What did he do, what did he do?! Did he break the curse? Was losing the dragonfire part of it?! Is it truly gone? Of course! What else could it be?! It vanished across the bloody sky! But the witcher... did he know or did he purposefully not tell me? Was there ever even a curse or was all this part of some scheme...
Aerys considered these and a thousand more possibilities, each one more terrible than the last, stoking the mounting fury in his chest and giving strength when weariness might have otherwise overcome him. The scream took more effort than he expected, each breath after worsening a sudden soreness in his throat.
Nevertheless, rest was out of the question for there was treachery afoot and it needed to be stamped out forthwith.
If Geralt has betrayed me, who else there has? Dayne, Whent? No, no, they are my sword swords, and so my will is theirs! But Pycelle...that doddering old fool never fully took my side whenever Rhaegar dared oppose me. And that spawn of Tywin's…
His fingers ached in protest under the tight grip on the battlements' wall. The pain ran up the length of his arms, the worst of it settling around his shoulders. In spite of himself, Aerys loudly flinched as if struck, backing away from the wall.
"Your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked, his eyes crinkling with worry under his nearly white brows. "Are you well?"
I will be when I get to the heart of this matter, he vowed, angrier still for the show of weakness. Steeling himself, Aerys looked next to the assembled group of knights, lords, and his so-called family, scrutinizing each one in turn.
Varys, Charlton, Velaryon, Staunton. All loyal men, and true. Wisdom Rossart was a kindred spirit, one whose love of fire matched Aerys' own. He would never do anything to subvert the return of the dragons. The Kingsguard were above suspicion, but the same could not be said for his family.
Rhaella. Rhaegar. That Dornish bitch that was Rhaegar's wife.
They all attempted to hide the terror he knew they all felt at what had transpired. Fear and envy of the power he would soon wield, by which he would break their own forever. They had earned his distrust and hate long ago.
But even they paled into insignificance at the sight of his false friend, the man he had once trusted and admired above all others.
As ever, the great Tywin Lannister stood tall and proud. The Great Lion, clad in the colors of his house, he who so many thought ruled the Seven Kingdoms in truth. When their eyes met, there was no change in his bearing, not even a minute crack in the unshakable visage he'd crafted since coming to power.
Even now you think yourself untouchable, irreplaceable? You think I'm a fool, that I do not see what you and the witcher were up to?! We'll see how long it lasts when I'm through with you.
"Guards, guards! Come to your king's aid at once!" his voice shattered the stunned silence.
The growing sounds of their approaching footfalls were almost as sweet to his ears as the death wails of those fed to the fires.
Blazing torches from all sides converged, a dozen men-at-arms bearing them arrived with commendable swiftness. More could be heard coming from the distance. They surrounded the group from three sides, the Kingsguard stood ready at their front.
Aerys' gaze never left Tywin for he wanted to see the first crack appear in all its beautiful detail.
"Your Grace?" his ever-loyal knight asked, worry threading his voice.
"There is a traitor amongst us, Ser Barristan. One who has pretended to be a friend and servant of the realm all while sowing the seeds of my destruction."
Aerys smiled, pointing at the soon to be former Hand. "Men, seize him!"
Three of the soldiers pushed through the small council and were on Tywin at once. There was something particularly gratifying about finally seeing Tywin restrained by men bearing the Targaryen dragon on their surcoats.
The great Lord Lannister did not balk at their approach, did not even deign to look at them. There was only one he thought worthy of his supreme attention. "And what treason have I committed against you, Your Grace?"
"You know exactly what you've done!" Aerys snarled, rushing past Sers Barristan and Gerold. He stood before Tywin in moments. "You took Joanna from me, you murdered Steffon, and now, when I was close to attaining dragons, you told the witcher to sabotage it! Didn't you?!"
"I know nothing of what has transpired here any more than you do," Tywin replied coolly. "As all here can attest, I have never trusted the witcher or his ways."
"Naught but a well-orchestrated act! You may have doubted him at first but when he proved magic still exists, you wasted no time in buying his loyalty! Didn't you?!" Aerys' shouted, face mere inches from his most hated enemy within reach. "What is the reward for aiding in a king's destruction? Piles of gold, lands and titles? Your daughter's cunt?!"
The crack in Tywin's unshakable bearing finally appeared, but it was not the abject reaction Aerys had hoped for. His former friend was not someone who raged thunderously, letting men and gods alike know the depths of his displeasure. He made his ire known through utter silence and a fixed, unblinking gaze with narrowed eyes. It was a look that made men regret their words. Flee in terror, beg and grovel for forgiveness. Anything but behold that vicious stare. A visage of pure, smoldering hate.
Aerys had always respected and envied Tywin's power to break men with but a look. Once or twice, the Hand dared to use it on him during their worst arguments. The king never forgave or forgot these acts of impudence. He would not start now.
"Who do you think I am? Some cheese merchant or westerlander dog you can intimidate?! Fool!" Aerys laid his fist across Tywin's curled lips that drove him back. Pain shot through his whole arm, the knuckles throbbed. But it was worth it just to see his enemy's bloody lips.
"I am the king! Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and soon to be master of dragons," he thundered out. "You? You are nothing."
Aerys reached out with his good hand and removed the pin of the Hand. "Henceforth, Tywin Lannister is stripped of all lands and titles. He is a traitor to the realm and he will face my justice in due time. Until then, he is to rot in the black cells! Guards, take this loathsome lion from my sight!"
"Father, I ask you to reconsider while there is still time," Rhaegar said, stepping forward.
The old defiance he showed since Duskendale was rekindled anew, it seemed. Aerys had wondered where it vanished since his marriage to the Dornish girl. "He is a great lord of the realm, your Warden of the West. Remove him as Hand if you wish but please, take it no further. Otherwise, you will court war with the Westerlands."
"It is by our ancestors' foolish mercy that he and his pack of golden pricks are great lords in the first place!" he countered his son. "House Targaryen gave it to them and House Targaryen can take it back, whenever it pleases."
"It is because of that foolish mercy there is even a realm today at all. Or would you have preferred a Field of Fire stretching from Dorne to the Wall?"
"If that's what it takes to break them forever, then so it will be. Bah, I grow tired of this pointless debate. Guards, throw my insolent son into the black cells too."
Rhaegar did not expect that. He stood frozen in stunned surprise as though he did not know the consequences of working against the king. He would learn first hand very soon.
"Aerys, my love," the loathsome creature he was forced into marrying spoke next. Softly at that, as though it would matter. "He is your son, our firstborn-"
"Are you a halfwit? Do you so easily forget what our foolish, willful uncles did to our grandfather? I'll not suffer such disobedience. Now, be silent," his good hand rose and Rhaella trembled at once, "or else."
"Touch her again and I'll make you wish you'd died in Duskendale."
Silence fell. Aerys turned to strike the boy instead and stopped. He had seen his son angry before, furious during their worst arguments. But this was different. The steel edge in Rhaegar's voice was nothing next to the icy ferocity of his glare. It was hate, pure as it could be. Utter contempt ready to become bloody violence at the slightest provocation.
In his son's eyes, Aerys saw Aegon in his prime again, if but for a moment. What did you leave me to do, Grandfather? Why did you fail and force this task upon me?
He could not withstand that familiar gaze reborn in the eyes of his son , the shame he felt witnessing it, brief though it was, and scrambled behind the Kingsguard. "T-take them away."
Six of the sentries did as commanded. Tywin and Rhaegar were led away without further resistance or incidents. Like a caged beast, the boy's eyes followed him until he, at last, disappeared inside the walls. Their absence did nothing to improve Aerys' mood. It only showed how deep the treachery around him went.
In the quiet that had fallen, Aerys' anger diminished. A pounding resounded from the back of his skull, the discomfort around his shoulders stiffened them uncomfortably. For some reason, his eyes stung.
Now is not the time for weakness. He rubbed at them furiously from behind the tall frame of Ser Gerold. If I am to leave for Harrenhal soon, I cannot leave anything else to chance.
"Men," he addressed the remaining guards. "Escort my gooddaughter and lady wife back to their chambers, at once."
Neither of them openly protested on their leave. He did not miss the glance Elia gave her uncle. As though a single knight would make a difference.
Once they too were removed from his presence, Aerys felt some measure of relief. He walked through the gap in his Kingsguard defensive line. "Lords Staunton and Varys, step forward."
It was fascinating and amusing how two fat men could move so differently. The balding master of laws was faster, and as graceful as a drunken horse. It was a wonder his grey, wing-patterned tunic did not rip from the strain of his rotund form. Varys did not walk so much as glide without sound, his purple cloak only faintly rippling from the wind.
"Lord Staunton," Aerys smiled, not entirely at the man's expense. "Long have you served me and done so well. When others conspired to destroy me, your loyalty never faltered. Rise, my friend, rise and take your place as my new Hand."
"Your Majesty," Symond replied with barely contained joy. "The honor you bestow upon me… I have no words to describe my gratitude."
"Words are wind," Aerys warned as the Hand pin was given to the lord. "Now is the time to act. Cersei Lannister and Jon Connington, I want them both arrested. Send the girl to the Maidenvault, and Rhaegar's pet can rot in the black cells too."
"For the rest of my family, I want their protection doubled at all times of day and night- we must not give the Lannister's any chance for reprisals." Or to let them curtail my authority while I'm away.
"Once the Red Keep is cleansed, assemble a host of men, three hundred strong, along with Wisdom Rossart and whatever materials he requires. They are to be my retinue when I ride out for Harrenhal."
An unmistakable look of surprise crossed the new Hand's face, but Aerys took no offense from it. It had been years since he stepped foot outside the Red Keep. It couldn't be helped, for this matter was too important to leave to anyone else.
"The witcher has rediscovered the power of dragons," Aerys growled, "I must take it for myself before anyone else tries to curtail my efforts. Send a raven sent to Walter Whent. Geralt of Rivia, Jaime Lannister, and Grandmaester Pycelle are to be thrown into the dungeons under suspicion of treason."
"My most loyal men will watch the assistant maester closely, Your Majesty," Symond simpered. "If the boy even thinks of betraying you, justice will find him swiftly."
"Good, very good," Aerys smiled, looking next to Varys. "Contact your spies at Harrenhal, for I wish to know everything Lord Whent may choose to keep a secret. Tell them to keep an eye on everyone on the Red Keep. If you so much as suspect someone of being Tywin's spy, send them to the black cells."
"Of course, Your Grace. In fact, I should have a list of suspects ready within the hour."
If only all my servants were so expedient and loyal. But no matter, they will be very soon. "When the first bit of news arrives, come to the throne room. I will be residing there until my departure."
"T-The throne room?" Symond stammered, his face a hilarious riot of surprise.
"Where else should a king be, Staunton?" Aerys walked past them.
His remaining Kingsguard followed in a circular formation around his person. They would serve as his strong shield in the coming days. The Iron Throne itself would protect him from all other threats.
Its many blades were still sharp. His arms and hands bore sufficient scars to prove that, while his enemies made mock of its power. They called him King Scab. Never to his face, of course. It was safe to mock a dragon when from the shadows.
Now the very same cause of that mockery would make it impossible for their assassins to come near him. They would be the ones to suffer a slow, painful death of ten thousand cuts if they dared. The thought brought a smile to Aerys' face as he entered the depths of the Red Keep.
True to its reputation, the black cell suffered no presence of light. The darkness was impenetrable, everywhere. Save for the rattling of his chains, it was deathly quiet too. Rhaegar could not say how long he'd been down in the bowels of the castle. Sitting amidst the piss-laden floor, the straw sticking to his clothes and skin, and his head aching against the cold dungeon wall, it was hard to tell for sure.
There was nothing else to do but wait.
He tried to bargain with the soldiers taking him to the cell. Lands, titles, and gold were all offered. To no avail, for the fear of wildfire was burned deep into them. A steel fist fell upon the back of his head when they had enough of his wild promises. Rhaegar could only moan and gasp in shocked pain as they tied his arms and left him to rot.
He chose to wait and save his strength. The gaoler. I must bring him to my side, and I have to stop father. It was only a matter of time before word of Tywin's arrest reached Casterly Rock. Before all the westerlands rose in rebellion.
Again, his plans were all for naught. No one had been to visit him since the start. In desperation, he shouted demands and offers to whoever may hear him. Only silence answered. It was impossible to know how much time had passed. He grew hungrier, thirstier. His stomach bent and twisted and growled in ways Rhaegar didn't know were possible. He'd never gone so long without food or water.
Is this part of his plan? The terrible thought had crossed his mind at some point and scarcely left it since. Does he want me to grow weak down here? To become useless and insane? An example for Viserys not to follow in his terrible brother's footsteps?
Thinking of his mother did little to raise his spirits. He's ravaging her again. I know it. Rhaegar seethed with a cold fury, he tried and failed to break the cuffs and chain. He'll make her suffer more than ever for my outburst.
His mother would very well not be alone in misery. Elia, Rhaenys, Viserys, Jon, Arthur-there were too many to count. And he could do nothing to help them. He could not even bring himself to ask for forgiveness, either from them or the uncaring gods that watched over them all.
Outside the cell, there was a rattling noise, a loud click, and the creaking of wood. Rhaegar mistook it for a dream at first as he had fallen asleep sometime in the throes of dread. It wasn't until the torchlight warmed his left cheek that he gasped and awoke.
"Wine, my prince," the gaoler said, kneeling down. He was a stout, bearded man wearing a leather half cape. "Your food will arrive later."
The voice was one he recognized and found not welcome at all. "Varys? What are you-"
"As I said, I bring wine and the promise of more in the future. Now drink, Prince Rhaegar. You look in desperate need of it."
Rhaegar laughed bitterly. "If you think I'll drink any poison from you, you're madder than the king."
The Spider seemed saddened by the accusation. "No one believes in a eunuch's goodwill. Very well."
Rhaegar expected him to force it down his throat, but was surprised again. Varys drank two mouthfuls instead and paused. Nothing happened to him. When he offered the wineskin again, it was not refused.
"You will be glad to know things are far less terrible out there than you might have otherwise thought."
"My mother," Rhaegar asked, savoring the taste on his lips. It bordered on sour, but to his parched mouth, it might as well been have sweet Arbor Gold."Elia, the others?"
"Your family is unharmed, even the queen," Varys told him. "They are informally confined to their chambers. Your father has not moved from the Iron Throne in over a day and a half. His fear has grown so great he refuses to eat, drink or even sleep. Staunton, our new Hand, effectively commands the Red Keep and ensures your father's will is done."
He lingered on his disgust for the man but for only a moment. A muted relief filled him with some hope. However, Rhaegar was careful to keep it so. The Spider couldn't be so easily trusted. "And what of Jon Connington?"
"Alas, he is a fellow captive of these terrible cells, I'm afraid. He earned a broken nose for his resistance."
Better a dozen broken bones than suffering wildfire.
"My father must have been very pleased to hear that."
"It was the only good news he's heard in days. The ravens have kept his spirits low and temper high."
The prince frowned. "What do you mean by the ravens?"
"Half of them have died," the eunuch's voice dropped as he spoke. "The survivors refuse to eat or sleep, much less fly. All they do is shake in their cages as if a great beast was ready to devour them. Animals across the whole city are acting the same. Except for the cats, strangely enough. Your father raged that the witcher had planned it all. A great, sorcerous scheme."
"You sound amused." Who wouldn't? Seven hells, Rhaegar would have laughed out loud in less desperate times.
"Geralt is a man utterly lacking in grand plans or ambitions" Varys replied with a fleeting smile. "He went after the curse because it presented a threat to the realm, not because it suited his desires. Whatever hatred I bear for magic, I must give him that much at least. I would sooner accuse him of not thinking things out more thoroughly than treason."
"And what is it you're planning, Lord Varys?" Rhaegar watched him closely. "You bring me wine, tell me what I want to hear, why? What game are you playing?"
"The same one I've always played, and for the same reason: peace for the realm."
The prince stared, looking for some hint at treachery. The utter lack of hesitation as Varys spoke only added to Rhaegar's disbelief. "Peace, what peace? Do you know whom you serve? A king who burns people alive? Who rapes his own wife and sees daggers in every shadow?"
"All of it contained within the Red Keep," Varys countered. "Oh, I am certain many lords outside the crownlands know or suspect what he does. Just as I am sure that they do not overly care. Lord Tywin ruled and protected their interests, and if the king wished to punish criminals harshly, let him."
"And now Tywin rots down here with me and Jon on false charges while my father does as he pleases," Rhaegar said bitterly.
"It is worse than you realize," Varys said. "Houses Stark, Tully, and Baratheon have become intertwined through various betrothals. What if I told you another sought to join this growing alliance? A certain lion from the west?"
It took but a few moments for Rhaegar to piece it together. "Jaime Lannister and Lysa Tully." If Ser Kevan tries the same plan, he could turn no less than four of the great houses against us. Five if he offers Cersei or another girl to Elbert Arryn… Dread tightened around his throat like a noose the longer he considered this. This would mean the end of our house.
"He must die."
Even then, reflecting upon that terrible moment later, Rhaegar could not say which of them said the words.
All the same, he felt terribly cold. When he again looked upon Varys, the eunuch's face was a grim visage carved out of stone. "You know it must be done. So long as Aerys Targaryen draws breath, there cannot be peace."
Rhaegar's back crawled. "There is no man more accursed by gods and men than a kinslayer."
"Even if the slain one is a king who rapes his wife, burns people alive, and wants a Field of Fire from Dorne to the Wall?" A hint of impatience entered Varys' voice. "What do your gods and customs say of one who does nothing in the face of these atrocities?"
Rhaegar wished he knew for certain, and not for the first time. When news of the first time his father had ravaged his mother reached him, his wrath was terrible. Like an angry hound sniffing blood, he stormed through the halls, seeking vengeance. It was his mother who prevented bloodshed.
"Do not stain your soul with his blood," she begged, holding back tears. "The gods will never forgive you. You will never forgive yourself."
When his rage dulled, Rhaegar told himself she was right. The wrath of the gods was a terrible thing to suffer. He held onto fading memories of a different father from his youth- one who was as different from the madman who sat on the Iron Throne as day is to night.
A good man who held his lady wife close as they sobbed for another lost child. A father who once smiled with pride when his son won tourneys and earned favor from their people. And as he would not, could not kill Aerys himself, Rhaegar had tried to draw some comfort from the fact that he planned to remove his father from the throne bloodlessly, when he left the realm, and his family little other choice.
With even that taken away, the bleak future that awaited them all was frighteningly clear in his mind's eye. There was but one way to stop the madness now. All else led to ruin.
"Varys," Rhaegar spoke in a voice as cold and sharp as steel even as tears streamed unbidden and unwanted down his cheeks. "Do it."
"How much longer must I wait, Staunton? Horses, birds, from whom else must I expect treachery?!" The shout was half-hearted, the act left him lightheaded at once.
The world went out of focus and spun before his eyes. The Hand, the Kingsguard, even beams of afternoon sunlight throughout the hall became misshapen, whirling blots. Aerys tried to blink away the mess that was his sight, with limited success.
"P-Preparations are hastening, Your Grace," the fat fool sniveled from the base of the Iron Throne. His shrill voice did little to improve the king's mood. "We've regained control of many of the horses, and your retinue should be ready to depart soon."
"And the ravens? Why do they still refuse to fly? How am I to know what awaits me at Harrenhal?" Or if my enemies are dead or trapped.
At this, the Hand fell silent. Looking for another excuse, I'd wager. "One more day, Staunton. You have that only to see my order's carried out. Or I find someone else who will. Am I understood?"
"Y-yes-," Symond whimpered.
"Then get out of my bloody sight!"
Watching him flee like a hunted hind gave Aerys no pleasure this time. The comparison only reminded him of how hungry he was. Thirsty too.
Yet he could not risk eating or drinking. There was no telling what his enemies could slip in there.
The headache flared again. It was akin to an axe splitting his skull, nestled between his eyes, throbbing thunderously. His body was stiff and numb. Leaning back into the throne was impossible. There were too many swords capable of rending flesh nearby.
But it would all be worth it, soon.
Just a while longer. Aerys looked to the skull of Balerion hanging closest to the throne. Soon, your brethren will be more than mere wall decorations. You will fly and burn all before again.
The afternoon and early evening passed without any returns from Staunton. Kingsguard and regular soldiers changed shifts as the hours passed. Countless times, his heavy eyes threatened to close and fall. That was when the unpleasant sensations through his body became useful.
They helped keep him awake and alert for the many people no doubt waiting to kill him.
It was midnight when Staunton returned.
The apparent fear on his ashen face from before was gone. The Hand stepped into the throne room with the vigor of a man half his size and age. There was a barely contained smile on his face. Aerys leaned closer, daring to hope.
"Your Grace," Staunton bowed. "My knights have just informed me that the raven has been made to obey. It has already left for Harrenhal."
The words were like the sweetest of wines for Aerys' ears. He too found himself rejuvenated. "And what of the horses? Do they obey too?"
"More and more with each passing hour," Staunton said eagerly. "We've already assembled over two hundred of the finest steads. At this pace, I suspect we shall have three hundred calmed again by morning."
One more day. That is all I must last and then I can go meet my destiny.
The good mood lasted briefly. Throughout the night, the pains worsened considerably. It became harder to breathe and a terrible throb was in his jaw and teeth. Every drop of spit was as precious as drinking water to his dried lips.
A terrible growl erupted from his stomach the following morning. He winced and bent over from the sharp, twisting pain. More than a few cramped muscles protested from the sudden movement. He hadn't felt this sore all over since the fighting on the Stepstones. Not even the Darklyns had starved him out so fiercely.
"Your Grace?" Ser Gerold asked with concern, ascending some steps. "As your Kingsguard, I must again ask you to reconsider your stance. Without a meal, you will-"
"I will endure this," Aerys replied through grit teeth. "Baelor Targaryen fasted for far longer than this. Up to forty days. Do you think I cannot do the same?"
"Of course not, my king," Gerold bowed. "I only wish to see you healthy and strong. The journey to Harrenhal will take almost a fortnight. Even Baelor the Blessed ate bread and drank wine while spurning more luxurious substances. Surely there must be some way for us to prepare a meal or drink for you?"
Aerys almost dismissed the notion out of hand. Tywin's agents would never allow a single scrap of food or drink to reach him without poison. He had been in the capital for nearly twenty years. More than enough time to put his people everywhere from cooks to messengers to even the food and wine tasters.
Varys had put no fewer than a dozen of them away. But how many were left? And how bold would they grow in desperation? Against them, the only safe man in the castle was Tywin himself.
Perhaps I should make him my food taster. Aerys smiled briefly at the passing thought. Or what was only meant to be one. "Ser Gerold, you needn't worry about my health for much longer."
One hour later, four men escorted Tywin into the hall, bringing him a dozen paces away from the Kingsguard. The numbers of those soldiers standing by were increased to over a hundred and fifty, half along each side.
The former lord of Casterly Rock made a pitiful attempt to look unbothered by his imprisonment. He walked with a straight back, never looking anywhere but forward as though his stations were intact. In the midday sun, however, all present could see its falsehood. His golden locks were a lank mess, his red leather boots were stained with something brown and foul, and his cloth-of-gold tunic was spattered with worse.
There was an unmistakable weariness in his bloodshot eyes Aerys delighted in witnessing. A pity the rest of the court was not here to see this. Mayhaps I will keep him alive long enough to for them to witness it.
Many in the Red Keep already knew of his new position regardless. Aerys sent out men across the entire castle with the express purpose of ensuring it. He wanted everyone, most particularly Tywin's little assassins in waiting, to know.
"You look well, Tywin. The black cells seem to agree with you." His old friend gave no answer save a stern scowl. "Your silence is appreciated, so long as you still remember how to swallow. Guards, give something to slake his hunger and thirst. No doubt, the Great is famished."
Strong hands clamped down on each of Tywin's shoulders, forcing him to his knees. They kept him down while other soldiers brought forth a tray of loaves of sweetbread and a barrel of red Lys wine. They shoved large slices of sweetbread down his throat first.
Tywin's mouth was so full his cheeks puffed enough to rival Staunton's. He had scarcely swallowed it down when a third soldier grabbed his hair, forcing his head back while two others poured the barrel over his head.
The Great Lion was bent over in a coughing fit, his tunic and face stained dark red. The sound of his hacking was beautiful music to Aerys' ears. "And now we wait and see if your agents slipped anything in. The great Tywin Lannister, murdered by his own assassins. A good joke, don't you think?"
"Only half as funny as you," Tywin managed to say in a ragged voice.
The coughing was transformed in the span of a few breaths. Aerys stared and leaned forward, listening closely. Could they have truly done it? As it turned out, they didn't. Tywin's cough hadn't changed due to poison- it changed because he was laughing.
It grew louder, the sound bouncing off the walls like a cave echo. His cackling face, doused in red wine, was terrible to look upon.
"Wha-what are you-"
"Laughing at how terrified you are," Tywin's smile was even worse to behold than it was to hear his laughter. "You think my death will give you peace? Even if you kill me and my entire house, you will always wonder if one got away. If one more lion was waiting in the shadows to strike. You will never be rid of me, Aerys. Never."
Silence fell.
Everything seemed to stand still. The king's wrath didn't explode at once. He was far too shocked by what he'd seen.
It simmered and froth, growing into something terrible within his chest until it hurt as if someone had thrust a sword straight into his heart. Aerys was so distracted by what he could possibly do to punish Tywin enough he scarcely realized Symond's approach until the Hand stood before the Iron Throne.
Him, and Pycelle's assistant.
"Staunton," Aerys said in an icy voice, "why is the maester here and not watching for the ravens?"
The lad did not so much step forward as he was pushed in front by Staunton. The boy's thin lips quivered, his hands clutching at the plain brown cloak for dear life as he knelt.
"Your G-g-grace, there has been a… p-problem with the ravens."
Thin fingers tightened around the blades that served as the throne's armrests. "What have you done this time?"
"The raven f-flew in Harrenhal's direction, Your Grace, I swear!" The boy's beady little eyes were terrified. "But it was not to be so. Another flew to the Red Keep not half an hour ago. It was from Lord Rykker. He said the Harrenhal raven had lost its way and flown to his home instead. He s-s-swore to get your message to Lord Whent with utmost speed."
"Rykker," Aerys replied flatly. "Do you mean to tell me that fucking bird flew to Duskendale instead?"
"A-aye."
"You worthless shit for brains!" He rose to full height, shaking, looking for something to throw at the fool. At Staunton as well, cowering to the boy's left. The urge to run down the steps and strangle them and the still smiling Tywin was only barely restrained.
"I gave you simple orders! So simple that a moon-blind fool would be able to follow them! Send a bird to a castle and prepare a few riders and you cannot do either one? Instead, you sent a raven to fucking Duskendale of all places?!"Aerys all but screamed, his voice too hoarse from lack of water to do so in truth.
He stopped for a moment, shaking so strongly his bones seemed to rattle.
"I'm going to kill you all," Aerys seethed through grit teeth. "I will butcher your families and burn your homes so thoroughly men and beasts alike will shit themselves at the mention my name for the next ten thousand-"
Without warning, the stabbing pain in his chest turned into a raging furnace. Aerys stopped and gasped for air, but to no avail - nothing was entering his lips no matter how hard he strove to breathe. He tried to clutch at the spot where it hurt most, but his right arm hung useless at his side and the other was frozen around his heart.
"Your Grace?" Aerys faintly heard Staunton call out to him. He could only reply with a single, pathetic wheeze. "Sers, we must help his majesty!"
The world spun again, becoming a blur of mind-splitting motions before his eyes. Aerys tried to keep his balance, tried to hold on until his knights reached him. But alas, no.
Aerys' sight recovered just enough for him to see the dozens of swords rising to meet him as he fell.