The Master of Coin I
The doors to the Great Hall shut behind Lord Mace Tyrell and the rest of the court before the hallway that led to it erupted into a buzz of whispers and gossip.
"Where is my daughter?" Mace asked looking about the group of Reachmen that had gathered around him. He saw Margaery then, talking with his mother. They were on their own stood beneath a great portrait of Aegon I and his sister-wives.
"What do you make of this then Lord Mace?" Ser Aerys Oakheart looked to his Lord Paramount questioningly with a raised eyebrow. He shook the ringlets of sand-brown hair from his eyes as he smirked. The golden oak tree of House Oakheart emblazoned on his green tunic above his heart. "What make you of this Dark Son, that presents himself a Prince before the court?" Before the chubby lord could answer his bannerman, Lord Randyll replied.
"The boy's a base-born bastard. The product of our King's disappearance with the Stark girl during the rebellion." The lord's stern face marked only by slight frown lines seemed to grow harder then as he continued, the crimson hunter of House Tarly bright against the Kelly green of his collared doublet. "But he seems as much a warrior as the King or the Black Stag was during the war." Mace knew the subject of sons was not a topic the lord wasn't fond of, having all but disowned his heir in favour of the second born, but he thought corrected Lord Tarly. Lest he misspeak in the Prince's presence. But again, before he could speak, another voice preceded his own.
"He's no bastard my lord. His Grace, the King married the boy's mother on the Ilse of Faces in the presence of a septon. In the eyes of all the gods he's trueborn." Mace's mother wore a rich green silk gown, embroidered with golden roses across the bosom with a golden necklace with the golden rose of Tyrell hanging as it's pendant. Lady Olenna Tyrell was an elderly woman, but she had an air about her that seemed to demand attention. All the lords that stood around the Master of Coin bowed their heads in respect to the matriarch of the Tyrell house. The presence of Lady Margaery on her arm didn't fail draw the eye of the other groups of lords and ladies that had gathered to gossip. Of all his children Margaery was his pride and glory.
A girl with both a sharp mind, long chestnut brown hair, Tyrell hazel eyes and a smile that would make even the boldest knight falter. The sky-blue gown she wore was covered in white roses and the azure shawl she wore about her shoulders. To say she was possibly the most beautiful of the ladies at court would not have been too overreaching. As beautiful as any princess should be, Mace thought bitterly. Curse that royal fool for seeing Margaery less than she is. The King had rejected his proposal to have Margaery wed the Prince Aegon. "Margaery is a fine lady, my lord," Rhaegar had said politely, "But Aegon is not meant for her." How dare he imply my daughter not worthy of a crown all her own. Mace was brought from his thoughts when his mother hooked her arm in his and promptly walked himself and Margaery out of the hallway and towards a small parlour room.
"What do you know?" Her question made his brow furrow as he looked at her completely lost. He saw her fingers twitch and he almost thought that she'd flick his ears, like she had done many times when he was a boy and didn't know something he should.
"The Prince, Mace. The dark haired one." She asked, a slight irritation in her voice, "What do you know about him?"
"He was headed to ward with Lord Stark ten or so years ago, until something happened to his ship." Mace tried to pick his brain for anything else he had heard since he assumed to office of Master of Coin. "The Starks and the King sent men to all the ports of Essos when they learned of his disappearance but found no trace and believe him dead. He was also born in Dorne." He felt his chest swell until his mother kissed her teeth.
"Half the Realm knows that, my dear. Give me anything new." Her tone was almost sarcastic but her face held all the seriousness that Mace had grown up with. "Is there nothing anyone has heard or speculated? Surely someone encountered him before he showed up in the Great Hall." Mace looked at his mother then wondering if she truly thought him incompetent.
"No one even knew the boy was alive until he literally presented himself before the King, Mother," He was at a loss and could feel the heat rise to his cheeks in embarrassment.
"Why are you both so interested in this new Prince anyway?" Margaery asked quietly, the sky-blue gown she wore creased slightly as she leaned forward in the chair she was sitting in. She was by far his most intelligent child with the exclusion of Willas and Mace could see that she clearly knew the answer to the question she was asking, of course, but as courtesy demanded she asked anyway.
"Oh, come now child, you're smarter that. When the King had rejected our offer of your hand to the Crowned Prince, we had been insulted yes, but had no issue with you wedding Aerion as a consolation. With the arrival of the dark prince however, why settle for a third son when a second is also free of duty and a King's want for prophesy? You and your siblings have been raised on the best of everything, the best tutors and teachers, the best foods and drink, the best silks and leathers, all to give House Tyrell the greatest chance to continue "growing strong," my dear. If the kingdoms were still seven, we would have seen you marry a prince of The Rock or a Prince of Winter, but we must make due with dragon less Dragons. Your father, for all his faults has promised you would be a princess, and Princess you will be my dear." The Queen of Thorns said with a wry smile as she picked a sweet cake from the tray a servant had just brought in, before looking to her son. Mace nodded in agreement before looking back to his daughter, her warm pools of chocolate brown meeting his own before he stroked the goatee about his lips and cheeks, a smile evident on his plump but comely face.
"A princess you shall be."
The Silver King I
"My son," Rhaegar said slowly as he stood before the strong young man that claimed to be his own, his voice thick with emotion as he remembered the past. He remembered finding Lyanna, his Knight of The Laughing Tree as she stripped herself of armour and mail hurriedly. He remembered how the buckled strap to the helmet she wore in the joust, had locked and she couldn't quite unlatch it. His father had commanded him to bring the nameless knight to heel or bring his head, "Whichever comes easier. Just be quick with it," the old mad King had said. Rhaegar did as any heir and son would do; he took his sword and with a heavy heart went to find the knight. His surprise at finding the knight had only been equalled upon his realisation that it was no knight, only a young lady dressed in random armour. He had helped her remove the helm, her long, dark hair fell down the centre of her back in a thick Northern braid. He'd seen many a beautiful maid, a multitude of comely faces. But Lyanna, Lyanna was all that and more. Her beauty was as wild as the lands her House hailed from, even from just how she stood there and scowled at him once she had realised just who had helped her, to the slight crease in her brow all of her was beautiful. It was her eyes, Rhaegar thought to himself then. Those eyes. Her eyes were a grey whose shade seemed to shift and change with her mood if not the winds. As they spent hours beneath that oak tree laughing and talking, he couldn't move his gaze from those pools of molten steel.
Looking at the man again, Rhaegar was filled with certainty. "You always had your mother's eyes." He smiled then, a sad one, but one that reached his eyes without being forced to. He hugged his son then, and looked at him from arms-length. "I sent you North a decade ago. And we were all distraught when we learned what had happened."
"We're you?" Jaehaerys looked from his father to his older half siblings, ignoring the Queen and her children. "I was a slave for three of those years, Father. Three years and not even the rumour that a prince was lost. No word of a father searching for his son."
It was then Rhaenys spoke, "Don't be stupid. If you truly believe that Father didn't send near a hundred men – trackers and bounty hunters alike – to find you before being advised that you were lost to us two years after the searches began, then you truly are as petulant as I remember." The frown on Jaehaerys' face deepened as he looked down at his older half-sister, who stared back at him defiantly, hands on hips.
"You two never did get along," Aegon said with a small smile, seeing his family whole again for the first time in ten years. "We truly did look for you, Jae. Don't tell me you've returned from the dead only to say you hate us all." Aegon's smile was broad but Rhaegar could see the fear in how his oldest son's throat bobbed.
Jaehaerys eyes clouded then, as though remembering darker times before he sighed and shook his head. "I tried. Truly. For so long I tried to hate you," He looked at them all then, "Even when I felt rod and cane against the skin of my back, I tried over and over to hate you all, but I couldn't." He looked like he had more to say but thought against it.
"You're home now." Rhaegar said firmly, "You are with us now, and we stand a completed family again." It was only then that he turned to his wife and noticed the scowl on her face. As Jaehaerys walked towards her, Aerion, Visenya and Bael.
"Step-Mother," He said firmly with a curt nod. He stepped before Aerion and looked him over, "I'd see to test your skill in the yard, Brother." Turning to Visenya before his brother could respond. Jaehaerys allowed himself to smile as he knelt before his younger sister. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he said with feigned confusion, "Are you sure you're my sister?"
Rhaegar couldn't help the broad smile that found his lips when Visenya wrapped her arms around her brother's neck. He knew he had grown distant with his children after Jaehaerys had disappeared, but Visenya had been the only of his children that still tried to get stories about their lost brother from him. I haven't been the best father, Rhaegar thought silently, scolding himself. But I will at the least try to be now. He watched as Jaehaerys turned to Bael, the youngest of all Rhaegar's offspring. Being only nine, Bael had never seen his older brother, nor truly heard memories of him.
"And who's this? This can't be my brother, Bael!" Jaehaerys exclaimed, "My brother is a young babe still and this be a great and mighty warrior!" Bael laughed then his cheeks tainted red, as he looked at the silly man who was his brother. "Warriors don't laugh, Bael," Jaehaerys said his voice stern and gruff. "Give me your best warriors face, Brother." There were smiles on all their faces as they watched young Bael scrunch up his face and produce a small growling sound that one would expect from one of the pups in the Red Keep's kennels.
Jaehaerys stood and turned to his father and his older siblings. "There's so much I need to tell you, Father. So much I need to show you all. Yet that can wait." He sighed as he looked from Rhaegar to Aegon, before unsheathing the longsword by his side. "This," He looked at the blade's dark ripples as he held it in the air. It was magnificent. "This is Blackfyre, Father." Rhaegar felt his eyes widen and his jaw slacken.
It was beautiful, the Valyrian steel blade black and grew swirls and ripples. The rain guard had a circular ruby on each side with the cross guard, black steel with each side wrought into the shape of a dragon's head with rubied eyes. The grip seemed just slightly more than one hand but less than a hand-and-a-half. The pommel was also a black steel dragon head, much like the two on each cross guard. But was larger with obsidian eyes. Rhaegar had never seen a weapon look so elegant. It's been lost for over a century, and still looks brand new. "How?" The question was simple but came out sounding eager and impatient.
"I was told I had earned it," Jaehaerys said simply with a shrug.
One of Rhaegar's silver brows rose as he looked from the blade to his son. His mind wondered just what kind of man Jaehaerys had become over the course of the past decade. The speculation he felt increased as his son sheathed the blade before continuing.
"If we could speak in private, Father. There are things you must know." Jaehaerys looked at Aegon and Rhaenys, "Just the four of us." Before Rhaegar could respond, the Queen stepped towards the darker prince her eyes narrowed with venom on her lips.
"You overstep your station, Bastard! You would exclude the King's own heirs, as though you are more than you are. Be careful, boy." Cersei's voice was shrill and loud as Rhaenys smirked knowing the golden bitch had crossed a line her Lord Father would not permit. Rhaegar's voice was cold and harsh then as he fought for control of his temper.
"Leave us," was his response as though the Queen was a common servant girl. Jaehaerys openly laughed and the Queen's face went white with realisation of what she had just said and in whose presence, she had spoken those words. The realm knew of Rhaegar's intolerance of those that question the legitimacy of his second son.
"My love surely Aerion is old enough to take part in this discussion." She all but pleaded, her eyes begging the King where her mouth would not speak the petitions that her pride forced silent. "It would give him the chance to know get to know this lost brother."
"I thought I was the bastard brother? Or does the intelligence you feign lack consistency, Step-Mother?" Jaehaerys spoke with amusement in his storm grey eyes and smirk playing at his lips that only widened when the Queen turned to send him a warning scowl.
"Don't speak to my mother like that. You are home now, in the presence of your betters. but that doesn't mean you can act the barbarian you were when you lived among filth and savages wherever that was. Leave us, Brother. A royal conversation is no place for a bastard, Royal or otherwise." Rhaegar's eyes bulged as all turned to Aerion then. Aegon just sighed and shook his head as the King reeled on his third son, the sound of the slap echoing through the space of the Great Hall. As Aerion stumbled to the ground Rhaegar clenched his hand into a fist but caught himself before he throttled the spoiled prince. Tears welled in his son's eyes as he held his reddening cheek.
"Leave us!" He commanded, his violet eyes cold stones on his 'King's Face'. "I will not repeat myself."
As Cersei took Bael by the hand, she narrowed her eyes at Rhaenys who was clearly struggling to hold back her joy at the Queen's dismissal. She grumbled a "Get up and do not cry" as she stormed towards the exit. Aerion getting up and scowling at his elder siblings and father before hurrying after his mother and brother. Visenya smiled sheepishly at Rhaegar and Jaehaerys before curtsying and following.
Rhaegar sighed and looked towards the closing doors of the Great Hall, evening out the crown of rubies and black steel atop his brow, before leading his three remaining children into a side room. He allowed himself to sit at the head of a table and focus on his son. Jaehaerys was taller than most men, thick arms and broad chest. The flat of his tunic marred only by the slight hints of strong abdominal muscles. A warrior, Rhaegar thought proudly.
"I've been to Old Valyria."
Rhaegar felt his eyes go wide as his son explained the story of how he'd taken some time to himself after the first half of his service in the Golden Company to travel to the roots of House Targaryen. His surprise furthered as the dark-haired youth recanted exactly what he saw. And more importantly who he encountered.
"I was fifteen when I took a leave of absence from my service in the Golden company to follow a feeling. We had just finished a small war against the Dothraki that were assaulting Astapor because the fat neb that ran it had stopped paying tribute. After we handled the Dothraki my Commander, Harry Strickland, who had taken me under his wing – a sort of squireship so to speak – gave me permission to follow the pull. I took a small fishing barge and sailed south from Slaver's Bay into the Smoking Sea. I managed to leave with most of my boat intact, but I was running low on supplies by the time I reached the southern-most island.
"You should have seen it Father, I'd expected fields of black ash and a wasteland barren and without life. But the island was coated in a blanket of green. When I left my boat, I found myself drawn towards the place, everything was calling me, my mind was screaming at me to go further and further inland. By the time I had reached the first hill I saw a small fortress – half destroyed – made entirely of smooth black stone. Against my better judgement I entered through the half-melted steel doors and found myself going down the stairwell, until I could have sworn I was dozens of feet into the earth of the island. There I found a single great weirwood door, by now the pulling feeling was more intense, as if I was being forced towards the door. I managed to force it open the door –. "
It was then Ser Jaime stood in the doorway of the large office that was adjacent to the Throne Room, the white mail of his Kingsguard armour seemed alive as his chest heaved. Catching his breath he looked to Rhaegar his eyes wide.
"Your Grace, come quickly, there's an incident in the court yard." Immediately the four Royals followed the knight out of the Great Hall, through the halls of the Red Keep and to the opened double doors that led to the court yard. It was filled with shouting men and screaming women as the lords and ladies tried to escape the court yards centre. It was then Rhaegar saw them, a group of twelve – six males, six females – all of them tall and strongly built, much like his own son, stood in a circle formation facing the five other Kingsguard and a score of guards that formed a larger circle about them.
All of the men and women wore dark grey scale like mail beneath the various tunics, shirts and breeches, like the armour the Conqueror donned for battle. They were all tall – the shortest of the women only slightly shorter than the guardsmen surrounding them – with pale silver hair and eyes that from what Rhaegar could see ranged from shades of amethyst purple to deep azure blue. Gods what is this? The King thought he was losing his mind. Every one of the twelve held a sword of dark rippling steel in their hands and it was only when the tallest man – a beast that was at least taller than The Hound – started shouting in High Valyrian that Rhaegar finally realised what was happening.
"Come, you fucking curs. Show us of the Old Blood, if our ancestors were right to leave this fucking island alone." His voice was hard and deep, his silver-blond hair cut short on the sides and back of his head with the top only slightly longer, a thick white beard covered his jaw. His sword as long as Ser Arthur's Dawn, and seemed to absorb the light around it into darkness.
"Peace, Aedar! All of you stand down," It was then all turned to Jaehaerys as the Prince shouted back in High Valyrian and walked towards the group. "This is my home. There is no need to spill blood for lack of reason." Without even the slightest hesitation all twelve sheathed their steel and brought a fist to their hearts.
"Forgive us, Archon." The all said in unison with heads bowed in respect. Rhaegar could see the unease in the Kingsguards and the King's Men guards when Jaehaerys told them to stand down, and all looked to him for certain it was a royal command. When Rhaegar nodded all men put away their steel and stepped back, but kept their hands close to their weapons.
"Jaehaerys," Rhaegar called, "I would have words in my solar." He left no room for argument before turning back into the keep and upon telling Jaehaerys tell his people to go back to the ships and wait for him, he headed towards the King's Solar.
Jaehaerys II
Jaehaerys stood outside the doors of the Great Hall waiting with the twelve who were closest to him. He was in the armour that he had claimed when he returned to island of Valyrian mainland after he took the head of the Khal of Khals. It was probably the most decorative piece of armour that he had ever seen and had at one point been the ceremonial armour of House Belaerys, one of the forty Dragonlord Families that resided in Old Valyria before The Doom. He wore a full shirt and pair of breeches forged of valyrian steel scales tainted with hints of cobalt and azure blues. The armour itself was the finest black steel. The placket chest piece was black plate covered by black dragon's wings that were accented in the same cobalt blue. The shoulder pieces rose in the shape of wings to just past the height of his wings, with pauldrons beneath to protect the upper arm and triceps. The vambrace guard that shielded his elbows were wrought into dragon's wings with a pair of black plate gauntlets. Its greaves had a guard that rose past his knees to protect his lower quads and his legs.
He turned to the giant that was Aedar and the other Valyrians that stood in less gaudy versions of his own plate armour. "Is this too much?" He asked in their Mother tongue, gesturing to himself, "Surely my battle armour would have been enough?" The twelve chuckled then and before Aedar Raentarys spoke.
"My father said that, that was an Archon's armour for occasions such as this, and you Jaehaerys are Archon." He placed an armoured hand on Jaehaerys' shoulder before turning back to pick up one side of one of the four great chests that contained the books, artefacts, weapons and precious stones that Jaehaerys opted to bring back with him.
"Are you nervous my love?" Haelyra asked him as she placed a hand on his chest, one of the shorter women of the group, a head or so shorter than him, but she was beautiful the same as any of the other Valyrian woman but even more so she was strong-willed and kind hearted, but as fierce a warrior as any of the men he considered brothers of battle. She had taken him to bed while still recovering from the injuries he had taken their final battle with the Dothraki. She spoke the Common Tongue well enough to pass as a Lyseni woman. Most of the twelve did in truth, they just didn't use it thinking it a lesser language that the Mother Tongue of Valyria.
The giant oak doors of the Great Hall opened as a courtier blew a small trumpet horn. Jaehaerys led the procession of thirteen down the centre of the hall with eight of the Valyrians in pairs carrying the four chests. As Lord Connington called out from the base of the Iron Throne, Jaehaerys came to stand a dozen paces from the dais of the throne, Haelyra stood tall and proud by his side. Jaehaerys had announced to the King and court of the Valyrians that were currently in the Capital and aboard their ships, and gifted the books and artefacts he had found to the royal family to replace those that had been lost to them with his father's birth at Summerhall, he made sure to keep the chest containing the weapons and other, more personal items shut. Rhaegar stood from his position atop the monstrous chair.
"Behold my own flesh and blood, my son. The same son that we thought was lost to us all those years ago. I lost a boy that day, and thought I would go the rest of my days with one less piece of my heart. But that boy I lost has come back to me a man grown, and a sound man he must be to lead these of true Valyrian descent that follow him. In my eyes there could be no greater gift, than my children about me." He let his eyes meet Jaehaerys' own as a broad and brilliant smile upon his features, "All of them. So, let it be heard and known throughout the Realm that I am not a solemn man that would let my son return home without celebration and laurels. Two months of celebrations and revelry, the prices of whores and alehouses halved by my own word. And I send invitation to all the Houses and Knights of the Realm to a Summerhall whose construction is finally complete, to witness and take part in the grandest tourney the realm has ever seen, to end this generous year. All in the honour of my son, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen."