Kapitel 13: Chapter 13-Ghosts of Our Past!
Chapter 13
Daemon Targaryen stared at the giant of a man infront of him as the fire raged on around them, the air thick with smoke and tension as they both stared into each others eyes.
He was Ottar the Giant, and you could call him the Master's fixer. A slave whose tongue had been cut when he was six for killing his master and six of his guards with his mere hands. He had been sent to the pits where he had survived for years, thriving in the killing before he would find himself in the crutches of the masters once again.
He was a mindless beast that killed for enjoyment.
"GRRR!" he growled at him as he stepped forward and swung his massive spear at him. Daemon parried it to the side, the spear sliding off his blade as it went inches wide of his face. Ottar swung it to the side, and Daemon ducked under it as he tried to blitz the man, but as he was about to swing at the man in a display of inhuman dexterity, the man brought down his fist on him with a loud grunt.
BOOOM!
Daemon spun on his heel and the massive fist skited past him, by then he had raised his spear and brought it down on him like a club.
BOOM!
The ground cracked with the sheer force of his attack as Daemon slid between his feet his sword arcing through the air as he cut the tendons in his knee joint.
"ARGH!" the hulking man screamed in pain as he faltered, yet for some reason, he was able to remain standing as he swung his spear wildly, forcing a hurried block from him.
THUNK!
The spear caught his blade on the side, and even with that, it was as if he was hit by a horse as he was sent rolling to the ground. The attacks didn't stop as the spear raced towards him once more. This time, Daemon was ready as he rushed forward, letting the spear pass by his face. As it hit the ground, he swung his sword at his arm, cutting it clean off, as the man screamed in agony.
"AGHHHHH!" he screamed as blood spilled from his arm onto him, his blade, and the red ruby in its hilt, which began to heat up as it was washed in his blood. He raged and thrashed violently as he swung his fist at him. Daemon tilted his body out of the way of the blow, letting it move beyond him as Ottar faltered, his knee buckling as his weight shifted, and he kicked at his other healthy knee with all his might, snapping it with a single blow.
"AGHHH!" Ottar screamed as he fell down, his head lowering to Daemon's level as Daemon appeared right infront of him, and before the man could react, swung his blade at his neck, cutting through the metallic collar and his bones with a single swing as he was showered in blood, as Ottar the Giant's head rolled off the ground, his massive body falling to the ground with a thud.
His vision was dyed red and orange as he stood there in the midst of a raging fire which burnt down his manse as he stood there the fire helpless in front of the blood of the Dragon, much like the giant he had just slain as he spoke into the night.
"My move."
.
And with that, the next morning's Sun rose. There was much talk in the slave city of Meereen about the massive fire that had occurred in the city last night. Many whispered of just who lived in the manse, which had been burnt to char last night, as the city gathered around the largest pit for today, and the 'masked man' was set to fight. As the contestants gathered in the ring, one was missing until out of the gates stepped out a man to many gasps and cheers, his face still covered by the signature steel mask, though today, much like his clothes, it was caked with red blood as he entered the arena, and thought he people around the ring cheered. The masters looking on at it all were all quiet.
Very quiet.
000
EDDARD STARK
The war had been over for the Targaryen regime. It had been for now, and it seemed that it was over for them. Going from victory after victory to loss after loss, yet not in battle but in politics, alliances, and some battles.
Jon Arryn had always said that war was not just about the 'clash of armies' that was battle. The true war was everything before, in between, and after. Those words had never made sense until today.
A little bit under a moon ago, they were winning the war; the Targaryen host was done. Lords were fleeing the Royal cause by the doves. They were days away from the capital with over twenty thousand strong, and now that was gone.
They had been forced to pull back from the Crown Lands. The Royal Cause had just gained the support of one Lord Paramount, and their ships now sailed for their shores. And, biggest of all, they now had hostages.
Strom's End, the Baratheon Stronghold, the castle that had stood tall for about a thousand years in the face of Storm, war, or disaster, had fallen. And now the other two Baratheon's were held by the new King, and none in the rebellion camp were so sure of the war being over.
"This is preposterous. Why the Hell did you pull back the army? We were at the gates of the City!" Robert shouted in rage at Jon Arryn, who, after hearing about the fall of Storm's End, had rushed towards them with his own men even as Jon Arryn had ordered them and their host to pull back into the Riverlands.
"The Lannisters have sworn themselves to the Royal Cause, adding those men to the Royal Host gathered in the city. If we had remained there, we would have been left open to an ambush," Jon replied, yet Robert was enraged; his face was flushed, and Eddard could tell that his friend was in no mood to hear anything.
"They have my brothers! We need to storm the city right now so I can cave in his chest like I did to his brother! Robert roared, and Jon shook his head.
"Calm down, Robert. Think with your head. He has a wall in between himself and our army and add to that half a million people," Jon reasoned.
"He has my brothers and Lyanna!" Robert roared once more, bringing down his fists on the wooden table, splitting it with his rage as he turned towards it.
"Back me on this, Ned!" Robert said to him, and Eddard turned towards Jon Arryn.
"Robert is right. We did have an opportunity. The more we wait, the more time we give the Targaryen's to rebuild their host," he complained as he had previously.
And Jon sat down in the chair with a deep sigh as both him and Robert looked towards the elder lord who shook his head.
"You yourself told us that the Targaryen's were unpopular, even in Kingslanding. If we ambush them, the city could rise up against the Targaryen regime and turn on them," Eddard added, recalling a previous conversation he had with the man.
"I told you that King Aerys was unpopular, not the Targaryen's," Jon Arryn corrected him.
"And Daemon is his son!" Robert added, and Jon shook his head as he replied rather firmly.
"And the whole realm can see that!" Jon was angry, and his steely voice silenced the whole tent, even Robert.
"In one moon, he has singlehandedly turned the tides of this war, finding allies where none expected him to. Daemon Targaryen has hostages, including your brothers and Lyanna. What do you think would happen to them if we were to recklessly attack the capital?" Jon questioned, and Robert's eyes narrowed as his fists balled up.
"I would smash his head in before..."
"You would be too late," Jon added as he shook his head.
"By then, your brothers would be dead," Jon answered, and the room was silent as Robert shouted as he walked out of the room.
"I am going to smash something," and now Eddard was left alone with the Lord of the Vale, who sighed as he settled down in a chair.
"Get me some wine," he spoke to the servant as the wine on the table had been spilled when Robert had smashed in.
"What is going on, Jon?" he questioned.
Jon dismissed the servant after he poured for them some wine, leaving them all alone once more.
"The shift in the dynamics of the war has unsettled many of our supporters. Many rallied for our cause because they believed that the Mad King needed to be deposed and replaced. And now, with him gone, they grow complacent and afraid as our new King gathers more and more allies," Jon told him.
There were no grumblings from the North, they stood behind him. Vale was united as well, and that left only two Kingdoms.
"Stormlands and the Riverlands," he questioned, and Jon confirmed.
"Indeed, despite Robert being the contender for the throne. Many in his lands did not rise at his call and speak against him. The Riverlands may be tied to our cause twice over by marriages," and wasn't that a reminder of the Prince they had paid?
"But House Tully's reign has always been fickle, and with the naval forces heading to their shores, they grow cold feet," Jon told him as he stood up and began to pace away.
"So, what next? What are we supposed to do?" he asked, enraged and frustrated by this whole ordeal.
"As we speak, letters are being sent to the Red Keep," Jon answered.
"Letters asking for a parley."
"And what do we hope to accomplish by that?"
"A Great Council."
0000
DAEMON TARGARYEN
Daemon Targaryen was surprised by the letter from the Rebellion lords calling for a parley. The change of hearts, or minds, was astonishing, though he should have expected that. After the fall of Storm's End, he now held hostages, important hostages.
Yet he had not expected this.
"They are calling for a parley," he told Elia as he pushed the letter towards her. They sat in the Council room in the dead of the night to discuss what to do next.
"I am inclined to not accept the offer. I already made them an offer, and they refused. They have made their choices," he told her as she put down the missive and looked towards him with a complicated gaze.
She was dressed in a simple dress, with a fur coat over her to protect her from the chill that had erupted over the continent. It was not much, though, for someone with her health, it was better to be cautious.
"Why do you think they are making such an offer?" she questioned.
And he looked at her funny as he replied.
"Because I am winning," he replied, and she nodded.
"Indeed, the situation of the war has shifted greatly in the last moon or so. While I would hesitate to call it winning, the morale is up, and we have both allies and hostages. You have proven to the realm that you are not your father or brother when it comes to war," she began, and he frowned, for he did not see where she was going with this.
"You have proven yourself better in everything. Raising an army, logistics, alliances, even battle itself," she finished as she looked him in the eye.
"And it is time that you prove yourself better in peace as well," and her words hung in the air as he looked at her, tongue-tied and surprised.
"You cannot be serious. I gave them an offer of peace, one they rejected outright, and now you want me to sit across the table from these rebels at a time when I have the upper advantage," he questioned. She tried to open her mouth, but he cut in.
"What do you think the so-called honorable Jon Arryn would have done when they had sacked this city? What would have become of my mother, my brother, and my yet-to-be-born sister? What would have become of you, of your children?" he questioned heatedly. Visions of babes wrapped in red bundles appeared in his head.
"They would have butchered you, all of you!" he answered and saw her lips thin at his words as she glanced down as he finished.
"For as long as one of these people lived, Robert Baratheon would have been called not a King but a usurper."
The world was cruel. He had seen it, suffered it, survived it. He had buried many in his journey back, and each loss had only taught him one thing. There was little place for weakness in a cruel world. The only morality in a cruel world was strength. Power.
"Your father would have rejected the offer," suddenly, her voice cut through the silences. She finally looked up at him, and a chill ran down his spine.
"He would have laughed at the offer before replying back with insults and promise of death and murder to all of these lords," she told him as his heart thumped in his chest and his fists balled up at those words.
"Are you comparing me to him!" he snarled threateningly, and she shook her head.
"Gods, no! You are a man greater, better than he could ever hope to be. Yet I compare your actions to his," she said, and he let his mind wander as she continued.
"The lords rose against your father for the horrors he committed. They fought against Rhaegar for his horrific actions. By accepting this offer of parley, you could prove to them and the whole realm that you are different—that you are a better man, a better Prince," she continued.
"A better King," she finished as he realized the sense in her words. Daemon had fought dearly during all these years, fought with a cold heart, for he had seen that his enemy had none.
"They would have butchered you," he eeked out as he looked her in the eye, speaking of an event that would never happen.
"Yet their blades shall never reach me, for you are here now. They will not touch me or anyone else in the Royal family, for you stand for us. We know you for the man you are. Give them one chance to see it as well. After that, do with them as you would, but give peace a chance," she pleaded, and he sighed as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
The horrors of that damned day appeared in his head. Heaps and heaps of bodies, the air thick with the smell of burnt blood and skin as he walked past the hard of crying and screaming ser...
And he shook his head and looked towards Elia.
"I am not my father," he declared, his voice thick and heavy.
"He would have burnt Robert's brothers in front of his eyes while laughing like a madman, and he would have torched each living soul living inside Storm's End after its fall," he told her, and she nodded.
"He would have, and I know that you are not your father," she added.
"But I am a King, a King who faces a rebellion for actions committed by men,.." and he bit his lip as he corrected himself.
"... committed by family, who are now dead," he replied as he stood up.
"I know, and you are a better man than any of them." She added, and he nodded his head.
"I will accept the offer of Parley. I shall give them one last chance to bend the knee," he said as he turned towards her.
"Let us prey, they take it," he said, and she nodded.
"Indeed."
"But there is another problem," he cut in, making her frown.
"What?" she questioned.
"If a parley is arranged, do you know what the first question will be, or more exactly whom it shall be about?" he asked, and her lips thinned as she realized just whom he was talking about.
"By then, she will be in the capital. They will ask for her, and for the talks to move forward, I would have to tell them the truth, if not the whole truth, then a close enough version of it. The realm will know of the marriage and the child that now grows inside her," he said to her as she chewed her lip. He could see her mind race as her fingers made circles on the table, a small tick she had had from her childhood.
"Then so be it, tell it. All of it, if that's needed. It would have come out sooner or later," and he nodded.
And as Elia left, he was left alone, as he sat all alone once more, staring into the fire. The tension left him as he closed his eyes and whispered into the wind.
"Soon, I will be done with all this soon."
0000
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