King Brynden I Targaryen

He dreamed often most days and most nights now. Milk of the poppy helping to numb the pain that the illness had created. The illness, had no name but according to Pycelle it was slowly destroying his organs and body system, making it that much harder for his body to be able to withstand things such as the cold or wind. Hence why the door was closed and a fire was often raging in his chambers, he could not feel the heat though, and sometimes knowing that was almost unbearable. He was blood of the dragon, not some sheep to die from a cold.

Rowena had succumbed to the same illness some three weeks ago. Brynden knew because Rhaenys had come to tell him, her eyes red with the tears she had been crying. For their safety, Pycelle had had them kept in separate rooms, the less chance to spread the illness he said. Now though, Brynden wished he had been there when Rowena had breathed her last, so that he could hold her in his arms and kiss her and love her just one last time, but pure logic had robbed him of that chance. And now his wife was dead, her body had been burned her ashes were to be interred in King's Landing along with his once his day came.

Though he was ill, the council continued to function and run, and his daughter and Edwyle continued to bring him reports of what was happening in the realm, his realm. The Westerlands it seemed had finally recovered from the devastation that stupid rebellion had inflicted on it, eight years later. Edwyle told him that the scars of that war were still being felt though in the Westerlands, with Tywin Lannister keeping a very close eye on what his bannermen did and said with regards to House Lannister. There would be more trouble there in the distant future Brynden had a sneaking suspicion. There were pirates in the Stepstones as well, who had not yet declared their intentions, envoys had been sent and yet none had returned, and so Brynden had asked that a warning be sent to these pirates, respond or they would face hellfire.

Not much else was happening in Westeros, finally after decades of struggle his kingdom was at peace, and it seemed as if this peace truly would last. It would not be like the fleeting peace of yesteryear, where they would crush one rebellion only for another one to open up some years later. The Blackfyres were all dead; those that mattered at least, Maelys Blackfyre's sister had died in prison in the black cells some days ago, victim to malnourishment, Edwyle's hand Brynden suspected. He did not really care, the less Blackfyres there were in Westeros the better the world would be for it. The work his grandfather and uncle had set out to do all those years ago after the first Blackfyre rebellion had ended had finally been achieved he hoped. A lasting peace, a chance for the land to grow fat and prosperous, no longer would the people have to cower in fear of another war and destruction, they would only know happiness.

Thinking about that made Brynden think about his own time as king. He had become king at the age of ten the year his supposed father Aerys I had died in his sleep. For the first few years of his reign his mother and his actual father had run the kingdoms, seeing the Ironborn put back in their place and dealing with another Blackfyre rebellion. Then once he had become king in his own right, it had been a struggle at times. He had not always been confident that the choices he had made were the right ones, but once he had made them he never considered changing his mind, that was the sign of a weak monarch, if they hesitated, once a decision had been made in the mind, one had to follow through with it, otherwise others would think you weak and try and manipulate your weakness for their own benefit. That was what Brynden had learnt from Prince Maekar, and from his own experience. He was grateful that he had learnt that lesson early, for there had been many things that had tested him and made him question his choices, but never had he once been unsure of a decision once it had been made.

He'd had some very good support along the way as well. His uncle, his great uncle and his mother had all done their bit to make sure that he would be able to rule and bring peace to Westeros. His goodbrother Edwyle had helped him as well, helping to give him confidence in those times when he had doubted himself politically. Theirs had been a friendship that had developed over time and was now something more, they were more like brothers than friends. And like brothers they'd had their differences but ultimately they had done their best and now they were reaping the rewards.

He had few regrets as king, he wished he'd had Loras Arryn killed when he'd seen the fool in Gulltown and not allowed him to escape across the narrow sea. What the fool was doing now Brynden knew not nor did he care, all he knew was that had cost his wife years of panic and torture, and he would have stopped it earlier had he been more proactive. He'd also have not agreed to send his son to wed the Lothston girl, he should never have trusted Lothston, but then again they had fought bravely, still it made no matter now, what was done was done. He could almost hear his wife, his sweet Rowena reminding him of that fact, when he had despaired, he could hear his uncle's voice calling to him a sharp reminder that he was not done just yet. Oh but to rest, that would be sweet but first he had business he needed to attend to. "Edwyle." He whispered, and quick as a flash the hand of the king was by his side kneeling down.

"Your Grace." His friend says, grey is starting to cover large parts of his friend's hair and beard, though the grey eyes are sharp as they have ever been.

"You have been quiet as of late Ed. Speak; I do not like the silence." Brynden says.

His friend is silent for a moment before saying. "I did not wish for you over exert yourself Your Grace. You need as much rest as you can get."

Brynden snorts, or tries to. "Pah, we both know I won't live past sunset Ed. No I want some decent conversation before I leave this world. Tell me my friend, how are you family doing? How is Myriah?"

Edwyle Stark is a man who rarely smiles but he does so now. "They are all well Your Grace. Myriah is doing well, she writes that Melissa and her children are causing havoc in Winterfell along with Rickard's own children Brandon and Eddard. Lyanna and Benjen are too young to do much else but run after their older siblings."

Brynden smiles then and says. "That is good, very good. I would have liked to have met them, but alas it was not meant to be. Still we have done many a good thing together you and I have we not my friend?"

Edwyle smiles sadly, and says. "Aye Your Grace, we have. Westeros is at peace, and there will be no more wars for the throne now for a very, very long time. We have made sure the kingdoms are ready for when the eventual darkness has returned. We have done very well; you have done very well Your Grace. Maekar and Aelinor would be very proud."

Brynden coughs and then says. "Aye, proud. Aye all I ever wished for was for them to be proud. But still, they would be proud of you as well Ed. You kept your promise as well, we've guided Westeros for 28 years together, and now we've made sure that there will never be another war for that damnable Iron chair. We've done well."

His friend nods, and then says. "You should rest Your Grace. There will be much more needed for you to do before you can leave peacefully."

Brynden laughs but then begins coughing once more. "Pah, there is always more that needs to be done. But first I must needs know something my friend. I know you will head north soon enough, and that Aegyl will name Tywin Lannister his hand. But I must know that you will keep an eye on them, my family. At least until you are sure they are safe and out of harm's way. Aerys is a grasper and will try many things to get what he thinks is rightfully his, and Pycelle is but a blubbering fool, make sure you keep an eye on them from wherever you go once you leave this place. Promise me Ed; promise me you'll do that."

His friend is silent for a long moment before he says. "I promise Your Grace. I will do all I can from where I am going to make sure your family is safe and protected and that Aerys Targaryen never gets his hands on the Iron Throne."

Brynden smiles and then wheezes. "You are a good man Ed. A true and honest friend, and a good man. You have served me well as hand Ed. I could not have asked for a better friend or brother or hand. I know you will keep the world safe once I am gone." Brynden is silent then for a moment before he says. "Aegyl will need some advice before you leave. I have said all I can tell him, but my grandson is stubborn headed. He will need a firm hand to remind him of his duties before he appoints Tywin." Edwyle nods. Brynden is silent once more and then after a coughing fit has passed he says. "Bring my children in. I wish to see them one last time." His friend nods and opens the door, and soon enough his children and grandchildren file into the room. Rhaenys his eldest surviving child leads them in, she walks with grace and has a commanding presence something that reminds him of his own mother, she sits by his chest and laces their hands together. Aenar stands at the foot of the bed, dressed in Kingsguard white, a decision Brynden still questions. Maekar named after his favourite uncle, sits in the chair that Edwyle vacated, this son of his, he knows has been compared to Daemon Targaryen, a rogue he has been called a skilled fighter, a talented man, but a rogue nonetheless. Jaehara is shining little girl, has become a woman now, a mother in her own right. He is proud of all of his children and still feels the gaping holes where their dead siblings are. Aegyl stands near his mother looking for all the world like Maelor did when Brynden last saw him. Jaehara's children and Aegyl's had come and said their goodbyes earlier.

"My children." Brynden begins. "I am so very, very proud of you all. Your mother was as well, you must know that."

"We do father." Rhaenys says.

Brynden smiles at her and then kisses her fingers. "Rhaenys my brave, brave girl. You have all of your mother's strength and wit in you. That you shall need in the days to come. Be strong when I am gone my brave girl."

"I will father." Rhaenys says, though he can hear the crack in her voice she does not cry.

"Aenar," Brynden wheezes. And his son steps closer his armour clinking slightly. "I am very proud of you my boy. Putting the needs of the kingdom above your own. A finer swordsman I have never seen. Defend your family well my boy." Aenar says nothing he merely nods. "Jaehara," Brynden says before coughing, blood this time. "My sweet, learn what you can from Rhaenys and use it wisely."

Jaehara nods, she does not speak for her eyes are watery and her voice is choked. His children, his precious children, they are all grown now; he knows not what to say to them to convey the love he feels for them. He squeezes Rhaenys hand, and then looks at Maekar. "You were named for a great man Maekar. Do me proud son."

"I will father." Maekar replies.

Brynden looks at Aegyl then but before he can begin speaking he coughs and coughs and coughs, so much so that Rhaenys has to get a rag for him to cough into. When he stops and she pulls the rag away it is stained red with his blood. "Father, perhaps you should rest. We can speak on the morrow." Rhaenys says.

"No, I will not be here on the morrow and there are things you all must know." Brynden says. Before he turns to Aegyl and says. "Aegyl, my lad. You will be king once this day is done. Rule well and justly. Do not let anyone sway you from your path, and never, ever question yourself once you have made a decision. You are the dragon now, and you must show them what you are made of. I leave you peace, build on it and make Westeros become the nation it was supposed to be." His grandson nods, his eyes watery.

There is more he would like to say, but he is not quite sure how to phrase the words. He has never been good with such things, preferring to keep things simple. He never anticipated having so much to say upon his deathbed. Rhaenys, thank the gods for Rhaenys though, she senses he wishes to rest and so she says. "Right enough, all of you. We can come back to see you later father. We should let you get some rest." His children and grandchild get up and kiss his brown and then walk out the door, except for Rhaenys whose hand he still holds. She looks at him and he merely smiles, she sits down.

"Grab a quill and some parchment Rhaenys, and write down the words I say." Brynden begins, once his daughter has done as asked he speaks once more. "I Brynden of House Targaryen, first of my name, King of the Andals and the First name, you know the titles Rhaenys." His daughter scratches down the words and then he continues. "Do hereby declare that my grandson Aegyl Targaryen, son of Prince Maelor and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and Prince of Dragonstone, is hereby confirmed as my heir, and that all previous wills regarding the matter of succession are null and void." Once Rhaenys has finished writing that part out, Brynden speaks once more. "Now pass me the parchment Rhaenys." His daughter does just that and with shaky hands he signs the document and then asks that Edwyle, Pycelle and Hightower be brought in to witness the sealing. Once they are in the room he looks at them all in turn and says. "I am dying my lords that much is evident, the document my daughter holds in her hands is my last will and testament. You are here to bear witness to my sealing of the document." With shaky hands he presses the wax to the seal, and once the three headed dragon is on the paper, he lies back down on the bed. "Now leave me all of you. Rhaenys stay."

Once the others have left Rhaenys looks down at him and asks softly. "Would you like me to sing to you father?" Brynden nods and so lacing her fingers with his, his daughter begins to sing, a song that has been passed down the generations of their family since Aenar the Exile fled Valyria, and even before that.

When Rhaenys reaches the last word, she looks at her father and sees that his chest has stopped rising and falling, his grip in her hand is loose. King Brynden Targaryen, the king who brought peace, was dead. He had ruled for forty nine years.