Aerys's Many Deaths (5+1)
A Song of Ice and Fire, and all associated media, are the property of George R. R. Martin.
Gravity:
Aerys II Targaryen was annoyed. Rhaella, his stupid sister-wife, had lost another babe. This one hadn't even lasted a month. He would have fucked another one into her right then and there were it not for all the blood.
Damn it all, he needed more children! He had an heir—detestable and potentially traitorous he may be—and a spare, but that heir needed a wife. A proper wife. A Targaryen wife; of silver hair and violet eyes. But that couldn't happen so long as his useless Queen kept on losing children in her blasted womb!
Wait…while Targaryen's were the most famous in Westeros with those features, they were merely a symbol of Old Valyria. Yes, that's it! Old Blood, mixing together to make remake the Targaryen line after years and years of pollution. An excellent idea!
"Your Grace!"
Aerys's smile soured, and he turned. What was it? What caused his trusted Kingsguard to cry out in alarm? Who dared to strike against a Dragon?!
It was only when he stared to fall backwards that he realized his mistake.
/+/+/
Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, sighed forlornly as Rhaegar and the young Viserys held (or held onto, in the latter's case) their sobbing mother. "Damn shame," he whispered.
"Don't know what's worse," Oswell Whent whispered back, "Her tears, or his words."
Arthur winced as he recalled the King's harsh bellows not moments ago. No woman should ever have to hear such things, especially not from her own husband.
Just then, Gwayne Gaunt burst into the room, chest heaving.
Rhaegar immediately stood, and the Queen quickly composed herself, "What's wrong?" the young Prince asked with all the authority drilled into him over the years.
"Prince Rha—," Gaunt panted, "…Queen…King," he stumbled, bracing against the wall.
Whent strode over, helping his fellow Knight stand, "What is it man?"
"The King is dead!"
Queen Rhaella gasped, clutching Prince Viserys close to her chest. Rhaegar's violet eyes gleamed, "Arthur, Oswell! Get Mother and Viserys to safety! Gwayne, to the armory! We should be able to catch the cutthroat—"
"He," Gaunt gulped, "The King wasn't murdered."
Rhaegar jerked back, "Wha—what do you mean?" Gaunt looked down, biting his lip. "Ser Gaunt! How is my father dead?"
"The King, he…tripped down the stairs."
Silence.
"C-Come again," Rhaegar eventually whispered.
"There needs to be an official investigation," Gaunt said, "But I was there and…anyway, Ser Hightower told me to get you, my Prince."
Rhaegar nodded absentmindedly, "O-Oh…I see. Give me a moment."
Gaunt nodded, stepping outside the room. Quickly, Rhaegar went over to his remaining family, kissing them both on their forehead and whispering something, a smile on his and his mother's lips. He then rose, bowing to his mother, and left the room. "Stay," he commanded Arthur and Oswell. And stay they did.
In the years to come, a great many people would have a great many things to say about Aerys II and his untimely death. But all Arthur would care to remember were the lighter moods of the Royal Family thereafter.
Duskendale:
"My King, please, keep silent!" Barristan Selmy pleaded as he did his best to discreetly saddle a horse despite the bleeding cut down his arm.
"Why should I?!" the King hissed indignantly. "I am King! Dragon-Lord of all the miserable cretins!"
"Yes, but these miserable cretins currently have us all surrounded," the Knight grumbled into his beard. At the King's questioning grunt, he, without thinking, said aloud, "Lord Tywin is waiting for us just over the hill," he then stilled, cursing beneath his breath.
"TYWIN!" Aerys raged.
"Oi, who's there!"
Barristan cursed once more, "Hurry, your Grace. Atop the horse!"
Aerys grumbled something but did as asked.
Barristan quickly hopped up behind the King, securing his shield on his good arm—he'd definitely need it. He tightly gripped the reins, cracking them with a mighty bellow. The horse whinnied, bursting forward.
"There!" Someone shouted.
"Pelt them with arrows!" Another shouted.
"No! Kill them and we lose our leverage!"
"Yes, argue amongst yourselves," Barristan quietly begged. All the better for them to escape.
But then the King opened his mouth, "Enjoy your last breaths!" he screamed, "You shall all be put to the sword! Every man, woman, and child shall know the Dragon's wrath!"
The courtyard was silent, save for the steady, rapid sound of hoofs clopping against the ground.
TWANG TWANG TWANG TWANG
"Seven Hells!" Barristan spat, leaning forward, covering the King in his bigger, armored frame. He winced as arrows bounced off his shield.
"Unhand me!" Aerys yelled, futilely struggling in the stronger man's grasp.
"Your Grace," Barristan said through gritted teeth, "Please, for the love of the gods old and new—"
"I said. Unhand! Me!" the King wrenched himself free, straightening in the saddle. Right in the path of a steel-tipped arrow.
Barristan Selmy's senses dulled as his King bled out in front of him. Dimly, he could hear the panicked shouts of the soldiers around him, but all he could focus on was the blood seeping out the King's neck. He was so distracted, he didn't notice he'd made it to the Royal encampment until he saw Targaryen banners flying in the wind.
The next hour was a blur, and the next thing Barristan knew, he was sitting in Lord Tywin's tent, armor off, but the blood had already seeped onto the clothes beneath.
"Ser Barristan," the Hand began, "you performed your task admirably, but still failed. Worse," he shook his head, "your actions led to the King's death."
Barristan slowly nodded, getting off the chair and falling to his knees, "I understand," he hollowly stated, "I shall accept whatever punishment you deem fit."
Lord Tywin grunted, "That shall be up to your Lord Commander. Now, I have a King to avenge."
"If I may, Lord Tywin," Barristan began hesitantly, lifting his head up, "What shall you do?"
At that, the Lord smiled; a cruel, cold, mockery of a smile that sent shivers down Barristan's spine, "They dared to spill the blood of the King, good Ser. It's only appropriate that I repay them with Fire and Blood."
Dehydration:
"Your Grace, please, you must—"
"No!" King Aerys rasped through cracked, bloodied lips, "It's poison, you hear me, poison!"
The Maester—Aerys never bothered to learn their names—pursed his lips, "Please, your Grace, you must drink something!" as he said this, he lifted a mug.
But Aerys quickly swatted it away, "No! Are you deaf, you miserable rat?! It's poison, all poison!"
"Your Grace," Ser Hightower said in a low voice, "I must insist—"
"Do you not hear your King?!" Aerys raved, "Are you a traitorous rat as well?!"
Hightower bristled, straightening his stance, "…No, Your Grace."
"Then leave me! Besides, a Dragon subsits on Fire, not water. Fire and Blood—both of which I have in spades." Aerys then gasped, a blissful euphoria washing over his body. "Ha! See, you doubtful traitors! I am feeling better than ever! Better…than…ev…er…" he trailed off, vision darkening.
Gerold Hightower waited until King Aerys had fully passed out before hastily gesturing to the Measter, "Give him water!"
The chained man hesitated, "Good Ser…I am afraid that—"
But Gerold did not let him finish, grabbing the pitcher of water with a growl.
But, try as he might, he could not make the king drink.
Balerion:
Rhaella smiled as her granddaughter doted on the kitten her parents had gifted her. Balerion, Rhaegar named it, given how often it clawed and hissed and anyone that was not Rhaenys.
She smiled as she remembered the day her gooddaughter found the kitten. Of the smile on her and Rhaegar's faces when their little girl immediately fell in love with him. It was one of the things that told her that her son's marriage was, if not passionate, happy.
Her smile quickly died as Aerys stalked into the room. He'd been doing that often, of late. Barging into random rooms, "rooting out traitors and spies" he'd say. More like an excuse to burn innocent men and women.
Thankfully, he had enough sense to not burn members of his family. Though he did sneer when his gaze fell upon her, Rhaenys, and Balerion.
"I half-expected my traitorous ponce of a son here with you," he scoffed disgustedly. Rhaella had to put her extensive courtly experience to good use to keep the scowl off her face. "Where is he?"
Rhaella clasped her hands over her lap, "He is spending the day with his lady wife; she's feeling a bit ill."
As Rhaenys whimpered at the reminder of her mother's poor health, Aerys glowered, "Useless woman. Can't even birth a babe properly," he chortled cruelly, "No wonder you like her, you that much in common, at least."
While Rhaella clenched her jaw in an effort to stay silent, and Rhaenys leaned further against her, Balerion did not hesitate to hiss; as if sensing their discomfort.
A poor move, all things considered, given the way Aerys's eyes swiveled, glaring at the ball of fur. For a moment, Rhaella was worried Aerys was going to call for its death. But he merely said, "Ah, yes, the mockery of my ancestor's legacy." He stomped forward, "Give it here," he commanded.
Rhaella wanted to do no such thing. But she knew that if she didn't, Aerys would just command one of his Kingsguard to do it. So, she gently coaxed the kitten out of her granddaughter's shaking hands.
Aerys was quick to snatch it, holding it by the scruff of its fur. He glowered as it hissed at him, "Useless thing! What measure is a cat to a dr—"
MRRWEOW
"GAAH!"
Rhaella jumped at Aerys's pained screech. Balerion, more irritated than Rhaella had believed, rapidly clawed at him. It scratched at his wrists, forcing him let go, letting it scamper away, leaving behind bloody pawprints.
As Rhaenys called out for Balerion, Aerys seethed, "Someone skin that damn thing! I want to wear it as a belt!"
"Your Grace!" Ser Lewyn Martell called out, "Your wrists!"
Rhaella's eyes fell upon his wrists, and she gasped at the large amounts of blood pouring out from them, staining his robes, and the bandages still wrapped around them. Her husband cursed, "Dammit all! Get meeee…" he slurred his last word, soon staggering to his knees, and falling with a gasp.
Rhaella quickly gathered up Rhaenys, bolting out of the room.
In the following weeks, a great many people actually called for Balerion to be killed. But her son—King Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name—quelled such talks with a stern glare. He did take greater care in training the cat, however, so that such a…terrible…accident would never happen again.
Though Rhaella always did her best to reward the fearsome feline with as many treats as she could make up excuses for.
Fire:
"My King, I, once again, question the—"
"You dare question me, Tywin?!" Aerys growled, eyes alight with fury and madness.
The Hand slowly, carefully shook his head, "Of course not, your Grace. I merely wish to remind you that your own father nearly eradicated your whole house trying such a scheme."
"Yes, well, you'd certainly know all about that sort of thing, eh?"
Tywin said nothing, even as Aerys started to hum to the tune of 'The Rains of Castamere'.
"Your Grace," Gerold Hightower began, "would it not be wise to wait until the birth of your next child, before attempting this? That is, after all, how your family has always done things."
But Aerys waved his hand dismissively, "Damn woman is losing babes faster than a beggar their teeth. Besides," he gestured to the Pyromancers in front of them, "I have something they didn't!"
Tywin was tempted to say that the Aegon IV was the first (documented) Targaryen to use Wildfire in an attempt to 'create' dragons; but ultimately said nothing. After all, it's not like he was going to hurt anyone with it.
"Is it ready?" Aerys soon asked the Pyromancers.
Wisdom Belis nodded, "Aye, Your Grace. We'll inform you when you can begin."
That was the wrong thing to say. Tywin—and Sers Hightower, Martell, and Selmy—suppressed a sigh at the sight of the tell-tale rolling of Aerys's left shoulder—a habit that persisted since childhood. "You will inform me?" he harshly echoed.
To his credit, Belis quickly started apologizing, "W-What I meant, Your Grace, is that Wildfire—"
"Is Fire; and what are the words of my House?"
"Fire and Blood," Belis apprehensively answered.
"Exactly," Aerys hissed, stalking towards the dragon egg and vats of Wildfire.
"Y-Your Grace!" but Belis was quickly shoved aside.
Tywin felt an unfamiliar sense of dread settle in the bottom of his stomach. Hightower must have felt the same, given the way he started, "My King—"
But Aerys ignored him in favor of gathering the egg in his arms, stopping before one of the vats. "I will hatch a dragon!" he vowed as he shoved open the vat.
His first mistake was failing to notice the other Pyromancer's scramble away from him. His second mistake was opening the vat in such a violent manner. His third (and frankly, most ridiculous mistake) was leaning over the vat to peer into it.
He burst into emerald flames within seconds, barely able to scream before the Wildfire seeped into his lungs.
Hightower nearly tackled the King, until Tywin shouted, "Stop! Do you wish to burn as well?"
Hightower was visibly torn between duty and self-preservation. He ended up not needing to decide, as the Pyromancers quickly ran forward and started to put out the flames.
In the end, all that was left of Aerys was a half-melted corpse.
Tywin sighed, "Kingsguard, arrest these men for the murder of the King!" When no one moved, Tywin looked over his shoulder, "Now!" he barked.
That got the three men moving, quickly, if numbly, arresting the simpering Pyromancers.
Tywin's lips twitched into an almost-smirk; now, how to deal with the Dornishwoman?
Kingslayer:
Aerys growled, rapidly strumming his fingers against the Iron Throne—his birthright, HIS! Not some upstart rebels that thought they could subvert centuries of Targaryen rule. To say nothing of Tywin Lannister. Aerys snarled, the harsh sound echoing in the empty throne room; damn him! He'd always been jealous of Aerys, and why wouldn't he be? Dragons were by far more majestic than mere Lions. Joanna knew this simple fact, its why she loved him. Him, not Tywin, who in a jealous rage, stole her away!
Oh, but Aerys would get the last laugh! And laugh he did, for after today, Tywin would be dead; either by his own son's blade or burning in a sea of emerald flames.
Before Aerys could further imagine the ways in which Tywin would die, the sound of metal clanking against stone. A toothy smile formed on Aerys's lips as Jaime Lannister—white uniform stained red—all but slid a halt just in front of the main doors.
Aerys stared at the young man—with eyes and hair and skin and lips so much like his dear Joanna's—for a moment, before shouting triumphantly, "Ha! I knew you were loyal, as a Lion should be!" Aerys stood, wriggling in excitement as he climbed down the Iron Throne's steps, "Now, where's your traitorous father's body? Can't wait to see how Lion blood burns!"
But the young man shook his head, raising his blade, "This…this isn't my father's blood."
Aerys blinked, but before he could answer, the Kingsguard flicked his left hand outward. Aerys stared in mute horror as Rossart's pin clattered against the throne room's floor.
Aerys was frozen in place, before fear overtook him, and he turned and ran for his Throne. But the Lion proved faster than the Dragon, for before Aerys had even made it up the first step, Jaime Lannister had caught up to him, driving his sword through his back.
Aerys moaned as he stared disbelievingly at the blade sticking out his chest, "B-Blood…" he let out a strangled gasp as the blade wrenched out his body, and he fell onto the ground. "Fire and Blood," he rasped, "Not just Blood. Fire and Blood." He pressed a hand against the warm, crimson liquid, "FireandBloodandFireandBloodandFireandBlood—"
But in the end, there was no Fire. Only Blood.
A/N: Not at all meant to be taken seriously. Be sure to leave a review. Later.