Maegor VII
Casterly Rock was unlike anything Maegor had ever seen. Staggeringly tall and wide, the Rock was immense enough to be imposing even from dragonback. I understand now why my ancestor Visenya feared an attempt to burn out the Lannisters. Dragonflame would be as ineffectual against the Rock as a fly is to a horse. It was no wonder as well that the Ironborn had been utterly unable to seize it. Upon landing in the largest of several yards nestled among the mighty carved battlements of the Lannisters' seat, Maegor had slid to the dusty ground and taken a moment to collect his thoughts. Best to not let my first impression as a dragonrider and Lord be that of a gaping and awestruck peasant.
Not long after, the Lady Baela had landed her Moondancer in the courtyard nearby, hopping nimbly to the ground from her saddle. Dressed in coal-black mail and wearing a dark red fur-lined winter cloak, she looked impassively about the yard as she tucked her riding gloves in her belt, breath misting in the air. Maegor nodded at the Lady Baela in acknowledgment, and she grinned in return.
Her excitement to ride her dragon into battle had been palpable since they'd left King's Landing, flying high above Ser Hobert Hightower's army. However, initial optimism and vigor had quickly given way to monotony, for armies moved far slower than dragons. Maegor had privately expected the going to be slower than it had been, given Ser Hobert's feeble disposition and advanced age, but in this he had been proven soundly wrong. Ser Hobert seemed full of energy, and a burning desire to reach their western destination. It was somewhat surreal, sharing meals and discussing strategy with men who had all too recently been his sworn enemies. Though I no longer desire to see the likes of Ser Hobert Hightower dead, I doubt that I shall ever shed my distaste. Maegor suspected that such feelings were likely mutual. Many of them are my enemies still. Maegor remembered the political downfall of Ulf and Hugh all too well. Though they will no longer bare steel against me, there are many other ways for them to see me ruined. They'll never abide such great power in the hands of a man of low birth.
The Gold Road west of Deep Den had proven to be a difficult obstacle to surmount in the winter, and the army's pace had slowed to a crawl despite the best efforts of its commanders. In the end, Ser Hobert as the army's leader had bade Maegor and Baela to fly ahead to the Rock, in order to make clear to House Lannister that its aid was on the way. Maegor had been secretly relieved, and he suspected that the Lady Baela was as well. The flight from the army's encampment to Casterly Rock had felt far too short. Even in the biting winter cold, the freedom Maegor felt atop Grey Ghost amongst the clouds was sublime. A chance to slip the bonds of expectation and reality, and to forget one's own troubles for a short time.
Their reception was not long in arriving at the courtyard. Men-at-arms in burnished armor entered through a large carved archway that led into the Rock's interior, preceding a dark-haired woman in expensive and gleaming mail, wearing a red-and-gold cloak clasped by a wrought-silver seashell. Johanna Lannister, the Lady of the Rock. It was odd to finally lay eyes upon someone who had heard so much about, but had never seen. She who so voraciously defended the West against my former allies. She stopped at the head of her entourage, and took a moment to consider both Maegor and Baela with dark brown eyes.
After a moment's consideration, she inclined her head respectfully in Maegor's direction, before giving the Lady Baela a deep bow. "Be welcome to Casterly Rock, dragonriders," she began simply. With a curt wave of her hand, servants in magnificent red-gold livery scurried forward, bearing bread and salt on golden trays.
The Lady Baela partook of Guest Right first, before giving a respectful bow of thanks of her own. "You have my utmost thanks, Lady Johanna," she said smoothly, a courteous smile on her face.
Maegor ate of the bread and salt, and mirrored the Lady Baela's bow. "I thank you, my lady, for your hospitality." As Maegor straightened, he could see that more nobles had filtered into the yard, standing at a respectful and deferential distance behind the Lady Johanna. The most prominent amongst them was a man in full plate, and a red doublet bearing the proud lion of Lannister. His expression was one of measured coldness, and his armor, while clearly of exquisite craftsmanship, was not nearly as ostentatious as Maegor had expected for a descendant of Lann the Clever. The knight was attended by an adolescent squire that bore a familial resemblance beyond that of the golden hair and green eyes that Maegor had heard to expect of the Lannisters. His son, mayhaps?
Another woman in mail stood by as well, with a doublet bearing a silver and blue seven-pointed star. Though her curly brown hair was beginning to turn grey, she exuded a vigor and strength that Maegor had seen displayed by much younger knights in the prime of their lives. Also prominent was a massive man in armor, wearing a brown doublet that bore a brindled black-and-white boar. Though he was not as tall as Maegor, he was built like a boulder, all hard muscle and thick limbs. The last to stand amongst these newcomers was a knight in gilded armor, with hair and a sparse mustache that were beginning to turn silver with age. To Maegor's eye, the man appeared to be as proud as the peacock that adorned his doublet.
Maegor's musings were interrupted by the sound of the Lady Johanna's voice as she began to speak again. "The both of you chose an opportune place to land, it would seem, for we are not far from my late husband's solar. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I believe that we will have much to discuss."
Maegor had never seen so much gold in his life. It was present about the rooms and chambers he had seen to such an obscene degree that the sight of it quickly became almost mundane, which was a frightening prospect. Is there any limit to this family's wealth? Maegor and Baela had been escorted into the Lord's solar, where heavy crimson drapes had been drawn to ward off the chill winds blowing about its balcony, and braziers burned brightly against a more pervading chill that seemed to fill the expansive corridors and hallways of Casterly Rock.
All the nobles that Maegor had seen in the courtyard had filed into the solar, and Lady Johanna quickly introduced Maegor and Baela to her own father, Lord Roland Westerling, who had remained within the solar so as not to expose himself to the winter's cold outside after a recent fever. The other woman in mail was introduced as the Lady Melara Tarbeck, wife to Tarbeck Hall's ailing Lord. The Lannister knight was introduced as Ser Erwin Lannister, former Captain of the Guard of Casterly Rock and current commander of its forces, along with his son and squire, Damon. The knight of the brindled boar was introduced as Lord Norbert Crakehall, and the knight of the peacock courteously introduced himself as Lord Marq Serrett.
Lady Johanna took it upon herself to appraise her new guests of the general tactical situation that the Westerlands found itself in. "Though the Ironmen still hold Fair Isle, we've managed to completely dislodge them from the seats they had seized on the mainland." She paused for a moment, and her fists clenched on the tabletop. "Kayce, and the Crag, mine own family's seat."
After a moment, her enraged expression cooled, and she continued to speak. "Though the Hightower fleet and an advance squadron from the Arbor have arrived to help us patrol and protect our coasts, we do not yet have enough ships to force the strait and attempt a landing on Fair Isle. The Ironborn scum have been bled grievously, but they prowl the waters off of Fair Isle still, in large enough numbers that any attempt to combat them with our current resources would likely end in disaster."
It was after saying this that the Lady Johanna smiled. To Maegor's eye however, no true joy seemed to linger behind the expression, the smile being more akin to a predator's bared teeth than anything else. "With your arrival," the Lady Johanna concluded, "everything has changed. We will be able to utterly destroy whatever treacherous scum still man their 'Iron Fleet', and land an army on Fair Isle." Lady Johanna's mirthless smile deepened. "We shall give them no mercy, for they have showed us none. Let their stolen island be their grave."
At this, Maegor exchanged a glance with Baela. We were sent ahead of Ser Hobert's army to remind the Lords of the West that the King has not forgotten about them, and that help is on the way. It appeared, however, that Lady Johanna and her nobles expected an immediate offensive against the Ironborn, before Ser Hobert and his coalition force could arrive to help. By Maegor's estimation, it appeared that Baela had not been expecting this either.
Maegor took a silent breath, and then spoke into the expectant silence that followed the Lady Johanna's proclamation. "While we are eager to bring succor and justice to you and your people, my Lady, I fear that we may have not made our intentions clear enough. As you know, Ser Hobert Hightower is leading a sizeable army along the Gold Road to Casterly Rock as we speak. Our intention in flying ahead was not to make battle with the Ironborn as soon as we arrived, but to prove the veracity of the King's promises of aid, and to ward off any additional Ironborn attacks."
The Westerman were clearly displeased to hear such news. Norbert Crakehall grumbled and shook his head, while deep frowns and scowls were prominent upon the faces of the other assembled nobility. Lady Melara Tarbeck was the first to speak. "We have the advantage, now. We retook the Crag and Kayce with our own swords, and forced the detestable men of Iron back into their beloved sea. To wait is to give them time to regroup, and to determine a new strategy."
Lord Roland Westerling spoke with far more vitriol. "Those animals sacked my seat, slaughtered my kin and leal servants, and made off with my grandchildren. Kin to the reigning Lord Paramount of the West! I've heard it said that Dalton Greyjoy's younger brother ordered for the desecration of my family's seat in the same breath that he claimed my granddaughter as a salt wife! A maid of twelve years!"
Maegor closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts in silence. Every fiber of my being screams for immediate and fiery justice to be wrought upon these reavers and rapers. He opened his eyes, and breathed out silently. But now is not yet the time. We must wait for the King's army to arrive. Maegor looked askance at the aged Lord of the Crag. Your kin were slain, kidnapped, or worse, all while you sat in the safety of the Rock. Yet Lord Westerling felt it was still in his right to make demands, to be indignant. Where was the Lord of the Crag when its people needed him most?
Maegor forced himself to quell the growing embers of anger that he was feeling as the Lady Baela spoke. "This is not a refusal to lend support to your cause, my Lords and Ladies," she began courteously, "but rather a request that we wait until the swords the King has sent to lend you aid have arrived. With their strength of arms at our backs, the Ironborn will be put down, Fair Isle will be reclaimed, and the Iron Islands themselves subjugated. In doing all these things, I swear that you will have the full and unrestrained support of two dragonriders."
Though they were still clearly unhappy, the assembled nobles seemed to accept the Lady Baela's words. As there was naught else to discuss of future plans until Ser Hobert and his army arrived, Lady Johanna dismissed the meeting. Baela and Maegor waited a moment as the other nobles filed out, and without a moment of wasted time, the Lady Johanna turned to regard them both. "I wish to apologize for the truculence of my Lords and Ladies, as well as my own father. Though we wish to put an end to the threat of the Ironborn as soon as possible, we are infinitely grateful to the King for lending us his aid."
Lord Jason's widow smiled courteously, her armor gleaming in the light of the braziers. "I'm sure that the both of you are exhausted, and I would never want it said that House Lannister made for poor hosts. Once you depart this solar, the both of you will be shown to your chambers."
Giving his sincere thanks along with Baela, Maegor turned and walked into the hallway beyond. Rather than servants in rich livery, Maegor was surprised to find himself facing two girls in magnificent dresses of red and gold. Both had hair of a beaten gold color and clever green eyes. They smiled in a way that made Maegor feel as though they knew an incredibly embarrassing secret about him, all mischief wrapped in a cloak of cordiality. Sisters, I have little doubt of that.
One of them, the slightly older girl of the pair, stepped forward and spoke, the smile remaining on her face. "Well met, my Lord, my Lady." She dipped into a flawless curtsy, mirrored only half a heartbeat later by her younger sister. "I am Tyshara Lannister, eldest sister to the Lord Loreon."
Not to be outdone, the younger sister chimed in a tone full of good cheer: "And I am Cerelle, the eldest after Tyshara."
Tyshara nodded at her sister's words. "It is not often that our family has the opportunity to serve as hosts to such esteemed guests. We shall see you both to your chambers, for it would be nothing short of rude to entrust such a task to mere servants."
Without a second's hesitation, Tyshara stepped forward and looped her arm through Maegor's. "I shall see the Lord Constable to his chambers. Sister, I trust that you shall help the Lady Baela to find her way?"
Cerelle gave her sister an annoyed glare, before turning to face the Lady Baela with a smile. "It would be my utmost pleasure. My Lady, if you'll accompany me?"
As they turned and began to walk in an opposite direction, Baela gave Maegor a sympathetic smile and wink. Good luck in the den of the Lioness, her expression seemed to say. Maegor steeled himself for what was to come. I'll need all the luck I can find.
As they began to walk forward, arm in arm, Maegor found himself taking much shorter, measured strides than he was used to, for the Lady Tyshara did not move nearly as swiftly as he did. He was supremely uncomfortable, and was unsure of what to say. The more uncomfortable he became, the more rigid and awkward his posture became as well, which he was sure that the Lady Tyshara noticed. Seven Hells, what is wrong with me?
Eventually, the Lady Tyshara broke the silence. "We've heard much and more about you here at the Rock, Lord Constable."
Maegor smiled weakly down at her. "Good things, I hope," he said in an attempt at levity, before immediately suppressing a grimace. Good things? Like what? Breaking bread and marching alongside the men that killed her father?
It appeared that his grimace was not wholly unnoticeable, for the Lady Tyshara frowned slightly when she looked upon Maegor's face, as though unsure what she had said to bother him. It is no fault of your own, my Lady, Maegor wanted to say, but I fear I'm a fish thoroughly out of water here in these halls. He did not say this, however, and settled for walking onwards in silence, the Lady Tyshara's arm still looped through his.
"If you'd like some manner of refreshment," Tyshara began, "you need only ask. There are servants aplenty here, who will be more than happy to fulfill your requests to the best of their abilities. You are a guest of House Lannister, and we aim to please."
"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary. I already ate some of my rations as I flew here, and am more than content." Maegor was unsure why this response seemed to elicit a small frown from the Lady Tyshara.
They eventually reached the carved wooden doorway to the chamber that was to be Maegor's for the duration of his stay at the Rock, and Tyshara stepped back from Maegor before speaking. "Will you be joining us for the evening meal, my Lord? We intended to break open our stores, and celebrate the arrival of the two dragonriders who will see the men of Iron pushed from our shores for good and all."
Maegor frowned in spite of himself. I was hoping to get some sleep. He had been at the Rock for only a short time, and already he was exhausted. I'm always agonizing over how to act, what to say. Sitting through an entire feast after a day of flying sounds like a particularly unenviable punishment.
Seeing his frown, the Lady Tyshara took a small step back, with a small frown of her own upon her face. "I shall hope to see you tonight, my Lord," she said awkwardly, and then retreated down the corridor.
Maegor wanted to scream. What am I doing wrong? What do these nobles want from me? More than anything, Maegor wished to climb atop the Grey Ghost and fly far, far away from this place. Instead, he turned and walked through the door of his new chambers.
Maegor's time at the evening feast had initially gone about as well as his conversation with Tyshara. Seated at the high table with Lady Johanna, her father, and daughters, Baela and Maegor had been offered course after course of delicious food. As exhausted and out-of-depth as he felt, Maegor ate little, and refused course after succulent course as it was offered to him. Eventually, the Lady Johanna had asked if there was something specific that he would like to have brought up from the kitchens, and he had responded by saying that while he appreciated the generosity of House Lannister, his road provisions from earlier in the day had done much and more to sate his appetite. Afterwards, the Lady Johanna's servants had ceased their attempts to force food down Maegor's throat.
As he had expected, dancing soon followed the feasting, and Maegor did his best to put forth a valiant front and take to the floor, despite wanting nothing more than to return to the solitude and quiet of his chambers. The first dance he shared was with the Lady Cerelle, and he was grateful for her patience as she taught him the basic movements of the dance that was occurring about them. His second dance was with the Lady Tyshara, her mood apparently having rallied from their incredibly awkward conversation earlier in the day. It went smoothly, and afterwards Maegor sought the Lady Baela for his third and final dance of the evening. It had not taken long for word of the Rogue Prince's daughter to spread throughout the Rock, and it was very clear that she did not lack for attention amongst the many knights and squires of noble birth within Casterly Rock.
As they had moved across the floor together, Maegor had been pleased to realize that Lordly dancing was not nearly as hard as he'd feared it to be, once one understood the basics. "You must forgive me if I assume too much, my Lady, but it seemed to me as though you were in need of assistance," he had said to her.
She had smiled at him in turn. "I never thought I'd be free of them. I wouldn't wish a crowd of those desperate lordlings on even the worst of my enemies." She grinned slyly. "I'd hoped the scar would've scared them off."
Though the mention of her branding made Maegor want to grimace at his failure, he refused to do so. The Lady Baela has made it her own, and refuses to let the Usurper's cruelty affect her. What kind of man would I be to undermine this with my contrition? Instead, Maegor had smiled back at her, before responding: "Who's to say they aren't? I'm utterly terrified." Baela had thrown back her head and laughed, and Maegor had begun to laugh as well.
Such thoughts of the prior evening were pushed aside as the audience within the Great Hall of Casterly Rock began. The Lady Johanna had asked for both Maegor and Baela to attend her this day, and they had obliged. Maegor was curious to see how a family such as the Lannisters held court. It became clear to him, however, that the day's proceedings were to be anything but standard.
The first indication that something seemed off was the grave nature of the Lady Johanna's court. Maegor had stood at the foot of the Iron Throne many times while the Queen Rhaenyra had held court, and had often noticed that courtiers never lacked for an abundance of energy. They would whisper and chuckle amongst themselves before proceedings began, and listen with rapt attention while their enthroned monarch spoke. They'd laugh when the Queen laughed, murmur mournfully when she was crestfallen, and praised her intelligence and wit after every decree.
Not long ago, when Maegor had been much angrier, he'd considered courtiers to all be empty-headed fools in fine clothing who hadn't an original thought amongst the lot of them. Now that he'd taken a step back, and continued to try to let good sense take the place of his rage, he attempted to look upon courtiers in a more sympathetic light. Some, doubtlessly, were indeed empty-headed fools. But it seemed much more likely that the majority weren't. To live in a court like King's Landing or The Rock is to live lavishly. Fine food, fine drinks, and good strong walls to protect you in the midst of your revels. Maegor shifted slightly. And to listen, and watch. For many, earning a place in a court is likely not the sum total of their ambition. Their eyes watch ever upward for opportunity.
As he waited for the first petitioners to enter through the grand, gilded doors of the Great Hall, Maegor considered his surroundings. The hall had been carved within the heart of the Rock, and like everything else House Lannister owned, seemed almost to drip with gold. Less than two centuries ago, this was a hall of a great and powerful line of Kings. As Maegor watched the Lady Johanna sitting in the Lord's high seat, posture impeccable, Maegor reconsidered. And mayhaps it still is. The Lannisters' knees have bent, but they are more than comfortable to continue basking in their wealth and power. Who would deny them anything short of Royal dignity after walking through the Rock's expansive corridors, and looking upon their endless wealth? In truth, the Great Hall of the Red Keep, barring the Iron Throne itself, paled in comparison to that of Casterly Rock.
It therefore greatly surprised Maegor to behold the first of Lady Johanna's petitioners. Smallfolk? They came in slowly at first, taken aback by the shining splendor of their surroundings. However, they still haltingly walked across the hall towards the foot of the high seat's dais. They were not insignificant in number, and, to Maegor's consternation, not in good health or spirits either. Many bore bandaged wounds and scars, a few missing limbs. Enough eventually stood before the dais that Maegor would have guessed that these smallfolk represented more than just the community of a single town or settlement. Ratty and torn caps in their hands, several elderly men eventually stepped forth from amongst their kin and neighbors and approached the dais, prostrating themselves before the Lady Johanna.
"You may rise," the Lady Johanna intoned, with a strong and measured voice that managed to sound both imperious and benevolent. I should think that the Mother above would speak in a similar manner. The old men did as they were bid, but their downcast eyes never left the smooth carved stone of the Great Hall's floor. "You have spoken of your troubles, before, goodmen," the Lady Johanna began, "but I ask now that you might speak of them once more, so that my court and esteemed guests may hear your words themselves."
The first man stepped forward from amongst his fellows, finally lifting frightened and exhausted eyes to regard the Lady of the Rock, and a moment later, he cast a nervous glance about the galleries, from where Maegor, Baela, and the Lannister court watched. "I-" he began falteringly, "I was the elder of a village on the coast sworn to the Lord Banefort." He licked his dry and cracked lips before continuing.
"My- my grandfather used to tell us tales of the Ironmen, told to him by his own grandfather. How in his grandfather's day, during the rule of Black Harren in the Riverlands, that they feared attacks from the north and west. His own brother was stolen from the northern roads into slavery, and forced to haul stone for the building of Harren's monstrous seat on the God's Eye. My grandfather's grandfather spoke of how when his brother eventually escaped and came home, the horrors of which he spoke, of what he had seen and suffered, had seemed nearly too terrible to be believed."
The man paused once more, and Maegor saw his old and spotted hands grip tighter at the frayed cloth of his cap. "Our village has defenses, good walls of timber and a stone tower house to flee to in times of trouble. We've never had to make use of them, and for all mine own life, they gathered dust and were forgotten."
He shook his head mournfully, and his frail voice hitched with grief. "We were not ready when they came for us. No one stood watch on the walls. None had needed to for as long as I can remember. They took us unawares, in our homes, at our tables, in our beds." His voice cracked, and the old man forced his rheumy eyes closed, his features drawn taut.
"The Ironmen dragged some of us outside. Others, they butchered within their homes without a second thought. Others still, they left cowering inside and on the floor, alive and terrified. Then they set the houses alight. The crackle of the flame was loud, but all of us could hear the screaming of those who had been left inside. Those vile beasts laughed at the sound of the screams, and some laughed even harder as they regarded our weeping."
The man ran a shaking hand across his forehead. The court around him was silent as a tomb. "They then killed any man who'd seen more than his twelfth nameday, and less than his sixtieth. One of the fiends told me that he misliked my tears, and would prefer to see me dance. He menaced me with his axe until I began to do so. That gave him and the rest of those demons a good laugh, and they told me that I had earned my freedom. The rest of the villagefolk were tied together and herded out into the road, in the direction of the coast."
The old man clenched his fists, breathing labored. "I followed them at a distance. They were not hard to find. I could hear the sobs of my kin and friends from a long ways off. I watched from the cliffs as the people of my village were herded onto three different longships, and they sailed away as dawn broke."
The village elder gestured at a small cluster of village folk standing behind him. "The only other members of my village who escaped were those who fled to the safety of the tower house in time." His voice had grown very quiet. "I've nothing left. My son and gooddaughter dead, my grandson and granddaughter stolen. Our home, and all of our possessions, burned."
The man's expression was detached, eyes seemingly looking far into some unknown distance. Maegor wondered if they searched even still for the grandchildren that had been taken from him. It was only in the silence following the man's words that Maegor realized how tightly his fists were clenched. He could feel the shock, and much more the all-too-familiar rage, but a new emotion dominated all the others. Shame. Those marauders were our allies. Queen Rhaenyra knowingly set them loose upon the West. They sent us a raven, asking for the aid of one of our dragons. As the next elder stepped forward to tell his tale of woe, Maegor hung his head, stomach roiling with disgust. His surroundings were too bright, too golden. The medallion, that vainglorious symbol marking him as a 'Constable of the Realm', hung heavy about his neck like a noose.
Maegor supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised by the opulence of the Rock's sept. Even so, it pained him to see that the gold dominated even the Lannisters' house of the Gods like some shining, glittering rot. Marya and Dallen. Marya and Dallen. Marya and Dallen. He would not forget those names. He would not forget that Dallen had a large coin-shaped birthmark beneath his left eye, or that Marya was very tall for a seven-year old girl. He had been told these things and more by the first of the village elders, when he'd sought the man out following their presentation in the Lady Johanna's court. Maegor had knelt before the aged man and begged for his forgiveness. Queen Rhaenyra never would have and never will. But I will kneel and beg forgiveness for myself, for Gaemon, for Ser Addam. For every worthwhile soul that unknowingly stood aside and let those monsters reave, rape, and pillage under the same banner as us.
He had sworn to the man that he would do everything in his power to find out what had become of his grandchildren, and return them to him if he could. I will return each and every stolen child to the arms of their kin, if they still live. And I will burn each and every reaver that stands in my way. Maegor had emptied his coin purse, dividing his coppers, stags, and dragons amongst each of the assembled elders, hoping that in some way his coin might in any way ease their suffering, and that of their people. And Maegor had felt his heart harden in preparation for the killing that was to be done. I will follow Bennard's teachings wherever and whenever I can. But I will strike down my enemies with unrepentant fury until they surrender. They seek no compromise, and I will give them none. They will surrender, or they will die.
Afterwards, the Lady Baela had pulled him aside to an isolated corner of the hall. "I won't presume to know your thoughts," she had begun gravely, "but I will try to guess at them. Those reaving animals deserve to die for their crimes, let there be no doubt of that." She had hesitated a moment, her face twisting into a deep frown. The SL scar upon her face had contorted with the movement like a cornered snake.
"However," Baela had continued, "we cannot fly forth and attack the Ironborn. Not yet. We must await the arrival of Ser Hobert and his army. They cannot be far from the Rock now."
Maegor had begun to splutter out livid words of protest, but Baela had cut him off firmly. "The time for revenge will come, and the Ironborn will pay. But we cannot play right into the Lannisters' hands. Lady Johanna wants to win a great victory at Fair Isle, and one that she can claim solely for House Lannister, even if it will only be possible with the aid of our dragons."
Baela had cast a dark glance about herself, searching momentarily for unwanted listening ears. "By the time Ser Hobert arrives with his men, Lannister banners will be flying from Fair Isle to Pyke! Hobert Hightower is a fat old fool, but he marches at the behest of my grandfather, the Hand, and my brother, the King."
Lady Baela sighed tiredly. "To pre-empt Ser Hobert's army, and deny them a chance to participate in the coming campaign, is not only tantamount to spitting upon the orders of the Hand, but to disregard the will of the Crown."
Baela had looked straight into Maegor's eyes then. While she had always been warm and kind towards him, Maegor saw nothing then but cold resolve and determination. "I will not undermine the legitimacy of my brother's reign, no matter what the Lion of Lannister may desire. We will come to their aid and deliver the justice they desire, but it will be on the terms of House Targaryen, not Lannister." Her tone was firm and allowed for no argument, though Maegor had not felt inclined to challenge her statements in the first place. A dragon indeed.
Though he had seen the wisdom in Baela's reasoning and words, and would respect her wishes, such a decision did not make Maegor feel any less wrong in his actions. Every day that the Ironborn remain undefeated is another day that Marya, Dallen, and countless others languish in chains. Every day they didn't set out for Fair Isle was a day in which some of those prisoners would inevitably die, their hopes at freedom forever vanquished. It was blood that would be on Maegor's hands, and there was nothing he could do about it, not yet. Heart aching in his chest, Maegor had sought out the Sept, and the advice of the Gods.
Like nearly every other hall and chamber within the Rock that Maegor had seen, the Rock's sept was carved deep within its stony heart. Its seven walls were sheer and stretched towards its carved domed ceiling. The dome itself was covered in solid gold leaf, with large hanging golden braziers just beneath burning brightly. The bright light reflecting off the golden ceiling high above had the effect of affording the sept an almost otherworldly aura, cloaking its interior with a bright, yet gentle golden hue. An attempt to capture the essence of the divine within the mortal world.
While it was all breathtakingly beautiful, Maegor couldn't help but feel a bit ill-at-ease. At this part of the evening, the large majority of the members of House Lannister and their guests would be partaking in the lavish evening meal. Because of this (and his utter lack of appetite), Maegor found that but for an aged septon in spotless white robes, he was the only inhabitant of the sept. Maegor appreciated the quiet, but found that the tranquility of his surroundings was absent within himself.
The austere and otherworldly beauty of House Lannister's sept was not a setting in which he was accustomed to seeking the counsel of the Seven. Maegor's thoughts drifted to the sept that he'd known for nearly his entire life, on Dragonstone. It was a simple structure of wood, mortar, and stone, and served as a place of worship for the faithful of several villages. After he had run away from the orphanage, Maegor had always done his best to attend the gatherings that occurred on feast days, or on days when a traveling septon was known to be giving a sermon within its walls.
At first, it was because he felt as though he'd owed it to Bennard. After a time, however, Maegor came to appreciate the sept for the sense of peace that it provided him. The smallfolk of Dragonstone were a rough and hardy folk, often quicker to take offense than to offer a greeting. Those who made the trek to the sept, however, were often much more good-natured than the other denizens of the island. Maegor's father had shown little interest in the mysteries of the faith before his wife died, and none afterwards. Aenys too had found little use for the Gods. It was his eldest brother Aegon that oft accompanied Maegor to the little valley in which the sept was situated. It was Aegon who would crowd onto the floor of the sept with Maegor and the other faithful, to pray, sing hymns, and to give thanks.
Aegon had oft seemed distant to Maegor, serious and focused on his duties as the eldest son of the household. He had little time for Maegor, though Maegor knew that his inattention wasn't borne of malice. On the journey to the sept and within its doors, however, Maegor had always felt as though it was the one time when Aegon had enough time to set aside his role as the dutiful son, and take up the mantle of a brother. He and Maegor would talk, joke, and laugh, whether by themselves or amongst the other faithful.
Maegor remembered a feastday that had occurred on a particularly stormy day. Maegor, still young, had been fearful at the howling of the wind, and the groans and creaks of the ancient and ramshackle sept as it bore the tireless assault of the whipping wind and rain. The traveling septon at the head of the gathering had been unfazed. He encouraged the faithful to sing as loud as they were able, to sing boisterously of the Father's justice, the Mother's mercy, the Warrior's strength, and so on. The wind howled, the thunder boomed, and the sept creaked, but Maegor had felt no more fear. He had smiled broadly and reveled in the audacity of the faithful, at the way they had tamed the rage of the storm with their song.
As fast as the memories took him, they were gone. Kneeling in silence, Maegor wondered if the Lady Johanna, Tyshara, or Cerelle had ever heard the sound of rolling thunder within the walls of their gilded, immaculate sept. He knew that it was impossible, and the errant thought deeply saddened Maegor for reasons that he did not understand.
Footsteps on the smooth floor surprised Maegor. He hadn't expected company so late in the evening. They stopped at his side, where Maegor knelt at the altar of the Crone. Sinking to her knees in order to kneel alongside him at the altar, Baela gave Maegor a friendly nod. Maegor couldn't help but notice that she had brought quite a following, several young knights, squires, and ladies, though Maegor guessed that Baela hadn't sought them out herself. The young ladies immediately and dutifully arrayed themselves before the altar of the Maiden, while a young and eager-looking knight knelt before the altar of the warrior. Another knight leaned against the wall near the sept's entrance, a look of practiced disinterest upon his face.
"I was told that I might find you here," Baela confessed. When Maegor wasn't quick to respond, she spoke the words that he assumed to have long been within her mind: "I want you to know that while my brother's legitimacy is of the utmost importance to me, I loathe abstaining from delivering justice to the Ironmen as much as you do." She sighed, a frown upon her face. "I mislike the waiting. It's taking all of my will not to strike out Fair Isle this very night."
Maegor shook his head. "We cannot, you have the right of it." He looked to the side at Baela, and gave her as kind of a smile as he could muster. "When the time comes, justice will be served. And when such a time arrives, it will then be our utmost duty to help those stolen survivors that remain."
Baela gave him a grateful nod, and turned her head to regard the beautifully carved statue of the Crone before her. "It's a shame that the only time we know if a hard decision was truly wise is long after we've made it."
She sat in contemplative silence for several minutes, before speaking once more. "When we were small, our septa would take Rhae and I to pray at Dragonstone castle's sept. She'd plant the both of us before the Maiden's altar, and tell us to light a candle for her. So that she'd bless us, and protect our innocence and virtue." A small smile had appeared on Baela' face. "One time, I tried to light a candle at the altar of the Warrior instead. The septa didn't like that. She told me that I should act as my sister Rhaena did, dutiful and mindful of her role as a young maid of noble birth. While the septa was distracted, Rhaena placed her own candle at the Warrior's altar."
Maegor grinned, and saw his expression mirrored upon Baela's face. After a moment's consideration, Maegor then nodded in the direction of the altar of the Warrior. "What's stopping you now?" Baela merely raised an eyebrow at him in response. Maegor placed his hand over his heart. "On my honor, I swear that I will not scold you."
Baela's serious expression broke, and a smile spread across her face. Standing, she then lit a candle and placed it at the Warrior's altar. By the time she had done so, Maegor was back on his feet. The inner peace he had sought was not absolute, but the ache in his chest was gone. "Shall we?" he asked Baela. With a smile and a nod, Baela accompanied Maegor to the doors of the sept, as her gaggle of highborn followers scrambled to keep pace.