House of the Dragon just keeps hitting the mark! The bulk of this chapter admittedly was written before Episode 4 came out but even then, afterwards I had to come and amend it slightly as there is a very lore heavy scene in this chapter. Mondays are now one of my favourite days (the episodes air in the UK at 2am) and every episode so far has just been incredible. I am sad to say goodbye to Milly and Emily, they've done a phenomenal job in the first half of the season, though I can't wait to see what Emma and Olivia bring to the table this weekend.
I'll keep this short though, and say that I hope you enjoy this chapter. I own nothing but the OC's, the other characters and locations are the property of George R R Martin and/or HBO.
It was Maester Myle that told Luke that his Small Council were meeting without him after he had asked about the Grand Maester not being there. The King quickly got dressed out of his bed clothes into something that vaguely resembled formal wear, and with his arm in a sling and Blackfyre strapped to his hip, he had his Kingsguard escort him over to the Small Council chambers, passing by the Iron Throne as he did so. He had Ser Barristan push the doors open roughly, and internally Luke was pleased at the startled look on everyone's faces.
"Don't mind me." He said to his Council coldly. "Continue on."
"Your Grace." Jon Connington rose out of his seat and bowed his head towards Luke, with the rest of the room following suit. "We expected you to remain in bed to recuperate..."
"I have a sore arm, Lord Hand." Luke stated bluntly. "Not an addled brain. I can sit here and discuss the matters of court." Ser Barristan pulled the King's chair out for him and Luke settled into it, being pushed in like a child before the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard took his own seat. "What were we discussing?"
Mace Tyrell looked like he was about to shit himself as the silence dragged on for a few seconds, but thankfully one of the Council members opened their mouth. "We were discussing the Sparrow issue, Your Grace. Namely what to do with the High Sparrow. I was advocating for a public execution…" Lord Monford Velaryon trailed off.
"That would only embolden them!" Jon Connington exclaimed frustratedly. "He is more valuable as a prisoner…"
"I'm with Lord Velaryon." Luke shrugged nonchalantly. "Have him beheaded in front of the Sept. Let his followers see what their fate will be once we take it back."
Mace Tyrell shook his head. "We had agreed on the Wall…"
"Without my agreement?" Luke asked, leaning forwards as he narrowed his eyes at his goodfather. "No, Lord Tyrell. These Sparrows have had their chance. They die, every single one of them."
Jon shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Mercy is not a terrible idea here, Your Grace. The people look up to the Sparrows. If we do not want a riot on our hands…"
"The last riot in King's Landing came because the city was hungry and under the control of an insane boy King." Luke snapped. "The last riot before that was during the Dance, against the Half Year Queen because she once more couldn't afford to look after her subjects during a war. We are not at war, Jon, nor are we so beggared that we cannot feed our people." He turned to Mace. "Have the food supplies doubled for a month and spread around the city. That way whatever our course of action against these fanatics will be forgotten about in time."
"We must also consider the Faith proper, Your Grace." Grand Maester Gormon commented. "They will be watching from Oldtown with great interest."
"It's their fault in the first place." Lord Velaryon scoffed. "If they had appointed a non-blasphemous High Septon then these Sparrows wouldn't have gained such a strong foothold."
"You're awfully quiet, Varys." Luke stated as he turned the attention to the eunuch. "Have you had word from the Most Devout in Oldtown?"
Varys smiled. "I have heard whispers, Your Grace. Namely that they have chosen a new High Septon, but he has started his tenure in the Starry Sept. He is anxious to have a conversation with you, Your Grace, but only once the Sept of Baelor is secure once more."
"Then we must look to regain the Sept." Luke said firmly. "Prince Oberyn is down there now, have him move in."
"No." Jon Connington stated firmly. "Bloodshed in such a holy place is not the answer. We stick to the plan; we starve them out and turn the smallfolk against them."
Luke glared at his mentor and friend. "Jon." He said quietly. "That is not my decision."
"And yet it is still the right one." Jon Connington responded firmly. "It will take time of course, but it is how to resolve this issue without risking the trust we have built up with the Faith, the people of the city and anyone else that is looking at us here with interest. You are injured and have been on Milk of the Poppy, Your Grace. I'm afraid I must insist you return to your chambers and rest, to take the time you need to recover. Spend time with Aegon and Visenya, find a hobby to occupy yourself with, but right now, you are not in the right mind…"
"Lord Hand… you forget yourself." Lord Velaryon gasped in shock.
Luke noticed that he was about to be outvoted by his Council members however and stood back roughly, his chair launching itself towards the wall. "It is fine, Lord Velaryon." He growled out through clenched teeth. "The Lord Hand has made his position perfectly clear on how much my dear friend trusts me." He looked over to Jon staring daggers from his royal purple eyes. "Do not fuck up my city any more, Jon, while I'm carving models or whatever the fuck it is you want me to do."
"Luke…" Jon began, but Luke was already halfway out of the room, storming off at pace.
He barely even registered the footsteps of his Kingsguard behind him until he had returned to his chambers, and before he slammed the door shut he turned to look at Ser Barristan. "You obey me, not Jon, right?"
"I serve you and only you, Your Grace." The Lord Commander nodded. "Though at least for now, I agree with the Hand that you need rest so that your arm can recover. Choosing to take it to battle…"
"Thank you, Ser." Luke cut the elderly man off. "That will be all." And the King slammed his door shut frustratedly, cutting himself off from the rest of the castle.
Queen Margaery actually enjoyed going down into the city orphanages. Before the current troubles she had taken to going to a different one each week, though in a carefully planned strategy she had arranged to increase her visits to daily, whilst also showing her face in the markets and other suitable shops. It was thought that her presence and words should calm down some of the noise coming from the smallfolk against her husband, and though it was still only the second day her audiences had already grown a lot from her first attempts.
Her last visit of the day was to a smaller children's home, where a kind couple had taken in half a dozen young orphans to raise themselves. Margaery had been funding this family for almost a year already, and today she found herself reading them all a bed time story about her ancestor Garth the Gardener before departing back to the Red Keep.
"Today was a good day." Her Kingsguard protector, Ser Taron Edgerton stated as he helped her into the carriage.
"We cannot count our blessings just yet, Ser Taron." Margaery told him. "There are still a good percentage of the population that call my husband an abomination."
Taron smiled as he put his hand on the door. "The people love you, Your Grace. With your backing the tide will turn against these Sparrows." He told her before shutting the door and allowing the Queen to relax her face from the near constant smile she had needed to wear.
It was a quick journey back up to the Red Keep, and as the Queen left her carriage and made her way back into the castle she heard the familiar voice of her Father inside the Throne Room, with Ser Raymund Connington stood outside indicating the Hand was inside.
"May I enter, Ser?" She asked the Kingsguard knight, and the Stormlander bowed his head and opened the door.
"Queen Margaery." He announced to the echoing room, and Margaery walked inside to see Jon Connington, her Father and Varys inside.
"Margaery." Mace Tyrell greeted enthusiastically as she walked in alone, pulling her into a hug as she joined the men. "How was the day?"
"Tiring, but fruitful." Margaery nodded. "The people are beginning realise that the Sparrows are just after their own ends rather than benefitting the Faith, and the brutality of the High Septon's death doesn't sit well with them."
Jon nodded thoughtfully. "Good, we can use that."
"With this turn of tide and additional food coming in, surely we can expect this situation to be over quickly?" Mace Tyrell asked happily.
"I wouldn't be so careless, Lord Tyrell." Varys stated. "The Sept is a fortress when it needs be, and they have stores within that will keep the Sparrows fed for months if they are lavish, and years if they are cautious."
Jon groaned. "Keeping the King at bay will only grow tougher the longer it goes on."
"Keeping the King at bay?" Margaery asked.
Mace nodded. "His Grace is unwell, he appeared at the Small Council today urging for violence and bloodshed, at a Sept of all places! The horror!"
"Ned Stark's execution on the steps of the Sept caused enough of an outrage with the Faith." Varys nodded. "Spilling blood will do us no favours."
"A fact I have reiterated to Prince Oberyn in the bluntest possible manner." Jon Connington sighed. "But the King has always been wilful and bold, it is what persuaded the Golden Company to name him Captain-General at 17, and also what won us the Iron Throne in the first place."
Mace grabbed Margaery's hand once more. "You must keep him pacified, my dear. Perhaps another child…"
Swallowing her distaste for having her body discussed as a distraction method, Margaery simply nodded. "If the Gods are good." Was all she said in her politest tone.
"He has two young children already, Lord Tyrell." Jon said to Margaery's happiness. "If it were the King to carry them to term then perhaps that would work, but I know Lucerys, a babe on the way would only encourage him to end this sooner."
"Then let us pray that the Sparrows surrender before His Grace loses his patience." Varys responded. "Or the Princess…" He added, before bowing his head to the rest of the group before leaving, saying. "If you will excuse me My Lords, Your Grace."
They waited for the spymaster to leave the room before speaking once more, with Mace Tyrell turning to Jon. "Should we be worried about the Princess?"
"She spoke with Ser Theodan yesterday." The Hand of the King explained. "I'm not sure what was said."
Margaery frowned. "We need to keep a closer eye on her." She said softly. "It is one thing for the King to do his own thing against his advisors' advice, but the Princess cannot be allowed free reign."
"Agreed." Jon nodded. "Leave it with me." He bowed at the Queen. "Your Grace." He said before following Varys out, leaving the two Tyrell's alone in the Throne Room.
Margaery took that time to walk over to the steps leading up to the Iron Throne, staring at it. "I want to send word to Grandfather in Oldtown." She stated. "Perhaps he can arrange a meeting with the Faith, to see us move forwards after this at peace."
"Your Grandfather hasn't descended the Hightower in almost two decades, Margaery." Mace Tyrell reminded her. "I don't see how that would help."
"I'll send the raven anyway." The Queen stated firmly. "If anything will press Lord Hightower to descend, it should be the wellbeing of his royal Great Grandson. I fear what the Sparrows have planned for Aegon, Father."
The Lord of Highgarden put an arm over his daughter's shoulder, and Margaery sunk her head into him for comfort as the pair looked at the chair that they had sought after for so long, a comfortable silence sitting between them.
As day turned to night, Luke was still in his chambers in a childlike strop. He had pulled out a battered and old book he had brought over from Dragonstone but had never found the time to read, a book that had been started by his ancestor Daenys the Dreamer, and was effectively a list of all Targaryen prophecies between her lifetime and Daeron the Young Dragon. Luke had reached the time of Aegon the Conqueror and was trying to digest the shocking information written down in the pages when the door opened to reveal Ser Franklyn Flowers.
"Princess Daenerys to see you, Your Grace."
Smiling, Luke leant back in his comfortable armchair and said. "Let her in."
His sister appeared around the door and Luke noticed that she had her riding clothes on, with her silver hair tied up in an intricate bun to keep it away from her face. He could smell Viserion on her as she came closer and kissed him on the cheek. "Your Grace." She greeted, pouring them both a glass of wine.
"Enjoy your ride?" Luke asked with an eyebrow raised as he also noticed the smell of Viserion lingering.
Dany nodded as she handed over the full glass before pouring out her own. "It gives me perspective. And I enjoyed seeing all the little sparrows running around fearing that I was going to burn them."
"If only." Luke grinned at the thought. "But no, we must prolong this siege and allow them to surrender no matter how long it takes." His mirth dropped as he took a sip of his drink. "Or so the Council agrees."
Dany nodded. "It's understandable. Although I feel like it is being played far too safely, as if we are terrified of offending the Faith for some reason."
"It's been that way ever since we converted." Luke said, feeling as if he was about to give a history lesson. "Our first true threat as rulers was the Faith. Aegon appeased them, Aenys offended them and Maegor burned them. Now religion is our enemy again, and all because of lies…"
"Unless somebody found out." Daenerys said quietly, and Luke realised it was the first time that the pair had spoken alone since the allegations had come out. "Margaery knows, Luke…"
"She wouldn't." Luke insisted. "She is worried about your influence on me, but she wouldn't risk our son like this…"
Daenerys nodded in agreement. "But what if the appeasement is that I must be married off, sent away to some far off place to simply breed and keep away from you."
Luke sighed. "That would be easiest, Dany." He said softly. "To betroth you, it's what I've been advised to do ever since my return." He saw the pain on his sisters face at those words and shook his head. "But there is nobody in this world that deserves you and I will not send you away out of only fear. There is one thing that the Council forgets."
"That is?" Dany asked.
"We are Targaryen's. The first Targaryen's in over one hundred years to birth Dragons." Luke smirked. "There used to be a saying, that Targaryen's are closer to Gods than to men. We are proof of that, more than perhaps anyone in our family's history. Aegon already had three large dragons when he conquered Westeros, we did it with baby ones, birthed without the knowledge of how to do so."
A grin appeared on Dany's face too. "We did." She agreed. "We took back what had been stolen from us, with Fire and Blood."
"Our house words." Luke agreed. "More meaningful to me now than perhaps ever before." He pointed to the book he had been reading. "Aegon had a dream, sister, one that added to his desire to leave Dragonstone. He wrote it down here, in Daenys' book of dreams." He shifted it over to his sister, who leant forwards and read, wine in hand.
"The Song of Ice and Fire…" Dany read aloud as she traced over the drawing of a dagger underneath the scribbles of their most famous ancestor. "Where did you find this?"
"Hidden in the Lord's chambers of Dragonstone." Luke shrugged. "I paid no notice of it until I shut myself away here today. I wish I had before I rode Northwards…"
Dany continued reading. "As the winter to end all winters bellows from the distant North, a power to end the world shall follow. Man shall perish one by one, unless the Prince that was Promised stands before it, a united land behind him."
"He goes on, believing this Prince to be one born of his blood, a Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, the entirety of Westeros at his back." Luke explained.
"Or hers." Dany noted. "It is written in Valyrian, that noun has no gender."
As he digested her words Luke grabbed the book again to re-read with a new perspective. "Of course…" He stood himself up and walked over to his black oak chest, unlocking it with the keys he constantly kept around his neck and as he ignored the crowns that he had collected over the years he picked out the letters from Rhaegar. "The Prince who was Promised… Rhaegar knew of this prophecy." He flicked through the letters trying to find anything else.
"The dragon has three heads…" Daenerys whispered.
"What?" Luke questioned.
"I dreamt it a couple of years ago… back in Dorne." Dany shrugged. "At first I thought it was Viserys speaking, but no, it was Rhaegar. He told his wife, 'the dragon has three heads' and mentioned the Prince that was Promised…"
"It all fits." Luke whispered. "We birthed three dragons, Valaxes, Viserion and Rhaegal are the dragons." He looked back at the letters, now littered around the table. "Salt and smoke… the tears of mourning and the smoke of Valarra's pyre… it all fits."
"It won't matter if we allow fanatics to bully us." Dany muttered. "A united Westeros will be but a jape if your vassals see us cower before a few dozen men in the Sept."
"Buildings can be rebuilt easier than loyalty." Luke noted.
Dany looked at the book again, tracing her finger over Aegon's dream. "If our ancestors knew about this… it explains so much."
"We are thought of as mad." Luke said strongly. "But say Maegor decided to show only strength because he needed his subjects to be cowered into fighting a greater threat alongside him…"
"Summerhall happened at the end of an autumn." Dany said, her eyes wide in realisation. "The Unlikely may have felt he needed dragons drastically…"
"And the invasion of Dorne… winter was on its way…" Luke whispered as he trailed off. "If Aegon thought this would happen in his lifetime…"
"He needed a united Westeros and tried to force Dorne unsuccessfully." Dany grinned. "It all fits."
Luke nodded enthusiastically before the realisation set in. "It's us though, we are the ones that will have to face the coming storm. The storm is coming at this very moment."
Dany nodded. "And we can't be stuck here wasting energy on a siege."
Luke moved over to his balcony, staring at all the lights surrounding the Sept of Baelor in the distance. "This needs to be over." He knew.
"Then let it be over." Dany had joined him, snaking her arm into his. "The Starks have their Winters and the Lannisters have their gold. We must use what we know best."
Nodding, and not breaking eye contact from the large building on Visenya's Hill, Luke muttered. "Fire and Blood."
Sieges had always bored Oberyn Martell. He had seen his fair share during his time with the Second Sons and age had yet to give the Dornishman patience. Nonetheless he did as he was tasked as the Master of Laws and commanded the siege, using the time to reconnect with his former squire Daemon Sand and push some more ideas for the Gold Cloaks to adopt.
On this night however, he was sat inside his large tent with some of the Dornish commanders that had joined him in King's Landing and he was hosting a game of spin the sword, but instead of cutting hair or kissing, the men were having to drink if it landed on them. The Prince of Dorne felt like he was being targeted as he had currently drunk the most, though he didn't complain and accepted the warm buzz.
The dagger landed on him once again and the men around all cheered, which Oberyn lapped up as he stood up to refill his wine glass. As he poured the decanter however, noise was starting to filter through the tent flaps of men rushing around. Downing the drink quickly and grabbing his dagger belt and spear, Oberyn led his men outside and noticed that things were being packed up and his Gold Cloaks were abandoning the square.
"Prince Oberyn!" He heard Ser Rolly Duckfield calling over to him, and Oberyn turned to see four White Cloaks leading what must have been two hundred red cloaks.
"Ser Duckfield, what is happening?" Oberyn asked.
"You are being ordered to widen the perimeter of the siege back 1000 yards." Ser Rolly explained.
Oberyn looked bemused. "1000 yards? That seems excessive."
"By order of the King." Ser Rolly stated, handing Oberyn some parchment.
Sure enough, the King's hand had written the letter giving the orders, and so Oberyn obeyed and started barking out his own, packing up his own belongings and moving to the new location. It wasn't until he had arrived and marked out the new siege lines on his map that he realised what was going on, and it was at the exact moment the Prince of Dorne stepped outside of his tent to stare up at the Sept of Baelor in the distance that he heard the high pitched shrill that sent shivers down his spine, and a large black shadow raced over him.
Luke hates feeling useless, and his anger is only increasing at how he feels he is being treated by the Small Council no matter how right they are. He has his idea of how to settle things whilst the Council has theirs (barring the unwaveringly loyal Lord Velaryon of course).
The next two scenes were fun to show the divide in the court. Firstly, with Margaery, Mace Tyrell and Jon urging for peace and being extremely proactive in trying to turn the tide of public opinion. Counter that with the blood of the Dragon however, and you get a completely different idea on what must be done…
The scene with Dany is me all over. I love the lore of the world and I love trying to include that in my stories, and so with Luke so obsessed over his heritage right from the first chapter I felt that of course he would keep such an important book close by, only now he actually has the time to go through it after effectively being placed under house arrest. And from that, the conversation about Targaryen history with the new knowledge from House of the Dragon about the prophecy, it's led to a lot of talk around the actions of past Targaryen King's that I find absolutely fascinating. Of course though, all of this leads to arguably the wrong decision…
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
Next Time: Luke plays his hand, and King's Landing reacts…
Reviews:
suppes1: It definitely is an interesting idea…
TianYi: I presume this is about Charles III, in which case I agree. (Though I also agree in case you meant Luke in the story)
TehStorm: An interesting interpretation of the dream… Thank you, I hope so too.
C.E.W: I liked your idea, but the Sparrow's hadn't faced 3 years of warfare to be lured out so easily so they wouldn't have gone… they don't have the powers of arrest as they did in the show.
El: You'll have to wait and see!
RHatch89: I find most religious fanatics tend to be single minded and stubborn so they can't see around their narrow view of the world, I tried to put that in this story.
TheRagFromTheCrag: I won't lie, I only know that name from Assassin's Creed.
Zhorvak: I'm not sure, but they will connect somehow in the future…
Anaconda: Joffrey took it to Winterfell and tried to have Bran killed with it. Catelyn took it to Baelish, who then 6 years later gave it to Bran, who gave it to Arya who somehow triple jumped over an entire Godswood to kill the Night King… as for this story though I have thought about it and I'm not sure yet. This chapter is very lore heavy and the dagger would only add to that, so I guess I'll see how this chapter goes down before deciding too much.
Guest (Friday): Yes I'm fine! There were some issues with FFN last week and I hadn't written any further than this point at the time so I pushed it back another week.
Xman123: I'm largely undecided on how I'm going to plot out the war past about 120 AC, but I'm making progress on the plan. What I have decided however is his dragon and how he feels about each of his cousins...
