Prologue II - Quest for a Princess
26th Day of the 5th Moon, 36 AC
The Gullet, Narrow Sea
Drako Rogare
Warm sunlight bore down upon the intrepid sailors of the Lysene vessel, Sunbinder. Summer was in proper form all across Westeros, and while the journey from Lys to King's Landing had been uneventful, many could hardly dispute that the weather was fairer further south, even if the water was more unkind. There was a new kind of energy on the creaking wood as the city came into view from a distance. Sailors shouted with glee in their voice, and song began to spring from the chest of those with the most cheer.
Those were the Westerosi, hired to make a return voyage with their prince and the Lyseni that accompanied him. The Lyseni with them were more demure - they were approaching a destination, not a home. Still, there was a sense of relief at seeing land for the green boys on the boat.
There was thudding as Lysaro Rogare's heir made his way up from the belly of the ship, heavy footfalls upon the wood below. His look was distinctly Lyseni, with his silver hair braided into a tight cord down his back, with rogue strands starting to stick to the sides of his face with the moisture of the air. Despite being just eight-and-ten, he was nearly double the size of his father. His arms were corded with thick muscle and the light cream-colored shirt clung to the Lyseni's chest. Drako's eyes were lilac, the color of the Valyrians, whose blood ran strongly through the people of Lys.
"Morning father," Drako's smile flashed across his face as he squeezed the shoulder of the older man.
Lysaro had narrow shoulders and a lithe frame, with pale hair falling in a narrow sheet down his back. He was built like his sister, Lysara. Few knew where the genes had come from that Drako had seemingly inherited, as his mother was built like the Rogares.
"Drako," Lysaro grinned back at him, the sailor's face sun-kissed from this journey and many before. "Have you woken the prince? I'm sure he would enjoy to see a view of his home from the bay."
Drako bit back a snort as he went to the railing, resting his forearms against the wood. "I'm not the prince's servant. No, I haven't woken him, father. I'm not particularly sure he enjoys anything. I went with him through the streets of Lys, swam in the beautiful waters offshore, even to the doors of a pleasure house. I don't even get the impression he enjoys my company."
His father sighed, leaning against the wood behind him. "He's different than you, Drako. He's your cousin, a prince of the Iron Throne. His father rides a dragon. His grandmother has the largest one alive, bar the king's. It's important that he trusts you. Trusts us."
He didn't bother to give a response of any substance. Maegon was Maegon, he'd accepted that. If he was supposed to ingratiate himself to him, he'd prefer if the prince just told him how to. Every question, every memory that Drako tried to evoke from him was met with a steely wall. Drako had treated it like a challenge at first, but it turned to irritation quickly, and now he was at the point of giving up.
"I'll go rouse him," Drako muttered as he passed by his father, disappearing with the same heavy footfalls below the deck.
The Sunbinder was a small, fast ship that had been recently commissioned by the Rogare family. Its size meant that there was limited room for any private quarters, which were currently being used by the prince himself. Drako took care to duck his head to avoid any wooden boards hanging from the ceiling, before standing in front of the white-cloaked knight that awaited the prince day and night.
"King's Landing is within sight," Drako told him.
The knight didn't reply, but just opened the door to inform the prince. Drako wasn't surprised that the prince was already striding through the crudely-made doorway. Maegon had never struck him as the type to sleep in. His silver-gold hair was already tied up neatly, though he allowed some to fall upon his right shoulder. The prince wore a fine tunic with a black jerkin tight over his narrow chest. Many had referred to Drako's eyes as warm, light, or jovial. None of those could be used to refer to Maegon's, whose similarly-colored eyes were hard and narrowed.
"My prince," Drako inclined his head out of respect.
"Is that what you are planning to wear?" Maegon inquired as he took a look at the Lyseni.
His father had warned him that sailing clothes were considered informal in Westeros and there was a chance that they would meet the king that day. Drako wouldn't admit it, but he hated wearing anything much more constrictive than a shirt. Robes, a surcoat, a tunic would suffice, but all of those would likely not be what the prince was referring to.
"No," he forced the words through his teeth. "I am planning to change before we reach the shore."
"You'd best hurry," Maegon was by him in a flash, the knight hurrying to follow his lead. His aquiline nose was turned up, boots making light noises as he crossed to the stairs.
Drako's lip curled as he turned back toward his own hammock that had been strung from one pylon to the next. A small chest sat in front of it, filled with the belongings that he had managed to take from Lys to King's Landing. As he pushed it open with a shove, he forced himself to take a deep breath and pull out the doublet that was inside. House Rogare's strength was its wealth, and his doublet matched it. Gold, silver, and cream shimmered along its material. Drako carefully pulled it over his chest, grumbling as it squeezed his form, not allowing much give for his size.
He shrugged off his well-worn breeches for a nicer pair, which were of a darker material to match the doublet and to hide any water marks that he would surely get leaving the ship. Drako shut the chest once more and rested his head against the wooden post in front of him. I won't be here long, Drako told himself. We're returning Maegon home, having a feast, we'll be leaving with the moon's turn.
With that thought, the young Rogare pushed himself away from the post and ascended the short stairs to the deck above. They'd made much more progress, and the docks of King's Landing were a short sail away. Drako could see the prince leaning against the rail, looking with his sharp eyes out towards the city that he'd called home for his whole life.
By everything he had heard, the city had been growing rapidly. The Aegonfort had been replaced by a grand Red Keep, which had not finished construction when Maegon had left for Lys. The stone was still new and it seemed to glitter on its hill in the light of the morning sun. The city below was small by Lysene standards, tiny in fact, but was diligently growing. It had filled out into the lowlands below, but many of its homes seemed rough in design compared to the grand streets of Lys.
Some buildings had wooden roofs and some of those who did have stone or brick homes seemed to lean or slope, like the build had been rushed. And as they drew closer, Drako sent a prayer to whoever was listening that the smell wouldn't reach the new Red Keep.
The words of his father forced him to cross the deck and lean beside Maegon. Maekar's son wasn't short, and even still Drako had a head or more on the prince.
"Does it seem different than when you departed?" Drako asked.
"Very," Maegon admitted. "The keep is finished, or near-finished, from what it seems. There's a whole new street of houses down that southern end." The prince pointed down the docks to where it did seem a new muddy row of homes had been added recently.
"Does it feel the same?"
"I suppose I won't know until we enter. The Aegonfort was getting small even when we were children. The country is new, so thus is its capital."
Drako silently nodded along to it, though he could hardly fathom it himself. Lys was an old city, though not nearly as old as some further east. He could still picture its blue-green waters, pale houses, and cobbled streets in his mind. And he knew that when he returned in a few moons' time that it would be the same as it always was. That gave him some comfort.
Sailors shouted for everyone to brace, as the ship was approaching the dock where it would come ashore. Drako and Maegon each held onto the railing, watching as soldiers began to mill near their destination. They all wore silver plate, and the three-headed dragon was etched into them crudely. These weren't the bravos of Braavos, nor the famed protectors of the triarchs of Volantis. And no Lyseni would ever be caught in such a rudimentary design. This was the family that his grandfather had taken a chance on?
With a short and severe jut of the boat, the Sunbinder came to a halt. It bobbed like an apple in the water, the plank being set down upon the dock of Westeros' capital.
"After you, my prince," Drako gestured for him to lead the group. Maegon nodded and carefully made his way to the plank, his armored knight following closely behind. Lysaro Rogare followed him, giving a slight nod for Drako to follow his father.
Together the group began its climb toward the Red Keep. Drako's eyes cast about them, taking in the sight of the new city. Many of the roads were still simple dirt, with some rock caked in. There had likely been rain within the last few days, because it gave in to Drako's boots ever-so-slightly each time he took a step.
However, he couldn't deny the city was busy. On each side of the street, men shouted for their business and women held aloft crafts to buy. There was armor, food, blankets, clothes, and anything that one could desire. None of them stopped to purchase, for they had one goal in mind: reaching the Red Keep.
Drako had never met his uncle, Prince Maekar. If Maekar was anything like his son, Drako had half a mind that he wouldn't even want to meet him given the chance. He'd never even met his aunt, Lady Lysara, who was a Rogare by birth. She was famous for disliking the sea, and once arriving in Westeros she refused to leave. His own father had been to visit her once before to ensure that she had settled into court, but that was all he had seen of his twin since her marriage.
He was intrigued by the Conqueror, who was of course, well known for his taking of six of the seven kingdoms. His name had become like legend and Drako wondered what sort of administrator someone known so well for conquering could be. But by what little Lysaro had gleaned from Maekar, the king's health had begun to deteriorate. The Conqueror would do no more conquering, not even to take the last of the seven. Rogar Baratheon had tried, in his name, but had been thrown back by Sunspear. It appeared Dorne would outlast Aegon.
That would leave Westeros in the hands of Maekar's uncle, Aerys. He'd never heard anything particularly bad about the prince, only that he would need strong counsel to keep the realm. The first passing of control from Targaryen king to king would be one of its most vulnerable points.
Drako would meet them all on this trip, he was sure. But he was excited to see which of them would meet them in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Would it be Aegon himself, Blackfyre strapped to his waist? Aerys, built like a king with his hearty laugh and congenial warmth? Or Maekar, scion of the legendary Queen Visenya? Maybe it would be Visenya herself, rider of Vhagar.
His mind was whirring by the time they had reached the gates. They didn't squeak very badly, for the iron was particularly new. And in the yard ahead, a small group had assembled to greet them.
By the looks of them, he could at least rule out Aegon and Visenya. There were only three white or silver haired nobles awaiting them. The furthest left was a man, middle-aged with cream-colored blonde hair. His surcoat was a bright teal, a silver seahorse fastening his belt to the rest of his clothes. The man's expression was one of neutrality, arms clasped behind him as he awaited the guests' arrival. Beside him stood what could be a mirror image, but younger, and slightly taller. But instead of a neutral expression, a smile stretched across the features of the younger man. His right ear was pierced with a silver ring, and his hair was more unkempt than the older men.
The third was Maekar Targaryen. He knew that for sure. His eyes had the same intensity as his son's, but they were colder. Maybe it was the experience of his years, but Drako found that a little hard to believe. He wore a silver doublet with a black dragon growing from his hip across his side. Maekar's silver hair was pushed back from his face and fell in a sheet down his back. The son of the king indeed, as his shoulders and back were drawn up into perfect posture, but he seemed coiled as tightly as a snake.
"Your Grace," Lysaro led the company of Essosi and Westerosi servants in bowing to the prince. Drako followed their lead, unsteady on his feet.
"Good-brother," Maekar returned, gesturing for them to return to their normal standing position. Drako shuffled his feet and watched the prince. "Welcome to King's Landing. You may remember from your previous journey that this is the Master of Ships, Aethan Velaryon, and his son, Lord Matarys. My nephew."
The other lord gave a quiet smile to the group, remaining silent while the prince spoke beside him.
"Your quarters are prepared. My wife is currently attending to the lady's court, but she will be available for lunch. Matarys, Maegon - would you mind showing our young guest around the Red Keep?"
The look Maekar gave to his son was one that implied there would be no alternative for him. Drako half-wondered if that was the prince's normal look. If it was coming from his father, he'd know exactly what he had done wrong and the level of punishment that was likely coming his way. Maegon just nodded and the other young man at Maekar's side stepped forward to greet both of them.
Silence stretched and Drako realized that the prince meant now, not simply when the conversation was done. He followed Matarys towards the front gates of the palace, where doors were held wide open for the trio to enter. Torches flickered on the wall, but put off minimal light in the morning sun. The stones were new, and the floor still gleamed like when rock was washed in the sea. Even older tapestries brought from other lands and keeps did nothing to give him the impression it was anything but a new castle.
"As you've gathered, I am Matarys Velaryon," The spry young man reminded him more of a Lysene than Maegon. His tied-up hair was normal for a sailor and the silver hair would not be out of place in his own city. "Pleasure to meet you."
"And I, you," Drako replied. Together the group moved down the hallway to the right, servants walking quickly on the other side.
"The palace has changed since you were last here, eh, my prince?" Matarys flashed a smile back at Maegon.
"Some," Maegon granted, his hands tight at his sides. "It still feels the same."
"Oh I do doubt that," Matarys said. "It is much deeper than just the stones being laid and the tapestries being hung. There's more people, more lords that shuffle in and out of these halls. Today it's your cousin, Drako, and his family. Tomorrow, maybe it is Lord Darklyn and his. How many have come and gone while you were away?"
"I don't see the point."
"There isn't one!" The Velaryon returned cheerily as they hung a left. "Merely that my uncle and cousins have been busy while you were away. Ah, here is the throne room."
A handful of stairs emptied out into the room where Aegon the Conqueror held court. The Iron Throne in its hulking stature was at the head of the room, its mangled and snarled swords forming the beast of a seat. There were even steps of swords, all bent and somewhat dulled through their new task as a chair. A few lords and ladies passed by in front of them, though none sat on the throne at the moment. But Drako could just imagine the king himself sitting there, regal in his black and rubies, the great sword Blackfyre sitting at his side. He had been lucky enough to wield the sword Truth once, the Rogare's Valyrian sword. Blackfyre had united the whole Realm, it was half a legend of its own now.
"King Aegon used to sit there nearly every day, the poor man. Chose to make his throne out of anything and he chose steel. My own family has its own made out of wood, as the Gardeners did in Highgarden."
"It's a symbol," Maegon interrupted. "It shows the strength of House Targaryen and the unity of the Seven Kingdoms. Swords from all over went into that throne."
"Ah, yes, yes." Matarys waved his hand as the group made its way to the middle of the room to get a better look. "Aegon never had a problem with it as far as I know, but several Hands of the King have cut themselves when they have needed to step in for a day here and there."
"A reminder," Maegon said. "That it shouldn't be comfortable to sit on a throne."
"I think I'd prefer a comfortable chair," Matarys mused as he walked backwards to the side of the hall. "Maybe a pillow could be brought to sit upon. A nice one, from Pentos or somewhere."
Maegon muttered something under his breath but Drako was unable to pick it up. He followed the Velaryon, at least preferring his chatter to Maegon's silence. He had some knowledge of Westerosi history, but he lacked most of the detail that those who lived there knew. The note about Driftmark's throne rang some distant bell in his mind, but he had forgotten completely about Highgarden's seat. More than likely, the knowledge of both would once again leave him with the turn of the moon as he sailed back to Lys.
"So, our dear guest, I will show you to your chambers. Tell me, how does King's Landing compare to Lys the Lovely?" Matarys asked.
It doesn't was the first thought that came to mind. Drako knew he couldn't say such a thing, but it was not as though it were untrue. He shrugged his shoulders and mulled over how to say it delicately. Even though there were still men and women walking everywhere, it was considerably less busy than the biggest of Lys' palaces and manses. The halls echoed their words back at them as they spoke, with little to stop them.
"The city is placed on a good location. The sea is nice in the bay and the new keep is glittering from the sunlight. The rest of the town will get better with time."
"If that isn't the truth," Matarys snorted, clapping Drako on the shoulder as they headed up a flight of stairs. "It smells, it's why I don't open my windows. Driftmark is nothing like this, I can tell you that. Maybe one day it will improve but -"
"The city is new," Maegon cut in, his chin up and eyes looking straight ahead at Matarys' back. "It will improve, with time. With the right council and guidance, priorities will be set and it will resemble Oldtown or Lannisport. It has been some time in Westeros since a new city grew so rapidly."
"Right," Drako agreed. He had no use to get in an argument about something he knew little about, but he hoped for the sake of the royal family that improvements to the city would begin soon.
"There are a number of those stone towers, that you saw. Right now, the Tower of the Hand is occupied by my uncle, Prince Aerys. He splits his time between here and his own seat at Dragonstone, his children as well. There is a solar and a smaller hall than the Great Hall. Aptly named the Small Hall, it's used much less frequently. Perhaps in time it will gain more usage. The royal family has its chambers secluded away for now, though there are plans to build a grander castle where the absurdly large courtyard is, and the family will move there once it is complete. Your chambers will be on the same floor as their own, but across the way."
Matarys led them up to what seemed to be the highest floor inside the castle at the moment. They came upon an open-facing square of considerable size, with him being able to spot the other side in the distance. The sun shone down easily into the middle of it, where bare dirt was exposed from the beginning of building preparation.
"On this side are the guest quarters - of the most important guests, of course. You and your father will occupy the two at the end. I myself am on this side as well, and whenever Prince Aerys' children are at the Red Keep, they will have quarters along this edge as well."
"Thank you," Drako folded his arms over his chest as he followed Matarys to where he said his quarters would be. The door was just as new as the rest of the castle, the polished wood still gleaming from its last finish. He turned the brass knob and pushed it in, peering into the room.
"We'll leave you to learn all about your new home away from home," Matarys said. "If you have need of me, I am down the hall - or more commonly in the yard. Or at the docks. But anyone is willing to help you, just ask."
Drako nodded, stepping inside the set of rooms and closing the door quietly behind him. Inside, the room opened up, with natural light being allowed in from open windows and an open balcony. No chance to keep anything out then, Drako supposed. Not with anything more than a curtain, at least. He could hardly complain with the arrangement of the room, as it was as neat as anything else. The bed was made, with heavy blankets of white being covered by a purple duvet with floral patterns. A couch and plush chair were tucked into the edge of the room by a dormant fireplace, all lavender.
Shimmery violet curtains were drawn back and held at the edges of the balcony, with a small wooden table set with accompanying chairs. The sconces were out at the moment, but it didn't dull any of the sight within the room. He took a step away from the balcony and returned to the room, spotting the large tub for bathing in the accompanying room, along with sleepwear and fluffy towels. Two small pails of tepid water sat beside it for the moment.
The Rogare bent down and undid his boots, kicking them off to sit near the door. He sighed in relief at finally freeing his feet from the water-logged vices that had been eating into his skin without his awareness. Drako walked like an old man into the main part of the room and fell face-first into the sheets. Day one, he thought to himself. Only a few more weeks to go.
26th Day of the 5th Moon, 36 AC
King's Landing
Laena Velaryon
When Laena stood in the mirror, she saw the reflection of someone else. The black gown with the crimson inlaid into the sides, accenting the dark color with its own looked foreign on her. Unnatural. Some days she yearned for the teal and blue of her native house, that which always felt more comfortable to her. Her hair was straight, not the curls that it had when she was younger. Her face was rounder from the extra baby weight she hadn't gotten rid of. The straightening of her spine was more pronounced, and her head was held up. Laena always remembered dipping her head to avoid eye contact with those more important than her when she was young.
Now, there were few in the Seven Kingdoms more important than her. Her father-by-law, the King. He cherished her, for she was at his bedside more often than Queen Visenya. It was her duty to ensure that he was comfortable. Aegon told her stories of a bygone age, one Laena hardly could imagine. One before the Seven Kingdoms were whole, of dragons clustered on Dragonstone and a house wondering where it fit in the world after Valyria was destroyed. Then there was her husband, the Hand and Prince of Dragonstone. The tower felt lonely with him away, preparing for the morning's council meeting.
Aerys spent most of his days in King's Landing, as the crown hesitated above his head with the final years of Aegon I. Laena was the one who split her time between Dragonstone and King's Landing, ensuring their children were continuing their education on Dragonstone. The island filled her with more dread than her native Driftmark. Every room felt dark, filled with the ghosts of the past. Driftmark was lighter, and the sea felt closer and more pleasant. Light flooded in through many of the keep's windows, illuminating her old childhood chambers.
As she brushed her hand along the black velvety fabric, she took a look around the room. The bed was undone from where Aerys had disappeared that morning and her own awakening. Servants would be in to make it as soon as Laena started her duties for the morning. Letters were piling up on the desk from advisors and lords, all seeking to hear from the next king.
The role of the Princess of Dragonstone was one that was ill-defined. She met with ladies when they came through the keep, holding luncheons or hosting an afternoon bout of cheese and crackers. Lately, she met with the Grand Maester more about the King's condition and sat with him through the bad days. At night, Aerys would sup with her if he had the time. Those days were becoming rarer by the passing of the moon.
A knock on the door below echoed through the stairwell in the tower. Laena gathered up the bottom of her dress and began to descend the stairs.
"The Grand Maester, your Grace," The guard standing outside the door said once her footfalls were within hearing distance.
"I'm ready, ser," Laena said through the door.
The door was pulled open and a smile crossed her face despite the feeling in her gut. It was one of Aegon's bad days then, she knew it. The meeting with Lady Rosby was going to have to wait then.
"Good morning, Princess," Chains clinked as Grand Maester Armen lowered his head. He had served for the better part of the last decade on behalf of the Citadel after the death of the previous Grand Maester. He was younger than some, and his neck was still able to carry the chain without much difficulty. Still, his once-vibrant black hair had become more noticeably like salt and pepper.
"Good morning, Grand Maester. How fares the king?"
"Well, actually. He had a good night. He's off milk of the poppy for today, and the pain is better. I'd wager he may be able to make some sort of appearance, but I will try not to get too far ahead of myself."
Laena was relieved, glad that Aegon was able to have some more lucidity that day. She could see how it was paining him to not be entirely there, missing words and having the ideas scratching at his brain like a tick. Perhaps she would encourage her husband to pay his father a visit then.
"That's wonderful news," Laena said, stepping out of her door and into the hall. "What does he need of me this morning?"
"It's not the king that needs you today. I do, if you would permit me that," Grand Maester Armen smiled wryly, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly up. His chains brushed against each other as they began the slow walk down the corridor together.
"Of course. What do you need?"
"Your presence at the small council, if you would have time for it. I have something to discuss and it's rather pertinent. It involves you, so I would prefer if you were in attendance as an advisor for the day. I trust the Hand would not have an issue with this?"
Laena paused for a moment, but smiled at the man beside her. "I do not think so, Grand Maester. Isn't the meeting due to happen soon?"
"That's where we're headed," Grand Maester Armen replied, pointing a shaking finger ahead of them. "I apologize for such late notice, but you are probably expecting me each morning either way. This came up quite abruptly and it's best to plan for it now rather than try to wait it out."
The princess stifled her curiosity, simply nodding and walking at a slow pace to accommodate the councilor. Small council meetings were generally held within its own chamber, but at times they met in the throne room itself, when Aegon wanted to project power or status. Sometimes it was to welcome a new council member, as would be happening within weeks when the new Master of Laws was due to arrive.
Two white-caped knights stood at the entrance to the council chambers, stepping towards the door to open it for the latest arrivals. The table was very empty for what was considered normal. Her husband Aerys sat at the head of it in the absence of King Aegon, surprise apparent on his face even from this distance. The Lord Commander was at the King's side even more often than Laena herself, and Artys Arryn had yet to arrive to take his chair. That left the Master of Coin, Robar Reyne, with his fiery red hair and beard, sitting to the Hand's left, the Mistress of Whisperers, Florence Fossoway, sitting beside him, and her own brother, Aethan, on her husband's right.
"Laena, I…what are you doing here?" Aerys asked, folding his hands neatly in front of him.
Before she could answer, Grand Maester Armen cut in. "I asked her to come, your Grace. I'd be happy to fill you all in when the meeting begins officially. She can sit as an advisor today, seeing as we're down two spots already, maybe it will lead to a more entertaining discussion." A brief smile passed the maester's lips as he went to take his own chair, gesturing for her to take the one at the end of the table, facing her husband on the other end.
"Very…very good then, Grand Maester. I don't think we're anticipating anyone else, so we can go ahead and get started," Aerys noted, sitting up straighter in his chair.
He'd hardly changed since their wedding. He looked older, of course, age never passed anyone by. But his hair was still the luscious cream color it was, his shoulders were broad and muscles brimmed his arms and chest. A line of blonde stubble along his chin was really the only clear difference, besides the toll of the Stranger on skin. Aerys had always inherited a lot of his father's looks, while Maekar took more from his mother.
"First things first, Lysaro Rogare and his son are due to arrive today. Lord Aethan is going to meet them upon their arrival along with Prince Maekar and his wife, Lysara. They will be staying in the guest quarters of the Red Keep, as befits relatives of House Targaryen. Is there anything else on that front?" Aerys held a piece of parchment in his hands, likely a reminder of what he wished to say. Laena smiled dimly, he'd always been more concerned with speaking than he ever had to be.
"None, your Grace," Her brother said, leaning his head forward. "How long do we anticipate them to stay?"
"No idea," Aerys admitted. "Though I hope they keep it brief. Tongues always seem to wag when Lysaro Rogare arrives."
The roll of her husband's eyes only confirmed his disdain. It was no secret that Lysaro wished to have more influence in the court at King's Landing, as he had attempted to persuade Aegon to appoint Maekar as his Hand when the position had opened. The Essosi had made an error, with much of the court seeing through what it really was - an attempt to gain more legitimacy for Maekar and his children at the expense of Aerys. He had wished to prove to the Realm that Maekar was capable in his role and offer no recourse for Aerys to do the same. Then, Lysaro's own proclivities and frequenting of every brothel in the small city had done the rest. His tongue was loose with wine - Laena only hoped that age had calmed him.
"No more than the Realm wishes it, your Grace," Florence Fossoway cut in with a knowing look. "Lysaro Rogare is not well-liked among lords or smallfolk. I would suspect Prince Maekar will want him out of the capital more than anyone else."
"Quite right. The other major issue brings us to the Master of Coin - Lord Robar, if you would." Aerys nodded at Lord Reyne.
"I am fortunate to present an optimistic picture of the treasury reserve we have," Robar sat forward, red hair catching in the sun filtering in through the windows. "Of course, it is not enough to do everything that we would want to do, but payment for most of the current updates to the city proceed apace. The current levy on Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys continues to pay dividends and enables cheaper trade with Pentos. I received a raven from my own liege lord in the recent term, offering to host a grand tourney and feast at Lannisport. He asked if the crown would like to donate part of the cost to the said event."
The Grand Maester shifted in his seat, chains clinking against the chair. Lady Fossoway sat further in her chair, an eyebrow raised high on her face.
"An issue, my lady?" Robar returned, leaning back against his seat.
"None at all. I am just curious as to how the crown is supposed to pay for future improvements to King's Landing and donate to a tourney that we aren't hosting," Florence said.
The woman had been on the small council now for around a decade. Laena didn't know her well, but had always thought she was an intelligent, if quiet, woman. She'd had to leave behind her husband and son at their hall in the Reach - that gave Laena some sympathy for her. She knew how hard it was to leave her children even more a moon's turn, much less for a year or more at a time.
"Money will continue to flow," Robar's tone turned clipped. "This would be merely to gain favor with our lords and ladies. Casterly Rock would foot most of the cost anyway."
"Merely trying to understand," a smile tugged at the edge of the Fossoway's lips as she leaned back in her seat. "I am not opposed, but if the Master of Coin is arguing for spending money, someone must inquire as to why."
"Our money would go to help sponsor the event, Lady Florence. Winner's purses, the food, and it would all be announced that it was paid by the crown. With Aegon limited to King's Landing for the past few years, it would give a good sign to the rest of the country."
Aerys nodded his approval from the other end of the table. Any event that involved feasting and knights bashing their swords against each other was one that her husband would agree to.
"That sounds like a fine idea, Lord Robar. I'll be in touch with you to discuss how much will need to be paid and the date that Lord Lannister was considering," Prince Aerys said. "Now, Grand Maester, the meeting is yours. What came to your attention that needed discussing today?"
Grand Maester Armen sat up more in his chair again, turning his head to look at Laena first. He rubbed his face with his hands and leaned his wrinkled elbows on the council table in front of him.
"A few moon's past, I told you of the departure of Septon Morrec from the Sept of Remembrance here in King's Landing," He began.
Septon Morrec had been old, the first septon to ever preach at the sept in King's Landing. He was close enough to Aegon to consider an ally within the Faith, though none were shocked when he had left the city. It was likelier that he would pass than Aegon, as he had difficulty ascending the steps that were required at the sept. Laena had always found him a kind man, willing to educate and not just pontificate.
"A well-earned retirement back to Oldtown," Aerys crossed his arms in front of him. "What of it?"
"I'm not quite sure it was a voluntary retirement, your Grace," Armen turned his attention to the prince. "The new High Septon had him recalled back to Oldtown to replace him with another septon. He will be here within the week. Septon Mycah is his name."
"What do we know about him?" Lady Fossoway asked, her eyes shifting to each person. Laena shook her head when the woman looked at her. She knew nothing.
"Little and less," the Grand Maester admitted. "He's young, younger than any at this table. My contacts in the Citadel say that he's devout, even for a septon. Very traditional, in the vein of the new High Septon. He has recalled the septons from Lannisport and Gulltown as well, seeking to install his own supporters at the most prominent septs in those cities. Mycah himself is from the Vale, but that's as much as I know. Whether he was lordly or common-born, rich or poor, I cannot say."
The room fell silent. Laena looked across the table at her husband, who was chewing on the edge of his lip. The first High Septon that Laena had known had crowned Aegon the Conqueror in the Starry Sept of Oldtown, anointing him in the ways of the Faith and giving him legitimacy in the eyes of the people. The desire of the throne to keep the Faith on board was considerable. The Warrior's Sons were formidable on their own and the ranks of the Poor Fellows, the smallfolk warriors of the Faith, were essentially unknown to them. Just a few weeks ago she had met with Lady Tarly, who had told her about the Warrior's Sons removing Lord Mullendore from his seat, installing his brother in his stead. Rumors say he tried to raise a higher levy on the septs in his own lands. Those septons and septas were the same ones who prepared his body for burial.
Finally, Aerys blew air from his cheeks and gripped the edge of the table in his hands. "Thank you, Grand Maester. That is…concerning news. The support of the faithful is important to the functioning of this country."
"I daresay it's passed concerning, your Grace," Grand Maester Armen sighed. "The High Septon is an outlier even among the most traditional of the Faith. The kind that believes in mass conversion, who would look upon the marriage of King Aegon and Queen Visenya with wholesale doubt. This council had hoped for several years that he would prefer to ignore us and we would ignore him. If he is sending one of his followers to King's Landing, it's for a reason. Our only hope is that this Septon Mycah is young, that we can convince him of the usefulness of friendly relations with the Iron Throne."
"What do you propose we do about it?" Lady Fossoway asked.
"This is why I wished for Princess Laena to join us. I believe that we would be best suited to warmly welcome this septon, by the princess herself. Show him the crown's gentle face, if one sees it that way. We don't want to seem desperate by sending someone as high up as yourself, your Grace," the Grand Maester quickly added as he had seen Aerys' mouth begin to open to disagree. "We are offering an olive branch, nothing more. We cannot send Queen Visenya for the obvious reasons, so Princess Laena is our best bet. Lysara cannot accompany you either, as her believed lack of devotion to the Seven is a well-held belief in the Starry Sept. That means the princess will go alone."
"I can do that," Laena said, inclining her head to the Grand Maester. A courteous smile found its way to her face to do her best to accent the words of the older man.
"You'll have guards," Aerys added, his eyes meeting hers across the table. His face was stone, impossible for her to read. "You won't be completely alone, we would never allow that."
"This is a problem that won't go away, your Grace," Lady Fossoway pointed out, turning to face Aerys. Her gown was a shimmery silver and charcoal black, a flimsy sheer fabric drifting from her forearms of an even lighter grey. A large red-gemmed stone sat on her hand, which rested on the table in front of them. "Has there been further consideration on the next royal marriage?"
Laena froze. The few conversations she had with Aerys had never gone far. King Aegon was a firm believer in the Valyrian tradition, and believed a match of brother to sister would keep the throne strong. Lady Fossoway hinted at the holes in such a plan - particularly the Faith aspect. Others believed a marriage between cousins - one of Maekar's children to one of their own - would heal the divide between the families. It may also be just enough to keep the Faith off of their backs. No doubt the High Septon and others like him would prefer a Westerosi match.
"Consideration, of course," Aerys shifted in his chair, tapping his fingers upon the table. "No conclusion yet. It may be best to wait for this septon to arrive and we will gauge things further from there. That is all for today."
The Hand's chair was pushed back abruptly, Aerys rising to his feet. The other councilors followed shortly thereafter, with Laena being the last to realize that she should also stand up. She hurried to walk out with her husband, reaching to grab his shoulder before he left the room entirely.
"Do you have time to talk?" Laena asked.
Aerys looked at her, violet eyes unreadable. "About?"
Laena sighed and motioned with her nose back towards the council chambers. About? Laena thought to herself. About what we were just talking about, maybe?
"I am busy this morning," Aerys walked faster while she stopped altogether. "We will get to it, I promise." He turned his shoulder back the way he was going and walked down the hall, shoulders drawn up tight nearer to his ears. Another time, Laena thought to herself. Another time.
Author's Note: Welcome all if this is your first time checking out the story, or welcome back for those of you that have already been in touch! I've gotten a few characters already, a few of which you were able to see this chapter (Florence, Matarys, and Maegon). I'm just starting to get into the groove again, so I apologize if it's a bit rougher than I would prefer it to be. If you haven't already, please check out the list of wanted characters - it has been updated now since the previous chapter.
Note 2: I've gotten a few questions, so I think it's important to note - the names of characters are placeholders. You are allowed to change them! I recommend checking the wiki of canonical region names to help you look if you want to change any of the names. I'm open to new names as well, but they have to more or less fit the vibe of ASOIAF!
Until next time!
Arryn