Red Keep ― Throne room…
Aeonar sat upon the Iron Throne, his hands firmly gripping the pommel of the multitude of swords that formed the very structure of the throne itself that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, a reminder of the countless battles and victories that had led House Targaryen to reach the pinnacle of power in this strange, new land once foreign to the last dragonlords of Old Valyria. The throne symbolized their authority, a testament to their ability to conquer and rule. The Iron Throne, comprised of the blades of Aegon's defeated enemies and forged in the fiery breath of Balerion the Black Dread, had been occupied by Targaryen kings of the past – his great-grandfather and father among them.
Now, it belonged to him. The Seven Kingdoms were now under his rule.
But now, the Caltrops' treachery shattered the peace that Aeonar had once sought to continue from his father and great-grandfather's reigns. These vipers had slithered their way into positions of power, whispering poison into the ears of the weak-willed and sowing discord among the noble houses. They dared to enter the dragon's lair to challenge his right to rule. Their actions had sparked the flames of conflict, igniting what would come to be known as the Dance of the Dragons.
« Errors were made in the hours following King Viserys' death. »
Aeonar's head throbbed, and he grimaced, shaking it in frustration. His eyes, the color of deep crimson, concealed his lilac pupils. They seemed to reflect the hue of blood, making him appear more sinister and devilish. The braziers' smoldering embers caused his pupils to gleam, intensifying his ominous presence. His advisor and father-in-law, Otto Hightower, acknowledged the aftermath that came following the death of his father. His words rang through his mind. But it was the death of his youngest son, Prince Daeron Targaryen, at Aemond's hands that proved the catalyst that led to his downward spiral in his ruthless quest for vengeance, demanding blood be spilled for the blood he lost.
« There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, and no war so bloody as a war between dragons. »
With a clenched jaw and a blazing inferno in his eyes, Aeonar swore to remind the realm of the Targaryen dynasty's might and power. Treason would not be tolerated under his reign. His response would be swift and merciless, reminding everyone that the House of the Dragon was not to be trifled with. Just as Aegon the Conqueror had done in his conquest of Westeros, he would crush anyone who dared to oppose him with an unbridled fury that would shake the very foundations of the Seven Kingdoms to its core. Fire and blood would be his answer to those who dared to challenge him. Dragonfire would scorch the lands, reducing any who stood against him to ashes; rivers would run red with the blood of traitors, a testament to the consequences for those who defy him. Aeonar's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. The realm would bow before him or be crushed beneath his heel.
The Dance of the Dragons would be a brutal and bloody affair, but Aeonar was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure the survival and supremacy of House Targaryen. The realm would learn that crossing him meant facing the wrath of a dragon and that the flames of Old Valyria could never be extinguished.
"Ah!" Aeonar's face contorted in fury, and he felt a sharp sting as he quickly yanked his hands away from the Iron Throne. The sharp hiss that escaped his lips echoed through the grand hall, a testament to the searing pain that coursed through his veins. Crimson droplets, like miniature rubies, dripped from the deep gashes on his palms, staining the cold, unforgiving metal and the pristine marble floor beneath him. Each drop of blood seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the treacherous nature of power and the price one must pay to claim it.
The Iron Throne, a seat of power for Targaryen kings made of thousands of swords, seemed to mock the Young Dragon with its unforgiving razor-sharp edges. It was as if the very essence of the throne itself had passed judgment on him and rejected him by lacerating his hands. The throne's unforgiving nature starkly contrasted with its regal appearance, a deceptive facade that concealed the true nature of its power.
As Aeonar stared at his bleeding hands, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and rage. The Iron Throne, once a symbol of power and authority, now stood as a formidable adversary, its razor-sharp edges constantly judging him. As he clenched his fists, the pain intensified, sending waves of agony through his entire body. The wounds on his palms throbbed, a constant reminder of the price of his ruthlessness and desire for vengeance. Aeonar's gaze hardened, defiance flickering within them. A mere object would not defeat him.
Aeonar stood up from the Iron Throne, descending the staircase with such grace and poise that it was as if he were gliding on air. With every step he took, a fierce and primal energy surged within him, fueled by his inner dragon – the blood of Old Valyria that flowed through his veins. As he reached the final step at the foot of the throne, Aeonar swiftly picked up the Valyrian steel bastard sword Blackfyre, firmly gripping it in his right hand. It was a weapon passed down through generations of Targaryens that had seen countless battles, its blade stained with the blood of those who dared oppose House Targaryen, friend or foe. He would not be a witness, a mere bystander watching the civil war play out from a distance or from the safety of the Red Keep.
The Caltrops started this war…
…the Young Dragon would finish it.
Red Keep ― Underground chamber…
"It would seem the young princes and princess are more tenacious than we had expected, master," a Lykirī Mēre elder spoke.
"Yes, their spirit burns brighter than a thousand suns."
Aeonar stood tall over an ancient war table in a dimly lit central chamber. The flickering torchlight created an eerie atmosphere, casting dancing shadows upon the damp stone walls. Folding his arms, the Young Dragon carefully examined a meticulously crafted map showcasing the Seven Kingdoms' vast expanse. The map was adorned with war pieces strategically placed in various locations, representing the ongoing civil war. The war pieces each represented a different faction or house. Their placements were crucial, as they dictated the flow of battles and troop movements. Aeonar had spent countless hours analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of each kingdom, identifying their vulnerabilities and exploiting them to his advantage.
The Young Dragon had spared no expense in his pursuit of victory. But it wasn't just military might that Aeonar relied on. He had deployed every resource at his disposal, from spies and assassins to the elite Lykirī Mēre agents across the entire continent. These operatives were skilled in the art of deception and manipulation, infiltrating enemy ranks and gathering vital information, as well as assassinating high-ranking Caltrop leaders. With their help, Aeonar could stay one step ahead of his enemies, anticipating their every move. Each corner of the realm was infiltrated, every nook and cranny under his watchful eye. It was a trait he acquired as Master of Whisperers during his father's reign, a unique skill he spent years improving to make himself a more effective spymaster. The shadows were his trusted allies, whispering secrets and guiding him towards his enemies. They would conceal his movements, allowing him to strike swiftly and silently before the malcontents could realize what was happening.
With his sons Jaehaerys, Viserys, Aegon, and his daughter Aemma out in the field, with their last known locations to be in the Stormlands and the Reach, Aeonar had eyes and ears scattered everywhere, ensuring no secret went unnoticed. They were a formidable team, each contributing unique skills and talents to the cause. Whether his children knew it or not, they would play a crucial role in his grand scheme.
The Caltrops had proven elusive and cunning upon acquiring Larys Strong as their spymaster when each rival faction arose at King Viserys the Peaceful's court. They sought refuge in the most remote and hidden places, attempting to conceal themselves from Aeonar's relentless pursuit. However, the Young Dragon would tenaciously track them down. No matter how far the Caltrops tried to flee or where they tried to hide, he would find them. Beatrice, Aegon the Elder, Aemond, Unwin, Criston… no one will be safe for long.
How many eyes does the Young Dragon have?
A thousand eyes and two!
Blackfyre and Yi Tish bow both at his side
There's no place to flee to, no place left to hide
No matter how far you run - No matter how far you run
"A Thousand Eyes, and Two…" Hmm-hmm-hmm!
Once a song written about Aeonar Targaryen, commemorating his triumphs in the War for the Stepstones two decades ago, now found himself amused by the irony of "A Thousand Eyes, and Two." What began as a famous riddle, which had once been a source of entertainment during his tenure as Master of Whisperers, had transformed the song's meaning into a cautionary tale. The once-promising Targaryen, with the potential to become a great king one day, had morphed into a shadowy figure lurking in the darkness, always watching, constantly aware. No longer a mere riddle to be pondered, they now served as a haunting reminder of Aeonar's omnipresence. The lyrics now served as a chilling warning to all who dared to deceive or betray: "Aeonar Targaryen is watching your every move. He knows what you're doing, and he can see through you. So conduct yourself appropriately; behave, be honest, stay loyal and true, for if his piercing gaze catches you in a falsehood, there will be nowhere to run or hide. He will find you, hunt you down, and once ensnared in his web, there will be no escape."
How many eyes does the Young Dragon have?
A thousand eyes and two!
So better be loyal, be honest, and true
Or one day his eyes could be searching for you
And the King of Dragons will see you burn! And the King of Dragons will see you burn!
The pervasive atmosphere of suspicion and uncertainty that Aeonar had cultivated had seeped into every corner of society. Nobles and commoners alike found themselves questioning the loyalty of those around them, unable to trust even their closest neighbors. The fear of being watched and caught in a falsehood hung heavy in the air. His subjects lived in constant fear of his scrutiny, knowing that any misstep could lead to their downfall. The once vibrant and lively streets now lay shrouded in a suffocating atmosphere of suspicion and apprehension.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm." Yes, a web. My web. The Seven Kingdoms… every holdings, every holdfast, every village… all of the realm is in my web. You can run and hide from me all you like, but you won't stay hidden from my gaze for long. It's only a matter of time before the hammer falls. My spiders are hungry; my dragon is hungry. So get ready. Because I'm coming for you. This web will be your tomb.
The pervasive atmosphere of suspicion and uncertainty that Aeonar had cultivated over the years had seeped into every corner of society.
Once accustomed to a life of privilege and power, the nobility now found themselves walking on eggshells, their every action scrutinized by Aeonar's piercing gaze. They dared not speak ill of or conspire against him, for they knew he would quickly uncover their treachery. The halls of the court were filled with hushed whispers and nervous glances as everyone sought to avoid catching the attention of the Young Dragon's ever-watchful gaze.
Even the commoners, who had once found solace in their daily routines, now constantly feared being labeled traitors. They no longer trusted their neighbors or even members of their own families, for anyone could be an informant in Aeonar's employ. The once tight-knit communities were now fractured, with suspicion and paranoia tearing them apart.
Aeonar's spies were everywhere, lurking in the shadows, gathering information and reporting to their master. No secret was safe; no plot could be hatched without his knowledge. The people lived in perpetual anxiety, their every move calculated and measured, for they knew that Aeonar's wrath was swift and merciless. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in his network of spies faced a fate worse than death. They were subjected to cruel and unusual punishments designed to break their spirit and serve as a warning to others.
But amidst the fear and uncertainty, some saw Aeonar as a necessary evil. They believed that his vigilance and ability to see through facades from the shadows kept the realm safe from those seeking to undermine it. They saw his actions as a means to maintain order and stability, even if it came at the cost of trust and freedom. Yet, others saw him as a dangerous precedent. They questioned the legitimacy of his methods, wondering if the ends truly justified the means.
In the end, Aeonar's reign had transformed the Seven Kingdoms into a dystopian nightmare where honesty and integrity were the only means of survival. His relentless pursuit of justice, or what he deemed as justice, only fueled the flames of fear. Those suspected or accused of treason were swiftly and ruthlessly punished, their lives torn apart by the ruthless hand of the Young Dragon. His obsession with vengeance and succumbing to the Targaryen madness had turned him into a tyrant, ruling through fear rather than respect. The realm he had once fought to protect now lived in perpetual darkness, its people forever haunted by the watchful eye of their king. The once-great hero had become a polarizing figure, his name whispered in reverence and trepidation.
"Has Brother Lycan reported back?" Aeonar demanded.
"Yes, master," another Lykirī Mēre elder nodded. "Our armies are said to be moving to intercept Caltrop forces gathering near Bitterbridge. However, a large force is said to be approaching near Oldtown, the seat of House Hightower. Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Aemma are on their way to defend the city as we speak."
"Hmm. Good." Disobedient children, but they have their uses. Let them have their fun. Upon receiving information about the current positions of his eldest son and only daughter, Aeonar began strategically moving pieces across the map. His keen eyes precisely analyzed the map, paying particular attention to the Reach. He calculated every move meticulously, considering the strengths and weaknesses of his forces and the potential threats posed by the enemy. Vermithor and Silverwing were positioned to handle any large host that came their way. With a calm and focused demeanor, Aeonar plotted his next moves with the utmost care and precision.
"Master," another Lykirī Mēre elder spoke up, "we also got a report from Brother Valadizos no Maru. Prince Aegon and his men have arrived in the Stormlands to reinforce the knights of the Vale and the Winter Wolves. Prince Viserys and the dragonseed Neetles are assisting them by dragonback with Maelyx and Sheepstealer. The battle might be bloody, but at least they're giving the Baratheon host a moment of pause. It could go either way."
"Doesn't matter. I know my son's capabilities in close-quarter combat. Five, six men? No problem. Eight, ten? Aegon could dispatch them easily by himself. I have trained my sons in the Lykirī Mēre's ancient ways to enhance and improve their martial prowess. To make them a deadly weapon, make them the assassins they were destined to be, and ensure that the lost knowledge of Old Valyria is preserved. Never to be forgotten ever again."
"No, it won't, master."
"Mmm. What else do you have?"
"The traitor Prince Aemond Targaryen is on the move, master. It would seem he is now aware of the illegitimacy surrounding his brother, the false Aegon. Our Westerosi spies have indicated a power struggle within the Caltrops' main leadership."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Aemond usurped his brother's position and is calling himself king."
Aemond… His younger half-brother has proven himself to be a disgrace to the Targaryen name, a stain on their lineage. Not only did his actions over Shipbreaker Bay get Aeonar's youngest son killed, but he now has the audacity to proclaim himself a king and challenge the Young Dragon for ultimate supremacy. The impudence and conceit displayed are truly astounding as he brazenly asserts his authority and presses his own claim for the Iron Throne. However, it did present Aeonar and the Blacks an opportunity to narrow the search. He had anticipated that Aemond and Vhagar would take time to recover and regain their strength after being repelled by his children during the Battle of Rook's Rest. However, by revealing himself too soon, Aemond's movements would inadvertently reveal the others' whereabouts and give Aeonar a chance to outmaneuver him and strike from behind. "He'll get his comeuppance soon enough. Where is he going?"
"To Harrenhal, master."
"And Daemon?"
"He took Caraxes and is flying south with a contingent of his own men."
"Tell our forces stationed there to hold back and wait. Don't make any sudden movements." Aemond, Aemond, Aemond… you still have much to learn about warfare, boy.
While strategizing his next move, Aeonar deeply contemplated, his brow furrowing. By carefully analyzing Aemond's departure location and tracking the movements of Daemon, Jaehaerys, Aegon, Viserys, Aemma, and Nettles, the Young Dragon was able to narrow down the search and uncover the main base of operations for the Caltrops. Due to House Peake's involvement in the rebellion against him, Aeonar shifted his focus towards the various holdings in the Reach. Unfortunately, Ashford Castle, located near the borders of the Stormlands, was inaccessible as it supported the Caltrops. On the other hand, Longtable had declared loyalty to the Blacks, eliminating any suspicion of treason. While Cider Hall remained a potential location, there was no solid evidence yet. However, Goldengrove had pledged allegiance to Aeonar, providing him with a foothold. Additionally, with Jaehaerys and Aemma moving to protect Oldtown, a protective barrier in the southwest would be created. As Daemon and Caraxes embarked on their journey south from Harrenhal, it would effectively guide the Caltrops leaders into specific areas… and finally, after careful analysis, Aeonar found what he was looking for.
Oh, ho-ho-ho! I have you now, Beatrice! Oh, Aemond, you little fool. Tsk, tsk, tsk! You just gave me the opening I needed to crush you all.
Aeonar deftly placed three separate army pieces strategically on the map – Starpike, Dustonbury, and Whitegrove. His children, who had recently departed on their own, may not have known the far-reaching implications of their actions. Still, their unwitting contribution had given their father the opening he needed to entrap Beatrice in an ironclad stranglehold. With meticulous planning and precise execution, Aeonar maneuvered his way to demonstrate why he had earned his reputation as a spymaster.
"You found them, master?" a Lykirī Mēre elder inquired.
"Yes. Yes, I did." Aeonar rose from the table. "Prepare Vaelor for departure and have our brothers and sisters take up position along the main roads connecting to the Red Mountains. We leave at nightfall when they begin rotating between castles. Emméno alzilal. (Stick to the shadows.)"
"Emméno alzilal. (Stick to the shadows.)"
"Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmmm. Mwahahahahahahaha!"
Chapter End
Author's Note: Well, we begin to see Aeonar brooding and stewing in his own madness. But, he ended up cutting himself on the Iron Throne. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, the spymaster in him comes out when we see Aeonar in the same underground lair beneath the Red Keep we've seen a few chapters ago with his elite Lykirī Mēre elders. Whether his kids knew what they were doing or not, in addition to Aemond's movements, their positions gave Aeonar the opening he needed to after Starpike, Dustonbury, and Whitegrove when Beatrice and Unwin move between those three on a rotating basis. By nightfall, they'll set up an ambush. How will it play out? Let me know.