Chapter 5: Chapter 5-A Lion's Glare!
Chapter 5
Deep in the Black Cells of the Red Keep, the door to a cell opened once more just as dawn was set to break. A person clad in the finest set of clothes walked in slowly, his hair silvery blonde reached down his shoulders, his iliac eyes similar in colour to the prisoner entrapped in the cell.
The night of torture failed to hide away the similarities in their faces as the two Princes and two brothers came face to face, alone, for perhaps the last time ever.
He was Rhaegar Targaryen, the eldest of King Aerys's sons, the heir apparent to the throne, and as he watched his younger sibling sit there covered in grime and dirt, blood caked on his back, death waiting for him in hours, he stood there impassive, and unbothered.
They were brothers, not the best brothers, yet not the worst either, yet despite this, Rhaegar Targaryen stood there stone-faced as the two of them stared into each other's eyes.
"You abandoned me," the younger one whispered out, his voice grazy and parched, as he levelled the accusation against his elder brother, who stood there and replied with a shake of his voice.
"You and I both know that I could do nothing. Father is set in his mind. There is no convincing him otherwise," the eldest answered as Daemon Targaryen's eyes narrowed.
"Yet you didn't even try," he said, anger seeping into his voice as the chains binding him rattled.
"You always were a coward!" Daemon accused as Prince Rhaegar's face shifted for the first time.
"Do not speak about what you don't understand!" he replied, his brows furrowed.
"I understand plenty. Unlike you, YOU prophecy-obsessed fool!" came the retort as silence overcame the cell once more until Prince Rhaegar shook his head, his lips thin as his eyes narrowed.
"It seems you are still set in your ways," he said as he turned back and began to walk away, yet he stopped at the door and spoke up.
"Your sacrifice will not be wasted," and the answer came with a resigned scoff.
"This is not a sacrifice. It's a murder, one which you could have stopped," came the answer as the eldest brother stilled. A sense of anger and remorse filled his face for the first time as he voiced out.
"I wish so as well, yet I cannot. For I am burdened with great purpose."
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RHAELLA TARGARYEN
As she sat there in the castle of Dragonstone, Rhaella Targaryen often wondered where everything had gone wrong. And the truth was she could never truly be sure.
Was it the day when Aerys had become the heir apparent, or was it when tragedy had struck her House at Summer Hall, or was it the day she had lost her greatest treasure?
And now, as the Targaryen dynasty of three hundred years was nearing an unseeing, she could only speculate as she sat in the castle of Dragonstone, with its walls of fused black stone fashioned with Valyrian dragons and gargoyles in ways that spoke of the mythical heritage of her House.
The day she had heard the news of Aerys's actions, about putting his own son on trial for treason, she had felt her world break and had pleaded to him to let him go, to see a reason, yet it seemed as if he was in a daze, his mood had become more erratic, and he had refused to see reason despite her pleadings, and then it had happened.
Thinking about it still made her heart ache in pain as she recalled the fate of her son. And so even as the dynasty that had stood for three hundred years came to an end, she felt a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing that Aerys's fate would be sealed.
Daemon's birth had been nothing but a miracle. Unlike her other children, the masters had believed the baby would die in childbirth, yet the boy had defied them all and had been born into the world with a powerful pair of lungs.
Even as a child, he was different. Though quite like Rhaegar, his eyes would often roam around the room, soaking up everything around him at a pace unlike anything she had ever seen, and though Rhaegar would be more bookish of the two, she was aware that Daemon was the more learned of the two.
He was closer to her, acting as a shield for her against her lord husband over the years, and for the first time in her life, she had grown hopeful, hopeful of a better future for herself because of him.
Yet Aerys had taken that from her. Taken her hope, her son from her.
And now he had taken Rhaegar from her as well, burning off the Stark lord and his son, starting this whole rebellion. It was inevitable, though, after what he had done to Daemon. Yet she had grown numb to the pain somewhat, having lost even her ability to mourn for her son, for she was already dead inside. Had been for years now.
She would have ended her life now, yet she couldn't, for she had another son to look after. Viserys, the sweet little summer child, had taken much after his own father for her liking, yet he was innocent nonetheless and would look at her with those soft iliac eyes much like Daemon and Rhaegar would. And then there was the life that was growing up inside her womb, and so even though she felt herself weaken every day, she knew she couldn't give up.
Not yet.
"Your grace!" she was broken out of her reverie by a loud knock on her door, startling her somewhat by the excited voice of the intruder.
"Who is it?" she questioned with a heavy heart.
Had it happened? Was the war over?
"It is me, Ser William Darry. I bring an urgent missive from the capital," the man's voice rang out as her heartbeat quickened.
"Come in," she said as she pushed herself up, ignoring the growing pangs of pain that ripped through her as the old knight entered the room, his face pale, his steps shaky as he gave her a bow and presented her a letter.
"This arrived from the Red Keep, your grace," he said as he presented her with a letter bearing the Targaryen seal.
"Is it over?" she questioned, not wishing to read it, yet the man's words surprised her.
"You must read the letter yourself, your grace," he said, and she frowned as she took the letter from his hand and put it by the candles.
Yet her eyes shook as she read through its contents, going over the words again, trying to make sense of what was written.
Her mind refused to believe what her eyes were seeing as she read the words again and again.
"This cannot be true," she gasped out despite her heart wishing for it to be nothing more.
"It is, my lady," said Ser Darry as she looked up towards the aged knight, who had a similarly dazed look on his face.
"The letter has the seal of Princess Elia herself, and similar letters have been sent to other lords as well," he said, confirming the wording of the message, making her heart skip a beat as he finished.
"Prince Daemon is alive and has ascended to the throne!"
"Long live the King!"
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DAEMON TARGARYEN
Daemon rode through the city towards the place where the greatest explosion had taken place, the Gates.
He could see the people halt and look towards him with awe and amazement as he rode through the city. His announcement had been announced by the High Septon, though this was the first time they were seeing him.
The city was a mess, though. That wretched smell still lingered in their air as smoke erupted from various parts of the city. Though thankfully, the Gold Cloaks had managed to get things under control.
Yet still he was angry, very angry with himself for forgetting about the wildfire. He had hoped that they would be able to corner the damned spider before he could get out of the castle, yet the man had proven himself to be more slippery than he had thought, yet he wouldn't let him get away.
He had spent months trying to map the tunnels underneath the Red Keep with his men, and by now, all the exits were covered by his men, men he trusted with his life. Varys will be caught.
He pulled on the reins as his horse came to a halt as he reached the gate, as the men gathered around trying to put out the fire, his eyes roaming over the extent of the damage.
"Your grace," the captain of the gold cloaks bowed as he jumped off his horse.
"What happened?" he questioned.
"Several carriages filled with wildfyre crashed right into the gates, your grace! It was pure carnage, my lord," the man began as Daemon stepped forward and looked at the extent of damage done to the city walls, and the gate, his mind racing to realize just what the intention behind this was.
"The whole gate has been destroyed. Completely destroyed, my lord," and he could see that as stone pieces were strewn across the pavement in chunks of various sizes as he looked around the area.
"How long until we can have it repaired!" he questioned the captain, who motioned for some of his men who brought forward a man, and he had an inkling this guy was one of the masons, or smiths.
"Your grace, the damage is too..." the bald man began to stutter.
"Time! I want the number of days in which you can fill this gaping hole in the city wall!"
"Three, my lord!" the man was quick to answer at his words as he recalled the time the two armies heading to the capital will take.
Eddard Stark was about four days away, with his fifteen thousand men, yet the more critical was the Lannister army, with its twenty-five thousand men, merely two days away. He had hoped to keep them out of the city using the walls as he gathered his own host of men.
Now, that hope was dead.
Lannister bore him no goodwill, and he didn't wish to enter into a parley with nothing at his back. But was there any other option?
"Your grace, Your grace!" he was broken out of his trance by the sound of hooves. He looked back and saw Morro riding back with a couple of his men, dragging someone with them.
"We found him as you said. He was trying to scurry out of the city through the tunnels," Morro said as the men pushed forward a tied-up man, his body plump and his head bald, dressed in a rough cloak, which was now covered in dirt as he had been dragged out of the city, yet one could still smell the Myrish perfume on him.
"Varys!" he said with gritted teeth as the man looked up at him, his eyes much similar to his own coloring, and they shook upon seeing him.
"You truly are as slippery as a spider," he said, and as the bald man looked around him, he seemed to realize that his fate was sealed and that there was no way of him getting out of this.
"How could it be? I saw you burn with my own eyes," he said with a shaky breath as he looked him up and down.
"Just as you had planned, whispering into my father's ears, sowing this intricate web against me, against my whole family. You damned pretender!" he uttered with sheer loathing for the man, though not for his blood, but for his actions for what he had done.
"So, you know," he answered, and Daemon nodded.
"Of course, I do, and not just of you but your sister and her lover as well, though I wouldn't worry too much. He shall join you soon enough," Daemon said as he crouched down and looked the man in the eye.
"But for that, you must first live to see tomorrow's sun yourself," he said with a smile that felt ominous to him.
"What do you mean by that?" he questioned.
"Exactly what I said," he began as his lips turned up.
"You may kill me, but when the Lannister vanguard of five thousand rides through these gates in less than a day, the city will fall. And the legacy of House Targaryen shall end," he smiled.
And he finally realized his plan.
"Lord Lannister received word about the opportunity early in the morning and ordered five thousand of his men to ride forth to take advantage of this opportunity. The men are led by his most loyal retainers, Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane, you do not have enough men to fight five thousand men, not yet at least," he smiled.
And his lips thinned as his fist balled up.
"And your legacy shall end before it even begins, just like your brother! Long live..."
But his words were cut short as Daemon swung his blade, separating his head from his body. It rolled off on the ground, wetting the pavement with scarlet blood as the men around him gasped at the murder, though none of his men.
"Morro," he began as the man stepped forward.
"Find out who was behind this, and deal with them. Heads! Pikes!" he said, and the man nodded.
"As you say, Your grace," the man said, and he turned towards the stone mason.
"You and your men have two days...." and as the man tried to protest.
"Two!" he reiterated forcefully, shutting up the man.
"I want that gate repaired. Otherwise, before the city falls, I shall sever your heads myself," he ordered as the man trembled and nodded.
"As you say, your grace," and with a final nod, he jumped on his horse and rushed back to the castle, his mind racing as he plotted to get out of this mess he had found himself in.
.
.
He found himself in the council room with the only two people he could trust and one useful Lannister spy.
"The Spider could be lying," Lord Velaryon began, and he shook his head.
"No, he wasn't lying," he blasted away that notion as Pycelle cut in.
"My Princ..."
"Your grace," Elia cut in sharply, correcting the tittering old man, though he knew that all of it was just a facade for the sharp mind hidden underneath.
"Ummm, yes. My mistake. In this age, the times begin to blur," he said with a generous smile, even as his eyes remained sharp.
"But your grace, the notion of Lord Lannister betraying the crown is ridiculous. He has sworn oaths of fealty to the Iron throne, and more importantly, doing so would put his own son's life at risk," the man challenged.
"And how do we know that those letters even made it to Lord Tywin," Elia cut in.
"I wrote to him myself, my lady," he said.
"Letters get lost, birds get shot. Lord Lannister could say he didn't receive such a letter. By now, we must move ahead with what we know: that a force of five thousand men rushes towards the city." Lord Velaryon cut in.
"How many of the Gold Cloaks are still in the city," he questioned.
"Two thousand, your grace, the rest were sent to Dragonstone," and Daemon nodded.
"Though I would warn you, your grace. They are not an army, as for the Lord Connington's host, we have around three thousand men ready at this time, the rest are still in disarray," and at this point, the Old Maester cut in once more.
"Your grace, this is preposterous. Lord Tywin would never betray the crown. We could send a delegation," spoke the old Master shiftily, yet Daemon didn't let him finish as he cut in.
"Five thousand men march on this city as we speak. That is answer enough," he said, his voice cold as ice as his eyes remained focused on the map infront, racing as he made and discarded plan after plan.
What was Tywin Lannister thinking. Why had he sent only a vanguard of five thousand? Were the Spider's words even true? So many questions.
"Get the men ready," he spoke after a long silence, his voice
"Get the men ready," he spoke and his voice silenced the rest of the room, as Lord Velaryon made to question.
"Which one's, your grace?"
"Fifteen hundred of the best you can. They shall be ready to leave by the night along with my own two thousand men, so make appropriate preparations," he said, and as the old Maester made to speak up, he looked up and silenced him before he could utter a word.
"Leave us," he said and the lords were quick to acquiesce to his demand, as they bowed and dithered away, all of them leaving him alone with Elia once more.
She didn't speak at first. Her brown eyes remained focused on him until she finally decided to break the silence.
"What are you thinking, Daemon?" she questioned as he leaned back in his chair, his finer still drumming over the table infront.
"What do you think are Lord Tywin's intentions?" he questioned, and her eyes narrowed and when she didn't answer he answered his own question.
"This is a test. The five thousand men are a ploy for him to make a decision about which side to choose in the end," he began as he told her off the man's plan. He could not be sure of course, but he had seen the man work for more than a decade, he believed he had an inkling about how the man thought.
"What do you mean?" she asked for an elaboration, a frown marring her features as he stood up.
"This is a test for me. The man is most probably aware of my ascension, even without the letter the man served as a Hand for mare than a decade, he most definitely has people in the city informing him about what goes on here," he elaborated.
"If he had decided to fully go against me, all of his men would have sped up. Yet the five thousand he sends are to test me, for he knows of the desolate situation we are in," he answered and saw it all begin to make sense in her mind.
"If we fail, he would have Robert Baratheon's gratitude for killing me," he began as he walked towards the window and looked over at the looming city.
"Retreating and threatening him with the life of his son could work as well, but would be a display of weakness. He knows I have his son, and maybe it is because of that we are getting this opportunity," Daemon replied and Elia asked condescendingly.
"Opportunity?"
"Yes, an opportunity. If we win, he will have the opportunity to be the first man to bend the knee. With my armies depleted from the battle, I would have little choice but to depend on the man, a favor for which he would demand the ultimate price," he finished.
It was smart. Very smart, for one, didn't rule as he had and have the luxury of being dumb. And none would accuse Lord Tywin Lannister of being dumb.
"That is quite shrewd of the man," Elia reasoned out, and he nodded before she joined him by his side.
"But what will you do?"
"The man wishes to bend the scales in his favor through this, and I plan to disappoint him," he answered. The words did make much sense to her, if her frown was anything to go by.
"I am going to desolate his vanguard. Destroy it..." he elaborated as he looked her in the eye.
"...to the last man, so that he understands clearly what would happen to him and his House if he makes the wrong choice!"
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