The Great Council (SYOC)
Chapter 1: The Exile
The Free City of Myr
Rhaegel Targaryen was an enigma. That much was for sure. And Mariss wasn't even sure if Rhaegel knew who Rhaegel was. Mariss had served Rhaegel now for about four years, the duration he'd been in Myr for. When he had originally came, he had brought fire and blood. When he had stayed, he had settled a discontented city. But it didn't quell the discontent in his heart.
For a time, Mariss had been sure that the light haired beauty was something of an asexual, not preferring men or women in the bedroom. But then, Rhaegel's eyes would attach to a woman's bosom, or even to a man's crotch. He would walk into his room to calm him before his shift ended, and he would be stark naked, and to be honest, it would cause a stirring in Mariss' chest, but apparently none in Rhaegel's.
As Mariss climbed the stairs to the tower in which Rhaegel presided, he found himself thinking about the day Rhaegel had arrived. He had been just three-and-ten back then, his olive skin not quite the darker tone it would turn now, and his brown hair was close cropped, not the shaggy hair in which he possessed now. Back then, he had been a slave. He owed everything to Rhaegel. The stiff Targaryen had allowed him into his service, and allowed him to train and become his sworn shield. A number of adjectives could be described about Rhaegel Targaryen, but cruel was not one of them.
So, as he turned the handle to the Prince's bedroom, he pondered the question: why did he steal Zaira? The small green-and-white she-dragon was normally kept outside of Myr's direct city borders. When Rhaegel needed her, she would come.
Rhaegel was already in bed when he came in. The man was asleep, his nest of silvery blonde hair carefully done in thick braids that went down above the covers. Today should be an easy shift, Mariss thought. With Rhaegel already asleep, it should be no problem. And it wasn't, for about half an hour.
Then, a pounding on the door startled both him and the Prince. Mariss made his way quickly to the door, and opened it. Torchlight flickered in the hallway, giving light to a herald that stood in front of Mariss.
"What is it?" The guard hissed at him, angered that now he would have to calm Rhaegel back down enough to sleep.
"News for the Prince," The herald said with a confident tone.
"Tell me and be gone," Mariss snapped and waited for the message.
"King Valarr is dead. As is the Princess of Dragonstone. King Regent Viserys Targaryen reigns in their absence and has called for a Great Council of Westerosi lords to meet in Summerhall. Any Targaryen relation with a claim may send a raven to the Citadel within the next three weeks," He stated, holding up a small paper message that he had received.
"Dead?" Mariss whispered in wonderment as he closed the door.
"That changes things," Rhaegel's soft voice came from the bed, having heard every word that the herald said.
"I'm sorry for the disturbance, my Prince." Mariss said carefully as he approached the bed, but Rhaegel paid him no heed.
"The throne is more open than ever before," His voice was faint, but determined. "Open for the taking."
Mariss bit his lip, remembering words his mother used to say before she had passed. Be careful with those that believe they are destined, she would say, for they often ignore a great many faults of their own. He was finding that to be true in Rhaegel Targaryen.
"A question," Rhaegel turned to him from in his sheets, those violet eyes latching onto Mariss with an intensity that made him feel like the only man alive. Those eyes would've sent him to his knees when he was younger. But now, they just make him feel queasy.
"Yes, my Prince?"
"Will you come with me to Westeros?" Rhaegel asked openly, candidly.
"If you so desire, my Prince," Mariss replied honestly, not sure what his Myrish sworn sword could do in comparison to any Westerosi guard.
"I do," Rhaegel replied. "And a second one, if you wouldn't mind."
Mariss cracked a smile at the Prince's formality. "Only if you grant me one in return, my Prince."
Rhaegel nodded, not getting the joke in the slightest as he agreed to the man's demand. "What do you want out of being my sworn sword?" His eyes looked up at Mariss, waiting for the truth.
"Uh," Mariss grunted a little in an effort to clear his throat. "I can't say I'm sure, my Prince. The bags of gold do help keep me near." He admitted. That money had allowed him to purchase himself out of slavery, with a little nudging from Rhaegel to help.
"And your question?" Rhaegel looked up at him expectantly.
Ask it, a voice said in his head. "Why did you choose to leave Westeros?" He blurted out.
His pearly white teeth gently nibbled on his lower lip as he thought. Rhaegel slowly sat up in bed, revealing his pale chest to Mariss. He was muscular, having trained with the soldiers for years, with a red Targaryen dragon tattoo stretching over his left side. It was uncommon for royalty to have a tattoo, but Rhaegel was very different from any other royalty.
"They say it was for stealing a dragon," Rhaegel whispered. "For Zaira."
"Was that it?" Mariss asked, suddenly wanting the conversation to be over as he felt that Rhaegel was getting whipped up into one of his moods.
"No," Rhaegel's voice turned from soft to sharp, the syllable echoing through the room. "It was for this." He pushed back the covers and made his way to one side of the room.
Mariss kept in a gasp as he saw that the prince was undressed. See, that was what he was talking about. Some days, he would be completely dressed, and he would feel like the prince wanted him nowhere near. But on days like these, he remembered why his crush had been kindled a few years before. That muscular back, those toned legs...but he knew that he couldn't. He wouldn't.
His attention was distracted when he noticed the man pulling out a blade from a hidden compartment in the wall. There was no mistaking it. The black as night hilt, the ruby embedded in the center, it's domineering glow even in the blackness of the room. It could be none other than Blackfyre itself.
"My father said horrible things to me," Rhaegel winced as he spoke, tracing the hilt of the blade with his fingers. "I should go to the Citadel and foresake my claim. I was no Targaryen," His voice rose in anger as he spoke. "I was no son of his."
Mariss walked towards him and paid special attention to not stare, his hands gently going onto the older man's shoulders and rubbing the taut skin there. Rhaegel took a shallow breath and exhaled. "I knew taking a dragon would do nothing. Even if I did burn a section of the city on my way out. The way to get him would be to take the blade of kings. See, he had given Dark Sister to Viserys to use against the Dornish, and Blackfyre sat unused in his chambers most of the time. It took no real skill to take it. That's why he said I should never return. He knew I wouldn't return the sword."
"What do you do now?" He asked softly.
"It proves my claim," Rhaegel whispered faintly. "I have Blackfyre, I am the eldest born son. I ride a dragon. Nothing the pretenders can do can change destiny. You should know it as well as anyone, as you follow the Lord of Light?"
Mariss just nodded, the words of his mother still echoing lightly in his ears. But Rhaegel had taken a massive step towards legitimacy, and the sword simply proved it. He was a Targaryen. He was the eldest. And he was coming home.
Sunspear
Hardly anyone was more different to Rhaegel Targaryen than his own brother, Aerys. He was the delight of the Dornish court, dressed in fine silks, played up as their royal visitor from the Seven Kingdoms. Inside the sandy castle, the jests of "Maron's Maid" and "Dornish Delight" were replaced by the sounds of merry laughter and genuine amity among the Dornish that he stayed with.
It was a busy day in Sunspear, as many were visiting from other parts of Dorne. All the lords and ladies were itching to see both Princes, who were seated together on the floor of the wide dining hall. All of the tables had been cleared, giving lords and ladies more room to be seated and talk. Ladies grinned to themselves and pointed at the two royal men at the head of the hall, who were making the most of the situation.
Aerys was dressed in fine silk, given to the Dornish by Myr. The pale purple garment fit well with Aerys' eyes, and the shin-length boots that he wore clearly had an impression on his Dornish friend. His shoulder-length blonde hair was not nearly as long as some of his siblings or cousins, but it had been tied into a wide ponytail for that day.
If anyone had seen them at a Westerosi court, it would be cause for a major scandal. The far older Maron Martell, nearing 27 in fact, was grinning widely as his Targaryen lover slid into his lap, facing him.
"I wish I could stay here forever," The young prince whispered into the man's tan chest.
"You can," Maron murmured in response, allowing his hand to slide up the back of Aerys' shirt. "And we can keep doing this as long as you'd like. Dorne is independent. I would fight for you if I had to."
Aerys squirmed at the gentle touch of the Prince of Dorne, allowing himself to rub against Maron's crotch lightly. He knew the Prince had a busy schedule, but he knew just how to get him out of it…
Just as the Dornish prince started to tug his belt loose, a raven flew into the hall as fast as it could. Young Lord Yronwood was the one to receive it, and all talking went quiet. "King Valarr and Princess Viserra are dead. Viserys reigns as King Regent. Our allies are needed in King's Landing. Great Council at Summerhall in Three Weeks. Ser Athen Rosby."
Maron's eyes flashed darkly as he gripped the waist of Prince Aerys. The Dornish could vote at the Great Council, to be sure, but they could not send nearly as many numbers as those that were truly part of Westeros. And, the fact that Prince Aerys had told him a few days ago that he had transitioned from a man-maid to a man with Ser Rosby when he was just three-and-ten, was weighing on his mind. The fact that he'd have to work with him...didn't make him particularly happy.
People would say that Maron Martell's eyes were a combination of desire, jealousy, and rage in that moment. He would drag Aerys Targaryen to their bedchamber by his ponytail, the young prince protesting and promising that he had no part in it.
"What the hell?" Maron insisted when they got inside. "Now you must go! You have to present your claim at the Great Council."
"I don't have to do anything," Aerys pouted lightly, nursing his hair when Maron finally let go. "I could stay here with you, live here with you."
"No, no, no," Maron said darkly and angrily, spitting with rage at the fact that his pretty lover was being taken from him. "You have to. It's your birthright. Perhaps once things settle down...I can make a visit to King's Landing. You can come to Sunspear. But you have to go."
"Maron…" Aerys protested softly, sliding his hands down the Dornishman's loose pants and coming in contact with what he wished.
"Once more," Maron agreed as he stared at the young prince. When he began to complain again, he shushed him. "Then I send you to Summerhall."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: There are still a number of positions still available. Those that I need most include: any and all allies of the claimants, any lovers or betrothed or people who want to be one of those things with any of the Targaryens. Please send me a PM before you submit about what you want to do so I can effectively clear the spot for you. What I want most is future betrothed/married to any of the Princes/Princess, or a lover of any of these. You may submit Maron Martell or Ser Rosby, or anyone else for that matter. Just because they are mentioned as lovers does not mean they will remain that way. Things can change :) Thank you for all of your support! The form is on my profile. Submit one, two, three, I don't care, just get in here and have fun! And Review, of course.