Chapter 44: Riposte
"By the Grace of the Seven who are One, look upon the glory of the Andal people, how far they have cast into the greatness of humanity." Mounted upon the pulpit of the Starry Sept, light shining in a maze of colors through the stained glass that filled in the windows, Archsepton Boniface rested his hands upon the pulpit. Robes loose upon his thin frame, hair grey and face wrinkled, yet bursting with energy. "You saw their greatness from the beginning, crossing the Narrow Sea in nought but longships. Engaged in battle from the start against the savage hordes and their dwarf demons, they were nearly driven into the sea and still emerged victorious!"
Sitting in the front pew, Septon Barth found it hard to keep the scowl from his face. He knew it was necessary, given that behind him were ten thousand of the faithful gathered underneath the great dome of the center of the Faith in Westeros… in the world. But anger still filled him. The rage and shame of failure in his efforts.
The Prince was still alive. So too the Princess, though he had accepted the eventuality of Rhaena being alive but broken. But she wasn't broken, instead a happy mother of a healthy, beautiful babe.
Hence the current sermon by Boniface, far greater a preacher and orator than Hugor by far. Robust, tireless, fearless, he was known to preach for day and night, without sleep or nourishment. Trumpeting the glories of the Faith, and the evil of their enemies. "We have built this continent! Driven cities into existence when the savage monkeys that treated this land as a dung heap only lived under the shade of their demon trees! We have lived under the tenets of the Seven that brought this glorious future to Hugor of the Hill, and yet this day after such thousands of years of glory what are we to show for it? What are we to endure?
"Look upon this most holy continent! Conquered by the vile dragonspawn whose depravity so brought upon the world the Doom of Valyria, where the Father and the Stranger so cast them into the flames of the earth! Now they come here and rule over us!"
Barth should've felt fear. All of them within the sept should've felt fear. Those like Boniface, the zealots cloaked with their Faith as a shield from all outside of it had their excuse, but the others… Had Aegon the Conqueror ruled alongside his Queens - fellow conquerors all - that fear would've been present. The fear of dragonfire consuming all, but no longer were they in charge. Aenys Targaryen would do nothing. Maegor wasn't his Hand anymore, but instead Murmison.
He is a wimp, and we have plans for Murmison. So the sermon continued, a proper salvo of trebuchets against the Targaryens and their allies. War without battles, and hopefully the King would further weaken his position for peace. It was all too easy.
Mind elsewhere but the trite sermon that held a proper fire and blood for the benefit of those not among the senior-most of the faithful, Barth only caught the rest when Boniface slammed his hand against the pulpit. The jeweled copy of the Seven-pointed Star ignored as he screamed from his heart. "They took our liberty! They took our morals and respect through the glory of our kingdoms by subjecting us to their depravity. Forcing us to endure it or face fire. But no more!"
"No more!" bellowed many, shouts echoing across the entire dome of the Starry Sept.
"Within the den of corruption and depravity is a boy. A 'Prince' as he is called by those dragonspawn, those tree-worshiping savages, those blasphemers and apostates that renounce the Seven for their own gain… he is no Prince! He is an abomination! The son of an incesutous union between niece and uncle! The father that of a union between brother and sister and the mother the daughter of a man of the same union! Daemon Targaryen, Prince Abomination! Maegor Targaryen, Prince Abomination! Rhaena Targaryen, Princess Abomination!"
Barth snorted. Boniface actually thought up that one himself. He had to hand it to the zealous idiot.
"Aenys Targaryen! King Abomination! The demon that survived the Doom to walk upon the earth!" He thundered, spittle flying from his lips. "Go forth, Faithful! Go forth and bring the wrath of the Father upon the unbelievers! Bring them before the Stranger with the strength of the Warrior and see what justice brings! Go! Go forth and bring justice!"
Apart from the first row of pews containing the elite of the Faithful, the entire hall rose and shouted their assent. Whipped into religious fervor.
"I heard that our dear Boniface has delivered a rousing sermon," High Septon Hugor said, seated upon his chair in the midst of his large office. Austerely decorated aside from a few artifacts of the Faith, a bust of the High Septon's father, and the sigil of House Gardener behind the bust. All different facets of the High Septon, joined with plenty of flagons of the finest Arbor Gold or non-alcoholic lime juice infused with a pinch of sugar. The latter was what he drank more frequently, wishing for his wits to be about him. "No turning back now."
"Not necessarily, your Holiness," Barth replied. "Words can be forgotten. The actions incited by fools listening to those words can be buried with a few executions. We still have time to arrange everything."
"You mean to turn Murmison to our cause?" Hugor answered, a knowing smile on his face. "Or to move the units into position?"
Barth nodded. "Both."
A sigh from Hugor, leaning back in his seat. "The orders are given to move the men to where the Lords have ordained, though I cannot authorize full advance or a call of the banners until a proper statement is made." The gaze shifted back to Barth. "Or should your failed attempt to ensure the same fate for Rhaena's babe as that for Ceryse's many babes act as a rallying cry?"
His face paled, Barth knowing better than to deny. "You know about that, I suppose."
"I am no fool, Barth. It was I that engaged in your skills prior to you even being born - what were you thinking? Simply because Prince Jaehaerys insulted you?"
"Insult… is not the word to use."
"Aye, humiliate is a better word, but the past is the past and Boniface's sermon ensured that your fuckup saved our position." He leaned forward. "Don't be so stupid again, or my patience and forgiveness will end."
"How may I secure your trust again, your Holiness."
Hugor's expression was firm. "Find me a pretext to truly brand the dragons as defying us… you may use it to destroy Jaehaerys as well if you so wish, though pettiness doesn't suit you." A smirk crossed the High Septon's face. "You already have an idea, no?"
Barth's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps I do… what better way to harm a man than through the one he most loves." Who did Jaehaerys most love that the King also loved? The possibilities were few, but all were wonderful to him.
"Your Grace," chimed Maester Alwyn, a young man of near thirty - his chains were extensive, but his youth had him assigned to the unfavorable postings in the North. "Please continue."
"No… it hurts…" Rhaenys moaned, gripping the bedsheets.
"Please, my love," Brandon said, kissing her sweaty brow. "All will be well."
"You did this to me," she hissed, glaring daggers at her husband through weary eyes. "You knew I was too old to carry a babe and yet you filled me with your wolf seed!" Rhaenys tried to claw at him, but a violent contraction rocked her. "Oh fuck… oh fuck… the babe is coming!"
Alwyn waved over the midwives, linens and bowls of warm water held in their arms. "Alright, Lady Stark. I'll need you to push when I speak."
A moan of pain left Rhaenys. "This gets harder each time!" Aegon, Alaric, sweet Saera, all had been easy births. For the near eighteen hours labor she endured with her newest babe, excruciating couldn't begin to describe it. The end should've brought sweet relief, but Rhaenys vacillated between screaming at the sheer agony and shaking from the utter apprehension as to her beloved child.
Rhaena had been young and in perfect health, her labor quick from the official ravens from King's Landing. Hers were anything but - Rhaenys half-expected her muna to arrive on dragonback while she was still in labor.
Her ire left her. "Brandon…" She reached for him, and soon found her husband right by her side. "Don't leave me."
"I won't." He pecked her lips. "I'm right here."
"Hold me… hold my hand…" Brandon willfully complied. "I love you. Gods, you're the best husband." It was true. Arranged though they were in the Pact of Ice and Fire, so did Rhaenys find love with her quiet, fierce wolf. In love with him and the icy land he called home, a wild, unspoiled beauty.
The lead midwife of Winterfell crouching beside him - another young woman to which Rhaenys believed was having a love affair with the maester - Alwyn nodded. "Alright, my Lady. Push."
"AAAAHHHH…" Brandon winced, breathing hard as she squeezed his hand hard.
"Push…"
"AAAAHHH!"
"The babe is crowning, my Lady." The midwife unfolded one of the linens. "One more time, push!"
Screaming at the top of her lungs - a faint dragon roar heard in the distance, Arrax screeching his worry for his muna - Rhaenys shoved hard. Expending the last reserve of energy she had after so many hours. After such exhaustion and pain. A long bath and then an entire day of sleep was in the offing for her, but first the babe had to come out.
A torrent of cries filling the bedchamber only changed such pain and exhaustion into the purest of joy. "An infant girl, my Lady," called out the maester, shears slicing through the cord and leaving the babe alone to be cleaned and swaddled by the midwife.
"A girl," breathed Brandon, the widest of smiles on his face. "I love you."
Tears coated Rhaenys' eyes. "Let me hold her… give her to me now!" she begged, reaching out weakly. "I want my girl."
"Please wait, my Lady. Let me clean her." And so Rhaenys was made to wait - in reality only a minute or so but to her it felt like days. Forced to endure the most sorrowful occasion where she couldn't even hold the babe she birthed… but eventually the gods took pity on her and a bundle wrapped in white linen was brought to her by Brandon. His face written in pure awe. "Our daughter, Rhaenys… our beautiful girl."
"Give her to me," pleaded Rhaenys, and this time the command was heeded and warmth returned to her world. Staring into the chubby cheeks and dark thatch of hair of a beautiful babe. "Oh gods…" she cried, tears coating her eyes. "She's beautiful." This girl was all Stark in looks, Rhaenys could tell. The only one of her four that held no outward Valyrian features.
And she adored the little babe for it. My sweet wolf. Her heart swelled with love.
"You said you had picked the name, my love. Which was it?"
Gazing down at her daughter, witnessing the eyes pop open slightly to reveal dark grey - Stark eyes - Rhaenys knew the name she picked was perfect. "Lyanna," she murmured, kissing the thatch of dark hair. "Lyanna Stark, the she-wolf of Winterfell with the blood of Old Valyria also in her veins."
Reaching out with his hand, Brandon ran his finger down Lyanna's cheek, the babe cooing softly as she leaned into the touch. As if knowing it was her kepa. "Lyanna Stark… I love it, sweet dragon." He kissed her cheek. "And I love you."
Her smile could melt the wall. "We love you too, Lord Stark." Their lips sought each other out, kissing languidly.
"My Lord, my Lady… the children wish to see their newest sibling."
Glancing up at Maester Alwyn, Rhaenys gave a tired nod. "Allow them in for ten minutes, and then I would like escort to my bedchambers. Prepare a bath and then clean sheets, for this wee one exhausted me." As if bidden, Lyanna yawned, chubby arms extended over her head as she stretched. "Lady Lyanna as well."
He bowed. "Of course, your Grace."
Cuddling her newest babe close, a sudden feeling came upon Rhaenys. A fluttering warmth that caused her to close her eyes. Envisioning a flash - a mighty dragon soaring over the earth, her muna's dragon but with someone young upon it. Raven hair flowing behind, a whoop of joy on her lips as she flew next to a blood-red dragon, much smaller but just as fierce.
Lids fluttering back open, Rhaenys gazed down at her beautiful child. Weakly brushing her cheek with her finger. "You're destined for greatness, my little Lyanna." Lyanna merely slept, nestled in Rhaenys' arms.
A hard ride always exhausted a man, as did a proper seduction of a woman. Considering the latter was ongoing while the former had been done in all of a single passage of the sun all the way from King's Landing to Storm's End, Rogar Baratheon was quite keen on relief. Before plopping into his bed for a long slumber, that required something to calm him.
What better than a warm, wet mouth surrounding his cock. "Ah… I truly did miss this…"
Sandy-blonde hair joined with freckles and a plentiful bosom, the young Lady Coryanne Wylde was not the most beautiful. Not like those of the royal family, but she was eager and ever so good. "Mmm… I did miss this amazing cock." She licked him like a pro, knowing just where to relieve the pressure of his throbbing cock while also stoking it. Squeezing the base before sucking the tip. "The girls of the capital are quite snobbish, no?"
"You… fuck… don't know the half of it." She enveloped him, practically taking him all down her throat. Rogar had lust at first sight for this girl and how wanton she was. Taking her maidenhead, blaming a stableboy that her father punished. Managed to ensure she was transferred to Storm's End after she bore a bastard.
He supposed that bastard - pawned off to some landed knight years ago - was his but chose not to know. This girl, pleasant though she was as he suddenly spilled inside her, wasn't worthy to bear his heir.
Only one. Some others perhaps, but only one was plausible to wed.
After she cleaned him with a tongue bath, he shoved his cock back into her trousers and tied it up tighty. "Well, that certainly hit the spot."
"Mmm," she winked. "I am quite glad you enjoyed, Ser Rogar." Licking her lips, Coryanne stood. "I know you'll be ready to go for a proper round in no time."
"No," he replied, grinning. "Come to my bed in the evening, after what we discussed… and then I just might take you to King's Landing with me."
"Truly?" Her eyes sparkled, as if dreaming of nothing but. "Of course, my love. I promise you can count on me." Knowing not to anger him by forcing him to taste his own seed, she kissed his cheek, eyes filled with adoration.
Some women were simply too easy, whether the second daughter of Lord Wylde or the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Turning a corner in the keep, having enjoyed her in a quite secluded alcove, Rogar then ran into his younger brother Ronnal. "Yes?" he asked, a little annoyed. "I have had a long day and wish to sleep, so this better be important."
Ronnal was a quiet one, much like their father, but his face was stern. "Grandfather demands your presence."
"Oh?" He was nonchalant, but inside Rogar's heart pounded. "What for?"
"You think he'd tell me? Our father is there, too."
Pursing his lips, Rogar eventually sighed and nodded. "Lead the way, brother." Best get this over with. It would reach its conclusion soon anyway.
The solar of Lord Orys Baratheon - bastard brother of King Aegon Targaryen, Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, and Queen Visenya Targaryen - was quite well-decorated. Trophies from his hunts were lined on the wall, alongside lines of the Durrandon banners. Dented shields and helms served as his war spoils, while the Valyrian Steel warhammer that Rogar had often coveted as a child was mounted above the hearth. All glories that Orys watched over as his own injury denied them to him. A lost swordhand, courtesy of Lord Malcolm Wyl during the failed invasion of Dorne decades before. It left him stern and unforgiving towards most, though his family did draw out the past gregariousness.
'Family' meaning his siblings - only one of whom remained alive - and his wife the dear Lady Argella. She wasn't present today but Ser Davos Baratheon was. The heir, and as completely opposite in personality as could be. Soft-spoken and gentle even though sharing the same ox-like build. Rogar could see his father seemed upset, but that paled in comparison to his grandfather's anger. "Sit," Orys commanded.
Rogar complied. "Yes, grandfather? Father?"
"Son… it has come to our attention that…"
Orys cut Davos off, eager to get to the point rather than dance around it. "Why in the name of the seven hells are you flirting with the Queen?"
So he did put it together. Rogar didn't think the old warrior had it in him. "Who says I am doing that?"
A slammed fist on the table caught his attention. "Do you think I am stupid? Huh? You brat!"
"Father, please…"
"Shut it, and grow a spine for once!" Davos shut up, leaving just Orys and Rogar. "Just thank the gods that your grandmother knows nothing about this, and that I kept it under wraps lest his Grace find out." Thank you for that, grandfather. It made his plans so much easier. "But to think you are so stupid and cocksure… or perhaps this is just some vile repugnance that only a sick mind would come up with… never mind, this ends now."
"There is nothing to end."
Orys looked as if he wanted to strangle his grandson, but somehow he refrained. "Just… get out of my sight. I will send my son to King's Landing to take over your position on the Small Council." Rogar's eyes widened. "Do not dare to try and argue. Some time away from Alyssa Velaryon will do the entire Realm good, now begone!" While his father tried to give him a sympathetic look, Rogar had none of it. He stormed out, wishing not to see them.
As the time passed, the anger started to cool as Rogar reclined fully back upon his bed, arms folded behind his head. Gazing at the ceiling, waiting. Allowing the time to go by.
He knew not whether hours passed or mere minutes, but soon the door creaked open to reveal Coryanne. Smirk upon her lips in the low moonlight, she dropped her dress to the floor. Her breasts spilled out, perky and quite out of place on her slender body - but deliciously so. "It is done," she purred, straddling Rogar's lap. "Time to collect my payment."
Rogar grinned. "They say it's the Lannisters that pay their debts, but I find my debts paid in full." His hands gripped her hips, grinding up with his cock to poke at her entrance. "I know you know to be quiet."
Coryanne bit her lip, warbling softly. "It… is hard… with how good you are…"
Passed out in slumber after quite a few rounds, Rogar enjoyed the feeling of her body pressed tightly against his side when a powerful knock against the door shook him awake. "The fuck…" he murmured, sitting up in the bed. "Whomever it is, I'll fucking gut them where they stand!"
"Brother!" It was Orryn, his youngest brother. And his voice sounded terrified. "There's a fire in the keep!"
Fire. No matter whom, Andal, First Men, Rhoynar… all feared fire. He went bolt upright, stirring Coryanne as he searched for a shirt. "Where?!" There was no smoke.
"Father's solar! Hurry!"
Clutching the paper in her bony fingers, Dowager Queen Visenya Targaryen's hands trembled. Her expression was pale and her legs wobbled so much she needed to lean against one of the columns. By the gods, no… how could this've happened? He was older than Egg but still vigorous for his age. Why… why?!
"Muna," she almost absentmindedly hear Maegor call to her. "A raven has a arrived from Stonebridge telling of Jaehaerys' progress back to the capitol. I reiterate that I can take Belarion and…" Entering her chambers, he stopped when seeing her, expression morphing into concern. "Seven hells, muna. What's wrong?"
Raven in hand, Visenya could only croak out her words just barely. "From… your aunt… Argella. Uncle Orys and cousin Davos are dead."
Maegor gaped. "What? How could that be?" Undoubtedly his thoughts were turning to Dornish assassins or even action by zealous elements of the Faith. Considering the current situation with the new Prince of Sunspear and the sermon by Archsepton Boniface, it wasn't a hard sell.
Shaking her head, Visenya handed her son the raven. The Dornish would be far less conspicuous, and the Faith would be far more. "There was… a fire in his solar. They tried to put it out but it apparently was out of control. Argella says the whole keep could've been incinerated."
"Fuck… Do we think it was intentional?"
"Most likely an accident, since who would risk setting a fire, but I cannot be sure." The letter was tear-stained, as if Argella had cried while writing it. "Argella seemed lucid enough when she wrote the letter, and even she speculates."
Maegor shook his head, fists clenching. "I'll send Brandon Snow down there… or at least ask him to do so."
"You have no official authority," Visenya spoke through her grief, pushing forth into her queenly attitude. Necessary for the moment - she could properly grieve later, for now the matter needed to be dealt with. "However your mentor from the North would want to grant you such a favor, the small council won't allow it. You're too tainted in most of the realm's eyes for the most mad of reasons and your brother is too much a coward to realize that we dragons must view ourselves as higher than the others."
"Muna…"
"No, do not defend his actions." She covered her face in her hands. "That is not how I raised him, nor how Rhaenys would've raised him. I cannot be sure where his deficiency in character came from but unless we act with alacrity then all I, Rhae, and Egg have built will fall apart." A small smile crossed her face. "At least Rhaena is cut of a proper cloth."
A nod. "That she is… gets it from her own muna."
"A shame things went the way they did with her, my son." Visenya was answered by a tight smile of his own, so she changed the subject. "Send Tyanna."
"Tyanna, Rhaena's companion?"
"Aye, she's completely loyal and not in any official position. The Baratheons will still know her connection to both Rhaena and myself, so she'll have little trouble obtaining their cooperation… unless there are nefarious actors involved in Storm's End." Perhaps she was seeking something to distract herself with, but Visenya bit her lip. Eying her son with an… almost conspiratorial air. "I hope you are aware of her and Rhaena's history."
His brow rose. "How do you know?"
A shrug. "They tried well to hide it, but I wasn't born yesterday." She'd been in one of those relationships, with her own sister after all - Visenya could tell the little signs those women that actually engaged in such relationships with other women. Not the fetisizhed versions the brothels or explicit shows marketed for coin to those men that could pay up. "So you know?"
"She told me," Maegor replied. "No secrets."
"Tyanna still looks longingly at Rhaena, her feelings never went away." Visenya chuckled. "And I've seen Rhaena reciprocate those longing glances recently… after Tyanna's heroics. Seems they are reconnecting."
Maegor turned away. "Oh? So you're warning me of her coming infidelity?"
Visenya smirked. "No, just that the man that already sundered all of his power and reputation to take a second wife would have no issue taking a third." That drew Maegor's wide eyes, to which Visenya tapped his shoulders. "Now, enough of that. Let me see my grandson. A desire that Maegor was more than willing to grant.
Prince Daemon was the grandson of the King, earning none of the same odium within the household of Aenys and Alyssa that Maegor held by virtue of the political situation. He resided in the royal nursery, since unoccupied after Princess Alysanne moved out for her own chambers, clucked over by a near half-dozen nursemaids and wetnurses as Rhaena recovered nearby from her rather traumatic labor. Daemon was unaffected, the magic in his blood and Tyanna's own spells shielding him and granting him the continence of a powerful dragon. Heavy, healthy, and spirited, a proper Prince that promised to be as strong as his kepa.
Holding him in her arms, Visenya cooed, tickling his nose and making Daemon giggle. The first grandson of hers from Maegor's seed, and her first great-grandchild. As Orys had left, new life nevertheless took his place to offer hope whereas the former only gave grief. Only death can pay for life. An old saying of the Valyrians, some which connected it to specific rituals but one Visenya knew to be false.
A saying rooted in the favor of the gods. In the push and pull of life and death.
"I love you, sweet boy," she murmured. "You will inherit this Kingdom, I promise."
Of those that had forged the Seven Kingdoms, all were gone now except for her. Egg, Rhae, Torrhen Stark, Orys… The only ones left besides her were Argella, old Loren Lannister, Sharra Arryn, and Vivienne Gardener…
And Hugor Flowers, ironically enough.
Egg, Rhae… give me strength.
A/N: Lyanna Stark is born :)