Chapter 6: The Lion and the Sun
Aegon raised a hand to cover a yawn, his eyes squinting into the light of day. The night had not been kind to the young king. What sleep he had was haunted by nightmares, by a brutal and cutting violence, by the pain of a terrible and burning heat, by the monstrous gale of an awful storm. It was all in his head, he told himself, yet he felt it all the same. The morning air was cool now, although that would certainly not last as the sun blazed throughout the day.
Ser Barristan had brought Aegon as well as his friend and guest, Robb Stark, out to the yard to instruct them in the basics of arms and armor; sword, shield, spear, bow and more. But more so it was to teach Aegon the work of a squire, the first step to receiving a proper knighthood, and to impart valuable lessons onto the king. Not that he let Aegon or Robb practice with the weapons, Barristan had declared they weren't ready.
"You'll have all the time in the world before you'll need to pick up the sword. Best to take care for the little things for now. Patience and diligence are admirable qualities, after all."
Barred from more exciting lessons, Aegon, the king, was granted more menial labor. Aegon's mentor had taken to familiarizing them with the names of different equipment and how to fasten armor onto a knight, in this case Ser Barristan himself. Breastplate, gorget, pauldrons, vambrace, and so on, all over a steel hauberk.
Ser Barristan talked Aegon through fastening on his sword belt and scabbard, pointed out the silver fasteners with which to attach his white cloak upon his shoulders. When Aegon finished, he was then given a worn suit of mail, a barrel of sand, and instructed to scour it clean of rust. Everything a young squire needs to learn in service of their knight. Aegon had taken to it tiredly, and slowly. This was certainly not what he had envisioned squiring to be. Viserys' talk of adventures across the sea had spurred on visions of daring adventure, of noble deeds and adoring masses. Not… this.
Aegon noted, with some envy, that Ser Barristan did not press Robb to all these tasks. Perhaps because of Robb's youth, the boy was a couple years younger than his king. Aegon told himself he could not fault him, but his lack of sleep irritated the spark of jealousy all the same.
Still, the young king took to his monotonous duty with but a quiet sigh. Rolling the heavy barrel, Aegon distractedly cast he gaze about the yard, every moment feeling the weariness of his own eyes. Lord Willem Darry had arrived and begun the morning drills for the household guard. Darry was a good man, and had served house Targaryen diligently for many years. His brother, Jonothor, had served in the kingsguard of Aegon's grandfather. But Jonothor had died at the Trident during Robert's Rebellion. The war had taken much from that family, their lordly cousins as well. In recognition of their loyal service, King Rhaegar named Ser Willem a lord, and granted him lands along the fork of the Trident. Lord Willem kept to his service in the Red Keep however, and allowed his cousin Ser Raymun to assist in managing the new lands. Willem's wife was some Lady of Bracken, or was it a Blackwood? Aegon had trouble remembering. They had children in the keep, although they were too young to be about.
Men-at-arms, bowmen, and knights from across the Crownlands went about their own exercises, practicing martial techniques at the direction of their captains, and sparring with each other on occasion. So, too, were they joined by some men of the Westerlands and those of Dorne. They stayed well apart, however. Aegon saw the dark looks they shared.
What had spawned this bad blood between these men? Was that fight Rhaenys told him of so grievous, or did this quarrel have yet deeper roots?
Turning his gaze to a corner of the yard, far from the Dornish, Aegon spotted a youth about Viserys' age. Tall and muscled, with strikingly black hair. Surrounded by fellow squires though he may be, he could be none other than Renly Baratheon, brother to Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm's End, the traitor who knelt not long after the Trident. He was among those which Lord Tywin had taken Aegon aside some time ago to inform him of. Ser Damon had been there as well, Aegon remembered, it seemed most of what was said was for his ears rather than Aegon's. Renly was never to leave the keep while the war raged and, as always, a minder was ever to be at his side. And there was, Aegon noticed, a tall and strong looking man with copper hair and the image of a burning tree upon his chest. Renly sported a bright smile among his companions, but Aegon wondered how much it chafed to be stuck in the castle. But he didn't have to wonder, did he? Aegon was in the same boat.
It was then that Ser Damion arrived, with his son Lucion in tow.
"Good morning, your Grace, Ser Barristan!" Damion greeted brightly, his son following suit, although more timidly. Perhaps Lucion shared Aegon's own drowsiness. Damion's gaze lingered on Aegon working away at his barrel of sand, and Robb sitting close beside him. "Ser Barristan… is this uh-conduct, appropriate for the king, and with him?"
"It's work every knight and squire should know. And a king, most of all, should know what goes into keeping his soldiers prepared and strong." Ser Barristan echoed the explanation he'd already given Aegon, but a frown crept upon his face. "And it is good for his Grace to have companions close to his age, to build ties with them."
Damion hmphed, noncommittally, disapprovingly. He continued on airily. "As you say. Well, with that sentiment, my lord father thought it perhaps worthwhile for Lucion here to share in the king's lesson. If you would not mind having him, that is."
"Very well." The old knight allowed. "Bring him here, the king will have just about finished scouring the mail. Lucion may assist him in applying the oil."
"Hurry along now, Lucion. Best not delay his Grace." Damon ushered along a not so enthusiastic Lucion, before excusing himself.
"Hello there, Lucion." Aegon greeted, straightening up from his barrel.
The Lannister boy returned the greeting as he came to their side. Together they retrieved the coat of mail, and Robb brought over the oil which would safeguard the metal from rust. They went about their work diligently, from task to task, and talked to pass the time. It did not surprise Aegon to learn Lucion was near an age with himself, a bit less than a year younger than him. Aegon found Lucion to be talkative enough for the three of them.
"Lannisport must be abuzz now, the port burnt, the countryside ravaged. My family has a home in Lannisport, you know? Good thing that's behind the walls, kept my mother safe."
"The walls held them back?" Aegon asked.
"Thanks to the gods. They've got a good city watch there, just like here in King's Landing. Father was writing furious-like after the attack, but mother just said she's more worried about our family over by Crakehall way."
"I hear the raids are hitting all along the coast." Robb piped up. "Is Crakehall alright?"
"It's not the likes of Lannisport. Just on the Ocean Road, too. They say Brindleton's been raided already. Father says Roland's a good lord though, he'll keep them safe. What about you, Robb, your mother write to you?" Lucion paused with his indelicate question.
"Not often. I don't really know my mother, never met her." Robb replied, a somber mood settling upon them.
"Never?" Lucion replied with wide eyes.
"I-, she lives in the North, with my father. I've only ever known King's Landing."
That seemed to stump Lucion. Aegon felt for his friend, but didn't know what to say. Aegon never got the chance to meet his father as well.
'We share in that grief.' Aegon could not help but think.
"You've really never met her? Why is that?" Lucion pressed on, to which Robb looked only more uncomfortable.
Fortunately, Ser Barristan rescued Robb, swooping in to give them the task of putting arms and armor away. "Pack it all away, it's time for Aegon's lessons with the Grandmaester."
And so they did, bearing shield and sword, all manner of arms and armor past the Dornishmen milling about on their way to the armory. Aegon noticed they were joined by Ser Raymond, Lord Tremond's second son, who led the afternoon's training of a second group of Dornishmen. Aegon made sure to steer well clear of him, after the trouble he'd stirred up some days ago. Rhaenys had told him all about that scuffle.
The Dornish from the morning exercises had yet to clear out, and instead took to chatting with their compatriots and glaring about the yard, which made it somewhat more difficult for Aegon to get through to the armory. Their conversations were slow, dull things. Aegon's guard shooed them off to clear a path. And Ser Barristan encouraged them to renew their efforts in the day's training, for they seemed to care little for the tiring work. Aegon was more than a little crestfallen that he hadn't gotten the chance to actually use any of the things he was now storing away. It brought much to the imagination, with every sword and shield, a blow that could have been warded off or a foe that could have been slain. But it was not to be. And Ser Barristan herded them off to the castle's library, calling upon Aegon's cupbearer to follow.
Almost a keep of its own, the great library was made of the same red stone as the rest of the castle. Not many lords in Westeros could boast such a collection of knowledge as here in the Red Keep. The likenesses of the wise King Jaehaerys I and his Queen Alysanne had been carved into the stonework flanking the entrance. Within were the wise men of Aegon's court. Septons, maesters, and other great scholars. Those who sought out knowledge to aid them in one task or another, and those who would simply rather pass the time among the many books of the library. Books on war, books on rule, books on the ancient legends and folktales of Westeros, of heroes and romances. Books from every region of Westeros, and books from across the Narrow Sea. New writings, gifted to the Crown by studious maesters and scholars. And old writings, like the crumbling scrolls of ancient and storied Valyria, gathered and passed down by the Targaryens since before the times of the Conqueror. Those that survived, at least.
Aegon marveled at the great sculptures of two great dragons just within the main entrance. There was an elegance to them, a calm and peace. Brilliant frescoes made in the Valyrian style, painted in blinding colors, were set in the arching dome of the entranceway. The low light of the afternoon sun filtered in through the clear glass windows set between them. Beyond those, there were the occasional busts of great men, set atop their plinths, dotted throughout the halls. But perhaps most interesting for Aegon, were the long carvings set into the walls. Embossed with small figures of wisemen, they bore men holding quills and scrolls or reading books. Further along there where men bearing maester's chains or the Seven-Pointed Star. At times there were women as well. But deeper in, and further up, some of the carvings took on strange appearances. The odd Valyrian priest here, a man bearing fire in his hand there, a savage figure with a raven upon his shoulder, a man with two faces, and another with a ghastly shadow. Aegon could not help but wonder if some book inspired these carvings, if there was a story behind them.
They sauntered through the halls on their way to meet the Grandmaester, passing by copy rooms, study solars, rows upon rows of bookshelves, and on occasion there were massive portraits set within alcoves at the end of halls. The one Aegon looked upon now bore the image of the third Aegon and his brother Viserys, accompanied by their wives and children. It brought Aegon's thoughts back to the Hall of Tapestries, the kings who were, and the kings who could be.
Aegon's small retinue of guards made quite a racket trooping through the soft silence of the library. Their noise came as a contrast to the silent arrival of a most curious character. A plump, powdered man, wearing loose silk robes of a garish purple and pointed slippers of soft velvet on his feet. He sported a head so completely barren of hair that it reminded Aegon of an egg.
Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers. The Spider, some called him. And others, the Eunuch. It seemed almost as if he'd been waiting for them to arrive, although he made a show of being surprised at seeing them.
"Your Grace." Varys bowed low, spreading his arms wide. He straightened up, clasping his hands and tittering. "It is so good to see you so fine and healthy on this day, and so well looked after by our Ser Barristan. A comforting thought, to have such a stalwart knight by your side in these troubling times."
"The Ironmen will never harm the king, so long as I am at his side." Ser Barristan said firmly.
"Indeed." Varys giggled. "Although I wonder if there might not be threats closer to home."
"What do you mean?" Ser Barristan frowned.
Varys drew closer, and Aegon caught a poisonously sweet scent of perfume wafting off the man.
"With all this fighting, and so close to the last war, everyone's tempers are like to burn hot. And with our poor Queen Elia's untimely passing… My condolences, your Grace. Such a dreadful collection of maladies, it's a blessing no one else suffered the illness. Well, we must thank our Lord Hand for picking up her burden so swiftly. I do wonder though, if that might not have upset the Queen's men."
"Rhaenys told me of a fight in the yard." Aegon said.
"Oh yes, my thoughts precisely." Varys gave an unctuous smile. "My little birds whisper such frightening tales. Our lord Hand was never close to the Queen I'm afraid, that much is known to all. They both had very different visions for the realm's future, and there are those who don't appreciate the change in course."
"Are you suggesting something untoward?" Ser Barristan questioned, his hand coming to rest upon his sword.
"I hear only rumors, noble ser." Varys conceded. "Whispers on the wind. And they tell me the fight between Ser Raymond and Kennett won't be the last time steel is drawn."
"A disturbing thought, I'll have some men on watch. Lord Darry's men will keep an eye out, Ser Damon's, and my brothers. They'll break up any dispute before it comes to blows."
"It would be wise to place your trust in men with no stake in the feud between Dorne and the West. Stay close to the king, Ser Barristan. Keep loyal men at his side. Now, don't let me keep you. If you'll excuse me, it seems I have duties to attend to."
After separating, the royal party soon came upon the grand solar in which they'd meet Grandmaester Pycelle. It was a sumptuous affair, plush couches, lounge chairs and stuffed feather pillows with intricately sewn patterns, all surrounding an unlit fireplace with its own delicately carved façade. At the end of the room there was a balcony looking over the training yard below. A large portrait of King Aerys I hung behind a great polished table of black ironwood, for it was known that the bookish king had oft enjoyed an evening reading within these walls.
It was here Aegon found himself seated; he drummed his fingers upon the smooth polished wood of the table. It made a low but crisp sound. His eyes ached. Aegon desperately wanted some sleep, even despite last night's horrors. A dream, once vivid, now faded, as dreams so often do. But the fear that had come with it was still palpable, lingering.
The sound of Lord Darry drilling the household guard in the castle yard below drifted up and through from the room's balcony. At the very least, the discordant clashing and clanging of arms out in the yard helped keep Aegon awake. Out those windows were the yard, and beyond that, the ocean. It didn't help that it's been rather… dull, since the fleet set sail some weeks ago. And with it left so many of the Red Keep's inhabitants.
'Viserys and Gerold must be raising anchor offshore of the Stormlands by now.' Viserys has gone off on an adventure. He's going to see the world. He's learning to be a knight. He's going to fight the traitors and become a hero, another Dragonknight, another Seasnake.
Aegon was just sitting here in lessons, and frustratingly not exploring more of those tunnels Jon had discovered. Barristan and the others didn't approve of the king disappearing on them, even less so when Robb was brought along as well. Damion had even gone so far as suggesting they make Robb a whipping boy, to take punishment in Aegon's stead! Aegon was shocked at the callous suggestion, but fortunately Barristan soundly rejected the idea. The mere thought of it sent a shiver of anger down Aegon's neck. Aegon drummed his fingers again, perhaps too loudly this time. Barristan cleared his throat, and looked pointedly at Aegon from his seat at the end of the table. Aegon let his fingers rest, but he felt the strangest urge to drum them even more.
Grandmaester Pycelle sat across from Aegon, a wall of books surrounded him; from The Chronicles of Maidenpool, The Princess and the Queen, The Remnants of the Dragonlords, and so many others. The wise man peered down into a heavy tome, something containing the families and histories of the noble families of Dorne. The great many links of the old maester's long chain of office clinked and jingled every time he turned a page, preparing to test Aegon on yet another house. Aegon could not help but think the chain itself was more interesting than the lesson. Two dozen long chains, each link earned when Pycelle had demonstrated his knowledge of a subject. Each subject was represented by a different metal. Pycelle's chain bore red gold and pale silver, black iron and steel and tin, bright copper and dull lead, brass and bronze, and even platinum. It was richly decorated too, Aegon wondered if that was unbecoming of a maester. Indeed, the chain was speckled with prized garnets, amethysts, black pearls, and even the occasional ruby and emerald.
"House Gargalen?" Pycelle asked.
"A-uh, red basilisk?" Aegon answered halfheartedly, eyeing his glass of cool tea, brewed with cinnamon.
The flavor had been growing on Aegon lately. Sweet and woody in taste, with a bit of a spiciness not unlike cloves, and a rather pleasing aroma accompanied it. The drink brought with it a strange dry sensation, with a subtle bitterness underneath. Terrence had called it tannic. Aegon took a sip, letting the taste play upon his tongue. He found it quite refreshing, especially when cooled with ice brought in from the ice house. On these hot summer days, a cold drink like this was a blessing. Yes, it had certainly left an impression, and Aegon had recently taken to having it regularly in the early afternoon. Ser Terrence Celtigar, the young kinsman of old Lord Ardrian, kept a pitcher full for whenever his king may call. The young knight stood quiet and out of the way, but kept a watchful eye on his king's cup. Aegon's mother had appointed the lad as the royal cupbearer in some years past.
The Celtigars, the lords of Claw Isle, of all Crackclaw Point, or so they wish to claim. They were long allies to the Targaryens, going back to the times before the Conquest. The family was the blood of Old Valyria as well, although certainly not as prestigious as the Targaryens had been. Following the Dragonlords into their wars for Westeros had earned them high position in the kingdom's early days. It would seem their fortunes were rising once more, after the chaos of the past war. Terrence himself was young, but much older than Viserys, and had taken to his honorable position readily. A proud one was Ser Terrence. And the drink he provided helped keep his king happy, and awake too, though perhaps not very focused.
"No, your Grace," the Grandmaester sighed, "the Gargalen's sigil is a cockatrice."
"What's the difference?" Robb asked.
Pycelle gave a cough.
"A basilisk is a cruel reptile, without wings, whose venom may drive a man to madness. They say it is common in Yi Ti and Sothoryos. Once, too, in the Basilisk Isles, before the Valyrian's all but wiped them out."
"And the cockatrice?"
"Well, I-erh, it's… another venomous reptile, somewhat more similar to dragons. The cockatrice has batlike wings and stands on two legs. It bears the body of a serpent, but has a rooster's head. The two creatures are often mistakenly depicted similarly, they have a similar -ah, birth, in many myths. The egg of a rooster cared for by a serpent instead of the egg of a serpent raised by a rooster, or something to that affect. Although such methods of attending to their young are likely not the norm for the creatures, for the most part. To my knowledge, no trace of any cockatrice has ever been observed outside of myths and legends, not like the basilisk. Some maesters speculate its existence sprung from a melding of tales about dragons and basilisks, or that it was one of the various breeds of strange creatures that the Valyrian's bred during the height of their power."
The lesson washed over Aegon, but little made it to his ears.
"But we are getting off topic. The Gargalen's cockatrice holds something within its beak, and that is?"
"A snake, a black snake." Aegon remembered that, at least.
"Quite so. Your uncle, Prince Doran, squired for the Lord Tremond, if I recall correctly. It would do you well to commit their house and arms to memory, they're close to your family."
"I will, I won't forget it. Rhaenys saw one of them fighting in the yard, with a man from Fair Isle."
"Hmph, passions are rather fiery among the Dornish." Pycelle harrumphed. "They should take care not to offend the men of the West, with the Ironborn threatening their homes and families."
"I heard from Ser Daemon that the Westerman was speaking indelicately about the royal house, and her highness." Barristan cut in. "Raymond challenged him, but-"
"Men are prone to rash actions in these times," Pycelle asserted, "Raymond should have known better than to provoke a man whose home and family's been attacked by Lord Greyjoy."
"But to insult the royal family, within the Red Keep no less? Such an act must not be overlooked." Barristan said firmly.
"Nevertheless, Ser Daemon settled things amicably enough." Pycelle dismissed, his voice dry and light and sounding insincere. "Bad blood or no, on with our lesson, what are the arms of house Jordayne?"
"That's an easy one, a gold quill on checkered green, light and dark. Daemon wears it all the time." Aegon tried to stifle a yawn, working his jaw.
"And Lord Trebor, too. And it's Ser Daemon, your grace. Don't forget your courtesies." Barristan corrected.
"You'll not be like to see it on the Lord of Tor any time soon though, now that he's taken his leave of the city." Pycelle added. "Their family came with the Andals in those ancient days of conquest. House Martell was once their vassal as well, back when the Jordaynes were kings. The Yronwoods eventually brought them to heel, but both came to bend the knee when Princess Nymeria arrived and joined forces with Prince Mors Martell. Do you remember the Yronwood's sigil?"
"A black portcullis over sand."
"Very good. Before the Martells, the Yronwoods ruled as High Kings of Dorne, although several Dornish houses and petty kingdoms paid them little mind. Even now, the head of the house is still referred to as the Bloodroyal."
Lucion fiddled with a quill absentmindedly.
"Then, should I refer to Lord Yronwood as the Bloodroyal?"
"On formal occasions, it would be due. The title of Warden of the Boneway as well, if necessary, but most often it is perfectly appropriate to refer to Lord Ormand as simply lord. Ser Barristan was right to remind you, it would reflect poorly upon you and your family if you mistake a man's title and position."
"Sorry, Grandmaester. It's just I-." Aegon wasn't sure he wanted to mention his fitful sleep last night.
The dream had come again, of that much he was most certain. Some of it still remained to him, scraps of memory that clung to the fringes of his mind, all jumbled together, more feeling than anything. One moment, a blazing, angry sun on the horizon, filled with enough hate to scorch the earth a thousand times over. The next, dying cries all around Aegon, filled with regret and fear, a chaos like nothing Aegon had ever before experienced. A far-off roar, echoing with spite and rage. A ruined tower, broken by treachery. A storm breaking upon a furious clash with a dying serpent in the midst of unruly waves. The confusing images flashed by so fast, so uncertain. But what was most clear from this last dream, a boy with a laughing smile, but fear and misery lurking behind his eyes.
Aegon tried to put the dream out of his thoughts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Learning about sigils and family names isn't too…"
"Interesting? Is it putting you to sleep in another of my lessons?"
"It's not that!" Aegon protested, but thought better of it, and sheepishly conceded to the excuse. "Well, maybe it is, a little bit. But it's also… my mother wanted to teach me this. Like she did with Rhaenys."
"Oh, dear me, of course." False understanding dawned on his face. The old man raked a hand through the few wispy white hairs still clinging for dear life to his bald head, before grabbing the copper link upon his great heavy chains. "Still, it's important to learn these things. To know the men that assemble before you, that beg your favor, those whom you call upon, their families and their histories."
"I know." Aegon added sullenly. "It's just that, it's a bit, sad. And the histories we're learning seem a little too… stale."
Pycelle grumbled at that. As if to say 'who could possibly find ancient history stale?' Perhaps Aegon might have agreed with that as well, had he not been so tired. A shout from Lord Darry signaled another round of drills in the yard below.
"Perhaps we should move the lesson to something more recent, Grandmaester." Ser Barristan cut in.
"Like why do the men of the West and the Dornish hate each other?" Aegon prompted.
"That is a long and complicated story, and I dare say it won't shy away from sad details. Both sides bear some responsibility for the other's animosity. I'd imagine its origin lay in Robert's Rebellion." Pycelle pondered.
"It goes back far longer than that." Barristan interrupted once more. "Lord Tywin has built up a terrible reputation, both in his time as Hand as well as with his treatment of his vassals."
"The lord Hand can be harsh, but his actions were neces-"
"They are more often needlessly cruel, and wrong. No true man would tell you different." Ser Barristan said with an edge in his voice. "He is… too much like King Aerys."
"Ser Oswell says my grandfather went bad. He said it was because of Duskendale." Aegon said.
Pycelle harrumphed. "Ser Oswell made a poor jest, surely. King Aerys was the darling of our kingdom in his day. He, alongside Lord Tywin, saw to a long reign of peace over the Seven Kingdoms, and dealt with traitors swiftly when necessary."
"Come now, Grandmaester," Barristan began sharply, "the king shouldn't be lied to. He deserves the truth of it, King Aerys was not right."
"He had a promising start." Pycelle added noncommittally. "Well liked, the realm was prosperous, and the long peace…"
"It did not last." Barristan finished, his eyes seemed to dim, and he did not meet Aegon's gaze. "But perhaps even at the beginning, what Tywin did was a signal for what was to come."
"There were some men that did not appreciate King Aerys' generosity to his friend…"
"The Reynes and Tarbecks, all of them. It was murder of the foulest kind, massacres." Barristan settled the matter.
"Perhaps that planted the seed of ill will, but clearly the Dornish weren't overly offended, they entertained a possible marriage after all."
"And Tywin offered insult." Barristan shot back.
Ser Terrence shifted uncomfortably in his corner, looking very much like he wanted to remain uninvolved.
"And his cruelties, this insult, was that the start of this feud with Dorne?" Aegon tried to steer the conversation back to his question.
"That the Martells and King Aerys soon arranged a match between then Princess Elia and Prince Rhaegar further soured relations. Tywin saw it as stealing the marriage he'd hoped to forge between the prince and his own daughter."
Aegon remembered back to the execution in the square, it seemed so long ago. "Lord Grandison, before his… execution, he spoke of Tywin as a coward. Said he hid from the war."
The sounds from the yard quieted, signaling the end of the day's training.
"Lord Tywin, prudently, gauged the rebel's strength… as he gathered his own forces." The Grandmaester said hesitantly.
"There's little way to polish it, Grandmaester. Tywin wanted to know which side would win, before he committed. The friendship between King Aerys and his old Hand had been tattered for years, if it was ever truly there. It was only after Prince Rhaegar slew Robert Baratheon on the Trident that Tywin finally stirred. He sent his armies to ravage the Riverlands when the war was already won, and came himself to reinforce King's Landing."
"If he was not loyal, then why did my father name him Hand?" Aegon asked.
Ser Barristan gave the question some thought before answer. "Perhaps King Rhaegar was over generous, over trusting. He had worked together with the Lord of the West in the years before. Perhaps it was as simple as gaining the support of a formerly neutral region, while near half of Westeros was still seething over King Aerys. Your father may not have expected his wound to fester, and believed he could bring Lord Tywin to heel. It's my regret, that I could not do more to save him, that we did not have more time with your good father."
'Me too.' Aegon thought, but stayed silent.
"King Rhaegar's declining health led to some worries. To safeguard the realm, he appointed his Queen, Elia, as regent for your Grace. While Ser Barristan and the rest of Rhaegar's lieutenant's put the Riverlands to order, King Rhaegar rode south with the captured rebels and the would-be king's remains. He had to settle unrest in King's Landing, you see, after King Aerys's unexpected death. And then he brought Lord Stark south, to help convince Lord Stannis to give up his brother's lost cause, and to see to Lady Lyanna in Dorne. It was around that time that King Rhaegar finally passed from fever, perhaps the journey was too much for him, and it spurred on the infection."
"And my mother was left alone." Aegon added quietly.
"The King had worked with Queen Elia to select suitable supporters to bring in to safeguard her, and bring the realm together going forward." Pycelle pondered. "Lord Taubert of Vaith, of course, was named Master of Laws, to shore up the Queen's strength in the Small Council. Prince Doran was made Master of Coin for a time, although he only acted via proxy, Queen Elia eventually replaced him with Lord Rowan. Ser Alliser Thorne was regarded as a true man, he was made a lord in his own right following the war, and was to be head of the gold cloaks. It was known Lord Lucerys had no love of Lord Tywin, and had the confidence of the royal fleet; he was kept on as Master of Ships."
"Queen Elia grappled with the Hand in court politics. Her efforts to restore King Aegon V's reforms led to further feuds between the West and Dorne. She also favored widows in inheritance disputes, which earned her some foes. When the question of your cupbearer came up, she butted heads with the Hand once more. He wanted his nephew Lancel for it, if I recall."
"I'm grateful for her trust in me, your Grace." Ser Terrence piped up.
"And there's that incident with the septon…" Pycelle carried on. "These grievances have been accruing for years, it's only natural that it eventually extended to the lord's men."
"Will it get worse?" Aegon asked. "If people have only gotten angrier over the war in the West, and with-, well, the Dornishmen have their own reasons to be upset, then…"
"We will have to do something to calm tempers." Barristan finished. "Although that may prove difficult, without the Queen, the council is like to favor Lord Tywin. And now that he's been named regent… he's not one to let old grudges lie."
Crashes of steel rose up in the yard once more. Strange. It was a louder and more chaotic sound than before.
"The day's drills should be done by now, shouldn't they?" Aegon asked, a suspicion clawing its way into his head.
"They should be." Ser Barristan added, starting toward the balcony. "If someone's started another fight…"
A bloodcurdling scream shrieked out.
Aegon rushed to the balcony, a protest from Ser Terrence was lost to him.
Peering around Ser Barristan, Aegon was greeted by the sight of slaughter. War had come to the Red Keep.
There we have chapter six, and it's a long chapter this time. Even as long as it is, I cut out somewhere around 2,000 words from it, haha. Almost split the chapter in two as well, but felt it flows better together. The first draft was just the second part lecture, and I've been sitting on that for a long time, but I thought it was a little stale. So, I rewrote things to add in the bit in the yard, changed the second part's setting to the library, and added in a bit for Varys. I think they made good additions all things considered.
I wanted to do a little bit of a lesson scene with Aegon and Pycelle for the longest time, to go over some of the major beats of the rebellion (although I've cut out a lot of that). I had even planned it for one of my original drafts for chapter one waaaay back in the day. That, or a big ol' flashback to Rhaegar himself winning at the Trident (possibly from Barristan's or Eddard's pov afterwards). I actually had those all written up years ago, but I had settled on the chapter one I've published, and trust me, it is way better the way it is. So, this bit was something of an homage to that old plan of mine. Although, with less Pycelle nodding off in the middle of the lesson gags.
Aegon's still getting some haunting nightmares, and we continue a few more subtle and not so subtle plot threads. Finally addressed why Tywin is Hand, Rhaegar and the loyalists were desperate for support to maintain the hard-won peace, more or less. Fleshed out a little bit of the foundations for the Dornish/Westerlander feuds, from the perspectives of Barristan and Pycelle. Threw in some worldbuilding for the aftermath of Robert's Rebellion. And I've got Aegon enjoying cinnamon tea! I've been enjoying some on ice myself, oolong with cinnamon, very good stuff. And we end things with a cliff-hanger, too! Not a bad chapter imo.
A lot's gone by since my last update. I've published two oneshots, one following the modern Viserys in exile, and another taking a historical look back on the War of the Five Kings and the Lannister kids and their parentage. Pretty interesting stuff. First season of House of the Dragon has premiered and just recently finished up! I had a blast with that show, I really appreciate the more sympathetic portrayal of the characters. Laenor Velaryon's story going the way of an old fan theory of mine had me stoked, too. Even wrote up a whole post on Reddit going over that, Smoke Fades Across the Sea. I hope everyone had as much fun with it as I did! If you have any thoughts, feel free to share!