"To the Usurper Orys of House Baratheon, your lady mother Lady Catelyn of the House Tully is currently a guest in my care. She will come to no harm and upon my word of honour, will be returned to the Riverlands safely, once you, your sisters and brother and close kin bearing the name Baratheon renounce what claims you have to the Iron Throne and bend the knee and swear fealty to me, your true king. Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
Silence struck the party of lords and knights. The Rykker messenger shifted on the spot nervously, keeping his eyes on the ground, away from Orys's icy glare. It took all of Orys's strength to restrain himself from smashing the Rykker boy into the pile of rocks that sat conveniently nearby. Orys's fingers curled into a fist. His mother – his kind, gracious mother – captured!
"This must be a jape," said Lord Royce uncertainly. "The queen mother left for Riverrun, escorted by Lord Blackwood. Lord Blackwood's no traitor. He wouldn't side with this…this Aegon Targaryen!"
"He might've if this mummer's dragon promised him Lord Bracken's keep and lands," said Ser Brynden Blackfish darkly. "The Blackwoods and Brackens are kin from all those marriages they made, yet they still hate each other. Every time war is declared, I wager the Blackwoods will side with the Brackens' enemy."
"Lord Blackwood is more honourable," argued Orys hesitantly. "Besides one of his squires is my cousin Hoster. Lord Blackwood knows that my lord uncle Tully will never support an usurper."
"When it comes to land in the Blackwood-Bracken feud Your Grace, not one of the Brackens or Blackwoods are honourable." The Blackfish scowled. "However, I doubt Lord Blackwood betrayed the queen mother."
"Does my uncle Lord Tully know about this?" Orys demanded, turning to glare at the Rykker messenger. The Rykker boy nodded, terrified. "A raven was sent-t-t to him my lord," he stammered. "Lord Tully sh-should have received the note."
"Lord Tully will not sit, knowing his sister, my mother, is in danger," said Orys, looking back at his party of lords and knights. "He will be calling his banners." His stormy blue eyes fell upon Lord Jason Mallister. "My lord of Seagard, you are one of the few river lords present. Can I count on my lord uncle's support?" He knew Uncle Edmure would support him, but it had to be said – common courtesy after all. Orys didn't have to wait long for an answer.
The tall and lean Lord of Seagard nodded. "Lord Tully will always support you Your Grace. We river lords will gladly follow him into war."
"As will the lords of the Reach," Lord Tyrell said, puffing his chest out proudly. "I'll not hide behind the walls of Highgarden with my good-daughter a prisoner!" Orys nodded. He still was not particularly fond of Lord Tyrell's boisterous, proud ways, but the Reach could amass the largest armies in a short period of time. The Northern armies would be vast too, but not at the present with the majority in an ongoing war against the wildlings.
"If we declare war, my mother will be killed," said Orys quietly. "She is strong, but the Targaryens can be cruel. What if she is being tortured?" Images of Mother roasting to death appeared in his mind.
"The queen mother is strong," said Ser Brynden assertively.
"Harrenhal is close," said Lord Mallister, nodding in the direction of Harrenhal Castle. "Does Your Grace wish to rest there?"
No! Part of Orys wanted to shout. He wanted to race to King's Landing, kill the so-called Aegon Targaryen and rescue Mother. Mother had always been there for him when he needed and was a good listener. Rage brewed in Orys. He breathed in deeply, suppressing his anger. "We will rest at Harrenhal," he said, grinding his teeth like his uncle Stannis. "We will rest there for a day or two and plan for war. This Aegon has my mother and is after my crown – I will not let him take it like a common thief!" As the lords and knights began nodding in approval, Orys prayed. He prayed Mother would stay strong. He prayed the war would not last long and he prayed that his late kinswoman Lady Shella Whent had plenty of well-trained ravens at his disposal.
Orys had many letters to write and send.
Harrenhal was cold, virtually abandoned by humans and the home of ghosts. It was an unsettling feeling. Orys wished he could convene a war council in a castle that held a more pleasant ambiance, but Harrenhal was the closest and presently without a ruling lord or lady. I could claim it, thought Orys as he rode through the main gate and into the courtyard, surrounded on either side by Sers Brynden and Barristan. Behind him rode the other three knights of the Kingsguard (except Ser Garth Greysteel who Orys had commanded to remain at the Vale to guard Minisa and Ormund) and an assortment of lords and knights.
"Where are the servants?" demanded Lord Tyrell arrogantly, who had spurred his white destrier uncomfortably close to Orys. He frowned when he saw a small man in grey robes hurry towards them. "This is quite outrageous!" he declared at once. "His Grace deserves a better welcome than this! If we were at Highgarden, I would not have His-"
Orys raised his hand to silence him. "Thank you Lord Tyrell," he said with little traces of weariness at the Lord of Highgarden's pompous outbursts. He looked at the grey robed man who was no doubt the maester at Harrenhal. "Please forgive Lord Tyrell's words," Orys said, dismounting his steed. "We did not have time to send you a raven. I suspect you are in charge of Harrenhal's affairs?"
"Not all the affairs Your Grace," said the maester in a nasally voice with a deep bow. "I take care of most matters yes, but Ser Willis Wode is in charge of defence, and protecting the lands and castle of the late Lady Whent."
"I see." Orys's blue eyes scanned the deserted courtyard. "Where is the rest of my kinswoman the late Lady Whent's household, Maester?"
"There are not many left in Lady Whent's household Your Grace. Only Harra, a serving woman – quite old now – and the old blacksmith Ben Blackthumb. Some of the others had returned home or went to join other noble households. A few of the maidservants still work here but are more often um, in Harrentown."
Orys took a deep breath. If Father is in my position, he'd only care if there're no servants to prepare him a feast. "When those maidservants return, they will all be dismissed," he said firmly. The maester's eyes widened in amazement. "I have no need for unaccommodating servants," said Orys briskly.
"They are sworn to House Whent Your Grace!" the maester protested.
"House Whent is no more," said Orys, walking in the direction of the Great Hall with Ser Barristan and Ser Brynden behind him. Orys hadn't travelled around the Seven Kingdoms much (he still hadn't visited Dorne, the Wall, the Westerlands or the Iron Islands or much of the North and the Reach) but he had stayed a couple of times at Harrenhal before when he visited Lady Whent with Mother, his sisters and Ormund. When Orys had visited Harrenhal for the first time, he was amazed by the sight; he still was to this day. Harrenhal had five towers of dizzying size. It had equally monstrous curtain walls as sheer and high as mountain cliffs. It was as if Harren the Black planned to build the castle for giants, not humans. Looking up at the towers, Orys noted that none of the towers were proper, being lumped, bent and cracked from the melting of the stone centuries ago.
The huge oak-and-iron doors creaked as they were pushed open. "The Hall of the Hundred Hearths," Orys murmured, referring to the Great Hall's name. It had only thirty four or thirty five hearths, but was said to be able to entertain a large army. Orys's boots tapped on the smooth slate floor as he walked to the centre of the Great Hall. There were steps leading to two galleries above and a small plain door near the back of the Great Hall that probably led to the kitchens.
"You can always move the capital here Your Grace," jested Jared Buckwell who had wandered up to Orys. "Enormous great hall here, fit for a king. The Red Keep is tiny compared to this."
"Some say Harrenhal's as monstrously large as Harren the Black's pride," Orys noted casually, "or his ambition." Jared Buckwell fell silent. "Apparently many of the children of the Riverlands were told to beware the fate of Harren the Black. A good bedtime story don't you agree? Keep your pride small and you'll live. Allow your pride to grow…" Orys paused. "You'll end up burnt to death."
"What do we do about Radford Rykker? He's a Rykker and probably related to that messenger who delivered you the news about your lady mother."
Orys glanced at Radford Rykker, one of his companions since childhood. "He's a friend, Jared. Our friend. I cannot take him hostage against his uncle."
"He could be a spy," Jared pointed out.
"I have considered that," Orys admitted. "I will have Radford's letters read – to be safe of course, and to reassure my lords."
"The Buckwells are faithful to you Your Grace." Confidence returned to Jared's voice. "My father will not lead his men to join the false dragon. If he does, on my word of honour, I will lead them back to you."
Orys smiled at his friend. "Thank you Jared." He turned to the lords who stood around, murmuring to each other. Their whispers ceased once they spotted Orys looking at them. "My lords," announced Orys. "We will eat, drink and rest. In one hour, we will convene for the war council meeting in the lord's solar. It is located in the Kingspyre Tower," he added for the lords and knights' benefit. "We'll meet there in an hour my lords and knights."
"Will you rest awhile, Your Grace?" inquired Jared.
Orys shook his head. "I have letters to write and send." He did not add that he also needed to put the late Lady Whent's affairs in order. Leaving Jared to eat and drink with the other lords and knights, Orys headed to the Kingspyre Tower, the largest and tallest of the five towers of Harrenhal. The tower was lopsided under the heavy weight of slagged stone which was the result of dragonfire. Connecting Kingspyre Tower to the Widow's Tower was an arching stone bridge. When Orys entered Kingspyre Tower, he was met by a stiff-necked and stolid man.
"Your Grace," the man grunted with a bow. "Ser Willis Wode, at your service. I am Castellan of Harrenhal – have been since Lady Whent's death."
"You were appointed castellan, Ser Willis?" questioned Orys.
Ser Willis scratched his head. "Not exactly Your Grace. By the time Lady Shella Whent died, the last castellan was dead and Lady Whent did not name a new one. As Harrenhal had no lord and most of the household members here are old, I had put myself in charge of the Harrenhal defences."
Orys nodded. "You'll remain castellan for the time being then, Ser Willis." He'd no desire to antagonise the Harrenhal household. "I wish to settle in the solar for a day or two. Will that be possible?"
"Of course Your Grace." Orys followed Ser Willis up the stairs and into the late Lady Whent's solar, a drafty room as large as a hall in a smaller castle. "The lord's bedchambers are upstairs Your Grace," said Ser Willis helpfully. "It has been kept clean since Lady Whent's death."
"Thank you Ser Willis." Orys's footsteps echoed in the solar as he walked up to the small round table carved from weirwood. "Ser Willis, does Harrenhal have a larger table similar to this one? I wish for all the lords in my entourage to be able to have a seat in here."
"Aye, I believe there's a large table somewhere in this tower Your Grace. I will have a look around for you."
"Thank you Ser Willis," Orys said again. "The war council meeting will begin in an hour. I'd be grateful if you can find a suitable table before it starts." He settled down on the cushioned chair and examined the papers that had been stacked in a neat pile on the late Lady Whent's table. Half of them were still closed and sealed. Orys grabbed a quill and piece of parchment, eyeing the sealed letters with slight interest. Shaking his curiosity away, Orys dipped his quill into the tiny pot of ink that was placed in front of the stack of parchments and began to write.
The seeds of war have been sown, Orys scrawled on the parchment cautiously. The man who calls himself Aegon Targaryen is an impostor and a pretender to the Iron Throne. My father King Robert of House Baratheon the First of His Name had been poisoned as was my uncle Renly Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone. The Dornish have risen to support the false Aegon as have many other noble Houses. I, King Orys of House Baratheon the First of My Name, assure you that all those who join with the false Aegon will be forgiven and welcomed back into the fold. I desire peace and unity in the realm in preparations for the oncoming winter.
Satisfied, Orys put it to the side. Perhaps his lords would have more advice in what to write. Some of them were seasoned war generals after all. It was hard to believe that the start of his reign would begin with a war. I hope the war will not last years, Orys reflected. The sooner it was over, the better. He wasn't afraid of a lot of blood being spilled, but he deplored the idea of war, especially with winter a few short months away. Lyarra had said that winter was already in the North – the most northern part that was.
Lyarra.
Guilt prodded Orys in the heart. He hadn't thought about his pregnant wife all day – or all of yesterday for that matter. Does the false dragon have her prisoner? Orys wondered worriedly. What will he do to her? A horrible thought occurred. It was possible that the false Aegon would keep Lyarra alive until she gives birth to her babe. What then? Would Aegon have the babe killed?
"He does not have Lyarra," Orys said out loud. If the false dragon did, he would have gloated about it in his letter. For now, Lyarra was safe.
For now…
"My lords and knights, we are here to discuss the state of the Seven Kingdoms, more specifically, the looming war," declared Orys from the head of the table. Not all of the lords and knights were able to find a seat, yet Lords Mallister and Royce and Lord Tyrell managed to claim the seats closest to him.
"There is a pretender here on Westerosi lands," boomed Lord Royce. "He calls himself Aegon Targaryen. He is naught but a false dragon!" The other lords began to nod in agreement. "The dragons died when the late King Robert defeated them in war," Lord Royce went on. "The true king is King Orys Baratheon, the late King Robert's eldest son. I swore fealty to King Orys and I will order my sons to gather House Royce's troops upon His Grace's command."
"As will I!" announced another Vale lord.
"My lady mother is the false dragon's prisoner," stated Orys, "and my lady wife is trapped in a possible siege in the Red Keep. As you well know, my queen is with child." He waited as the lords murmured to each other. "She is carrying my heir – I'll not have my future child born dead. The false Aegon claims all will be well if I give up my claim. Every rebel lord will be forgiven and there will be peace. There will never be peace with a mad dragon on the Iron Throne."
"The Rykkers have joined the false dragon," spoke Jared Buckwell, "as have an uncertain number of lords of the Crownlands. My guess is they joined him in fear he will burn their lands. Justifiable."
"That is cowardice!" said Lord Tyrell indignantly. "That is not justifiable!"
"Let us assume all the lords of the Crownlands have joined Aegon Targaryen," said Orys calmly, "with the exception of the Buckwells and Chytterings." He gave a nod of approval as the maester unrolled a map and placed it on the table. "That means the Crownlands is unfortunately our enemy alongside Dorne." He placed a faded red wooden marker fashioned in the shape of a dragon head on the part of the map labelled 'the Crownlands'. He put one of a sun and spear on Dorne.
"You still have the Reach as a strong ally, Your Grace," Lord Tyrell assured him confidently. "The Dornish will be eradicated in days!"
"It is not a Dornish rebellion Lord Tyrell," said Lord Royce impatiently. "It is a war." He turned his attention to the map. "Your Grace, I'm almost certain that the false Aegon has control of Dragonstone and the lords of the Narrow Sea are most likely on his side. The Narrow Sea lords have more Valyrian blood and Targaryen connections than most of us here. Lord Velaryon has Targaryen blood and by the Seven, he's one of the most powerful Narrow Sea lords. If he agreed to support a pretender, it is likely the other lords of the Narrow Sea and Crackclaw Point have followed suit. If Lady Lysa Arryn agrees, the Vale forces can focus on recapturing Dragonstone for you Your Grace."
"My good-brother and cousin Lord Redwyne can do that," objected Lord Tyrell loudly. "He has one of the biggest fleets!"
"It will take Lord Redwyne too long to sail to Dragonstone," said Orys, giving a nod at Lord Royce. "The Vale forces can deal with Dragonstone. They will receive a hundred ships from the royal fleet." He turned to Lord Tyrell. "Once you have a host of men assembled, I want you to harry the Dornish forces." Thankfully, Lord Tyrell did not contradict him. Even Lord Tyrell knows that it's madness to take an army onto Dornish land to fight the Dornish.
"What about the false Aegon?" asked another lord.
"The river lords will fight, Your Grace," spoke Lord Mallister. "I highly suspect that Lord Tully will insist on the river lords battling the false dragon's men. Lord Edmure might even want to kill the false Aegon himself for holding his sister, the queen mother, prisoner. If my sister was imprisoned by the false dragon, I would crave revenge as well Your Grace."
"I think every honourable man in this room would," commented Orys. His eyes swivelled back to the map as he toyed with a white fish-headed marker. It would take an ample sum of time for armies to march – a vast amount he didn't have. It was frustrating. Something nagged in Orys's mind. What was it that Grandfather Hoster always told him whenever he entertained him with wartime stories? "Not all the river lords are loyal to me," Grandfather Hoster had growled darkly. "They are a quarrelsome lot the river lords. When I fought on the side of your father, for the majority of the war I was here in the Riverlands, fighting against some of my damned bannermen. The Darrys, the Goodbrooks, Mootons and Rygers…they all fought for the dragons."
Orys looked at Lord Royce. "Have my aunt Lady Arryn send a squad of men to the Riverlands immediately."
"What is it Your Grace?" said Lord Royce, concerned.
"Darrys, Goodbrooks, Mootons and Rygers." Orys heard Lord Mallister utter a quiet curse. "They are not the most powerful of river lords, but together they can cause enough trouble for the rivermen to be delayed to the Crownlands." He then glanced at the older lords. "My lords, what do you suggest we do? My good-father Lord Stark is heading north to gather men. It'll take him time. If we wait for him, Lord Tully and the valemen, we would have lost the Seven Kingdoms to the false Aegon before a single battle."
"We could journey to the Crownlands and negotiate?" suggested a Frey knight Orys didn't recognise.
The lords broke into a loud argument.
"That is an act of cowardice!"
"Count on a Frey to shirk from battle!"
"The dragons are mad – there is no point negotiating with them!"
"Yes there is," said Lord Royce loudly. The other lords fell silent. "For time," he said solemnly as everyone listened. "We know negotiating with the false Aegon is pointless, but no blood can be spilt during negotiations and we can use that time to levy our troops and plan for battle. Who knows? Perhaps when the lords of the Crownlands see our united troops, they will return to the fold, deserting the false dragon." He looked at Orys. "Do you approve, Your Grace?"
It was a common strategy and this Aegon – if not, his lords – would notice it at once. However, it was better than no plan at all. "Lord Tyrell will go to the Reach and gather his men," said Orys slowly, "and all the other lords present will return home and call their troops with the exception of Lords Mallister and Royce. You'll have your sons raise the troops as I wish for both of you to accompany me to the Crownlands to represent Vale and Riverlands support." He stood up. "We all have letters to write and send and battles to plan. We will convene here again at dawn tomorrow. May the Seven be with us all."
Mini rant after watching the Season 7 finale: on what grounds did Rhaegar annul his marriage to marry Lyanna Stark? Though I'm not a fan of R+L=J, it does make sense to some slight degree. I can see Jon as a Targaryen bastard or Rhaegar taking Lyanna as his second wife, but him annulling his marriage to Elia?
Sorry, I had no one to rant to about it :P
