Aegon Blackfyre
He'd been winning the war that much he knew. The Westerlands were burning, the Ironborn had done their job just as his uncle Daeron said that they would. The Lannisters embroiled in their own succession crisis had done nothing when Steffon Cassel had led men to aid the rebel Westerlords against Lord Lefford, they had done nothing when Lannisport had burned and the Green lion had fled with his tail between his legs. Nothing, the Lannisters had done nothing and so the Ironborn had moved onto the Reach, capturing the Shield Islands and subduing them in his name before they had gone onto attack the Arbor. At first Aegon had questioned the wisdom of such a move, but when the news had reached him that they had made off with most of the riches the Arbor had to offer as well as burning half the royal fleet he had been well pleased.
Then there had been the battles he had fought in. High Heart had been his first actual taste of battle, and it had been something that he had not enjoyed but something that had helped show that he was not a weakling. Something that many had assumed simply because he preferred books to swords like his father and grandfather before him. High Heart had seen him slay many a lord, lords who should have realised the errors of their ways and bent the knee to him. Their deaths still weighed heavily on his mind at times. Their dying screams still ringing in his ears when he slept and Daena could not provide any comfort. From High Heart they had moved to Harrenhal where they had spent five moons sitting, planning and waiting. Whilst the lords of the north had become frustrated with the way things were going, Aegon had sat in discussion with his uncle and planned all that needed to be done and what needed to be said was said.
The Golden Company had joined them as well as the Company of the Cat and the Second Sons and Aegon had been confident that they could win. When they received news of the host coming up from the crownlands, Aegon had smiled, Maekar Targaryen had fallen into the trap that had been set, it mattered not that Lord Jonothor Arryn was leading another host from the Vale to deal with them as well. The Golden Company and the Company of the Cat was sent out along with some other northmen and rivermen to deal with them, and that battle had gone well from what Aegon had been told.
His own battle, at the Old God's Edge, had been something that he knew would be made into song. He had fought with all his might and it seemed to him as if he had become unstoppable. All those hours in the practice yard were coming in handy as he ducked and dived through men, and cut them down as if they were nothing more than flies. Swinging Blackfyre as if he was a man possessed, something that come over him, some outer force had come forth and taken refuge within him and was filling him with the strength he needed. He had cut a bloody path through the traitors, the Targaryen men cutting through Darklyn, Rosby and Hollard men, swatting them away as if they were no more than flies.
He had clashed with a man of the Kingsguard, Ser Steffon he would later learn was his name, a good fight it had been. Both men had swung their swords, and met in a clash of steel multiple times, swinging, hacking and slashing at one another, cutting through each other's defences multiple times. Both men had been exhausted, battered and bruised and yet they continued to fight. Aegon using the strength he had been given to continue swinging, to continue rising his sword up in the air and bring it crashing down. He had eventually come good of the duel a sharp thrust piercing through Ser Steffon's armour above his heart, the wound Blackfyre opened made the man slump in his horse and bleed out. Aegon rode on.
The fight continued, around him men had been fighting, screaming and dying. Carnage, it seemed to him as if they were winning, as if the Targaryen host would break and victory would finally be theirs. Aegon had cut down two men who had come charging towards him, as he had been riding through the throng of battle. Blackfyre had been stained red the ground had been drinking up the blood, like some sort of hungry deprived man in the streets of Flea Bottom he had heard of. And then the arrow had hit him. It had come out of nowhere, one minute he had been charging through the throng, his sword raised high, and then the next he had woken up in a tent somewhere north of Harrenhal, closer to the Twins than where battle had happened.
When he had woken up, he had thought he had been captured, and then his uncle had come into focus. Daeron Stark looked gaunt and angry, and when he spoke his voice shook with barely controlled rage. It turned out that Aegon had been struck by two arrows, both of which had hit his helm with such force he had been thrown from his horse. When his guards had seen him lying motionless on the ground, they had feared him dead, and so not wanting the Targaryens to get his body, they had dismounted and slung him onto his horse and strapped him down, only to find him unconscious not dead, but the damage had been done. Not seeing their king amongst them, the men had begun to break and were fleeing north.
Aegon's uncle had seen his men fleeing and had feared the worst as well and so he had ordered the rest of the men to end the slaughter and retreat. "We knew not whether you would survive. But I would not let them take you."His uncle had said. And so the northern army had left the Battle of Old God's Ridge and had fled north marching at a furious pace until the Twins came into sight, where they had made camp until Aegon had been fit enough to ride once more. And so he had come back to Winterfell not as the victorious king he had envisioned but rather as a man who had been beaten by some freak accident.
It had been a year since then and yet it still angered him thinking about it. To be so close to victory, only to be brought down by some godsforsaken arrows, that just happened to be hurtling towards him? That was the most aggravating thing about it all, if not for those two arrows he likely would be sitting on the Iron Throne right now. But no, he was in Winterfell a defeated but alive prince, still in exile and it angered him. It angered his uncle, and great uncle as well, he knew and it angered the northern lords who had given much for him and his cause. The only positives to come out of this was that the Targaryen strength was much weakened the war had done that to them, no demands would be made of the rebels now and the fact that Jonothor Arryn had died at the Battle of the Roads and his men had been scattered like the wind.
The Golden Company had retreated back to Winterfell with the northern host, some 5,000 men remaining from the 10,000 that had fought the Valemen. His great uncle Ser Aegor Rivers and his uncle Haegon had been the commanders that had returned with them as well. His uncle Monterys slain by Lord Corbray, his uncle Daeron Blackfyre killed in the retreat. Both men had seemed remorseful and angry, but had both promised that the next time they would win and he would sit the throne. It did nothing for the anger he felt, his uncles had left for White Harbour some moons ago and were likely back in Essos now plotting some new plan of action, but Aegon still felt helpless.
His wife and children were the only source of comfort Aegon had in his otherwise torturous day. Sweet Daena who he loved with all his heart, she had put aside her doubts and fears and was spending more time with him trying to bring him back to the person he had been before the war, and whilst he loved her all the more for it, he just couldn't do it, he needed something to focus his anger on and his wife and children were not it. His children, gods that was a strange feeling knowing he was a father, Jaehaerys, Alysanne and Aegor all of whom were quickly growing up before his very eyes. It was a scary thought. Jaehaerys was already showing signs of being a leader, he was very bossy when playing with his siblings and cousins, and Alysanne seemed to be the only tempering influence for him in terms of that. His sister Rhaenrya had wed the heir to Pyke and had just recently given birth to her own child, a son she had named Aemon in their father's honour. His brothers, Daeron, Viserys and Quentyn all displayed the same sort of skill in martial arms as he had and all in all the family was doing well.
Still it seemed as if the gods were not done tormenting him yet. His mother Barbery had died suddenly in her sleep just over a week ago, there had been no warning, no indication that she was unwell, she had just gone to sleep one night and never woken up again. Aegon had been the one to light the torch that burned her body, had been the one to say the words that needed saying, and had been the one to intern his mother's ashes in the urn that would lay beside his father's. All of this he had done in a numb state of mind, there was so much pain that he did not want to face, so much anger that needed to be exorcised and yet there was no way for him to do that, without negatively affecting his family or even his cause.
That was why he was in his uncle's solar now. King Daeron Stark, a formidable man, a man Aegon was intimidated and inspired by in equal turns, it seemed had sensed his restlessness and had summoned him to talk about it. His uncle was sat by the fire staring into space, but then when Aegon coughed he turned round and smiled wearily. "Forgive me Aegon, my mind wanders often these days. You must be wondering why I have asked you here when there is no pressing need." Aegon nods. "Well there is. I have noticed your restlessness and your frustration about the whole war have become more noticeable over the past few months. I must tell you now that brooding on the matter will not make it any better only action will, and yet we must wait for the right time before we strike again otherwise we will not have the support that we should have."
"What would you have me do then uncle?" Aegon asked his frustration coming through. "My brothers are away visiting White Harbour, Rhaenrya is at Pyke and Daena is busy with the children. I cannot ride anywhere without having one of the damnable Winter's Guard follow me, and I cannot go into the practice yard without memories of the war entering my head. What am I do to then, if not pace?"
His uncle sighs then, and the grief and the worries of a kingdom show on his face for a brief moment. "I am going hunting in the Wolfswood with some members of the court and other important lords. You will be joining us, and you shall exorcise your demons there and then. When we come back from the hunt, you will not brood nor will you pace. You are a dragon not some caged animal. It is time you acted like one."
Lord Domeric Bolton
The war had ended, not with a Targaryen or a Blackfyre claimant's blood staining the ground but with the forces of the north breaking and fleeing. It appeared that Aegon Blackfyre, the boy who was being sent to claim the Iron Throne, had been knocked unconscious by the sting of two arrows hitting his helm, that and that alone had halted the progress of the northmen and the rebel riverlords as they pushed for King's Landing. It seemed as if those two arrows had been a godsend for if they had not been sent, then it was very likely that King Maekar would have died, and the whole army of the Targaryens would have been broken and destroyed.
As no such thing had happened, Domeric was relieved, for it meant that his contribution to the war would actually be recognised. He had lived in the south for twenty years now, ever since the failed rebellion led by his father had caused him to flee with his tail between his legs like some whipped cur. His father and two older brothers were dead and had been rotting in the ground for some time now, but Domeric, Domeric had done all he could to make sure he earnt himself a place at the Targaryen's side.
Daeron the Good had named him Lord of Harroway's Town and with his marriage to Lysa Darry, he had some claim on the Darry lands. His wife was a nice and simple lady, who was good looking and knew how to run a household, she had borne him six children, four boys and two girls. The eldest of his sons Lyman had been the king's own squire before being knighted on the battlefield during the war. His eldest daughter Melissa was married to the heir of Casterly Rock, and as such he had powerful connections.
It had taken time though for him to build such connections, hard work and a tireless devotion to dealing with the bandits and other issues that might have plagued his overlords in House Tully, had gotten him into their good graces and then his performance in the last two wars had earnt him recognition from the crown and just reward. In this war, it had been he who had commanded the King's left side, leading the charge that had nearly caused the northmen to break and flee in the first place, it had been his plans that had seen Lord Jonnel Manderly slain, and his sons killed as well. It had been he who had suggested to the King that the Redwyne fleet be sent to the Vale and that the Royal fleet be sent to destroy the Ironborn.
The King had recognised his contributions to the war and had given him the lands striped from Houses Shawney and Goodbrook as part of his reward, the other part had been to name his son to the Kingsguard, his second son Beron was now Ser Beron Bolton of the Kingsguard replacing Ser Roland Crakehall. Such rewards had made Domeric feel truly honoured but he had been surprised when the King had announced that some of the lands striped from House Lothston would now belong to him as well. That had been unexpected, what with the Targaryens hold on the Iron Throne being weakened by this war, he had not thought that the King would risk burning bridges with the Lothstons. But it did seem as if the Lothstons themselves had burnt those bridges. Lord Armond Lothston had been hung from the gallows once the northmen had fled, his son and heir killed during the fighting. The new lord of Harrenhal was but a child, a child who was being fostered in King's Landing and as the last of his line would more than likely be more loyal to the crown than any of his forbearers if he wished to inherit his ancestors seat.
Still despite the honours the king had given him, he could not help feeling that perhaps he ought to have been given Harrenhal. He had done more for the king than any of the Crownlords, and the Stormlords were only now beginning to break the hold the Blackfyres had held over them for the duration of the war, House Tully had failed once more to live up to is status as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and thus the Riverlands had bled during the war once more. Domeric could not help but feel as if perhaps he should have pressed the king to make him Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Paramount of the Trident, for he was certain he would have been able to do a better job of keeping the Riverlords in line than House Tully had been doing as of late.
He was not however, willing to push the good fortune he had found under King Maekar any further. He did not wish to alienate or anger the king, for risk of perhaps harming his son's chances of becoming a great lord one day. And besides there was always the burning in the back of his heart for a return home, back to the Dreadfort where he would be able to deal with the Starks once and for all, and though such a thing seemed unlikely now, he did not wish to alienate the Royal family with his demands, when if he continued to remain in their good books he could ask for certain services or at least his descendents could in the future.
Still when the King had offered him the post of master of laws on the small council he had been most honoured and willing to accept. And from the council sessions he had sat on since the war had ended, it had become clear that he had been wise in accepting. The council was divided and there were many within it whose loyalty was suspect at best, treacherous at worst. King Maekar trusted very few people though he often listened to the advice of his hand and his son, so Domeric had taken to listening very closely whenever the two spoke.
Today was one such occasion, gathered as they were in the small council chamber. Discussing the issue of the Blackwoods. Master of Whispers Michael Stone spoke in that sultry tone of his. "My sources report that the Brackens are the ones behind the unrest of the smallfolk in Blackwood lands. They hope to gain the lands they believe the Blackwoods stole from them in the Age of Heroes by doing so."
The king looked unimpressed. "Do the Brackens have any actual reasons for causing such strife in the realm? Or do they simply wish for more land?"
Stone had that annoying smile on his face once more. "They are using the fact that the Blackwoods are followers of the Old Gods and that they did not do all they could at High Heart to protect Lord Tully, as their reason for trying to seize the Blackwood lands."
There was silence for a moment, as all looked at Domeric, his family had followed the Old Gods in the north but they were in the south now and so followed the Seven, Domeric had never believed in Gods though be they trees or statues. So he merely said. "Well then they have a very good justification for taking the Blackwood lands do they not? After all we have learnt what sort of traitors the Old Gods breed in the Starks. Why should we have Old God followers in the south when we can have them removed and dealt with?"
The King looked at him then and asked. "What do you mean Lord Bolton?"
Domeric kept his face expressionless as he spoke. "Why interfere in the issue between two old age rivals Your Grace? Let them fight each other and bleed each other dry, and when the dust has settled House Blackwood will be done and finished and House Bracken's power will be diminished. They might hold extra land, but they will have to work to consolidate their hold over it. And that is where they will need to work with you Your Grace."
"Lord Bolton speaks the truth Your Grace. House Tully is not getting involved in the conflict and neither should the throne. It would look bad if you were to support one side over the other." Lord Steffon Piper said.
The King's son spoke then his voice laced with concern. "You would allow the conflict to continue and cost the lives of thousands of innocent people my lords? Surely after one war has just finished we do not need yet another war on our hands."
The boy had a good heart but there were somethings he was ignorant of or maybe naive was a better word. Domeric smiled at the man and said softly. "Aye innocents will die, but they will die regardless of whether or not the throne get's involved my prince. It is better to let the two old age rivals fight it out, and the winner will keep their heads and their lands, whilst the loser will either be dead or fled. The throne cannot afford to get involved it is better this way."
The Prince did not seem happy with his words but the king merely nodded. "That makes sense. Very well we shall let events unfold naturally; however, if it looks like it will spread beyond their little conflict, I will get involved. I will not have another rebellion on my hands. Now what other news is there for us to discuss?"
Master of Ships Lord Andros Celtigar spoke then, his voice weedy and waspish. "The war galleys that you asked to be built are complete and ready for inspection Your Grace. All 50 of them should be fit to sail into battle and for other voyages."
The King nodded and then asked. "Has there been any sighting of Velaryon?"
Lord Velaryon had disappeared along with ten of his war galleys after sailing from the Driftmark for the Arbor, no one had seen him since and no one knew where he had gone. Michael Stone shook his head. "No Your Grace. But my sources continue looking."
The King nodded and then said. "Soon enough the Driftmark will have to be set to rights. I will not leave that place unattended or accounted for. Now what more news do you have for me?"
Grand Maester Geribald spoke then. "Your Grace, Lord Robert has finally passed on. I did the best I could to treat his wounds and ease his pain, but they were to deep and severe for me to completely heal."
Lord Robert Darklyn the master of coin, a fickle man and proud as well, he had fought at the Old God's Ridge, wounded by Aegor Stark and dead now, most likely from poison. The king nodded and then said. "Very well then, Aegon write to Darklyn's son and offer him our condolences, and also write to Lord Tyrell and tell him that the position of master of coin is now his for the taking." Domeric saw the king's son nod and then scratch down what it was he was asked to do.
Stone spoke next. "There has been news from across the narrow sea Your Grace. Ser Robb Reyne has died, and Bittersteel has moved back to Tyrosh."
There was some silence, the death of one of the black dragon's finest commanders was a significant thing, it meant the old guard was dying out and becoming weak. The king nodded and then said. "Write to Castamere and inform them of this. Whatever the man was, his children deserve to know."
With that the council meeting comes to an end though the king asks him to stay behind. Once the last of the other members has closed the door behind them, the king looks him straight in the eye and says. "Should the Blackwoods die and the Brackens lay claim to the lands, you shall split it with them half and half, and then your third son shall become Lord of Raventree Hall. I do not trust the Brackens, they will turn soon enough."
Domeric bows, and leaves it seems his rewards keep on growing.