A/N: Hello, I realised while preparing this chapter for upload that it has been quite some time since we posted an author's note alongside a new chapter. First off, thanks to Raimon, dire213, Kalstorm99, HarwinSnow, TMI Fairy, Tom2011, Kiina70, and many others for the kind and thought-provoking reviews. As I've said before, reviews are always greatly appreciated and help to inspire us to write additional chapters. Lastly, I've concluded this chapter with a bit of a mystery. Perhaps the answer is obvious, but I'm eager to hear everyone's speculation regarding what is occurring!
Maris II
The city of King's Landing had changed much since she had last laid eyes upon it. Where once the streets had bustled with merchants, smallfolk, nobility, and royal officials, they now lay empty, except for small parties of denizens that seemed to dart this way and that, eager to avoid attention. While the grey skies of winter had abated, revealing a cool, bright blue sky, cold winds still blew from the North. Her father's army had reached the Blackwater Rush days ago, and it had taken a considerable effort to convey its forces across the river. Many of the vessels that usually made the capital their port of call were noticeably absent. It had not taken long to realize that few boats still were docked at the docks and quays. The Seahorse's Bastard has made certain of that. Trade that was normally the city's lifeblood had been all but choked off. Maris wasn't certain, but she would wager that much of the traffic that normally made its way across the Narrow Sea to King's Landing or Duskendale was instead being directed to offload at Spicetown or Hull. The Velaryons likely grow ever richer whilst they maintain this blockade. She expected that the only way the King had been able to return to the capital was by virtue of his dragon.
With the absence of so many ships, it had been up to the fishing boats and other small river craft of the city to transport the Baratheon host across the Blackwater Rush. The process had been agonisingly slow, and Maris had not failed to observe how many of her father's knights had kept their eyes trained on the skies to the North, watching warily for any sign of the Three Bastards or their mounts. Eventually, however, the process was completed, and her father's army had assembled and made camp outside the walls of the city whilst they communicated with the King's representatives regarding their entry and where they would be housed. According to the representatives, a riot had engulfed the city in the last days of the Pretender's rule. While the rabble had looted much of the city, and destroyed what little commerce still had occurred within its walls, they had also killed many of the wealthier residents of the city, freeing their scarred but still-standing manses for occupation. Many of the smallfolk had also fled the city, believing an attack by dragonriders to be imminent. The flight or destruction of much of the city's people may have robbed it of much of its wealth, but it has also provided winter quarters for my father's army. Maris had frowned as she glanced at the barren fields and leafless forests that surrounded the capital for miles. It has also reduced the number of mouths to feed.
Once the deliberations regarding the Stormlanders' entrance had been settled, the great host had assembled once more, prepared for its triumphant entrance into the capital. The battered Rivergate had opened before them, and as they entered, Maris could not help but wonder at the pathetic state the capital had now found itself in. What had once been a fishmonger's square was largely deserted, and many of the buildings that had surrounded the square had been gutted by flame. The interiors of the city's great walls were caked with hardened ash, a muted memory of the great flames that had clearly run amok not too long ago. The square itself, along with its cobblestones and burned detritus, sported many patches of what appeared to be dried blood. The city beyond looked to be in a similar state, with even the surviving buildings bearing marks of devastation that were highlighted all the more clearly against the stark blue winter sky.
Her father had requested that Maris and her sisters accompany him on horseback for their grand entrance into the city, and as they rode, Maris watched as his deep blue eyes scanned the wreckage from beneath his black plate. Her father had left his visor open, so as to see and speak with greater ease, and the shock of the city's state registered clearly on his face. All about her, her sisters peered out from under black cloaks in shock. It is a small mercy that the Princess Jaehaera was kept in the wheelhouse alongside Ser Willis Fell. While she is too young to comprehend all of the details of the destruction, the sight of it would likely upset her greatly. The passage of so many horses and men stirred up the dust and ash that rested beneath them, and soon a light grey miasma floated eerily all about them. At evenly spaced intervals, what appeared to be Reachmen men-at-arms and sworn swords stood at attention, marking their path along the main thoroughfare leading from the River Gate to the square that lay at the city's center. The three hills that defined the city of King's Landing rose all about them, and Maris could make out the manses and other wealthy establishments atop Visenya's Hill, the looming and formidable Dragonpit atop the Hill of Rhaenys, and the Red Keep itself standing defiantly atop Aegon's High Hill to the east. As she stared at the vast fortress that served as the King's residence, a golden glint caught her eye, rising above the red towers and keeps. The huge, beautiful golden form was unmistakably that of a dragon, and its roar sounded down the streets and wynds of the capital, echoing off of cobblestones and reverberating in her ears. The procession of the army, which until this point had been quite muted and dour, quickly began to be filled with the delighted shouts of its knights, who turned and pointed, lifting their visors and excitedly gesturing to their comrades at the magnificent beast that had begun to circle above the city.
Sunfyre. Even the cynical Maris had to allow herself a grin. The dragon truly was gorgeous. The cool winter sunlight shone on its scales, and in return they gleamed like beaten gold. The King circled the capital once more, before urging his mount into a dive. He flew directly over their procession, causing winds to whip about their heads as the massive dragon passed above them. For a brief moment, Maris could see the pale pink skin that made up the majority of the dragon's wings above her, before it soared once more into the air. By this point, the entire army was cheering, from the levied smallfolk to the greatest lords. The golden beast that flew above them did much to restore their spirits, and their cries seemed to push the overwhelming deathly silence of the city away. While Maris had heard that the King's dragon had been wounded in an earlier fight with the Princess Rhaenys, it appeared that his wounds had healed, with one wing at only a slightly crooked angle betraying its former misfortunes.
Shouts of "the King!" and "Hail Aegon!" had grown deafening all about her, and even her father could not resist adding his voice to the throng. Maris herself was so taken aback by the spectacle that it took her a moment to realize that there was something most definitely missing from it. Where is the Queen? Where is Dreamfyre? As she looked all about her, only Sunfyre soared above them. No other dragons rose to meet it. Maris suppressed a grimace. It appears the King is the only dragonrider we can count upon. Pushing her misgivings as far from her mind as she could, Maris watched the King and his dragon circle above. In time, the procession reached the center of the city. A wooden structure had been hastily erected before them, and atop it sat several Lords, their banners hanging behind their backs. Maris recognised the personal golden three-headed dragon banner of the King, the Tower crowned with flame of the Hightowers, and the three castles of the Peakes. Additionally, the roaring golden lion of the Lannisters whipped proudly in the breeze, alongside the red, green and blue stripes of House Strong.
Maris and her family urged their mounts to halt before the platform, and for a moment the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic beat of the army filing in behind them. A powerful gust of wind buffeted the square as Sunfyre landed and the King climbed slowly, and gingerly, off of its back. A knight in a white cloak made to help him ascend the platform, but the King motioned for him to allow him to climb it alone. Aegon climbed the wooden steps shakily, but alone, and with each step he seemed slightly more assured of his footing. When he reached the top of the steps, he moved to the center of the platform, and stood as straight as his recovering form could muster. Drawing what could only be Blackfyre, he rose it above his head, to the cheers of those assembled, before planting it firmly in the wood of the platform, to assist him in maintaining his form upright.
While he wore the ornate black plate Maris had come to associate with the Royal Dynasty, it was still possible to make out the burn scars that were rumored to cover half of his body, and the wrinkled and marred flesh of his neck that extended onto half his face left him with a permanent scowl upon half of his visage. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak, projecting his voice as best he could across the square to those assembled.
"My Lords, I thank you from the depths of my heart for assembling and riding to my aid. Your arrival is in the midst of a most auspicious time for our cause. With the swords of the Stormlords at my back, I am confident that we have the strength to overwhelm whatever shattered remnants of the Pretender's forces remain, regardless of whether they are backed by bastards atop dragons or savage Northmen from beyond the Neck. Before me stand some of the finest knights that Westeros can muster, hardened by constant conflict with the faithless Dornish and with hearts that shall not falter in the face of any foe!" He paused, his face twisting in a gruesome smile while the assembled chivalry of the Stormlords roared before him. As the din subsided, he began again. "My false half-sister is gone; the justice she evaded for so long finally overtook her. Even now, the war moves ever onwards towards its conclusion, and a new dawn awaits. Together, we will march onward, with that light and hope at our backs!"
Hundreds of swords rasped as they were drawn from their scabbards. Cheers rang out deafeningly through the square. On the stage behind him, the Lords of Aegon's Small Council clapped with approval, none more so than his mother. She remains radiant, despite her age and her childbirths, thought Maris. The Dowager Queen smiled with the savage pride that only a mother could feel as her son rose Blackfyre once more above his head, relishing the roar of the host before him. The King might be bent, but he seems unbroken. The capital was growing more interesting by the minute, Maris thought to herself.
The aftermath of the speech had given way to a whirlwind of activity, as her father had been invited to come directly to the Red Keep to establish his household within. While the King had already appointed the ancient Ser Hobert Hightower his Hand, her father gracefully accepted the offer to become the Protector of the Realm. They had been given spacious apartments, located in what had once been the kitchens of the Red Keep during the reign of the Kings Maegor and Jaehaerys. While the grandeur of their accommodations left no impression that they had once been the abode of servants, Maris could tell that her father had bristled at their lodgings nonetheless. As they had made their way to them, she did not miss the longing look her father cast at the Tower of the Hand, which was just visible over the high walls of the inner courtyard at the tall, square structure of Maegor's Holdfast. Personally, Maris had nothing against their lodgings. The finery was at the very least equal to what could be expected from Storm's End. Myrish rugs adorned the floors, and beautiful tapestries lined the walls. There was a solar, a grand bedchamber for her father, a bath, a dressing chamber, and smaller, adjoining chambers that could be used by Maris and her sisters for the duration of their stay. The rooms below that had once made up the kitchens had been remodeled and furnished so as to house the many servants and sworn swords that her father had brought along with them.
Ser Genrick had personally escorted their luggage from where it had been transported to their quarters, and Maris had begun to unpack her belongings from the journey in her room when Cassandra entered, a look of excitement on her face.
"The Dowager Queen has sent invitations requesting our presence in her Ladies court. We are to attend her on the morrow."
Maris nodded, thinking. She did not find herself as eager to meet the Dowager Queen as her sister. To the Lady Alicent, we are not guests, but rivals. I expect she has already surmised our purpose here. For a moment, she almost pitied Cassandra and her eagerness. The feeling subsided the moment she observed the triumphant look in her sister's eyes. She already is envisioning herself as Queen. But with such pretensions, she only endangers herself. She would not be the first woman to harbor such pretensions within these halls, not even the first this year.
Maris nodded. "Her invitations were to be expected, I suppose. We obviously must accept."
Cassandra pouted. "Obviously. Honestly, Maris. At times I wonder why you even chose to come to the capital if that is the sort of enthusiasm you are capable of mustering."
Maris shook her head. "The capital is fascinating, sister. I am simply less eager to be entering the lists against a more seasoned jouster."
Her sister huffed, and left without another word. Maris returned to folding her dresses. Oddly, she found her thoughts drawn to the Princess Jaehaera, who had been spirited away the moment that they had crossed the Red Keep's barbican. Ser Willis Fell had left without a word, quietly guiding the small Princess by hand towards Maegor's holdfast. Her wide, lilac eyes had threatened tears in the midst of all of the commotion, and the sight of the keeps and towers all about her seemed to evoke a sense of deep, existential terror. In conveying her to her home, we also returned her to the place of her nightmares. As she unfolded a dress, Maris could not help but wonder what role the Princess could possibly play in the coming weeks. While some may wish to proclaim her as heir, the King's very legitimacy rests on his sex. Jaehaera's claim to the throne is rendered invalid by the same decrees that rendered Rhaenyra's claims moot. By the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, the Pretender's eldest living son is the King's heir. His most valuable hostage is currently his presumptive successor. It was clear to Maris that while it may not be an open topic of discussion, the matter of the succession weighed heavily upon the Royal court. The King must needs sire a male heir, and soon at that. Otherwise the war will have been for naught. Maris had serious doubts that the Royal Consort was in any state to have a child, however. If she cannot fly, it seems unlikely that she ought to be bedded.
Laying a gown gingerly in one of the trunks within her quarters, Maris heard footsteps stop outside her room. Turning, she saw Elyn and Floris standing outside, uncertain.
"Cassandra has already left, but we thought you might wish to accompany us to the Throne Room. Apparently there is quite a commotion occurring within. Someone important has arrived."
Maris raised an eyebrow. Gathering the folds of her dress in her hands, she nodded. "We'd best be off, then."
Their journey took them out of their quarters, past the servants who bustled about
unpacking and settling in, past the household knights who stood at attention, and into the outer courtyard itself, where knights and courtly attendants were scrambling towards the massive bronze-adorned doors of the throne room. Hurriedly making their way inside, Maris led her sisters through the throng, only stopping once they reached the edge of the crowd that hovered amongst the pillars that ran along the edges of the carpeted path leading to the Iron Throne itself. The King was seated high atop the mountain of twisted metal, Blackfyre resting across his lap. Below him sat the Dowager Queen and the Hand, seated in finely carved wooden chairs that had been placed atop the same massive dais that supported Aegon's seat.
Before the throne knelt two men whose battered armor bore the scars of many battles. White hair, filthy and unwashed, hung uncombed and grey down past their shoulders. Holding their helms in their hands, Maris studied their tabards with interest. The silk they were wrought of appeared to have once been composed of vibrant sea green and shining silver, but was now faded. Their raiment now sported the heraldry of battle, its colors the light brown of old mud and the faded copper of dried blood. After being bid by the King to rise, the two stood in unison, revealing faces gaunt with hunger. Deep blue eyes, almost purple, peered from above aquiline noses, flicking from those seated at the base of the throne to the man atop it. After a moment of silence, the King spoke.
"The Seven have indeed blessed us on this day, for they have returned men from the grip of death!" Standing from atop the mountain of fused iron, Aegon smiled. "When we received no word from Rook's Rest, we assumed the garrison left by Lord Commander Cole had been annihilated. That estimate clearly failed to take into account the heroism of the two before me."
In unison, the men nodded in thanks to their sovereign. One, clearly overcome with emotion made as if to speak, but only a low gurgle emerged from his lips. Cringing with both embarrassment and the kind of anger that only accompanies old injustices, he clutched his hands tightly at his sides. As if summoned, a man emerged from those assembled all around them to stand by their side. Bowing low to the King, he removed his dented pot helm in order to speak clearly.
"My liege, you were correct to praise the bravery of these two men. I have had the distinct honor to have served with them since we departed for Duskendale in the company of Lord Commander Cole and your own esteemed brother Prince Aemond. They and their brothers served your cause with the utmost distinction. The eldest, Aethan, fell taking Duskendale. While we defended Rook's Rest from the forces of the Pretender, Jorgen took a mortal wound. We have not heard from Monterys since he departed with the Lord Commander. But I can personally attest that the brothers before you, Malentine and Rhogar, have been stalwart swords for the months we have spent in hiding. I owe my very life to them, and speak here in their stead, for they no longer have the tongues to do so themselves."
The King listened to the man speak, before asking a question of his own: "And who might you be, Ser?"
The man bowed once more. "I am called Ser Hugh of Pennyford, your Grace. I had the distinction of being a member of the garrison of Rook's Rest, and a traveling knight before that."
Aegon's face twisted once more into a brutal imitation of a smile. "Well, Ser Hugh, I am most pleased of your service, and of the return of two loyal sons of House Velaryon. We must needs speak soon regarding proper places for all of you in my court. Brave men and steady loyalties are hard to come by in these trying times. I would see you all properly rewarded for your sacrifices."
With that, the King motioned for the hall to be cleared of its occupants. Maris followed Elyn and Floris as they wove their way through the throng of former onlookers out into the cold evening air. Sers Malentine and Rhogar. The names are familiar to me. Maris remembered. The last King had their tongues removed for questioning the paternity of the Pretender's eldest three sons. She wondered if news of the Pretender's death, along with that of her sons, was suitable recompense for five tongues and three brothers.
The rest of the evening had been uneventful, and the morning after was equally quiet. Maris and her sisters broke their fast on freshly baked bread, still hot from the oven and slathered with butter and honey. Fruits had also been made available, dried in preparation for winter storage. The apples served were sweet, tasting ever so faintly of bygone summer years. As Maris chose a peach to eat, her father entered the room, seating himself at the head of the table and ordering a bowl of honeyed porridge. He smiled at each of his daughters, before beginning to speak.
"I trust that each of you will wear your best for the Dowager Queen? Each of you must be an exquisite example of Baratheon perfection to the ladies of the court." He sighed. "Would that I could see you off in your finery."
Cassandra looked concernedly at their father. "What are your duties today, father?"
Borros' face grew more serious. "Parts of the capital remain unpacified even now. Until my arrival, the King simply lacked the requisite forces to bring order to the streets. With the help of my Lords he aims to correct the problem for good." Taking a bite of his porridge, he continued. "It will be my responsibility as Lord Protector to oversee the city's pacification by directing my lords and their levies to individual streets or squares. Ideally, we can put an end to the looting and lawlessness that still pervades the alleys and wynds of the city, as well as find quarters to house the men who've marched north with us. I have been granted permission by the King himself to house my men in whatever homes remain unscarred, including those who still have occupants." He chortled. "It will do the rabble some good. They've long since forgotten their duties to the realm. If my men have to remind them, so be it."
Maris finished chewing a particularly big bite. "Father, have you been able to secure any posts for your Lords amongst the King's servants or advisors? Who sits the Small Council?"
Borros studied her, clearly surprised by the political nature of her inquiry. The muscles in his jaw tensed slightly, suggesting that this was a topic he was not elated to discuss. "The most important seats have all been filled by those damnable Reachmen. Aside from the title they've offered me, the Small Council itself has been filled." His blue eyes twinkled. "I have requested, however, that Ser Steffon Connington be made Master-at-arms of the Red Keep. With his temper, he'll be sure to make fine warriors out of Aegon's future sons. Additionally, Lord Bryndemere of Tarth has requested that I allow for him to be made Commander of the City Watch whilst we remain in the capital. While only a hundred or so Gold Cloaks remain, he ensures me that he will find ways to bolster their ranks once more." Her father's eyes rested on her for a moment as he discussed the Lord of Tarth, before returning to his porridge.
Lord Bryndemere is certainly already finding ways of keeping his ears to the ground. His appointment will suit father well, as it will ensure his total control over the city's defences. Maris suppressed a smile. I am certain that father views this as a well-earned victory over the influence of the Reach Lords, and he is correct to see it as such. They are likely smarting over such a development.
Scraping the last of his oatmeal from his bowl, her father ran a hand through his thick black beard to clear it of any remnants of his breakfast. Standing, he left their company after wishing them a fine day. His squire, a pimply Penrose boy, appeared suddenly from behind one of the alcoves to assist him in donning his armor for the day's tasks.
Soon after, Cassandra rose, unable to contain her excitement for the day's events any longer. Each of Maris' sisters left to find appropriate dress for attending the Dowager Queen. Maris herself chose a high-necked gown, its long sleeves sewn with magnificent golden stags. We shall all have to be most careful today. From what little I have heard, the Dowager Queen has spent years climbing the rungs of power at court. She will be watching the four of us carefully for any threats to her ascendancy… or that of the Queen, her daughter. Despite her considerable misgivings, Maris could not help but be excited. To be so close to the beating heart of Westeros' monarchy was a heady sensation indeed. Power flowed freely in these halls, and a well-placed word or idea could have realm-wide ramifications. While Maris knew that the Dowager Queen was in all likelihood to be her adversary, she could not help but have a healthy respect for the woman who had managed to hold power within these walls for so long. She has fought tooth and nail for her crown, and for those of her children. Such power invested in the hands of a woman had not been seen since the days of the Good Queen Alysanne, unless one counted the frightful days in which the Pretender had stalked these halls.
Ser Genrick, faithful as always, awaited Maris and her sisters in the castle yard outside their quarters. They followed him eagerly through the gate into the inner ward, gingerly avoiding puddles of water and other filth that threatened to soil the hems of their dresses. As they passed the moat of Maegor's Holdfast, Maris could not help but notice the wickedly sharp iron spikes that lined its deep pit. The drawbridge was down, guarded by a white-cloaked knight. The same one that escorted the King and offered to help him dismount Sunfyre. She wondered how it came to pass that a knight it seemed none had ever heard of came to rise so highly within the King's good graces. The King will be in need of five more swords to guard his person, with only Ser Willis Fell remaining of his father's chosen seven. They were led across the drawbridge of Maegor's Holdfast and into the bowels of the fortification itself, and despite it being the middle of the day outside, Maris felt shrouded in darkness. Torches burned, ensconced along the walls, and only extremely narrow embrasures allowed some light in from far above their heads.
After navigating their way through ornately decorated but cramped hallways, they eventually reached a set of great lacquered doors. A perfumed servant, dressed smartly in black and gold livery, opened the doors before them, revealing a stunning hall that shone brightly. Beaten silver mirrors placed behind the burning torches reflected the light back with great intensity, and the fires lit magnificently carved wooden panels along both sides of the chamber. Above them was a gallery, and even further above that were a row of high arched windows that allowed some daylight into the chamber. Everything about the room suggested royal opulence, and Maris noticed that each of her sisters' mouths were agape with awe. Even Elyn, who is not so easily impressed. After being officially announced, they were allowed to enter, and as they approached the seating arranged by the Dowager Queen, Maris detected the faint hint of lye soap. This chamber has been cleaned vigorously, and recently. In her mind's eye, Maris envisioned a great duel taking place within the chamber between knights of both factions. Blood flowed freely, and the mirrors all about amplified the violence further. She found herself wondering if there had indeed been killing within the walls of the Holdfast itself, and thought it likely. The Pretender would not have been without her guardians. A slight chill crept down her spine.
The Dowager Queen sat atop a slight dais that had been erected in the rear of the chamber, and before her chairs had been arranged in the shape of a crescent moon. Girls of ages ranging between sixteen name days and seven rose to greet the newcomers, curtseying as best they could as a sign of respect to their rank. The Dowager Queen herself nodded in their direction, but made no attempt to honor them further. A slight smile had spread across her fine features, and her shining brown hair had been pulled back into a headdress affixed with a beautiful tiara. Alicent has fully embraced her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms once again, even if it is in place of her… indisposed daughter.
Maris and her sisters curtseyed before the dais, and quickly took seats atop some of the ornate chairs that had been left unoccupied for their use. Now that they had entered the half-ring of chairs, it was easy to see that Alicent had assembled a ladies court of all of the women who were available. Based on the designs of their dresses, as well as their thoroughly cowed and terrified expressions, Maris expected that many of the young ladies in attendance had been seized during the downfall of the Pretender. Her eyes followed the arc of the arranged chairs, mentally accounting for the Houses present. Two girls with white bodices with red crabs stitched upon them. Celtigar. Silver dresses with leaping blue swordfish stitched onto the sleeves. Bar Emmon. Swirls of green, red and blue. Massey. White lambs with golden chalices. Stokeworth. Ermine sleeves with three red chevronels. Rosby. Lastly, seated to the right of her grandmother was the Princess Jaehaera, looking as though she had not slept a wink. Her lilac eyes seemed to flit from one shadowy corner to another, searching for tormentors that Maris could not see. Her cheeks below her eyes were puffy and red from recent tears, and it appeared only the presence of her grandmother was holding more at bay.
Finely articulated words broke the silence. "Be welcome, most esteemed Ladies. I consider it a fine honor to host the Four Storms within my court. I am certain that your journey was most tiresome, and have arranged for refreshments to be served now that you have arrived."
As if summoned, servants appeared, bearing silver trays that were topped with shortbreads, sugared almonds, and small cakes topped with fresh fruit. Maris helped herself to a handful of almonds, crunching them between her teeth with all the dignity she could muster. She noticed with some humor that Floris had chosen a cake with whipped cream and raspberry toppings, and was attempting to stealthily reclaim a raspberry that had fallen in her lap. The Dowager Queen had spotted her efforts, but withdrew her gaze with only the slightest twinkle of mirth mostly hidden. Cassandra and Elyn had both refrained from eating after offering their thanks to their host.
Once more, Alicent spoke again, but not before shaking her head slightly to betray her shame. "Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce you to our honored guests! Attending us today are the Ladies Alysanne and Ceryse Celtigar, Melara Bar Emmon, Elayne Massey, Layla Stokeworth, and Bethany Rosby. I have also invited my own granddaughter Jaehaera to attend, in hopes that she may begin to learn the proper etiquette for a lady of her station."
As if they were puppets connected by a string, every lady in attendance nodded attentively at the Dowager Queen's words. Maris did so herself without a second thought. Such deference comes naturally in such circumstances. She saw Alicent turn her eyes towards Cassandra.
"We are most grateful for the aid that your Lord Father and his knights have rendered to us, Lady Cassandra. Did you have any difficulties on the road to the capital from Storm's End?"
Cassandra straightened her back and smiled. "Our travels were of little concern, your Grace. As I understand it, we made the journey as quickly as could be hoped for, despite the circumstances. We were eager to attend the rightful King."
Alicent laughed, a sweet sound that caused some in attendance to mimic it haltingly. "You are wise indeed, child. It seems that this dreadful war is finally approaching its end with the death of the Pretender and the capture of her heirs. With the King's health improving, I have little doubt that he will be able to defend us from the Pretender's band of bastards that skulks to the North." The Dowager Queen's eyes glowed with a dangerous light. "I have every hope that the King will soon be able to avenge his fallen brothers and sons in battle. His primary opponent may no longer draw breath, but evidence of her crimes is still writ large upon the land." She took a small sip of what Maris assumed to be wine from a silver goblet resting upon a table at her side. "I also pray that my dear daughter, the Queen, recovers from her untimely illness so that she might join her husband in battle and take my place in court. I was most sorry when she asked me to take over her duties for the time being. She is still weakened from her time spent imprisoned in the Pretender's clutches."
Maris took note of the way that the Dowager Queen's knuckles whitened as she gripped the armrests of her chair. It seems likely that she lies. As I suspected, she fears for her daughter's continued place at court should the truth of her woes be made clear. Maris hazarded a quick glance at Cassandra. Please, you dolt. Please do not say anything idiotic.
Cassandra watched the Dowager Queen speak with great interest and with an expression that conveyed deep understanding and sympathy. Maris knew her sister well enough to know when such things were feigned, however. She feigned such an expression when mother initially proposed sending me to the Faith. Only when it seemed certain that I would be sent away did she no longer bother to be sympathetic. Maris watched as her sister opened her mouth to speak, and gritted her teeth in anticipation.
"Your Grace, I pray to the Seven that the Queen's recovery is swift and complete. I have long wished to see Dreamfyre grace the skies with its presence. I have heard the hue of its scales is quite beautiful to behold. I hope to attend her Grace myself, should I be so honored!"
Maris could not describe exactly what sort of subtle change overtook the Dowager Queen's features, but she instantly could feel the chill emanate off of her. It was a slight tightening of the muscles around the cheekbones, a minor adjustment in the way her eyes narrowed. She had seen such changes in a face only once before, and remembered with a sickening fear that in that encounter, they had promised violence. In that moment, Maris could see with ease the marked resemblance that Aemond had shared with his mother. Unlike Aemond, however, the mother did not storm out of the hall to slaughter a Prince, needled onwards by the words of a vengeful, hurting girl. Like a summer storm blowing in from Cape Wrath, the cold rage was gone as quickly as it had subtly surfaced. Alicent managed a slight smile, and spoke, her fine teeth flashing in the silver light of the hall.
"Your words are most kind, Lady Cassandra. I too hope that you will be able to attend my daughter once she has need of you. The Queen of the Realm will need devoted servants such as yourself in these trying times."
To her credit, Cassandra had maintained Alicent's gaze the entire time, never faltering with her guise. When Cassandra sets her mind to master a talent, master it she does. And there are few things she does as well as offer false condolences. Maris released a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. I ought to defuse any remaining tensions if I am able. It was clear that the other girls present were too terrified to speak, so any such duties would fall to her. Maris resisted the urge to grin, despite the tension. How ironic. Maris, the peacekeeper.
"Your Grace, this talk of trying times has frayed the nerves of many. Might I ask that we recite some of the Mother's hymns for peace? Or some of the Maiden's for mercy and innocence? I feel it would soothe my own fears, at the very least."
The Dowager Queen studied her for a moment, before allowing a small, encouraging, and thoroughly feigned smile to adorn her features. "What a wonderful idea, Lady Maris. I am sure you all know the words to Mother's Mercy. Shall we begin?"
As the chorus of voices rose in unison, Maris cursed herself for proposing singing of the Seven. Joining her own voice to the chorus, she consoled herself by observing that the standoff seemed to have dissipated. Cassandra, you will be the ruin of House Baratheon.
The request for her to meet a 'potential suitor' in the Red Keep's Godswood had come in the evening, while supper was still being prepared. Maris managed to secure the approval of Ser Genrick for her to speak with Lord Bryndemere, so long as he was allowed to follow at a respectful distance. Comforted by the presence of the old and loyal knight, who did his duties without complaint, she found herself walking leisurely amongst the boughs of gnarled alders and elms along well-maintained footpaths. Lord Bryndemere still wore the Suns and crescents of his house, but he now had clasped an ornate golden cloak over his more characteristic tabard, signifying his transition into his new appointment. Maris appreciated that they were able to walk in silence for a few moments, listening to the winds blowing in from Blackwater Bay rustle the branches above their heads. Few of the Red Keep's residents walked within the Godswood at this hour, so it had taken on a peaceful, almost primordial nature.
Lord Bryndemere finally broke the silence. "You will have to pass on my thanks to your father for this new appointment. I have few doubts that my interest in you caused him to consider me favorably."
Maris grinned. "Your conspiratorial nature and penchant for flattery were quite fitting skills for the position."
Her companion laughed. "You wound me, my Lady. I had no idea your tongue sported such barbs."
"Many have discovered that particular talent of mine to their sorrow. I thought a Lord such as yourself would be more resilient to such things."
"I suppose I will have to develop a thicker skin. Perhaps you have done me a service. I doubt the proprietors of pot shops and whorehouses in the city below will have any desire to speak courteously with me."
She nodded in agreement. "Many lose all desire to exchange pleasantries when their profits are impeded. I would expect no different from a Lord who has been ordered to provide a greater contribution to his liege."
Lord Tarth stroked his chin. "Right you are, Lady Maris. Coin is the very essence of humanity, is it not? We Lords are just as beholden to it as the meanest peddler." With a twinkle in his eye he added: "Although none of us would be so crass to admit it."
The silence resumed again for a few minutes. By that point, the Sun had retreated behind the western parapets, leaving only fiery hues in the sky to suggest its departure. Maris decided she could no longer contain her desire for information.
"I was able to attend the Dowager Queen today, alongside my esteemed sisters. We spoke little of the events that have transpired outside of these walls, however. Is there any news of the war since our last departure?"
Lord Bryndemere grinned. "Recent developments have proven few in number, but fascinating in character. Apparently, while our great host was crossing the Blackwater Rush, the King received a letter from the Lady of the Vale. According to some of the more… loquacious… Lords of the Reach, she swore her neutrality for the duration of the conflict. While disappointing, I am certain he preferred that to the possibility of her declaring once more for the Pretender. What infuriated him, and likely the rest of his Small Council, was her warning that the Lady Rhaena Targaryen had escaped the Gates of the Moon with one of the Pretender's bastard dragonriders, and made for Gulltown. Apparently the Lady Rhaena has been raising a force of Valemen sympathisers secretly, and intends to march to war with them at her back. Her forces appear to be comprised of second sons and landless knights, but any new swords pledged to the Pretender's cause are a concern these days." Lord Bryndemere chuckled once more. "Of course the idea that the Lady Rhaena could raise an army without the Lady Jeyne's approval is nonsense. But it is the sort of nonsense that might just have to be borne in times as dangerous as these. The King simply cannot risk flying for the Vale to punish the Lady Arryn for her audacity." He smiled slightly. "I also must praise both Lady Jeyne and Lady Rhaena for their clever handling of the situation. I respect talented opponents, even if they make the game more difficult."
So the last of the Pretender's Court flies to war. Maris was not surprised, but the news was unwelcome nonetheless. She will find her hands are just as tied as those of the other rebels. So long as we hold so many hostages, they would be mad to rally their forces against us. It would mean the deaths of their own claimant and his heir.
She sighed. "I must say that I find myself constantly surprised by the resilience of the rebels. I would have thought that after the fall of the capital they would have had no more appetite for war. Instead, it seems that their numbers continue to swell by the day."
Lord Bryndemere nodded. "One would think that they would have given in by now, I agree. I expect that they are being drawn in by what the Maesters would call a sunk-cost fallacy. They simply have sacrificed too much to give in. Even if they did, the wiser Lords amongst their number know that it would mean their heads and their seats if they did decide to capitulate." He sighed. "There is also the matter that they possess two more battle-hardened dragons than we do."
He probes for information. I must give him something, this time.
Maris nodded. "I am beginning to fear that the Queen may never recover from what ails her. While to an outsider the King and Queen ride large, battle-ready beasts, it seems that the reality is less hopeful. From all that I have seen I truly do not believe we can count on Dreamfyre if our lives depend on it."
Lord Bryndemere nodded. "I have heard similar rumors. If what you have seen and heard corroborates them, I am inclined to agree with you." Stopping to lean against a particularly old elm, he faced her. "But the capital is astir with other rumors as well. The two esteemed Velaryon knights have seemingly disappeared since they appeared in court yesterday. Some who are held in higher esteem by the King have suggested that they might have been sent forth by Aegon himself. Particularly astute observers have noted that their comrade-in-arms is missing as well, and that the Hand's own goodson has also been missing from the court. In total, it seems that we are short seven knights, all told."
Maris' mind was racing. Seven knights missing? They can't have simply disappeared. But what could the King have possibly wanted from them, if he did in fact dispatch them?
"Did any see them depart?" She asked, wishing to know more.
Lord Bryndemere smiled, his face adopting a conspiratorial guise. "Two Gold Cloaks saw them leave via the King's Gate in the early morning, ostensibly following the road along the Blackwater Rush."
By this point, Maris' mind was considering many possibilities. A small party, heading southwest? Could they be attempting to negotiate with the Tyrells? Or mayhaps even Dorne? None of the possibilities made too much sense.
"What might they have been doing, I wonder?" She asked, prying for more.
Lord Bryndemere laughed. "At this point, that is the question that every spy, gossip, and gambler wishes to know." He shook his head. "As of yet, all we can do is speculate. But solving riddles is much more fun with friends, wouldn't you agree?"
Maris could not help but smile at his infectious laughter. They are indeed, Lord Tarth. King's Landing is proving to be far more interesting than I ever could have imagined.