It was another tiring day for the Prince of Dorne, but not one he did not enjoy. The alliance with the Triarchy was yielding him good results. The Stepstones he was more than happy to let the Free Cities settle on. He was building a relationship with them, one that he expected would go on to make Dorne even stronger. And it would push the Targaryen power further back like it had during the first War for the Stepstones. He had remained neutral then, well his father had. But he would not be making the same mistake. It was time for Dorne to return to its former glory of independence.
His guards opened the doors to his chambers and he froze before he could even enter. On his bed was a boy, no older than ten, maybe eleven and a girl no older than seven. His throat was sliced open and the blood covered his bed sheets, while the girl held a knife wet with blood. "What is the meaning of this?" the Prince asked. In reply, he received a sharp blow to the back of his head and his world collapsed into darkness.
The commotion was what he heard when he began to rouse, followed by the sound of steel clashing. His vision followed his hearing and he saw his guards dead on the floor, their guts sliced open. Above them stood two men he had seen at court, Lysene men that came with the Rogare envoy Drazenko, the younger brother of the current head of House Rogare. They were a powerful house, one he had been helping in taking the Stepstones.
"What happened?" the Prince asked, trying to stand up. But the Rogare men at arms pinned him back down with the butt of their spear, slamming into his back.
"You shall receive justice" one of the men grunted. The Prince looked at the man with fury first and then confusion. Justice? For what? His eyes wandered from the men to his dead guards and then his surroundings. He was in his chambers, on the floor by his bed. There was blood dripping down from the side, making his brow furrow further. His guards were on the ground, it could not be their blood that was dripping down to the ground.
He went to stand again, only to be struck down once more. "Justice for what?!" he croaked out. He felt a hand on the back of his neck and then he was yanked to his feet.
"For what you say?!" the Rogare man roared, spittle spraying all over his face. He made the Prince turn towards his bed, the fast movements making his world spin violently. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed slowly to regain his senses. The smell of blood pierced his senses but he was not fazed by it. He had smelt and seen blood enough to not be affected by it. Slowly he opened his eyes and when he saw what he was being shown, he blanched. His daughter was being held by two more guards, tears streaming down her face. Before her was a dead boy. Drazenko Rogare lay there with his throat sliced open.
"He's going to name Rhaenyra heir again."
"He won't if Alicent gives him another son."
"And will she do it?"
"She will, I can assure you."
The Lord of Old Town and his brother toasted gravely to this. All their plans relied on Alicent doing her duty to her family. The Targaryens and the Hightowers had been friends since Aegon the Conqueror's time before he was known as the Conqueror even. They knew full well what could happen should a king as Maegor sits on the Throne, it would mean their power ending. Maegor had threatened Faith and only stopped because he was dead before he could get it done with. They had stopped Daemon from ascending, and Rhaenyra was cut from the same cloth to a certain extent. And not to forget that she was a woman, and women did not rule. The Seven created women to birth children and raise the future Lords of the Kingdom. Someone like that was not fit to rule in any way possible, their religion did not teach them that.
"The Arch Maesters are all dead. Does that mean our plans for the dragons…"
"Died with them, sadly" Hobart Hightower sighed in frustration. "They had found a way to stunt these beasts while they were in their eggs, or even in their infancy. But too shrewd to share them with the rest of their kind. But worry not I am sure we'll have success with the new conclave."
"And these men… are they receptive to our cause?" asked Ser Otto.
"The Maesters are creating a world that has no place for magic, Dragons above all. They'll listen to what I have to say, and with enough funding, they'll fall in line."
"And the Faith?"
"Will do as we ask of them. We have been their biggest patrons and our relationship is a solid one" Lord Hightower assured him.
A knock on the door interrupted Otto before he could speak. Hobart called for whoever it was to come in. It was weird that the person on the other side was not declared by the guards. The doors opened and entered Ser Ormund Hightower, son of Lord Hobart Hightower. But something was off about him, about the way he stood and looked at them. There was a fire in his eyes that was not normal.
Ser Ormund came towards them in almost a run and before either Ser Otto or Lord Hobart could ask him his purpose, the Knight and Heir dived onto his father. Lord Hightower let out a gurgle as blood seeped out of his mouth. There was a knife being thrust into his throat. The Lord of Old Town died quickly while Ser Otto scrambled to his feet.
"Ormund what is the meaning of this?!" the man barked. The reply he got was a punch in the nose that made him stagger back. He was not allowed to gather his bearing, a kick to his gut sending him down on his back. Otto groaned and cried in pain as Ormund's planted his foot into his gut, multiple times. He coughed up blood when the foot reached his throat, a pathetic whine coming from his mouth. Ormund pulled him to his feet by his beard and dragged him towards the open window.
"You've leeched off of her for too long," Ormund said coldly. Otto stared at his nephew's face as darkness swam at the corner of his vision, and could have sworn that there was a hint of crimson dancing in his eyes. "Sometimes a show of force is necessary to show who is in power" the Knight whispered before throwing his uncle out the window. He watched the man fall and waited till he heard the body hit the ground, he then dragged the body of his father and threw him out the window as well. His eyes drifted to the door, where a single white raven stood, its beady crimson eyes staring at him. It cawed and Ormund nodded, before following his uncle and father out the window.
The holy brothers and sisters lighted the candles in the Sept, as an act of remembrance.
"I know I should be grieving them, praying for their souls. But I feel nothing. I feel like I'm finally free as if some invisible weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Does that make me a bad person, Brynden?"
"If it was any other person whom I did not know and was unaware of how their family made them feel, I'd say it would make them a bad person. But knowing you, and what your family expected and pushed for you to do, I suppose the relief isn't the worst thing you can feel."
The two stared at the likeness of the Seven before them, Alicent at the Mother and Brynden at the Stranger. "Helaena stands to inherit Old Town. She wouldn't be a bad match for you, Lord Brynden."
"I practically raised that child. The last thing I need is to stop seeing her as my daughter and start seeing her as my wife" the man blanched and the woman laughed.
"You wouldn't make the worst match" Alicent smiled.
"I'd rather not, thank you for the offer though" Brynden smiled.
They spent a little while longer in the Sept before departing, not another word being shared between the two.
"Dorne asks us for help in their struggle against the Rogare family. The messenger says that Princess Aliandra is being unrightfully framed for the murder of Drazenko Rogare. Prince Qoren is being held captive, Lord Dalt of Lemonwood writes. He also writes that the Prince's other two children had been smuggled out when the fights broke out and are currently with him."
"Are the Dornish so weak that they need our help to fight this conflict?"
"House Rogare is a rich family. They have hired every man they possibly could hire. The Triarchy have pulled away from the Stepstones and set their eyes on Sunspear instead."
"I say we let them suffer. They spat in our faces when we extended our hand for peace. Now let them stir in their own creation."
"That would make us no better than them, Lord Tyland" the Hand of the King chuckled. "Write back to Lord Dalt and tell them that we will extend our hand to help. But for that, he must hand over Princess Coryanne and Prince Qyle to us as wards. As a sign of goodwill that Dorne will not be a problem to us anymore, especially House Martell."
"At once, Lord Hand" Grandmaester Orwyle bowed his head. He was the replacement for Grandmaester Mellos who had sadly passed away.
"It is an odd thing" Ser Tyland commented, "just a year ago The Triarchy and Dorne was a big thorn in our side. And now they are at each other's throats. I suppose we have to thank our Lord Hand for taking care of this issue for us."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Ser Tyland" Brynden smiled an easy smile.
"But it is somewhat of a good news in an otherwise gloomy few years for us" Princess Rhaenyra commented gently. "The loss of my brothers… the struggles of my father's failing health and then the murder-suicide of House Hightower at the hands of Ser Gwaine and Ser Ormund. It still shocks me to think about it."
"I'm more surprised that none of the guards tried stopping them" Lord Lyonel commented. "All those men who have sworn to protect their Lord and his family, failing to do so."
"It is said that they just stood by and let the two men do their deed. I'm not sure what happened between these men and the Hightowers, but it must have been something if they allowed them to be killed" The Queen commented, her nonchalant tone making many eyes her oddly. It was not the voice of someone who was grieving.
"And now Princess Helaena stands to inherit Old Town" Grandmaester Orwyle commented.
"Whoever marries her would be a rich Lord in a day" Lord Lyman commented.
The doors slamming open disrupted the meeting from commencing further. It was Prince Daemon and he did not look alright in the slightest.
"It's Viserys," he said shakily and immediately they were all on their feet and rushing out of the room.
The room stank of incense, something that hid the stank of death easily. King Viserys was struggling in his bed, Princess Helaena at his bedside. Princess Rhaenyra was the first to come in, followed by the Queen and then the Hand.
"Father" Rhaenyra rushed to his other side, taking his free hand.
"He was alright just a moment ago," Princess Helaena of ten and six said, "I was telling him about this book I read when he suddenly began struggling to breathe."
"It's alright sweetheart" the Queen comforted her, kissing her daughter on the top of her head.
"Rhaenyra" the King wheezed out, a smile on his face showing the darkened teeth. "It's time…"
"Father, please" the Princess mumbled shakily.
"I've lived… my life. Your mother… she waits for me now. There is… so much I need to… apologize to her for" the King looked at Helaena and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, "my girl… you are a shining light… don't let anyone tell you otherwise…"
"Grandmaester give him something to help him" the Hand of the King barked.
"No… no" the King shook his head weakly. "My time… it has come. The stranger… he awaits to take my soul. Brynden… take care… of my family… as you've done… through the years."
"I will, your Grace" the man nodded.
"Prince… Prince Aegor will… sit on the throne… as my heir. Till then… till then Lord Brynden… he will be regent. Guide him… as you have guided me… through the years."
He motioned for the Hand of the King to approach him and Brynden did. The King let go of Helaena's hand and held it out for him. Brynden took it without hesitation, kneeling beside his bed. The King gently took his hand, guided it and placed it on Alicent's hand, which was holding Helaena's. "Take… take care of her" the King's gaze was on Alicent now, "I tired… but I know… I was not… the husband you… wanted."
"Viserys-"
"It's… alright. It's… alright Alicent. "He is… what Aemma was… is for me. Allow me… allow me to do this… one act for you. For the… many sacrifices you made… for me."
His head slowly turned to Rhaenyra. "We've had… our differences… through the years. But… but know that… I am proud… of you both" he looked at Helaena as well with a smile before turning to Rhaenyra. "Aegor… he is the one… the Prince" he whispered weakly. "Wed… wed Helaena to him. She will… she will make a… fine Queen. Now… now I must go… your mother… I can see her… I've kept… her waiting… for too long."
The Good King Viserys closed his eyes surrounded by his family as the last of his breath left his lungs. When he opened them again, he was standing in complete whiteness, feeling better than he has in so many years. And before him stood someone that took the breath out of his lungs once more.
"My Love"
I think this might be a good place to end my story. You know how when you're writing something and at the very end, you come to a point where you go, 'You know? I think I can't do it better than this.' Yeah? This is that point for me. Sure I can go forward and write about Aegor I's rule and how Alicent and Brynden settled in once they married with the blessings of Viserys and the Targaryen family, but those are peaceful times and it'll get boring very quickly. Plus there's a good chance that the Blackfyre Rebellion does not happen. Or it does cause we might get an Aegon the Unworthy in some form or another. Regardless that is a subject for another small story and me taking in more knowledge of the Blackfyrre Rebellion since at this point I have very little knowledge about that particular Rebellion. So I am ending this here. Thank you all for the support you've shown me in this piece I wrote and hopefully you'll stick around for the others that I plan on writing.
