Chapter 12: Interlude - Who Are One
"Aerys, do you know what's going on?" Steffon asked as they allowed for a lull in their spar. "The ravens have been flying all week, and Grand Maester Pycelle looks a harried hare with all the running he's been doing."
"There have been summons as far west as Sarwyck," Tywin added, wiping away sweat from his forehead, "and lords great and small appear daily."
"We are at war," Aerys said, but it did not explain everything. The arrivals appeared with hosts too small to be assembled into an army, and with no baggage train fit for expedition. Petty lords and lordlings and hedge knights that would never dream of being asked for by the king had answered hastily. "Lords and ladies from Darry to Caswell to Swann have been called."
"That does not explain it," Tywin said. "The banners have been called already, and many march, though slowly. This is not that."
"Perhaps the king calls for an accounting?" Steffon said, before drenching himself with a bucket of water that sat in the training yard. A page scurried forward to refill it. "I too would be displeased if my bannermen answered with such lack of vigor."
That is not it either, Aerys thought, scrunching his brows. As a servant cannot speak for their master, so petty lords cannot answer for their Lord Paramount. "They have been welcome far too warmly, better than their stations merit," Aerys said.
"Perhaps the king has an announcement to make," Tywin said, wagging his brows. "A marriage, mayhaps?"
"I have not been told of anything if that is the case," Aerys said. Besides, how many fair maidens were at court to court? The beautiful Joanna was all that remained of high standing after Lelouch's sister had been shipped off. A pity that. Aerys had grown to like her bubbly nature, and to see it tarnished… the world was less for it.
"Fathers do not make a habit of telling their children things," Tywin said, a hint of bitterness in his tone.
Aerys knew his friend greatly misliked the Lord of Casterly Rock, though he did not know why. The few times he'd seen Lord Tytos proved him to be a loving and overly friendly figure.
"My father does," Aerys said absently. Long were the nights he was called to his father's solar to listen to the banter of old men, chief among them Steffon's. The better nights yielded the company of Gerold, whose deeds already filled two whole pages of the White Book, when he had been Lord Commander for just as many months! Aerys knew them by heart, better than he did his own history. The stories were songs to him.
"Shall we go again, Cousin?" Steffon asked, pointing his sword at Aerys.
"You'll lose," Aerys said with a grin. "Both of you will."
Tywin returned the smile with one of his own. "Will we?"
Steffon preferred his warhammer in a real fight, where the force of a blow mattered more than precision. Still, all that strength lended itself into a quickness with the blade; quick enough to match the lightnings which frequented his father's demesne. Most men would be caught off guard, but Aerys had fought his cousin countless times, and the first strike was always the same.
Aerys blocked with his own sword perfectly. A fraction of an inch off and it would've been fatal in battle.
"Steffon, you really ought to try something else one of these days," Tywin said, circling around Aerys.
"A single blow to end a single man, perfect in form," Steffon shot back, and pulled away as Tywin stepped forward.
Where Steffon was the looming storm, mighty and cold, Tywin was the fierce lion, a fire behind his blows. Anger mastered, given shape and form and sequence.
Tywin's first blow did not come quickly, but it did not come alone. Just as Aerys pushed away an overhead blow, it turned into another strike from a different angle. Again and again, Tywin struck, never letting up, never allowing an opening. Against a lesser man, he might score a dozen scratches before the fight was finished.
Aerys was not a lesser man. His guard did not break.
"Perhaps you ought to come at me together?" Aerys said with a grin. Together they would beat him, like Lelouch nearly did if he had been a bit quicker, a bit stronger.
Where is he, I wonder? Aerys thought, as he went on the offensive.
They had to bathe after their morning spar. Ser Lewyn had informed them that they were to attend court that day. Everyone would be there apparently.
"Whatever the king has planned, we'll find out soon enough," Steffon said.
Tywin nodded.
The first hint that things were not the same was the presence of the High Septon. The second was the Crystal Crown he wore. It sat uncomfortably on the man's brow, and was out of place against his plain clothes. The third was that Lelouch Velaryon stood beside him looking quite the figure in a new set of aquamarine lace robes, and when had that ever made for a boring day?
After a proclamation that winter would not be expected to last more than a few more months by Grandmaester Pycelle, Father whispered something to the Hand, who nodded. "His Grace," the Hand's voice boomed across the great hall, "permits His High Holiness audience."
His High Holiness stepped forward, sparing a shared look with Lelouch, before opening his mouth. "Your Grace, long ago when the Andals still lived on the hills of Andalos in the east," the High Septon said, "the Faith called for honorable men to take up the sword and cross the narrow sea. To bring the Faith with them, and see it flourish in new lands."
Aerys distinctly remembered entirely different reasons for the Andal migration.
"Not all men accepted," the High Septon said sadly, "and war broke out. Sacred Struggle, we called it, for it was work done for the gods and the toils were many and brutal. But we succeeded. That we stand here today, united under the light of the Seven who are One is testament to that."
And what of the old gods of the North? Are they not gods of the realm as well?
"It is well-known to the Faithful that in Essos, many are those who live under the shadow of the whip still. The maesters say it true: that there are three slaves to every one free man," he continued, and Aerys sat up. So there was more to this than a history lesson? "The children of slaves remain slaves, and know no life outside the collar. Whole generations have lived and died this way."
"I do not wish to paint with a wide brush," the High Septon said, "for surely there are some among them have an inkling of good. Some among the magisters and free men of decent stock and spirit, who treat their servants with dignity and friendship, but most cannot be counted to be so noble. How can they, so long as so damned a practice is prevalent among them?"
"Lord Lelouch," —and Aerys turned his eyes to the boy— "has shared words with me of how after having witnessed the greatness of Westeros, and the valor that our knights possess, the Magisters of Myr were awed. Upon his return from Bloodstone, pact was made to break every chain on the island! Only free men call Driftmark home now!
Lelouch's lips moved, but no sound came from them. It was as if he was repeating the words of the High Septon beneath his breath.
"If one lordling can see ten thousand souls free from so terrible a yoke," the High Septon said, "surely the greatest and highest of Westeros can match that a hundredfold?"
Nods of confused approval and murmurs filled the court. The pride of nobility saw them agree, even if they knew not what they agreed to. Then Aerys realized Lelouch was not repeating the words. He was reciting them, for they moved a fraction too fast to be heard and copied.
"Once more the faithful are called to arms across the narrow sea. Once more will we succeed," His High Holiness said. "I call on men, from the greatest lords to the humblest farmer to answer this call. Until the scourge of slavery is wiped clean from the Three Daughters, let us struggle and strive to make this world better. Let there be Sacred Struggle!"
"Ours is the fury!" the Hand barked out.
"Fury! Fury! Fury!" his stormlanders cheered.
"For the Seven! For the king!"
"Sacred Struggle!"
"Fire!" Aerys found himself shouting into the storm of words, swept up in the moment by rising from his seat. "Fire and blood!"
The king held up his hand and the room fell silent. "Since the time of King Jaehaerys the First, the Targaryen who sits on the Iron Throne has been Defender of the Faith. In this, as in all duties that relate to the defense of our subjects, do I say thus: Sacred Struggle is called, and House Targaryen answers! Will the lords of the realm follow me?"
"House Baratheon follows!" the Hand said.
"House Velaryon follows!"
More and more voices were added to the cacophony until Aerys could not make out the individual names anymore, save that many were with them.
That night, there were no old men waiting in his father's solar. Only a boy, and Aerys was pleased to see him.
"Lelouch Velaryon," Aerys said. "Your being here always makes life less dull."
"I am glad to be of service, Your Grace," Lelouch said.
"Aerys," Father said, "you have seen many happenings at court as of late. I would hear your thoughts on what has come to pass."
Aerys glanced at Lelouch, then began. "We are at war with the Blackfyre Pretenders who have hid themselves in Essos, but our lords are slow to answer your call."
"And you disapprove of their delay," Father said.
"Of course I do!" Aerys said. "You are the king, and they are your lords. Therefore, they must obey."
"Must they?" Father said, setting aside his crown. "What ought to be done then about these lords?"
"Threaten them with execution," Aerys said easily. "That ought to put some fire in their bellies."
Father frowned. "And you would carry out such threats? For no crime but tardiness? Do you suppose the lords of the realm will take kindly to that."
"I suppose not," Aerys said. "But there is no need to see the threat through. Fear will make the men march faster."
"And what happens," Father said, "to the first man that does not change after threat is given? You say you will not see it through."
"Nothing," Aerys admitted, and it sounded like defeat.
"Nothing? Then how will the other lords who see this act?"
"They would not change, and it would be much the same as before."
"Worse than that," Father said. "They will see us weak. Give no order men will not follow and threaten no punishment you will not see through."
"Yes, Father," Aerys said.
Father sighed. "You are young yet. There will be time for you to learn the subtleties of kingship. I have called Lelouch here to explain his schemes, that you might learn from them."
"His schemes?" Aerys asked, curious eyes turning towards the boy. That explained how Lelouch knew the High Septon's words before the man did himself!
"Yes, Your Grace. The lords of the realm acted slowly for they saw little challenge in the Blackfyres. They needed motivation," Lelouch said. "All wars are fought for three things in the end: gold, gods and glory. I just made sure they were made aware of the true state of things."
"Then His High Holiness' words about Sacred Struggle…"
"All my idea," Lelouch admitted with a small smile.
Aerys almost snorted. "So there are truly no more slaves on Driftmark?" What a farce the Sacred Struggle might look if men knew it was Lelouch's idea all along.
Lelouch's grin grew. "They are as free as they are in Pentos," Lelouch said and Aerys knew there were no slaves in Pentos left, not after the Braavosi had humbled them so.
Lelouch spoke long into the night, and the stories were songs to him.
-ZeroRequiem-
Gerold Hightower did not like being away from the king. It was not that he did not trust his brothers of the white cloak… but he did not trust his brothers of the white cloak. Among them, only Ser Harlan Grandison had stood at his side under Ser Duncan the Tall. The rest of them were newly sworn, and did not understand the weight of their vows.
Yet, the king had ordered him away, and he had no choice but to obey.
It was poor luck that of all the men his sword now guarded, it had to be Ormund Baratheon, the Lord Hand.
"You mislike me," Baratheon said as a faint roar sounded in the distance. Their ship lurched.
"I do not know you well enough to mislike you," Gerold said. "You are new to me, and a stranger in truth."
"Yet we both serve under the same king," Baratheon said. "For all that you do not agree with my counsel, I would not see harm come to my good-brother and his family. Not if it can be helped."
"You did not want this war."
"I did not," Baratheon said with a nod. "Wars are dangerous and cause hardship. Wars have killed kings and princes, and we have precious few of those left."
"We are at war all the same, whether you like it or not," Gerold said.
"I do not like it," Baratheon said, "but I serve the king in this faithfully, as I do in all matters. If war must be pursued to the far corners of Essos, certain assurances need be made to the Sea Lord."
Gerold scrunched his brows. "What business is it of Braavos if we make war on a Blackfyre?"
"It becomes their business when we step foot on their side of the Narrow Sea," Baratheon said.
"They do not hold dominion over Myr, Lys, or Tyrosh." As far as Gerold knew, Pentos was as far south as Braavos cared to meddle with.
"They do not," Baratheon agreed, "but they will worry all the same, and if left alone long enough, the golds might seize power from the greys."
The greys, Gerold knew, were those men who clung to the ideals of Braavos' founding. They'd taken their name after the same grey stones that was the foundation of the Free City. Let no man be put under the yoke of the collar and whip. The golds on the other hand were the rich merchant class that thrived on trade. Trade with Volantis and the other cities had brought them much wealth, and war disrupted such things.
"So we are here to treat with merchants then?" Gerold asked, unable to keep the scorn from his tone.
"Merchants that control the greatest fleet in the known world, yes. If Braavos wanted, they could match all the ships of Westeros in a few years, and they've had centuries to build up their strength at sea."
"The greys despise slavery as much as we do," Gerold said. "Would it not be in their interest to see us succeed?"
"Not all men think so kindly of others," Baratheon said. "They will see our armies and ships and lords, and think to themselves, 'What if they stay?' Best to cut out such poison before it can grow roots. Some words of platitude today will spare us grief tomorrow."
"And if they do not believe you? Will that be an end to the war?"
"No. You know as well as I do the king cannot back down now, after having made such proclamations. His plan has worked, and the Sacred Struggle spurs many hosts towards King's Landing. I suspect by the time we return, the invasion will be underway," Baratheon said. "But if we cannot convince the Sea Lord of our good intentions, we will have to offer more than words."
-ZeroRequiem-
Is it better to be loved or feared? For a man even a mother names monstruous, it is no choice at all.
Maelys Blackfyre, First of His Name, sat beneath the shade cast by the Tree of Crowns. Here he had made pact with eight others to raise each other to kingship. Not all at one time, not all made widely known, but sacred made all the same. Only seven of them assembled now, the first time some of these men (and woman) had met.
It was not by accident, for what do sellswords, sellsails, and coin counters all lack?
A spine. The willingness to make the hard choices. Not the evil choices, for inflicting rape and war and pillage on a village was easy. Not the complicated choices, for there was difficulty in carrying out simple solutions and seeing them through. The hardest choices were the necessary actions one did not wish to commit, whether due to sentiment or morality or fear in all its forms. Yet, did these things make action any less necessary?
Maelys had loved his cousin Daemon, who was captain-general of the Golden Company before him. How could he not when they were brothers in all but name, the last sons of Blackfyre. They had grown up together, trained together, bled together. If any man claimed to have known Daemon better, Maelys would name them a liar.
They were meant to be king and general. Daemon, handsome Daemon, would charm and beguile men to their cause. Maelys to show traitors fire and blood.
Maelys had loved his cousin Daemon, so of course it had hurt to put his fist through Steel, his beautiful chestnut destrier. Of course it had hurt to twist Daemon's neck with his own hands. He did not want to do it, to become kingslayer and kinslayer in deed after men had whispered the latter about him all his life. Was it his fault he had grown a misshapen neck that looked like the face of his stillborn twin?
But it was necessary.
Being born with two faces did not afford Maelys the luxury of self-deception. Daemon's actions were treason.
"How can your own king commit treason?"
Thirty years ago, Maelys saw their chance to take back the Iron Throne. The fiercest warriors of Westeros led by their Storm King had risen in revolt. The Tyrells and Tullys, closest and most loyal to the Targaryens, would not rise to their defense after being spited so. The Redwyne Fleet, second to none in size, would not sail. Aegon Targaryen's children were fools to spite the Lords Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms for love of all things.
The Greyjoys were a capricious lot, and cared little for the affairs of "greenlanders". They might even see war a welcome chance to plunder any weakened garrisons. Who was left to oppose them?
The North would take too long to gather their scattered peoples to march south. Dorne could be neutralized with a promise of the Lord Paramountcy to the Yronwoods, who dominated the Boneway. Only the Arryns and the Lannisters would be left, along with what pitiful crownland levies could be raised. There was no better chance to strike, and Daemon squandered it by advising their uncle to wait. Six years later their uncle died in the Fourth Defeat.
"By betraying the cause of Bittersteel and our grandfather."
An opportunity like that came once in a lifetime, but no matter. Maelys had struggled all his life, while to Daemon everything was given. Struggle was familiar. Struggle burned away weakness. This struggle would see whether he was a worthy successor to the Blackfyre name.
What do sellswords, sellsails, and coin counters all lack?
Maelys turned his eyes to the last of the arrivals, Liomond Lashare. Loyalty. These men had to be bribed and cajoled to strike pact with him, but Maelys knew words were wind. Lords great and small had sworn themselves to the Blackfyre cause, and those same lords did nothing while his uncle fought at the Battle of Wendwater Bridge. Those same lords doomed them to the Fourth Defeat.
"Samarro Saan is dead," Maelys said, turning his neck so that his second face landed on Alequo Adarys.
Silvertongue winced, and did not move his tongue.
"Then I s'pose it good I left that fool siege of Lys," Old Mother said, stabbing her cane into the soft soil beneath. "A waste of men and ships to take it now with no king to claim it."
Xhobar Quoqua, in his many-colored feathers, bobbed his ebon head. "Old Mother speaks truth. The walls of Lys are formidable, and not worth the cost to take despite the many practitioners of the noble art behind it."
"You mean the whores?" Derrick Fossoway asked.
"Yes, the priestesses," Xhobar said, nodding vigorously.
The Ebon Prince came from the Sweet Lotus Vale on the Summer Island of Jhala. They were a strange people who revered whores and saw sex as a holy act. But their customs Maelys had turned to his advantage, letting him pair up Xhobar with Old Mother. In their lands, they respected the elderly and women. Any other of his band would likely wound up dead by refusing to listen to her counsel, or picking a fight they shouldn't.
"It was the right choice in retrospect," Maelys said. "Still, I would have an explanation from you Adarys. You had a hundred and ninety ships, several thousand men, and even five hundred sons of the Golden Company." That had been a mistake too, Maelys knew. The Golden Company was unlike any other for it fought best together. In his haste to secure the Stepstones, he'd allowed himself to be convinced to send a detachment. "Taking the haven of some disorganized pirates should have been child's play with Old Mother's friends to hold the port."
"It was not I who led the fleet!" Adarys said. "That dog Saan held command, not me. I was in Tyrosh, ruling."
"Saan is dead," Maelys said. "The only men in command left report to the Archon of Tyrosh which just so happens to be you. Death does not take with it the need for accounting."
"The defeat was not mine."
"The defeat belongs to your men, whom you are responsible for," Spotted Tom said. "Do you want to rule, or do you want to shift blame?"
Adarys deflated. "Bloodstone was not disorganized, I am told. When the fleet arrived, some twenty ships blocked the Blood Straits. My admiral thought to link up with the southern fleet before landing, but when the ships were rammed they burned green."
"Wildfire," Fossoway spat. "Westeros sent men."
"Ships too!" Adarys said. "Flags of sun and crescent moon, and trees, and the seahorse were seen."
Maelys shared a knowing look with Lashare. Velaryon ships. "That does not explain why you left my men on that island without support. You had some sixty ships left and their marines, did you not? The survivors could have been saved; their lines did not break."
"The admiral thought it best. A storm was fast approaching, and the fire burned low. Either the winds would drive my ships into the shores of Serpentholm or right into the Sunsetlander fleet."
"The seahorse defies us again," Xhobar said. "They burned Myr too if I recall."
"Aye," Old Mother said, cracking a grin. "Took balls, that."
That left the pirate as their only competent commander at sea. Maelys considered himself decent, but he did not have a lifetime of experience fighting tide while keeping traitors in line. That made Old Mother invaluable, and she was smart enough to know it too. Her ambitions would extend beyond the Stepstones now. Perhaps she could be tempted if Lys was added to her domain?
"I regret that the construction of Myr's ports go slowly," Lashare said. "I would send men to aid you, truly, but without the means of transport…"
Being born with two faces did not afford Maelys the luxury of self-deception. Lashare's actions were treason, but it could not be proven. The Lord of Battles had secured his prize already, and had no need to aid the rest of them. Had Nine Eyes still lived and commanded the loyalty of his Jolly Fellows, there would be threat of force to keep the Lashare compliant.
But Maelys was not without options.
"Tyrosh's fleet can reach you," Spotted Tom said.
Lashare tilted his head. "I thought their fleet was broken?"
"They have trade ships by the hundreds, and those carry men all the same as a galley does," Spotted Tom said.
Xhobar and Old Mother rolled their eyes. "This is why you are a sellsword, not a sellsail," Xhobar said. "Your men will count for nothing but kraken food if your ship is rammed and sunk."
Maelys thought that preferrable. After Nine Eyes' capture, Lashare had bound the Jolly Fellows to his cause, bringing his strength to eight thousand foot. Dangerously close to Maelys' own forces, and large enough they could not be intimidated by force alone with walls to hide behind. The only reason Lashare bothered with this pretense was that the Disputed Lands were still firmly controlled by the Golden Company. At a word, he could starve the city of eight hundred thousand.
"A ship was spotted sailing from King's Landing to Braavos bearing the stag," Old Mother said. "The king's coxswain is up to something, seeking more gold maybe."
"The Hand of the King," Fossoway corrected. "Whatever it is, it may have something to do with word from Westeros. The High Septon has declared Sacred Struggle."
"On us?" Spotted Tom asked with a frown.
"On the Free Cities of Lyr, Mys, and Tyrosh," Fossoway said. "A war to abolish slavery, or so they say."
"But we hold two of the three, and those same men who will fight us, fight to free the slaves," Adarys said.
"An excuse for the king to wage war on us. Do not fool yourselves for a minute, even if we broke every chain in Essos, they would still come for us." Maelys swept his eyes from side to side, locking eyes with each in turn. "They would still come for all of us. When the dust settles, either we will stand, or they will."
If they feared for their lives and their prizes, they would commit to his cause. They had to see Westeros as a threat to be eliminated, or secured. Perhaps if they cannot be beaten at sea, Westeros' strength can be spent here in the lands we know.
"It is suicide to stand against them," Old Mother said. "Westeros can call on half a million men. We could win all the battles we want and they'd drown us in their blood."
All together, they had some sixty-five thousand men to call on, but that number was deceptive. Besides the Golden Company, Fossoway's cavalry, and Spotted Tom's infantry, Maelys could not rely on the others wholly. Lashare would keep his eight thousand close to home. The Myrish levies would obey him as well, some six thousand men if given weeks to arm themselves and gather.
Old Mother would quickly fold Saan's remnants into her own fleet, but they were pirates. They liked their battles one-sided and quick.
Xhobar's three thousand were well-trained, with many wielding goldenheart bows, and the ten thousand Tyroshi marines made for better fodder than the pirates at least.
"We have friends of our own as well," Maelys said.
The six of them looked at him.
"When Braavos acts, Volantis reacts," he said. "And to make this war a holy matter will spur the Slaver Cities into action. Gold, at least, to gather sellswords, if not Unsullied and sword slaves to bolster us. They will not like more cities of freed slaves to spring up so close to them. It might give people ideas."
"You cannot be serious," Lashare said. "Saan himself raided Volantene waters not a year ago. He did such a good job pissing them off they elected the Tigers back to power. Now they bay for blood."
"Saan is dead," Maelys replied. "Now that bloodlust can be channeled towards more productive ends. It is most fortuitous. Adarys?"
Silvertongue looked startled.
"You will atone for the failure at Bloodstone. Go to Volantis, reach out to the Wise Masters, the Good Masters, and the Great Masters. Use that silver tongue of yours to sway them to our cause."
"But in my absence, Tyrosh—"
"—will be fine," Maelys said, and narrows his eyes. But if you fail, well, perhaps it will be less fine.
Adarys swallowed. "Of course."
Maelys looked to the west and a crisp spring breeze blew. Let them come with their many great nobles and hosts. I will end them in a moment, a twinkling.
Utterly.