POV Jon Arryn, Red Keep, King's Landing, Westeros; 283 AC
Jon was trying to calm his new king down who was once again disappointed to learn that the sorcerer was trying to have brought to him was eluding all their forces despite looking practically everywhere.
It didn't help that the one who was best in calming Robert down, Ned, had gone down to Storm's end with the Northmen to confront the Reachmen trying to besiege the castle before he and a couple of his most loyal men would attempt to find and bring back Lyanna.
By now even amongst the newcomers it had spread that they were trying to find this mysterious sorcerer and have him brought to the king so that he may be interrogated, it sadly brought them into conflict with the smallfolk as many of them had family members that had been saved from Lannister cruelty by the man causing him to become a hero amongst them.
It had also become speculation that the lad needed his stick in order to fight as much of the powerful magic he was doing came out of said stick.
It gave the soldiers hope they could actually catch the guy and imprison him and Jon perfectly understood why.
If the man could turn one thing into something else and then have that thing become alive and turn on his enemies without using his stick... then they may aswell surrender. But if it turned out he needed his stick in order to use his magic... then... well anyone could be disarmed of a stick in their hands.
First they had to find the damned sorcerer though and since the smallfolk were doing their best to stand in the way, they hadn't even found a clue to the man's location beyond that he was likely with Princess Elia and her children.
So many problems... atleast the marriage between Robert and Tywin Lannister's daughter had gone off without a hitch and the Rebuilding of King's Landing had begun and was coming along according to plan.
The pyromancers had been arrested due to their part in Aerys' crimes but had been pardoned in the end since they had refused to fight for Queen Regent Rhaella. Something was still amiss here however, where did they keep their wildfire?
They had found a lot in the lower levels of the Red Keep but since the pyromancers were very tight lipped and Jon didnt trust them to have kept the rest somewhere only they could have access to, he wasn't going to relax anytime soon.
"Seven hells, where is this boy hiding?" grumbled Robert angrily as Jon and new (old) Lord Commander Barristan Selmy had concluded their reports.
"It is entirely possible that the sorcerer using one of his magical ways we have not seen yet has escaped King's Landing with the princess and her children"
"I find that highly unlikely" said new Master of Ships Stannis Baratheon.
"I have to agree, it's not like the sorcerer made himself and the Targaryens invisible and just walked straight out" japed Grandmaester Pycille poorly... Jon's felt his eyes widen as everyone except the grandmaester had an epiphany.
"By the seven" whispered Jon "if he can just turn himself invisible he could be everywhere"
"Varys I want you to make contact with the Red Priests in Asshai and request one of them to come here. I want them to examine every angle of the reports about the sorcerers' magic and compare it with their own. Perhaps they have an idea what else he can do" Robert said with great authority as Jon felt his spirits lift.
He had initially been sceptical if Robert would make a great king but ideas like these were the markings of a potentially great one.
"Ugh, I'm off to my whores now so you can conclude whatever copper counting business you still have to talk about" grumbled Robert with frustration before swaggering off.
Trust his foster son to squash most of his hopes immediately... but atleast he hadnt gotten drunk for quite some time now. It seemed like Robert simply needed an enemy he could hunt after, this alone made it important that atleast some of the Targaryens survived... if only for Robert to remain on alert and sober.
**Scene Break**
POV Lukarion Peverell, Potter Tent, Crownlands Countryside, Westeros; 283 AC
They had by now moved the tent into a nearby forest further away from King's Landing, the tent was now mostly camouflaged between the trees and so he felt comfortable now to leave them alone for some time.
He needed to go to Dorne and make contact with House Targaryen's last remaining allies and since Elia's maiden family was the ruling house in Dorne it felt like the perfect destination for a first long distance trip with a racing broom.
It would also give him the opportunity to ease some of Elia's family's worries and give baby Aegon a proper burial.
"Hey Elia" Lukarion said softly "How are you and Rhaenys doing?"
Elia looked at him with a sad smile, "I am feeling better than I should be honestly... that calming potion you gave me worked wonders , thank you for that by the way Lukarion."
He gave her a nod, wordlessly telling her that it wasn't a big thing for him to do especially since she had a panic attack when she couldn't find Aegon that morning.
Lukarion took a deep breath, steadying himself before addressing Elia. "I need to take Aegon's body to your family in Dorne," he said softly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sorrow and determination. "He deserves to be buried with honor, and your maiden family should have the chance to say their goodbyes."
Elia's eyes widened, and she looked down at the delicate flower in his hand, the one he had transfigured from Aegon's body to keep it safe during their escape. "How will you get there?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
With a gentle smile, Lukarion reached into his bottomless bag and pulled out his racing broom. "This," he said, holding it up for her to see. "I can fly faster than any bird, and I'll use magic to guide me straight to Dorne."
Elia's eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and worry as she took in the sight of the broom. "I don't even want to know how a cleaning broom is supposed to fly so... just... please, be careful," she urged, her voice trembling slightly.
"I will," Lukarion promised, his voice firm. "Stay here with Rhaenys. Keep her safe and try to rest. I'll be back as soon as I can. Noone should find you
As evening descended, Lukarion stood at the entrance of the tent, ready to depart.
Rhaenys clung to his leg, her small face streaked with tears. "Don't go," she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. "Please don't leave us, Lukarion." Kneeling down, Lukarion enveloped her in a warm hug.
"I promise I'll be back soon, Rhaenys," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I have to do this, but I'll come back to you and your mother. Be brave for me, alright?"
Rhaenys nodded, sniffling as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Okay," she whispered, though her voice was still shaky. With one last embrace for Elia, who was holding back her own tears, Lukarion mounted his broom and whispered a few words.
"Point me Doran Martell," he intoned, feeling the broom's handle shift slightly to guide him southward. "Goodbye for now," he called out, giving them a reassuring smile before he kicked off from the ground.
The broom shot into the sky, carrying him swiftly over the rolling hills and endless grasslands. As he soared south, the wind whipping through his hair, his thoughts were focused on the task ahead and the promise he had made to return to the two people who had come to mean so much to him.
He thought of his own family and wondered what his parents and his little sister were doing right now.
'As soon as this mess is over and I have some peace of mind I will start looking for a way to return home. Rhaella, Elia and Rhaenys are nice enough for them to already have a place in my heart but... I don't think they could ever replace Mom, Dad and Dorea' he thought with a melancholic smile, remembering all the times Dorea would tease him for being always such a nerd
**Scene Break**
POV Doran Martell, Sunspear, Dorne, Westeros; 283 AC
Prince Doran Martell sat in the solarium of Sunspear, the warm sunlight casting a golden glow over the vibrant tapestries and exotic plants that adorned the room. A letter lay open on the table before him, its contents urgent and troubling.
The seal of his informant in King's Landing was unmistakable, and the news it brought required immediate attention. Doran reached for the small brass bell on the table beside him and rang it gently. Moments later, a servant appeared at the doorway, bowing respectfully.
"Bring my brother to me," Doran instructed, his voice calm but firm. The servant nodded and quickly departed to carry out his order. As he waited, Doran read over the letter once more, his brow furrowing with concern.
The rebellion's success had been a strong possibility and Doran knew that the war was like lost but...
'Well I suppose Tywin Lannister's treachery isn't that surprising' he thought with a grimace 'the man is a staunch opportunist after all and Aerys had insulted him enough for resentment to build up over the years'
Still the brutal sack of King's Landing and even more the enigmatic presence of a sorcerer allied with the Targaryens were details in the letter that could not be ignored.
The disappearance of Princess Elia and her children was the most distressing news of all however. There would be no resting until he knew what had happened to his sister, niece and nephew. Atleast his sister's goodmother had apparently managed to escape with Prince Viserys to Dragonstone but they would not be able to remain there forever.
Before long, the door swung open, and Oberyn Martell strode into the room, his expression curious and slightly apprehensive. "You summoned me, brother?" he asked, taking a seat opposite Doran.
"Yes, Oberyn," Doran replied, sliding the letter across the table. "I received a report from our informant in King's Landing. You should read this."
Oberyn picked up the letter, his eyes scanning the parchment quickly. As he read, his expression shifted from curiosity to anger to shock to something in between, his grip tightening on the edges of the letter. "The Lannisters," he spat, venom in his voice. "I should have known Tywin would betray us."
"Yes, his treachery is no surprise," Doran agreed, his tone measured.
"But there is more here that concerns me. This mention of a sorcerer… a man named Lukarion Peverell who is apparently allied with our family."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite his anger. "A sorcerer, you say? That sounds like something out of a child's tale."
"Indeed," Doran said thoughtfully. "But if there is indeed someone who possesses such power, he could be a valuable ally. It's a good thing he seems to be the advisor of Rhaella but still... We need to find Elia and her children, Oberyn but I don't think I need to convince you about that. "
Oberyn nodded, his fiery spirit undiminished, "Their safety is paramount, and maybe this Lukarion could be our best chance at ensuring it. I shall leave for King's Landing immediately. I'll gather information and see if I can find any leads on Elia's whereabouts. And this sorcerer… if he exists, I'll make sure he understands the value of our alliance."
"Be careful, Oberyn," Doran warned, his voice softening with genuine concern. "The capital is in chaos, and we cannot afford to lose you too. Move discreetly and gather as much information as you can."
Oberyn smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Discretion has never been my strongest suit, brother, but I'll do my best. Elia and her children will be found, I swear it."
Doran watched as Oberyn rose from his seat, the letter still clutched in his hand. As his brother left the solarium, Doran turned his gaze back to the sunlit landscape outside. The future was uncertain, and danger lurked at every turn, but with Oberyn's determination and the mysterious Lukarion Peverell's rumored power, there was hope that their family might yet find safety and justice.
**Scene Break**
POV Varys, King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros; 283 AC
The Spider moved through the shadows of King's Landing with practiced ease, his soft-soled shoes making no sound on the cold stone floors of the Red Keep. Varys, the Master of Whisperers, was a man accustomed to secrets, but the events of the past few weeks had unsettled even him.
The city was in chaos, the air thick with fear and uncertainty. The Targaryen dynasty had crumbled, yet the game of thrones continued unabated.
As he entered his private chambers, Varys allowed himself a moment of quiet contemplation. The room was sparse, furnished only with a plain wooden table and a few chairs. Scrolls and letters lay neatly organized, each containing pieces of the vast web of information he had spun throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, given to him by his faithful little birds.
He settled into his chair and unfurled the most recent report from his informants. The rebellion had succeeded, but at a cost higher than anyone had anticipated. Tywin Lannister's betrayal, the brutal slaughter that was the battle of King's Landing, and the appearence of a certain meddling sorcerer had left the city in turmoil.
The arrival of Robert Baratheon and his allies brought no immediate comfort; their crude attempts at consolidating power only added to the chaos. But what concerned Varys most was thef the sorcerer, Lukarion Peverell.
Varys had always dismissed tales of magic and sorcery as the fantasies of the weak-minded, no that was putting it mildly, he despised the wretched power.
But the reports were consistent and detailed so he had to take the threat seriously... and when he saw for himself how easy it was for Peverell to manipulate his environment how he wanted (when he played with Princess Targaryen for example), it struck him how dangerous the sorcerer really was:
Someone with extraordinary abilities had aligned himself with the Targaryens, thwarting Tywin's plans and protecting Princess Elia and her children. Magic or not, this Lukarion represented an unpredictable variable in a game where Varys prided himself on controlling every piece.
"How to handle this sorcerer," Varys mused aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper in the quiet room. He tapped his fingers on the table, deep in thought. "What do you want, Peverell? Power? Safety for the Targaryens? Or something else entirely?"
Information was the key. Varys needed to learn more about this man, his motives, and his capabilities. Only then could he devise a strategy to neutralize the threat or, if possible, turn it to his advantage.
He reached for a quill and began to draft letters to his most trusted informants. First, he would need to confirm the reports of Lukarion's abilities. Sure he saw some for himself but according to the rumours amongst the smallfolk Peverell could do so much more it was frightening. However, these were only rumours and rumours meant plenty of exaggeration and fear which could distort the truth, and Varys required clarity.
He instructed his spies within the Red Keep to gather detailed accounts from those who had encountered the sorcerer. Every scrap of information was valuable.
Next, he considered Peverell's potential weaknesses. The man was indeed a sorcerer that much Varys knew but the boy might be vulnerable to conventional means of subterfuge and manipulation. Varys's network extended into the dark corners of Essos, where practitioners of arcane arts could be found. Perhaps one of them would possess knowledge of how to counter such powers.
Varys also needed to understand Peverell's relationship with the Targaryens. Was it one of loyalty or convenience? If the sorcerer truly cared for Elia and her children, Varys could use that to his advantage. Protecting them would be paramount to securing Peverell's cooperation or, at the very least, preventing him from becoming a greater threat... unfortunately it seemed as the sorcerer had already done that.
Could he discredit the man? Popularity was important and the people were fickle.. if Varys could turn the people against the man he might be persuaded to return to wherever he came from...
Right that was another issue. Peverell having no problem doing magic in front of others indicated that everyone from his homeland likely had the same abilities and if Peverell's young age was anything to go by it likely also meant his elders were far stronger and a lot more skilled. That could become a problem. Varys sent a small prayer to whatever god was willing to hear it that Peverell's people wouldn't send more of their kind.
But perhaps... perhaps he could come to an arrangement with the man. Yes, Varys hated magic but Peverell had done little to earn Varys' ire, and those things had not been in purpose to anger Varys. So yes, Varys would try to make contact with Peverell and see how things went from there. He already had somehing he could offer the man.
Because with such power, surely Peverell's people had no need to battle for resources and thus little use for the game? It likely meant that Peverell would need someone to watch his back to play the game for him... and there was noone better for such a job than Varys himself.
The Master of Whisperers smiled to himself, a plan beginning to form. He would sow seeds of doubt and fear within the ranks of his enemies, ensuring they remained distracted and divided. He would cultivate alliances with those who sought to benefit from the new order, positioning himself as an indispensable advisor.
And he would reach out to Peverell, offering a hand of friendship while preparing a dagger in the other in the case he would ever need it. "Trust is a precious commodity," Varys murmured, sealing the letters with his personal sigil. "And in this game, trust can be a weapon."
As he sent his messages into the night, Varys felt a renewed sense of purpose. The sorcerer was an unknown, a disruption in the carefully balanced game he played. But Varys had faced uncertainty before and emerged unscathed.
He would adapt, as he always did, and ensure that his plans came to fruition. The realm needed stability, and Varys was determined to provide it. He would navigate the treacherous waters of power, guided by his principles and his unwavering commitment to the greater good. And if that meant dealing with sorcery and shadows, then so be it.
The Spider was prepared to weave his web through even the darkest corners of the world. For the good of the realm, Varys thought, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his chair. And for the good of the game. And for the Good of him of course.
**Scene Break**
POV Jaime Lannister, Red Keep, King's Landing, Westeros; 283 AC
Jaime Lannister stood on the battlements of the Red Keep, gazing out over the charred remnants of King's Landing. Smoke still rose from pockets of the city where fires burned unchecked, and the stench of death and decay hung heavy in the air. The rebellion had been brutal, and the aftermath even more so. Even two weeks after the battle, dispair reigned in the city and Jaime couldn't helpt but feel a little hatred towards his father.
'Damned be his ambition' he thought with disdain only to sigh as he thought of his sister who had become more demanding of his time recently. He had watched as her ecstasy in becoming queen had become misery and anger after her first night with the king.
'Seems my new liege isn't the best in pleasing my sister... then again who else than me really could?' Jaime thought with pride before his thoughts darkened again.
He turned as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed along the stone pathway. His father, Tywin Lannister, approached with his usual measured gait, his expression as stern and unyielding as ever. Jaime straightened, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation.
"Jaime," Tywin began without preamble, his voice as cold and commanding as ever. "We need to talk." Jaime nodded, though his heart sank. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. "Yes, Father?" Tywin wasted no time getting to the point.
"I want you to relinquish your duties as a Kingsguard." Jaime's eyes widened in surprise and anger. "You can't be serious," he replied, his tone harsh. "I swore an oath."
"An oath to a dead king," Tywin snapped back, his gaze icy. "Your duty is to House Lannister now. I need you at Casterly Rock while I organise the reconstruction efforts of this insult of a city, Jaime. The realm is in chaos, and our family must secure its place in the new order."
Jaime took a step back, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. "I am a knight of the Kingsguard," he said, his voice firm. "I will not abandon my post."
Tywin's eyes narrowed, his frustration evident. "You swore to protect Aerys, not to serve under whoever happens to sit the throne. "
Jaime shook his head, his jaw set. "I swore an oath," he repeated. "And I will not break it. You may command me in many things, Father, but not in this."
Tywin's face darkened, and for a moment, Jaime thought his father might strike him. But then the older man took a deep breath, mastering his anger. "You are a fool, Jaime," he said quietly, his voice filled with disappointment. "A
foolish, stubborn boy who clings to an empty title."
Jaime felt a pang of guilt at his father's words, but he forced himself to stand firm. "I am what you made me, Father," he replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And I will not betray my vows." For a moment, the two men stared at each other, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.
"I hope you change your opinion soon, son" Tywin said before he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Jaime watched him go, a sense of finality settling over him. He had made his choice, and there would be no turning back. As he stood alone on the battlements, the weight of his decision pressed down on him, but he felt a strange sense of peace.
He had chosen his path, and he would walk it, no matter the cost. He looked out over the city once more, his thoughts turning to the future. The realm was changing, and he would have to change with it. But he would do so on his own terms, not as his father's pawn, but as a knight of the Kingsguard, bound by honor and duty. And for now, that was enough.
**Scene Break**
POV Jon Arryn, Red Keep, King's Landing
Jon Arryn entered the grand solar of the Red Keep, his expression grave as he approached the newly-crowned King Robert Baratheon. The room, though richly adorned, bore signs of the recent turmoil, with banners and tapestries slightly askew and a lingering sense of unrest in the air. Robert sat by a large, sturdy table, a flagon of wine in hand and a furrowed brow suggesting a mix of weariness and determination.
"Jon," Robert greeted, his voice gruff but welcoming. "What news do you bring?" Jon took a seat opposite the king, unfolding a parchment he had carried with him.
"The reconstruction efforts are progressing, though slowly. The city is still reeling from the battle two weeks ago. We've allocated resources to clear the rubble and rebuild the damaged structures, but it will take time."
Robert sighed heavily, taking a long draught from his flagon. "Time we don't have. The people need to see their king restoring order, not wallowing in the ruins. Is Lannister providing the coin we agreed upon?"
Jon nodded, understanding the king's frustration. "He indeed has, which means he atleast plans to align himself with our cause... Returning to the matter at hand, we've managed to restore basic services and the people are gradually returning to their routines. The markets are reopening, and the craftsmen are back at work. However, the cost of repairs is substantial, and we'll need to find additional funds soon."
Robert waved his hand dismissively. "Do what you must, Jon. Tax the wealthy, empty the treasury if you have to. Just get the city back on its feet."
Jon hesitated for a moment before broaching the next topic. "Robert, there's another matter we need to discuss. You've mentioned your desire to marry Lyanna Stark as your second wife when Ned returns with her. Have you considered the implications?"
Robert's expression hardened, his eyes flashing with a stubborn resolve. "I have, Jon. And I've made my decision. Lyanna will be my queen alongside Cersei."
"The Faith will not be pleased," Jon warned. "Polygamy hasn't been practiced in Westeros for a long time, and the High Septon will likely condemn it. Cersei Lannister and her family will also be incensed. Tywin Lannister has already made it clear that he expects Cersei to be your only queen. It wouldn't do for us to slight him in our current situation."
Robert scoffed, his face flushing with irritation. "The Faith can be damned, Jon. If the Targaryens could have two wives, then so can I. And as for Cersei, she'll have to accept it. This isn't about her or her father. It's about Lyanna. Besides, I doubt Lyanna actually wants to be a queen, the wild girl that she is."
Jon leaned forward, trying to reason with his king and foster son. "Robert, you must consider the political ramifications. The alliance with House Lannister is crucial for maintaining stability in the realm. Alienating Tywin could have dire consequences."
Robert slammed his flagon on the table, wine sloshing over the edge. "I don't care about Tywin's ambitions! Lyanna is mine, and I will have her by my side. The realm needs to see that we are strong, united. A Baratheon and a Stark together will show the people that we are not divided."
Jon sighed, rubbing his temples. "And what of Cersei? She will not take this lightly. We risk internal strife if she feels slighted."
Robert leaned back, his gaze steely. "Cersei will adapt. She has no choice. She married me knowing what I am. If she can't accept Lyanna, then that's her problem."
Jon shook his head slightly, knowing that arguing further would be futile. "Very well, Robert. I will do what I can to manage the fallout. But understand this: the road ahead will not be easy. We must tread carefully."
Robert nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "I know, Jon. But we've faced worse, haven't we? Together, we'll weather this storm too." The two men sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their responsibilities pressing down on them.
Finally, Jon spoke again. "There's another matter that needs your attention. The question of succession. With the realm in such turmoil, we need to establish a clear line of succession to prevent any further unrest."
Robert's face softened slightly as he considered Jon's words. "You're right, Jon. We need stability now more than ever. I'll acknowledge any son Cersei gives me as the heir. But know this: if Lyanna gives me a son, he will be my true heir."
Jon nodded, understanding the implication. "Very well, Robert. We'll prepare for that eventuality. But for now, we must focus on rebuilding and securing the realm." Robert raised his flagon in a toast, his expression resolute. "To the future, Jon. Whatever it may hold." Jon raised his own cup, echoing the sentiment. "To the future."
**Scene Break**
End of Chapter