Special thanks to Ekaterina016 for their help with this chapter.
I don't own A Song Of Ice And Fire or Final Fantasy 15 content.
Crownlands:
After many years of attending to various matters, finding oneself devoid of activity can be extremely uncomfortable, especially when the reason for this lack of duties is becoming a hostage. Such was the unfortunate case for the majority of the Royal Family, and Elia Martell found herself disliking it immensely. Seated beside her son, the princess – now possibly a queen – couldn't shake off the anxiety and helplessness they were experiencing. Completely cut off from any assistance, her hopes of rescue diminished with each passing day.
Amidst the turmoil, King's Landing was in an uproar as everyone tried to locate them and the assassins. However, it remained uncertain how long they would continue searching the city tirelessly for people who were already so far away.
Nevertheless, Elia remained steadfast in her loyalty as a member of House Martell, refusing to compromise the principles they held dear. During their days in captivity, she seized the opportunity to carefully observe their captors, studying their every habit and attempting to gauge their strengths and weaknesses.
Casting a furtive glance toward the door, she skillfully concealed her thoughts behind a mask of indifference, even as her guard nonchalantly flipped a golden dragon coin. Ashara orchestrated a plan to have Nyx take her daughter, Rhaenys, for a stroll along the shore, giving her the rare opportunity to be alone with Garth. Though hesitant to be apart from her child, she found solace in knowing Nyx, despite everything, would never harm children.
"Why do you flip that coin so much, Garth?" Elia inquired, her head tilting in curiosity as she observed the laid-back spearman and the coin in question. "Is there a sentimental value attached to it?"
Snatching the coin mid-air, Garth's brow arched in response to the unexpected inquiry. With a contemplative hum, he skillfully twirled the coin between his fingers before presenting it before his eyes. "This specific one? None per se. It's the principles it represents," he calmly explained, his eyes catching the glint of light reflecting off the coin's surface. "Countless men live and die for this very piece, while haughty noble Houses and entire nations rely on it to wield power and enjoy luxuries."
"Is that the motivation behind your relentless accumulation of wealth? The pursuit of power and luxury?" Elia cautiously probed, her senses keenly attuned to any subtle shifts in her captor's demeanor. Her eyes narrowed slightly, continuously discerning a potential path to escape.
"Undoubtedly, wealth plays a role in it. After all, a certain level of financial security is necessary for a comfortable life. However, I see it more as redirecting wealth to where it can be of greater value," he explained with a roguish smirk, settling into a seat. "My brother, bless his generous heart, and the others tend to spend it recklessly. So, as the responsible adult in the bunch, I take it upon myself to ensure we don't sink." He casually opened the flask's stopper, took a sip of his drink, and let out a hearty chuckle.
"What if you didn't have to be on constant guard against such risks?" Elia inquired, her tone measured and respectfully engaging as she held Garth's gaze. "Remaining in this precarious situation under a low-status rebel's command seems unnecessary, when I can provide all of you with so much more than Ardyn ever could." Her words exuded an inviting allure, presenting the best possible offer to safeguard her family and their legacy.
While the prospect was tempting, Elia knew she wouldn't necessarily be bound by the deal once they were safely back.
Garth let out a thoughtful hum, arms crossed as he seemed to carefully consider her proposition. "You strike a bloody good offer, Princess. However…" he said, rising from his seat and stepping closer to the princess with narrowed eyes. The once laid-back demeanor was now replaced with a seriousness which mirrored his somber brother's. "I can see it in you," he continued, his gaze probing and openly hostile. "Ah, the subtle disdain and the opportunistic, predatorial glint in your eyes, truly living up to the Martell reputation," Garth remarked, his tone edged with a hint of warning. He held the gold dragon coin between his thumb and index finger, and as if by magic, flames ignited, melting the coin into molten gold which dripped onto the floor.
"Allow me to impart a piece of wisdom you'll find invaluable during your stay with us," he said firmly, the flame going out. "Never insult Ardyn in our presence. No amount of wealth can buy your way out, and you won't set foot in King's Landing again until he says so." With his warning delivered, Garth settled back into his chair and picked up another coin to flip casually.
He let out a sigh, feeling somewhat disappointed about losing his cool. Dealing with nobles was never Garth's favorite task; their constant conniving and condescending attitudes always got under his skin. While he wasn't entirely shocked by the princess resorting to uncertain promises, he sincerely hoped his warning would be enough to deter any notions of causing trouble.
'Don't take too long, Ardyn.' Garth winced as little Aegon's cries filled the room once more, prompting his mother to rush and cradle him in her loving embrace. He observed the tender scene, his heartstrings tugging with a mixture of emotions. As Elia whispered soothing words to her child, he couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in his facial features.
His eyes glistened with a hint of melancholy as he watched the mother's affectionate display, the corners of his mouth softening and turning slightly downward. Gathering his emotions with a sigh, he motioned for Elia to follow him. "Let's step outside. The fresh air might do him some good," he suggested, offering a temporary respite from the enclosed space.
As they stepped outside, the scene unfolded before Elia's eyes. Rhaenys was playfully chasing after Nyx with Ashara in tow, their laughter echoing in the open air. Nearby, Lannor and Jorin were diligently setting up a small camp, preparing for their watch while keeping Prince Viserys well-behaved.
Off to the side, Marielle accompanied Rhaella, the two of them gazing pensively at the vast sea before them. A sense of tranquility settled over Elia as she observed her daughter, noticing the subtle improvements in Rhaella's countenance with each passing day they spent away from the Red Keep. It was a silver lining amid their sorry state, a glimmer of positivity amidst the hardships they faced.
Approaching her good mother, the princess of Dorne offered the silent archer beside her a curt nod. "Does something trouble you, Your Grace?" She asked gently with a small smile, as her son looked to the sea with wonder in his tiny eyes.
"Nothing of the sort, Elia. I was simply absorbed in thought," Rhaella reassured with a gentle shake of her head, her somber expression giving way to a warm smile upon seeing her grandson. In this secluded spot, she found an unexpected sense of tranquility, something she often struggled to achieve even within the walls of her own home. The irony of feeling more at ease in her captive state didn't escape her, but she held no grudges against the ever-serious Marielle, who had done her utmost to accommodate her needs and requests.
Little Aegon's laughter drew her attention, the little boy innocently waving his arms as he played with the sand. Their eyes met, and her dragonling toddled towards her as fast as he could. She chuckled and extended her arms, inviting him into a loving embrace. The innocence and purity of the child's presence offered a respite from the weight of their current circumstances. Rhaella's heart swelled with affection, cherishing these precious moments of connection and shared joy amidst the uncertainty surrounding them.
Thoughts of Rhaegar flooded her mind, and she couldn't help but ponder his whereabouts in these uncertain times. Her heart filled with prayers for his well-being and a swift reunion, holding onto the hope he would find a way to navigate the turbulent chaos wrought by his father. Against all odds, she clung to the belief his wisdom and courage would guide him through the darkness, bringing him back safely to her side.
A gentle tune caressed their ears, prompting the two ladies to turn and watch Lannor skillfully using a leaf to create the soft melody. The lithe young man's dexterity and artistry were nothing short of praiseworthy as his tunes filled the air, weaving a touching tune bestowing a sense of calm and tranquility upon all who listened.
Beaming with joy as her grandchild stared at her in wonder, intrigued by the mysterious sound, Rhaella warmly gestured for Elia to follow. They made their way over to join the others gathered near the crackling fireplace, looking on as the dusk deepened and the moon rose.
As most of the group enjoyed their meal, Garth lingered at a distance, observing them with a knowing glint in his eyes. Soon enough, his brother Jorin joined him, his keen gaze fixated on Garth's face as he hummed thoughtfully.
"Did the princess try to sway you with words?" Jorin inquired, his usual stern tone replaced with curiosity as he settled beside his younger brother.
With a cheeky grin, Garth took a sip of his drink. "You saw right through me, Brother. Indeed, she did," he confirmed, his eyes momentarily shifting to the lady in question, who seemed to find joy in her child's company. "She attempted to buy her freedom, believing I was the avaricious one in our ranks. A true Dornish snake, she is."
Jorin remained unfazed by the revelation, offering Garth a deadpan stare. "Let me guess: You graced her with your profound philosophical talks about coins," he stated matter-of-factly.
Garth nodded with a playful smirk. "You bet I did."
"And you enlightened her about how your financial prowess keeps our group afloat," Jorin continued, almost predicting Garth's response.
"Absolutely," Garth replied, chuckling at the familiarity of their banter.
The two brothers exchanged a silent yet understanding glance, sharing a moment of camaraderie. Then, simultaneously, laughter erupted between them.
Riverrun:
The Riverlands were abuzz with a cacophony of rumors and discussions, engulfed in the turmoil of the ongoing rebellion. Robert Baratheon had remarkably regrouped with Eddard Stark and their fellow rebels, after engaging in a fierce and bloody struggle against both Targaryen loyalists and, notably, the formidable Tyrell host. The lands had become a battleground as the rebels diligently sought to eliminate the houses still loyal to the dragons, their focus unwavering as they prepared to advance further south.
Amidst the intensity and bloodshed engulfing the region, the whispers of two unions provided a brief respite from the crimson-tinted news. Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark, facing the harsh reality of war, had each solemnly married the daughters of Hoster Tully – Lysa and Catelyn Tully, respectively. The nuptials were solemn affairs, conducted in quietude, the unifying of houses an effort to cement the alliance in the face of adversity.
From his elevated vantage point, Ardyn's eyes narrowed as he scanned the stronghold below. As he observed the sprawling rebel camps, his boredom threatened to overpower him, and he stifled a yawn. Still, he persisted until he finally spotted his target.
His steed, sensing his rider's disinterest, whinnied in response. Ardyn smiled and reached out to scratch its neck, a brief moment of respite for both horse and rider. With a grateful pat, he rewarded the loyal creature with a juicy apple, watching as it eagerly devoured the treat.
"You're a greedy fellow," Ardyn teased, his voice laced with amusement. His mount snorted playfully and nudged against him as if to remind him they were in this together. The gentle exchange between man and horse elicited a laid-back grin from Ardyn, uncaring for the tense atmosphere around him.
He strolled into the camp leisurely, his arrival attracting curious gazes from the riverlanders around him. Their apprehensive looks meant nothing to him, well aware of how those following the faith often feared those who wielded magic. His notorious reputation as a practitioner of magic and his unapologetic use of his abilities had spread far and wide, setting the stage for particularly amusing reactions from the guards and onlookers.
With an air of nonchalance, he took the time to lock eyes with the skeptical men of arms, amused by how swiftly their paranoia took hold. It was an entertaining game, observing their reactions as their fears and apprehensions got the better of them. The way most of them would gulp as their hands fell to their swords, gazes trembling as they stuttered over their half-hearted prayers.
Uninterrupted, he proceeded to a secluded corner of the camp, a space set apart where the expressions meeting him were notably different. The guards stationed at the entrance of this area greeted him with genuine warmth, their faces lighting up the moment he came into view. One of them swiftly dashed inside to announce his presence, while the other hastened to his side.
"Lord Ardyn has returned! The Lord is here!" The exclamation reverberated through the air, reaching the ears of the soldiers who began to assemble at the summons. Stepping down from his horse, Ardyn guided the animal by the reins, his strides sure and purposeful. As he approached, a man-at-arms, marked by a respectful countenance, met him with a relaxed grin.
"My lord," the guard greeted with a bow, his manner deferential in stark contrast to the thinly-veiled animosity he had encountered earlier. "It is truly a blessing to see your safe return. Restlessness had begun to take hold as your absence prolonged."
"Were it within my power, I would have hastened my return," Ardyn responded nonchalantly, a glint of amusement infusing his voice. His gaze shifted to his approaching men, who converged around him. The horse, seemingly eager to be relieved of its duties, snorted and tugged at the reins, expressing its discontent before huffing in relief as a stable hand approached.
"Careful with her; she's been moody lately." Ardyn teased before he shifted his attention to the armored man in front of him. Silence seemed to stretch on as the men shifted their looks between the two of them, waiting for one of them to speak.
"You're late, my lord," the man's stern, ebony eyes squinted, only to be met with a nonchalant grin. He appeared to be in his thirties, possessing a robust frame, meticulous grooming, and a clean-shaven countenance. His hair was bound in a neat ponytail, and his attire comprised a melding of gambeson and supple leather armor, rendering him a commanding presence amidst the assembled ranks. "I'm glad to see you safe and sound."
Before Ardyn stood Oren, his master-at-arms.
"Contrary to appearances, Oren, I am known for my impeccable timing." Ardyn's hand lightly landed on Oren's shoulder, his relaxed smile contrasting with the unyielding gaze of his subordinate. A smattering of chuckles resonated through the air, the men well-acquainted with the playful exchanges between their lord and the stern master-at-arms. They relished these moments, witnessing the infrequent occasions when their demon-like instructor met his match.
Directing his gaze toward his assembled comrades, Ardyn's smile widened as he raised his hand in a gesture of camaraderie. "What better occasion for a hearty feast and celebration than this long-awaited reunion?" His suggestion was met with a chorus of jovial laughter and resounding cheers, even if it evoked a sigh of resignation from the ever-stoic Oren. Swiftly, the dull ambiance of the camp transformed as food and drink flowed freely, punctuated by lively cheers and the shared mirth of the men singing in unison.
Beside him, Ardyn stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Oren, their presence commanding respect. As the soldiers turned to them, the two men joined the revelry with their own hearty toasts. "Everyone seems to be in high spirits," Ardyn observed casually, his discerning eyes sweeping across the festive gathering.
"Aye. We have the potions to thank for that." Oren responded, his demeanor as rigid as ever, his stance unwavering. "We had a few close moments, but the men held to their training and pushed through together." A faint trace of pride crept into Oren's otherwise monotone voice, a fleeting smile gracing his features for a fleeting instant.
Turning to his steadfast subordinate, Ardyn's inquiry was direct. "I trust you didn't run into any trouble?" As expected, a furrow etched itself onto Oren's brow in response.
"Had a few fights with them seven-worshipping shits." Oren declared, his disdain tangible in every word. Lifting his index finger, he continued. "They didn't take too kindly to us 'servants of the savage heathen', and we decided to give 'em a taste of our boots. I'd say we polished our gauntlets and greaves pretty well." His words elicited a medley of raucous cheers and good-natured jeers from the assembled men. Undeterred, Oren shifted his focus, raising his middle finger. "Then came a brutal clash with some Heigh men. Alongside our allies, the Mormonts, we discovered them pillaging a hamlet near the battleground." He paused to sip his drink, his narrative capturing the rapt attention of the soldiers in his orbit.
"We put them down, every last one," a man by the fire chimed in, his gaze fixated on the dance of flames. "A pack of spineless cowards, only daring to prey on the defenseless like their Frey masters." His eyes gleamed with a shared animosity mirrored throughout the company.
"Aye, and I personally confronted Lord Haigh about the matter after I dispatched one of his wretched spawn," Oren grunted, his hand brushing against his sword's pommel as if the memory weighed on him. "Fortunately, Lord Stark and Lady Mormont rallied to our side, and the dispute found resolution." His expression remained unyielding, though hints of lingering ire smoldered beneath his discipline. Collecting his thoughts, Oren assumed a solemn stance before his lord, gracefully kneeling. "I beg your forgiveness for the obstacles my actions may have placed before you, my lord."
Theirs was a modest, unassuming house, its reach extending over limited land and a handful of subjects. Their contribution to the conflict numbered just shy of a hundred and fifty men-at-arms, a testament to their resourcefulness in stretching their manpower. In stark contrast, House Haigh was a vassal of House Frey, who wielded considerable wealth and significant influence, a reality which hung heavy upon them. The men grasped the inevitable burden their lord would bear at the Twins due to their actions, and the weight of it loomed large.
Ardyn blinked with an owlish innocence, his gaze sweeping from Oren to the somber faces of his men. Confronted with this unexpected scene, he found himself exclaiming, "Goodness, I certainly wasn't prepared for this!" A laugh bubbled up, infectious in its disarming mirth. The merriment thawed the solemn air, and he gestured for Oren to rise. As his master-at-arms regained his footing, Ardyn's face bearing his signature unperturbed grin, his laughter uniting them all in a shared release. "You don't need to stress over such silly things. You have free rein to do whatever you deem necessary." Raising his cup, a sharp glint shone in Ardyn's eyes. "Be confident, you serve under me."
His words gave new life to the party as the soldiers roared with newfound strength and pride. Their eyes burned with vigor as they made toasts in his name and to their home before their revelry returned in earnest. "Pray tell, where is dear lord Stark?" Placing his cup down, Ardyn turned back to Oren.
"He should be at the Godswood, my lord," Oren answered, his eyes narrowing grimly. "Please don't antagonize his lady wife, my lord. Lady Mormont told me she's been anxious about you, as all seven worshippers are." The master-at-arms took a deep gulp of his drink, his face suspiciously amused. "We'd hate to hear she prayed you away from us."
"..."
Silence suddenly came over the place as everyone stared at the stoic man bearing all their gazes with admirable grace. Hushed whispers spread between the men as they eyed their fearsome instructor and superior with terror. Ardyn's eyes, wide from surprise, quietly watched his subordinate for a brief moment before he spoke the question on everyone's mind. "Oren…did you just tell a joke?"
Oren didn't answer, his eyes narrowing and his demeanor turning sharp. The men visibly flinched and steered clear of him, intimately familiar with the domineering aura he exuded from their rigorous training regiment before and during the ongoing conflict. Oren calmly turned to his liege, his thoughts hidden behind a perfect mask of indifference. "Lord Stark awaits, my Lord."
Giving a friendly shrug, Ardyn left for the Godswood whilst his men groaned once Oren shifted his focus to them.
"Time for extra training, you little shits."
Seated within the Godswood's tranquil grounds, Eddard Stark cradled Ice with solemn reverence, his gaze resting upon the tear-streaked visage of the Weirwood tree. A deep and contemplative reverie enveloped him as he grappled with the weight of his house's misfortune. So far away from home, he, the unexpected lord of Winterfell, waged a relentless struggle for kin and vengeance, haunted by the grisly fate which befell his father and brother.
Since his departure for the south, respite had eluded him, his mind ensnared by the twin specters of his sister's safety and the looming touch of death.
How many more battles must he wage? How many more could he endure?
His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, a tangible manifestation of his inner turmoil. A sigh escaped his lips, carried away by a whisper of wind. The mantle of responsibility pressed heavily upon his young shoulders, duties originally destined for his elder brother Brandon. The fledgling wolf struggled beneath its weight, grappling to honor a legacy not of his own making. And now, as if the gods themselves reveled in irony, a new burden emerged—his newly-wed lady wife, a charge passed onto him by the brother he mourned. Her incessant entreaties to exile one of his own lords resounded in his ears, an ill-timed clamor amid the turmoil of war.
Aware of the southerners' aversions and antipathy toward all things tinged with magic, Eddard remained resolute. However, such concerns held no sway in the North, especially when dealing with a supporter of House Stark and its allies. Despite his time fostered under Jon Arryn's wing and his union with Catelyn, Eddard remained steadfastly rooted as a son of the North.
Moreover, Eddard's father's solemn counsel reverberated in his memory, echoing every time his entourage tried to sway him. The words of Rickard Stark had borne the weight of conviction.
'Never make an enemy of him, regardless of the cost.'
His father's wisdom had been succinct, yet etched into the siblings' hearts, not merely through the uttered syllables, but by the gravity etched into his furrowed brow. Having witnessed the admirable feats accomplished by his forces on the battlefield, supported by the potions provided by Ardyn, Eddard shuddered to contemplate the latent powers the enigmatic figure might possess. Inwardly, he thanked the gods he remained firmly outside the circle of Ardyn's adversaries.
The crisp air was fractured by a voice, one which swept over the young lord like a sudden gust. His hand instinctively sought the hilt of Ice, Valyrian steel unsheathed as his eyes darted in search of the intruder.
"Quick to bare your blade, my young lord," the stranger's voice dripped with amusement, its note of feigned incredulity practically palpable. "I had held the belief you were the rational one in the family."
Recognition mingled with relief as Eddard exhaled, slowly retracting Ice into its sheath. He quelled the reflexive urge to retreat as Ardyn materialized before him, defying all reason and logic. Despite the familiarity of the situation, Eddard couldn't help but be caught off guard, as he never truly acclimated to the astonishing immediacy with which Ardyn could traverse the distance.
With an effort to remain composed, Eddard met Ardyn's gaze. His face once contorted in readiness, now morphed into a visage of mixed contemplation and reservation, his emotions a complex tapestry woven of respect, caution, and a trace of hope. "I'm glad to see you back and in such a good mood, lord Ardyn."
"How kind of you to be so moved by my return, Your Lordship." Ardyn performed a grandiose bow which conspicuously lacked any genuine sentiment, his smile radiant with a calculated charm. "My heart swells with delight to find you in robust health. Permit me to extend my congratulations on your marriage." The enigmatic figure's inflection dripped with condescension, an air of lofty superiority subtly exuding from his languid and untroubled demeanor. If the recipient of such insolence had been of lesser rank, the Lord of Winterfell might have dealt out a punitive lesson for such audacious impudence. With an almost insolent flourish, the man evaporated into thin air, reappearing perched upon a branch of the Weirwood tree, a provoking smile dancing upon his lips. "I come bearing tidings, both auspicious and adverse."
Both individuals were acutely aware Eddard lacked the capacity to admonish Ardyn, and more importantly, he could not risk attempting it. Enduring Ardyn's preposterous display, he released a weary sigh and folded his arms across his chest. "I assume your triumph constitutes the favorable tidings?" He inquired, summoning every ounce of inner fortitude to present a poised demeanor even as apprehension tightened its hold on his heart. "And what of your mission—did you find Lyanna?"
Unmoved by the emotional upheaval the young man was undergoing, Ardyn let out an exaggerated sigh. "Regrettably, my lord, young Lyanna was nowhere to be found in King's Landing or the Red Keep, and the same goes for our dashing prince," he drawled, his attention ostensibly fixated on his meticulously groomed nails. Observing the distinct change in the young lord's demeanor, Ardyn's own countenance remained unaffected. "Nevertheless, I couldn't bear the thought of returning empty-handed. Hence, I devised a most ingenious plan and brought an end to King Aerys Targaryen." His confession dripped with a nonchalant air so blatant it jolted Eddard, who struggled to reconcile the enormity of what he had just heard.
While the notion of anyone accomplishing such a feat and emerging unscathed was a challenge to wrap one's mind around, Ned harbored no doubts the formidable sorcerer standing before him possessed the capacity. His aspirations were anchored in the hope this enigmatic individual could secure the release of his sister from the clutches of dragons. Such revelations offered a modicum of solace, easing the weight on his heart, as he took refuge in the thought she wasn't ensnared in the capricious designs of the Mad King.
"What is this plan of yours?" His shoulders eased their tension, and his concentration swiftly honed back onto the pressing matters, fueled by a renewed resolve. Until this war was well and truly won, he must not relent.
"I'm most delighted you asked, dear Ned." Ardyn's lips curled into a Cheshire smile as his hands came together in a brisk clap. "You see, following the lamentable passing of his grace, our illustrious Rhaegar must swiftly emerge to assert his claim to the throne." He elaborated, his intonation carrying a hint of audacity, akin to an adult conversing with a child. "Once he graces us with his presence, we'll simply capture him and compel him to divulge the whereabouts of the wayward pup."
Eddard nodded in agreement, finding the plan to his liking. It seemed a most effective strategy to coax the elusive prince from his concealed sanctuary. The solemn gaze of the stoic wolf shifted toward Ice, a steely determination firmly embedding itself within his heart. Awaiting the emergence of the dragon, the wolf stood poised to strike, its fangs prepared to sever the threat at its very core.
An arm suddenly slung over his shoulder and made him tense, before he relaxed once more when he realized it was his insufferable companion. "Refrain from doing such things." He tried to reprimand, but his voice fell on deaf ears as Ardyn began walking with him to the exit of the Godswood. "Where are your friends?" He suddenly asked, taking note of the particular absence of the magic wielder's close comrades and adjutants.
Their absence was certainly noted on the battlefield, their immense support and impressive abilities had been a boon sorely missed during the last few battles.
"They're performing a special mission on my orders." Ardyn casually waved off the question with a simple answer, his cheerful smile betraying nothing. "Just a little more…motivation for the prince charming to come home."
Eddard wished he would explain further, but decided to trust his words. For all his insolence and exasperating actions, Ardyn remained an efficient and capable man. In the end, the quiet wolf could only give up and walk alongside him, feeling his burden lightened than when he first came here. Perhaps a brighter future is yet within reach?
"I'm hoping you introduce me to our new allies, I'm dying to meet them," Ardyn observed with great amusement as the life drained from the young man's face, already looking forward to having some fun with some of them. Messing with his men will never go unpunished. 'I should pay the Mormonts a visit.'
'Gods give me strength.' Eddard began to reconsider his previous optimistic thoughts, dreading the provocation and tensions Ardyn would raise. He could already picture the indignant cries of the river lords and his lady wife, praying the evening would end peacefully.
King's Landing:
The Red Keep was still reeling from the recent attack and the demise of King Aerys, the suddenness of such a dramatic event left many loyalists stunned and in disarray for a while as they attempted to make heads or tails of their situation. Jon Connignton couldn't even fathom how such a thing could come to pass, only believing the news when Barristan himself confirmed it.
The days following his return were the most hectic, having failed to kill Robert Baratheon only to return to the city on the verge of a chaotic meltdown. He managed to salvage what he could, but the complete lack of the royal family was too great a burden to their cause. For the first time in a life of hardship, Jon prayed for a miracle to save them from this unescapable freefall.
Amazingly, it worked. Standing beside the Iron Throne, the weary man sighed in relief the moment Rhaegar took his rightful place. His return was abrupt and completely unexpected, so much so the hand of the king mistook him for an illusion fueled by his sleep-deprived mind. Words could not describe the relief Connington felt at that moment, feeling quite thankful to any and all deities who responded to his prayer.
He was happy to see a day when court could be held properly for once, the throne room completely refurbished and cleaned to welcome the new King. Rhaegar's presence and leadership reassured many of their allies, giving their cause a much-needed second wind after all the damage his father inflicted upon the realm.
"Is there no news from lord Tywin and Prince Doran?" The handsome prince inquired as he turned to his hand, his violet eyes brimming with confidence. The first thing Rhaegar did once he assessed the situation was to send missives to Tywin and Doran in order to obtain their help with the rebellion. Both had a vested interest in the dragon's victory as Tywin's firstborn was firmly within their grasp in the Red Keep, while Doran and Oberyn will reinforce them as Elia's disappearance is not known yet. The prince made sure to send Lewyn to Dorne with haste once he was made aware of the situation to keep him from discovering his niece's absence.
Ser Jonnothor was secretly tasked with scouring the city for days and is set to begin searching the countryside, relentlessly determined to hunt down the kidnappers. Rhaegar wasn't overly concerned with the matter, assured everything will fall into its rightful place in the end.
The prophecy will not be denied, and when Visenya is born, all three heads of the dragon will be complete. His son shall be the conqueror reborn, and only through him could they hope to escape the great threat and save the world.
Such was his destiny as the prince who was promised.
"Lord Tywin has yet to send a response, my King. However, Ser Lewyn has sent word stating Prince Doran will send ten thousand men under his uncle and brother's command to aid us." Connington replied, looking visibly relieved with the good news.
"Then we have no time to waste." Rhaegar sighed somberly and walked down the steps of his throne. He turned to the meshwork of swords for a brief moment, observing it with melancholy. "Ready the army. The sooner we can end this bloodshed, the sooner we can look towards a better future."
A greater calling awaited him beyond this conflict, and the dragon prince feared losing more time than absolutely necessary with such debilitating obstacles. Leaving the Iron Throne behind him, Rhaegar strode forward with a clear purpose.
He shall put this rebellion to an end.
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Next update is Eden Candidate.