wonder if he were a man I should keep in my council, if my justice pained him so. His replacement could wait though, until I had cause to doubt his good and honest service. It might well depend on if he found me twenty good men for my investigators, or men of a lower nature. If not, I would find myself good and honest septons for the matter, though I could not very well call them "knights inquisitor".

My uncle ended his silence and bade me consider the matter of the envoys to Braavos I recalled: " What plans you have, nephew, on the negotiations with the Sealord ? He might well feel slighted by the recall of my envoys without any due case."

" I have no ill will towards the Sealord, uncle. However, I see no wisdom in offering my sister's hand to a man whose heir would not follow him in his rank. Let us send my cousin Aegon then to treat with Braavos and let the honor of royal envoy wash away whatever slight they may perceive."

"Though Aegon is mine own son, I must advise to send men more old and wiser than him" said the Lord Hand, no doubt considering what trouble Aegon would find himself in with courtesans.

I laughed at his hesitance: " Fear not, uncle! I do not mean for Aegon to travel alone. Send with him men you find suitable and give them instructions as you may please."

Lord Plumm made to speak his own mind, but I then spoke to Lord Tully: "My lord Robin, though I know that the Lordship of Harrenhal swears its fealty to your own House, I find it wise to keep it for the moment in my own keeping, so that the coin for war with Dorne might be easier gathered. I mean no slight to you, and since you have so eagerly offered your uncle into my service, I would be most joyous to name him as castellan".

Robin Tully accepted the matter with much joy, for it was better for his uncle to hold the castle than another lord. Having been done with the Muppets, Lord Plumm opened his mouth again: "Your Grace, we need to speak of the coin for your war with Dorne.".

His luck fled him once again, for I silenced him once more: " Let us speak of this another day, for the day has gone and I must see to my prayers". And with such the Council disbanded, though not before I invited the Great Lords to hunt and dine with me in the morrow. I had matters to speak with them personally, and not with the Small Council.

Notes:

Due to a lack of many named characters in this era, I had to resort to inspiration. I hope that I made the references quite obvious for the new Kingsguard, though they are not that openly obvious.
Aegon is not going to go to Dorne - Baelor does not want him to gain any glory.
Next is gonna be various negotiations with lords - talks about the New Gift, Summerhal and the partition of Dorne, and maybe the coronation - if I do not find enough words to describe it in a single chapter.

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Chapter III: Have Friends​

Have friends. They are a second self. To a friend, another friend is always good and wise; between friends, everything turns out well. You are worth as much as others say you are, and to win their good words, win their hearts. Performing a service for another works like a charm, and the best way to win friends is to do people favours. The greatest and the best that we have depends on others. You must live with either friends or enemies. You should make a new friend every day, if not a confidant, then at least a supporter, for if you have chosen well, some will later become confidants.

Baltasar Gracian, The Pocket Oracle and Art of Prudence​

Red Keep

The King's Chambers

I met with Cregan Stark in the intimacy of my own chambers, for my own dealings with him had need of a great deal of time and talk. Having surfaced the age of fifty, Lord Stark enjoyed, as some would say, the wisdom of old age, though unlike some, he was not eager to dispend it with a smug countenance. He was thin and reedy, his face gaunt and bluish, and his breath sometimes ran short, likely as a result of the Winter Fever that beset the kingdom at the beginning of my father's reign. Some said that the cold and shivers never left him since, and not even the heat of the South brought him reprieve. He was the perfect portrayal of his House's words: winter had touched him, left its mark upon him, and made him its own.

Unlike some sycophants, Cregan was not one to drown me in flatteries or eager to ask what reason I had to invite him to dine with him. He was a man whose silence spoke more than his words, for while his words could reduce a grown man to embarassement, I had seen young knights reduced to shivering wrecks by one stare from Cregan Stark, with one eyebrow raised. Stark was thus, not a man to whom you wished to make a good impression. He commanded respect even in the face of fools, and even the most self-absorbed, peacocky young men fled his presence the moment his eyebrow raised. The young Bernard Tyrell proved quite an example of it, when he praised his father's handling of Dorne. Where some other men would disagree vehemently, all that Stark had to do was say nothing. Of course, that had his downfalls, for if Stark was silent for other reasons, men would become convinced of his own disdain, and determined to prove him wrong. They would make boasts of future deeds of arms, and in trying to win the Old Wolf's approval, they were certain to lose it.

Such was the man that stood before me. He was a man who I would not have to deal with in flatteries, or much words. As such, I put the matter of the New Gift before him in quite a fortright manner.

" I would say this plain – whatever elogies that maesters have brought to "the Good Queen" Alysanne are not those with which I would agree. Not only she took land from a leal lord to whom her husband brought only troubles, she displayed a lack of judgement in giving the Watch a greater burden and no means to deal with it. I would like to think that the loss of our dragons has brought us Targaryens closer to the earth. It is not in my own power to return the Gift, for the Night's Watch is not part of the realm. The Iron Throne, however, has nothing against any such deals that House Stark's would make with the Watch to receive these lands back."

" The Iron Throne is willing to renounce half of the taxes that these lands would owe to it, and see them given to the Black Brothers. The decline of the Watch and Wildling incursions have made us consider the need for a second line of defence to the North. As such, I would see these lands given the privileges of a March, provided that whatever lords you seek to install there would provide service in defending against raiders, and aid the Watch in their need. Thus, they may keep any number of men-at-arms that they would judge fitting for such purposes, and even bind every goodman settled there to bear arms for his own defence, shall be spared the obligation of providing military service beyond the borders of your own kingdom, and given the right of high justice, to hand whatever punishment the Warden of the North might wish to establish for the breaking of the peace. I judged it good that you should not appoint any higher lord upon them, but be answerable and swear only to House Stark, as their Lord-Warden of this March."

Cregan nodded, with the ghost of a smile upon his face. "It is a settlement well thought of, your Grace. Mayhaps Lord Umber or some chieftains might not be such pleased that their lands would not return to their own jurisdiction, but they'll nevertheless be happy enough to have some cousin or other given a holdfast."

"While it might seem that I seek to drown you in favors, you and I know that I only seek to redress past wrongs and forgotten pacts. My uncle, Jacaerys, once promised the hand of his own daughter for your heir. Yet the Seven-in-One willed it not. My uncle's promise still binds my house. And while your son Rickon has died in Dorne, Lord Jonnel is still umarried, as is my own sister Daena. My own honor deems me to offer the hand of my sister, and of course, a dowry according to her rank."

"It speaks well of you to remember the words of those who came before you, Your Grace. Jonnel will be pleased to be wed. I shall send a raven to Winterfell and summon him and see the matter done before the Gods. You do not seek to have her bring the whole litany of her God's servants with her, for I know you for a pious man, Your Grace ?" Stark asked, with the same blank face as always, but with a hint of defiance in his eyes, shivering slightly beneath his furs.

I was quick to assure him: "I worship the Seven-in-One, my lord, but I do not deny your Gods. My sister is not as pious as myself, and it is your castle, and your Gods. A sept between the walls of Wintertown would not go amiss, to bring succor to whatever Faithful might travel there, and is a matter that would please me greatly. But a sept needs only a septon, not a Most Devout and all his companions."

And thus the matter was dealt with, swiftly and plainly. Cregan Stark downed his mead, and with parting words, announced me that he shall remain in King's Landing untill after the coronation and wedding, and provide me with counsel on Dorne. He promised me Manderly ships and two thousand mountain men. And then he left, though a chill remained in the chambers, one that the fire would not banish, and only a new sunrise would see it gone. It brought one's mind to the heart of winter.

I could not call him a confidant, nor even a friend. He was himself, and it bode well that he was pleasantly inclined towards me.

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The Red Keep

Godswood

Daena was water-dancing around with her ladies when I went to tell her the news. The mattter was not one I was eager to perform. My relationship with her was fraught, on account of different interests, and the manner of our dealings ackward, on account of her derision of holy things.

"Daena, if you would dismiss your ladies, I have serious matters to speak with you" I said to her. She was not inclined to listen to me, and protested quite vigurously. Her ladies where more judicious, so they left. Only me, her and poor Aemon remained.

"There's no need to keep waterdancing. The Sealord shall find another wife."

The abruptness of my manner raised new protest in her, and she loudly lamented:" You mean to keep me a maiden, dear brother ? I am not Rhaena, to become a septa, to satisfy your lust for the Seven's favor." She would have continued so, had I not interrupted her again.

"You'll marry Lord Stark's heir and be Lady of Winterfell, and if it pleases you, you might leave your septas behind. You shall wed once he comes down South, and before I go to Dorne."

Not even such pleased her. Mayhaps she worried that Jonnel Stark was a man in the same manner as his father. I had not the mood to assure her, so I left Aemon to assure her otherwise. The poor man looked at me as I had finally decided to punish him for Daeron's death.

I fled the Godswood swiftly. Perhaps the manner of my conversation with my sister made me look like a boor, but I had no ease of manner in talking with her. She found pleasure in deriding holy things, and in mocking me, and she was all together to lively and flightly to deal with. She frustrated me, and I did my best to ignore her (though that often led her to start talking in innuendos, to discomfort me further). I might be sad at our future parting, but certainly not soon.

We were not friends, and certainly not confidants. And I knew not if she thought that I had done her a service. Mayhaps once day should be satisfied, but I resolved to pray for Jonnel Stark, and that a great deal.

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The Kingswood

Olyver Baratheon was a man built in the usual manner of his ancestors. A great man, of body, but not necessarily a great mind. At least this one knew his letters, unlike a certain other. The man delighted in war, in the hunt, and in the drink, and other pleasures, less palatable. He boasted of his prowesss in all, save for whoring, for he had the presence of mind to know that such would not put him in good favor with myself.

He was young enough, though older than myself, and that gave him a certain assureness in his conversation with me. He presumed to teach me of war, of battle and gave me a flurry of advice in dealing with Dorne. He played himself thus, because I painted my own plans as born of his own advice.

"You speak well, my lord Baratheon. I urge you to find no offense if I ask for Lord Dondarrion's hospitality when I bring fire and blood to Dorne. I cannot conduct a war from King's Landing. Though there might be another way, but I am loath to propose you such."

Lord Baratheon was quick to assure me otherwise: " Speak your mind, Your Grace. I would be most pleased to be of help to you."

"It would please me well to have some quarters of my own in the Stormlands. Perhaps a castle, that I might give my young cousin someday something to call his own. And while his hand is settled upon, I have no doubt that Daeron has a fine impression of your house that he might desire to tie his blood to yours. You need not worry that I might take lands from your lords, to give to him. Such would be repaid in gold. And I always believed that the Red Mountains would look better if both sides were in your kingdom. And younger sons might prove themselves brave and worthy of reward in the war to come."

" A most judicious plan, Your Grace" said Baratheon, and made to say more. But a boar came into view, so he readied his spear and galloped his horse towards his quarry. I was briefly worried that he might end up in the manner of his kinsman Bobby, but I looked around and saw no Lannister squire carrying wine. So I eased my mind.

Lord Baratheon certainly thought me friend, and it was useful for myself to think the same. He was not a man to make confidences to, but nevertheless a man who would be assured of my great friendship towards him, unless I dealt him an obvious insult.

I sighed and whispered: " I need to make other confidants that are not priests.".

Ser Olyvar Ferren cleared his throat.

"Do excuse me, my good ser Athos! I have momentarily forgot about you. You are a fine confidant."

Feren growled and murmured behind me: " Your Grace seems to forget quite often, especially my name."

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter IV: Pleasant Dreams​

It is said that when faithful Hugor of the Hill in ancient times was sent visions of the divine, that he, by his own hand, carved statues of the Father and Mother, of Smith and Crone, of Warrior and Maiden, of the Stranger. These statues served to worship the One-Who-Is-Seven and the Seven-Who-Are-One in the first temple of the gods, itself built by the selfsame hand. It is said that since these statues where carved by the hand of the Prophet himself, that the very stone was hallowed beyond belief, and that from their stony visage, the presence of the Seven was felt most arduously, watching over their Faithful.

And when the Andals came to Westeros, guided by promises of foreign land and rule, these relics remained behind on the Holy Hill, in the ancient realm. Yet the vagaries of time had their due, and the Valyrians came with their dragons and Andalos was lost to its people, and the Seven Stones were lost. Some said that the Stones burned in dragonfire, or were lost to the hammers of the blasphemous, other said that the Stones were taken as spoils and sent to Valyria and perished with the Doom.

Yet, a tale was told of a faithful septon, who in the cover of darkness took the faces of the Seven and hid them in a hollow hill where they remain to this day.

And in my sleep, vision of eyes unyielding plagued my dreams, and I sank in them like in a sea. I found myself on the shore of the Narrow Sea, and a raven black as night flew beyond the walls of the Red Keep, across the sea, past Dragonstone, past Pentos and in the Velvet Hills, where the Little Rhoyne starts flowing and the beyond to a hill covered in pines and a cave hid by bushes. And then the raven sat, and the bush set itself alight in glowing flames and a Voice said HERE, and the eyes returning, gaze almighty, and in their eyes I found an abyss, full of glittering stars and galaxies, and my soul was laid bare before the One, and music celestial was heard, notes eldritch to my ears, and I felt my mind slipping the bound of sanity and my wits cracking, for I saw what was not meant to be seen and the flesh of my body burned in agony, and a Voice said SEE MY WILL DONE, and in that Voice I heard Seven Voices, I heard the wind and gales of a thousand storms, a myriad thunders, the sound of countless rivers, I heard the waves of an angry sea.

Darkness came and covered my vision, and in that darkness cold winds and I shivered, and then a light began to burn in the darkness. And as the light found its way towards me, the darkness turned into fog. But as that fog lifted, I found myself North, sitting atop the Wall, and looking down upon the Haunted Forest. And in that dreadful dream, I saw a blizzard coming from the heart of Winter, as high as the heavens themselves., towering over the quiet trees, advance unyielding, blizzard unescapable. And in dread I looked, frozen in spot.

And then a sweet voice said Wake and I felt my mind slip into consciousness, full of oneiric knowledge.

And in my bed I sat in reverence, in wonder and in dread. My body trembled, my heart beat what seemed to be a thousand beats a minute. The threads of my mind still pulled in a hundred directions and my thoughts were muddled. I got out of the bed on shaky legs and limped to the basin full of water, overflowing like a spring, dripping rivulets over the floor, drenching carpets and glittering like stars in the night sky. I gingerly cupped my hands, took water and dumped it on my hand. The shivering of the dream seemed to leave me slightly, and an innocent laughter was briefly in my ears.

And I stood there as moments passed, and minutes turned into hours, wet and afraid, contemplating the horror of the divine and the diminutiveness of my own existence. I, a king, who ruled a continent, who commanded thousands to die at my bidding, was naught but an ant, judged on a cosmic scale, found unworthy, and yet upon my worthless being was bestowed the attention of gods almighty. And in the light of day, I blinked, and in that brief moment of darkness, the Divine Eye pierced again, darkness and light and a myriad colors swirling in its iris, and in my ears a sound anew, biding me to see the will of the Seven done.

And servants came, with food and drink. I sent them back, set upon my knees and fasted and prayed. The sun crossed the sky and it was midday, and servants came again. I sent them back again.

I left then the room and found my way into the sept, my Kingsguard bewildered at my visage, for I looked half-mad and felt that way. And it was Maiden's Day, and young noble daughters set alight candles at the Maiden's feet and brought garland offerings. And the septon looked confused, and the maidens bewildered, for no man was to set foot inside this day. Yet he was but a priest, and I a king, and he said nought. And in the sound of songs of innocence, sung for the Maiden, I found madness fleeing.

And tears overflowed my eyes and I knelt in front of the Maiden until the sun returned to its home, and the moon glowed brightly through the windows of the sept. And I dreaded sleep, and evaded slumber, fear and horror niggling in my mind. And yet sleep took me.

I woke under a tree. I rose and saw a silver stream, and a cool wind flew forth and a pleasing chill filled the air. And music unspeakably beautiful was heard, and birds danced amidst the trees. And fawns played in the meadows. Sleeping, I dreamed, and in the dream I slept. And I woke, and my mind was whole again.

NOTE: I know this is rather short, but it serves well to get me back into writing. I planned to write a sidequest retrieveing said statues, but my muse took me some other place. And now you get some plain cosmic, oneiric, eldritch horror, with a bit of inspiration from Faramir's dream and McDonald's Phantastes, for the pleasanter part of the chapter.

So yeah, champion of the gods is a nice thing to be, but you get your marching orders with a side of madness. Luckily, the Maiden had some pity on the guy.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter V​

Baelor

The King's Solar

My uncle was understandably confused by my "episode" on Maiden's Day and sought clarification. It was not without an amount of cheekiness that I told him the truth. More or less.

"There is to be a change of plans. We shall go to war with Dorne, but first I shall gather a host and go to Andalos, I shall humble the Pentoshi and be a pilgrim on the Sacred Hill." I told him, a bit anxious for his response."

"Being pious is well and good, nephew, but what in the gods' name made you come up with such a plan ?" all but yelled Viserys Targaryen. On his face was planted a figure of perplexity, mixed with a generous mix of annoyance and a desire to tear out the hair from his head. Probably from my head as well. "Have you gone mad ?"

"I was mad yesterday, my lord Hand." I told him with a curt voice, a hint of laughter nevertheless hiding between my words. "I assure you I am quite sane today."

"Then whatever reason you have for such a sudden change of plans?" my uncle inquired, pacing around my solar, and threateting to wear the Myrish carpet under his trodding feet. "I half feared that when your brother died you meant to come to a peace with Dorne. And now you seem to have a newfound thirst for battle."

"I was mad yesterday, that's why I mean to bring war into Andalos, uncle! I said with a tone that brooked no argument. "Please be silent, and let me tell my truth! What do you know of dragon dreams?"

"Dragon dreams, nephew? You mean to say that whatever plagued Daenys the Dreamer now plagues your resting hours? It bodes not to overthink such visions halfway to madness, nephew. Such dreams are always vague and foggy, and no amount of wise men have tried to divine the future from them, to no avail. I would not have you lost to such. Even I, quite often, dream of a wave of cold and snow coming from the far North, and feel like that the Stranger himself marches with it. But the Long Night was thousands of years ago, and whatever might come it is not to be in our lifetime if the Gods do not hate us."

"I know what dream you speak of, for I dreamt it also, uncle, but it was not dragons that sent me dreams, but gods. The Other may not come today, nor tommorow, they may not come for a hundred forty and six years, yet come they will. But that is not what I dreamed. Whatever madness a Targaryen might found in parsing vague dreams is nought compared with what visions the Seven send. But seeing the Divine Eye would serve to crack one's mind. Yet a maiden's song has relieved me of madness, fear not."

"And what did the Seven command? To wage holy war on Pentos and conquer Andalos, while the Dornish live with their treachery? Taking a Free City is no easy or swift matter. It will take years to take it and years to keep it. And what will the Braavosi think of it? Will your gods protect you from a Faceles Man come to take your life in the night, Baelor? You worship the Crone, boy, I thought you more wise than this!" Viserys' mood grew angrier and more worried with every word out of his mouth, his pacing quickened and his hands started wringing.

"I do not mean to conquer Pentos, uncle. The Pentoshi Flatlands are wide and rich, full of orchards, farms and mines. I meant to loot and sack the estates of cheesemongers and slavemaster, and take their bondmen out of their chains. The Pentoshi has long put their noses in the Dornish matter, it is time for them to be taught a lesson. It is not conquest I am after, only a punitive expedition, if you will – whatever sellsword they send against us we will crush. ("Though my grudges are long and hopefully my life longer" – I muttered under my breath) And from there to the Velvet Hills, the road is short. It is for stones the Seven send me forth, not war. The Seven Stones, which should mean something to you, if your septon taught you well."

"But they are lost" said my uncle, his wrath now simmering lower and his pacing slower.

"And yet the gods showed me where they are, at the headwaters of the Little Rhoyne, inside a hollow hill. I know what you wish to tell me – that one should not always trust dreams. But the Doom came after Daenys' dreams and it is not for dreams' sake I wish to sail across the Sea. It is for fear of dreams. If one dream brings such madness, I shudder at more. I shall see the Will done, and hope that the gods stay silent." My will was resolute. I was informing my uncle, not convincing him. I had no wish to spend my resting hours in anxiety, fearing dreams and madness.

"Well it seems that you have sent Aegon for naught to Braavos if I have to send other men to discuss other things. Shall I summon my son back, Your Grace?" Viserys asked, his manner once again pleasing, seating at last.

"There is no reason to ruin his pleasures yet. Let him have joy of Braavosi courtesans for longer. The Seven know that I shall have lesser use of him than they."

"Then we shall see the King's will done, your Grace." said the Lord Hand and departed.

And I sat and planned. Whatever the Andalosi expedition shall be, it was not to be a proper crusade. Not yet at least. Perhaps years later, when new incomes from Dorne will see the treasury fuller, and the cold dish of revenge will be served with a side of irony – Dornish gold serving the downfall of the Pentoshi.

A punitive expedition, men with fire and sword. A chevauchee, in another world's words. I would have ten or twenty thousand men, and set fire to Pentoshi estates, take their crops and their herds, their gold and their silver, their jewels and silky garments. I would tear apart their manses, their towers and palaces, and leave them flee on foot for the safety of Pentos – if they could escape the swift horses of my knights. But most importanly, I would take their slaves. I would save what few and diminished Andals remained, take them across the Sea, return them to the loving embrace of the Faith, and in this replenish in numbers some what the Realm lost with the Winter Fever.

I would have the Oakenfist provide aid to the Braavosi, and harass the ships of Pentos. And when it was all said and done, I would yet still give leave to Westerosi mariners to take whatever ship of Pentos they might "reasonably" suspect of holding slaves, with the King's own assent.

I would take men from the Crownlands. Arryn would surely join me, eager to prove his faith. Tyrell and Reachmen to prove their chivalry. Lannister and Baratheon and Tully to, not to prove themselves any lesser. And septons, to provide relief for the souls of the dying. The Faith would surely contribute to my expedition's coffers – not to prove themselves unworthy. They shall give and take no loot – for septons take no spoils. And when I shall find the Seven Stones, all shall look in wonder. And the Faith shall have its spoils. And whatever gold remained in my hands, it will surely find its way to the Faith, once I found the ways to have them use it for my means – for teaching the illiterate, for healing the sick, for providing for the orphan, the widow and the infirm.

I would have a little crusade - as a treat. And one day, I'll be back. For such is the WILL.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter VI: A Crown and a Throne

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On the days before my coronation, I had left the Red Keep and King's Landing behind and removed myself to Dragonstone and its ancient keep, where I spent seven nights in fast and quiet contemplation. The reason of my exit (not pursued by a bear), was to return. It is a quite obvious reason, but one in need of an explanation. My coronation was to begin with a procession through King's Landing, towards the Red Keep and the Royal Sept. It was thus necessary to leave the city the day before and return to it – but I would grant no single lord of the Crownlands the honor of hosting me, and slighting the rest. And whatever place would suit more than Dragonstone, the home of my ancestors? And nothing seemed more fitting that returning for my coronation, I would follow in the steps of the Conqueror, and set foot on the mainland of Westeros, and be crowned king.

Having sailed back to the city, the natural start of my procession was the docks. But it would not do for a king to enter the city through the Mud Gate and Fishmonger Square, for some would be quite scandalized. And so I rode beneath the walls, not before I gave the captain that ferried me a gift of gold in thanks – seven times seven dragons, and entered the city through the Gate of the Gods, more suited for its purpose. The notables of King's Landing, the high and mighty lords of the realm, the Small Council and various courtiers greeted me at these gates.

As I advanced towards the Red Keep, the Goldcloacks lined the streets, their cloaks newly furnished, for it would not do for dusty and patched coverings on this day. And with them, the people of King's Landing too, eager to get a glimpse of their king, riding in all his finery. I would not bore you with all the displays of pageantry, orations, speeches and the like. It suffices to say that their number was many, that a great deal of coin was spent on those (though to the joy of my uncle, it was the city's guildmasters that paid the coin), that all the mummers to be found in the city were gainfully employed this day, and that they were but half boring. I was not that self-centered that I delighted in the repeated strokings of my ego, so the final pageant was met with much joy.

And in the sounds of crowds and trumpets, I left behind dragons of cloth, and mummer who played at dragonlords, oaks dressed as genealogical trees, processions of maidens, Seven Pointed Star-gifting septons, allegories and tableaus of virtues and valor, and little children declaming speeches, and at last I entered the Keep and made my way to the sept.

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Once in the sept, I made my way to the altar, dressed in crimson velvet and robes of silk, furred with hermine and vair (a nod to my grandmother's house). The High Septon walked before me, and before him Joffrey Arryn, made High Steward for purpose of the coronation, carried my crown (a circlet of gold encrusted with rubies and polished dragonglass, with seven sharp spike of iron and two bands over the head, a seven-pointed star above them), Olyver Baratheon carried my scepter, and Loreon Lannister with the Hand of Justice. Robin Tully was given the honor of carrying Blackfyre. Bernard Tyrell carried the royal ring and bracelets.

I knelt before the altar and the High Septon spoke: Baelor rightful and undoubted inheritor by the Laws of the Seven-Who-Are-One and by the laws of man to the Crown and all royal dignities comes in this prefixed and annointed day to take upon him the said crown and royal dignity. Whereupon he shall be annointed and crowned.

One of the Most Devout held before me the Seven-Pointed Star and I rose and swore an oath:

I swear that as far as it is in my power I shall maintain true and holy peace and rightful justice for the Faith, that I shall protect, defend and maintain it. I swear that I shall maintain the profession of the Seven, the Old Gods and the Drowned God, and I shall use no royal might and dignity to force upon any man to set aside his faith. I swear that I shall not permit in my Realm the worship of foreign and queer gods, unknown to my people.

I swear that I shall profide equal and rightful justice for the subjects of the Realm, from the most high to the lowest, and provide judgements with equity and mercy.

I swear that I shall observe the customs, laws and liberties of this Realm.

The things wich I have before promised I will perform and keep, and may the Stranger strike me if I stray.

I knelt again again and septons took of my robes, and I was annointed with the seven oils, on my hands, my breast, my back, my shoulders, my elbows on my head. And the Father of the Faithful spoke again, and thus he spoke of the sevenfold gifts of grace: And the spirit of the Seven-Who-Are-One shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the One-Who-Is-Seven. Govern ye hereby and let wisdom act upon thy will, let the Crown enlighten your mind and incline you to charity. And let understanding come to you, that you may see the truth of the Divine and fortify your faith. And keep counsel with the Father, so you may judge with prudence and righteousness, and with the Mother, so your judgments be merciful. And be mighty, so you may stand firmly for what is right in sight of the Smith and in the doing of all goodly arts and deeds and provide succour to the afflicted in the name of the Maiden. Allow into you the spirit of knowledge, , so you may see men as the Seven do. Spend your days in piety and reverence, and hope for the rewards of the Seven Heavens, to whom one day the Stranger shall lead you to. And be always frightful of the One, and look upon the Seven in wonder and awe at their glory and majesty.

The Lord Tully came then forward with Blackfyre, the sword of kings, and the Sheperd blessed it and consecrated it for the defence of the Faith, and it was girded one with the words Take this holy sword, a gift from the Warrior, with which you will strike down your adversaries. A ring of gold with a ruby, handed by Tyrell, followed, blessed and consecrated and set on the fourth finger of my right hand. And the High Septon beseeched the Seven that whatever I sanctify and bless may also be holy and blessed. Such was followed by two golden bracelets, which were to signify sincerity and wisdom.

Next was the scepter, handed over by Baratheon on my right, and and the hand of justice by Lannister, on my left. The culmination of the ceremony followed. The crown, censed, blessed and consecrated, was placed upon my head, with brief words: Like Hugor, so may the One crown you, the Seven's annointed.

And with it, it was done and we left the sept while holy hymns were sung. I became king when my brother died, but now I was recognised king in the sight of gods and men, before the realm entire. The day would not end then though, for I had not yet sat upon the Iron Throne and received homage from my lords. And from the sept, my steps took me towards the Iron Throne.

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I sat upon the Iron Throne, in front of the gathered crowd and a herald read my proclamation:

Baelor Targaryen, First of His Name, by the grace of the Gods, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, to all our most loving, faithful, and obedient subjects, and to every of them, greeting.

Where it has pleased the Stranger, to call unto his infinte mercy the most excellent, valiant and mighty king, Daeron the Brave, of most noble and famous memory, our most dear and entirely beloved brother, whose soul may the Seven pardon, for as much as we, being his only brother and undoubted heir, be now invested and established in the crown imperial of this realm and sit upon this Iron Throne.

That said and done, the Lord Stark stepped forth. Having no part in the coronation itself, on account of his faith, I endeavoured to find him a place in the enthronement. He was to act as the King's Champion, a role which would be settled upon his heirs in perpetuity, as those of the other lords in the coronation. A fitting role for the best swordsman in the realm.

And thus where the words of Cregan Stark:

If there be any person, of what estate or degree whatsoever, will deny or gainsay that king Baelor is not the rightful heir and king of this realm, I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, here his Champion, say that he lieth, and is a false traitor offer my glove, am ready in person to combat with him, and in this quarel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he shall be appointed.

None dared, for Cregan Stark had drawn his sword Ice and looked upon the crown with a terrible gaze, the intensity of a winter storm visible in his eyes. Whether of fright or lack of claim, all were silent.

And then followed the homage of the lords. First where the Wardens, Stark, then Arryn, Lannister, then Tyrell. They climed the stairs of the throne, knelt and bound their hands with mine, and spoke their oaths and I accepted. I reconfirmed upon them their Wardenships and proclaimed good and faithful subjects.

Next was the Lords Baratheon and Tully and Grejoy. To forestall claims of greater prestige and mightier holdings, the lower lords and ladies that attended the ceremony took their oath in turn of their age, from the oldest to the youngest among them.

Once the last of them swore their oath, the herald came forth and cried:

Lord Martell, come forth and swear your oath!

Lady Allyrion, come forth and swear your oath!

Lord Briar, come forth and swear your oath!

…

…

…

Lord Wyl, come forth and swear your oath!

Lord Yronwood, come forth and swear your oath!

But none did. It was to be expected that no Dornish lord came, that no rebel wished to swear themselves to fealty anew. But such display was not without purpose. The heralds did not call forth lords amongst leal subjects that to reasons various did not attend the ceremony. The summoning of the Dornish was to make known in front of the whole realm their treachery.

I summoned my uncle forth and whispered in his ear. The prince Viserys stepped down, and thus spoke and proclaimed the Hand, in the name of the King: In the name of Baelor of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Prince Viserys of the House Targaryen, his Hand, I denounce them, and attaint them, and strip them of all ranks and titles, of all lands and income and holdings, and do sentence them to death. And all their heirs in perpetuity are likewise stripped of all ranks and titles, of all lands and income and holding. May the gods take pity on their soul.

My uncle finished and then I spoke: It seems to me that Dorne must no longer exist. Words inspired from the words of an ancient politician, of another world. I would not speak in Latin, for no Westerosi knew it, but that was the meaning of the words – Dorne delenda est. It was not genocide that I had in mind, Seven preserve me, but the existence of Dorne as an entity. Half of it would be sworn to other kingdoms, and the other half would become part of the Crownlands, though far away from the rest.

And in the last act of the day, heralds and criers where sent forth in the city. The week in this world had, as in my previous one, seven days in one week. Seven days for seven gods. But because there were seven gods, there was no day of rest – for no god was held above all. It left me an interesting opportunity. Of course, I had consulted before with the High Septon and the conclave of the Most Devout. Furthermore, my proclamation was limited to King's Landing and to the Crownlands.

But as royal men cried in the street, my coronation would become a day that the smallfolk would never forget. For the heralds proclaimed, in the name of King Baelor, that henceforth and for all eternity, the seventh day would be a day of rest:

Six days you shall labour, and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Day of the Stranger. In it you shall not do any work, your, or your son, or your daughter, or your servants. For in this day just the work of death must be done, and none may labour save the gravediggers or the Silent Sisters. And thus you shall not labour on this day, but to cook your food, and tend your fire, and to your livestock, so that you may enjoy its rest.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter VII: Nobody expects the Royal Inquisition
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Next, be just to those placed under you, keeping to the line of justice, and turn not aside, neither to the right hand nor to the left. And always give the benefit of the doubt to the poor over the rich, until you are sure of the truth. If someone should have a complaint against you, side with the cause of your adversary, until the truth is clear to you. In this way those of your counsel will more readily stand on the side of justice.

Saint Louis to his son​

The aftermath of my coronation had been a trying time for me. After ceremony followed a banquet, where, it seemed, every unwed lady of consequence in the realms had chosen to attend. In fine cloth and bedecked in a myriad of jewels, making their beauty known before me, in hope of becoming queen.

The boldest of the lot was Elena Stokeworth, elder sister to my cousin's former mistress. In temperament and behavior she resembled much her sister. And it seemed, her ambitions were higher than being a mistress to a royal prince. Perhaps she wished to outshine her sister, whom ever she believed to be lesser in beauty to her.

Tired of her attentions and her company, for she was in mind quite lacking, and had less common sense than a man willing to become an Unsullied of his own will, I said to her: "My lady, I want you to call to mind something concerning yourself. It is said that you were once a beautiful lady. But what once was, now is passed, as you are well aware. You can, therefore, consider that such swiftly fading beauty is vain and useless and does not last, like a quickly wilting flower. And with all your care and effort, you cannot bring it back. Rather you must concern yourself with achieving another beauty, not of the body, but of the soul, whereby you may be able to please the Seven and atone for those things done thoughtlessly in bygone elegance."

An insult couched in pious words, and for all that I meant it, she believed that my overfondness of piety had inclined me to pity for her soul. In fact it was a rather verbious dismissal, which can be quickly resumed in the words of an otherworldly bard: "Get thee to a nunnery".

The older ladies, at least had then enough sense, to declare their suit forfeit and bothered me not with their attempts at seduction. The younger ones were more willful, and it took many lengthy conversations upon the finer points of the Book of the Maiden to rid myself of them.

That day was fortunately past now, and I had returned to the usual affairs of state. I had, some time before, entrusted Lord Hunter, my Lord Justicar and Master of Laws, to find me good men to send forth as knights inquisitor and investigate if my men in the Crownlands had done injustice or did not justly seen to their duties.

Today, I found myself before these men. It seemed the Lord Hunter was wise, or savvy, enough to bring before me men of competence. What he did not find, and mayhap I should have asked him to, were men of humility. Each and every one of them considered themselves the better and the nobler among the lot, and I was half expecting them to ask, like the Apostles Christ, who should be accounted the greatest.

Now, if men of arms could not agree between themselves who was the better of the lot and more deserving of their authority, I would have them be led by men of a different authority. As such I sent forth a servant to summon before me men who shed such worldly arrogance, and men who where known to me to masters at investigation and at digging out deeds unworthy.

And thus came before me two septons. The first of them had the name of Cad, a man past forty, who had been both soldier and sailor, a former sellsword in the Free Cities, with quite the quiver of talents and skills. He would be one of the few among the clergy of the Faith, who in the course of my reign, to whom I allowed to bear arms. The second, lacked such worldly experience, but was in no way less competent. He was short, brown of hair and plain of face, but he had an uncanny knowledge of the behavior of men, a knowledge that many did not think he possessed, when first they met him. He seemed harmless, and as such men thought themselves none the wiser when he followed them with his keen eye and keener ear. His name was Paul.

It was to these two septons that I entrusted my knights inquisitor, to lead them and command them. They knew well enough to smooth disagreements and prevent them from acting like peacocks. They knew well to instruct them in the arts of investigation. And they were honest enough to see that no one among their lot should fall to the temptation of foreign coin. They were learned in the law, and thus capable of knowing if my bailiffs had broken those, in letter or in spirit. They were to be the men I counted on, while the Knights Inquisitor were to be the muscle and veneer of royal authority that would grant them the authority and legitimacy that a simple septon lacked.

I would sent them forth, and in septs across the Crownlands, septons would make notice of their coming, so that the smallfolk may know that the King would see justice done. These knights would listen record in writing the complaints of my subject regarding abuses, injuries, exactions and services unjustly received and would, at the bidding of my septons, inquire into these allegations. The final word in the matter, until my judgement, would be that of the septons.

They were to inquire on the comportment of my officials, and how they acted in protecting the rights of the King, his possessions and the land. They were to ask if the rights or possessions of the King had been diminished. They were to investigate into how they acted in handling cases and pleas, if they received or kept any loans or deposits. They were to find out if they asked for or kept anything for making peace, for determining a settlement, or for doing justice. And, last, but not least, if they had unjustly arrested, imprisoned, or punished anyone in goods or in person.

And this I said to them: "If anyone has acted against justice, make full inquisition until you know the truth. Enquire of them, and their household, how they conduct themselves, and if there be found in them any vice of inordinate covetousness, or falsehood, or trickery."

They were to become a permanent institution in my fiefs. Four times a year they would sally forth from King's Landing to observe the conduct of my administrators, and would have full jurisdiction to investigate the uniform and just application of the law. Each party would have amongst their lot, tough not always their leader, a septon of proven piety and honesty, and not known to be tempted by worldly vices. Each year they would give account of their comportment in office, and if they were found unworthy, they were to be cast out and replaced.

They were to seek out the helpless, allow testimony of any man, woman or child with their wits about them, and listen to the lamentation of widows, mothers and orphans. The sessions were to be held in convenient places and the petitioners treated with every courtesy and compassion.

Once they returned from their investigations, I would have the wrongdoers dragged before the Iron Throne, judged and condemned. The lesser case would be dealt by them in the place of their office and the greater and vilest by myself. In their stead, I would appoint trustworthy and sensible men, who where known for good behavior and a sterling reputation, and who had kept their hands clean.

And in the days and weeks following, many of these wrongdoings were found out and brought out into the light. A seneschal that took the cattle of a village septon, a man who had his horse taken by a bailiff on flimsy and false reasoning and accusations. There where accounts of men forced to pay their taxes twice, once for the royal treasury, and once for the official to fill his pockets. There where men who seized lands, to make the fortune of the back of my subjects and men who kept the taxes owned to the Iron Throne and accused smallfolk of refusing to pay. There were many cases where men of the treasury refused to acknowledge the debts that my late brother had made in acquiring supplies for the war in Dorne.

Some men, being pauper or orphans, asked of the King to be moved by pity or mercy, and have their goods and rights be restored to them. A widow asked that the goods and rights of her marriage portion be restored to her, on account of faithful service, and blamelessness in the deeds of her late husband.

When the lords themselves were involved, or profited, by my command, the Inquisitors where to treat them with marked hostility and to make known to them the disappointment of His Grace the King in their conduct.

And all these wrongdoers, once found out, where dragged to King's Landing to face my justice. Days of trials, of witnesses, of sworn oaths of innocence came and went. But all the men who had ruined and impoverished my people where dealt with and punished, their fortune was forfeited and used to redress their foul deeds.

The peasant had his chicken given back, his measure of wheat returned, and undue service forbidden. The merchant would have his coin returned, and the King his taxes which had been unjustly pocketed.

The men who I put in their stead I had them swear to render justice without distinction of persons, to not receive presents of anyone, save for their food and drink. They were not to receive loans from subjects under their jurisdiction. I had them swear that they would give or send nothing to any member of the Small Council, or to their wives or their children or the members of their household, or to those who were to receive their reports, and most important of them all, to my Knights Inquisitor. In exchange for their leal service, I promised them wages from my treasury, and to take their sons into my service if they proved themselves honest, and truthful and good and skilled men. And such I proclaimed: "Each and every one of the foregoing, provisions, therefore, which we have thought should be made for the peace of our subjects, reserving to ourselves the fullness of royal power to declare, change, or even correct, add or lessen, we strictly will to be observed by our bailiffs and subjects."

In the choosing of my bailiffs, seneschals or provosts, or my inquisitors I preferred to take into my service knights or sons of tradesmen and master guildsmen from King's Landing, who owed their rise to me, rather than second or third sons, or cousins of Crownlander lords, who kept allegiance with their house, and served their interests alongside those of the Throne.



Notes:

The words of Baelor are taken, with minor modification, from those of Saint Louis.

A golden dragon for whoever figures out who this chapter's two cameos are.

 

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Chapter VIII: Two Tales​

Unworthy people astutely oppose the great in order to gain a reputation indirectly that they don't merit by right. We wouldn't be aware of many such people if their far superior opponents hadn't paid them any attention. There's no revenge like oblivion, which buries them in the dust of their own insignificance.

Baltasar Gracian, The Pocket Oracle​

King's Landing

Viserys

The Lord Hand was very busy these days, on account of whatever plans his nephew had the bad habit of coming up with these days. And now his affairs became ever more complicated It seemed that the Pentoshi had somehow gotten wind of Baelor's plan, and had sent envoys to warn him from his folly. They were younger than usual diplomats, and seemed to be sons of magister, wannabe bravos who had more boasts in them than wise words. Neither of them had the usual politeness of an ambassador, and they seemed to be so prideful that they, the sons of cheesemongers and flesh traders, thought themselves to be able to speak to a son of the House of the Dragon as equals.

And now they bothered him, asking him to meet the King, all the while professing insults and various threats. It seemed that whoever ruled as Prince in Pentos had no notion that diplomats should be, well, diplomatic.

These envoys asked an audience of the Lord Hand and all but demanded that the King see them at their pleasure. They strutted around like peacocks, self-assured of their worth and prestige, as if they weren't anything but glorified messenger boys. Viserys knew their lot from the early years of his youth in Lys – they were nothing but baboons dressed in fine cloth, who though their fathers' coin gave them some sort of consequence in the world. Eager to get rid of them, Viserys had sent a guard to inform the king of their arrival.

Minutes passed and the guard returned, with the king's message: "Let them wait!". Viserys thought that Baelor had needed time to ready himself for the audience. After another half an hour, in which Viserys tried to assure them that the king would see them once he takes care of some urgent business, he grew himself impatient and sent the guard again.

And the guard returned with the same words: "Let them wait!". Viserys began to grow wroth at his nephew's untimeliness. He would have to suffer these fools longer than anticipated.

After the half hour turned into a full hour, the Lord Hand decided to go himself to the King. And so, Viserys went to Baelor's chambers, only to find the king still in his nightshirt.

With natural indignance, Viserys asked his nephew to clothe himself and see to the envoys who had bothered him for the better part of the morning. And finally, Baelor agreed. He asked that the Pentoshi be led before the Iron Throne, where the King would receive them in audience.

Yet his nephew was ever willful, for when the herald announced him, he had came to the Great Hall still in his nightgown, with a nightcap over his head instead of his crown. And he climbed the Iron Throne, and addressed the envoys: "Gentlemen, here I am in my own home and at my own leisure! I am no spineless spirit, to be summoned forth and harried by my lessers. Begone from my sight and I shall call you when I'm in need of fools to brighten my boredom.". And he rose from his throne and returned to his chambers, the sound of his retreating footsteps drowning in the Pentoshi's cries of indignance.

Viserys would have been more indignant himself at his nephew's actions and lack of diplomacy. But the fact that they had first proven themselves undiplomatic and had thought themselves worthy of discussing as equals to Targaryens inclined him not to their side. And he set his sights on more important matters, like finding a goblet of wine to drown his political headaches in. That would have to wait though, until the peals of laughter that came from his throat ceased. It was not wise nor prudent to treat envoys such, but Viserys did not found it in his heart to care. After all, what is life without a little levity in it ?

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Fleabottom

Hendrick the Halfwit was halfway done with his patrol through the streets of Fleabottom when he, once again, found himself in a tavern at high noon. The day was hot, his mouth was parched, and there was no sergeant or captain to watch if he had done his duty or not. Not the epitome of duty was he, but neither him nor his sergeant were the most dutiful of the goldcloaks. The heat that made him sweat like a pig had no better cure than a few tankards of cold wine, straight from the cellar. And it seemed that on this day he was not the only one that craved drink, for in the winesink he stumbled into, there were another two of his comrades.

Joyful of the company, he drank with them for a time. Of the two men, the elder, which was called Athos, seemed to drink with a practiced ease, the younger drank, but seemed to find the quality of the wine unappealing. He went by the name of Wart and looked like a green boy. The boy asked him if he had the coin to pay for his drink.

The goldcloak answered sincerely: "I have no coin". The young man, quite bewildered, inquired then: "Why do you drink then, if you have not the coin for it?"

"I shall pawn my sword then" informed him the goldcloak. "It is quite common among our lot, until we receive again our wages". It would not be the first time he had done so, and it would not be the last. The Goldcloaks with the habit of drunkenness used to do so, and replace their blades with wooden swords.

The following morning, Hendrick was woken from his bed in the early hours. It seemed that his Grace, King Baelor had decided to inspect the barracks of the City Watch. As such, every man of the Watch was to present himself before His Grace, his uniform and arms as spotless as they could be made in a hurry, and stand at attention at the King's pleasure.

The goldcoaks were lined up in front of the King. He rode up back and forth and back again. And then His Grace pointed his finger at one of the goldcloaks: "That man shall be beheaded, by the will of the King."

The poor, unfortunate soul began to quiver in his boots, fearful of his life and uncertain of his crimes.

The King spoke again: "Have Hendrick there chop off his head". Hendrick advanced, fearful himself, for he knew that he had only a wooden sword in his scabbard, to replace the one that he pawned for his cheap wine. The fact the king knew his name filled him with more fear and dread. Perhaps the king had come to know him from some tradesmen he asked bribes of, and the man had sought royal justice, or perhaps other of his misdemeanors had come to light and the King wished to shame him in front of his company. He did not know the punishment for pawning his blade, and was not eager to find out. And suddenly, as if the Crone up high just decided to aid him, an idea struck his brain.

Hendrick advanced, with a serene face that did not belie his turmoil, put his hand on the pommel of his sword and cried: "Oh, gods. Many miracles have you made in this world… If this man be innocent, I pray to thee, let my sword turn into wood." And he drew his sword, and it was wooden." He put on his face a figure of mock wonder and piety and looked to the king, hopeful that his sudden artifice had saved him from his fate.

In the sound of the wondering whispers of his comrades, the King summoned him at his side. And Hendrick looked up, and he saw the King's face and he recognized it. The King, magnanimous, said to him: "I forgive you this day, goodman, but do not pawn your sword again. And henceforth let the people know you as Hendrick Sharp-Witted, for you have outwitted a King".

And from that day, Hendrick Sharp-Witted resolves never again to drink in taverns with strange men. Yet he was not ashamed to tell the tale in the years following, to eager men, in exchange for some wine or ale. He never pawned his sword again, for the King had done him a favor: he could now buy his drink with but a tale. If the tale grew in the telling, and Hendrick made himself to be more a clever man than he was, and one tale became three, and three became nine, and Hendrick began to spoon fables of how to king was known to sometime seek his counsel, that is neither here nor there.

Note: Both of these are inspired from legends about Alexandru Ioan Cuza, former ruler of the Romanian Principalities.

 

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Chapter IX: The Young Wolf and the She-Dragon

​

As soon or as late as some might have hoped, the day of the wedding of the Princess Daena Targaryen, daughter of the late king Aegon the Third, and that of Jonnel Stark, second born son and heir of Cregan Stark, came at last. He had woken up with a headache, and dearly wished to sleep an hour or three more, but his father had all but marched him into the hall to break his fast.

Jonnel Stark could hardly eat anything when he broke his fast the morning of the wedding. Neither the meat, or bacon or eggs, the fruits, or the wide variety of cakes served seemed to please his tongue on this day, though the flagons of mead and wine seemed to wink out at him. But it was unwise to get drunk on the morning of the wedding, and even more so under the ever watching eyes of his father. Such things were suitable closer to dusk rather than dawn. The wedding breakfast was one of the two. It seemed that the groom's party were to break the fast in one hall and the bride's party in another. So he had only his father, his elder sisters and younger brothers for company, with the bannermen of his father, joined by some other Southron lords and knights. He could count among them Bloody Ben Blackwood, and Oscar Tully, the Lord of Riverrun's uncle and newly named castellan of Harrenhal. They were his father's friends, from the days when the dragon's danced, they where his brother's friend, who he had made when he rode with Daeron in Dorne, and who had come rather in honor of his late brother, than his wedding.

Jonnel knew not why all wedding guests could break their fast together, but thought it just another queer southron customs. And it was Southron customs that would be the bane of him this day, for Baelor had insisted that they wed under the sight of the Seven, a wedding ceremony of whose customs he was blisfully unaware. His father had done his best in drilling him on his expected behaviour, but niggling worries still remained in his thoughts.

He hardly knew his future wife, on account of the swiftness of the King's marriage negociations with his father and his arrival in King's Landing scarcely a forthnight before the wedding. They had met briefly a few times, but their conversations had not went as well as he hoped, being stilted and ackward on his behalf. She had seemed altogether to flightly and wild for his liking. And he believed she herself did not like him that much, for she looked half displeased whenever she saw him.

He knew though the importance of this union, the culminance of his father's ambitions stretching back thirty years. It was the Pact of Ice and Fire, though not the same that was put forth so much time ago. Then, it was his brother's due to have a dragon princess for a wife. But now, Rickon was dead, and Jonnel was to have the wife, the castle, and the lands that where his elder brother's due.

He had always looked up to his brother, though he had not given him much attention. Rickon was two and thirty when he died, a great gap in age to his own six and ten, now seven and ten. There was scarce to be had in common with an elder brother so … elder. He was no childhood companion that he could frolic around with in the godswood and play the game of youth. He was no companion in lessons with the maesters. He was no comrade in arms, for his brother preffered men of his own age for friendship. The most moments they spent together were when he had the inclination to supervise his lessons in arms, and gave him council on how to use a sword, or the rare moments when he dragged him for a week or two in the Wolfswood, with nought but the clothes on their back and their weapons, to teach him hunting and "how to be a man". When Rickon died, Jonnel grieved more an uncle rather than a brother.

Jonnel never imagined himself as lord of nothing. He contented himself to serve his father, then his brother, in whatever manner they would chose to use him. He thought to do his duty, and enjoy his life with hunting, which he enjoyed well enough, and songs, which his sister sung quite well, and the legends that Old Nan was so found of. It was those legends that gave him a purpose. He often traveled to Castle Black to consult the old books and scrolls there (and his father had sent him to accompany maester Kennet when he investigated the barrow fields, graves and tombs of the North. And when they returned home, it was he who penned page after page of the Passages of the Dead, for the maester's eyesight was poor. It was a present and a future he would have been content with. And it seemed the gods had decided to laugh at him.

It seemed he had much more in common with his future goodbrother than with his soon to be wife. He had asked about the contents of the library at Castle Black and had deigned to give him advice on the excavation of barrows and tombs, and well-thought advice at that.

Once all of his party finished their breakfast, his father gave him the wedding cloak he would rather put around his bride. He thought it much unlike Daena's maiden cloak, for it was in truth a fur. The fur had been taken from a direwolf, more than a hundred years before, by Lord Alaric Stark's wife, a Mormont lady, who had hunted the beast herself and had its skin sewed into a cloak. Unlike some others, there was no house sigil embroidered upon it, for it was easy for any man to see to wich house it had belonged. Instead, it was to be fastened by a brooch of silver, with the head of a direwolf engraved upon it.

Soon he would be wed, and hopefully, as the years went by, some semblance of mutual understanding would arise between the two of them. He had no wish for a home full of quarrells, and he would do his best to avoid such. And if those were unavailable, he could always venture forth and dig up a tomb or a barrow for a turn of a moon or two, until his wife's wrath or displeasure would dissipate.

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Daena had grown up, all but knowing she was destined to marry one of her brothers. It was ever the tradition of House Targaryen to marry brother to sister. If that wouldn't do, then to an aunt or an uncle. And if that was not possible, a cousin could always be found.

And when se grew up more, she always imagined herself to be the future queen, wed to Daeron. After all, Daeron was always preferable to Baelor. Baelor, who was always with his nose in a book, or praying in the sept, or having long and boring conversations with his pet septons and maesters. It was Daeron who she dreamed of, brave and valiant and gallant. Daeron with his dreams of conquests, of glorious deed and fame everlasting. For the greatest king, she could only be his greatest queen.

When her father died, she was sure that Daeron would wed her as soon as the mourning would end. But he had war foremost in his mind, rather than domestic felicity. And he had other plans for her, meaning to marry to a Sealord of Braavos. The wife of a Sealord was not a queen, but with time she grew complacent to her fate. After all, if her husband was the ruler of a Free City, she would have the adoration of all its people.

When Daeron died in Dorne, she thought her brother would do the duty of a king, and wed her and bed her. But he had choosen not do so, and even broke whatever tentative agreement was made with the Sealord. Instead, she was to wed the Lord of Winterfell's heir, a boy scarce a year her elder. The boy was boring, on account of his youth, and quite shy, and cold in face and demeanour, though not as cold as his father, the man they called the Old Wolf. He had not fought in Dorne, was no famed warrior or gallant knight to sweep her of her feet. He was honourable, and dependable, and polite, and all the qualities that any lord hoped to found it his heir's behaviour. To repeat herself, he was boring. She had complained to her brother that he was more interested in ancient artefacts rather than her, but he had replied in his usual dismissing manner: "But sister dearest, such a man is the best husband any woman can have; the older you get, the more interested in you he shall become".

It was twice now she had lost the chance to be queen, twice now that her brothers had thought her not worthy of such. And now she was to be sent to Winterfell, to the frozen and barren wastelands of the North, to shrivel and die there. All because that was her brother's desire. And she was not to be the lady of the keep even. Lord Cregan was hale and healthy, and could live even to the end of the century. And he was wed, so not even the househeld would belong to her, always having to defer to her goodmother.

First she had thought that Baelor would marry Rhaena in her stead. Dutiful, pious Rhaena would have been the perfect wife for Baelor. But as time passed, and her jealousy and resentment of her sister grew, she began to see that her brother had no such intention. Then she thought of her other sister, Elaena. After all, maybe Baelor desired an equal in intellect, not in piety. But she had seen how Baelor made Elaena and Daeron play together, had seen that their lessons be held at the same time, with the same tutors. Then her thoughts drifted to her cousin Laena, the Oakenfist's daughter. But Baelor had paid her no close attention in all the days she attended court.

It seemed to be that her brother meant to be both septon and king. And great warrior besides. He meant to go to war with Pentos and reconquer Dorne. Dorne, who Daeron lost. And Baelor thought he could do a better job than the Young Dragon. He, who had barely taken a sword in hand before becoming king. He, who had always had his note in a book, or a musty scroll from Old Valyria, or his knees in prayer for hours on at end. Daena wagered she was a better warrior than her brother, and whatever host her brother gathered would have better luck if she was the one to lead it.

It seemed to be that her fate was not of her own desire. At least Baelor had not decided to give unto madness, and lock her in her chambers to keep her a maiden forever more. She looked upon her maiden cloak, made of satin and embroidered with the three-headed dragon of her house, with a clasp made of ruby. Soon she would shed that cloak, and become a Stark of Winterfell, though Baelor allowed her to keep the rank and title of a princess. She would leave all she knew and loved, and go live in a strange land, with strange customs and even stranger weather. At least Jonnel seemed a husband she could rein in well, though perhaps not before his father's passing. She had no desire to see Cregan Stark's cold gaze descend upon her.

Maybe she could even instill some adventureness in him, or do something to make him less boring. If she could not be a queen, she should at least not be bored for the rest of her life. Mayhaps she could even prove herself the best lady of Winterfell that ever was, and prove to her brother she could have been a finer queen than Alysanne herself.

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At last, the sun took its pity upon Jonnel and it was midday, and the Stark party made its way to the Royal Sept, where the wedding ceremony was to take place. He had been dressed in the best of clothes House Stark could afford, that is the best that could be found or made by the tailors in the kingdom. He wore a doublet of grey cloth, the bridal coat of fur clasped upon his shoulders.

The princess Daena was dressed more ostentatiously, to show in her luxuorios garments all the power and might of her house. A white dress, made of ivory silk, and embroidered with cloth of gold and rubies, with a golden diadem on her head glittering with gemstomes – ruby, emerald, onyx, jade, opal and pearl.

Soon, they were to take their vows, as bid so by the High Septon with his crystal crown. They swore vows that their union shall bring forth children and that their every quarrel shall end up in peace, as to please the Mother; that such children shall be brought up in fear of the One-Who-Is-Seven and their Holy Name and taught right from wron, so that they might not displease the Father. He swore an oath that he would defend his wife and children, with the might that the Warrior shall give him, and Daena swore that her children shall be brought up to be brave. And then it was the turn of the Smith, in whose name they swore that they shall build a home and a hearth and their every quarrel shall end up in peace. They swore in the name of the Maiden that their daughters shall be brought up in innocence, and that neither shall defile their marital bed with perversions or adultery. They swore an oath to the Crone, that they shall temper their marriage with wisdom. At last, they swore upon the name of the Stranger, that their union shall last until the end of their days and none shall tear it asunder.

And then it was the turn of the High Septon to bless them with seven blessings:

"O One Almighty, Eternal and Everlasting, send thy blessing upon these man and this name, and may they be blessed in thy Name."

"O God bless, preserve and keep them, look with favour upon them."

"O One-Who-Is-Seven be merciful unto them, and bless them, and bestow upon them your light."

"O Seven-Who-Are-One, bless thy servants, so they may in their every deed fulffill your commands, that by obeying thy will, they shall always abide under thy love and thy protection."

"O Holy Name, we beseech thee, that you may bless this man and this woman with children trueborn and brought up in faith and virtue."

"Look upon them with thy Divine Eye and fill them with benediction and grace, that they may so live together in this life."

"Let them be blessed so that they may perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made."

"And may the will of God be one, in the Seven Heavans, in the world, and in the Seven Hells."

And Jonnel and the princess spoke then as one: " I take you to have and to hold. I promise to be true to you in sickness and in health. I take you for better for worse. I take you for rich or for poor. I promise to love and honour you all the days of my life. I pledge to you my faithfulness. And this promise I shall hold until the Stranger would us part."

After the promises, they were to listen to the wedding song, sung by a choir of septons. And they stood in front of the High Septon, while around them sacred melodies rang forth: Who shall find a woman of virtue… The heart of her husband trusteth in her…Strength and fairness is the clothing of her… and the law of mercy is in her tongue… Her sons rose up, and preached her most blessed.

It was then time for the challenge to be heard, for any man who had any knowledge, of any reason, of secular or religious law, that he and the princess should not wed, to speak forth and make his case known. Men from both the groom's kin and that of the bride would speak forth and summon forth any man who had such claims. For this wedding, from the princess' kin came forth the king. For him, came his own father. Two men that no sane folk would decide to challenge. The challenge went unanswered.

King Baelor removed his sister's maiden cloak and Jonnel approached her, unclapsed his direwolf fur, and tenderly draped her and fastened it with the silver direwoldf. And with that, she came from the protection of House Targaryen to that of House Stark. And they knelt in front of the High Septon and spoke the last words: "With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife. With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband." And then it was the High Septon's turn:" Here in the sight of god and men, I do solemnly proclaim Jonnel of House Stark and the princess Daena of House Targaryen to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

And they were wed.

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And then came the feast, with its multitude of food and drink. Such variety had rarely visited Winterfell's own tables. Jonnel had chafed under the heat all day, so he had welcomed the chilled wine and ale, and most of all, what the king had come to call "sweet-snow". Baelor had asked his father to send a ship's worth of ice from the North, which had been stored in the cellars of the Red Keep. Combined with cream and sugar and a variety of fruits and spices, it was an enjoyable way to keep the warmth of the sun at bay.

And the hall was full of merriment. There were drummers and piper and fiddlers and countless other singers and bards, there were jongleurs and tumblers and fools making their fun. Among them, most peculiar was the fool Bastyen, a former solider who had found himself in royal employ in a very different line of work. The king had allowed him to bear arms, and he carried a rapier, a blade with which he has quite skillfull. He had the custom of dueling whatever lordling or knight that found offense with his humour, and he never lost. For the occasion the jester had dressed himself in the manner of the king, and ventured forth between the guest with the manner of a king, giving his hand to the ladies to kiss.

Some lord who had not the good sense to leave his petition for another day sought to speak with the king, bemoaning whatever indignities his neighbors had brought upon him. The jester was quick to make himself known: "My lord, it seemed that you know not the true king from the false. You speak with Bastyen, my jester." Baelor took it with good humor, being quite fond of Bastyen's wit.

Beyond the merriment, the whole feast seemed to a statement of the royal house that they were still at their full strength, even dragonless, and a warrior king dead in Dorne. There were a thousand guests attending, lords and ladies from all the Seven Kingdoms, envoys from most of the Free Cities, save Pentos and Lys. The hall was draped with long silks in Targaryen red and Stark grey, embroidered with cloth of gold.

He busied and amused himself by watching the crowds, having little apetite for food, and being wary of too much wine. His wife instead seemed to indulge herself in food and wine, the spirits easing her manner. At least the food was not that much. The lord Hand insisted that seven and seventy courses be served, to show the wealth of the royal house, but neither the king nor his lord father were inclined to such extravagance. They settled for seven courses for the bride, and seven for the groom, fourteen in all. The money that would have been spent on the others had been used, at Baelor's command, to provide a feast for the smallfolk of the city. It was not the first occasion when they had benefited from the king's generosity – on every day of rest he had a hundred and forty four from amongst the poorest of the city given a meal of bread, and wine and meat in a lesser hall of the Red Keep, sometimes waiting upon them, to teach himself humility. He had fourteen old men and criples dine at his own table every day, who partook of the same dishes as he.

Soon the wine and ale worked their charms and the men became rowdy. Soon they would call for the wedding. Jonnel knew that Baelor did not favour such display, and as he looked he saw the men-at-arms and the Kingsguard clenching their fists. It seemed that the king wished to instill piety and modesty in his subjects with the strength of his men's arms. After all, it would not do for steel to be drawn at the wedding – in Westeros they were more civilized than the horselords of the Great Grass Sea. The king has spoken with him at length about this plan – he abhorred bedding ceremonies, and the loose morals that surrounded it, and thought to teach a lesson to each man who thought to put his hand on a princess of his house.

And when they came , drunk and lecherous, to put their arms around his wife and undress her, telling bawdy jokes, the men sprang forth. The lewd lords were pummeled by the fists of the guards. And when the northmen and crownlanders saw that the usual fun was not the be had, they thought to please their leige lords, and have a different kind of fun, slinging their fists at lecherous riverlanders, libidinous westermen, lustful valemen, salacious reachers and debauched stormlanders. It looked quite much like a melee. The women did not venture forth to have their fun with him, for fear of some stray fist ruining their beauty.

The younger children, the few who had attended the feast, saw the merriment and thought to make their own battle, running and hiding between tables, slinging food and cakes and each other, drenching one or the other. Meanwhile the king had made his way from the dais, and climbed upon the Iron Throne, where he looked upon the crowd and laughed, while his jester gave news of what happened in the hall, as if he was regaling tales of some tournament. It was an interesting lesson in morality, and one that would stick better than the dry sermon of a septon.

Tommorow, the king would sent small gifts to every guest, showing that he meant no harm to them, but at the same a subtle acknowledgemnt that the "melee" at the feast was of his own doing, and they had better straighten their manners, and lessen their sins. They would go home knowing that their king was no sermonizing septon, but a man who wielded the authority of his rank at the fullest extent, and to whose house they owed their utmost respect. Older lords and slower men, who had not the occasion to swarm the bride before the fists started swinging, would think themselves the better of the lot, and laugh at their peers, and praise themselves for their good behaviour.

And unencumbered by the guests, he and his wife made their way to the bridal chamber, though he sensed some resentment from Daena about how Baelor decided to distract the guests's attention from the newlyweds. Perhaps she felt overshadoweded by her brother even at her own wedding.

NOTES:

As you can see - Jonnel ended up being some wannabe archaelogist and folklorist - which makes his budding friendship with Baelor quite easy - since Baelor was a student of history in his former life. He's quiet, unassuming, dislikes conflicts and would rather do his own thing. If I could describe him - he's closer to Mr. Bennet, from Pride and Prejudice, but withouth the scathing wit and disdain of others. He's not eager to rule - he doesn't know how lucky he is - since I'm making Cregan's rule last a whole hundred years (he's got more than sixty years left to live) - Jonnel will die of old age without having to bother himself with it.

Meanwhile - we have Daena, who is a mix of the description of her canon self, with queenly ambition, dissapointment, resentment, a bit of jealousy and a desire to prove herself. And she's a bit pissed that Baelor is dismissive of her and seemingly prefers his goodbrother to her. There's probably going to be some character development - offscreen, since this is not her story, but Baelor's.

Baelor - is quite well-meaning, but he's not perfect, so some of his ideas fall flat in some parts. As much as Daena did not want to feel lecherous men pawing at her, trying to tear her clothes off, she's not amused by the way Baelor decided to handle the matter. If it was someone's else wedding, she would have joined Baelor in laughing at the lot of them - but not at her own wedding.

Jonnel's and Daena's marriage is going to get better - though Baelor is resolved to pray for Jonnel's peace of mind quite often.

And the latest of my expies is introduced - the jester Bastyen. As usual, I'm going to let people guess at whichever work I pilfered him from, before I reveal the inspiration for him.

And I finally managed to write a 4k long chapter. Hurrah

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Braavos

Herman Harte

Ser Herman Harte was the second born son of Ser Denys Harte, a second son himself, but distinguished in royal service, and part of the diplomatic mission to Braavos some thirty years past. Herman had first entered royal service, in the footsteps of his father, more than ten years ago. His ties of kinship with the Queen had found him a post under the offices of the Master of Ships. That did not last long, for the Queen was quick to have him promoted to lead the household of the young prince Baelor.

Herman had become, in the following years, both the prince's most loyal servant, and a friend and mentor. And now, it had served him well, for since the Young Dragon had died, he was known at court to be among the few who held the new king's ear. Baelor was quick to make new use of him and had sent him to Braavos as an envoy. While Aegon's rank entitled him to call himself the leader of the mission, he had no more use than a figurehead at feasts and balls, and other festivities, while he had been entrusted the real matter.

His mission came to the Secret City with unpleasant news for the Sealord, whose all but promised princess for marriage became nothing but dreams scattered among the fog of the lagoon. While that had its effect on the Sealord, who was understandably upset and unpleasant about the matter, it had the opposite effect on the keyholders and magisters of the city.

For a Sealord of Braavos to be wed to a daughter and sister of a king spoke of a great ambition. And with such often came great hubris. Braavos had no desire to find himself with a son of heir of House Prestayn raised by a mother who had only known titles held by virtue of blood and with the might of Seven Kingdoms by his side. It endeared the King to the Braavosi that he set aside such plans.

When Baelor sent forth new instructions, and wrote him of the planned expedition to Pentos, he would have torn his hair from his head at the complication, where he not as bald as any man could be. Whatever deals he propose and flatteries he had spent with abandon and feasts he had attended were not enough, and he was to charm anew the Braavosi, and incline them to look with a friendly eye to his King's plans.

He could not say that he did not understood why Baelor wished for such a war, for he had wrote him in great detail. Baelor had said that he knew such war to be justified. The royal letter was always on his table, and he had reread often the words of his king:

"…I had thrice thought of the justness of this war, cousin. And I have found it just, on account of its cause – for Pentos had sough to act against my kingdoms and the common good of my realm…"

"…as for its purpose, it is both to prevent the cheesemongers of Pentos of their might and power that allowed them such impunity, but a cause infinitely more just and divine than mere earthly quarrels. Was not in the hills of Andalos, that the Seven had proclaimed slavery to be abomination in their eyes?... And it is not in the same hills and fields that the remains of Hugor's tribe labor in shackles under the yoke of the Pentoshi?... The High Septon had proclaimed me King of the Andals, and I must see to their common good, no matter what side of the Narrow Sea they are."

"… so with a just intention I shall sail across the sea – to free the remains of Old Andalos, and even destroy the chains of slavery in a Free City and make its name truth. And if I humble Pentos, so they may leave the Dornish to their fate, by denying their fleets and their armies, it is not this the most beautiful embrace of divine revelation and the reason of man?"

"… As for revelation, I would speak of it to you some other time, when I shall see you in person and I would have vindicated myself further."

"… if I know you well, my friend, I know your worries. And I must ease them. For I have no plans to make war with the whole of Essos to release all its slaves. I know it myself it is not prudent to wage heedless wars."

" Of Dorne we have spoken before, though these new conquest it is a new matter than that of my brother. My brother's conquest, if it were one purely for the glory of his name, would have been a war I would not have quickly called just. But go to the Marches and you will see that for centuries the Dornish had wounded the common good of the people of the realm. Open a book and read of the Vulture Kings. My brother sought to defend his people as much as to punish and conquer Dorne…"

"… my war is one who can be called just more easily than the previous… when Daeron entered Dorne, he defeated his enemies and bade them swore him fealty… and now, when I shall enter Dorne anew, I come to discipline unruly vassals and sinners under the sight of the Seven."

"… I shall handle Dorne as a maester handles a putrid limb, cut the evil out of it and bind the wound so that my realms shall not bleed again."

"… and yet some worries still keep my sleep away and my nights full of prayer… We both know that evil and good both lie in a man's heart… If my wars are meant to be just, I must see that my men do not become sinners themselves. I must prevent wickedness in my soldiers' heart… It is of the Reachers that I fear the worst … they could seek to make Dorne an eight hell if their fury could not be restrained and bring death and depredation both to the sinful and the innocent. I find it better to allow some sinners to live than run the risk of killing innocents."

"… but the Reach has called itself the heart of chivalry, and I must hope they shall be just, defend the young and innocent, and protect all women."

"… and while remaining on the subject of Dorne, the young Tyrell might find himself with a she-wolf for a wife and blame me for making the Old Wolf his goodfather."

Herman thought it would do to have the letter preserved, for in a century or three, the maesters might very well use it to teach their pupils on the just waging of war. But he could not speak of this to Braavosi, for he had to appeal to their purpose and pride foremost.

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Prince Aegon

Aegon had always thought that the best cure for a hangover was more wine. Wine and women, he thought, where the best things the gods had put in this world. If Daeron did not seek to conquer Dorne for Dornish wine and the Dornishman's wife, he would have certainly been a fool.

At least, Daeron was a man, a conqueror, unlike his wimpy cousin Baelor. He could not call him a man, for he had neither drunk himself into a stupor, bled a man to death or bedded a woman. Baelor was half a septon, who desired nothing more than to become an entire septon. And he had become king. If the gods were good, he would father no children and the crown would go to a more suitable person. Him.

Aegon and Baelor never suffered each other's presence. And as soon as Baelor became King, Aegon was shuffled off to Braavos as an envoy. At least, Braavos was the home of the famed courtesans, so he would not bore itself. As for Baelor's mission, he could not care less what his cousin wanted. He let that blasted Harte and the others handle the matter while he drank, ate and visited the courtesans.

For all the rumors about the courtesans, Aegon found them nothing but pretentious whore, and he did not shy to say it to his companions. At least Baelor had allowed him to bring some of them along. When he left, the Kingsguard was not at full strength, so his father and cousin permitted him to bring some knights of his choosing to guard him.

The Poetess was to fond of her books, always spouting some love poem when all he wanted was to bed her. The Nightingale was all to found of compliments about her beauty before she permitted anything. And Aegon was not a patient man, nor particularly creative with his flattery. The Moonshadow always asked for a song, and was not pleased by his voice, ill-suited for singing. The Merling Queen did not permit him to bed his young mermaids alongside her, not unless they were more grown.

And as he was not fond of them, they were not fond of him. When he first arrived, they were eager to welcome a Targaryen prince in their beds. But now, they refused to accept his coin, and he was forced to make use of common whores from brothels. Were it not for the insult, he would not care as much.

He had spoken at length in a tavern about their sorry lot, drinking and laughing alongside his companions. They had decided to return on foot to their manse, singing loudly and merrily on their way.

As they passed by the Moon Pool, a large group of bravos approached them. They picked his companion one by one, and asked the usual question for which they were known: "Who is the most beautiful woman in the world?" Drunk and uncaring, neither of them answered to the bravos' satisfaction. And in the sounds and sights of the water dance, each of them fell bleeding in their turn.

Before he realized, Aegon stood alone, a dozen or more bravos surrounding him, with their blades drawn. Aegon made to draw his own, but there was none to do so. He had forgotten in a brothel or tavern along the way. Each of them asked him the same question "Which is the most beautiful woman in the world?."

Some prudence of thought found its way into his mind, and Aegon chose to answer with what seemed to be the most obvious choice and safest bet. "It is the Nightingale."

But the answer satisfied but half of them. The other showed their displeasure at his answer, with a multitude of shouts. "It is the Veiled Lady, you fiend.". "You lie barbarian, it is the Merling Queen". And so on.

And as they made known their displeasure, their slender sword made their way into his flesh, blood gushing forth. Aegon tried in vain to change his answer again and again, but no answer would please their entire company.

As he felt his blood slowly leaving his body and his consciousness slip, his last thought was for more wine, to dull the pain.

As the approaching darkness beckoned him further, he faintly heard cries in the crowd that had gathered: "Make way for the First Sword of Braavos!"

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XI: Epistles​

"As you have now received news by word of mouth concerning the grave matter of the attack on the Prince Aegon, I write now to you of think best left to ink than to tongues than can be loosened by drink. As you would know, the Prince yet lives, though he stands on the brink of death, the Stranger always looming behind the door of his resting chamber. It was wisely done by the Sealord's First Sword to send him as quickly as it could happen to the House of the Red Hands, where he yet remains in the care of its healers. It is certain though that the line of your house now rests upon your royal personage, your uncle, the Hand, and his princely grandson.

The attack upon his august person seems to be one of impulse, the impulses of young and foolish men, who could not let insults heaped upon courtesans go unanswered. Yet the matter is a grave one, since these foolish men had no household of their own and were as of yet subject to the authority of their father's household. And their name are prestigious – Volentin, Prystain, Antaryon, Reyaan, Zalyne, keyholders and magisters and rich merchants all.

Their names seem to have held no import following the ambush of those honourless curs upon the Prince. What men the Watch apprehended had the happiest of the lot, for they were detained, and now are under our own power.

For those who fled, the gods had a harsher fate in mind. From what my men have gathered, it seems that by decision of some shadowy council, they have been sentenced to death without trial and their execution handled with great haste. They have not taken upon themselves to pay Faceless Men to deal with them in an underhanded matter, rather they had them assaulted in whatever house they fled, thrown out of windows, stripped naked and beheaded and their corpses dragged before the Hall of Truth.

Civil peace seemed to have fled Braavos, for once word had come that one of the perpetrators had been some distant cousin to the Sealord, the ambitions of some houses grew, and the usual politics took a bloodier approach. When the Sealord summoned the Council of Truth, to investigate the matter most thoroughly, he was stabbed thirty-three times in the Hall of Truth, accused of conspiring to murder Prince Aegon, to mend his wounded pride for the loss of his dragon bride.

As time had passed since, a new Sealord was elected. The young Cosym Fregar has assured me of his utmost desire for peace and of the mending of these wounds between the brotherhood of our two nations. It seems that this matter has been understood, in all Braavosi circles of power, to be the possible beginning of a feud between the Iron Throne and the Free City of Braavos.

As such, the Braavosi are now ruled by fear in their approaches to me, as Your Grace's envoy, rather than the usual ambition. Fregar has appointed, in the usual manner of solving feuds here, an agent for Braavos, with authority to negotiate a peace and accord with Your Grace and provide satisfaction for the injuries and offenses dealt to the person of your royal cousin.

I write to you then cousin, to ask and to receive instructions for the further affairs of my mission here and ask if the Iron Throne is willing to entertain such and under what terms.

The men that have been commanded to gather news and word of the happenings of Essos even now wander the harbors, taverns and playhouses of Braavos. Their findings have been sent to the Master of Whispers.

I remain your most devoted servant.

Ser Herman Harte"

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"To my most loyal cousin,

…

On the matter of the health of my cousin Aegon, I urge you to see him returned to our shores as soon as his state allows. Impose upon your hosts that a dozen or two healers should accompany him to King's Landing, chosen from the best of their lot. They may even find further employ here.

My uncle's wrath has grown cold since he heard of the incident and should grow colder once the surviving perpetrators will have reached the Black Cells. But he is not in the least bit pleased that the most noble personages of Braavos have sought to take the justice from the aggrieved party's hands.

Regarding the terms of the peace and agreement that should form between us and Braavos, to ensure peace and our continued freedom, with council from my most trusted advisors, we have convened of the following. For the matter of my cousin's wounds, a blood price must be paid, from the coffers of the fathers or brothers of those accursed bravos, that they may each in turn pay a prince's ransom into my cousin's hands, or if it be the Stranger's will, into those of his widow. If you must entertain their rivals in ensuring this, do so. Play their houses against each other but ensure that the keyholders of the Iron Bank prove themselves favorable to you in their majority.

…

The Free City of Braavos must agree to the payment of a subsidy that shall cover the costs of our expedition to Pentos and commit itself that it will not sue for peace with the City of Pentos, unless agreed with ourselves. The terms of the peace must ensure that they shall disband their standing hosts and fleets of war, and that they should abolish the infernal institution of slavery without compensation, and graciously accept the entwined protection of our two nations. Further terms shall be discussed later.

…

The matter of the Stepstones, upon which our sovereignty has been agreed upon almost thirty years ago, must be revisited, and our sovereignty recognized one more and enforced by Braavos' fleets in a forthwith manner that will ensure its use in our quelling of the rebellion of the accursed Dornish oath breakers, clearing the islands of the infestation of the pirates.

I leave the subtleties of the negotiations to your deft hand and silver tongue.

May the peace of the Seven be with you,

Baelor, by divine grace, King, "
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Shorter chapter this time, but should clarify the situation with Braavos.

Aegon still alive, for now, but has lost his capacity to make trouble (at least a manner of trouble).

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XII: Sorrows, Sorrows, Prayers
​

BAELOR

THE RED KEEP

Cousin Aegon's unfortunate incident had led the House of the Dragon to be limited to one male who could father heirs, for now. Daeron was young, my uncle unlikely to remarry, Aemon sworn to celibacy. My only hope was that providence would have Naerys' children survive, with so much changed. At least, among the worries and uncertainty that followed, my cousin Naerys and me found some semblance of delight at Aegon's misfortune, though we both managed to hide it from the ever-watchful eyes of the court.

Soon Naerys was to give birth. And if the Seven willed it and they survived, I would wait until they were blessed in the sept before I set sail for the Pentoshi shore. There were a few other family affairs to be settled until then, and the opportunity to do so presented itself soon enough.

My sister Rhaena, with all the confidence the age of four and ten bestowed upon a girl and princess, had come to inquire after her fate, in the wake of her elder sister's wedding.

"Brother, I have heard rumour that you wish to see me wed to Lord Bernard. Please say it is not so." she told me, with all the graveness she could muster. "I have come to tell you that I wish to swear myself to the Maiden, and as a faithful and pious man, you should not suffer the breaking of such an oath."

"Have you sworn yourself yet, without asking for my leave? Me, in which whose wardship you remain yet, may I remind you. Or you merely mean to do so?" I asked, half-fearing that her impulses had driven her to such haste.

"I did not, brother. I would not disrespect you so." she answered meekly, her face showing the truth in her words. "But you of all, know the calling of the holy life. I do not wish to wed, I would rather join the motherhouse in Stony Sept. And I had hoped that you would allow me to do so."

The mention of Stony Sept had enlightened me of what hopes and desires she entertained. And as much as it pained me, I had to crush them, for allowing such to fester further would only bring her pain and anguish in the years to come.

"You would not find your mother again by joining the Faith, Rhaena! For all the love she bore us, her heart is too broken to love us again. You know how father was, always grim and silent, never laughing and never loving. All the love he bore was for our uncle, and perhaps a semblance of it for mother. And he did not love more because all he once loved was lost. It is easy to blame him for ignoring us, but many children do not survive their infancy, and he cared not for any more of which he loved to be lost. And for all that mother loved us, when she lost father, the same pernicious thought must have burrowed in her mind. There is nothing in her heart but grief. And Daeron's death must have hardened her more."

"You cannot know that, brother. Just let me see her at least" she cried, and her anguish made me want eagerly to acquiesce to her demands. But I knew better.

"She would not have you! I went to see her when Elaena cried herself to sleep every night. But she would not receive me. They named her Elder Sister, as befits a Queen Dowager and she drowns her sorrows in her tasks. She was too "busy" to receive me. She bade me seven blessings and sent me on my way."

"But she's my mother." cried Rhaena, tears spilling on her cheeks.

"Not anymore. I am sorry, sweet sister, but we might as well be orphaned of a mother too, for all that she still lives. It pains her too much to love us further. It is better to leave her to her lightning of candles and her prayers."

" Then I will join another motherhouse, maybe at Gulltown, or Oldtown, brother. Just please, let me do so."

"If it is piety that drives you so, oaths are not the only way to be faithful. You are young still, to swear yourself so. Perhaps in a dozen years or so, if no man would find your fancy. Serving the Mother is as worthy as serving the Maiden, sister. But I would not wed you to any that you do not wish to. As long as they are of a suitable station, and a character I find suitable, I'll leave the choosing to you. And see that he should lack ambitions of rank and power, I do not need him making trouble for me." I answered her.

"Meanwhile, with our mother gone, and our sister wed to the North, there is no one to take charge of the alms from the Red Keep, save Naerys, but she is bedridden in anticipation of her birth. You will take charge of the matter until Naerys is in better health, upon which you will share this burden jointly. Perhaps you shll find your heart soothed by helping others."

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BERNARD TYRELL

THE RED KEEP

The young Tyrell rose was concerned when the King summoned him to his solar with no anticipation of what he wished of him. He knew, from the whispers at the court, that His Grace had raved often in his council at what he termed his late father's "stupidity". And for all that a son should love a father, Bernard inclined to agree with the king. He had indeed loved his father, but often he had watched his mother cry when she heard of his latest mistress, or the rumour that he imposed himself upon the daughters of Dornish lords.

The King received him in his solar and, with an unreadable and solemn face, bade him sit down.

"I have heard rumors of rumors that I seek to wed my sister to yourself. Have you any insight on how such rumors might arise, my lord Tyrell?" asked the king, with a cutting edge to his words and a severe glint in his eyes.

It seemed that, unwittingly, the new lord Tyrell found itself in the same situation with the king as his father, a situation that he was eager to rectify.

"I have not spoken of such, Your Grace, I swear on the Seven. But my mother, in her widowhood, seeks to see me well settled. She is ambitious and overeager. I pray, my king, to pardon her folly. I know I am no knight of valor, to be seen worthy of the Princess Rhaena's hand in marriage."

"All is forgiven, my lord. But you may know, and your mother also, that not being of the age of majority, as your sovereign, I have the right to oversee your marriage."

"And have you a maiden in mind… Your Grace?" asked the young lord, hoping that the king did not hold a grudge severe enough to see him wed to some ugly and barely noble chit. He was still a Tyrell after all, even if, as it seemed, not in the King's good graces.

"Fear not, Lord Bernard, you have nothing to fear from your future bride. Perhaps from your future goodfather" said the king, with mirth in his voice.

"Your Grace?"

"What think you of the lady Sansa Stark, lord Bernard?" asked the king in kind.

The lady had attended her uncle's wedding and seemed not overly displeased on being displaced as heir by the Old Wolf. Cregan Stark had explained, when a few knight had offended him with insinuations, that he did not wrong to his grand-daughter, for in the House Stark, a child came before a grandchild. The young lady was beautiful, even if not in the striking fashion of one with the blood of the dragon and seemed quite ladylike. He had not conversed with her at the feast, or with any other Stark for that matter since he was fool enough to boast without valor at his back before the house's patriarch and be shamed for it with naught but a look.

"She seemed a pleasant and beautiful young lady. Your Grace is quite wise to have chosen her as my bride. Will…will Lord Cregan attend the wedding?" Bernard asked, quite anxious.

"He will but fear not" the king laughed. "It is year before you shall wed. For now, the lady Sansa has remained at court, among my sister's ladies in waiting. You would do well to get to know her better. But I have taken enough of your time, you have my leave to return to your affairs."

Bernard rose from his chair, eager to return to his chambers. But as he made to leave, the king interrupted him: "I have still one or three things to tell you. Leave the Street of Silk out of sight and mind if you do not wish to anger Lord Stark. Tell your mother that she should emulate her goodmother, for she was wiser in her inaction than her in her actions. And, last but not least, when Dorne shall fall, your house shall have leave to do with the Qorgyles as you will, as long as you do not anger the gods."

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VISERYS TARGARYEN

THE TOWER OF THE HAND

The Prince Hand was busy with the vast and varied burdens of his position, foremost among their lot the last of the preparations for the expedition to Pentos. Its cost were north of two hundred thousand dragons – for horses, grain, arms and armor, and whatever else they might need. At least the attack on Aegon had some bright spots, for Braavos had been forced to finance this war, to save face. Hundreds of merchant ships were requisitioned, a host of seven thousand men gathered, all but awaiting the king's orders to set sail. And he would soon order so, after Naerys gave birth. Baelor had even set up a Court of Chivalry that would be responsible for the organization and discipline of the host and oversee the complaints about the spoils of war. Seven knight, old and experienced and known for their knightly valor had been given this task.

He had deplored Aegon's folly since the boy first started drinking and whoring. He should have set him straight, punished him harder. But he had not, and he now saw the result of his inactions. Aegon, barely six and twenty, would father no more children. And worse, he was a eunuch now, the laughingstock of the court. He had only a grandchild, and one more on the way, perhaps two, if the Grandmaester was right. Baelor had told him in privacy that he had no interest in matrimony, and that he wished to have Elaena marry Daeron and have them jointly as his heir. He would have argued harder for Baelor to marry, but since his own line was to rule after Baelor, he was not overly eager to do so. He had quibbled some time, about making Daeron heir before his grandfather and father. But he knew he was not likely to outlive Baelor, nor Aegon with his drinking and manifold poxes. Unless Baelor died at war. But now he knew that Aegon was no longer fit to rule, and if Baelor were to die, Seven forbid, he would rule as Regent and later Hand, without needing to take the trappings of the crown.

As if the gods knew, or cared, that he was thinking of his own legacy, a servant came: "My prince, the princess has begun her labors".

After hours of anxious waiting, he was to see his grandchildren at least. Both boys, if the servants spoke truth.

They were small and frail, but they lived. And Naerys too lived. A quick prayer to the gods was on his lips, when he heard the child's breath in his arms cease. And then that prayer turned into a curse, as yet unspoken.

Amidst Naerys' cries of anguish, as the maesters tried and failed to revive the children, for it seemed that the Stranger wished to take both, Baelor arrived. After a quick look around the chamber, Baelor turned to the master and ordered "Give me the children". Viserys meant to yell at the king in his grief, for Baelor was no healer. But Baelor's command rang again, his voice stronger, and none would gainsay him.

The Grandmaester handed him the first boy, and Baelor took it in his arms, made the sign of blessing upon his forehead, and murmured a quick prayer. And the boy began to breathe. The maesters were quick to hand over the next child, and he too, after a blessing and a prayer, began to breathe again.

Baelor returned the boys to their mother's arms, and, with a smile, asked his cousin what names she had chosen.

"Aelor. And Daemion" she said, her smile shining on her tearstained face.

And Viserys looked upon Baelor as if he was another man, as the servants whispered among themselves and called the king "Blessed".

By midnight, tales had sprung in taverns of how the king had given battle to the Stranger, and had wrestled the two young princelings from his skeletal hands.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XIII: His Grace's Men​

Ser Jonos Edgerton

High Hills of Braavos/Andalos Highlands



Ser Jonos had been entrusted, along with the two hundred horsemen under his banner, to escort the envoys that Braavos had sent to join King Baelor's host during his great raid. It meant that he would miss out on some of the plunder and looting of Pentoshi estates, but he valued service to his King above all else.

Jonos was a tall, and broadly built man of two and twenty, black of hair and with a birthmark the shape of a marten under his left eye. Though young, he had spent the better part of a third of his life in royal service and had seen rewards for it. He was the fifth son of Manly Edgerton, Lord of Moorcastle and Master of the Horse, as his forefathers had been since Aegon's Conquest. His brother Symon was to take these duties one day after his father; his brother Damon, a merchant, also served the king, as part of the envoys to Braavos. Another brother, Criston, was the King's Counter, and his ambitious wife hoped that one day he would become Master of Coin.

He had been born his bastard son, his mother a novice at Maidenpool who had broken her vows and died in his infancy. His uncle, the Elder Brother at Quiet Isle, had fostered him with Ser Nicol Colman, the Master of the Hunt, where he learned the rudiments of swordsmanship and hunting from the man's two sons, two giants known as Omer Stone-Crusher and Samwyle Tree-Breaker.

He had first set foot in his father's castle at the age of nine, when his sire had sent from him. The Lady Edgerton had thought him a fosterling, until she had noticed the birthmark under his eye, and in a moment of panic began to count how many times she had given birth, momentarily unsure. She had accepted him though, saying "The Seven have marked him so, so I might be his mother instead of the one who perished, whoever she was and wherever she was." And soon, he had become her favourite son, the child of her soul.

He had fought in Dorne with the Young Dragon and had earned his spurs and name from the late king himself, after, with the impetuosity of youth, he had rode to the gates of the shadow city of Sunspear and had boldly requested that their Prince should hand over the keys to his fortress. Since then, he had served as he was bid to. He had led the sand steeds that King Daeron had acquired for the royal stables. He had at the behest of his king and his father, been quite busy acquiring all the necessary horseflesh for the expedition to Pentos. After that, King Baelor had entrusted him with the duty of raising two hundred riders from Crackclaw Point, and he had been occupied since with teaching them all the tricks of riding and taming their half-wild nature.

He was escorting the Braavosi from their coastland to the meet the army of the King. Seeing that his men were few and far away from the rest, they had not the opportunity to loot extensively, for they could not carry the plunder with them.

They had passed through the northern lands of Andalos, were the power of Pentos and Braavos had been waning and waxing across the centuries. No magisters had manses and estates here, for the lands were hilly and forested, and full of tribesmen, savage men. The vagaries of time and the current political situation held to the wisdom that these High Hills, quite debatable lands, now belonged to the Braavosi, but their power had not been often felt too strongly among the people. The Andal remains that dwelt here were more alike to the Crackclaw riders who formed his banner – stranger and unruly to every power but their own, than to what a Westerosi would think Andal to mean.

They had been halfway through these lands when they had met one of such, a lone rider clad in a bear's fur, carrying with him a cloth of parley held on his spear.

"Hail" he yelled, in an Andalic dialect that Jonos had, with some difficulty, understood, for his brother's lessons on Old Andalic has rooted deep in his mind. "Are you men of the dragon king?"

"We are His Grace's men" answered Jonos. "What business would you have with us?"

"I am Argos, son of Armen, come on behalf of the knight, Ser Qarlon of the Shady Vale. He would welcome you into his village and host you through the night. Come and he shall tell you what he seeks from you."

"I would not think it wise." interjected Galeo Zalyne, one of the envoys, "These men are known to be raiders, and I would not like to be robbed and slaughtered in the night". The man seemed to speak out of his own ignorance, for these Andal tribes had never raided the Braavosi, only the Flatlands, and had even served as warriors for Braavos a few times in the so-called brigand bands, according to the other envoy.

Argos, looking upon their whisperings, intervened again: "My knight would offer you the salted bread, to honour you as guests, as it be your custom across the Sea. I would swear this sevenfold."

"I see the man keeps the Seven and has offered us guest right" answered Jonos to Zalyne. "I would hear the man, and if he proves false, I have two hundred good men to keep you alive through the night."

After a long ride, they had arrived at a vale, hidden deep in a forest, were they found a hamlet. Protected by a ring of wall made of earth and wood, it held maybe two or three hundred houses within and corrals for their sheep and goats. The most striking were the blacksmith's shop, a sept which was one of the few buildings made of stone and a bastle house made of stone, which seemed to be the home of their knight. On the slopes of the hills were fields of barley and turnips, eking out whatever existence the land would afford them.

They were welcomed by a tall, fair-haired man of perhaps thirty years of age, with a seven-pointed star carved upon his forehead. He introduced himself as Ser Qarlon, "Knight of this Vale". The knight welcomed them into his hall, full of similar men with stars carved upon them, though he insisted on speaking with Jonos alone.

After Jonos and his captains had been fed, Ser Qarlon made his plight known, speaking in the Common Tongue, though strangely accented: "I have heard tales, last I was in Braavos that your dragon king across the sea, gathered a host of knights and warriors to make war upon accursed Pentos. And now I have heard word that across the Flatlands, a great army marches alongside your king, dragging the magisters out of their estates by the beard, and breaking the chains of my people. Is this what I speak of true?"

"It is, I am one of the knights in His Grace's service and I now go to join him to war." said Jonos.

"I am a knight and warrior among these hills, and with me I had gathered all the great warriors of the land. In all, we could gather four or five thousand men to join the king in battle." offered Ser Qarlon.

"His Grace has a great deal of swords and lances, men bled in conquest, and has no great need of your men, nor does he know what purpose you seek by helping him in war."

"Does he not call himself King of the Andals, and do we not thus owe him our service? Has he not been crowned by your High Septon to rule over your people and mine?" the warrior argued slyly. "As I had been judged worthy and made a knight by the septon, has not he been judged worthy by the Voice of the Seven to lead the Andal people?"

Jonos had grown uncomfortable with the man's talk, for he was no envoy to have authority to treat with these men, and no septon to argue if the King had been crowned to rule over Old Andalos. He had no intention of overstepping his bounds and said as much: "My king has given me no leave to treat with you, and I can offer you nothing in exchange for your service. If you would wish to join my king, you could speak and treat with him yourself."

The warlord conferred with his comrades through the night, and by the morning, Jonos' party had more envoys to bring forth to the King. He hoped that the King could disentangle this new, wretched knot, and would ask him to use him only for war, for he had no mettle for diplomacy. And onwards they went, towards the headwaters of the Little Rhoyne, where word had come they were to join the rest of the army.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XIV: A Letter to Braavos
​

"To the illustrious magister and our beloved cousin Terro Volentin, the most respectful and grateful greetings sends Moredo Lornel. Let it be known that from the sumptuous Palace of Truth we have now arrived in the lands of Pentos, under the most valiant escort of King Baelor's warriors, led by the incomparable Ser Jonos Edgerton.

We have passed through the Highlands of the Andals and Ser Jonos has been given hospitality in the house of one of their warlords. I have not been privy to their discussions, nor has the valiant knight seen fit to make their discussions known to myself.

From what little I have seen and heard, I can say this much: the warlords in the hills have gathered all in the village of this warlord Qarlon, and he has been sent forth to treat with the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and has thus joined our warband alongside most of his companions. I can only assume that the Andals wish to gather their brigand bands and join the war against Pentos. For plunder and cattle or for more loftier ambitions, I cannot say. But "Ser" Qarlon has not sought fit to call himself king of their lot, so his desires must not grow so high as conquest.

I am far away from the comfort of our palazzo in Braavos and am now forced to spend my nights under a tent and share my meals from the rations of Ser Jonos' soldiers.

Ser Jonos is a young man and quite devoted to the king. He is one of the three knights leading this troop, the other two going by the quite ferocious monikers of Stone-Crusher and Tree-Breaker. And if you take a look at those two giants amongst men, you will be tempted to believe they are more than capable of performing those deeds.

Ser Jonos is a man both experienced in battle and with a honed mind. We have conversed extensively about the war, about his deeds in Dorne, but also about the king's steeds and matters of their holy faith, of astrology and poetry. He has spoken to me of his brother, a maester turned septon, who is of the belief that one the seasons were of a uniform length, unchanging. I would be most pleased if you were to inform your factor in Oldtown to acquire a copy of his book, if possible, which, I am told, goes by the name of "The Measure of the Days."

Ser Jonos has told me of another of his brothers, a merchant by the name of Damon, now among the Westerosi envoys to our illustrious city. I must urge you to invite him into your house, so he might show good will to him. His father is among the dignitaries of the court, as Master of the Horse, and another of his brother serves in the treasury, and Ser Jonos is surely to rise high in the king's esteem.

Although I have never been before a great rider, I have, at Ser Jonos' instruction, grown skilled in the matter. It is a sad state that I would not be able to make use of it among the canals of the city. On the matter of horseflesh, Ser Jonos, may be able, with the king's approval, to allow me the purchase of a fine Dornish sand steed to be used for breeding at your stables outside the city. I would urge you not to balk at the price, for his foals would be worth even his weight in silver. According to the Dornish they never tire, and are able to run a day, a night and another day. They are smaller than warhorses, and as such could not bear a weight of armour, but we do not have, or have no use of armoured knight in our employ, so it is no ill to us.

Ser Jonos has one for his own mount, a steed dark as starless night and with a mane red like a flame, chosen from the royal herd itself, He rides it as if he were a centaur, the man and horse melding into one will. He has named it Black Brother, in jest of the men of the Night's Watch and he has joked that the horse has never obeyed his supposed oath of celibacy. He holds it as a dear friend, though head to break his unruly spirit afore he first rode it.
The king's late brother has acquired the sand steeds for his herd as prizes of war, for the Dornish would not part lightly with them. It is said they love their steeds equal to their children, a knight even stabling them in his very own hall.

Ser Jonos's men are, as I have been told, from the blood of the First Men of Westeros, though they leave in the Crownlands. They live in half-wild places and are, by consequence, the same as their land. The two hundred men are light cavalry, called hobelars, wearing gambesons of padded leather, a few among them chainmail and each bearing sword, dagger, and lance to war. They are as such more suited for the kind of campaign the Iron Throne wishes to wage than their fabled knights.

These men hold fiercely to their own will and accept their knightly captains only because they were proven in war. Even so, the two Sers Colman have had to deal with insubordination among them. Said dealing involved taking the man by his coat and throwing him into the air from one to another, until the poor man lost his meal.

We have come on the road across an estate of a Pentoshi magister, and Ser Jonos has given leave to his men to share in the plunder that the rest of the army must assuredly partook in. The magister was not at home, nor his family. It fell upon its steward to stand and watch its ruination. Ser Jonos leads his men with an iron hand, for the raping and pillaging has resumed only at pillaging.

Ser Jonos was almost struck down by one of dozen Unsullied that were kept at the manse, yet such an encounter fazed him not. He did not pray to their warrior god before slaying them, but to their god of death. I have told him of our Braavosi saying, "Valar Morghulis", and that the Stranger is but one side to the Many-Faced God and the knight elaborated on his house words. Their words and war cry are "Steadfast in unsteadiness" but they are the short version of it. According to Ser Jonos, these are their words in full: "As restless as the wind and still as a stream, Steadfast in unsteadiness, We rejoice only in death, For then we contemplate the face of God." Ser Jonos, unlike many warriors, has an inclination for mysticism, and signs and portents. His loyalty to his king is half owed to his oath and half to the tales of his saintly deeds that have spread.

I have heard that he decreed the seventh day to be one of rest, that he returned from death the two sons of Prince Aegon. But the men are a superstitious lot, prone to believing and spreading all manner of folk-tales. At night, at their campsites, they speak of creatures named squishers, which they described to be human in appearance, with large heads, and scales instead of hair, with webbing between their fingers and toes, and rows of green, needle-like teeth They are damp and smelling of fish and are said to steal children by night and eat them – which shows their existence to be but a lie to put unruly children to sleep. Their appearance seems similar to what sailors have told of the people of the Thousand Islands, far in the East.

Every slave has had his chain struck and was given the offer to follow our band to the king, an offer that all were glad to accept, fearful of Pentos' reprisal. I know not if this is the custom in all the estates of slaveholders, but the slaves were kept in miserly condition. They were men without hope afore we met them. During the day they were worked to blood and sweat and whipped hard and often, for their overseers were particularly cruel, even more that is usual among them. Between the two Colmans, their doom was swiftly dealt, and I must confess some morbid joy when I saw one of them rip the head off a particularly unremorseful one.

At night the slaves were kept chained together and kept in an underground prison, without light, for fear of revolt or flight, or simply because of the tyranny of their overseers. They laid at night on straw, kept in darkness absolute, in small cells, so that they might not plot against their masters. One hopes that the domestic slaves were kept in kinder quarters, but the master has taken all of them to Pentos.

If the gods are good, we are not to face much trouble on our way to the king. Once I have arrived, I shall write again and send a courier to you. I pray we shall meet again before the year is passed, and report before the Sealord and then await at your pleasure. I have acquired, as my share of the plunder (a pleasant and unexpected pleasure) some trivial trinkets, which I have sent to you, as gifts for the children.

May the gods keep you,

Your humble servant, Moredo Lornel"

 

[WinRarArchivist]

And that's all caught up for now. Feedback more than welcomed.

 

[Legion1771]

I have no meaningful feedback.

Its good stuff. Different flavor to the usual SI, nice and fresh.

Not an era that I've ever seen much of before, either.

 

[Aureus]

Charlemagne would be proud. Personally hoping Old Andalos remains within the Westerosi sphere of influence, maybe as a client Kingdom if not an enclave territory.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XV: Wars, Words and Wonders

​

The lands of Pentos were rife with many estates to be plundered. Vast fields of grains, numerous orchards with of a multitude of fruits, manses full of luxuries and fripperies, ill-trained guards, and craven slaveholders. The provisions for the army and their horses and for the beasts of burden were as such not a concern to our host.

The bounty taken from the wealth of the magisters was enough to awaken the greed inside men – gold, silver, jewels, spices, Myrish laces, Volantene glass, silks, jade, and porcelain from YiTi. The rich men of Pentos' forty families enjoyed such wealth at the expense of the multitude of slaves that laboured every day in fields and mines, without the slightest reward given or pity given. And what they had earned by foul means was now taken by sword.

Pentos had no concept of a slave gaining his freedom, and a magister could only gift his slaves to the state through his will, and not release them, save for those that worked as domestic help. One could free the tutor of his children, or their wetnurse, or his cook, but for the many fieldhands that laboured under the sun, or the miners that toiled under the grounds, such relief was not allowed.

The Pentoshi had no respect for the bounds of marriage or family of those who considered lesser, tearing them apart in search of a quick coin, or bidding them to lay with each other as they wished, in order to breed new generations for the flesh-markets. They had every right over the life and death of their slaves and exercised it with the utmost cruelty.

The smallfolk who could be considered free had a somewhat kinder life, but not a fortunate one. The lands of Pentos belonged to its wealthy, with no exception, and the manifold slaves left no place for them to find work there. So many of them lived at the outskirts of towns and cities, becoming singers and tumblers, debasing themselves before the great and wealthy, to earn a meagre living.

The proximity of Pentos and Braavos and their many wars did nothing to ease the state of slavery in this so-called Free City. It was as if in their pride, the magisters made slavery much crueller to spite their Braavosi rivals and their First Law.

I had landed a host of almost seven thousand men and fifteen thousand horses on the shores of the Flatlands and advanced, raiding and burning, towards the Little Rhoyne were the purpose of my quest laid. I had divided the army in three columns, as to bring fire and sword to a wider expanse. In turn, these columns sent forth smaller forays, and the width of destruction was as large as fifty miles. We advanced around fourteen miles per day, but our return would undoubtedly be longer, courtesy of the Valyrian road between Ghoyan Drohe and Pentos.

We stumbled across some sellsword companies, which Pentos was quick to employ, but they were a meagre lot, and time was not on the side of Pentos to employ the better one, for the Disputed Lands were far away, and many a sellsword was under contract to one or another of the Three Daughters. We came across some smaller towns, weakly fortified, who were more than eager to ransom their way to safety. Yet their entreaties were for naught, and their weak walls fell under our assaults.

Since the Braavosi had so kindly "offered" to pay our expenses, my own share of the plunder was to make its way to the royal treasury. As king, it was my right to keep a fifth of all movable property taken and the most valuable of the loot. I had made it clear that every book found was to find its way to me, and the same to every piece of Valyrian steel weaponry or jewellery save for blades taken from the hands of a foe slain in combat. Of my own share, I intended to set two thirds aside, as to make a seventh, to await a day a new sept would be built in King's Landing, one fit to hold the Seven Stones themselves. What the Royal fleet took upon the sea was all mine to keep, for from my treasury the ships were paid, the provisions and arms were purchased, and the men onboard were paid wages from my purse. What ships of his own the Oakenfist brought to battle would have their plunder find its wat into his own coffers, save for the fifth that was owed to me.

The days thus passed as we advanced, occupying us mostly with bloodshed, and plunder, and the breaking of chains. As every war since the world began, not all men behaved themselves as their conscience bid them to. Often, I had to have such men punished according to their crimes. A man who would not obey his captain would be struck with the shaft of a lance, or if he proved obstinate, he was tied to a rope by the tail of an ass and walk behind the army. Men who drank and then fought with their comrades were struck from the rolls when it came to the sharing of bounty. Thieves would have their ears cut.

A knight of foul renown lost his arms playing dice and left his armour as pledge for a barrel of Arbor Red to a companion of his. He then furthered his infamy by attempting to force his attentions on a maiden freshly freed from her chains. To him I dealt the greatest infamy. Every knight could make a knight if the other were capable of deed or reason. The king himself, or his heir, had the same authority, though they were knight beforehand, even if they had not held a sword once. And many knights were dubbed in centuries and millennia past, but none undone. Monsters in human flesh, made Sers by virtue of a pouch of gold exchanging hands, held their titles until their dying breath. The same with men who spat on every notion of chivalry and behaved like the foulest sellsword. This young knight served as an example that would, hopefully, be followed.
Ser Alyn of Oxcross had the ill fortune of being awoken by all my four and twenty serjeants-at-arms that I brought with me to war, dragged out of his tent and bade to put on his arms and armour, which were retrieved from where they were ill-placed. And he was taken before my royal presence.

In front of all my commanders and captains, of famed knights and warriors I cut his baldric cut with my dagger and took the straps of his spurs. I unsheathed his blade and broke it on his helmeted head and spoke his sentence: "You are no longer Knight but Knave. You may not bear the title Ser or be appointed in any service on the crown's coffers, you have no right to accuse or challenge any knight. Go now and tell your shame."

***​

Our march through the Flatlands attracted not only the attention of Pentos. The Khal Jhogo, with his ten thousand riders, sought to add to the misfortune of Pentos, and led his warriors into the Flatlands, for gold and slaves. Fortunately, our raiding parties had found of their advance, and we had the time to gather the host to its full strength before we were to give battle to them.

We gave battle at the fords of a river neither army bothered to find the name of. The Khal's screamers charged across the river into a rain of arrows loosed by archers from the Marches, felling them by tens and hundreds. And they charged into the shields and pikes of the infantry, arrayed before them, and more of them fell. When the wits of my men began to waver, the knights and hobelar charged against the horse lords, and blade meet blade, blood was shed, and by nightfall, the day was won. The savage horsemen died in their thousand by arrow, lance, pike, and sword or drowned in the river. Those who fled were chased and found the same doom as the rest. A pitiful remain fled then, returning in shame to the Grass Sea.

Khal Jhogo perished at the hand of Hendrick the Sharp-Witted, after his horse was slain, his head crushed by Hendrick's foot after he had failed to extract his sword from the stallion. Hendrick, it seemed, had grown brave on account of his own tall tales, resigned his post in the City Watch, and had taken arms and sailed across the Narrow Sea to win glory and renown. It seemed the gods held him in their favour, that such fortune should have struck him.

As befits one who had slain the commander of an enemy army, I had the man knighted, gave him fifty dragons to acquire arms and armour and a mount worthy of his new station, and promised him a village in the Crownlands to lord over. As much as his great deed was one of luck, to reward him would bolster the heart of my men, making them more eager to prove themselves in battle in hope of a reward.

I had slain myself mayhap half a dozen riders, charging forth with three Kingsguards by my side and two dozen knight following me closely. Not a deed of arms to be remembered in tales of glory, for they were poorly armed and armoured, but enough that men would see me for a warrior. It was my first taste of real battle, and as I laid that night to sleep, I could still remember the stench of the dead, the screams of the dying, the carrion crows feasting on the flesh of the slain.

***​

Once we had reached the shore of the Little Rhoyne, the army camped in a small town, freshly sacked. It was there that the Braavosi observers, escorted by Ser Jonos, joined at last our party.

Ser Jonos, in his usual boisterous manner, had his riders take out their helmets and yell out "Long live His Grace" as I walked out of my tent. I thanked him for his service and greeted the envoys with bread and salt, as it was their due and it was to my surprise that there were more than I expected.

Once I had met with the Braavosi according to the usual courtesy, I invited the Andal war chiefs that had come this far to join me and my council in my tent, to ascertain the purpose of their arrival.

Once I enquired of their desire, Ser Qarlon was more than eager to tell it: "We have heard, o great king, of your army coming from across the Sea, to humble the slave masters and break the shackles of our people and we greatly desire to join your host and show our worth in battle alongside you."

"And what you ask for your service, brave knights? For you owe me no fealty, or loyalty, or debt to be repaid" I answered them. It was time for prudence, for I had not foreseen such before I started this conflict, and I had no desire to complicate it beyond its purpose.

"We only desire to fight by your side in your liberation of Andalos, Your Grace. And as for what do we owe you, did the High Septon not crown you as King of the Andals, and are we not Andals?" said the knight with cunning words.

"If you would speak to me of Faith, does not the Seven-Pointed Star speak of Westeros as the promised land. There is no sacredness to the land of Andalos. I have come to give battle against the enemies of my realm, not to conquer Old Andalos. I have a kingdom to reconquer at home and godless men to punish. If I break the chains of the slaves, it is because the Seven abhor slavery. I have offered to give them passage across the Narrow Sea, in the land that the Seven promised them, in my own lands, so they might live as free men."

And negotiations continued. If Ser Qarlon saw that I did not seek to conquer Andalos, he asked for help to establish anew the old kingdom and promised to swear fealty to me any my heirs. After consulting with my own council, and countless hours, I settled upon an offer for them:

"I give you my leave to bring sword and fire to everything north of Pentos and keep al plunder to yourself. If you wish for it, I will give to you and yours the same offer I give to the men I free, come across the Sea and you would have lands of your own to rule and to live. If that is not your desire, then I would give you weapons and armour, and the horses of the expedition when we return to our home shores. I would send to you septons and maesters, and gold to wage your war for Andalos. I would welcome your sons into my household and make knights of them and find husbands for your daughters. But I have not the inclination, nor the time to gain conquests in Essos, and our esteemed Braavosi allies would not look kindly upon such. It is my advice then, to seek an audience with the Sealord, and put before him your plans, and if the Seven smile upon you, they will find wisdom in carving a kingdom from Pentos and weakening their magisters. But it was not for such that the One-Who-Is-Seven sent me here."

I met then with the Braavosi again, to ease their worries. They sent new messenger to Braavos, to seek new instructions. I sent my own messengers, carrier pigeons eager to return to their dovecotes at the red keep. There were no maesters and castles here, to send ravens forth, and so I indulged in an experiment of my own. I had sent words by messenger too, who knew the matter more in depth, to bring knowledge of these negotiations to my uncle.

***​

In that evening, a stag appeared on the hour that the sun set, white as driven snow, and I rode to hunt it, alongside a small party, Ser Oscar Tully, Ser Jonos Edgerton, Ser Olyvar Ferren, and Ser Qarlon the Andal among them. We rode long amid the ever-encroaching darkness, and yet the stag seemed as further away as it had at the beginning, leaping away as soon as we approached him.

It became night, and in the cloudy sky, only the Crone's Lantern light shining through, guiding us on our path. And it became morning again, and we had lost it from our sight, save for the muddy tracks it left behind, courtesy of the rain. Drenched to the bone, Ser Oscar advised me to return to our camp, and abandon the hunt. But I had an inkling that the omen meant much more than a night that ended in folly. I sent messenger to tell the captains that I would only return with the white stag felled, and sent for beasts of burden to carry supplies, and many more with no burden, for I suspected the Seven guided me to a treasure greater than we had acquired since we set foot in Essos.

And so, the hunt continued in the hills, following the stag to the headwaters of the Little Rhoyne. And in the morning of the seventh day, we saw the stag again.
In the shadow waters of the river, now but a creek, the white hart entered a cave inside a hill. I dismounted my steed, and with a motion of the hand, bade the rest of the hunt to remain in their places. And treading in the water, I followed the beast into the cave.

A long tunnel awaited me, the stones slippery from the stream. I walked slowly and patiently into the ever-growing darkness, nought but a few rays of sunshine peeking through. As moments passed while I ventured forth, I saw a shining light in front of me, as if from a lantern. Soon, I reached a cavern where the purpose of my quest awaited.

The cavern was full of wondrous light, as if it was midday. And in that cavern Seven Stones awaited. Roughly carved from stone, a wizened and bearded man, carrying scales of iron. A warrior, covered in carved mail, a sword in his hand, a shield at his feet. A craftsman, with a hammer in one hand, his handle of petrified wood, and head of steel, a chisel in the other hand, with a foot upon a plow. A woman, her face kind and motherly, with a gentle smile. A maiden, in a stony dress that flowed around her as it were silk, a wreath upon her head, made of ceramic flowers. A crone, her face wrinkled, a lantern in her hand, the fount of the light in the chamber, a raven carved of jet stone perched upon her shoulders. And in the middle of them all, of blackest stone, but not the molten stone of dragon lords, nor the oily one of Yeen, a dark figure in robes and hooded, his face a skull as white as snow.

And their eyes were on me, no matter if I stepped forth or backwards. I saw their eyes looking at me, felt them at the back of my head. They were the judging eyes of a father, come to scold his child for an ill deed. They were the kindly eyes of a mother, giving comfort for a scraped knee. They were the patient eye of a teacher, looking upon a pupil eager to go out and play. They were the bold eyes of a knight, throwing a challenge against overwhelming odds. They were eyes full of wisdom, looking down at the foolishness of men. They were laughing and loving eyes. They were the cold eyes of death, unblinking.

And in their godly presence, I fell upon my knees and prayed. Slowly, my companions emerged from the tunnel, looked upon the carved faces of the Seven in wonder and wave, and fell prostrate upon the cold stone floor of the cave. None saw the white hart leave the cave or pass them by on their way inside. No tracks were found of it from then. It had disappeared without a trace, his god-given purpose fulfilled.

Once the divine presence no longer overwhelmed us, we left the cave and took the Seven Stones with us and carried them back to camp, upon the backs of our mules. Seven days we rode back to camp, where worried men awaited us.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XVI: Curious Daeron

​

Daeron
Red Keep

When cousin Baelor left with his fleet to go to Pentos, Daeron was inconsolable. He had begged his cousin to bring him on as a page, so he could gain fame like the knights of old he read about. His grandfather had told him he couldn't go since he was the future of House Targaryen. Daeron thought that was stupid and his grandfather was wrong. His dead great-uncle Aegon and cousin Daeron were the past of their House – since they were dead. He and his younger brothers were the present, being very much alive. And his mother's future kids were the future, since they weren't born yet. He had told Baelor that, and had told him he should probably change his Hand, since his granddad had become a bit dumb, probably because he was so old.
It was nice to be old though. Nobody told his grandfather what to do. And he could even yell at Baelor, even if he was the king. And he yelled a lot at him, and tore out his hair. And then he calmed down, sat at his desk writing messages to a lot of people, telling them what do, muttering under his mustache.

And because he was a kid, everybody told him what to do. He had to have a lot of lessons, and they made him play with Elaena sometimes, instead with the squires at the court. And Baelor was always trying to teach him about ruling. But Daeron wasn't his child, so it wasn't like he would ever become the king. Daeron thought that was because Baelor was older, and he grew a bit dumber. And he hadn't even brought his uncle Aemon with him, who everybody knew was the greatest knight ever. He said he was still sick because Lord Wyl put him in a cave, so he wanted to let him recover. But kinghts in tales never stopped to rest, so Daeron thought that his uncle didn't that much rest. At least, Baelor said he could be his uncle's page when he became healthier.

Daeron wished he would have been older, so he could do whatever he wanted, but he was afraid of growing dumber. But perhaps some people didn't become as dumb as they grew up. And some became very dumb, like cousin Daeron who died because he was dumb enough to trust the Dornish. "Never trust a Dornishman when death is on the line" his dad told him once.

The court used to be more fun when there were a lot of knights around, before Baelor left, who told him lots of tales about their deeds in battle. Now he spent most of his days in lessons, which were interesting enough, sometimes; and in the training yard, learning how to wield a sword. But he did not like the fact that his tutors often insisted on how a prince should act. "You most not do this, or that! That's not how a prince ought to act!"

'How would they know?' thought Daeron.'They weren't princes. A blacksmith doesn't offer advice on how a knight should comport itself because he doesn't know.'. It all made sense in his mind – only a prince should know how a prince ought to behave, so that means he should only listen to uncle Aemon, or cousin Baelor, or his grandfather. Or his father perhaps, but he's father did not offer him such advice, the few times he spoke with him. And father was sick now, sicker than uncle Aemon. His grandfather told him that some very bad people hurt his father in Braavos. Some of them were even brought to King's Landing to be executed. He snuck out to see one hanged, but he had night terrors after for a fortnight.

When he wasn't at his lessons, he played with his companions, sons of lords from the Crownlands, which were pages and squires for the knights at court. And he played with his cousin Elaena, which they made him do. But she was useful as a princess in a tower when he play-acted as Davos the Dragonslayer, or Serwyn of the Silver Shield.

When he grew tired of playing, he went to the library, not for lessons, but to read of the heroes that lived long ago. It was better to hear tales, than to read them though. He had pestered Lord Cregan for stories of the Dance of Dragons, but he was old and scary and would not tell him anything. His son, Jonnel, was friendlier, and he told him lots of tales and legends of the North he learned from his old nurse, Old Nan. He told his grandfather that they should bring the old lady to court, so she could tell him stories. But Jonnel said she doesn't want to leave Winterfell. At least he promised to write all the stories in a very big book and send it to him to read, but only if he was well-behaved and attended all his lessons. So Daeron had to, even if he didn't want always.

He told cousin Daena to check up on Jonnel, see if he was lying or not. Because if he did, then he would tell it to the king, and he would make him write it. Because Baelor always said that men should keep to their oaths. Daena promised to do so, but Daeron couldn't tell Baelor if she broke his promise, because Baelor didn't say women had to keep their oaths. Daeron thought that was stupid, and everybody shouldn't break their promises.
Baelor also told him stories, before he left. Lots of fairy tales about many things, like a prince who traveled to his uncle with a talking and flying horse, that ate hot coal; about another prince, who had to guard golden apples; about a boy born with a book in his hand; about a knight who brought back the sun and the moon, stolen by an evil giant; about a very clever sheperd, who tricked a lot of knights and married a princess. Stories about a man that traveled to the land of giants and to that of tiny tiny people, and to one of talking horses. About a princess that lived on a mountain full of evil imps, who was saved by a miner boy and had a very old grandmother. And there was one about a boy made of wood who dreamed of becoming one of flesh and bone, another about a young squire who went looking for a fallen star.

***
Daeron heard that Baelor send a messenger to his grandfather about the war in Pentos, but nobody told him what was in the letter he brought. Impatient, he went into the secret passages in the Red Keep. His uncle had showed them to him. He knew that if he went into one of the tunnels from a chamber with a mosaic of a dragon. The tunnels was a shaft, which one could climb up to his grandfather's solar. So he went through there, climbed all the way up and hid there, so he could hear what the messenger would talk with his grandfather.

When he heard the door open, he sat still and did not make a sound, so they would not find him. He heard his grandfather saying "Welcome, Ser Jonos. Sit and drink. I have the best of the Dornish vintage, brought by my nephew Daeron, may the Seven bless him. Or if you would not partake in such, I have Arbor Red, which Lord Redwyne has gifted me at princess Daena's wedding. Drink and tell me what news you bring of war and of my nephew."

"My many thanks, Lord… Prince Hand" said the knight. Daeron had to stifle a laugh. "It is my greatest joy to report to you that the king has been ever victorious. Our raid has seen no great obstacles, the pitiful sellsword companies that Pentos has bought have been scattered into the four winds and our army has crushed a khalasar beneath its lances, and His Graces has distinguished himself most bravely."

"A khalasar?" asked Daeron's grandfather, somewhat surprised. "It was to be expected. I suppose. You mention there was no trouble. Am I to assume that Braavos' envoys have arrived without trouble?"

"Do not insult me, my prince" replied Ser Jonos."I always do my duty with the utmost dilligence. Though our travels have been surprising."

"Pray tell me" said the Hand, bemused.

" We came across war chiefs of Old Andalos, more than eager to reconquer the old homeland in the name of King Baelor."

"Tell me he has not entagled himself so," said his grandfather, suddenly alarmed. Daeron didn't know, hidden where he was, why his grandfather was so upset. Nobody was upset that cousin Daeron conquered dorne, or Aegon the First the Seven Kingdoms. If Baelor conquered Pentos, wouldn't that mean he was a great king?

"Fear not, my prince. His Grace has limited himself to giving them his leave to raid as they please, and has promised them only arms and armor, horses, gold, maesters and septons. It is not a pittance, but if they wish for conquest, they must look at Braavos for aid."

"Praise the Seven then."

"Speaking of the gods, my prince, I am most joyous to report that His Grace, guided by their hand through a with hart, has discovered the Seven Stones carved by Hugor. I have seen them with my own eyes, and the presence of the gods in them is undeniable."

"It seems that his dreams were not folly after all" laughed his grandfather. "Have the heralds announce it in the city. Tell the grandmaester to spread the news to the realm, firstly to the Starry Sept. And you have a leave of a sennight. Visit your mother, spread the joyous news."

Once they left, Daeron carefully snuck out. At dinner that night he asked his grandfather what was special about the Stones. He shouldn't have done so, because his grandfather grew suspicious on how he knew such, and at last, got the truth out of him. Maybe he wasn't that dumb for an old man. Or maybe he wasn't that old.

Notes:

Daeron is a bit of a dumb kid, who thinks he's smart. Fond of stories, too curious for his own good, but not a bad seed. And casually racist towards the Dornish - he's Aegon's son after all. He'll be better when he grows up.

Once again, Ser Jonos is the king's errand boy. His service will undoubtedly be rewarde sometimes. Maybe he'll become hand one day (of course, only after Ser Hendrick retires from the post). If Baelor continues this way,our boy Jonos will miss all battles. At least his mother would be happy about that. And Jonos is happy he got only a week's leave - it's to short of a time for his mother to find him a bride and have him married.

There's not much advancement of plot this chapter, but hopefully you'll like it.

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XVII: What shall we do with a wounded sailor?​

The shores of Pentos burned. The fields of Pentos burned. The cities of Pentos burned. The people of the Seven Kingdoms had come with fire and blood and punished the Pentoshi for the gall of involving themselves in a war not their own.

On land, King Baelor and his great host had wreaked such damage that the magisters of Pentos would have preferred a dozen khalasars over them. For khals could be bought, but Baelor's knights could not.

On the sea, it fell to Alyn Velaryon to wage war against Pentos, to destroy whatever warships the Free City had left, and seize or destroy all their merchant ships. Sailing under his orders were the king's own ships and the ships of his native Driftmark - his own ships.

Alyn Velaryon, the Oakenfist, preferred to lead his own ships to greater bounties, disregarding the risks. He would suffer nothing if one of the king's ships were lost and not of his own – but neither would he gain much. Of the bounty captured by the king's ships, he was entitled but to a seventh, his due as admiral. Of the bounty brought by the Velaryon sails, he needed but to give the king his fifth, for it was he who had the ships bought or built, it was he who paid the wages of his sailors, it was he who paid for their arms, it was he who paid for their supplies.

And as the sails of the Sunset made war against those of the Sunrise, he enjoyed the great sight of the coffers of Driftmark filling up with gold and his warehouses filling with the cargoes of the merchant ships, now profiting him and not the cheesemongers of Pentos.

It was no great a fortune to rival that of the Sea Snake, but to return Driftmark and House Velaryon to its former glory would have been the work of generations. He was not Corlys Velaryon, to weep at the sight of a house fallen on its knees.

He was the Oakenfist, Master of Ships and Lord Admiral, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark. He had long ago been content with whatever fate would give him, since he had thought to claim a dragon and suffered for his folly. But if he happily accepted what fate would give him, he would not throw away the chances that the gods offered.

So now he sailed from Driftmark, boarded some ship or other, deplored the poor show of their men before he killed them, took the ship for his own, and returned from Driftmark, unsatisfied. There was no great glory to be found, not since he had sailed at first too late, for the Braavosi had already destroyed most of Pentos' power at sea. Yet he yearned for the greater valour of his earlier deeds, of the time when he crushed the Braavosi in the Stepstones. He whished to lead his great fleet to a grand battle, and like a commander charging with his knights, joust his seahorse, his ship, and fell the enemy from its mount.

Perhaps striking anew at Dorne when the time came would satisfy his need for renown. If not, he would turn Driftmark to his daughter, and sail to the Jade Sea, beyond Asshai and past the Saffron Straights, or to the ends of the Shivering Sea, or sail round the world, surpassing his own grandsire – exploration rather than deeds of war winning him undying fame.

His daughter was not so jaded, her joy was easier to be found. Laena had named her own ship Moondancer, for her late mother's late dragon. And when she sailed, she did not seek some great deed. She sought to board a ship and wet her sword with the blood of the enemies, singing in joy at them falling before her, never to rise again.

And now she was gone with her ship, and he, thanks to some godsdamned Pentoshi sailor, was home at Driftmark, nursing a wounded leg, and watching from the window of his solar, hoping to see a glimpse of Moondancer's sails. He would listen then to Laena's tales, and accept that paltry replacement for sailing forth himself. He had no shortage of duties to address, overseeing the repairs of ship, the purchase of supplies and their repartition, going through his correspondence from the many ports of the kingdom. But he had little desire now to attend to such.

He was but five and forty, but his wounds made him an older man in truth, and his pains made him tired, tired enough to doze on his chair while watching the sea.

He knew not how much he slept, but his rest was disturbed by one of his men, coming with great haste and much noise, disturbing him from his slumber.

"Milord, the Lady Laena has returned, and with ill news indeed!" said the guard, and bade his lord join him to the docks, to meet his daughter and hear of it in detail.

So, Lord Alyn, with great pain, hobbled over to the docks, cursing the stone steps as he came down from his tower, gripping his cane tight and grinding his teeth. His daughter should have been more dutiful, and should have come to him, not him to her. But he was not a lesser man to show himself too weak to climb down from his castle's tower, even if it ailed him to do so.

His daughter was amid many captains upon the shore, speaking and gesticulating animatedly, a new scar upon her cheek to show of her bravery, or perhaps lack of care.

He called to her: "Laena, come and greet your old father. Pray tell, what grave news you bring that I may be summoned in such haste and with such lack of decorum?"

Hearing his voice, Laena turned her head towards him, and a moment passed, and she ran into his arms, hugging him with her usual exuberance.

"Oh, father! Our prey was paltry, as usual. Few merchants dare to venture forth from Pentos' harbours now they lack warships to escort them. Their offerings are paltry, their men disappointing to fight."

"Those are disappointing news, not ill tidings, Laena" said the Lord Velaryon, suddenly irked. "Should I have you returned to your maester's lessons, so that you might learn the proper use of words?"

"No, father." Laena said gravely, her prior exuberance gone without a trace." When we turned our sails for Driftmark, we glimpsed Lyseni warships sailing north. We gave no battle, for we were too few, and sailed with great haste home."

"Lyseni? Are they fool enough to challenge me? Or perhaps they thought that Baelor meant Pentos' doom for them afterwards." replied the Oakenfist.
He then sat still a moment, a thoughtful gaze in his eye, raised one hand to his eye, gripped his wrist with the other, and moved his wrist and fingers left and right, an aid to declutter his thoughts. Then the moment passed, the silence broke, and the Master of the Tides broke into a loud booming laugh.

He made to speak but laughed again. He made again to speak, but the peals of laughter allowed him not. At last, his bout of sudden hilarity ended and he spoke, trying to make his tone grave: "The Lyseni are masters of their own damnation. They aided Dorne because Daeron thought to ally with Braavos. And when Baelor went with fire and sword to Pentos, they thought they were next and thought they should not stand idly by and await their fate. But they prophesized their own doom and by bringing ships against me, their deeds fulfil their destruction, for I shall sink them into the abyss, the Merling King shall claim them as his thralls, and thank me for the gift."

That said, the Master of Ships turned to his duty: "Summon the captains present for council" he said to his daughter. "Call the maester to my solar, for I mean to write to the Hand" he barked to a man-at-arms. "And someone fetch me a map of the Stepstones."

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XVIII: The First Great Deed, by Maester Alyn, of Summerhall​

The Pentoshi expedition, what men across the Seven Kingdoms now misguidedly call the War for the Stones, or the Humbling of Pentos, or among the Faith as the Sacred Passage, more suitable names, ended with widespread destruction of the countryside of that Free City, King's Baelor army carrying thousands of carts of loot behind them.

Having landed north of Pentos, the host carved a path of destruction with fire and sword until they reached the Velvet Hills. There the army rested and awaited with increasing worry the return of the king, who had gone to hunt a white hart, returning only after a fortnight.

But the fact that the king was once again with his army, and the host ready to march again, paled in importance to what His Grace had brought with him. Not the white stag, which the king later called a messenger from above, but the Seven Stones of the Faithful, now counted the greatest relics of the Faith, being, as legend claims it, the first carved statues of the Seven, supposedly by Hugor's own hands. While colleagues at the Citadel have not been able, through lack of means, to ascertain that the Stones were indeed carved by his hand, it is an unanimous belief among those who possess the copper link of history that these statues are indeed those that the Andals, before the Crossing, held to have been the original ones.

The High Septon was quick in recognising such, and it is said, that those among the Most Devout, and also among the most devout, through long prayers and shows of piety, have been able to sense the presence of the gods themselves while beholding the statues. Sers Oscar Tully and Jonos Edgerton, who had joined King Baelor on the hunt, as had some peculiar Andal warlord, have sworn that they had felt the self-same presence, when they were the first to beheld them after countless centuries.

Once the king had acquired these most holy relics, his army advanced towards Ghoyan Drohe, and continued their raids while marching upon the Valyrian road towards Pentos. The approaching army brought great fear in the hearts of the Pentoshi magisters, which already suffered from a joint blockade of the Braavosi and royal fleets. They beheaded their fourth prince for the year and sent the fifth to make peace.

The Pentoshi were to suffer a grievous pace, for the king and the Sealord impose upon the city strict conditions. The many slaves that suffered under the yoke of the magisters, and where until now not freed by Baelor's knight, were to receive their freedom, without compensation for their former masters and no Pentoshi would be involved in the slave trade. The great farming estates were to be carved in half, one coming into the possession of those who had once laboured without pay.

Pentos could keep but twenty warships, was prohibited from employing sellswords or free companies, could maintain no permanent force beyond the City Watch, though citizen militias could be called to arms for a time, for training, or for defence of their lands.

The king was not satisfied with such, and an indemnity of fifty thousand dragons a year was to be paid to the Iron Throne for the next twenty years. Collecting the gold would serve also allow the Westerosi envoys to inspect if Pentos held true to its word.

A peace made with Pentos, the royal host returned home, with great stores of plunder and many freed Andal slaves, which sought a better fate across the sea. It was they that bestowed upon the Blessed King one of his many monikers, the Breaker of Chains.

The Seven Stones were transported home on seven different ships, the king being overly prudent in the matter. Once the relics were ashore, the ships were dismantled, and the wood stored for further use. The desk that even now is present in the King's solar was made from the ship that carried the statue of the Crone, furniture in various septs, septries and motherhouses is said to be made from these seven ships, and there is a great trade amidst the merchants and the richer smallfolk in nails purported to have once belonged to these vessels, now fashioned into amulets.

The Seven Stones remained in King's Landing, although the Most Devout Abelar purported to have been sent a divine vision to escort them to the Starry Sept. The King refused him with the greatest prejudice, denying the truth of his revelation, asserting that if the matter were true, the One-Who-Is-Seven would have surely given him knowledge of the location of the Stones, and not to the king.

For the King once returned, had proclaimed that the Seven had revealed unto him the location of the Seven Stones and sent a white hart to guide him. Once his Vision was made known all across the realm, neither the High Septon or the Conclave of the Most Devout made no further such requests. The Starry Sept was to be pleased with lesser relics, carved from the prows of the seven ships. The captains of the ships were knighted and settled with lands, on the condition that they were to sail no further in the service of the king, for no greater mission would he have for them than escorting such holy relics. Their descendants are easily recognised by their banners, each depicting a ship with a symbol of one of the seven aspects of the One.

The relics remained in the Royal Sept for a time, until a more suitable place for hosting them was to be build, a fact that would have more reaching consequences and would greatly benefit King Baelor and the kings that came after him.

Once the first of the Seven Great Deeds of the Blessed Baelor was finished, the king turned his eyes towards home and then southwards, were the Dornish wallowed in rebellion and oathbreaking, and unto the Stepstones, which were to be the first step in resolving the matter and making the Seven Kingdoms whole.

Those who wish to know in further detail of the First Great Deed, of Baelor's Revelation, the Hunt of the White Hart and the Holy Passage, must look upon the work of Archmaester Tommen, or if they are inclined to a more hagiographical work, they should read "The Seven Great Deeds, or the most holy life of the Blessed Baelor", written by Septon Bonifer of the Stoney Sept.​

 

[cosmicfox]

"The Seven Great Deeds of the Blessed Baelor"

I really wonder how his sister Daena will stomach seeing Baelor's fame not only make a footnote of herself and her beloved Daeron... but basically overshadow every past Targaryen (except maybe Aegon the Conqueror).

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XIX: Affairs of State and Faith​

Baelor
The Red Keep

"Did you have to needle that Hightower septon so?" asked my uncle, with his usual tone of begrudging fondness mixed with irritability, which he used when he did not approve of something I've done but was amused by it.

"If I cannot spit upon the Hightowers, I shall spite them." I responded him. "When I die, that will be my greatest deed and renown. They shall write upon my tomb: <<Of all the kings that ever sat the Iron Throne, none were half as spiteful>>. Abelar still resents me for crushing his hopes and dreams – and plays at games and makes mockery of the will of the Seven-Who-Are-One. Lord Lyonel is still the same man who defied the High Septon for thirteen years by living in sin with his stepmother. And if Lord Hightower or his cousins irk me further, when he passes, I shall deny his children their legitimacy – being born as they were. And since the Stranger has seen fit to do away with Ser Martyn in Dorne, it would please me if Oldtown shall be inherited by the husband of my dear aunt and my dearest cousin after him. Or I might not, if I feel merciful – even so, a raven should fly to the Hightower to remind its lord that the marriages of my fair cousins shall be determined by my will alone – it would not do for them to marry their cousins."

"I had not considered the possibility", said Uncle Viserys, "though I confess I find some strange appeal to it. If we speak of kin, have you had news of your sister?"

"Daena has deigned to write me", I said to him. "She is with child, and having done his duty, Jonnel has turned himself to pleasure."

Having heard me, uncle rose from his chair, and before him stood not an uncle, but Prince Viserys, Hand of the King. He roared as if he was a dragon true: "The wretched boy dares to take a mistress? I will drag him out of his wolves' den and have him walk barefoot and whipped to King's Landing itself."

I had chosen my words unwisely, perhaps with intention. But his reaction made necessary to ease him of his confusion: "Be calm, Lord Hand. Lord Jonnel has not wandered away from his marital bed. He has taken a company of men and ventured beyond the Wall, to seek the Horn of Winter – having heard of the Seven Stones, he now seeks an ancient relic for himself. Though I would have been most joyous if you would have acted as such when Aegon broke his vows."

My uncle resented my last remark, but his mood was calmer and so was his speech: "You should have spoken clearer, Your Grace. I feel tired, if the King would allow me to retire to my chambers?"
***
The Small Council Chamber

"…and we can conclude that His Grace's expedition, taking account the coin the Braavosi had sent in restitution, and the indemnity that Pentos shall pay, and the plunder taken, has had no effect upon the treasury, but has indeed brought more gold into it." Lord Plumm ended thus his speech, after giving a full reckoning of the workings of the treasury from the day I became king to the present one.

Having heard of the ways I had earned coin; I now gave instruction on how to spend it: "Have your clerks put aside two-thirds of royal share of plunder. And count Pentos' payments with such. I wish to build for the Seven Stones a resting place greater than the Starry Sept, and the Seven should look kindly upon me if a seventh of all plunder, shall go to such deed. And the Pentoshi gold would serve to aid in the construction, without putting another strain on the coffers."

Though perhaps they wished to say otherwise, none of the Council did, knowing that I was resolute in the matter and neither wishing to appear the least pious. My uncle had a look in his eyes but said nothing – we would undoubtedly speak of it in private later.

"For the rest of the coin, put them in the hands of the almoners, so that they may build and keep alms-houses, and bring relief to our poor and weary."

To that, my counsellors were freer with their protests. Lord Hunter had harshly called it a waste, Lord Plumm had, in a manner most subdued, suggested that the coin would be more suited to fill the Golden Granary for the future winter. Lord Alyn and the Hand thought the coin could be used for war, not peace. The Chief Confessor, Maester Rowley, approved of it, on account that it pacified the populace, and Munkun was quick to agree with him, but agreeing was most of what he was doing in his second stint of office – eager to keep his post.

Once we put gold and silver to rest, I turned to Lord Hunter: "My lord, have the men of the City Watch stand on alert and keep the city peaceful."

Lord Hunter was bewildered: "There has been no unrest among the smallfolk, Your Grace. A closer eye is hardly needed, for it would make them wary."

"There has been no unrest, or greater ill deeds, but perhaps for lack of opportunity. But a new dawn brings new trouble. The arrival of the Stones will bring a myriad of pilgrims to King's Landing, eager to see the relics. And cutthroats and thieves, and other villains, with no such pious thought, would think themselves lucky."

Having seen reason, Lord Hunter had no further protests. My uncle however, sought clarification: "You have brought the relics to the Royal Sept. Surely, you do not mean to receive every pilgrim in the Red Keep? It is unwise beyond belief."

"Fear not, uncle, that would not do. We must allow them to see the wonders with their own eyes, so I request that you shall see that the ruins of the Dragonpit be cleansed, to allow for great crowds and the display of the statues."

A septon, who served as scribe for the meetings, shyly made himself heard: "Pardon me, Your Grace, for speaking. But the holy men of the Most Devout have suggested and asked me humbly to bring it before you in counsel, to petition Your Grace to allow the Faith to keep a single chapter of the Warrior's Sons, so that the Seven Stones may be kept in security."

A cacophony of protests arose, defeaning, strident, angry. The septon shrunk under so many wrathful eyes, chief amongst them mine own. I rose and answered him with a cold, steely voice: "I am the only Warrior's Son this realm shall need! Go and remind your master that Hugor of the Hill was no High Septon, but king, and truth was not revealed to a priest, but to a lord of war. And next I lay my eyes upon thee, speak with your own tongue, and not the cunning, slimy words of Septon Abelar, or I shall find another scribe."

The septon fled, and I spoke again: "If I were a man more wretched, I'd ask if none would rid me of the turbulent Most Devout, but I shall forgive his slights once more."

The room was silent. "But the septon's word have some truth beyond them. Ser Vallyn, have Ser Jonos Edgerton summoned to the chamber."

We awaited in silence his arrival. Ser Jonos came, bowed his head low, and asked of duty: "What does Your Grace desire of me?"

"Ser Jonos, summon the men that remain of the host, and who have laid their eyes upon the holiest of relics, and choose from them five score of the most pious and eager for further duty. This Holy Hundred shall guard the Seven Stones, day and night in the Dragonpit, each in their turn. And for seven moons, the Stones shall remain there, so that the pilgrims may gaze upon them and speak their prayers."​

 

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Chapter XX: Concerning Tides



*** ​

To our Master of Ships, Lord Admiral and beloved uncle, The Most Noble Lord Alyn Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.

Since by the unjust action of the magisters of Lys, who has sailed against our ships without grievance or just cause, we are not bound to observe peace with the Free City of Lys, and war between us now has begun, we have proposed to fight against Lys and all its citizens by means of your help and counsel.

The Lyseni have taken to harassing the good merchants of our realm, and seizing their goods in a piratical manner, yet lacking cause for reprisal. Until full satisfaction is made to our subjects, we have ordered the arrest of all Lyseni merchants in our ports and of all the goods of the inhabitants of the Free City of Lys which we find in our jurisdiction in reprisal for the malefaction of said city.

Your person being at such time, engaged in war on behalf of our crown, for which you have our utmost gratitude, we have asked our trusty cousin, Ser Herman Harte, to oversee the affairs of your office, that, on account of distance, you find yourself unable to. Ser Herman, has been instructed to oversee that the goods of Lyseni merchants be placed in the custody of our officials, and we have sent royal words for such matter to White Harbor, Gulltown, Driftmark and the Weeping Town, to Oldtown, Lannisport, Lordsport and Seagard.

We have granted letters of reprisal to our subjects deprived of their lawful goods, so that they might proceed to be compensated for their losses. The properties and goods seized shall bring satisfaction to our merchants, and all goods that shall exceeds the amounts unlawfully and maliciously seized shall remain in the custody of our loyal servants, as our own retribution for the cost that war with Lys has forced upon us.

We commend and command the acquisition of the Stepstones, a deed on which you have foreseen the king's desire. It is our desire that our Lord Admiral and the ship-borne warriors and mariners he commands to root out from these isles the bandits of the sea, the sons of perdition which have made their nests here. In these islands much evil can be done, if they remain in the hands of evil men.

As they profess no loyalty or fealty to any king, prince, magister or archon, and have preyed equally upon any peaceful merchant ships that passed through the islands, we condemn them as enemies of all mankind, As we have asserted our sovereignty upon these islands, these villains are now our subjects, and subject to our law and authority. We condemn their malefactions and command you to treat them as out of the bounds of any court, hated by all honest folk, and "Outlaw!" shall be cried against them, and from such time forwards it is lawful for anyone to slay them. I remove their bodies and goods from the state of peace and rule them strifed, I proclaim them free of any redemption and rights. They shall not have peace and company on any roads, and shall be deprived of water and hearth fire, of bread and salt.

Upon the purging of these isles, we command that you fortify them, leaving them garrisoned in strength, for we mean to use them when we shall march upon Dorne, and bring to heel those murderous curs.

The Prince Martell has professed himself unbowed and bowed to our august brother, he has professed himself unbent, but bent his knee, he has professed himself unbroken, but broke his sworn oath. For that we shall break him, and we shall break and sunder Dorne.

When you shall pronounce your service done and commands fulfilled we shall summon you to the Red Keep, to present yourself to the Iron Throne and pay homage to your lawful sovereign as Lord of the Stepstones and Warden of the Narrow Sea, in recognition of your great deeds done in our service and the claim that your sadly passed lady wife, the princess Baela, possessed, as eldest child of our illustrious grandsire, the Prince Daemon Targaryen, once crowned as King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. If the Seven see fit that you should wed again, and a second wife shall bestow you sons, you shall not pass these lands and title upon such heirs, but shall leave heir of this fief your daughter, the Lady Laena. And if the gods take our beloved cousin, without heirs of her own body, upon your own death, such titles and lands shall return to our royal person.

Hear and obey.

May the Seven have you in their keeping.

Written in the day of the Feast of the Stranger, in our royal castle,

Baelor, First of His Name, by Divine Grace King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
​

***​

The septas were not pleased when Laena preferred sailing to needlework, the feel of the sea wind, cold and salty, upon her face rather sitting and gossiping with her handmaidens. It was her father that taught her sailing and fighting, that turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the protestations of the septas.

It was her father that understood that her spirit roamed beyond the fetters of the hearth. Were she another's man daughter, she would not have been treated such but would have been married off at the soonest opportunity. Yet here she was, eight and twenty, and still unwed. Her father never forced her hand to find a husband, nor did he keep her in Driftmark, for fear of losing his only child. It was to her late mother she owed such. Dead four and ten years ago, when Laena was not even a maid of age, she had left this world with words of warning towards her husband if he ever sought to shackle her daughter. And so, for the love she bore her mother, Alyn Velaryon denied her nothing.

And for the love she bore her father, Laena did not ask for naught, but for what her blood sang for. Her blood sang not for fire, even if she was her mother's daughter. A misshapen wyrm, blind and wingless had hatched in her crib, and tore a bloody chunk from her arm, and even now she bore the scar. Her father had hacked it to pieces, and her flame was extinguished when she was barely out of the womb. But for all that the song of fire had been doused before she could even understand its melody, she did not hear a sound of silence in her soul, but rather the melody of the sea.

Baelor had told her, at cousin Daena's wedding, that he had heard the music of the spheres in a dream, and a more wondrous harmony he could not ever conceive. She had not gainsaid him, but in her mind, nothing was more wondrous than the sea. The Seven might send the king visions of such wonderful music, but perhaps the Merling King had gifted her the longing and love of the sea she possessed.

It had stirred in her heart the moment her father first took her sailing. And no peace she would find afterwards under roof, or canopy or trees, but on a ship. It was years since Laena had slept in her chambers, for even when she was at Driftmark, she found no rest but in her hammock, in her cabin on the Moondancer.

For the yearning she was bestowed, Laena prayed not to the Seven, but to the Merling King and the Moon-Pale Maiden, gods of the sea, and closer to her heart and soul. She could only fathom the salt waves tossing and the towering sea, the song of the swan, the seagull singing instead of the laughter of men, the cry of the sea-fowl. The time for journeys came, and her soul called her eagerly, and sent her over the horizon, seeking foreign shores.

She was born to greatness, bold in her youth, graced with bravery by gods, and felt no fear as the sails unfurled, but wondered what fate willed for her.

She did not sail without purpose, either to travel to see some wonder, or for trade, or in her father's service. Such service now found her in the Stepstones, her ship but one of many in a great fleet. Great battles were not forthcoming, for the pirates were of many faces and many wills, and neither so unwise than to force a battle that would lead to great loss for them

The Westerosi ships were methodically clearing out the nests of the sea bandits, sailing in small convoys to avoid ambushes. They burned the ramshackle forts and the quays of would be corsair kings.

She came upon the ships of some Tyroshi pirate, eager perhaps to flee to the Basilisk Isles. The sea-robbers of the Stepstones preferred galleys, swifter to sail and thus to ambush, and easy to resupply in the archipelago. Her ship, and those of her father's fleet, were sailing ships, with no oars, slower but higher, and having thus an advantage over the lower ones.

They swarmed his ships and sent a veritable storm of arrows and bolt from bows and javelins upon the surrounded pillagers. Symon Overly, one of the archers upon her ships, sent each of his arrows with unrelenting accuracy, felling perhaps a few dozen of his foes.

They sent then grappling hooks, and boarded the ship, and relentlessly cut down their enemies, which fell as wheat before a scythe. They did not accept their surrender, and soon the last man fell, and was swiftly thrown overboard, and she claimed the ship as her own.

Fighting was her second love. She was grateful for the measure of strength and skill the gods gave her, and she put those to great use. To see a man cut down before her, and bring his doom to him gave her a sense of power before her own fate. She made death known to many, but the Stranger did not come for her, and she made her own path, as captain of her soul and master of her fate.

To fight and seek the death of another was to sail in an unknown sea, not knowing if a storm would bring her own death, her ship sunk in the deeps, or a strange wind would lead her to even stranger shores. But she sailed between life and death with the same fervour and skill with which she led her ship through the spears of the Merling Ling.
The barren sea monts rose from the wave above the father, some rising a hundred feet. For every spear that the eye could see, a dozen more were beneath the waves. To sail into the spears was treacherous, the bottom of her vessel liable to be ripped. But she sailed into them often, repeated testaments to her skill.

For the self-same reason she boarded enemy ships and gave battle to foes. It was not the spears in Blackwater Bay, but it was the same treacherous sailing boarding a ship, not knowing when a spear would strike and wound you, and your days upon the tides would be numbered.

But the peril of death, on sea or in battle, is what gave her pleasure. To take her life in her hands, and live by her own skill, and see the storm ends with her still standing, see the battle end and herself without a wound. She defied the fate of every man, time and time again, and fame, glory, and renown, which her father sought, meant nothing to her.

When she sailed, she imperilled her life, and surviving, gained the greatest prize of all – her life, time and time again.

And neither gods, kings or husbands would take this from her. For as long as her father lived, he would indulge her. And when the sad day of his passing would come, none could command her otherwise. For then she would be Mistress of the Tides, for all that she even now mastered them.​

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XXI: Storming and Marching​

A realm does not stand idle in absence of its king. A war is still waged even if a high commander is elsewhere. And so it was, that while King Baelor sowed death beyond the sea, in the Dornish Marches, blood was still shed. Once again enemies, the people on both sides of the Red Mountains had returned to their customs – raiding each other, driving cattle and sheep and killing anyone that stood in their way.

But these were no simple raids. His Grace had proclaimed war to the death against the Dornish, and commanded his loyal men to bear the red banner, which is the sign of death. There would not be mercy to be granted, save at the hand of the king himself. There would be no prisoners to be taken and ransomed, save those that the king wished to spare. And thus Reacher and Stormlander raided the Dornish, talking goods and lives with impunity.

But the Dornish proved themselves no lesser. Knowing that doom would soon approach them, they crossed the border and attacked with the self-same ferocity as their ancient enemies. The Wyl of Wyl, facing the unrelenting wrath and hatred of the house Targaryen, and the displeasure of his own prince, and knowing that the day of reckoning was near, had forsaken whatever oaths he still kept and proclaimed himself Vulture King, intent on being a greater malefactor than the first who bore that accursed name.

In Nightsong, the castle of the Lords Caron, a great gathering of nobility was held. Long claiming the title of Lord of the Marches, the Caron were now blessed by fortune, for the king had named their Lord as Warden of the Storm March for the duration of the war.

Yet the proud marcher lords, who had long rejected the dominion of Caron over them, had taken time to appease. But appeased they were at last – Dondaririon and Selmy, Swann and lesser ones like Elotte and Stormstone, Ridderk and Syward. And in that castle, they put their sign and seal upon a paper, binding their words on a parchment that said thus:

We undersigned, inhabitants of the Storm March of this kingdom of the Stormlands, understanding how it has pleased His Grace, our sovereign and our Lord Paramount to make and constitute Lord Royce Caron of Nightsong Warden and justice over all the march,

Acknowledging how we are in duty bound to service by our counsel and forces, to be employed in assistance of said warden in all things tending to the good rule and quietness of said March.,

Therefore we are bound and obliged, that we should serve the King and our liege, and obey and assist the said warden, and shall concur with others in giving of our advice and counsel, or with our forces in pursuit or defence of the said thieves, traitors, rebels, and other malefactors disobedient, or disturbers of the public peace.

If we shall be found remiss or negligent, we are content to be repute held and esteemed as favourers and partakers with the said thieves, traitors, rebels and malefactors in their treasonable and wicked deeds, and to be called, pursued, and punished therefore, according to these laws in example of others.

Lord Royce Caron, the old and grizzled warrior, had led once another host against another Vulture King, some year past. But now it was not so simple a matter. As Warden, it was laid in his hands to defend the Marches, but also to deliver justice.

And many cases came before him, traitors all. Opportunist Stormlanders communing with Dornishmen to bring depredation upon their own neighbours. Half-Dornish peasants harbouring reivers they called kin. Green boys so foolish as to wed Dornish maidens in time of war. Men without scruples warning the bandits of the Marcher lords' exploits, for a few coins. Greedier men, who sold bread or corn, or iron, or weapons to Dornishmen. Men who received in their homes pilgrims from Dorne – who the king had ordered to be turned away.

He had not the time to sit in long judgement over them, and by the words of trusted men, they were found guilty, pronounced traitors and felons, and swiftly hanged – a show of kindness, for he could have very well had them hanged first and sat in judgement after. They were to examples, a testimony that there will not be peace with Dorne until it was ground into dust. The King had proclaimed, far and wide, that the Dornish had spat on the banner of parley, after swearing on the Seven to obey the truce. They were now to be found oath-breakers, rebels and traitors, cunning serpents plotting against the peace and common good of the realm. They were to be denied ransom when taken prisoner, and no man should offer them bread and salt, or share his meal and hearth-fire with them.

One of the Most Devout had come and pronounced a great curse upon the Dornish. He cursed them in rest or labour, in food and drink, at home and outside. He cursed their wives, their children. He beseeched the gods to bring ill upon their crops, their cattle, their sheep, their horses, and all their livestock – which Caron would have quite liked to protest – he wished their livestock healthy, but inside his own stables. The septon then wished ills upon their halls and castles, palaces and towns. He called forth all the malevolent wishes and curses he knew, committed them to fire and sword.

He then parted them from the Holy Faith, delivered them to the Seven Hells. Barred them entrance to any divine service or holy rites, forbid the absolution of their sins – until they were humbled and their rebellion crushed.

He forbad all faithful and pious men and women to have any company with them – eating or drinking, speaking or praying, or in any other deed – under pain of deadly sin.
He discharged all bonds, acts, contract, oaths made to the Dornish by any persons, in sight of the Seven – than no man should be bound to them.

At last, the Most Devout proclaimed that when their candles shall be snuffed by the Strangers, their souls shall be turned from the face of the One, and they shall make satisfaction and penance in deepest pit of hell.

When Royce Caron did not spend his days in court, he gathered men and fought Dornish. Either he fought the Dornish reivers off, come to burn and plunder villages of the Stormlands, or he led himself forays in Dorne, doing the same to their lot.

When it was the first, he hunted Dornish with horse and sleuthhounds, with great speed, caught them and hanged them.

When it was the second, he burned villages and drove cattle and ship, riding on small hackneys, hiding during the days in glens, and sallying forth at night. It was to be their last hurrah, and the Marchers partaked in it with great appetite. Soon, Dorne would be humbled, and the very lands they raided would fall in the hands of second sons of Marchers and a way of life that survived centuries would end.

 

[BreezyWheeze]

This is fantastic. Thanks so much for sharing it with us.

One tiny quibble - the sudden switch to justified text instead of left-aligned is really jarring.

Especially for those of us reading on a phone, the smaller screen and justified layout makes for really unpleasant reading - words stretched out oddly, lines not breaking right, etc.

If it's all the same to you, would you be able to go back to left-aligned (as basically every other story on this site is laid out)?

Thanks again, looking forward to more!

EDIT: nevermind I see Ch 21 went back to left-aligned

 

[BreezyWheeze]

Also chapter 20 isn't threadmarked

 

[WinRarArchivist]

Chapter XXII: Wyllful Foes

​

Lord Wyl
The Boneway

When words came to him of a grand host of Stormlanders marching along the Boneway, bearing the red dragon banner, Wyland Wyl knew that the day of reckoning was near. Even so, he was no craven to await his doom patiently, and thus he gathered his banners, and sent men to ambush the Stormlanders along the mountain pass.

He had gathered his most able men, whatever he had left of them after wrestling enemies for the Stone Way twice now. He had even taken men of his own garrison, for they could be swiftly returned if the Stormlanders did not relent. He had also taken his own son, some men grown and forged in war, some younger and still green, leaving naught but his daughters at his castle. It would not do for the younger ones to grow with softened hearts behind castle walls.

For weeks he had troubled the Marchers, ambushing them day and night – with arrows and stones and logs thrown upon their heads, as they marched along the treacherous path. Though they lost men everyday, those stormy bastards never relented and made their way back.

It was only after a turn of the moon that Wyland realized, with growing unease, that his enemies were in no haste, their advance slow and meticulous, stopping to siege or storm every watchtower along the pass.

The sun set, and in the night a messenger came, and told him of his own folly. He had taken most of what forced remained to him, had crossed the river Wyl and had marched against the obvious enemy. And now word came of King Baelor, that wretched dragon, landing an army at the mouth of the river and besieging his castle.

He had cursed the messenger for not riding faster, and had him whipped for his tardiness, even if he were not so. His men had been roused from their slumber, and they made haste to return to his stronghold, to salvage what he could.

Yet as he rode back to his home, he saw his lands ravaged by his enemy, burned and looted, leaving naught for his horse and his men. It was stricken with hunger that his men arrived at last, only to see a great army surrounding his castle, and hidden behind another row of fortification – hastily assembled wooden ones, but enough that he could not simply strike at them in the night.

And most grievous of all, across the roaring rapids of the river, the sturdy stone bridge he had once used to ride for war was absent, and that which had allowed him his way forward did not allow it backwards. His castle was built south of the river, and he cursed his ancestors – each by their own name. His men needed to ford the river, and whatever ford they reached, soldiers would surely await them.

At last they reached a suitable ford to cross the river, and as they were in the process of it, what he surely knew befell him – dragon men struck forth those who passed the river, dragon men struck from behind – for Baelor's ships allowed him to put men on the other side of the river. Besides the latter, Stormlanders who pursued them attacked, as they had advanced with great haste through the suddenly undefended pass.

And upon that ford, the Ford of Wyl's Folly, Lord Wyland, Wyl of Wyl, once infamous through Dorne and Westeros, saw his host defeated and broken. Half his sons were slain, their red, gleaming blood gushing forth in the waters of the stream, quickly washed away to the sea. It was later said that the river drank so deeply of the blood of the fallen, that when the Lady Wyll had seen the river sudden turn red, he knew that her sons and husbands had fallen, and her cries of woe were heard far and wide.

***​

Ser Walter Waters - a knight of Dragonstone
Royal camp outside Castle Wyl

They had landed in front of the castle, unopposed, for the meagre garrison left had no desire to sally forth and die upon the shore.

They had quickly made camp, and preparations for the siege had begun. Great war engines were being built, sappers began their works, soldiers looted and burned the countryside to deny supplies to returning Wyl forces.

It took some time for that accursed Lord Wyl to figure out the trap he had nicely sprung itself into, a device sprung from the mind of the King itself. At Wyl's Folly, that wretched lord had been captured, with whatever sons he had left. The king had taken one look at him, but not decided yet his fate, and had ordered him and his brood returned as prisoners but asking them to be careful that their presence in the camp should not be known to the garrison. All were to behave as if the fighting men of that House had perished at the ford. Save for the youngest of the brood – Wyllard Wyll, but one and ten of age, who had served as his father's squire, and who seemed to be the least steeped in the cruelty of his bloodline.

The Castle Wyll was a powerful stronghold, and even if stormed, the defenders could easily hid in the caverns and tunnels beneath the castle, and continue their resistance. Rooting them would mean a lot of blood shed.

It was thus no surprise that the king had offered the Lady Wyll, who commanded in absence of her husband, terms for peace.

His Grace had dragged the lady's youngest son beneath the walls of the castle, where a scaffold had been hastily erected and threatened to hang the boy:

"My lady, if you would not cease your unlawful rebellion against your sovereign and surrender the castle into our hands, you leave me no choice, for all it grieves me to do so, but to hang your son, the last of your line. But if you would cease this strife, I am willing to offer life and exile for you and your son, although you shall be stripped of all title, land and income."

The lady's heart was not as black as her husband, and the love she bore her son was great indeed. The castle was swiftly surrendered, the garrison disarmed, and the lady in the custody of royal man, now tearily reunited with her son.

It was then that the king sent his men to bring forth the Lord Wyl and his other sons. Upon seeing them, the Lady Wyl was greatly surprised, and with an accusing face, turned towards the king and spoke:

"It is such the behaviour of a king? To lie and peddle falsehoods of the death of my husband and my other sons?"

The king laughed and explained himself, to the amusement of his commanders and lords: "What lie I have told you, my Lady Wyl? Is not your son born youngest of your womb and thus the last of your line brought in the world? Aye, I have hid the fact that your husband and elder sons have survived the battle from your sight and hearing. But I had no intention of sparing all House Wyl for their castle, for your husband's crimes were most grievous. I judged that your heart was mellow enough that you would surrender but for one of your sons. And I had judged right."

"You foul-minded fiend! You accursed wretched rascal!"

"Someone gag that miserable bitch" the King responded, his words unusually foul. He then turned towards Wyland Wyl, bound in chains and spoke again:

"Do you remember my words, Lord Wyl? For the wicked will be cut off from the earth, and the treacherous will be torn away from it. So I spoke then, and so will be your fate."
He turned then to men-at-arms and commanded them: "Bind him to four sand steeds and let his body be torn apart by the horses."

In frightful agony, his screams horrid and loud as a harridan, Lord Wyl met his doom. The horses being willful, the horses were long in disconnecting the sinews between his body and his limbs, and long were his pains. At long last his limbs were torn, and the lord still yet lived.

The king took his dagger, plunged into the villain's heart, and then ripped out his heart with his hand, raising it high into the sky: "Behold now his false heart! And know that I am bound by my words, hear them and ponder them!"

The man dead, the king gave new instruction: "Have his body cut into pieces and send heralds with each of them to the strongholds of Dorne to proclaim this: When they shall sight my banners on the horizon, the time for mercy would be long past."

After speaking such, the king made to return to his tent, but was stopped by Ser Jonos Edgerton, one of His Grace's confidants, and high in his counsel: "What about the lady and the sons of Wyl, Your Grace?"

The king turned his head and spoke: "Throw them into the pit of vipers and burn their corpses, save for the youngest. I promised him and his mother life and exile. Have them sent to that wretched island, Ghaston Grey, were they are to remain for the rest of their lifes and waste their years. That is exile enough, I believe."

As he looked upon his departing king, Ser Walter fell in deep thought. He had not thought Baelor Targaryen to have such a hardened heart in matters of warfare. In his brief tenure as Prince of Dragonstone, he had showed a disregard for skill at arms, more content to spend his time writing and reading. Yet, he thought, grief has a way of hardening the hearts of men, and not even the blood of the dragon is spared such.