PROLOGUE
Lord Lyman Beesbury was old.
The songs always said that as a man ages, he trades away his strength for wisdom. Lyman did not feel like he gained any wisdom as he grew old, but he did feel the gods sap his strength. When he was young, he could run up the spiraling steps of his home of Honeyholt three at a time and reach the top of the tower without needing to catch a breath. The stairs to the queen's chamber in the Red Keep were four times shorter, though Lyman found himself needing to stop every three steps to breathe. His legs ached, and he had to lean on his two stewards to lessen the pain in his burning hip.
"Lord Beesbury," Robert said,"You should let either me or Will take your place at the queen's chamber. Just tell us what to say." Robert was a black-haired grey-eyed boy of twenty years, eager and efficient. But he was not to do the duty that Lord Lyman had been charged.
"Her Grace Queen Alicent would never call the Small Council to the king's chambers at the hour of the wolf if it were a minor matter," Lyman answered,"I must attend the council myself."
"Listen to Lord Beesbury, my lord Robert," Lord Larys Strong's gravelly voice emerged behind them on the staircase,"I have a feeling that tonight is a very important night."
Lyman heard behind him the distinctive steps of Lord Larys's clubfoot. "Forgive me, Lord Strong," Lyman said,"I cannot turn back to greet you."
"It is nothing, Lord Beesbury," Lord Larys replied,"I know how terrible it must be to be old."
"There is much to gain in being old," Lyman said,"One has a memory longer than any, and wise men say that men who know the past know everything."
"One must know the past of course," Lord Larys said,"but sometimes we must also take into account the present."
"That is not for me," Lyman shook his head, pondering Lord Larys's words.
They emerged from the staircase to the hall outside King Viserys's chambers, which the king shared with Queen Alicent. He wondered again why Queen Alicent had called the Small Council. The king's sickness had not been worsening as Grand Maester Orwyle reported, and the king was three decades younger than Lyman. Yet there was a cold feeling in the back of Lyman's heart, that the worse had come for the king. Lyman looked out the window, and it was a new moon. Darkness lay upon King's Landing. It was the first time Lyman had seen the hall without servants, and Lyman's heart grew colder.
"Lord Beesbury. Lord Strong." Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of King Viserys's Kingsguard, greeted Lyman and Lord Larys at the top of the steps. Watching the door to the entrances to the hall were Ser Criston's fellow Kingsguard, Ser Rickard Thorne and Ser Arryk Cargyll. Ser Rickard guarded the left, and Ser Arryk the right. Ser Criston guarded the door to the king's chamber. All three of the Kingsguard had their hands on their hilts, their white cloaks coated in shadow.
"Ser Criston, what has Her Grace summoned us here for?" Lyman asked.
"Inside, my lords," Ser Criston opened the door to the king's chamber,"But Lord Beesbury. Your stewards must remain outside."
"I need them to help me walk," Lyman answered, and after a brief moment, Ser Criston nodded.
Lyman and Lord Larys walked inside the chamber, and Lyman heard Ser Criston closing the door behind them. The old lord squinted, and saw beneath the firelight most of the Small Council gathered about King Viserys's ornate table where the king would address the matters of the realm before his illness. Queen Alicent stood at the center of the council, her hand on a piece of white parchment on which was the king's seal and scribbled black ink. To the queen's left was her father Ser Otto Hightower the Hand of the King, and on Ser Otto's left was Ser Tyland Lannister the Master of Ships, his golden hair shining in the firelight. On the queen's right was Grand Maester Orwyle, one hand stroking his brown mustache as another fingered the necklaces of chains he wore, and to the right of the grand maester was the Ironrod, Lord Jasper Wylde who was the Master of Laws.
Behind the Small Council was the king's bed, and Lyman's breath caught in his throat as he saw the king resting there in peace. He was not sleeping, for Queen Alicent would have not called the council if the king fared well. Lyman's worst fear had been realized, for he knew why Queen Alicent had called the council.
King Viserys Targaryen had given up his ghost, and by rights his Iron Throne should go to the king's eldest daughter and his chosen heir Princess Rhaenyra. But Lyman knew Queen Alicent's plots in court with her dogs known as the Greens, attempting to supplant the rightful heir with Queen Alicent's eldest son Aegon. Now that King Viserys was dead, Queen Alicent wanted to raise her son Aegon to the Iron Throne and sought the approval of the Small Council. Lyman had sworn an oath to defend the rights of Rhaenyra, and he was not to submit to the machinations of usurpers. Yet Lyman knew that with or without his approval, the Small Council would raise Aegon to kingship this night. All Lyman could do was to warn Princess Rhaenyra of her brother's treason.
"Lord Strong," Lyman said, and heard Lord Larys's clubfoot change pace. The Master of Whisperers knew, and Lyman's heart settled. The old lord would do his best to convince the council to hold to their duty, but he did not bear the illusion that they would listen. All he hoped was that Lord Larys's birds could reach Dragonstone, tell Princess Rhaenyra of the treason, and have her claim her rightful place as queen before war can be joined.
"Lord Beesbury," Queen Alicent greeted,"Lord Strong. We are glad that my lords can join us. My lords are the last ones that need be here." The queen wore a gown of green silk and golden Myrish lace, and her smile twinkled in the torchlight. If Lyman did not know better, he would have thought the queen beautiful. But her heart was as black as her raven-black hair.
"My apologies for being late, Your Grace," Lyman said,"I am old and slow. Lord Larys was good enough to help me up the stairs."
"It is all well, Lord Beesbury," Ser Otto said,"Time waiting for men of wisdom is not time wasted."
"What has Your Grace called us here for?" Lord Jasper said.
"I shall not mince words or offer empty courtesies," Queen Alicent answered,"My husband the king is dead, may the Seven rest his soul."
There were no gasps in answer. Every man in the Small Council was a man of sense, and knew what the queen's invitation entailed. Now, we have only to see how many in the Small Council are men of wisdom, Lyman thought.
"Septon Eustace should be summoned to perform the last rites and pray for the king's soul," Grand Maester Orwyle droned at once,"A raven must needs be sent to Dragonstone at once to inform Princess Rhaenyra of her father's passing. Mayhaps Her Grace the queen would care to write the message, so as to soften these sad tidings with some words of condolence? The bells are always rung to announce the death of a king, someone should see to that, and of course we must begin to make our preparations for Queen Rhaenyra's coronation…"
"All this must needs wait," Ser Otto cut Orwyle off,"until the question of succession is settled. His Grace has given me the honour of being his Hand, and has granted me authority to speak with his voice. I shall see to our preparations until such time as our new king is crowned."
"Until our new queen is crowned," Lyman said, and soon found both the cold eyes of the queen and the Hand upon him.
"King," insisted Queen Alicent,"The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace's eldest trueborn son." "Here is my husband's will," Queen Alicent pointed at the piece of parchment in his hands, then turned to Ser Otto,"Father. May you read it to the Small Council?"
"My body is failing me," Ser Otto read off the letter,"and I fear that I am not long for this world. What becomes of the Iron Throne after my death is my most pressing concern. I have thought long and hard of whom I would name as my successor and it has come to my senses that Daeron is too young, Aemond too brash, and Rhaenyra all too vile, and that not even to speak of her dalliance with Harwin Strong that make her sons bastard-born. I had realized that the only man worthy of the Iron Throne is my eldest son Aegon, a good boy with a stout heart. My son Aegon has shown me the wisdom of the Old King when he named Prince Baelon over his granddaughter Rhaenys, that it must be a man who sits the Iron Throne. Thus is my will, that the Iron Throne should pass to my eldest son Aegon." "Signed and sealed," Ser Otto lifted his eyes from the paper,"King Viserys of the House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
"Would my lord give me the letter?" Lord Jasper asked, and Ser Otto obliged. As Lord Jasper's eyes scanned over the letter, his brows rose in suspicion,"This is not His Grace's writing."
"My lords should all know that in His Grace's sickness," Ser Otto answered evenly,"he could hardly leave his bed, much less pick up a pen and draft a letter. He spoke the words and I recorded them down. His Grace himself sealed the letter with his seal."
"Would my lord give me the letter?" Grand Maester Orwyle asked, and Lord Jasper gave him the parchment. The grand maester's eyes scanned the parchment, and he nodded,"I am familiar with the way in which His Grace speaks, having drafted many of his decrees. The words on this will are without a doubt His Grace's very own."
"Very well," Queen Alicent took the letter from the grand maester,"This is my husband's will, and it is the duty of the Small Council to perform it."
"I shall stand by His Grace's will," Ser Otto said,"I shall not fail His Grace's trust in me."
"Have my lords taken leave of your wisdom?" Lyman strode slowly to the table, placing his wrinkled hands beneath the firelight,"Princess Rhaenyra is older than her brothers, and the late king had always looked to her as his successor. I do not believe that His Grace would change his mind in a night. I have served His Grace leally for most of his reign, as I had served the Old King, and I know the minds of kings."
"My lord's words fall against you," Lord Jasper said,"My lord should know that King Viserys was frivolous and loved feasts, and his mind changed as the moon turned. I should count it fortunate that His Grace's mind landed on Prince Aegon as his last act. My lord speaks of the Old King, and the Old King himself had set aside the claims of his eldest granddaughter Princess Rhaenys for that of his son Prince Baelon and thereafter Prince Baelon's son King Viserys."
"Frivolity was the mind of the king, Lord Jasper," Lyman said,"but if there had been any place where the king's mind had landed, it is the oath he had hundreds of lords and landed knights swear in the hundredth and fifth year After the Conquest. We swore solemn oaths to do obeisance to Princess Rhaenyra and defend her rights as the heir to the Iron Throne."
"It has been twenty-four years," Ser Tyland spoke for the first time,"I myself swore no such oath. I was a child at the time."
"And a child you remain," Lyman said,"if you persist in this children's folly."
"Lord Beesbury," Lord Jasper said again,"You have not answered me about the Old King's choice to put the claims of Prince Baelon before Princess Rhaenys in the ninety-second year After the Conquest, nor did you answer about the choice of the realm to vote King Viserys over Princess Rhaenys's son Ser Laenor in the Great Council. Aegon the Conqueror himself was not the oldest of his siblings. That was Visenya, but Aegon inherited Dragonstone, sat the Iron Throne, and Visenya was only his queen consort. The truth, Lord Beesbury, is that the realm holds to the hallowed Andal tradition where the rights of a trueborn son always come before the rights of a mere daughter. Please do not fight the realm, Lord Beesbury."
"King Viserys himself spoke in his will of the ills of his eldest daughter that make her unfit for rule," Ser Otto said,"and that is not even to speak of Rhaenyra's husband Prince Daemon. We all know that one's nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was. My own head will be the first cut off, I do not doubt, but your queen, my daughter, will soon follow."
"Nor will they spare my children," Queen Alicent said,"Aegon and his brothers are the king's trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of bastards. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones. One of these Strongs put out Aemond's eye, never forget. He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature. Please, Lord Beesbury, think of what monsters my lord shall place on the Iron Throne should my lord hold to that oath sworn when Rhaenyra and her demons had not yet revealed their vile nature."
"Should the princess reign, Lord Beesbury," Ser Criston's voice rang unexpectedly behind Lyman. He did not know that Ser Criston had followed them into the chamber. "It shall be the princess's bastard son Jacaerys Strong that reigns after her," Ser Criston said,"Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne. We all know of Rhaenyra's wanton ways and the infamies of Prince Daemon. They will turn the Red Keep into a brothel. No man's daughter will be safe, nor any man's wife. Even the boys… we know what Laenor was."
The chamber became quiet after Ser Criston's words, and all the eyes were waiting for Lyman's answer. "Laenor was a good man," Lyman said,"who fathered good sons. The rumours of the princess's dalliances with Harwin Strong are naught but rumours, repeated by fools and traitors. I counsel all my lords to see sense, for if you do this, it must surely lead to war. The princess will not meekly stand by. She has dragons, and many more friends than this whole sorry council can hope to make. Men of honor, who will not forget the vows they swore to her and her father. I am an old man, but not so old that I will sit here meekly whilst the likes of you plot to steal her crown." Lyman was breathing heavily as he finished, but he felt young and bold again. He rose without the aid of his stewards and turned to walk to the door.
Lyman did not make it halfway there before he felt a hand seize the back of his collar. He felt himself pulled backwards, his strength failing him as his old bones could not hope to match his captor's strength. He saw the flash of a white cloak, and the cold eyes of the Small Council grew farther and farther away. Lyman realized at last that he was being pulled towards the open balcony.
He found the eyes of Lord Larys, and the Clubfoot nodded. Lyman closed his eyes, giving up his struggles as his limbs hung limp beside him. The princess shall know, and she shall take back her rightful crown from the traitors. When Lyman met her father in the Seven Heavens, he would be proud to tell him that the old lord had done his duty. The fall was long, and Lyman felt the whole city of King's Landing swim about him. His eyes jerked open to a spike blossoming from his chest, and it was cold.