Red Keep ― Outer courtyard…
"Why are we dressed like this?" one of the younger men-at-arms, a recruit, grumbled, his voice tinged with annoyance. Instead of wearing the illustrious plates of armor emblazoned with the colors and sigil of House Targaryen, each knight was outfitted in simple, unremarkable garments designed to blend in with the common populace, resembling ordinary peasants rather than the knights they were.
"Prince Jaehaerys's orders," another knight replied, his tone resolute. This officer, slightly older and more experienced than the recruit, grasped the unspoken implications behind the orders they had received. "If we march into Cobbler's Square in full armor, we'll be exposed and risk being overwhelmed. I can't say exactly how many followers this so-called 'Shepherd' has in his flock, but from what we've been told, his numbers are well into the thousands."
Among the fifty household knights, some shared common ground while others were less aligned. Their loyalty to the Iron Throne mandated that they serve dutifully and adhere to the crown's commands. Yet, a small faction among them voiced their reservations regarding the specific orders they were given. Despite being knights, they had donned attire that resembled that of commoners, blurring the lines between their elevated rank and the everyday lives of the people. However, the stakes were significantly heightened if their mission was indeed one of infiltration, reconnaissance, and subterfuge. The potential for exposure and the consequences of failure loomed large, adding an element of danger to their undertaking. The tension between their noble duties and the risks of their covert actions created a complex dynamic that defined their experience as knights.
A silent screech echoed through the open skies, prompting the knights to glance upward. Baela had swiftly taken to flight upon Moondancer but veered her dragon southward away from King's Landing. The knights clutched their torches tightly, yet the flickering flames provided little illumination in the thick darkness that enveloped them. It was the dead of night, marking the beginning of the Hour of the Blood Moon. The moon hung low, its surface transformed into a haunting deep red-brown, resulting from the lunar eclipse that ancient legends warned was an ill omen. This eerie light intensified the unsettling atmosphere.
"Cut the squabble and move along, lads," Gwayne ordered. As second-in-command of the City Watch, he gathered as many gold cloaks as possible from beneath the Tower of the Hand. In addition, being the brother of Queen Alicent Hightower, he volunteered to help his niece and nephews arrest the Shepherd and disperse his followers before the crazed priest could create more chaos in King's Landing. Even from this vantage point, high on Aegon's High Hill, Gwayne could still hear the Shepherd's maniacal rants echoing. "Haaah, how I wish that old fool would just hold his tongue already."
"He will soon enough, uncle," Aegon declared as he entered the dimly lit courtyard. Clad in dark-hued Lykirī Mēre acolyte's robes, he moved with an ease that set him apart from the other knights, his every motion fluid and silent. Hidden blades were secured within intricate bracers on each wrist, discreetly concealed beneath the folds of his sleeves. Aegon the Younger was poised for violence, ready to stain his hands red if the situation demanded it. Merging with the shadows, he prepared to unleash the deadly skills honed through years of rigorous training as an assassin. "Personally, I'd rather cut his throat and tear out his tongue myself after what he said about Viserys and mother. Huh, he'll never see it coming."
"'Never see it coming' because it is fucking madness."
"Aegon, uncle, please don't start! If you both get too ahead of yourselves, you'll likely end up dead. And then how will I explain it to our poor mother?" Aemma scolded as she arrived, her tone sharp and filled with urgency. To conceal her identity as a Targaryen, she deftly rolled her long, flowing Valyrian silver-white hair into a neat and compact bun, ensuring it would not draw any unwanted attention. This carefully arranged hairstyle was cleverly hidden beneath a large boy's hat, obscuring her identity and adding boyish charm to her appearance. To conceal her regal features further, Aemma enveloped herself in a dark, heavy robe that draped around her figure like a shadow, effectively masking her silhouette. The fabric billowed slightly as she moved, creating an additional layer of protection against recognition. Each element of her disguise was meticulously chosen, reflecting her determination to blend into the crowd and evade any suspicion that might arise from her true lineage.
"Hey, that old preacher started it," Aegon puffed.
"Ah, my dearest niece. I'm merely looking out for your safety on behalf of your mother and my sister, the queen," Gwayne said suavely. "Although, I cannot help but wonder if this plan your brother concocted is a solid one. Cobbler's Square is dangerously close to the west barracks, and I'm certain that Commander Largent will have already begun to issue a direct order to disperse the growing mob."
"All the more reason to ensure Ser Luthor isn't walking into a trap, uncle," Aemma replied, hoisting herself onto her horse. "He hasn't seen much conflict since the war started. We have. And if there's anything we've learned, one should not underestimate an adversary, no matter their appearance or the size of their numbers. If Jay says he has a plan, then he must've given it much thought beforehand."
"Like how he infiltrated Harrenhal under the cover of night in an attempt to slay Aemond Targaryen?" Gwayne raised an eyebrow, his tone sounding almost unconvinced.
"Even so."
"Sounds as if you all put a lot of trust on faith."
"Mother raised us to support each other. Father taught us how to defend ourselves. But we use the best of both worlds. It's what got us this far."
At that moment, Gwayne was deeply engrossed in a lively discussion with his nephew Aegon and his niece Aemma. Suddenly, their brother Jaehaerys made his entrance, arriving from the stables on a stunning silver-grey stallion. The horse's coat glimmered in the warm glow of the nearby torches, showcasing its exquisite shades of silver and white. The air was alive with the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the ground, accompanied by the gentle flutter of the stallion's mane dancing in the soft breeze. As one of the Lykirī Mēre's elite agents, Jaehaerys was adorned in a striking silver robe, its hood slightly draped over his head. Beneath the flowing robe, he wore a meticulously crafted leather tunic paired with a shirt embellished with intricately crafted bronze scales, each piece adorned his torso, glistening like a wall of tiny shields connected to the other. This carefully curated ensemble was designed not just for aesthetic purposes but also offered him the necessary flexibility for swift movements and the personal protection needed for defense, highlighting his readiness for whatever challenges lay ahead.
"Ah, big brother," Aemma acknowledged.
Jaehaerys nodded. "Is this everyone?" he asked.
Gwayne rolled his eyes. "50 household knights, plus the Red Keep's gold cloak garrison. As you so eloquently requested, nephew," he remarked. "I had to see it for myself to believe it. I had thought Alicent was mad when she told me your plans, but it appears you have taken leave of your wits."
"You're not the first to tell me that. Believe what you will, be understand that what I do is for the sake of the realm… and our family, even if the sentiment isn't shared."
"So explain to me why it needs to be you to talk to these raving lunatics."
"Uncle, I've stared death in the face more times than I can count since the Dance began―Rook's Rest, the Gullet, Harrenhal, Tumbleton. But those were tea parties compared with this." Jaehaerys gazed beyond the castle gates towards the bustling streets below Aegon's High Hill. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. Somehow, he had an inkling that this day would come. Regardless of the outcome, Jaehaerys predicted that House Targaryen would never return to its former glory after this moment.
"So, Jay," Aegon interrupted, "what are your orders? Because every minute wasted here, the Shepherd's flock gathers strength."
"I know. Our plan is to disperse the Shepherd's flock before King's Landing can riot in earnest. We know they intend to attack the Dragonpit. Since we cannot pursue key individual targets, we must divide our forces and move independently as a small group before we can hit them on all sides near Rhaenys's Hill and Visenya's Hill."
"Yes, I've heard," Gwayne murmured, clearing his throat. "My men mentioned rumors about three potential seditionists involved in stirring civil unrest, the Shepherd being one of them, but we couldn't move to arrest them without proof. Now, it seems we have enough reasons to clap them in irons. They're calling it 'the Moon of Three Kings.' Petty upstarts. Drunken fools and gutter rats. All of them lowborn, yet some have dared to openly declare themselves kings."
"Mmm, so it would seem. However, the hardest part will be breaking through the heart of the mob itself and getting to the Shepherd himself. Farrier's spies report approximately 20,000 of the Shepherd's 'lambs'; most have gathered around him like a human shield. Although the City Watch and Lykirī Mēre are better equipped and have more training, even they won't be able to hold out against so many of them." Jaehaerys turned to Aegon. "Aegon, I'm sending you with our uncle and his men right up the middle toward the West Barracks near Cobbler's Square. Rendezvous with Ser Luthor, but expect heavy resistance. Support the gold cloaks as best you can, but stay alive. If they push past the Old Gate, I'll need you to slow their advance until reinforcements arrive."
Aegon nodded. "No problem," he said confidently. Given his understanding of his older brother, Aegon also strongly suspected that Jaehaerys would advise him not to kill anyone. However, he anticipated that this instruction would come with a crucial caveat: he could take action only in self-defense, but only if he genuinely believed that his life was in danger.
"Aemma," Jaehaerys turned to his sister, "I'll need you and your men to sneak into the Dragonpit through the rear entrance. Convince the Dragonkeepers to unchain every dragon and release them from their pens. If they somehow manage to get ahead of you and break down the front doors, they'll be utterly defenseless."
"I understand, brother. That won't happen," Aemma stated, recognizing the necessity of the task. As it stands now, the Dragonpit currently houses four juvenile dragons: Shrykos, Morghul, Tyraxes, and Celaellis. While they were large enough to fly long distances, they were still too small for battle. Aemma, however, was primarily worried about her dragon, Silverwing. She had her temporarily placed in one of the largest brick-lined tunnels in the Dragonpit, which generated the most heat within the vast domed structure upon their return from Tumbleton. Since the death of Dreamfyre, Silverwing has been the unofficial matriarch and the oldest female dragon of House Targaryen. It didn't even occur to Aemma that her dragon would one day be in danger like this. Yet, Aemma's concern for her safety remained. "Jay," she said. "If they… I have to get Silverwing out of there. She's still…"
"I know, Aemma. I know."
"But wait. What about you? What'll you be doing?" Aegon inquired.
Jaehaerys retained a stoic demeanor. "I'll deal with the ringleaders and other third parties before they can converge with the Shepherd's lambs, starting with the Mudfoot garrison," he replied thoughtfully, gesturing toward the River Gate not far from where they stood. "The River Gate is a crucial link connecting the Mudfoot and the harbor where the city receives most of its supplies by sea through established trade routes. If it falls, our logistics would be severely compromised, and the well-being of our people will deteriorate." He then turned right. "From there, I'll make my way to the East Barracks and have Captain Garth mobilize the Dragon Gate garrison. With any luck, you should receive additional support."
"Seven hells, you really have lost your mind," Gwayne shook his head in disbelief. "That swath is practically a no-man's land through the city. The buildings will give them a place to hide, perfect for an ambush. And there's only so much room we can cover."
"That's what the Lykirī Mēre is for," Aegon said. "Still, no use complaining about it. We all knew the risks of getting involved, but we did it anyway. So, yeah. I'm ready to go when you are."
Jaehaerys hummed thoughtfully. "Good." He looked around at the gathered household knights and the Red Keep's gold cloak garrison. "This may perhaps be a one-way trip for many of us. However, there can be no retreat. No hesitation. No turning back. We move forward at all costs. Understood?"
"Yes, my prince," a few household knights answered. Others, including some gold cloaks, appeared somewhat hesitant.
Aemma nodded. "Whatever you decide, we're with you until the end. You'll always have our support, brother," she said.
Jaehaerys nodded at each of them. As Aegon, Aemma, and Gwayne mounted their respective horses, the household knights and gold cloaks assembled and followed suit, holding torches in each hand to illuminate their path. However, once they descended Aegon's High Hill and entered the city streets below, their mission would become far more intricate and perilous. From that point on, they had only one opportunity. None of them could afford to make a mistake. "Hyah!" he urged his stallion forward, spurring it on with a firm kick to its flanks.
The stallion let out a fierce neigh, its piercing sound echoing through the still air that surrounded the vast landscape. It reared up on its hind legs, showcasing its strength and stature. With a sudden burst of speed, it galloped down the dusty road, making the ground tremble beneath its pounding hooves that struck rhythmically against the solid earth. Aemma, Aegon, and Gwayne expertly guided their steeds, their hands steady and confident on the reins, urging their horses to maintain a close formation as they continued down the winding path. The trio moved in perfect unison, their bodies leaning slightly forward as if in sync with the powerful rhythm of the gallop, their eyes fixed intently on Jaehaerys, who rode ahead. As they finally reached his side, every subtle movement of Jaehaerys's stallion was scrutinized by the trio, their focus unwavering as they remained vigilant for any signs of change in pace or direction, ready to react at a moment's notice lest they lose their advantageous position in this exhilarating ride.
As they descended the slope, the group soon split into three separate directions. Jaehaerys took a left turn along the western route towards the River Gate, while Aemma directed her horse eastward, heading for the Dragonpit. Meanwhile, Aegon and Gwayne steered their horses toward the city's heart, flanked by many household knights, with the gold cloaks trailing closely behind. Their destination was the West Barracks, situated near Cobbler's Square, where they expected a large assembly of the Shepherd's followers to gather, whose presence posed a considerable threat to both the West Barracks and the Commander of the City Watch, Ser Luthor Largent. To Ser Gwayne Hightower, the gathering appeared to be nothing more than a disorganized mob needing to be scattered if not put down. In stark contrast, his nephew, Prince Aegon Targaryen, viewed the situation through a different set of eyes. He had a faint recollection of the mad priest's frenzied sermons echoing through his mind, sermons that had publicly condemned House Targaryen, their ancient Valyrian traditions, his mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, and especially his late brothers, Viserys and Daeron. Aegon couldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers. His grip on his horse's reins tightened, his blood burning with anticipation of getting the chance to wrap his hands around the Shepherd's throat and strangle him.
I haven't forgotten a single word you said. I'm coming for you, old man. And this time, I won't let you get away. No one insults the House of the Dragon and walks away unscathed!
King's Landing ― Cobbler's Square…
"Repent! The end is nigh! People of King's Landing, hear me! Heed the voice of the Faith, lend us your ears, and open your eyes!" The Shepherd preaches to a crowd, his voice thundered. "The Targaryens had escaped the Doom, fleeing across the seas to Dragonstone from godless Valyria, but the gods are not mocked! And now a second doom is at hand!" As tireless as he was fearless, he preached all day and well into the night, his angry voice ringing across Cobbler's Square.
"To the Seven hells!"
"Burn them all!"
"Heretics!"
"Burn the godless heathens!"
"Save us, our holy shepherd! Save our city!"
"Protect us from the Deceiver!"
The Shepherd then turned towards a septa, who was bound and gagged by his zealous followers, their hands gripping her tightly as they held her down against her will. "You! Only the Mother's mercy can save you, but you drove your Mother from this city with your pride and lust and avarice. Now it is the Stranger who comes." He looked at another, a young soldier who had just come home from the war. "And you! You, who have turned your sight from the holy faith, committed acts of violence against the pure in the Deceiver's name! Raiding villages, plundering, kidnapping, murder, and rape! All those who stood with the Deceiver will die as well!"
"No! No, no, no!" the soldier shook his head, pleading for his life. "Please, have mercy! I have a family!"
"Kill them all! Kill the godless heathens!"
Carrying out the will of the Shepherd, one who his devoted followers revered as their divine prophet, turned a deaf ear to the young man's desperate cries. Instead, they surrounded him, unleashing a torrent of violence as they mercilessly struck him. In an act of blind, fanatical zealotry, they unleashed a brutal onslaught of punches and kicks, using anything they could get their hands on—makeshift clubs and farming tools—to inflict unbearable agony. Over and over, the intensity of their assault escalated as they plunged pitchforks, knives, and heavy axes into his flesh, stabbing with an unyielding savagery and no signs of mercy or restraint until he collapsed to the ground, lifeless. His blood spilled from each of his gaping wounds freely, creating a stark, crimson stain that marred the city streets, a haunting testament to their merciless violence.
Residents, those who wanted no part in acts of cruelty, were horrified by the violence erupting around them and instinctively slammed their doors shut, hastily barricading themselves inside their homes in a desperate attempt to shield themselves from the chaos. Their hearts raced as they sought sanctuary, hoping to escape the horrors outside their walls. However, the fanatical followers of the Shepherd were undeterred, their fervor only intensifying. With a chilling determination, they ignited jars of tar, the thick, black liquid bubbling ominously in the light as they prepared their assault. One by one, they hurled these fiery projectiles at the windows with reckless abandon, shattering the fragile shards of glass and sending them flying as flames erupted, greedily licking at the wooden frames and devouring everything in their path. The once-safe havens of King's Landing's civilians were engulfed in a raging inferno, the heat and smoke swirling around them. The anguished cries of those trapped inside mingled with the crackling of the fire, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the inferno that engulfed their homes. They were ensnared in a nightmarish trap, the very walls that once offered them safety now becoming their prison, as the flames closed in, leaving them with no hope of escape.
Many clutched torches, and by the time the Hour of the Blood of the Moon had begun, the Shepherd stood amidst a ring of fire. Those who dared to silence his voice were met with a savage response from the frenzied crowd, who descended upon them with a ferocity that left no room for mercy. Other civilians desperately scrambled to escape, their faces twisted with fear, but the relentless tide of the mob pursued them with a predatory instinct. They were not merely captured; they were hunted down, their cries for help drowned out by the cacophony of violence. Brutal beatings and fatal stabbings painted the ground crimson, a grotesque testament to the chaos that had erupted. Even a contingent of 40 gold cloaks from the City Watch, who arrived from the West Barracks to restore order, could not clear the streets or disperse the swelling throng on their own, even at spearpoint. There were too many of them.
The scene was one of utter pandemonium, where the forces of law and order were eclipsed by the raw, unrestrained energy of the mob.
The Shepherd, believing his cause to be righteous, continued his raving. "Only by cleansing King's Landing of dragons and their masters does Westeros have any hope of avoiding the same fate of Valyria!" he cried, his voice brimming with fanatical intensity. Hearing a faint neigh and hooves in the horizon, the Shepherd glanced up to see more City Watch officers arriving on the scene. This time, there were more than 500 of them. "On a dark horse with burning eyes he comes, a scourge of fire in his hand to cleanse this pit of sin of demons and all who bow before them. Listen! Can you hear the sound of burning hooves?! He comes! He comes!" his voice echoed across the city square.
The crowd erupted with fervor, their voices rising in a collective wail, "He comes! He comes!" The air was charged with anticipation as a thousand torches illuminated the city square, casting pools of smoky yellow light that flickered like restless spirits. As time passed, the raucous shouts gradually faded into a heavy silence, leaving only the ominous sound of iron hooves clattering rhythmically against the cobblestones, echoing through the stillness of the night.
Managing to break through their blockade, Ser Luthor Largent rode at the head upon an armored warhorse, a longsword in his hand. The mere sight of him was enough to send hundreds streaming away into the wynds and alleys and side streets. Backed by more than 500 men, the City Watch's West Barracks had come in strength. Each officer was clad in black ringmail, steel caps, and long golden cloaks, armed with short swords, spears, and spiked cudgels. They formed up on the south side of the square, behind a wall of shields and spears.
"Enough!" Luthor roared. His piercing gaze swept across Cobbler's Square as he meticulously counted how many were currently in the Shepherd's flock. The grizzled knight took note of the scene unfolding before him: while several hundred people were dispersing, a staggering number—over 10,000—remained in the area. There were still too many of them. The crowd was so dense that many who might gladly have fled found themselves unable to move, pushed, shoved, and trodden upon. Others surged forward, locking arms, and began to shout and curse as the spears advanced to the slow beat of a drum. "Make way, you bloody fools," he barked at the Shepherd's lambs. "Go home. No harm will come to you. Go home. We only want this Shepherd."
The Shepherd, spurned into a frenzy, mobilized the crowd. "When the dragons come, your flesh will burn and blister and turn to ash. Your wives will dance in gowns of fire, shrieking as they burn, lewd and naked underneath the flames. And you shall see your little children weeping, weeping till their eyes do melt and slide like jelly down their faces, till their pink flesh falls black and crackling from their bones!" he preached.
"Stand down."
"The Stranger comes, he comes, he comes, to scourge us for our sins. Prayers cannot stay his wroth, no more than tears can quench the flame of dragons. Only blood can do that. Your blood, my blood, their blood."
"I said stand down!"
But the Shepherd's words carry over his. "To the Dragonpit! Kill them in the name of the gods!"
In that instant, all hell broke loose. Shouts and curses were heard. Above, the sky seemed to rain down destruction—sticks, stones, and even the foul remnants of chamber pots cascaded from the rooftops, adding to the mayhem below. An archer strategically positioned across the square began to unleash a deadly barrage of arrows, each one whistling through the air with lethal intent. Amidst the turmoil, a torch was thrust toward a watchman, igniting his golden cloak in a flash of flames, transforming him into a living beacon of horror. The chaos escalated as some witnesses claimed the first victim was a baker, who emitted a shocked grunt as a spear found its mark, piercing his side and turning his once-white apron into a gruesome tapestry of crimson. Others, however, tell a different tale, insisting that the actual first casualty was a young girl, her life snuffed out as she was trampled beneath the thundering hooves of Ser Luthor's warhorse.
"Damn it!" Luthor cursed. As he searched the square while trying to fend off the out-of-control mob, he spotted the Shepherd being bundled away by his acolytes. He was attempting an escape! "Seize him! Stop him! Don't let him get away!" He spurred his horse, cutting his way through the throng, and his gold cloaks followed, discarding their spears to draw swords and cudgels. The Shepherd's followers were screaming, falling, and running. Others produced weapons of their own, dirks and daggers, mauls and clubs, broken spears and rusted swords.
Beyond the horizon, just in sight of Cobbler's Square, Aegon and his uncle Gwayne arrived at the tumultuous scene. They halted for a moment to absorb the chaotic atmosphere around them. The air was filled with the piercing screams of the terrified, the loud shouts of those calling for aid, and the harsh curses of anger and desperation. The clashing of blades echoed in the distance, a grim reminder of the fray. All around them, entire buildings were engulfed in a furious sea of flames, illuminating the night sky with a fierce glow. The riot had officially begun.
"By the Mother…" one of the household knights gasped.
"Seven hells…" a gold cloak stammered.
"Shit! It's already begun," Aegon cursed.
Gwayne scoffed at the sight. "Those men won't survive with all that ruckus around them!" He gestured. "Men! Follow me! We need to handle these crazy rabble!" With that, he and his gold cloaks from the Red Keep garrison charged toward the chaos to assist their comrades in quelling the uprising.
Aegon surveyed the surroundings. The intelligence reports suggested approximately 20,000 in the vicinity, yet he could only account for about 10,000. A wave of confusion washed over him—where did the others go? Had they scattered in disarray, or were they cleverly hidden away in some obscure alleyway, waiting for a chance to strike? Aegon wasn't sure. It was too dark, and although most of Cobbler's Square was ablaze, he still couldn't see anything. "Damn it!" he muttered under his breath, frustration evident in his tone. Aegon loathed being drawn into urban warfare. This wasn't a battle; this was someone else's home. Glancing up, he could see dozens of Lykirī Mēre acolytes along the rooftop, leaping from building to building, either taking out rioters up top or scattering to find the Shepherd. Glancing at the hidden blade concealed within his sleeves, Aegon returned his focus to the carnage before him. "Forgive me, Jaehaerys, but I may have no choice," he murmured. "Hyah!" Spurring his horse, Aegon galloped ahead to help his uncle. Aemma, you'd better make it to the Dragonpit before they do. I don't know how many are heading your way!
Chapter End
Author's Note: The second half of the riot of King's Landing is complete and already the chaos has begun. Next chapter will mainly attempt to focus on Aemma and her attempts to reach the Dragonpit before the Shepherd and his flock catch up. How do you think this scenario will play out?
roggerlopez99: Well look at that chaos as begun as the Shepard leads his flock of his follower to the Dragonpit to kill the dragons, damn the Shepard shows no mercy as his followers kills a solider that came back from the war and are attacking house, setting them ablaze and so much and now they march. Aegon notices that there only 10,000 not 20,000 so the other 10,000 could be already ahead or somewhere else.
keep in mind that Larys Strong still has some spies working for him, so i think he may have inform the Shepard of what Jae could be planning, because Larys despite in prison he still a threat.
Question
1. The Red keeping how many solider are defending the castle
—900 men-at-arms, 80 knights along the battlements and in the castle as well.
2. Are Joffrey Velaryon and Jacaerys Velaryon going to help in the Hour of the Blood Moon
—Since I've been getting this question in the DMs multiple times already and we're this far along, I might as well provide an update: Joffrey Velaryon and Rhaena Targaryen are both on their way back to King's Landing from Gulltown, but they still don't know what's going on. As for Jacaerys, he's doing his part to help from the Red Keep.
3. How are you doing, are you alright and well
—Yes, most days.