Bloodraven

He was hand of the king, the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms, he spoke with the king's voice and yet he could not even convince a woman to marry him. This was the third time he had proposed to Shiera, and the third time she had rejected him. It was becoming like a game between them. They would make love and then come the morn would disperse to their own duties, Shiera was one of Queen Aelinor's ladies in waiting and Brynden was hand of the King, and yet there were times when he wondered why she never accepted his proposals, it could not be because of Aegor, the man was far away in Tyrosh never to ask for her hand ever again, and besides Shiera herself had admitted to him that she saw Aegor more as a brother than a lover. No she claimed to love Brynden and only him and yet he was not sure, perhaps they were not meant to be, but that was not something he could dwell on just now as he walked toward the Small Council chamber, Ser Roland Crakehall walked behind him, his boots clanging on the wooden floor. Briefly he wondered if the king would take the time from his reading to attend the meeting today.

It was the second year of Aerys' reign, and the troubles were mounting. The Great Spring Sickness that had claimed the lives of Daeron and Valarr and Matarys had left in its wake a great drought, the like of which had never before been seen in Westeros. With the drought had come the drying of rivers and wells, and a mass exodus of the smallfolk from their lands as they sought refuge elsewhere, most had come to King's Landing, thinking the King could provide for them. That was not the case, King's Landing itself was deeply struggling to maintain any sense of order within the streets, there was hunger and famine in the streets, that there was no disease was simply the luck of the gods. He had ordered the stragglers away and had ordered the gates closed and yet more people still came, it would only get worse before it got better, that was a saying his mother always used to say.

Ser Willam Wylde stood in his Kingsguard armour his white cloak draped on his shoulders billowing to the floor. Ser Wylde nodded as he saw Brynden and his sworn brother approach the small council chamber and stood to the side and allowed the hand to enter. The door closed behind him, and he surveyed the chamber. Not much of it had changed since Aerys had been king, there were books and papers still strewn on the table as they had been when Daeron had been king, the only change was that the chair where the King often sat, moulded into a throne with a dragon head, was no longer present. Aerys had ordered the chair moved to his room when he had become King, Brynden sat in a chair of oak embodied with a hand on its top, as he sat he looked through the papers that were to be discussed in the day's council meeting. As he began shifting through the papers, the door opened and in walked Grand Maester Manderly, followed closely by the Master of Ships Lord Alor Velaryon, on his coat tails came Master of Coin the heir to Casterly Rock Tybolt Lannister, and then Master of Whispers Odrick Royce and then lastly closing the doors behind him Lord Commander of Aerys Kingsguard, Ser Donnel of Duskendale. Master of Laws Prince Maekar was away gathering the royal levies to march on the Ironborn.

Brynden waited for them all to be seated before he began the session. "My lords thank you for coming. As you know we have several key issues to talk of. Lord Odrick if you could begin."

Odrick Royce was no lord in truth, a second son of a second son he had served as part of Brynden's Raven's Teeth during the Blackfyre rebellion and of course had been a part of the hand's spy network for many years before that, with a penchant for collecting secrets from those whose loyalty was still in doubt. Odrick cleared his throat. "Thank you my lord hand," he began in his iron baritone. "Word from the city reports that there are more and more deaths each day due to hunger and the famine. The smallfolk grumble and complain." He paused for a moment, then continued. "They complain of ill omens and such, claiming that the people are paying for the mistakes of the King and the Royal Family. "

Beside him, Lord Tybolt snorted, Lannisters did have a habit of thinking themselves above everyone even the blood royal. Brynden spoke. "Burn the bodies in the dragon pit. Have your men in the streets suss out who is talking treason and have them brought before me before the next court session."

Odrick nodded. "Anything more?"

"Yes my lord hand. My sources in the reach report that Lord Tyrell has begun mobilising men near the Mander to deal with the Ironborn he claims, but Prince Maron has sent word that there were incursions into his land and that they bore the rose of Highgarden."

Brynden cursed silently. It was just his luck, the Ironborn were raiding the west and the north, and Blackfyres were mobilising in the east and Lord Leo saw fit to renew age old hatred with Dorne. "Grand Maester, write to Lord Tyrell and tell him to state his intentions truly. If these men he is mobilising are truly to deal with the Ironborn then we shall let it be. However, if they are not then he is to disband them immediately, and under no circumstances are these men to enter Dorne unless the Blackfyres march on us."

Manderly nodded his head, the man was dutiful and had been serving as Grand Maester for as long as Brynden had been in the Red Keep, he was ageing it was true but he was loyal and stuck to his vows. More than could be said of the man the Citadel were thinking of sending once Manderly's day came.

Brynden turned his attention toward Lord Velaryon. "Will our ships be ready in time to mount an assault on Pyke should the need arise?"

"They will my lord. They await the King's command." Lord Velaryon stated.

"Good." He turned now to face Lord Tybolt. Lannister bore all the signature features of his family, the golden hair and green eyes, as well as the cocksureness and arrogance of wealth. "How much coin do we have and how much will a full war with the Ironborn cost?"

Lord Tybolt looked down quickly at his notes and swallowed once before replying. "The royal treasury has enough my lord hand. A war with the Ironborn may cost between 2 to three hundred dragons, should it come to it."

"Well let us hope that Prince Maekar can deal with Dagon Greyjoy effectively." The hand replied. He hoped, no, he prayed to both the old gods and the new that Maekar could deal with Dagon Greyjoy before the man took it in to his head and crowned himself King of the Iron Islands. So far the man had simply been content raiding the west, the north and the arbor, but should he learn the true extent of the weakness and uncertainty surrounding Aerys' reign there was every possibility that he would try and secede, and that was something Brynden could not allow to happen.

Once that conversation was done, the other less important topics were brought up for discussion. Things such as taxes and whether or not in light of the drought and the famine that was slowly beginning to spread across Westeros, taxes should be lowered. Brynden allowed the lords to argue back and forth. Lannister was of course in favour of keeping taxes as they were at present, the more money he was able to bring in the more closely aligned he back with the crown, and the more loyal Casterly Rock became to Aerys' reign. Lord Velaryon argued for raising them, his lands had not been affected by the drought, be it as they were in the Blackwater, but his daughters had been attacked in the street by beggars in King's Landing and he wished to punish the small folk for their crimes, he also wanted tougher laws and justice in place. Grand Maester Manderly was in favour of keeping them the same level, for no other reason than he believed it would serve no purpose to raise them unless they wished to drive the lords into the Blackfyres' hands should Daemon die and Haegon be crowned. Lord Commander Ser Donnel remained silent throughout the discussion, and Brynden knew why, Ser Donnel came from the old school of Kingsguard, one in which the white cloaks listened and listened and only voiced an opinion when related to the royal family or those closely connected, not otherwise.

Once it was decided that taxes would remain the same, talk then turned to dealing with the beggars and brigands on the roads, it was decided that the number of gold cloaks would have to increase and that orders should be sent to each lord and noble in the kingdom to keep a strict protection over their lands who walked on them. Those men convicted of crimes such as stealing, and other offences were to be sent to the Night's Watch.

Once that was done, the meeting was adjourned for another day, but as he watched the other members walk out Brynden asked Lord Tybolt to stay behind. He could tell that the man was nervous, many of the nobles of court were nervous around him, it had always been that way ever since he had been a child. The only ones who did not truly seem to mind him were Daeron, Shiera and Aelinor, Daeron was dead though so it was only women who trusted him, and that never looked good, especially in the eyes of a warrior like Ser Tybolt. Brynden saw the way the man looked more like a nervous cub than the proud lion he often portrayed himself as and decided to put the man at ease. "Ser Tybolt, I trust you spoke to your father about my offer?"

Tybolt swallowed nervously and replied, "Aye I did my lord."

"And what did he say?" Brynden asked patiently.

Tybolt swallowed again. "He agreed to the match my lord."

Brynden gave the man one of his rare smiles. "Good, so it is settled then. Princess Daenys will marry your son Lucion when she flowers."

Tybolt nodded, though he did not seem to happy with the notion. Brynden dismissed the man, and then sat alone for a few more moments in the small council chamber thinking merely thinking. He had been in the small council for nearly a quarter of a century now, he had served as Daeron's master of whispers before and during and after the Blackfyre rebellion. He had sat in the chair where Odrick now sat, Lord Hayford had sat where he now sat, and Baelor sat where Maekar usually sat. It seemed funny to him, the older he got, the more he thought of the past, he could now understand why Daeron had spent so much time engrossed in his books as his reign had come to an end, his brother had been trying to forget the hurtful memories of the past. Brynden could understand that, there was not a night that went by that he didn't wake up sweating and breathing heavily for having dreamt of that day on the Redgrass field where his arrows had killed Daemon and his sons Aegon and Aemon, he knew it was the right thing to have done, otherwise Daemon may have broken through to King's Landing before Baelor could have got there, but it still pained him and haunted him seeing Daemon's lifeless body with an arrow- his arrow- jutting through his throat.

Brynden sighed once more, got up out of the chair, and opened the door and walked out. Ser Ronald and Ser Willam followed him, Ser Willam left them as they passed by Maegor's holdfast, no doubt going to exchange duties with whomever it was who had the misfortune to be guarding Aerys now. Brynden bid Ser Ronald to wait outside as he walked down toward the black cells where Daemon's son was kept. The man was a traitor and an usurper, and yet Brynden found himself oddly fascinated by the boy, for that was what he was no matter what he claimed. The boy was more a singer than a warrior that much was certain, he looked like Daemon though- which was fitting considering he had been named after him- he was lean and lithe with shoulder length silver hair, and a silver beard that was scraggly from his time in chains. His hair was a mess too, something that made Brynden want to laugh, the first Daemon would have been horrified if his hair had been in the state that his son and namesake's was.

He stopped before the cell, and waited for the boy to look up. When he did, Brynden heard the chains begin to clank and screech. "Come to question me more?" the boy's voice was hoarse from disuse. "Well you're wasting your time. I have no more to give you, and no answers."

Brynden remained silent, in his experience the longer the silence stretched on the more people wished to fill it, and he knew this Daemon Blackfyre liked the sound of his own voice, just as much as his father had.

True enough, the boy soon spoke, and he sounded angry. "Bittersteel won't try and break me out if that is what you're worried about. He never did much like me. It was always Aegon and Aemon he liked, and then when they died, it was Haegon he shifted his focus to. I was only sent here so that I could drum up support for Haegon, no more , no less."

Brynden said nothing, but walked away and out of the black cells and back into the Red Keep. He would need to contact his spies in Tyrosh, Haegon would need to be dealt with before he became a serious threat. He was walking along back to the Tower of the Hand, Ser Roland following behind him, when Grand Maester Manderly came panting up to him, a raven scroll clutched in his hand.

Breathing heavily Manderly spoke. "My Lord Hand, a raven from Fair Isle. From Prince Maekar."

Brynden took the outstretched letter and read it eagerly, and gave a little laugh of joy. Maekar had managed to defeat Dagon Greyjoy in single combat. His army had been smashed by the combined Lannister- Stark- Crownland army, and Dagon's son Quinton had been slain as well. The Ironborn had surrendered. One problem was dealt with for now.