Kapitel 12: ^CHAPTER TWELVE-GRIM REAPER^
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen stood before Dragonstone's roaring fire, its warmth contrasting the turmoil within. Rhaenerys approached, sensing her aunt's introspection.
"Aunt Rhaenys, your thoughts seem a thousand leagues away," Rhaenerys said softly.
Rhaenys turned, eyes reflecting the flames' intensity. "Surviving Rook's Rest granted me clarity, Rhaenerys. In another life, Vhagar's flames would have consumed me alongside Meleys. Gratitude for this life renews my purpose."
Rhaenerys nodded empathetically. "You've faced disappointment, frustration and resentment. Patriarchal traditions denied you the Iron Throne."
Rhaenys' expression turned determined. "Those emotions fueled my resolve. Protecting our legacy drives me. Yet, I realize true power lies not in claiming the throne myself but in empowering those shaping Westeros' future."
Rhaenerys listened intently.
"Empowering women is key," Rhaenys continued. "Establishing a women's council advising Queen Rhaenyra will influence policy, education and property rights. Supporting influential ladies—Velaryon, Stark and Arryn—will forge alliances."
Rhaenerys' enthusiasm grew. "Aunt, this vision will reshape Westeros."
Rhaenys smiled resolutely. "I'll guide this initiative, leveraging experience and strategic alliances. Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, as Queen's Hand, will bolster our naval power."
Rhaenerys suggested, "But Aunt, you'd make an exceptional Hand."
Rhaenys' resolve hardened. "Lord Corlys' strategic prowess and loyalty ensure our claim's security. I'll focus on the women's council."
Rhaenerys Targaryen gazed out upon Dragonstone's rugged landscape, lost in contemplation. "Fate's tapestry has woven an unexpected thread," she pondered. "Mayhap change heralds opportunity."
As Jacaerys Velaryon approached, Rhaenerys inquired, "Pray tell, Jace, where do Rhaena, Baela and Lucerys reside?"
Princess Rhaenys, wise and resilient, clarified, "Rhaena negotiates at Runestone, securing a vital alliance with House Royce. Baela and Lucerys returned to Rook's Rest, overseeing rebuilding and safeguarding our dominion."
Rhaenys' eyes shone with gratitude. "Thank you, dear Rhaenerys. Rhaena shared your counsel on the Royce alliance and another, undisclosed matter. Your foresight shall shield her."
Rhaenerys' thoughts strayed to Sheepstealer, the fierce dragon. "May my guidance safeguard Rhaena's path."
___
King's Landing's battle-scarred walls, once proud sentinels, now testified to war's devastating grasp. Within the castle's courtyard, a solemn Ser Criston Cole tended his sword, the quiet contrasting the turmoil.
Queen Alicent approached, her silk skirts whispering against stone. "Ser Cole, unveil the truth of Rook's Rest. Your silence shields secrets."
Cole scrubbed the blade with lime and salt, rinsed and dried it with a worn rag. "We breached not the castle, Your Grace. Our losses mounted."
Alicent's piercing gaze probed deeper. "The King? What fate befell him?"
Cole's solemn countenance reflected battle's gravity. "His Majesty fought valiantly, honor guiding."
Alicent's voice tightened, concern etched. "Aemond? What role did he play in all these?"
Cole paused, tension flickering. Resuming his task, "I could not say."
Alicent's narrowed eyes searched for truth but Cole's resolve stood firm.
___
Within the council chambers of King's Landing, Grand Maester Orwyle addressed Queen Alicent and the assembled lords. "His Grace's Valyrian steel armor proved insufficient against the flames, for he suffers grievous burns that cover much of his person. His body is broken, and I fear hidden wounds may yet prove his undoing." The queen's countenance turned somber, her nod a silent acknowledgment.
"Have you any tidings of his awakening, Grand Maester?" she inquired.
Orwyle's expression turned grim. "Nay, Your Grace. My arts have been pushed to their limits, and now the king's fate rests in the hands of the Seven."
Alicent's gaze swept the room, her voice measured. "A king cannot rule from his bed. The realm will soon take note of his absence. We must appoint a regent to govern in his stead, lest uncertainty plague our lands."
Larys Strong inclined his head in accord. "Wise counsel, Your Grace. A regency shall reassure the people of the crown's stability."
Lord Celtigar spoke up, his query laced with curiosity. "Do you have a candidate in mind, Your Grace?"
Alicent's shoulders squared. "I have shouldered this burden before, in times of peace. I am well-equipped to do so again."
A murmur of dissent arose. "Your Grace, your prior stewardship was admirable, yet circumstances have changed," one lord ventured.
Alicent's tone dripped sarcasm. "And here I had forgotten."
Ironrod, ever the pragmatist, urged, "The king's heirs are numerous. Prince Aemond, as next in line, is the obvious choice."
Tyland Lannister concurred, but Alicent countered, "Aemond's youth and impulsiveness have already exacted a heavy toll."
Orwyle interjected, his voice measured. "Experience is the surest path to security. Her Grace has proven her mettle in times past."
Alicent's voice rose, her conviction clear. "I am no stranger to rule nor to this council. Aemond's prowess as a dragonrider is better deployed on the battlefield, whereas my experience is needed here, at this table."
"No offense was intended, Your Grace," Lord Celtigar continued, "but in these tumultuous times, we must display unwavering resolve."
Larys Strong nodded in concurrence. "I concur, Your Grace. Prince Aemond is the sole viable choice. Were we to elevate a woman to counter Rhaenyra's claim, would it not undermine our own strength?"
Tyland Lannister's eyes narrowed, but Larys pressed on. "The Hand speaks with the king's voice. Ser Criston, share your counsel."
Criston Cole's deep voice filled the chamber. "Aemond stands next in line. None other can claim the regency."
Aemond, silent until now, rose from his seat, his words dripping with conviction. "It is settled, then." With deliberate strides, he approached and claimed the seat of the ailing king.
The air thickened with tension as Aemond's gaze swept the room, his presence commanding attention.
Aemond's gaze pierced the gathering. "What tidings from the Riverlands?"
Tyland Lannister hesitated. "The Tully banners waver, Your Grace. Prince Daemon and Lord Harwin Strong, once our ally, now persuade them to join Queen Rhaenyra's cause."
Larys Strong's expression darkened. "My brother's betrayal will not be forgotten. We must counter their influence."
Aemond's jaw clenched. "How do you propose we counter Daemon's efforts, Lord Strong?"
Larys's voice took on a calculating tone. "Young Oscar Tully may still be swayed. We should extend an olive branch, promising favorable terms for House Tully's loyalty."
Tyland nodded. "I shall draft a proposal, Your Grace."
Orwyle, the Grand Maester, spoke up. "Meanwhile, the Sea Snake's blockade chokes King's Landing. Our people suffer."
Aemond's resolve hardened. "Then let the Gates be sealed. None shall enter or leave without our consent. Merchants and traders, excepted. See to it."
"There remains one pressing issue yet to be settled," Aemond said, his pause weighing heavily.
"The Lass," Ser Cole murmured, his melancholy visage fleeting.
"Aye, I confess I've been overly indulgent regarding her," Aemond admitted, jaw clenched. "I had presumed her inexperience, joining Rhaenyra's side so recently, would be her downfall. Yet, she's proved a formidable foe, unraveling our every strategy."
He turned to Ser Criston Cole.
"How wouldst thou counsel me?" Ser Cole's voice trembled.
Aemond responded calmly with a hint of malice. "The mission you entrusted to Ser Arryk – who proved treacherous – failed. This time, employ a skilled hand."
"You seek to slay the girl?" Queen Alicent asked, incredulous. "Was the failed attempt on Rhaenyra's life not warning enough?"
The King Regent, Aemond, remained silent, his gaze fixed on Ser Cole. "She'll be less guarded than the false queen. See it done," he commanded.
___
Princess Rhaenerys and Queen Rhaenyra pored over ancient tomes. Rhaenerys gazed at Rhaenyra with a gentle smile as the latter delved into Visenya's tale, Vhagar's first master.
"What is it?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, without turning.
"Your Grace?" Rhaenerys replied, perplexed.
Rhaenyra turned, her gaze light, a merry smile dancing on her lips. "Your smile, dear one. What joyful thought besets you?"
Rhaenerys opened her mouth to speak, but the guard's call interrupted, announcing Jacaerys' approach. Queen Rhaenyra's smile broadened as her son drew near. They embraced warmly, Rhaenerys beaming.
As they parted, Rhaenyra asked, "What tidings from the Twins? Did Lord Frey quibble?"
"He seeks a seat on the Small Council, come war's end," Jacaerys replied. "Assuming our victory."
Rhaenyra's pride shone. "Well done, Jace. You have served our cause nobly."
Jacaerys noted her somber expression. "Why does your face bear sorrow?"
Rhaenerys straightened, concerned. The Queen sighed, her gaze sheepish.
"I chafe at idleness. A dragon rider, bound to wait whilst others fight and fall in my name. You, and many others, have done your part... whilst I sit, a sheltered queen."
"You are the queen, Mother," Jacaerys said. "Our bond, our anchor. No harm must befall you."
Rhaenyra's voice snapped, then softened. "Aye, I know. Our dragon riders outnumber theirs, now Sunfyre's fallen and Vhagar's might is matched..." A small smile touched Rhaenerys. "... Yet, inaction gnaws at me still."
Jace strode towards his mother, Queen Rhaenyra, and enveloped her in a warm, tender grasp. The scent of sandalwood and myrrh wafted from her hair as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Rhaenerys, standing nearby, smiled wistfully, her gaze drifting to the flickering candles that cast shadows on the walls. Her thoughts wandered to her own mother, far away in the Reach.
As Jace pulled away, Queen Rhaenyra opened her arms, beckoning Rhaenerys to come closer. The younger woman's face lit up with a soft smile as she accepted the Queen's embrace. "Thank you for everything, my sweet girl," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice warm as honey.
"Always, Your Grace," Rhaenerys replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Later, Rhaenerys retired to her chambers, the weight of the day lifting as she shed her light armor. She slipped into her bathrobe, the soft fabric caressing her skin. As she stepped into the bath, the warm water enveloped her like a soothing balm. Suddenly, her sharp ears picked up the faint creak of her bedroom door.
She froze, her heart racing. Instinct took over, and she reached for her sword, laid on the nearby stool. "Thank the Seven," she breathed, for her paranoia had saved her once more.
With lamp extinguished, she tiptoed towards the connecting door, hiding behind a tapestry-draped corner. The whispering voices grew louder.
"You keep watch, I'll handle the lass." One assassin hissed.
"Why don't you keep watch? The information said she's no warrior." The second voice retorted, anger lacing his tone.
The first voice spoke again, urgency creeping in. "Now's not the time—"
Ryker's sudden shout cut through the whispers. "Interlopers! Show your faces! Guards!"
Rhaenerys heard the assassins rush towards the living room, swords drawn.
She crept towards the clash of steel on steel, her heart pounding. Ryker faced the two assassins, his sword flashing in the dim light.
The second assassin fell easily, disarmed and stumbling back. But the first, a burly man with a cruel grin, launched a surprise assault. Ryker parried and defended, his movements swift but desperate.
The second assassin regained footing, overwhelming Ryker. Just as the deadly blow was about to fall, Rhaenerys' blade pierced the assassin's heart. She stood frozen, her hand trembling on the hilt.
The assassin crumpled, and she pulled out her sword, the sound echoing through the room.
Guards burst in, surrounding the scene as Queen Rhaenyra and Jace rushed to Rhaenerys' side.
"Rhaenerys, Ryker, what sorcery is this?" Queen Rhaenyra demanded, her voice laced with concern.
Rhaenerys gathered her wits, anger burning within. "Aemond," she spat. "He sent these curs."
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