At the Red Keep…
Lords and ladies gathered from nearby regions to gather before the Iron Throne; many of them were eager to see the royal twins (now at two-weeks old) and arrived as soon as they received a raven from the Red Keep—each carrying gifts to present to the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms on this historic day. Daveth sat on the Iron Throne, his fingers tapping the pommel of one of the swords making up the throne itself. Beside him Sansa held Lyonel and Cassana in her arms, gently rocking them from side-to-side as they both slept soundly. Only when the royal court started growing a bit louder did they stir and fuss about. When the Kingsguard and Grand Maester Pycelle examined each gift and determined no hazardous substance was found, the proceedings began.
The High Septon held a large book in his hands, accompanied by a flock of septons and septas as they bowed their heads to the King and Queen. Clearing his throat, the High Septon recited a prayer.
"The Gods have shined their favor brightly, Your Graces," he exclaimed. "Let us pray on this holy day. We ask the Father to bestow these children with His mercy. We ask the Mother to bless them with Her love. We ask the Smith to grant them to strengthen their hands and their backs as we enter into a new age. We ask the Warrior to give them the courage in days of strife and turmoil. We ask the Maiden to protect their virtue and keep them safe from temptation. We ask the Crone to show them the path they must walk. And we ask the Stranger to not take them to the unknown before their time. As the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, I hereby bless Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana of House Baratheon in the light of the Seven."
"Seven blessings," the courtiers prayed.
Daveth and Sansa lowered their heads in acknowledgement; the twins, however, grew rather fussy about the increase in volume—each expressing their disapproval. Lyonel and Cassana curled their tiny hands and wrapped them around their mother's dress, mewling at the High Septon's blessings. Sansa gave an amusing light chuckle as did the High Septon before the Faith of the Seven delegation left to return to the Great Sept of Baelor.
One by one, the visiting dignitaries and courtiers presented their gifts to the royal children: Jalabhar Xho presented a toy bow with a quiver of padded arrows fletched with green and scarlet feathers and exotic birds native to the Summer Isles; from Lady Falyse Stokeworth a pair of wooden knights and porcelain dolls; from Olyvar Frey a wooden figure depicting the Twins; from Ser Kevan Lannister a magnificent wooden sword and lance similar to the ones he gave his sons Lancel, Martyn and Willem; silver spurs from Lord Damon Marbrand; a red silk tourney pavilion from Lord Mathis Rowan. Lord Paxter Redwyne presented a beautifully carved wooden model of a war galley, even going so far as announcing the Arbor had already begun construction of a real war galley of 200 oars being built even now.
"If it pleases you, Your Graces, she will be called The Winter's Voyage," he said.
Sansa approved. "I'm sure the children will enjoy sailing the open water someday. Thank you for this gift, my lord. It was very thoughtful. Please convey our appreciation to House Redwyne and the Arbor."
Lord Paxter bowed. "You honor us, my Queen."
Lord Mace Tyrell came forward to present his gift, one Daveth wasn't sure of: a golden chalice three feet tall, with two ornate curved handles and seven faces glittered with gemstones. Each face bore the sigil of one of the Great Houses: a ruby lion, an emerald rose, an onyx stag, a silver trout, a blue jade falcon, an opal sun and a pearl direwolf.
"On behalf of House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Graces, it is my honor to present the Prince and Princess with this chalice," Mace explained, setting down the cup at the foot of the Iron Throne. "We also extend to you our most heartfelt congratulations on the birth of your children."
Daveth wasn't sure what to make of it. 'That's too big for them, ponderous oaf.' Even so, it's the thought that counts. "A splendid goblet, Lord Tyrell," he complimented.
'That damned thing's as tall as I am,' Tyrion thought.
Sansa suspected both Daveth and Tyrion were thinking the same thing, yet pretended that she hadn't seen through the façade. Laughter rang through the throne room—apparently the lords and ladies thought the exact same thing as well. As Mace stood back, Tyrion's gift was brought by Podrick Payne after the Lord of Highgarden's cup. Tyrion Lannister—the new Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West—came before Daveth and Sansa to present it.
"Well," he cleared his throat, "I think it's about time my new grandnephew and grandniece are given something from me as well." Tyrion reached into the bundled cloth and unveiled two wooden stag figures (the symbol of Daveth's house), a harp and a large tome; the Imp placed the gifts before the Iron Throne. "A gift from House Lannister and the people of the Westerlands, if it pleases you, Your Graces, why not fascinate Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana's minds with knowledge before they learn to joust or sing songs?"
"I see," Daveth inquired. "Tell me, Lord Tyrion, what is the title of the book?"
"The World of Ice and Fire by Maester Yandel; it even includes Archmaster Glydayn's lost master work Fire and Blood before the tragedy at Summerhall. From what I hear the other maesters worked day and night to rid it of inaccuracies and political bias before producing a perfect copy."
"I've heard of Archmaester Gyldayn; his books contain fascinating research." He turned to Sansa. "What do you think, my Queen?"
Sansa examined the book. "I believe it could be productive in our children's education, my King." She turns to the Imp. "We thank you for this gift, Lord Tyrion."
Before the Imp could return to his fellow colleagues, Ariyana Dayne noticed a bundle hidden underneath the pile of gifts.
"Wait a moment, Your Grace," she mused. All eyes looked to the Sword of the Morning. "There's one more left."
Sansa watched Ariyana, gently bouncing her babies on her lap when they fussed about. Lyonel grasped his tiny hands at his mother's dress and tugged slightly, Cassana chewed on her curled up fist, drooling on and gumming her appendage. Daveth watched on and leaned forward on the Iron Throne, curious as to what other gift laid in store for his son and daughter. Ariyana shuffled the gathered presents to the side, moving and turning it over. Lifting up one more, the Dornish Kingsguard noticed fine embroidered silk—clothes sewed and designed for the children's respective size.
"It's from Dorne," she mused. "They're each for the Prince and Princess."
While Ariyana presented the silk, Sansa's eyes examined the needlework. From firsthand experience, the Wolf Queen determined that whoever made them did an excellent job though nowhere even close to her sewing and embroidering abilities. Daveth, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow when Ariyana mentioned Dorne.
"Who in Dorne made them?" he asked.
"Your sister, Princess Myrcella Baratheon."
Daveth looked quite surprised. Every stitch, every embroidering… Myrcella must've put a lot of time and effort into making such attire fit for royal blood. She must've been excited about the prospect of being an aunt.
"Myrcella…" he quietly uttered under his breath.
Sansa looked at Daveth. 'Dearest…'
"Oh! By the Gods, how rude of me! I almost forgot something," Tyrion exclaimed in mock surprise. "Tomorrow is another cause for more celebration. All the lords and ladies gathered here will be gathering the gifts in the courtyard."
Daveth's concentration broke. He looked at Sansa in confusion; the Wolf Queen shrugged her shoulders in confusion as well.
"What do you mean?" Sansa asked.
Tyrion feigned being hurt. "You mean you don't know, Your Grace? Why tomorrow is His Grace's 20th nameday."
Murmuring amongst the courtiers spread, each of them remarking the arrival of another decade in the Oathkeeper's life. Daveth shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; a feeling of restlessness was making his skin itch and his fingers twitch slightly—a reminder of his own nameday celebration just moments after what he believed would be a brief ceremonial event for his twins Lyonel and Cassana. Tyrion found his nephew's discomfort somewhat amusing—knowing how much the Young Stag wanted to get back to work; as soon as the courtiers left the throne room, Sansa stood from her seat and walked over to Daveth, carrying the twins in each arm.
"It's okay, little ones. Papa's here," she cooed to them. "Dearest, could you please hold Lyonel for me? My arms are getting a bit tired."
Daveth froze momentarily. Standing up from the Iron Throne, he cautiously held his arms out as Sansa moved to gently transfer Lyonel over to him. The firstborn twin fussed and complained about leaving his mother's comfort, often giving small kicks and flailing his tiny arms in the air.
"Gah, quite the feisty one aren't you, pup? Stubborn, perhaps," he observed. "Sometimes I don't exactly know which of us you got it from. Whether myself… or your mother here?"
Sansa puffed her cheeks. "You did NOT just say that, dearest," she pouted, placing one hand on her hip whilst carrying Cassana in the other.
"I sure did. What are you going to do about it?" Daveth teased.
"Oh, you are in very big trouble, Oathkeeper."
Playful banter aside, the sunset outside shined through the stained-glass window depicting the seven-pointed star of the Faith of the Seven behind the Iron Throne, orange and yellow peering onto the floor with the seven-pointed star's shadow being more prominent. Lyonel and Cassana close their eyes, opening their mouths to yawn and stretched their tiny arms to rub their eyes.
"Seems to twins are getting worn out with all this pomp and ceremony," the Young Stag noticed.
Sansa nodded. "So it would seem. Perhaps now is the time we should tuck them in their cradles for their nap."
Daveth shrugged. "Ugh, before they wake us up in the middle of the night again please…"
Normally Sansa would take that complain as somewhat demeaning if she didn't have any children, but she had to see his point. Ever since she gave birth, Lyonel and Cassana would wake up their parents at night—screaming, crying and demanding their attention; depriving them of sleep most of the time. Both the King and Queen would each wake up to take turns swaddling or rocking them to sleep, though Sansa was perhaps the most gifted at parenting than Daveth was; she was more patient and nurturing with them whereas her husband was annoyed by the constant wailing that would not cease whenever he held them. Sansa would even take a moment to sing a sweet melody to make Lyonel and Cassana fall back to sleep or breastfeed them when they were hungry.
Come morning both Sansa and Daveth were often seen having dark circles formed under their eyes due to lack of sleep, but it was a job they knew they were walking into and signed on anyway.
"They're just babies, love," Sansa pointed out. "My brother Rickon was just as loud when he was born nine years ago. It's not their fault."
Daveth shook his head. "I know that. Myrcella and Tommen were like that, just… not that loud. Still, I agree we should put them to bed now before they decide to wake us up again."
"It's still bound to happen again," she corrected him.
'Can't wait…' he thought sarcastically. 'But before that, I think it's time I write a message to the Prince of Dorne himself.'
Following Sansa and Daveth to Maegor's Holdfast, Sansa's handmaidens Shae and Brella and sworn shields Brienne of Tarth and Ariyana Dayne accompanied them. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Lucius Blackmyre accompanied them too. Before the royal councilors could retire to their chambers, Varys stopped them.
"Before we retire to our chambers, my lords," the Spider spoke, "the engineers the King hired to work on one of his projects has been completed. They await us at the cellars beneath the Red Keep."
Tyrion tilted his head. "And pray what was my nephew working on?" he asked.
Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and Master of Ships, stood tall and firm. "Good," he said fiercely. "Then it's time we best examine His Grace's project ourselves. See if they met his standards."
One by one, the royal councilors Varys, Tyrion Lannister, Randyll Tarly, and Grand Maester Pycelle moved down the steps leading to the cellars below. Each of the other councilors were more curious as to what the Young Stag's project entailed and why it was kept hidden from them with the exception of Varys and Randyll until recently.
Beneath the Red Keep…
Walking along the torch lit underground vaults of the Red Keep, Varys, Randyll, Tyrion and Pycelle gazed around the dank cellars. Turning the corner, Randyll and Varys noticed several old rotten woods covered with scattered, dusty banners of House Targaryen: a red three-headed dragon on a black field. Their house words "Fire and Blood" were still felt throughout the history of the Seven Kigndoms even into the present. Taking a moment to explore their surroundings, each of the royal councilors passed by 19 dragon skulls of various sizes; some of the skulls were average or small, roughly the size of an apple, small cats, dogs or large horses.
"Have you ever been down here before, my lords?" Varys asked.
Randyll shook his head. "No."
"Can't save either of us have," Tyrion agreed. "Not since Robert had the Targaryen dragon skulls removed from the great hall when he took the throne."
"Eugh, umm… Curious th-that King Robert did not h-have them all destroyed," Pycelle mentioned.
"They must've been considered his war trophies," Randyll theorized.
The Imp spoke again. "Robert knew he couldn't keep them around. Who knows? They must've made him look small. Cersei always did mention that he would come down with his whores occasionally to look over them, to gloat about his triumphant victory at the Battle of the Trident."
As they turned the corner, a group of 15 craftsmen and a dozen tall Ibbenese natives looked down at them. One of the craftsmen, Darrik—a siege weapons designer from Tyrosh—bowed his head in acknowledgment.
"Welcome, my lords," he greeted with a thick Tyroshi accent. "We've been awaiting your presence for quite some time."
Varys nodded in acknowledgment. "You are too kind. We welcome you to King's Landing. His Grace, King Daveth Baratheon, sends you his greetings. I am Varys, Master of Whisperers."
"I am Tyrion of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West and Master of Coin," Tyrion introduced himself. "And the King's uncle."
"Lord Randyll of House Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and Master of Ships," Randyll said plainly.
"Mmeuh… Grand Maester Pycelle, p-personal maester to th-the Iron Throne," Pycelle stuttered.
Darrik did not move. "So you're the Oathkeeper's royal advisors? I see."
"Neuhh… and who are these… men, you have with you?"
"The men of Ib," he explained. "Short, thick and hairy men… But the Ibbenese are quite crafty. Intelligent engineers and shipwrights, they're ships can survive even the harshest weather and their siege weapons can kill even the largest whales native to their island."
"You mentioned a project His Grace asked you to work on?" Randyll spoke directly, wanting to waste no time with mere pleasantries.
"Ah. He mentioned your… iron will. But yes, your Westerosi King hired the Ibbenese to construct rather sturdy artillery weapons meant for creatures larger than whales. Wasn't an easy task, but the Oathkeeper paid these men quite handsomely. A great deal of coin, I must say. So, when he asked us to build it, we got straight to work."
Darrik turned to the Ibbenese, motioning his head and spoke with low guttural and grunts. Randyll couldn't understand what he was telling them, but he scoffed and scowled at the sight of the Ibbenese.
'Foreign savages,' he frowned.
The Ibbenese grunted and spoke their native language with guttural sounds, pushing into the end of the underground vault a large artillery weapon. Although covered with a large quilt, it was only evident that the tip of a large bolt was sticking out of it. Pulling the sheets off, the design looked nearly identical to a scorpion.
"Looks almost like a scorpion," Varys examined.
Darrik shook his head. "Not quite, Lord Varys," he explained. "This contraption was meant for combating dragons."
"Dragons?" Tyrion said in surprise.
"Yes, little man. Dragons," the Tyroshi pointed at the end of the hallway.
Varys, Tyrion, Pycelle and Randyll turned in the direction Darrik was pointing at. Before long, everyone was looking at the largest dragon skull in the room. The dragon skull was massive in size, the teeth were as long as swords and its jaws were large enough to swallow an aurochs whole or even a large mammoth in a single bite. Of the 19 dragon skulls, this one alone put the others to shame.
"Balerion the Dread," Pycelle exclaimed, both in aghast and astonishment. "The largest dragon in the history of the world, ridden by Aegon the Conqueror himself across the sea. Its flames forged th-the Iron Throne and br-brought the Seven Kingdoms to heel."
"Magnificent. Such a powerful beast it was," Tyrion said excitingly.
"But not invincible," Darrik said plainly. "Your Westerosi King told us that one large dragon, Meraxes, I think it was called… was felled by a bolt to the eye when Aegon Targaryen tried to take Dorne by force. If a dragon can be wounded…"
"…then they can be killed," Randyll finished.
"Exactly."
"In time, Daenerys Targaryen will turn her attention towards Westeros. When she does she will have an army, a fleet and three dragons like her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror did 300 hundreds years ago," Daveth's words rung through Varys's head during one of the Small Council meetings. "But that was then. The Seven Kingdoms will not be caught off-guard again like we were during Aegon's conquest, and we will be ready when Daenerys does decide to cross the Narrow Sea."
A long-term military strategy, yet more lives would no doubt be lost. Daveth was making painstaking precautions to try to lessen the damage as possible, that much Varys knew, and war benefited no one but the powerful who put their own interests ahead of others.
"Pull that lever," Darrik pointed.
Randyll stepped to the artillery weapon and released a lever on the machine. Clicking of mechanisms, the artillery shot a giant bolt at incredibly high speeds which pierced and sunk deep directly into Balerion's skull and gets stuck.
"Money and time well spent," he mused.
Darrik nodded. "Our best artilleters and blacksmiths have been laboring day and night to see our work completed in the right fashion. Hitting a moving target will not be an easy task, but that was something the Ibbenese excel at."
"Then we'll begin making the necessary arrangements," Randyll examined. "We'll be fitting our soldiers and war galleys with these weapons and have them practice day and night."
Pycelle murmured. "Th-the King will no doubt be pleased with your handiwork."
Darrik was pleased. "That is something the Ibbenese like to hear. They like to know that their work is appreciated."
As Darrik and the rest of the royal councilors began discussing armament and payment, Varys turned his back away from them an unveiled a secret scroll hidden away in his robe's sleeves. Quietly unwrapping it, the paper was revealed to contain Daveth Baratheon's handwriting.
"I've no desire to see the realm be worn down to nothing but a pile of ash, nor will I sit idle if the people I'm sworn to defend end up suffering and dying as they did when the Mad King ruled," the message wrote. "But due to conflicting reports, I am tasking you to have your little birds find their way into Meereen and learn more about Daenerys Targaryen. Once that's done, I'll do the rest."
Chapter End
Author's Note: Gifts and praises to the newborn Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana Baratheon, a secret project revealed and apparently two minds are almost aligned with one another. Both Daveth Baratheon and Daenerys Targaryen plan on learning more about the other before they make their move. Also it is revealed that both Daveth and Sansa have acknowledged Tyrion Lannister's right of inheritance as Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West. No doubt some people might find this insulting and mocking, but who'll care? Ser Kevan Lannister is acting as Castellan of Casterly Rock and he's Lord Tywin's brother; a capable man. But what are your opinions about the transcript Daveth mentioned earlier about sending a message to Doran Martell? Think it'll set the stage for an inevitable visit to Dorne? Thoughts? Let me know.
Morgan: Great chapter. I am glad I am reading a universe where Tyrion's book is not destroyed and instead it is appreciated.
I also like that they are getting prepared against the dragons, especially since the threats were dismissed in canon.
alexaguamenti: Oh Mace. Always the buffoon.
I can't wait to see if the royal party makes a trip to Dorne. I'm hoping so! Thanks for the update!
Kat Morgan: Oh wow! That was unexpected! I love the dragons, but hopefully forewarned is forearmed. They may still be needed to combat the long night. Hmm. Thank you for sharing!
The Three Stoogies: A great job keep up the good work
―Thanks.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
xx. az. xx: Sorry but I am CRAVING some father-daughter moments, those really cute and fluffy ones that really pierce your heart
―I'll see what I can do.
Hear My Fury: Ooh, Daveth's getting prepared. Well I'd say that this conflict is evenly matched but not really. Daveth will have more of the calm military mind that Tywin had while being strong like his father. Dany isn't those things she's not a warrior, she lets others fight for her and she has no basis on planning a war, so Daveth should easily crush her. And I'll keep saying it. Dany, stay where you are. The kingdoms are thriving under Daveth and Sansa, you coming will ruin everything they built and the people will hate you forever. Just stay in Meereen and build a new Valyria. And Daveth, let's go a step further and add a little poison called Death's Head Manticore to your Scorpions. That way the dragons, even though they'll be injured they'll slowly die. Of course you might need them for the White Walkers, but really we don't need to give the Night King a chance to get his hands on a dragon. So just kill them. I look forward to the next chapter.
C.E.W: Daveth is preparing for Daenerys' arrival after all ha. Should've figured he would go to prepare. Glad to hear Tyrion finally gets what is rightfully his, Casterly Rock. As for Dorne well, if Daveth does visit there then he will be the first King on the Iron Throne to visit there in generations. Doran Martell maybe wants Daveth to visit there, officially so he can thank him in person for giving Dorne justice and saving his brother's life. Also so Doran can kearn more about Daveth in case he becomes a potential enemy if he means to join the Targaryens. Daveth can go there for reasons such as visiting Myrcella sure, and search for allies in Dorne if the Martells side with Daenerys if she comes.
mpowers045: Well at least Daveth came prepared for anything
―It's a conflict that's bound to happen.
Silent Wolf Singer: I always felt like Dany should stay in Meeren. She has a kingdom and is selfish for the iron throne. Love Daveth being two steps ahead...except when it comes to taking care of babies in the middle of the night.
―Welcome to parenthood, where the first couple of weeks to a few months will be nothing but pure hell come night time.
Magi Tail Welkin: Having read The World of Ice and Fire, and am currently reading Fire and Blood, I can't help but feel a little surreal at the moment.
There is still the need of a Hand of the King, the question is who? Usually you need a man with good leadership skills, diplomacy and good administration abilities to handle the affairs of a lacklustre King, but here Daveth only really needs a good administrator. Definitely not Mace Tyrell then.
As for the visit to Dorne, I just pray it isn't botched liked the TV Show did. I am also assuming that Arianne will not be appearing here. But if she does, then I wouldn't be surprised if the message was pertaining to Prince Doran's plot to marry Arianne to Viserys Targaryen, and perhaps the visit will include a discussion about the plot involving Quentyn.