"In the wake of Duskendale, the king also began to display signs of an ever-increasing obsession with dragonfire, similar to that which had haunted several of his forebears."
The sun had descended long ago. Now all the light that filled the throne room was from the army of mounted torches along the walls. They shone of the dullest reds and oranges.
Aerys sat on the throne and watched as the three pyromancers entered the room, their steps quicker and more energetic than usual. That was quite a feat - as it was, they were already always eager to please their king and his fascination with their craft.
"Lord Rossart, what do you want? It is late for an audience." While the King may have enjoyed the pyromancers, his favor was fickle and his moods even more. "We aren't burning the Stark lordling yet. I want his brother and the other traitors to watch when we do," he decreed greedily.
"My gracious King, I apologize for the late hour. But this news could not be delayed,'' Rossart, the grand master, replied with a bow. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment from the folds of his robes.
Aerys raised his head up, his eyes peering down towards the parchment with curiosity. "Well, get on with it then."
"We received this letter from our brothers in Asshai, my King," he breathed with excitement. "They bring us most excellent tidings."
The Hand of the King spoke then. "Asshai? What do you mean?" Owen Merryweather asked, confusion apparent in the old man's voice and aged mind. It was amazing he even asked a question. Most thought the lord only equipped for laughing at the King's ill-humored japes. They weren't funny, not one bit, not in the slightest.
"Our Guild has a presence in Asshai, Lord Hand. We have not been in touch with them for some time, but they have become aware of our efforts to…" Then he looked to the King. "To bring back the creatures of our great King and his line. Dragons."
"Tell me," Aerys commanded tightly. Will my dreams come to be? Shall I finally be given what am I owed from my ancestors?
"Might someone be able to retrieve some of the stone eggs at Dragonstone, my King?" Rossart asked. "If these words are to be believed, we shall set them free at last."
"If you believe it true, then we shall retrieve one or two, Lord Rossart," the silver-haired King said steadily, though there was still an edge to his voice as always.
"You are, as always, ever gracious, my King," Rossart said with another obsequious bow. "I should note that…"
"Yes? Spit it out, man!" Aerys demanded.
For the first time since Merryweather could recall meeting him, Rossart looked apprehensive. Nervous.
Scared.
"The method is a bit...extreme," the grand master and Wisdom finally conceded.
Aerys hands clasped the throne, not noticing the blood that had started to stream from the blades against his skin. As his gaze centered on the parchment in Rossart's hand, a devious smile began to tug at the corner of his lips until it was so wide that all he could do was laugh.
Dinner tonight would not be what Elia had expected.
Though perhaps she had not actually known what to expect.
She fidgeted in her chair slightly, gently spearing a small piece of meat on her plate. As she lifted the fork to her mouth, she glanced up and met eyes with Rhaella who gave her a small smile.
"How do you find the meal tonight, good-daughter?" the Queen asked the Dornish princess casually.
"You should eat more," the King interjected brusquely. "You need to fatten up. Thought you would have more flesh on you after that baby. Lost it all already, did you?" he sneered.
Her face tightened as she sported a small smile. "You are ever wise, my King. I do need to eat more." He glowered at her before turning his attention to his own plate. Elia looked to Rhaella. "It's quite perfect, good-mother."
"At least I know this last babe is actually my son's, he has our look," the King muttered as he shoveled food in his mouth. "Not like the first one." Elia stifled the welling anger as her stomach tightened even more at his words.
It was then that there was a knock at the large door. The King looked up quickly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "In! Come in!" Aerys barked as a crazed smile formed on his face, watching as Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan opened the door.
Elia and Rhaella exchanged a nervous glance.
Four men entered - three who were clearly from the Alchemist's Guild for these pyromancers were often - too often - at court. And the fourth...well, all Elia realized he held a harp. Looking at the instrument made her want to tear it into pieces. Why couldn't it be a lute? By the Seven, even a drum would be better. She could fall asleep to a snare drum better than a harp these days.
The King rose, both hands placed firmly on the table. He braced himself on them and leaned forward as his gaze bred fire staring at the pyromancers.
"Do you have everything?" he asked, with a sharp edge to his voice.
The three pyromancers nodded, nearly as excited as the King. "Yes, my King," Lord Rossart confirmed.
"To the throne room then," he hissed with a smile. He looked to Rhaella and then Elia. "You, too. Both of you."
Rhaella rose from her chair slowly, as did Elia, smoothing her dress as she began to walk towards her brother-husband. "What are we to see in the throne room, my King?" she asked evenly, though a gulp was audible to those that were closest.
She had barely spoken the words before a sharp slap against her face threw her down to the cold marble floor. She was left reeling, clutching her cheek. When she pulled her hand down slowly, she found blood on her palm.
"Quiet! You will find out when we get there," the King berated her. "Ungrateful woman," he hissed. As he walked out the doors leaving Rhaella behind, Eila rushed to her. The young Lannister knight looked at the two women with wide eyes before he was drawn away by Ser Barristan.
"Rhaella!" Elia whispered urgently, gently clasping her good-mother's shoulders.
The Queen regained her composure, straightening herself back up. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, before opening her eyes to look at her sweet good-daughter.
"This is but a scratch compared to his normal ways, my love," she said quietly. "Come, we should not keep him waiting." Elia placed her arm beneath Rhaella's, clasping her wrist firmly as she helped raise her up. When she was righted, they began to make their way to the throne room, their bodies supporting the other.
Aerys had taken a seat on the throne and the three pyromancers were on the steps below with the harpist to the side.
As Wisdoms Garigus and Belis meddled with a cart that was filled with bottles of liquids - green, Elia noted - Lord Rossart moved to display something for the king.
With a flourish, he removed a piece of cloth covering an item in the other hand.
Gold and silver sparkled before them all.
A dragon egg.
"Ah, yes," Aerys let out with eager contentment. "I know this egg. This shall do well. The perfect coloring for our dragons to be reborn."
Rossart answered the King with a slow and obsequious nod.
The harpist took a seat and glanced at the others before cautiously moving his eyes towards the King.
"You," Aerys commanded. "Play a tune. And make it better than those sad songs my ungrateful son is so fond of."
The harpist nodded hurriedly as he adjusted his instrument. He began with cautious notes, as though he was composing in the moment to illustrate the tension in the room.
"Now, shall we begin, Lord Rossart?" the King asked. Though it was, of course, a demand. He never truly asked.
The notes from the harp dripped slowly throughout the hall, echoing across the throne room like a babe making its first steps and hoping it would not fall.
Rossart walked towards Aerys, beckoning the other pyromancers to follow with their cart of goods. It clanked and squeaked as they wheeled it closer to the throne before finally stopping before the steps. Rossart closed the gap between himself and the cart and picked up a small item from it.
Elia eyed it from where she stood, finally deciphering that it was a dagger.
A Valyrian steel dagger.
"Shall..shall I do this for you, my King, or would you prefer to do it yourself?" Rossart asked hesitantly, though there was an edge of excitement in his voice nonetheless. Ser Barristan moved closer to the King then before he was waved off.
"Give it here," Aerys seethed as he grabbed the dagger from the lickspittle pyromancer's hands. "I can cut myself, I need no help."
It was a nearly true statement.
The music of the harp turned, a melody that was sweet but every so often hit a dissonant note. It was then that the Mad King brought the beautiful dagger to his palm and sliced it open.
"Well, bring the vial here! Quickly!" he screeched.
Ser Jaime looked at Barristan Selmy, his eyes questioning how long they would let this continue. But the older knight gave him no answer.
Garigus and Belis scrambled towards the throne, the latter holding the vial of green liquid, while the first brought clothes towards their King. Then Aerys brought his palm over the bottle of wildfire and let his blood fall in, drop by drop.
And the harpist adjusted his rhythm to the pace of the spilling blood. Purple eyes watched anxiously, earnestly, greedily, as red mingled with green, creating a dark brown.
As Elia watched, she wondered if her good-father was offended by the color before him.
"Well," the King uttered impatiently. "Is that enough?"
Rossart licked his lips, eyeing the vial before them. "Yes, yes. I think that shall do, my King."
Aerys wrenched his hand away and after snatching a cloth from Garigus, pressed it to his palm to staunch the blood. The whole time his eyes never strayed from the vial however.
Then Rossart picked up the dragon egg and using the dagger, he scraped pieces of the shell into the bottle that held the King's blood and wildfire. When it seemed to be enough, he placed the egg back on its pillow and eyed the vial. The light of the torches shone against it but could not pierce through the liquid inside.
"Here you are, your Grace. Once you have drunk this liquid, we must slice your palm once more so that the new mixture of your blood can be placed upon the egg while it burns," he uttered nervously. "According to our instructions."
Aerys grabbed the vial from him and without hesitation, drank it contents whole, gulp and after gulp. The harpist ceased his touches without command.
After finishing the contents, the King threw the bottle against the wall, shattering the glass to pieces. He panted for air as he wiped his lips with the sleeve of his dirty silk robe.
"It is done. I feel nothing. Why do I feel nothing, Rossart?" Wild purple eyes moved to the harpist in a flash. "You! I did not tell you to stop!
Frantic notes of the harp filled the air quickly. And then - and then, the nervous, tenuous music began to mingle in the air with a sound all too familiar to the hall - the crazed laughter of the King.
"Yes...yes!" he screeched, laughing. "I can FEEL it!" He rose from the throne unsteadily, his arm slicing against the throne as he moved a few steps away from it.
"This is it! I will burn and be reborn! Let it be done!" he yelled to the heavens as though the gods of old Valyria were there listening, just for him.
Of course, that was not what was about to occur. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps it was the Gods' way of righting the King's wrongs by having him perish this way - after taking the lives of so many others by flame.
Perhaps it was just how it was meant to be.
And perhaps men create these paths of demise for themselves the moment they commit their ills upon others.
It was then that The Mad King's laughter took a sharp turn, strangling itself as the King seemed to grasp for air. His eyes went wider than anyone had ever seen, and steadily purple was overtaken by red.
"Ross-a-" the King croaked, his hands frantically scraping at his throat. His long, dirty nails sliced at the pale, thin skin of his throat, drawing blood and flesh with each movement.
Rhaella screamed at the Kingsguard to do something, to help their King. Her screaming command broke the knights out of their shock and they moved to the King quickly. But their swords could be of no use now.
The King swirled around, his feet dancing in a circle as the wildfire he loved so dearly moved through his body, bit by bit, letting him experience it as no one should. Finally his body fell below the Iron Throne like an offering.
And then Aerys of House Targaryen, the second of his name, died. A puff of smoke left his lips as he left this earth.
Silence claimed the room but for jagged breaths of shock and the small fizzles from the King's body as the wildfire continued to work its way through him.
After a few moments, Rhaella turned to the pyromancers finally. "What have you done," she hissed.
Rossart balked and then silence claimed the air once more before he finally spoke. "The instructions were clear as day, my Queen! I swear to you!"
"Is this clear?" she inquired with fury, gesturing to the body of the King. "This information was clearly false, Lord Rossart," Rhaella seethed. "Who sent it?"
"It was our brother alchemists in Asshai, my Queen!" he testified earnestly. "We received the letter not that long ago!"
It was then that Ser Jaime looked to Rhaella, the tan of his youthful skin all but gone as he paled hearing those words.
"Asshai?" Rhaella questioned. "What cause would they have to involve themselves with the affairs of Westeros pray tell?"
But the pyromancer had no answer. He looked at the body of the King, limp, skin beginning to bubble, before his pleading eyes went back to the silver woman before him.
"Ser Barristan, seize these men!" the Queen commanded. "And hand me the letter so that we may investigate its source."
As the pyromancers were led away and the King's body fizzled from the wildfire within, Elia wondered if the harp had been more fitting for the moment after all.
Elia and Rhaella sat in the Queen's solar, sipping wine. It was quiet but for their breaths and the sounds of the fire in the hearth before them.
"How do you fare?" Elia asked quietly.
Rhaella looked to her, her expression thoughtful, though her face did not betray her mind enough to answer without words spoken.
"I don't even know, Elia. Truly." She looked away from her then, her eyes losing themselves as they looked into the flames.
"I just feel like I'm waiting to feel...a release. I thought that when the day came, when this world was finally rid of him, that it would feel so sweet. And yet all I can feel is a knot in my stomach."
Elia leaned forward in her chair and gently clasped Rhaella's hand in hers. "He can do you no harm now," Elia assured her. "Or anyone else."
The silver queen closed her eyes, letting out a shuddered breath. "I know, you are right." Then she opened her eyes once more, weary. "Now we must prepare ourselves for Baratheon, Arryn and the other Stark I should think."
"And Rhaegar," Elia added.
"Yes...yes," Rhaella pondered. "Tywin will no doubt make a move now."
The fire crackled in the hearth.
"If it's not one man, it's another, isn't it?" Elia remarked dryly.
Rhaella raised her goblet of wine to Elia and the glasses clinked with a nearly silent cheer.
Well, there's the update! Let me know what you think. I'm not trying to write a big political fic here, just something entertaining for these pandemic times. Honestly, I nearly wrote this from the POV of the wildfire - but that I thought that might be a bit much.
