Hobert V
The Blackwater Rush was not an obstacle to be easily traversed. Hobert stood along its southern bank, and looked across it towards the distant city of King's Landing. Though he had not been quite sure of what to expect upon the army's approach to the city, utter silence had not been one of the possibilities he'd considered.
Hobert had expected the distant clamor of clanging bells and blaring horns, something to herald the approach of a hostile force of troops in the city's immediate vicinity. Yet there was nothing. The army had begun its march from Tumbleton three days before. Unsure of what was awaiting them, they traveled slowly, cautiously moving along the Roseroad. For much of the journey, Hobert's eyes had been fixed on the horizon. He was certain that at any moment the three Dragonriders that had already destroyed so much of their forces would return to finish the task. Twould be a cold and merciless fury, Hobert mused, for we played a game of deception whilst acting the defeated supplicant.
In order to end the dispute over who commanded the army, and to enforce order over its rapidly decreasing numbers, Lord Unwin Peake had thrown his support behind Hobert as the army's leader. All that he asked of me was to serve as my right hand in the command of the men. In name and appearance, the army remained that of one under Hightower leadership, but Hobert had delegated much of his responsibilities as leader to Lord Unwin. He knows these matters far more than I do. Who am I to begrudge a man of experience the opportunity to ensure that what remains of our forces is in as fit a condition as possible?
Of an army that had once numbered around twenty thousand, hardly more than three thousand remained. Mostly knights, men-at-arms, and mercenaries who have no-one else to throw in their lot with so far from home. Countless men had burned and died beneath Tumbleton's walls, and many more, largely peasant levies who had been pulled from their farms and fields to fight beneath their Lord's banner, had begun to desert in alarmingly large numbers afterwards. And who is to stop them? Nearly every Lord and landed knight of this army burned alive in dragonflame.
A short distance away, Lord Unwin barked an order at several mercenaries. From what Hobert was able to overhear, they'd found a beached ferry not too far away up the Blackwater Rush's bank. We will finally be able to cross. Hobert, Lord Unwin, Ser Jon Roxton, Ser Tyler, Ser Roger Corne, and Lord Richard Rodden had decided that the best course of action was to continue their march to King's Landing. None of them had expected to reach the city walls alive, but as Lord Unwin had said earlier, twas better than to return home and bring the wrath of dragons down upon their families' seats.
Hobert shuddered as he imagined Oldtown burning as Bitterbridge and Tumbleton had. Such visions had plagued him as nightmares many times since the army had been burned. The Starry Sept, Citadel, and Hightower alight with sorcerous green flame. Crumbling at their mighty foundations as their inhabitants screamed and died, charred flesh sloughing from flame-blackened bone. Hobert had seen men die in such a way beneath the walls of Tumbleton. If the Gods were merciful, he should never wish to witness it again. All the same, he had expected such a fate the closer the army drew to King's Landing. The silence, however, remained deafening.
Marching towards an uncertain fate, Hobert had wished for the clarity of purpose that he had felt as the army had marched away from Oldtown's walls. At the beginning of the journey, the men of the army marched to ensure that King Aegon kept his rightful throne. At Bitterbridge, it all changed. The army had gotten its first real taste of blood and plunder, and had acquired an unquenchable thirst for it. Lord Ormund, Ser Bryndon, and Prince Daeron wanted Bitterbridge sacked to avenge Prince Maelor. Lord Peake wanted vengeance for his son. But what did men like Jon Roxton want to sack Bitterbridge for? Men like Jon Roxton always hungered for the shedding of blood, and it wasn't until Bitterbridge that they were given free reign to do so.
For all the men around him could speak of vengeance and righteous fury, Hobert could think of no excuse for the vile excesses that the Hightower army, his army, had wrought upon the town of Tumbleton. There was no cause, no justification. The army wanted to plunder, rape, and murder, and so they did. Hobert frowned deeply. Monstrous actions carried out by monstrous men. But armies had leaders, and leaders were supposed to give orders. The worst of the monsters stood by and lifted not a finger to stop their men from acting upon their darkest impulses.
As a child, Hobert had heard tales of terrifying monsters, as all children did. Grumkins and snarks, and the Others with their ice spiders and armies of the dead. Stories to scare us, and make us behave. In the stories, these monsters were grotesque, with appearances as vile as their hearts and intentions. During the hellish march to King's Landing, Hobert had learned the truth. Monsters can be dark and handsome, like Jon Roxton. They can be imperious and stern, like Lord Peake. And they can be proud and grand in appearance, like Lord Ormund.
Hobert looked at his reflection in the dark swirling waters of the Blackwater Rush. Tired eyes looked back at him from the rippling image on the water's surface, with large dark bags beneath them. The few grey wisps of hair still atop Hobert's scalp blew fitfully in the cold winter breeze, as though they wished to take flight. Though covered by a doublet and breastplate, Hobert's large belly still protruded visibly. Can monsters be old, grey, and fat, as I am?
Hobert's daughter Prudence, the wife of Ser Tyler, had been heavily pregnant with her fourth child as the army marched to King's Landing. The child has likely been born by now. Hobert had often dreamed of returning home when the war was over to see and hold his newest grandchild. Hopeful wishes and dreams to forget the horrors I had seen, at least for a while. The thought of seeing his grandchild now troubled Hobert. Will the babe be delighted at the appearance of a loving grandfather, or weep in terror at the sight of a monster?
Tears welled in Hobert's eyes. More than anything, Hobert wanted to believe that he was still a good man. But how can I be? There were many times when Hobert had the chance to speak up against what he knew was wrong. Instead, I was a coward, and watched the suffering of countless souls in silence. Mayhaps the dragonflame loosed upon us was justice, meted out in recompense for our grave sins.
Yet Hobert still lived. Are the Seven giving me a chance to repent, to try to find forgiveness? After all he'd seen, and all he'd abetted with his cowardice and silence, Hobert didn't know if it was possible. All that is left for me is to try. Forgiveness in the eyes of the Gods was not something that Hobert could ask or beg for. It must be earned.
At the sound of shouts, Hobert stopped his musings and looked up. A large wooden barge was floating down the Blackwater Rush, towards the crossing where the army waited. Hobert looked at the looming, silent expanse of King's Landing beyond the river. It seems the journey has nearly reached its end.
The King's city was a ruin. Many buildings along its streets had been reduced to charred rubble, and those that still stood were stained with soot. Shops were abandoned, picked clean by looters. The army's entrance through the shattered King's Gate had been uncontested, with no garrison to speak of but the rotting corpses of slain Gold Cloaks about the inner entrance of the gate.
By the Gods, Hobert wondered in horror, what has happened here? It seemed the war had finally reached King's Landing, but Hobert was baffled as to who had done the fighting. Did Lord Borros already attack the city? If that was the case, however, then where were he and his men? No reasonable explanation seemed feasible in Hobert's mind.
Upon entering the city, Lord Unwin suggested that the wisest course of action would be to make haste for the Red Keep. "It will be easiest for us to ascertain our current situation there," the marcher lord had said, and Hobert had quickly agreed with him.
Hobert saw very few people in the streets, which was also a jarring experience. Cities as large as King's Landing or Oldtown should have been bustling at this time of day. Instead, the streets sat abandoned, and small shadowy groups of people in the distance scattered into side streets and wynds as they observed the army's approach. It seems that no answers will be forthcoming from the city's populace, Hobert mused. Those that live, at least. Hobert grimaced at the sight of more rotting bodies left abandoned on the soot-stained cobblestones of the street known as the River Row, hugging the city's eastern wall. Corpses of the dead were the only thing that Hobert had found in abundance as the army rode towards the Red Keep.
When they reached the ruins of what had been Fishmonger's Square, Lord Unwin called for a halt, and drew his stallion up alongside Hobert. "Ser Hobert," he began, "I would suggest that you order the foot and mercenaries to secure this square and gate. We can then take the vanguard up to the Red Keep to continue our search for answers."
Hobert nodded at his words. "Yes, Lord Unwin, that seems wise." Turning to the assembled serjeants expectantly awaiting orders, Hobert awkwardly cleared his throat and called out orders for the foot and mercenaries to secure the Fishmonger's Square and River Gate. Leading a force of a little less than five hundred mounted knights in strength, as well as the army's remaining mercenary captains, Hobert steered his charger onto a curving street known as The Hook. Due to its narrowness and steep incline, the group was forced to make its ascent in a long thin line of mounted warriors.
As the walls of the Red Keep began to loom larger and larger in his vision, Hobert let out a sigh of relief. A black silk banner bearing the golden three-headed dragon of King Aegon was hanging from the outer walls of the Red Keep, sending a clear message as to which side of the conflict currently occupied it. Despite his relief, Hobert was still deeply perplexed. Who took the Red Keep for King Aegon, and how? Has the King himself retaken his rightful city on dragonback?
Reaching the cobbled square before the Red Keep's main gates, Hobert trotted up near to the closed bronze portcullis that guarded the main entrance to the keep through its huge curtain walls. Lord Unwin joined him, as well as Hobert's goodson Ser Tyler, Ser Jon Roxton, and Ser Roger Corne. At maester Aubrey's insistence, Lord Richard Rodden remained in a litter within a wagon bed at Fishmonger's Square, traveling as easily as possible until the wounds remaining from his recent amputation healed more completely.
After several moments, a voice called down suspiciously from atop the Red Keep's battlements. "Who goes there?" the voice shouted.
Hobert removed his greathelm before responding. "Ser Hobert, of House Hightower. I am in command of the forces gathered beneath Oldtown's walls to fight for King Aegon's rights." Even as he spoke those words, Hobert felt very odd saying them. It should be Lord Ormund, or Ser Bryndon, saying those words. I was only supposed to command the baggage train. The voice did not respond, and Hobert sat in silence, feeling increasingly nervous. What is taking so long?
Before Hobert's apprehension grew too great, a clattering rumble began as the bronze portcullis before him began to rise. Beyond it was a knight on foot in black and white, with a small group of Gold Cloaks arrayed behind him. The knight walked forward, and removed his helm. He had black hair that showed hints of greying, and brown eyes. Upon his black and white doublet was a patch displaying two swans, one black and one white.
The knight cleared his throat before speaking. "Well met, Ser Hobert. I am Ser Byron Swann, second son of the Lord of Stonehelm. I have been tasked with holding the battlements of the King's keep until reinforcements arrived." Ser Byron continued: "As soon as my men and I spotted you, we sent word to those inside the Keep. They will be arriving shortly." With a waving gesture, Ser Byron indicated the yard within the Red Keep's gate. "We can wait for them within the gate." As Ser Byron finished speaking, Lord Unwin and the other remaining landed knights of the army had ridden up to join Hobert as he rode into the yard inside the Red Keep's main bronze portcullis.
It did not take long for the aforementioned individuals to make their way into the yard. Hobert's cousin, the Queen Dowager Alicent, walked at the forefront, graceful and beautiful in a green silk dress. Behind her was an elderly bearded maester, as well as a man in well-made yet inconspicuous clothing. This final man dragged a clubfoot behind himself as he limped forward. The three were tailed by a group of men in dirty armor, whose hands hovered near their sword hilts as they coldly regarded Hobert and his companions.
At the sight of his kinswoman and widow of the former King, Hobert dismounted his charger and quickly knelt in the dust of the yard, despite the fact that the sudden strain on his tired joints made him wince. Behind him, Lord Unwin, Ser Jon Roxton, Ser Tyler Norcross, and Ser Roger Corne had also dismounted and knelt.
Queen Alicent quickly made her way over to Hobert, and motioned for him and his companions to stand. "Please, stand," she began, "such petty formalities are unneeded from men who have so bravely and loyally fought for the true King's cause!"
Hobert and the others did as they were bid. Standing before his cousin, Hobert took notice of other details of her appearance that his aging eyes had previously overlooked. There were large bags beneath the Queen Dowager's eyes, and bruises and rashes about her wrists slightly visible beyond the long sleeves of her dress. Only manacles would be able to leave such marks. It seemed to Hobert that the Queen Dowager had only recently been released from her captivity.
Limping forward, the man with the clubfoot began to speak. "Greetings, my Lords," he began in a cool and quiet tone, "it is good to see that the forces mustered beneath the walls of Oldtown for the King's cause have finally reached his city." The man's eyes looked beyond Hobert to the knights in the square beyond him, before he continued speaking. "I don't believe I've made all of your acquaintances. I am Lord Larys Strong of Harrenhal." The crooked Lord looked over Hobert and his companions once more with an unreadable expression, and Hobert felt increasingly unnerved under the man's intense stare.
With slightly pursed lips, Lord Strong continued to speak. "Might I inquire of the whereabouts of Prince Daeron and the King's two new dragonriders? Ever since we received your letter, we have eagerly awaited the arrival of more dragons to add to the city's defence. I would have expected to see them in the sky as your army entered the city."
At Lord Strong's mention of Prince Daeron, Hobert took notice of a change in his cousin Alicent's demeanor. She remained poised and regal in stature, but her eyes seemed to convey equal amounts of fierce pride and worry. He felt his mouth dry out. By the Seven. Since entering the city, Lord Peake's false letter had completely slipped from Hobert's mind. Hobert looked at his cousin Alicent with dismay. She expects her son to be returning to her alive and well, victorious in a battle against the pretender Rhaenyra's dragonriders. How do I even begin to explain the truth of it to her, that her youngest son is dead?
As Hobert stood in stricken silence, Lord Unwin stepped forward. "The battle at Tumbleton occurred much differently than how our letter portrayed it," the grizzled marcher lord began, "and afterwards, we found it necessary to the King's cause to misinform his enemies of the state of our army in the battle's aftermath."
Lord Unwin paused for a moment, seemingly carefully considering his next words as he prepared to continue his explanation. Lord Larys Strong's expression remained unreadable, and the maester beside him appeared increasingly distraught. Queen Alicent's face had become a hard impassive mask, but her eyes continued to convey her worry. Oh cos, I'm sorry.
To say the prevailing mood in the Red Keep was not a pleasant one would have been a gross understatement. The truth of the outcome of the clash of dragons above Tumbleton had not done anything to embolden those that held the King's city. It seemed to Hobert as though everyone within the Red Keep halfheartedly went about their business, keeping an ever-wary eye to the sky for the appearance of the pretender Rhaenyra's dragonriders.
According to Lord Larys, not long after the Red Keep had been taken, three dragons matching the description of Ser Gaemon, Ser Maegor, and Ser Addam Velaryon's mounts had appeared above the city, briefly circling above the Red Keep before disappearing northwest. They would have had ample reason to suspect our treachery. Hobert was confused as to why the dragonriders had not returned to burn what remained of the Hightower army.
The manner in which the Red Keep had been secured had also astounded Hobert. Shortly after he had settled into the Keep, Hobert and the other leaders of the Hightower army had met with Queen Alicent, Lord Strong, and Ser Byron Swann, to be informed of the circumstances of the retaking of the Red Keep.
When the pretender Rhaenyra had taken King's Landing, Lord Strong had smuggled the King and his remaining children into hiding. Lord Larys himself had remained in King's Landing, coordinating efforts to undermine Princess Rhaenyra's false rule. It was during his time in hiding that Lord Larys had come into contact with Ser Byron. The knight of the Stormlands had been a member of Lord Borros Baratheon's retinue during peacetime, before taking it upon himself to infiltrate King's Landing and slay Syrax to aid in the war effort against the Blacks.
According to Lord Larys, he had been considering whether or not to smuggle Ser Byron into the Red Keep to facilitate his attempt at dragon-slaying when news of the letter sent by the Green army from Tumbleton began to spread throughout the city. Using his informants to feed the flames of tensions within the city until they reached a fever pitch, Lord Strong had prepared a different mission for the knight of black and white. With the help of bags of gold carried to the Lion Gate by Ser Byron's squire in a commoner's disguise, the Gold Cloak serjeants stationed there had remembered their loyalties to the true King and agreed to lend Lord Larys their aid when an opportune chance arose.
Therefore, when riots against Princess Rhaenyra's misrule eventually began to spread through the city of King's Landing, the Lion Gate garrison killed their traitorous Captain and made haste to the Red Keep in a furious march through King's Landing's main thoroughfares, avoiding roving crowds of rioters as best as they could. At the same time, Lord Larys had shown Ser Byron, his squire, and several trusted sellswords a secret passage into the Red Keep.
The Pretender had dispatched much of her remaining castle garrison into the city in a desperate attempt to secure the city's gates, so Ser Byron and the others therefore had little trouble in making their way to the Red Keep's gate, slaying the guards posted at it, and opening the gate to the Lion Gate garrison waiting in the courtyard outside. With the added numbers, the daring group had successfully retaken the Red Keep for King Aegon.
The greatest triumph of the night, however, had been related to the prisoners that Ser Byron and the Gold Cloaks captured. When he had been told, Hobert could scarcely believe his ears. The pretender Rhaenyra, her sons Aegon and Viserys, and the Lady Baela Targaryen. In one night, the Greens had seized every claimant that the Blacks supported. The Prince Daemon and his daughter Rhaena remain beyond our reach, but it matters not. Princess Rhaenyra and all of her children have fallen into our hands. Additionally, Lord Corlys Velaryon had been captured and thrown into the Black Cells as well.
In doing so, however, a significant amount of blood had been spilled. While servants and other smallfolk in the Keep were largely spared, any individual within the Keep with known sympathies and loyalty towards the Princess Rhaenyra was put to the sword. "We weren't completely without mercy," Ser Byron had laughed, "we allowed the Pretender's lackwit fool to keep his head. That dwarf will never be a threat to anyone."
Hobert had been bothered by the fact that Prince Joffrey, Princess Rhaenyra's oldest remaining son, had been killed during the taking of the Keep. "Surely his death wasn't necessary?" Hobert had asked. The lad was scarce more than a boy.
Ser Byron had merely scoffed in response. "I had no intention to kill the boy, but he challenged me with live steel. I had no choice but to meet the lad in combat, and killed him in the process. There's nothing more to it than that."
Hobert's cousin Alicent had a much more venomous response. Since learning of the Prince Daeron's true fate, she made no attempt to hide her hatred for her stepdaughter and her children. "A death that is not worth mourning, cousin Hobert," she had sneered, her eyes and tone cold, "for anyone with any common sense knew what that wretched boy was, even if my late husband forbade us all from speaking such truths aloud."
Neither Ser Byron's nor his cousin Alicent's responses had pleased Hobert, but he kept silent. What good would my condemning their actions do? The poor lad is already dead.
Following a moment of awkward silence, Ser Byron continued to discuss the fall of the Red Keep. After the Red Keep had been secured, Gold Cloaks with crossbows and Ser Byron's squire with his longbow had clambered atop battlements and rooftops surrounding the courtyard in which the Princess Rhaenyra's dragon was kept. They opened fire upon the enraged beast, and had lost several men to its flames.
The large chains and tight confines of the courtyard prevented the dragon from taking flight, sealing its fate. Ser Byron's squire eventually killed Syrax by putting an arrow through its eye. "To think," Ser Byron had laughed ruefully, "that I had made it my mission to slay the beast, only for my squire to kill it instead!" Ser Byron shook his head. "An ignoble end for such a magnificent creature. I meant to slay it as Ser Serwyn of the Mirror Shield did in days of old! What a tale I would have had to tell!"
Ser Byron's missed attempt at glory aside, Hobert was glad to hear of the death of Syrax. If that beast had lived and freed itself… Hobert shuddered at the thought. Because of Lord Peake's letter, Lord Larys had acted boldly under the assumption that he would soon be reinforced by three battle-tested dragonriders and a large army. Instead, we arrive to King's Landing with no dragons or dragonriders, and little more than three thousand men. Not an insignificant force, but not nearly enough to hold the city of King's Landing in its current state.
At Lord Peake's suggestion, Hobert had ordered the men of the army to begin rounding up what citizens remained in King's Landing, and put them to work mending the defenses damaged during the riots.
"Twould be a disaster if the Pretender Rhaenyra's forces are able to enter the city as we did, unobstructed and uncontested," the marcher lord had said, and Hobert quickly agreed with his advice and gave the orders.
Lord Larys had told them that he bade Grand Maester Orwyle to send ravens to Lord Borros Baratheon when the Keep was retaken, requesting that he make good on his vow of allegiance to King Aegon and march to reinforce King's Landing. The Lord of Storm's End had sent word in response, informing Lord Larys that he would march north in haste. Such news had been a relief to Hobert. With the men of the Stormlands at our side, we will be able to hold the walls of the city against the Princess Rhaenyra's supporters. They surely wouldn't use their dragons against us when we hold the Princess and her children as hostages in the Black Cells.
Lord Larys had also informed them all that he had been receiving reports of King Aegon's condition from where he had been hidden. According to Lord Strong, King Aegon had been recovering well, and had even been miraculously reunited with his dragon, Sunfyre. "But where has he been hidden, Lord Strong?" Hobert had asked, relieved at the news.
At Hobert's question, a small smile had appeared on Lord Larys's face. "Dragonstone," was his simple response. "An abandoned fisherman's hut, only a stone's throw away from the citadel. A septon had recently made it available for transients."
Hobert was speechless at the brilliance of it all. What better place to hide the King than Princess Rhaenyra's own base of power? It would have seemed a fool's errand to try to hide him there. And yet, they did.
Still smiling, Lord Strong had continued. "The King was able to find support among the populace of Driftmark and Dragonstone. My sources tell me that he has quite recently secured Dragonstone's castle himself atop Sunfyre, with the help of these leal men."
Ser Byron had laughed aloud, Lord Peake smiled, and Hobert sat back in his chair in amazement. Ser Jon Roxton had proposed a toast to the King that was seconded by Ser Tyler, and Ser Roger Corne had happily filled goblets of wine for all around the table. Queen Alicent, despite her grief for the Prince Daeron, smiled with fierce pride upon learning of her eldest son's triumph.
"I have sent word to Dragonstone," Lord Strong continued, "requesting that the King return to claim his city and rejoin the war effort." Lord Larys sipped his wine, an enigmatic smile gracing his features. "I should expect that he will be arriving quite soon."
The King arrived on a clear grey morn, heavy with the chill of winter. His brilliant golden dragon Sunfyre roared as it approached the city, the sound reverberating off of the walls of the Red Keep. He had sent Grand Maester Orwyle a raven ahead of his departure, informing him that he was flying from Dragonstone to King's Landing atop his dragon. Though Lord Corlys Velaryon was a hostage in the Black Cells, his bastard grandson Ser Alyn still sat within the walls of High Tide, maintaining his grandfather's blockade. None of the King's leal men on the island of Dragonstone would be able to join the King until the situation in the Narrow Sea was dealt with.
The King circled above the Keep atop his dragon thrice before descending into the castle's main yard, where Hobert and the other leading members of court awaited his arrival. As his golden dragon made its descent, Hobert couldn't help but notice how one of the dragon's pink membranous wings was bent awkwardly. Regardless, the magnificent beast still seemed capable of flight.
When Sunfyre landed in the courtyard, Hobert noticed that two men were chained on its back. The leading man wore simple unadorned black plate, while the second man was dressed in mottled iron plate. The second man unchained himself and slid from Sunfyre's back to the flagstones of the courtyard, before reaching up and helping the knight in black to gingerly climb to the ground from his dragon's back. The unmistakable sight of Blackfyre fastened about the rider's waist brought great joy to those assembled. Hobert still remembered the sight of the magnificent Valyrian steel blade from the times he had visited King's Landing many years before.
The knight in black plate removed his helm. Twas unmistakably King Aegon, the Second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. However, Hobert had not seen his liege in many years. When Hobert had last laid eyes upon him, King Aegon had been a vigorous and handsome prince in the spring of his youth. Though still a young man, King Aegon bore significant scars of war.
His visage was puffy, and the left half of his face was heavily scarred by the mark of dragonflame. Sullen violet eyes regarded Hobert and the others, and though his lips partially bore the mark of dragonflame, they still were twisted into a pout. Upon seeing his mother, however, the King smiled. He walked forward with a measured, shuffling gait, his spine bent slightly forward, as though he struggled to stand straight even without the weight of his armor. His left arm, though concealed beneath the black plate of his armor, dangled loosely at his side.
"Mother," the King said, his voice thick with emotion. He reached his arms forward to pull her into an embrace.
"My King," the Dowager Queen Alicent responded with a smile, returning his embrace. Standing on her toes, she kissed both of his cheeks, before stepping back.
Lord Larys stepped forward. "My King," he began evenly, "we are all overjoyed at your return, and to behold you in good health. Since your time on the isle of Dragonstone, much and more has occurred in your Realm. We must needs discuss these matters of great import as soon as possible."
Turning to regard his Master of Whispers, the King nodded gravely. "I thank you, Lord Larys, for the service you continue to offer my cause against my sister, the Pretender." Turning to regard the other knights and nobles assembled before him, the King continued to speak. "I see many new faces amongst the ranks of my supporters. I should like to be introduced to you all as soon as possible. My sister's false followers are many in number, and I will gladly accept the aid of all true men in ending her grasping ambitions for good and all."
A large pyre had been built in the center of the outer yard. It had been decided that Prince Daeron's remains should be burned as soon as possible, so that the Prince's journey to the Seven Heavens could begin without further delay. The Prince's corpse had been given over to the few Silent Sisters that could still be found within King's Landing for cleansing.
Hobert had been present when they had removed Prince Daeron's corpse from the wagon that it had been transported in. As soon as the black cloak with the golden three-headed dragon had been pulled away from his corpse, a stench unlike any he'd ever experienced had assailed Hobert's nostrils. His eyes had watered, and his stomach roiled, threatening to heave forth its contents.
Prince Daeron's grievous wounds had not improved in death. The rot of death had settled into the festering burns and blisters, which were many in number. When the Silent Sisters went to lift the Prince's body from the wagon bed, they'd had to peel his corpse from it.
In a moment of morbid curiosity, Hobert had regarded the wagon bed after the corpse had been removed. It was slick with black, congealed blood, and other putrid and foul humours and liquids. Clutching a kerchief to his nose, Hobert had backed away from the distressing smells and sight.
After his body had been cleansed and prepared as well as it could be, King Aegon had ordered that the corpse of his brother be placed on a bier at the foot of the Iron Throne, to lay in respite for a night before his body was to be burned in the Valyrian funerary tradition.
Queen Alicent had refused to allow her son's corpse to be covered in a shroud while on display. "Let them all see him!" she had hissed. "Let our Lords and knights look upon him and see with their very eyes the cruel excesses the Pretender Rhaenyra has wrought upon her own blood, her half-brother!"
Hobert had stood vigil with the Queen Dowager Alicent and King Aegon over the Prince Daeron's corpse the night before the funeral, as their only other kin present in the Red Keep to do so. According to Grand Maester Orwyle, King Aegon's wife, the Queen Helaena, "was regrettably in no fit state to attend the vigil or funeral for her brother."
Hobert currently stood at the side of the Queen Dowager, watching as the King directed his dragon, Sunfyre, to light his younger brother's funerary pyre. The Royal Sept's septon, Eustace, spoke the funerary rites as the dragonflame quickly consumed the wood of the pyre and Prince Daeron. The King wept mournfully at the sight.
Something about the sight deeply bothered Hobert. The Prince was grievously wounded by dragonflame, and died from those wounds. Yet it was dragonflame that now burned his corpse to ash. Would that the flames of Ser Addam's dragon had killed the Prince, Hobert thought soberly. The Prince had lingered on the brink of death for days after the fight above Tumbleton, vacillating between unimaginable pain and delirium.
"And so, the dearly beloved Prince Daeron returns to our Mother's loving embrace, having passed the Father's last judgement. His way to the afterlife is illuminated by the holy light of the Crone's lamp. The Warrior awaits him with a great host of the Holy at the Seventh Heaven, and the Smith will gladly open its gates to him, those that he wrought with his own divine hands. The Maiden sings sweetly of his piety and virtue as the Stranger relinquishes their hold on the Prince's soul for the last time." Closing his bejeweled copy of the Seven Pointed Star, Septon Eustace stepped back. The only sound in the yard was the crackle of flame.
'Is he there? Truly?' The voice called accusingly from the depths of Hobert's innermost thoughts. 'Would the Smith open the gates of the Seventh Heaven to a man who burned women and children in the name of justice?' Hobert stood still, willing the horrid thoughts to stop plaguing his mind. 'And what of you, old man?' The voice in Hobert's mind laughed wickedly. 'Do you truly think the Father will find a coward worthy of joining the ranks of the Holy deceased in the Heavens?' Hobert had begun to tremble, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 'We both know where you're going…' Hobert opened his eyes, continuing to shake. His eyes were filled with the sight of fire, and its heat made him perspire. The acrid scent of brimstone filled his nostrils.
Hobert was surprised when he received summons to the Throne Room the day after the Prince Daeron's funeral. Entering the grand hall through its massive bronze-and-oak doors, he stood for a moment at the foot of the long crimson carpet that ran along the length of the Throne Room to the base of the Iron Throne's dais. Torches in sconces lit the length of the hall. Though it was only midday, no light filtered through the tall glass windows behind the Iron Throne, and the entire Hall sat in shadow.
The King sat atop the Iron Throne in gilded black plate embossed with a golden dragon. The Conqueror's crown rested atop his head, and Blackfyre was unsheathed and resting on his lap, laid across his armored legs. At the base of the Iron Throne stood the King's newest member of the Kingsguard, Ser Marston Waters. Waters had accompanied the King from Dragonstone to the city atop Sunfyre, and had been granted his white cloak after their arrival. Apart from the King and his protector, the Throne Room was entirely vacant.
Walking along the crimson carpet's length, he approached his King atop his throne. When he finally reached the base of the dais, Hobert dropped to one knee and bowed his head in deference.
"Please, rise, Ser Hobert." Obeying his liege's command he stood, his eyes following the melted steps of the Iron Throne upwards towards the seated sovereign. For a moment, there was silence. As the torches flickered, different halves of King Aegon's face were displayed in prominence. In one moment, the handsome son and rightful heir of King Viserys looked down upon Hobert. Then the light would shift, and Hobert found himself looking upon a violet eye surrounded by a morass of scabbed, scarred flesh.
"Now that I have once again claimed my rightful seat, I must needs bring together a new Small Council, to replace the leal men I lost due to the injustices meted out by the Pretender." The King shifted slightly atop his throne. "In these times of strife and betrayal, I must needs be able to rely upon those that I can absolutely trust. Admittedly, I do not know you as well as other members of my mother's kin, but she has spoken highly of you. She says that you are a good and loyal man, steadfast and true, and have done naught in your long life to bring dishonor to House Hightower."
The King continued to speak, his voice echoing amongst the massive stone pillars lining the Throne Room. "As the war drags on, I can ill afford men of questionable loyalty serving at my side. You Ser, are a man that I believe I can fully trust and rely upon."
The King stood. "Ser Hobert of House Hightower, I name you my Hand of the King. May you serve myself and the Realm well, and keep the interests of both in your heart and mind in whatever counsel you provide."
Hobert was speechless as the King continued. "If you will, my Hand, make your way from hence to the Small Council chamber. I have several more men to appoint. There is much we must needs discuss."
Hobert knew that if he tried to speak, he would be utterly unable to. His mouth was dry, and his eyes wide. His mind was nearly blank with shock. He gave the King a deep bow, before turning and walking stiffly from the Great Hall. By the Seven.
Hobert sat alone in the small council chamber, in a seat adjacent to the head of the table, where the King's chair sat unoccupied. The flames burning in several braziers throughout the room threw long shadows. Beyond the open door of the council chamber, Hobert could just barely make out the shadow of one of the Valyrian sphinxes flanking the doorway. The grand shadow was long, stretching until it became lost in the gloom of the long hallway beyond.
Hobert continued to sit in stunned silence. Why me? He was an old, tired man. The King needs a man with youth and vigor at his side. If not strength and youth, then what did the King desire in his Hand? Sage knowledge? Of that Hobert had little. In his youth, the Hightower's own maester had discouraged Hobert's father from encouraging his youngest son to attempt to join the Citadel's ranks. What could the King possibly see in me? He can ill afford an incompetent Hand, especially at a time like this.
As Hobert continued to fret in silence, he became aware of the soft footfalls of slippered feet approaching the Council Chamber. Hobert watched as his cousin, the Queen Dowager Alicent, appeared out of the hallway's gloom, making her way into the Council Chamber. Walking along the side of the table, she gracefully sat in the chair directly across from Hobert.
Regarding him, cousin Alicent smiled kindly at Hobert before speaking. "Congratulations, cousin!" she began. "My son chose wisely in following my counsel to grant you the title of King's Hand."
Hobert looked at the Queen Dowager plaintively. "Why?" he croaked, feeling as though the anxieties and fears within himself were about to force his throat closed.
"Why?" the Queen Dowager smiled as she responded. "Why wouldn't I advise it? You are a leader of men. When our cousin Lord Ormund died, you were ready to take on the mantle of leadership and continue leading his army to the King's city. You and Lord Peake saved our cause with the false letter that you sent to the Pretender and her traitorous court. Without that letter, Lord Larys would have been unable to succeed in his plans to retake the keep, and in capturing the Pretender and her children." Cousin Alicent's face darkened as she mentioned the Princess Rhaenyra and her children.
After a moment, her face softened, and she took Hobert's hand in her own. "You also returned my son to me," she said softly. "So that he could be properly cremated, as his father was." The Queen Dowager had wept at the Prince Daeron's funeral the day before, and her eyes remained slightly bloodshot as she regarded Hobert.
His cousin's mention of the Prince Daeron caused Hobert to speak up. "I- I was with him at the end, cousin." Hobert squeezed Alicent's hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "When he passed, he- he wasn't afraid. His last thoughts were of flying his dragon, Tessarion. He was content."
Alicent regarded Hobert in silence for a moment, before nodding. "Truly, cousin," she began, "I am in your debt. I have no doubt that you will serve my son well." Standing, she walked around the head of the table to stand in front of Hobert. From one of the long, dagged sleeves of her silken dress, she revealed a golden chain, made of interlinked golden hands.
"Allow me," his cousin said with a smile. Leaning forward, she clasped the chain of golden hands around Hobert's neck. Hobert swallowed thickly as he felt the cold metal touch his neck. I cannot be Hand. I will bring naught but ruination to the King's cause.
Hobert nearly missed cousin Alicent's words as she returned to her seat. "Please, cousin Hobert," she said kindly, "do not hesitate to request my aid in your duties as Hand if you should have need of it." She smiled at him. "After all, my father served as Hand to two Kings."
She sat gracefully in her chair. "Though I am only a woman, and no longer Queen, I should like to think that I would be able to offer some small amount of sage advice, should you have need of it."
Hobert nodded eagerly, practically falling out of his seat as he leaned forward in desperation. "Please, cousin," he practically gasped with relief, "I will accept any and all of your counsel. In truth, I fear I will not be an adequate Hand to our King."
The Queen Dowager smiled thinly at Hobert, and her eyes glittered in the light given off by the braziers. "Nonsense, cousin," she began. "The wisest of men know that there is no shame in relying on the counsel of trusted allies." Her smile was sharp as steel. "And make no mistake, cos. I am your ally. You can always rely on me to give you the best counsel that I can provide. If you heed my words, I promise you that we will forge the Realm anew."
With the initial formalities concluded, the first meeting of the King's new Small Council truly began. King Aegon sat at the head of the table, with Hobert at his immediate right, and the Queen Dowager Alicent at his immediate left. His new appointees had also taken places at seats further along the table. Beside cousin Alicent sat Lord Unwin Peake, the King's new Master of Laws. Beside Lord Unwin sat Ser Jon Roxton, as the recently-appointed King's Justice. Beside Hobert sat Lord Larys Strong as Master of Whispers, and Grand Maester Orwyle sat on the other side of Lord Strong.
Absent from the table was the King's chosen Master of Coin, Ser Tyland Lannister. As the man was still recovering from the cruel excesses inflicted upon him by the Pretender's torturers, he had begged the King's leave to remain in convalescence.
Hobert had poured himself a goblet of Arbor Gold, and sipped from it as each member of the council settled into their seats.
The King had not yet chosen a Master of Ships, which Lord Unwin casually pointed out. "All in good time, my Lord," cousin Alicent stated in a cool tone. "There is a far more important matter that we must needs attend to."
Frowning, the King poured himself a goblet of Arbor Red before taking a deep drink. As he lowered the goblet, the wine left behind on his scarred upper lip glistened like blood. He sat in silence for a moment, and the frown on his face deepened into a scowl.
"My half-sister, the Pretender," the King eventually grated out. "Thanks to Lord Strong, she and her wretched spawn have fallen into our hands." The King took another long drink. "The price for her treasons will be steep. She has torn my Realm asunder with her folly."
The King clenched his scarred left fist, the scabs twisting and contorting with the movement. "She has made herself a kinslayer, not by her own hand, but in deed. The blood of my sons stains her hands."
The King drank deeply from his goblet, and upon emptying it, he slammed it angrily upon the tabletop. "She sent her lowborn, bastard dragonriders to slay my brother. Like footpads in the night. A royal Prince, and her own half-brother!"
The King's face was contorted with rage. "I want her dead. With the Pretender gone, the false Lords that supported her will have no choice but to bend the knee. I hold all of her heirs hostage. Their cause died the moment this keep fell to Lord Strong's men."
Hobert and the other council members sat in silence at the King's words. The Pretender must needs die, Hobert thought sadly. This war will never end until she has died for her treason.
The King smiled. It was a dark and cruel smile, made all the more grotesque by the deep burn scars he bore on his face. "I will send a message to the Lords of my Realm with her execution. A death by the sword is too clean, too kind for the likes of my half-sister. I mean to make the manner of her death serve as a warning to all the traitors that yet remain in my Realm."
Hobert took a deep sip of his Arbor Gold as apprehension began to roil in his gut. He had expected the Pretender to be beheaded for her treason, as was the customary form of execution for all traitors of gentle birth. What does the King mean to do to her?
Hobert's question was answered a moment later as the King continued speaking. "I will feed the Pretender to Sunfyre, tomorrow morn." The King said. "The Pretender, that maester of hers, and any Lord or knight that we captured along with her. Only then will the Realm know how I will punish traitors forthwith."
The King smiled grimly as he finished speaking, allowing his Council to think a moment on his words. No. No, this can't be. Hobert felt as though he'd been plunged into icy water. This is all wrong. With a cold smile, the Queen Dowager Alicent reached across the table and clutched the King's scarred hand with her own. Lord Peake nodded, a neutral expression across his features. A wicked smile had spread across Jon Roxton's face. An unreadable expression had settled across Lord Larys' visage, and Grand Maester Orwyle sat in silence, refusing to meet the eyes of any around the table.
It isn't right. With a shaking hand, Hobert raised his goblet to his lips. His mouth had become so, so dry. The Arbor Gold was an exquisite vintage, yet it tasted bitter and sour on Hobert's tongue. She is still a Princess, and the King's half-sister besides. This is wrong.
Closing his eyes, Hobert began to silently pray. O Crone, I beg of you. Let them see the folly in such a decision, in such cruelty and excess.
If Hobert had been hoping for an answer to his prayer, he was to be gravely disappointed. "Executions require witnesses," the King spoke quietly, a cruel smile on his face. "I do not mean to kill my half-sister's whelps. Let them witness the fate of their mother." The cruel smile remained on the King's face, even as he practically shook with rage. "Let them watch my Sunfyre eat their accursed mother. Twill be their punishment, to finally share in the wretched misery that the Pretender Rhaenyra has wrought upon our House!"
Hobert could scarcely breathe. A deep, gnawing pain throbbed within his chest. This is wrong. No, it is more than wrong. It is evil.
Hobert had grieved at the news of the deaths of the Princes Jaehaerys and Maelor. Two innocent boys, both killed in some of the cruelest fashions imaginable. Children that were made to suffer for the injustices of their elders. Hobert found that he now grieved for the Pretender's children as well.
Young boys, as the Princes Jaehaerys and Maelor were, blameless for the folly of their mother. And yet the King will see them suffer all the same. Hobert took another deep sip of his Arbor Gold. The liquid was tasteless on his tongue. In the depths of his mind, he could hear the screams of the denizens of Bitterbridge and Tumbleton. Have we not destroyed our legacy enough? Why must we poison the existences of those who will live and rule after us with our actions?
With a cruel smile, Jon Roxton voiced his support for the King's plan. As the newly-made King's Justice, the details of such an execution would technically fall beneath his jurisdiction. The Queen Dowager Alicent still had a vicious smile upon her face, and all others around the table remained silent.
Someone has to say something! Such a course of action cannot be allowed. Shaking in his chair, Hobert hoped against hope to hear words of dissent as he continued to drink. Instead, there was naught but silence.
I have to say something. Hobert went to take another desperate gulp of Arbor Gold, and saw that his goblet was empty. I'm the King's Hand, his chief advisor. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. Speak, you coward! Despite everything, Hobert still found himself robbed of his own voice. Speak, you vile, sniveling, pathetic coward! The King looked as though he was about to call an end to the meeting, pleased at both the voiced as well as tacit approval for his planned execution.
Shadows danced in the corners of Hobert's vision. Do I not still wish to find forgiveness? To believe that the Seven have let me continue to live for a reason? I must speak! If not for my own redemption, I must speak for the children. Hobert hadn't been able to save the Princes Jaehaerys and Maelor, but a chance remained to save the Pretender's children from the cruelties the King and his council intended for them. Are you a man or a monster? Hobert took in a ragged breath. Speak.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." All eyes around the table turned to regard Hobert as he took a shaking breath and continued to speak. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent…"
With an annoyed expression, Jon Roxton spoke up, interrupting Hobert. "What are you prattling on about, Ser Hobert?" The other individuals around the table all looked at Hobert with expressions ranging from annoyance, to confusion, to sudden interest.
In an instant, the fear was gone from Hobert. It was replaced by a sudden burning rage. All the horror, anguish, and fear that Hobert had felt since leaving Oldtown had turned into kindling for the white-hot fury he now felt.
Hobert stood violently, with such force that his chair clattered backwards to the floor. With all the strength he could muster, Hobert threw his goblet across the room. It bounced off the wall with a discordant clang before rolling along the stone floor.
"Do those words mean absolutely NOTHING to you?!" Hobert seethed. He glared balefully at Roxton, Lord Peake, and finally the King himself. "Not a single one of us was made into a knight until we had spoken those words, along with the rest of the HOLY vow of knighthood!"
Bracing himself against the table, Hobert took a heaving breath. It seemed that he could do naught but continue to shout. "You all swore to abide by those vows, in the eyes of the Seven! For too long, I have stood by and watched in silence as these self-same vows were broken, again and again! I tell you now, I will damn myself to the SEVENTH HELL if I stand by and watch them be so egregiously broken again!"
Hobert slammed his fist so hard against the table that the pitcher of Arbor Gold next to his fist tipped over and spilled. "I beg of you all, remember your vows now! The Seven Pointed Star teaches us that we are all imperfect creatures, prone to straying and sin. We have failed before, and we will likely fall short again. But if we willingly ignore our vows now, when they are so obviously being broken, I can say with the utmost confidence and assurance that we are no true knights, no true MEN, at all!"
Gasping for breath, Hobert stopped speaking. Aside from his heaving breaths, the room was utterly silent. Jon Roxton's face was purple with rage, and Grand Maester Orwyle merely stared at Hobert in stunned silence. Lord Strong watched him with an unreadable expression, and Lord Peake regarded him with what seemed equal measures shock and grudging respect. The Queen Dowager Alicent's eyes bored into him with a flickering fury, and King Aegon looked up at him sullenly, a scowl prominent on his face.
"My King," Hobert rasped, "I do not question your decision to put an end to the Pretender Rhaenyra. What I ask of you, as your Hand, is to exact your justice as the laws of the land say you should. Not with your dragon in some barbaric spectacle, but with the headsman's block and sword."
Hobert sighed. "Do not force her sons to bear witness to her death. They are children, and blameless in their mother's crimes. Let us bring an end to this conflict of betrayal and cruelty with an act of true justice."
Hobert righted his chair and sat back in it. He was utterly exhausted. The King sat in silence, considering his words. Eventually, the King's voice grated out a response. "Your… counsel has merit, Ser Hobert. The Pretender will be put to death with the sword. As a token of my gratitude for all you have done for my cause, Ser Hobert, I will grant you an additional boon. The Whore's whelps will not bear witness to her execution."
The King glared at Hobert. "The Pretender's spawn are children. You have the right of that. But I need not remind you that I had sons of my own, children that were cruelly murdered by the Pretender Rhaenyra and my vile uncle Daemon. Make no mistake, my Hand. Those boys are by no means blameless. And until the last sword raised for the cause of the Pretender has been lowered, one way or another, they are my prisoners to do with as I see fit, however I see fit."
The King sighed. "You are all dismissed. I have no more need of your counsel today. We will convene at this time tomorrow, for there are still many matters of great import to discuss. However, I wish to make my orders clear. By this time tomorrow, I will have the Pretender Rhaenyra's head on a spike."
A/N: Happy New Year everyone (for those of you that follow the Gregorian Calendar)! The other chief claimant has finally come out of hiding, and the struggle for supremacy is reaching a critical phase. As always, comments and feedback are both inspirational and greatly appreciated as the Tale continues!