Chapter 29 – The 14th day of November, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest
It was a clear morning, a fortnight after the hasty withdrawal from King's Landing, when a trio of helicopters flew through the Ring, turned north-east, and soared out over the Narrow Sea.
Two of the three were American-made Boeing CH-47 Chinooks, though one was in service with the Australian army and carried their contingent on board. The other one, slightly smaller, was a Chinese-made Changhe Z-18, the largest transport helicopter yet developed by the Peoples Republic's nascent aircraft industry. The Chinese ambassador had most politely turned down the offer of a Chinook of their own. The small formation quickly accelerated up to a cruising speed of 250km/h and settled in for the nearly five-hour flight.
It was shortly before local noon when they came in site of the coastline of Essos. The craft turned north, following the coast for the once hidden city that was now one of this world's greatest ports. Below them, the morning mist had cleared to reveal a landscape of rolling, forested hills. Dotted here and there were seaside villages, remote holdfasts and valley floors patchworked with farms.
Maybe half an hour later the land smoothed out into wild marshlands. River channels snaked their way back and forth between low-lying swamps, widening out until it was slightly difficult to tell where the land ended and the sea began. The choppers flew on, the pilots glancing regularly at their fuel gauges. They had done their homework however. High altitude aerial reconnaissance of Braavos had been ongoing regularly for the past month. The city was barely fifty miles further on.
They'd soon flown over the ring of hilly, pine-covered islands that surrounded the lagoon. It was quite apparent why the city had remained a hidden refuge for so long. Aside from the Titan of Braavos itself, no sign of the great city was visible from the sea. Regular fog and rains, combined with the treacherously narrow entrances to the lagoon, would have deterred all but the most daring seafarers in an age of sail and oar. Centuries later however, scores of ships came and went under the Titan's stern gaze each day. Sprawling across the islands beyond, the city looked to be at least twice the size of King's Landing.
The helicopters circled around the lagoon once, flying reasonably low so as to inspect the likely landing sites. With a bit of radio chatter back and forth, they decided the first proposed option was fine. The American Chinook came in to land on a flattish, treeless stretch on an island at the north end of the lagoon. The Australian and Chinese choppers followed, landing within a hundred meters of each other. Perhaps two kilometers to their south was the purple harbour where hundreds of colorful ships were moored. The Titan was on the far right, hidden by the intervening islands. To the left the great, purple domes of the Sealord's Palace were clearly visible.
The delegates from Earth filed out. About twenty were in each helicopter. They were a roughly even mix of diplomats and soldiers. Many walked the short distance to the island's south edge where a rare sandy beach met the water. There they waited. It took barely twenty minutes before the first purple-hulled galley from the arsenal of Braavos came within shouting distance. The crew was staring at them, open-mouthed and more than a touch fearful. The captain, a more unflappable sort, looked out at them and asked what purpose they served.
"Hello there!" shouted back the Australian ambassador. "We seek audience with the First Sealord of Braavos. We've come to trade!"
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The 21st day of November, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest
When Joffrey's coronation arrived, it was not quite the affair Cersei had always imagined. It had taken a week for the fires to die down and for some semblance of order to return to King's Landing.
The High Septon himself visited the battlefields along the embassy street and then the Red Keep itself. Cersei had never known the fat old oaf to be an emotional, or indeed, particularly pious sort, but he had genuinely wept at the sight of so many fallen. Close to fifty Faith Militant had perished in the fight to expel the Flying Men from the city. First they had resisted their treacherous attack on the Red Keep, from which the royal family had only narrowly escaped with their lives after the brave sacrifice of three Kingsguard. Then the faithful had rallied and stormed the embassies, braving the inhuman weapons the Stranger had armed their foes with before unleashing them through his Ring.
The wounded had been brought to the chambers of the Grand Maester and his acolytes. The holy dead had been gathered up in time as well, their bodies treated just as tenderly by the Silent Sisters. One by one, they were carried in procession up Visenya's Hill. The High Septon anointed them in the seven oils and declared their spirts would rise through all seven heavens until they would sit in judgement of all mortal men beside the Father himself.
Other, less inspiring tasks had been seen to as well. If nothing else, Cersei thought, her ambush appeared to have finally neutralized the threat of Eddard Stark. Survivors reported that he had taken half a dozen crossbows in the first moments of the battle. They had not found his body. It seemed the Flying Men had taken him away. Dead or alive she wasn't entirely sure, but he was gone from the city and with it his supporters had scattered. Lord Royce was in a dungeon. His sons were in hiding somewhere. The Gold Cloaks Stark had usurped to his cause had folded quickly. Most had surrendered and been compelled to kneel before the newly freed Janos Slynt and re-swear their loyalty before a watching audience of Septons. Humfrey Waters had been swiftly arrested, and along with a few seniors officers also confined within the black cells. Some might eventually regain their positions. Others would face the Wall or Ser Ilyn's blade.
Even as order returned to the city, Cersei had fretted. Though they had packed their embassies and departed the city, reports of flying machines, mere specks in the sky though they usually were, still came in daily from across the Crownlands and beyond. To the south-east, stories came in of Storm's End calling its banners. Renly had returned to his seat. Even more disturbing, he appeared to have done so by means of a flying machine of his own. The smallfolk spoke in awed tones of how he had charmed the Flying Men with his honest and courteous nature, and they had granted him one as a gift in return.
No Cersei knew. Lies. He'd bought it with gold. It hadn't even been his. Robert had gifted it to him from the royal treasury. It should be mine. It belongs to my son now.
Two day's ride to the north the Ring still sat. On a clear night now from the top of Maegor's she could sometimes see a strange, unearthly glow to the north-east where she knew it must lie. Fifield had mentioned something about the two world's days being out of cycle. At the moment it must have been night in one when it was day in the other. Her nights were now plagued by a constant false dawn. The Flying Men will return it seemed to say
But how to stop them?
Cersei had mulled over the problem for days. Robert was still on the other side of the Ring. He must not be allowed to return. But how? Could any possible invasion be mounted through it? She had to dismiss that option. A score of the Australian's green men had slaughtered hundreds of the finest warriors the Seven Kingdoms had to offer. She could hardly imagine what a whole army of them would be capable of. No, she could be under no illusions there.
But if they are so powerful, why haven't they come for us?
She thought back again to her conversations with Fifield. It seemed he had spoken the truth. They had the capabilities to invade, surely, but not the motivation. They don't fight aggressive wars. It is not in their nature any longer.
But they had given Renly a plane. Then they had tried to help Lord Stark in retrieving his household. They had interfered, but rarely, cautiously, almost surgically. They did not risk their own men. Cersei was reminded of the merchant princes across the Narrow Sea of which her father had always spoken with such contempt. They would not dirty their own hands in war but hire mercenaries to do it for them.
That was who she fought now. Renly, Stannis, the Starks, perhaps others who still thought her husband the rightful ruler and she the usurper. Only Robert had been a usurper too. How could anyone dismiss that point? He had no grater claim to the throne than anyone else, until he had smashed the previous regime until its every remnant was dead or fled.
So I must defeat their proxies, their mercenaries, Cersei reasoned. She must smash her enemies and tear down every remnant of the previous regime, until the Flying Men would have no choice but to recognize Joffrey as the new king, with her as regent. Then, perhaps, she could send envoys to treat with them and permit a fresh trade to begin. She could not deny the temptation. To have a flying machine of her own! Nah, a fleet of great red planes with golden wings! Lannister soldiers equipped with the deadliest firearms, an unstoppable army that could roll over entire continents. An army worthy of a dynasty that would last for a thousand years!
For a moment she could see the dream clearly, giddy with excitement, but it past swiftly. Even without fighting the Flying Men themselves, as long as their Ring remained open they could arm her enemies. One flying machine might not be decisive, but what if they gave Renly a dozen more? Or to Robb Stark or Hoster Tully? What if they gave them their own deadly firearms?
No, it would not do. She must neutralize the Ring somehow.
Finally, one morning, it had come to her, a solution so simple she hardly dared to believe it might work.
Now, another fortnight on, she stood twenty feet to the side of the Iron Throne, looking out over the motley lot of Crownlords that had responded to her invitation. Coughing old Lord Gyles of Rosby, Lady Tanda Stokeworth and her two daughters Falyse and Lollys, Ermesande Hayford, a babe betrothed to the queen's own cousin Tyrek Lannister, Renfred Rykker of Duskendale, Harwyn Buckwell and his entourage, having ridden down from Antlers, Jalabhar Xho, the exiled Summer Isles Prince who was a constant presence at court, and a few score lesser attendees.
It was a poor showing. When Robert had been crowned, half the great lords of Westeros had been in attendance. She might have hoped for a greater presence from the Westerlands at least, but Jamie was fresh from his victory at the Golden Tooth and marching towards Riverrun, while her father, defying her orders to head east, had instead gone north to occupy the Bracken's seat at Stone Hedge. She'd wanted to scream out loud at the news. Never mind the Riverlands. The Flying Men were a hundred times more dangerous than any Riverlord! As she had tried to explain to her father, yet still he refused to bring his army to the capital until he had finished his current campaign.
Despite her disappointments, the High Septon at least had proven reliable. He had come down to the Red Keep via litter to place the crown on Joffrey's head himself. She watched as her son rose as the King of the Andals, Roynar and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. As regent, Cersei herself claimed the title of 'Protector of the Realm'. The new king's first act was to appoint Tywin as Hand of the King. The next concerned the Kingsguard. With Ser Barristan Selmy and Mandon Moore having ventured into the Stranger's Ring, they were clearly no longer fit to protect the royal family. Three others had fallen to the Flying Men. Only Jaime and Ser Preston Greenfield were left. Joffrey immediately appointed the former as Lord Commander. There were five other slots to fill.
Ser Balon Swann came forward, kneeled before the Iron Throne, and was raised to the order. Sandor Clegane did the same, despite his infuriating refusal to be raised to the rank of a knight. It was an unprecedented appointment, but these were unprecedented times. Cersei deemed it necessary to appoint at least one other knight that day. Of the available candidates, the most promising seemed to be a young hedge knight named Tallad the Tall who had reportedly been born somewhere near Tumbleton. He certainly looked a strapping figure, standing of a height with the Hound. As he took his place at the foot of the Iron Throne beside three of his fellows, Cersei breathed a little easier. Two positions were still vacant but that was quite deliberate. She needed to win houses to her cause, and the younger sons of great houses would jump at the honor.
When the assemble lords had kneeled to pledge their fealty, Joffrey stood. For someone still so young he spoke with confidence, to Cersei's silent approval.
"Ser Bonifer the Good, come forward".
Cersei watched as the Stormlands knight, thin and past middle age, yet with a certain stoicism to him, came forward and kneeled before the throne. He walked with a slight limp. He had taken a minor wound during the siege of the embassies, then been beleaguered by their poisonous smoke to the point of near blindness, but he had since recovered. Clad in his armor emblazoned with the purple and white sigil of his house, he looked passably a hero.
"Your grace" Ser Bonifer Hasty said, with deep reverence. "What duty would you have of me?"
"I am the king now. My father Robert is gone, lost in the Stranger's Ring and twisted by the foul sorcery of the Flying Men. This we know. The Flying Men's assault on the city has been seen off, to the cost of many innocent lives."
Joffrey looked around the throne room briefly. Cersei followed his gaze, looking for signs of defiance or disagreement, but she saw none.
"However, as long as the Ring remains open, the threat to the realm is still great. There is no telling what evils the Flying Men will spread if they are left unchecked. I am told you fought bravely against them in the recent violence that engulfed the city."
"I fear no servants of the Stranger, your grace. It is written in The Seven-Pointed Star that spirits, wights and revenants cannot harm a pious man, so long as he is armored in his faith."
Joffrey nodded. "I am grateful for the service of such a holy man. I am told you command a company of such men?"
Ser Bonifer titled forward in his kneeling, until he was practically kissing the floor. "I do your grace. The Holy Hundred have assembled from far and wide. Day and night they rode to answer the call of the faith. Not only them, but many others besides have pledged their service. Though it has been but a moon's turn, the Faith Militant has been reborn, your grace. Thousands have pledged their service to that ancient blessed order of the Sword and Star. All wish to serve the faith, the throne and, through them, the gods above."
Cersei quietly nodded at this. The knight spoke it true. Her plan to restore the Faith Militant had proven even more fruitful than she'd hoped. Thousands had come forth to volunteer their services. Many had been begging brothers or wandering septons or the lowliest sort of scum from the likes of Fleabottom. A few had lost friends of family in the fights against the Flying Men and sought their own slice of revenge. A small number of hedge knights and highborn, aside from Ser Bonifer, had joined. She had opened the Red Keep's armory to their use and for the past few weeks they had been gathering each day to pray, train, eat and sleep. A few score Gold Cloaks had 'volunteered' as well, among those tempted by her quiet offer of a few gold dragons apiece.
On the advice of the Most Devout, Cersei had been appointing official leaders to the ranks of this newfound army. Lady Tanda's son in law, Ser Balman Byrch was among them, along with Dywen Rollingford from the Gold Cloaks, whom Cersei had given a knighthood for his loyalty, and stout, drunken Ser Dontos Hollard, the last scion of his house, perhaps hoping for some renewed glory. The leaders were hardly less a rabble than the footsoldiers, she lamented, but she dared not delay any longer, not while her enemies were busily gathering their strength.
"Your words bring such comfort to me Ser, and no doubt, to everyone else here" Joffrey went on. "We have all seen the power of the Flying Men. I fear that only the holiest among us may be able to resist them. I have faith though, that the gods are merciful and will banish such evil from the realm."
"Of course your grace. I cannot agree more."
Joffrey glanced at his mother. Cersei nodded at him. The king looked back at the kneeling knight.
"As such, in accordance with my authority as king, I see fit to raise you to the rank of lord. In time, in return for your leal service, I would see you granted lands and a holdfast of your own, of a nature to be determined. For now, I see fit to grant you command of the armies of the Faith Militant. I charge you to march on the Stranger's Ring on the morrow and end this menace to the entire realm."
Ser, no, Lord Bonifer's lips were just about touching the stone floor now. Nonetheless, his words carried clear for the whole throneroom to hear.
"I thank you most deeply, your grace. Yet the only reward I seek for myself is to bring the Father's justice to those who would commit evil. I will not fail you. Though the Stranger may oppose us, the Crone will light our way and the Warrior will surely grant strength to our arms."