Chapter 3
6 hours prior
Soft candlelight cast monstruous and wavering caricatures of the tabletop statuettes against the pale walls. Wood creaked as the final member of their quartet took his place at the table.
A dragon, a wolf, a seahorse, and a falcon walk into a bar, Maelys thought idly and took a long draw from his goblet. He caught a few raised eyebrows as the Valyrian newcomer unbuckled his sword and leaned it against his chair, but the prince waylaid their concerns with a shake of his head.
"I apologize for the delay," Daemion offered with a dip of his head. "There were a few issues with the new sword I commissioned, and I needed to stop by the Street of Steel to set things straight," he clarified, running a thumb over the pale handle.
Nods of understanding met his explanation, and their collective attention returned to the massive map sprawling across the table in front of them.
Black and green figurines towered above the two-dimensional landscape. It was no conqueror's table, but it fulfilled its purpose. Unlike its counterpart in the small council chamber, however, this particular iteration featured another two colors: golden krakens dotted along the western coast, and a mix of red figures more diffusely spread.
A pale, muscled hand reached out to snatch up one of the black-painted seahorses forming the blockade around the capital.
"And you're sure you can smuggle us through?" Benjen asked as he had during every previous meeting. He twirled the piece in his hands without taking his eyes off the northern expanses of Westeros.
"Asking for the hundredth time won't change the outcome," a smooth voice cut across the table. Benjen shot a glare towards the Gilded Falcon, but the blonde was unperturbed, lounging in his chair. "Either we make it, or we don't. It's out of our hands now."
"Yes, and instead in his and the rest of his lot," the Northman growled, jerking his chin towards Daemion. The Velaryon, for his part, seemed unfazed.
"As I've stated before, my brother and cousins have ensured the northernmost contingent of ships are filled with men loyal to them," Daemion explained as though talking to a petulant child. "With the right signals, you'll slip through the blockade while the Tyrant Queen remains none the wiser."
Maelys gave a reassuring nod when Stark stole a glance his way, and the prince could see the young man force himself to relax. He exhaled loudly before leaning back into his chair.
Maelys almost felt sorry for his friend. When his father, Bennard, had agreed to send his oldest to court, neither northman had expected the visit to last more than a few months. Of course, Cregan's imprisonment of his extended family changed all of that, and Benjen found himself a de facto asylum seeker for the past few years.
Whereas Benjen might once have been content to drown his sorrows in drink, Maelys had other uses for the bristly wolf. One failed escape attempt later followed by a mass execution, and the wayward Stark became one of the prince's most ardent supports.
Not that Maelys had intentionally setup the young man's family for a failed prison break. Logistically speaking, the resource cost of reconnaissance, the integration of spies, and pre-operational setup was simply enormous and not something towards which the prince could divert his limited attention and wealth. Hiring a band of bards and brigands for a doomed task was simply more feasible. And, if anything, more effective.
With Maelys' offer of financial and political support, the fires of revenge burned bright within the young wolf. Well, in him, and in the family of his late mother, a one Margaret Karstark.
Maelys took a long draw of wine in a silent toast to the departed.
"I can't believe we're trusting some fuckin' Skaggs," Benjen groused. "And Sistermen. Slimy cunts, the lot of 'em," he continued.
"Trusting them has very little to do with it," Maelys countered. "Trusting in them to raid the eastern coast from White Harbor to the Dreadfort? Now that I can believe." The prince eyed the golden pieces placed along Westeros' opposite coast. "Especially when the Reavers are already doing it so successfully."
Truth be told, the Ironborn were always going to be a gamble, and Maelys held no illusions that he could command them any more than he could the waves upon which they sailed. The prince simply needed to preempt his half-sister, however. The promise of free reign along the western edges of the Riverlands and North proved a tempting offer, especially when made directly to each of the major seafaring houses rather than solely Dalton Greyjoy himself.
Not that Maelys expected their attacks to stay contained to those regions. The Redwine, Hightower, and Lannister fleets had been given ample warning, however. Enough time to pre-position, fortify, and patrol their coasts such that even a massive, naval-based force could be effectively blunted before it even made landfall. The ironborn were better known for their cruelty than cunning, but they weren't suicidal, and thus, only the northwest coasts burned.
"Stop worrying about raiders and plundering," the prince continued, voice firm. "The die is already cast. What you need to focus on is assembling the armies of your grandfather and your goodfather for a swift march on Winterfell. Cregan will be much too weak to oppose you with his bannermen dispersed to defend their shores."
A situation which also served as an adequate smokescreen for the muster of Karstark and Umber soldiers. Whereas none save the Boltons would besmirch their honor to march against a Stark, the political landscape changed considerably when pitting Stark against Stark, or a new take on the War of the Wolves. And with the promise of the New Gift and nearby Norrey lands, the Umber patriarch was more than willing to help install his new goodson as Lord of Winterfell.
Maelys placed a few red statuettes along the northeast edge of the Stark domain.
"Could the Sistermen and Skagosi not have simply been bought?" Isembard inquired. "The loss of vassals sworn to our houses for centuries seems a poor start to a Lord's reign."
"Sea-faring folk value freedom more than most others," Daemion cut in. "Besides, they give as much loyalty to your houses as they do taxes." Benjen scowled but didn't contest the claim.
Maelys nodded his approval. The Sunderlands and Magnars could only be swayed by the promise of direct vassalage to the Iron Throne, free reign to rebuild their ancient fleets, and a number of smaller tax concessions. Surely, a recipe for disaster, but that was a future Maelys problem hopefully for when his enemies couldn't meet him in aerial combat.
"Do you need anything on your end?" Maelys asked, shifting their focus towards Isembard and the Vale. Benjen snorted when the merchant lord shook his head.
"Why'd ya even bother coming?" The northman inquired, incredulity seeping into his tone.
"Survive long enough to become Warden of the North, and you might realize that some agreements are best made without an intermediary to muddy the waters," Arryn replied without breaking eye contact with Maelys.
"Tie up Jane's forces long enough, and I'll help you take the Eyrie myself," Maelys replied. Isembard held his gaze for a few intense seconds before nodding in assent.
"The support of House Royce, my army of sellswords, and Grafton men should be more than enough," the Gilded Falcon agreed. "Especially if I start my march against the Redforts," he continued, placing a red statuette outside the namesake castle of Jane's supposed lover.
"The Maid's rumored perversions have already damaged her moral standing," Daemion offered. "If you can spin her alliance with the Blacks as support for the murderer of the late Lady Rhae, the Royces will have no choice but to support you."
The prospect of weaponizing Jane's homosexuality had been especially difficult for Maelys having a similarly inclined sibling in his previous life. He couldn't argue against its effectiveness, however. The Lady Paramount of the Vale had lost all but her most ardent supporters, at least publicly, and she had been effectively excommunicated from the faith. Not that she wasn't damaging her own cause by continuing to refuse marriage.
"Seal the alliance with a betrothal and the promise of a future Lady of the Vale" Maelys all but commanded. "Lord Willam's children and your own are similar enough in age." The prince moved a red dragon piece towards Harrenhal. "In the meantime, I'll do what I can do keep dragons off your back."
Four pairs of eyes shifted towards Dragonstone and the horde of black dragon statuettes clustered upon the small island.
"Your own dragons are already spread a little thin, my prince," the Gilded Falcon stated casually as if commenting on the color of his tunic. "Should we be concerned?"
The prince shook his head. "Rhaenyra cannot afford to ignore our march much longer, and she won't risk another son" he countered, gesturing to the toppled castles dotting the Crownland's eastern shore. "Even the most fervent supporters are swayed by dragonfire one way or another. If she or Daemon fail to contest us in the Riverlands as they did on the coast, her support will dry up."
Not that his half-sister truly had the opportunity to stop their initial assault on Black strongholds. Where the original Dance started as an ember, Maelys readily threw gasoline. Despite Otto's impassioned objections, the twins had marched northward to offer fealty or fire before their father's corpse had even gone cold. The Lord Hand may have given the King his crown, but Maelys held his trust, and thus the tempo of this Dance was quick and brutal.
A good defense was a better offence after all.
"Are we all in accord then?" Maelys held the gaze of each member for a few moments before throwing back the remains of his goblet. "Then we are adjourned."
Benjen clasped his friend's shoulder on the way out of the room, and Maelys returned it with a reassuring nod. The glittering of a jeweled cloak in candlelight signaled the falcon's departure, and soon the remaining pair of Valyrians were left sitting across from each other in silence.
The Velaryon raised an eyebrow at the prince's pensive expression. "Not getting cold feet, are we?" Daemion asked lightly, rubbing a thumb over the hilt of his weapon. The words were said casually, but there was a hint of steel in the young man's voice.
Maelys chuckled. "I quite missed our little evening jaunts together. I wouldn't miss this for the world" the prince said with a wry smile. "But I was actually hoping you might help me in another matter."
Daemion's expression flattened. "I live to serve," he quipped sarcastically.
The prince snorted. "Could you sneak someone onto Dragonstone?"
The sea lord looked thoughtful for a minute. "Probably." He quirked an eyebrow. "Planning a trip?"
"Not for me."
1 hour prior, the hour of the eel
A knock interrupted her gloom so softly that Rhaenys almost wondered if it was a product of her own deranged mental state.
A beat of silence, and then the unmistakable sound of a key slowly being turned caused the Queen Who Never Was to rise from the sheets she had ripped apart in the throes of grief.
A slender man stepped into the room, quiet as a corpse and garbed in a dark cloak. He was unarmored, but the princess could recognize the curvature of a hilt hidden underneath his attire.
Rhaenys opened her mouth to speak, but the man held up a finger over where his mouth would be hidden beneath a face covering. From the single candle lighting the room, she could only just make out his dark eyes beneath the shadows of a hood.
Deft fingers disappeared into the inner pockets of his clothes and withdrew what appeared to be a small metal pendant. Flickering light danced over the curvature of the silver seahorse adorning it.
"Corlys sent you?" She breathed. The stranger gave a quick jerk of his head and, without saying a word, beckoned her to follow.
A swirling mess of various emotions and urges spun through the princess's mind: to flee, to buckle under the oppressive weight of anguish, or to run straight to Maelys' chambers and plunge a dagger through his heart, guards be damned.
A small part of her mind, however, took control and guided her numb hands to throw on a rich, maroon cloak and silently chase after the hired man. Where others might have broken under the strain of losing her last, true descendants, the logic and duty Rhaenys had forged over a lifetime of preparing for an unattainable crown and hardened by recurrent loss, drove her forward.
The cold, oppressive stone of the castle corridors swallowed the quiet patter of hurried footsteps. The silent man kept a brutal pace, walking so quickly it was nearly a jog and leaving no time for whispered questions. A quick turn down a servant's passage brought them to a deserted larder. Without skipping a beat, the tall man lit a torch hanging from a wall and passed it over to Rhaenys.
Strong, gloved hands pried at a shelf against the far wall and pulled it forward, leaving a narrow gap between the paneled back and adjacent stone. Or, to Rhaenys' bewilderment, a dark passage where a wall should have been.
"Where-" the princess started before quick hands snatched the torch back, and he stormed into the corridor without even giving her a second look.
The stench of mildew and detritus assaulted the princess's nose as she stepped into the passage. A wave of claustrophobia washed over Rhaenys, and she felt a layer of grime cling to her skin when she made the mistake of touching the close walls.
The muted echo of departing footsteps alerted the Valyrian woman she was at risk of being left behind, and she growled in frustration as she scurried after him like a clingy child.
"Have the decency to let me know the plan," she groused, pulling another cobweb from her tangled hair. "Or at least where these damned passages lead."
Her command was rewarded with a non-committal grunt, and, if anything, she felt his pace increase.
Insolent prick, she thought irritably.
Their path was meandering and full of sudden turns. The elevation was never constant for long, and, at times, she was certain they were directly beneath the surface before again diving deeper into the ground.
Her guide's pace neither slowed nor wavered, and, despite his lack of decorum, she gained the sense he was well-versed in navigating the dark channels. The thought was both terrifying and a relief. At the very least, her husband had certainly chosen the best-suited for the task if not the most ill-mannered.
It was impossible to tell how long they spent in the bowels of the Red Keep, but Rhaenys couldn't stop the small gasp escaping her lips when she suddenly ran into the back of her cloaked rescuer.
She nearly snapped back at his irritated grunt when she realized the stone walls had come to an abrupt end, resulting in their sudden stop. Her guide stooped forward and rubbed his hand across the cut stone. Deft fingers slipped into narrow grooves, and with a strained grunt, he slid the false wall along hidden tracks.
The princess had become accustomed to the dark interior of the passages, and Rhaenys had to shield her eyes from the harsh, orange light spilling over her guide's shoulders.
"We mustn't be seen-" she hissed before a grip like iron took hold of her wrist and dragged her into a scene straight out of a tale used to scare children.
Torches aplenty lit up a lavishly decorated room which she instantly recognized as one of the accessory halls attached to the small council tower. The remnants of an extravagant and lively feast contrasted the pale white and agonized expressions etching the features of corpses. Vacant eyes stared unblinking into space while vomit and froth were still slowly dripping off the chins of dead men littering the interior.
"Welcome, cousin."
Maelys warm voice cut through the carnage as if he was celebrating her return after a long journey away from home. Rhaenys felt a chill down her spine as her eyes found his across the hall. Silver gold hair fell in loose ringlets to his shoulders in slight disarray as if he'd spent the evening throwing his head back in hearty laughter. A rich, wine-red tunic contrasted his pale skin with just enough buttons undone to border on impropriety.
He idly raised his goblet as if making a half-hearted toast and flashed her a wide smile. The princess felt heat pool in her stomach as she stared into his bright orbs.
There was no warmth hidden in their depths. Simply mania.
She tore her gaze away, and her nostrils were assaulted with another wave of fresh bile intermixed with wine and roasted meats. Her eyes lingered on the frozen grips of men who'd spent their final moments clawing at their throats. A dark part of Rhaenys mind errantly wondered if they'd even had time to scream.
"Daemon's men," the prince supplied, following her gaze. "Or, at least those officers in the Watch he'd been closest to." Her cousin lazily reached out and tipped one of the bodies out of its chair, letting the corpse unceremoniously slump to the floor. "They could only be removed so quickly these last few years without due cause, and engineering some fabricated crime is rather time consuming."
Maelys gracefully lifted himself off his perch against the table and rolled his shoulders. Rhaenys involuntarily took a step back as he slowly advanced towards her.
"Thankfully, there were a number of new, unexpected openings in security leadership positions," he explained "so I had reason to gather Daemon's followers here on the pretext of new hires." Rhaenys felt bile rise to her throat when he gave her a wink. "I have your granddaughters to thank for that. After all, there had been a multitude of officers who gave their lives to assist in their heist."
Gnawing fear gave way to unbridled fury at the mention of her granddaughters, and Rhaenys wasted no time in snatching a carving knife from the nearest roast.
The bastard simply smiled.
She saw Maelys' lips form some sort of reply, but she was beyond hearing with the blood pulsating in her ears. With a vicious cry, she poised to lunge at her cousin.
The sensation of molten hot lead filled her abdomen as the air was suddenly driven out of her. She stumbled forward a step. The sound of metal striking stone echoed through the air as her knife clattered to the floor.
"That was for my father, you withered cunt," a malevolent voice whispered in her ear. A hollow, gnawing sensation drove her to the floor as Rhaenys watched a sword blade get wrenched out of her abdomen from behind.
The princess's vision swam as she watched the hooded man walk around her punctured body to stand beside her cousin. Long fingers pulled off the hood and mask to reveal the impassive face of Daemion Velaryon. He grabbed a cloth from a nearby table to clean her blood off his bone-handled sword.
The crimson-garbed prince loomed over her with a genial expression. Despite the pain wracking her body, she reached out to claw at his legs, desperate to mark him in some manner.
Maelys chuckled softly and pinned the extremity under a foot. Grabbing the torch from Daemion's hands, he looked down at her with an almost pitying expression though it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a slight spatter of blood, her blood, across his face which gave him an unholy air.
And then he released the fire.
Nearing the hour of ghosts
Maelys took a moment to brush the cobwebs and dust from his hair as the Valyrian pair stepped out of the passage. He paused and cocked an ear to listen to the distant sounds of shouts, indicating the blaze had indeed overtaken the hall.
"Will this cause you any trouble with the Lord Hand?" Daemion inquired, adjusting his cloak to better hide his blade. The pale handle crafted from the late Lord Vaemond's femur disappeared under the dark folds of his robe.
"Otto gave up trying to curb my plotting years ago. Now, he just pushes back against the ones which might have public or political ramifications." Maelys explained.
The sea lord made an exaggerated turn towards the direction of the now likely engulfed building, and the prince laughed.
"Mayhap this crossed the line, but the blaze will muddy the waters enough to claim deniability, and I'll be gone before the council meeting to avoid the fallout."
The prince dabbed at his face with a cloth in a vain attempt to remove the spray of blood coating his features. "Thanks for this by the way."
Daemion gave an apologetic shrug.
"Will you need anything before I leave for the Riverlands?" Maelys asked his friend. Velaryon shook his head.
"No, Daeron and my cousins have been covering for my absence." A cold expression settled on his features. "I'll inform them we can proceed as planned."
"I'll leave it to your capable hands then," Maelys said. He began to exit but stopped in the doorway. "And regarding that favor?" He inquired.
"Taken care of. Just make sure he's ready to leave in the next few hours."