"Your Grace, I am honoured to welcome you to Dragonstone."
Aegon looked down at the two kneeling people, a smile on his face. The closest was a young man of around his own age with long, flowing brown hair. The other kneeling figure Aegon recognised as his wife-to-be, Lady Margaery Tyrell. When her large brown eyes met Aegon's, Aegon smiled. She was as pretty as her Myrish painting in the rose gold locket in Aegon's possession.
"You may rise," Aegon said confidently. As the rest of his entourage – Lord Jon Connington, Septa Lemore, Haldon, Ser Rolly Duckfield – and the two captains of the sellsword companies the Golden Company and the Windblown joined him, he glanced around. He still couldn't believe that he was finally on Westerosi soil and in Dragonstone Castle, the original seat of his Targaryen ancestors. When he still lingered in Magister Illyrio Mopatis's manse, he dreamt of Dragonstone and what he imagined was the Iron Throne. When Lord Connington finally informed Aegon that the time was ripe to journey to Westeros, Aegon almost didn't believe him. It didn't take very long to pack and convince the two sellsword companies to follow Aegon and his household to the first stronghold in Westeros: Dragonstone.
"Your Grace," the young man said uncertainly, "who are these men?"
"Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost," said Aegon promptly, indicating Lord Connington with a gesture, "Septa Lemore, Haldon and Ser Rolly Duckfield. They are have supported the Targaryen cause since the Usurper's war. This man here" – Aegon pointed at the portly man beside Lord Connington with a big round head, mild grey eyes and thinning grey hair – "is Harry Strickland, Captain-General of a sellsword company. The Golden Company. And this man over here" – he gestured to the ancient man with silver-grey hair and a long beard – "prefers to be known as the Tattered Prince. He is commander of the Windblown."
"An honour to meet you," the young man responded, dipping his head slightly. "An ally of His Grace's is an ally of House Tyrell." He hesitated a little, glancing at the woman Aegon presumed to be Lady Margaery Tyrell. "I'm Ser Loras of House Tyrell," the young man went on, "Castellan of Dragonstone. This is my sister Lady Margaery Tyrell." His golden eyes met Aegon's. "Your betrothed, I believe."
"His Grace is not one to break his word," Lord Connington said suddenly and a little icily. "He doesn't need to be reminded of his future marriage." Aegon raised an eyebrow in surprise at Lord Connington's outburst. "We had quite the journey, Ser Loras," Aegon said smoothly, desperate to appease the affronted knight. "You must forgive Lord Connington. He barely slept a wink since our departure from a dock in Pentos up till our arrival here."
"Of course, Your Grace." It was Lady Margaery Tyrell who'd spoke. She smiled sweetly. "Do you wish to be taken to your chambers?"
"Not at the moment my lady," said Aegon, smiling politely back at her. "But my loyal lords, knights and men here will be grateful for refreshments and rest."
"Dragonstone's under the command of Lord Renly Baratheon!" one of the men in Baratheon colours finally said loudly. "Dragonstone will not tolerate or stand a plot regarding Lord Baratheon's enemies!"
Aegon's eyes swept to the Baratheon garrison of men who'd been all called to the entrance hall. About half of them looked uneasy; the rest were either looking furious or delighted. Actually, none of them looked fully happy.
"As Castellan of Dragonstone," Ser Loras Tyrell said more assertively than he'd been before, "I surrender Dragonstone and its castle to House Targaryen." Giving the Dragonstone men a look, he knelt and offered Aegon his sword. Slightly more hesitant, the Dragonstone men slowly followed suit and knelt…except the single, obstinate man who had spoken earlier.
"I swore loyalty to House Baratheon," the man stated, "and I will remain loyal to the Baratheon cause."
"You are outnumbered," said Aegon, unease and bemusement both swimming in his stomach. "Surely your desire to live will overrule your loyal words said to a brother of the Usurper King."
"I am not a traitor," the man said stubbornly.
"What's your name?"
"Jate Blackberry, Captain of the Gate."
Aegon glanced at Lord Connington. Throw him into the dungeons or kill him for treason, Lord Connington's pale blue eyes said with a hint of impatience. There is no time to deal with rebellious men loyal to the Usurper. Aegon looked back at Jate Blackberry who stared boldly back. "You look like a man with sons," Aegon said a little casually, "and daughters." He was pleased to see Blackberry flinch, his pink cheeks paler than before. "Unnecessary bloodshed is ugly," Aegon continued. "Do you honestly want your children to be fatherless because you refuse to recognise Dragonstone in Targaryen control now?"
"What'll you do?" Blackberry snarled, spittle flying out from his mouth. "Have your men raid my home and burn my children? That's what Targaryens do! Burn innocent children at their every whim!"
"I have no intention of burning your children," said Aegon quietly. "I'm not my grandfather. He was mad and what he did was wrong. Burning the innocent…it's something I will never do. I am a merciful man. Swear allegiance to me like all the other men of the garrison and no unnecessary blood will be shed. I'm also willing to take one of your sons as a squire or page."
Blackberry narrowed his eyes. "A hostage, eh?"
Aegon sighed. "I cannot force you to swear allegiance to me and I have no wish to kill you. House Blackberry is a knightly house, yes?" He glanced swiftly at Lord Connington who nodded in confirmation. "When was the last time a member of a knightly house squired for the king?" he challenged Blackberry. "It is an honour – one that you will deprive your son of?" He turned to Harry Strickland. "I desire to see the rest of Dragonstone. Can you ensure two of your men keep an eye on Jate Blackberry here? I know you wish to drink, eat and rest."
"Aye," grunted Harry Strickland.
"I will be more than happy to show you around Dragonstone Your Grace," said Lady Margaery, flashing a dazzling smile at Aegon. "My brother here can show all your men and commanders their guest chambers."
Aegon nodded. Might as well become acquainted with his future wife. The two of them were to wed in a few hours anyway. "Thank you my lady." Since he was a child, he'd heard so much about the Seven Kingdoms, Dragonstone in particular – it was exciting seeing and touching parts of Dragonstone himself. Following Lady Margaery out of the entrance hall, Aegon's eyes flittered everywhere. There was so much to see here in Dragonstone, from the dragon claws holding the torches, a pair of great wings covering the armoury and smithy, many dragon tail archways and staircases and the designs of dragons, basilisks, cockatrices, demons, griffins, hellhounds, manticores, minotaurs and wyverns throughout Dragonstone.
"That is the Great Hall," said Lady Margaery, bringing Aegon from his thoughts. Aegon gasped in wonder like a child as he saw that the heavy red doors were set in the mouth of a large stone dragon lying on its belly. "We're in the Stone Drum," Lady Margaery told him, "the main tower in the castle. Do you wish to be taken to your solar, Your Grace?"
Aegon nodded. The Chamber of the Painted Table was a room he was looking forward to standing in. "The Stone Drum," he murmured thoughtfully. "I was told it was named for the booming and rumbling sounds that can be heard during the worst storms here."
"I cannot say if that is true Your Grace," answered Lady Margaery. "Since I had arrived here, the days were good. The Seven are on your side."
"Please, call me Aegon. We will be husband and wife by the end of the day."
"Then I insist you call me Margaery."
Aegon smiled. Margaery was kind, sweet and clever by the sounds of it, almost a perfect wife and queen. "Margaery," he repeated. Questions swarmed his mind. Was she happy when she was married to the Usurper's younger brother? Did she feel heartbroken when the Usurper's brother died in order for her to marry him? Was she only willing to marry him for a crown?
Margaery led Aegon up the stairs onto what Aegon found out was the top floor in the Stone Drum. As Aegon stepped into the chamber, he gasped again. Lord Jon had often described the Chamber of the Painted Table to him in as much detail as he described Aegon's father Prince Rhaegar, and Aegon remembered every word Lord Connington used to describe the chamber, yet it did not prepare him for the sight of the chamber.
The Chamber of the Painted Table was almost a spectacle of artistry instead of a solar where Aegon the Conqueror began planning his invasion of Westeros. The room was round with four tall windows overlooking the north, south, east, west, and bare black walls. In the middle of it was a large table, the Painted Table, that was carved and painted in the form of a detailed map of Westeros. The table was more than fifty feet long: roughly around twenty five feet wide at its widest point and four feet at its thinnest. Aegon walked up to the Painted Table, staring at it in fascination and awe. The craftsmanship of it was…was brilliant. Clever. Splendid. Aegon circled the table and stopped at the raised seat which stood on the precise location of Dragonstone. He tentatively reached out and touched the chair. It was the very seat Aegon the Conqueror sat on when he discussed invasion plans with his two sister-wives. The first Aegon planned his conquest here a little more than three centuries ago and was successful; it seemed his descendant would too. In a better mood, Aegon slowly sat down on the raised seat. It wasn't the Iron Throne, yet as he sat and studied the Painted Table, he felt like the true King of Westeros, not the exiled king in Pentos.
"You look every inch a king," said Margaery in a hushed tone.
Aegon couldn't help beaming. He knew it was somewhat wrong, but he could not help a smile. "You truly think that?"
"Yes." Margaery gazed at him admiringly. "Every inch my king."
"It isn't too late to refuse her," Lord Connington whispered as Aegon pinned a new silk black cloak around his shoulders with his dragon brooch wrought from rubies with onyxes for its eyes. "I heard that the Tyrells no longer have the naval power that we need."
Aegon looked at him, annoyed. "Lord Connington, I greatly value your support and advice, but I must say, you'd never liked the idea of my betrothal to the Lady Margaery Tyrell. Yes, she was married to Renly Baratheon, but she claimed their marriage was unconsummated. Ser Loras swore by the Seven that on the night of the wedding, Renly was too intoxicated to consummate their union. I believe you were always telling me that the Martells cannot support me alone and that House Tyrell's support is needed. Do you wish for the Tyrells to abandon my cause and betray us to the Baratheons? It'll be very easy for them to do so."
"Stannis Baratheon married Paxter Redwyne's daughter. He wouldn't give us a measly boat with his daughter now Stannis Baratheon's wife. There're only three powerful fleets in Westeros and the Redwyne fleet is said to equal, if not surpass the royal fleet. Yes, the Tyrells can field the greatest armies, but without ships to control the seas, your hold on the Iron Throne will not be…fully secure."
Lord Connington had a valid point. "We will not stay here for much longer my lord," said Aegon patiently. "Tomorrow morning the lords of the Narrow Sea will all arrive and swear fealty to me. In the afternoon, we'll leave for King's Landing." He adjusted his crown. "I will be in the first vessel with the Golden Company; you will remain here with five hundred men from the Windblown to ensure the castle stays in Targaryen hands. Once the lords of the Narrow Sea gather their men, you will prepare defences in case Baratheon loyalists attack. It is paramount we don't lose Dragonstone. Septa Lemore will stay here with Lady Margaery and when the capital is safe in my hands, I will send for her."
"Your trust for House Tyrell is so little-"
"I value your counsel above everyone's," Aegon cut in quickly as he walked out of his chamber and slowly towards the sept. "You will be my Hand and I need you here…for now. When we begin the Stormlands campaign, I will put Ser Rolly here and you will lead the campaign." He smiled. "You'll be the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands after all. Now come. The sooner I marry Lady Margaery, the sooner I will have the full support of House Tyrell." To his irritation, Lord Connington did not look as appeased as he had hoped.
"It takes time for lords – especially the reluctant lords – to muster their men," Lord Connington said, frowning slightly. "Time and patience is what you need as allies, Your Grace. Your plans are…sound, but based on impatience."
Aegon gritted his teeth. "I waited all my life for this, Lord Connington. You're a seasoned soldier and commander, one I can trust fully, but what use is waiting in a castle when King's Landing is up for the taking now?"
"We have the stag loyalists holed up in the Eyrie now, but it will not take them long to gather troops. They will launch a full attack – we will probably only have half their numbers."
"We will have enough once all the lords of the Crownlands swear allegiance to me in the Red Keep." Aegon smiled at Lord Connington. "It'll all go to plan. Now, I believe there is a wedding to attend to?"
Aegon felt he had been sufficiently prepared for kingship in Pentos in all areas of learning including half a dozen languages, history, songs and mathematics, but when it came to the bedding last night…he felt like a green boy fumbling around, mumbling apologies almost every minute. Thankfully Margaery knew what to do. Is it normal? Aegon wondered, as he headed to the Great Hall. Men liked to boast of their…manhood and sexual experience, and Septa Lemore had made it clear he should be expecting a shy maiden on his bed. Margaery wasn't a shirking maiden, but she wasn't acting like a whore either. Not that Aegon spent much time with a whore either. Lord Connington disapproved of it immensely. "A king shouldn't be frequenting brothels or associating with harlots," he had told Aegon. "Look at the Usurper – he is the opposite of a good king your father expects you to be." Not all the members of Aegon's household agreed to that. Magister Illyrio had laughed at Lord Connington's words and had hinted to Aegon, "Your Grace, not every king is Baelor the Blessed. Just say the word and I'll have the finest Lysene pillow house worker smuggled to your bedchamber. Just say the word." Aegon never did.
"Did you rest well, Your Grace?" Lord Connington was at Aegon's side. "I hope everything went well."
"It was ah, satisfactory," said Aegon uncomfortably, praying Lord Jon wouldn't pry anymore on the matter. "If the Seven's with me, Margaery will be giving birth to an heir in nine months. I will um, see her again in her chamber today…before I leave." He blushed. Lord Connington said nothing. His blush disappearing, Aegon climbed up the steps to the gateway teeth. Two guardsmen opened the heavy red doors before him. Aegon nodded briefly at them and stepped down into the maw of the dragon, Lord Connington behind him. The four principal Narrow Sea lords were already seated at the trestle tables in their finest attire. When Aegon took a step towards them, all the lords stared at him, more shocked and surprised than furious at being detained, their weapons confiscated.
Aegon did not know the lords by name, but he could recognise their features – it was even more of an advantage as their garments all carried their House sigils. Aegon spotted his distant kinsman the Lord of Tides first. His ancestors had often married Velaryons and there was always a close bond between their Houses. "My lord Velaryon," said Aegon warmly, smiling at the Velaryon lord who was quite a handsome looking man with the familiar Valyrian features of long silver hair and violet eyes. Lord Velaryon was in sea-green silk with a white gold seahorse pin at his throat. "I hope you are well, Cousin. Is that your son, my lord?" Sitting next to Lord Velaryon was a boy of about eight with purple eyes and fair hair.
To Aegon's frustration, Lord Velaryon looked wary. "I am quite well thank you, my lord," he said, forcing a smile. "Yes, this is my son, Monterys."
"Our Houses have been allies for generations," said Aegon pleasantly. "We are family, even. When I was exiled in Pentos, I thought: who can I trust most in all of Westeros? Of course! My cousins of House Velaryon." He almost sighed, relieved, as Lord Velaryon looked mollified and more at ease. "Can I count on your House's support, my lord?"
Lord Velaryon stood and bowed. "For generations, House Velaryon had been a friend to House Targaryen." His purple eyes met Aegon's. "House Velaryon is still a friend to House Targaryen, Your Grace."
A broad smile bloomed on Aegon's face. "I am relieved to hear that, my lord of Velaryon. Who knows? Perhaps our Houses will unite once more." He turned to a plump man of seventeen garbed in purple velvet trimmed with white seal. Before Aegon could speak, the young man stood up and said hastily. "I, Lord Duram Bar Emmon, the Lord of Sharp Point pledge House Bar Emmon to House Targaryen's cause." He bowed clumsily. "Your Grace, I'm afraid all my House can contribute is our finest warship, Swordfish."
One warship was better than none. Aegon nodded. "I will look forward to have you in my war council, Lord Bar Emmon."
Lord Sunglass, dressed in white and gold with moonstones at his throat, wrist and fingers stood up. "House Sunglass will also pledge allegiance to you," he said, bowing to Aegon, "on the sole condition that you and your descendants cease the Valyrian practice of incestuous marriages."
Aegon had expected that request. Margaery had helpfully told him earlier that the current Lord Sunglass of Sweetport Sound was quite a devout man who prayed in his sept three times a day. "I accept your sole condition, my lord," he said calmly, smiling at Lord Sunglass's expression that was a mix between astonishment and approval. "House Targaryen's downfall was due to incestuous marriages, and I'll assure you Lord Sunglass, I have no desire to continue the practice of incest once I sit on the Iron Throne."
Lord Sunglass bowed deeper. "Then House Sunglass will join your cause, Your Grace. May the Seven bless you." As he sat down, the last of the Narrow Sea lords, an old sour-faced man cloaked with a mantle patterned with red crabs picked out in glittering garnets stood up, looking at Aegon with suspicion.
"Lord Celtigar," said Aegon pleasantly. "I heard you fought beside my father-"
"A mistake!" snapped the old man grouchily. "Do you know what I lost in that damned war, boy? My three sons, my two brothers and my bastard half-brother! If that wasn't all, the king forced me to pay reparations for my part! Do you know how much gold I lost in that blasted war? And for what? Being a good vassal!"
"House Celtigar prospered during the reign of the Targaryens more so than in the reign of the stags," said Aegon, ignoring Lord Celtigar's outburst. "If I recall, it was Lord Edwell Celtigar who served as the Hand of the King to Maegor the Cruel and Lord Crispian Celtigar who served as Master of Coin to Aegon the Conqueror himself." He watched the old Lord of Claw Isle scratch his chin. "I am in need of a Master of Laws," Aegon continued. "I heard a great deal about you, my lord. You'd persistently sent men to Crackclaw Point to collect taxes. I need a loyalist who is capable of steadfastly hunting down criminals. Who better than you?"
It only took old Lord Celtigar a few minutes to gather his thoughts. He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Eh, so be it. House Celtigar swears fealty to you Your Grace."
Aegon beamed at the four lords triumphantly. It would not be difficult now for him to receive the support of the lords of Crackclaw Point – Crackclaw Point had always been known to be a region of Targaryen loyalists.
"The Kings of Westeros will be dragons once more," Aegon declared. As all the Narrow Sea lords echoed his words, Aegon's smile broadened. He had been king in exile for far too long; now he was the King in the Narrow Sea. He would be the one and only true King of Westeros soon – very soon indeed.
I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It might be strange for Aegon to be astonished when he saw the Painted Table for the first time, but he had probably heard about it all his life and was finally seeing it in person. Thank you all for the comments in the reviews as it really gave me more ideas to add in the story and thank you for pointing out parts I can work on :)
I thought it would be nice to upload this story as Season 7 Game of Thrones will air today/tomorrow (depending on your country and time zone) and also because if you exclude the appendices, this chapter is the 100th chapter of The Dance of Spring :D
