Chapter 3 - The Silent Princess
129 AC
Twentieth Day Of The Third Moon
Dragonstone
I gazed out the window of Dragonstone, the grey skies mirroring the flurry of activity along the shores.
"Rhaena," my twin sister called from behind.
I turned to face her.
"Father wants us all in the chamber of the Painted Table," she informed me, leading the way.
As we entered, our grandparents greeted us warmly, enfolding us in hugs. "How have you girls been? It must have been a troubling past moon," Grandfather inquired, concern etched on his face.
I glanced around at the others gathered. Jacaerys and Joffery were present, along with Father standing near the painted table, and Lucerys beside him.
My betrothed caught my eye, his scarred face a testament to past trials. He had lost an eye during Mother's funeral while fighting against his uncles.
Then, the doors swung open, and the Queen entered.
She had ascended the throne following her recovery from childbirth, though sadly, my half-sister had passed away prematurely.
Father blamed the Greens for this tragedy, the result of a raven sent from King's Landing announcing the king's passing and Aegon's coronation, which had sparked the Queen's black rage.
"Rise," she commanded, and we complied.
"These are the terms sent by the usurper," the Queen announced, tossing the parchment into the fireplace.
"My brother has stolen my birthright," she declared solemnly.
"The Usurper and his family will pay for their treason," Father vowed.
"We need the support of the realm, Your Grace," Grandfather stated, his voice firm, and the Queen nodded in agreement.
"There's no need for bloody ravens," Lucerys interjected.
"We should ride to King's Landing and burn them all," he spat out, his anger palpable.
"I'll personally take my revenge and pluck my uncle's eye out," he declared viciously, eliciting a shift in the atmosphere among those present.
"Lucerys, the Greens have six dragonriders, while we have six as well, but our dragons are smaller," Jacaerys interjected, attempting to temper his brother's fury.
"Vhagar, Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre are some of the biggest dragons, ridden by our uncles and aunts," Jacaerys declared. "The only dragons we possess that can rival them in size are Caraxes and Meleys."
"Vermax, Tyraxes, and Arrax aren't large enough to face them yet. Furthermore, Stormcloud and Moondancer are too young to bear the weight of their riders," he concluded.
"Jacaerys speaks the truth. Despite my desire to confront the Greens in King's Landing, I am not yet prepared to ride Syrax," the Queen admitted.
"Mother, we have three wild dragons on Dragonstone, along with Seasmoke," Jacaerys pointed out.
"We can encourage the smallfolk to attempt to claim the dragons," he suggested.
"And then we will have more dragonriders to face the Greens," Jacaerys argued.
"You wish to give common folk dragons? Are you daft, Jacaerys?" Lucerys retorted sharply.
"Mind your tongue, Lucerys. You speak to the Prince of Dragonstone," Jacaerys countered with equal intensity.
"Calm down, both of you," the Queen intervened.
"Rhaena and Viserys are both without dragons. We can have them claim the dragons," Lucerys suggested.
"No," Father interjected firmly. "Viserys is too young to attempt claiming a wild dragon."
I had always wanted a dragon like my sister, who had her Moondancer.
"Rhaena can claim a hatchling," Father proposed, his tone resolute.
"I have already lost one daughter; I do not want to risk losing another to the wild dragons on Dragonstone," he added, his concern evident.
"I agree with Prince Jacaerys, Your Grace. Let the smallfolk try to claim the dragons," Father asserted, and the Queen nodded in agreement.
"Very well, inform the smallfolk that anyone who successfully claims a dragon will be granted knighthood and lands as well," she declared.
"Now, what news does your informant from King's Landing bear, husband?" the Queen inquired.
Father's face twisted into a grimace as he spoke.
"My informant barely escaped from King's Landing as that wretched Otto sent his men to hunt her down, while your half-brother, Prince Jaehaerys, burned down all the men of the city watch loyal to me," he recounted bitterly.
"All our supporters in King's Landing have been captured," he continued, frustration lacing his words.
"And we have no information on what has happened in the capital for the past moon," he concluded, his tone filled with exasperation.
"Forget King's Landing for now; we will retake the capital eventually," Jacaerys declared with determination.
"What matters now is that we garner support from the great lords," he continued.
"My son is correct," the Queen affirmed.
"The Vale will remain loyal to my cause as my cousin rules the Eyrie, and she will support us," the Queen asserted confidently.
"Your Grace, even the Stormlands will be allied with our cause due to the blood I share with the Baratheons," Grandmother added.
The Queen nodded in agreement, acknowledging grandmothers statement.
"Jacaerys, you will journey to the Vale alongside Joffery and Rhaena to treat with Lady Arryn. Rhaena and Joffery will serve as wards of House Arryn until we secure the Iron Throne from the clutches of the Usurper ," the Queen instructed firmly. "Afterwards, you will proceed to the North and negotiate with the Starks."
"Lucerys, you will travel to the Stormlands and remind the Baratheons where their true loyalty lies," she continued.
"What if the Greens are doing the same and I come face to face with one of my uncles?" Lucerys interjected.
"If such a scenario arises, neither of you will engage in combat. You are being sent as messengers, not warriors," the Queen clarified sternly.
At that moment, a septon arrived with the Seven-Pointed Star.
"Swear upon it that you both will act as messengers and not warriors," she demanded, and her sons dutifully complied with the oath they were given.
In my chamber, amidst the flurry of packing, my sister Baela offered a bittersweet remark. "I'll miss you when you're gone, Rhaena," she said, a touch of sadness in her voice. "Especially your silence," she added with a playful smirk, and we shared a laugh.
Just as we were settling into the moment, a knock echoed through the room. I glanced toward the door to find Jacaerys and Lucerys standing there, their presence casting a different atmosphere.
Jacaerys wore an easy smile, his demeanor relaxed. In contrast, Lucerys exuded tension, his gaze sharp and his scar a stark reminder of his past.
"Rhaena, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with my betrothed," Jacaerys said, prompting Baela to leave with him, leaving me alone with Lucerys.
As I observed Lucerys, his sapphire eye met mine, his scarred face revealing a complexity of emotions. "What are you looking at?" he snapped, his short temper evident.
"Nothing," I replied softly, feeling the weight of his gaze.
Lucerys had always been quick to anger, his temperament a stark contrast to Jacaerys's calm demeanor. There were moments when I wished I weren't betrothed to him.
As he moved closer, his words held a hint of bitterness. "My brother and your sister must be saying their goodbyes," he remarked, his tone sharp.
He reached out as if to embrace me, but I stood frozen, taken aback by his sudden advance. His laughter filled the room as he noticed my discomfort. "Am I truly that repulsive?" he mused, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.
His mood shifted, his expression darkening. "This is all his fault," he muttered, his anger palpable. "I will be the one to end him, Rhaena. Jaehaerys Targaryen will die by my hands," he vowed, his eyes blazing with determination.
"I hope we meet at Storm's End," he continued, his voice low and menacing. "If he dares to set his foot there, I will have my revenge," he declared, his words carrying a chilling certainty.
I glanced at him, troubled by the hatred simmering within him. A shudder ran through me involuntarily as I contemplated the future prospect of being married to him.
After his departure, I returned to packing my clothes until a knock sounded on the door, revealing Grandmother's silhouette.
She entered and enveloped me in a comforting embrace. "Do not fret, my child. This chaos will soon be resolved," she reassured me, though her eyes betrayed a hint of doubt.
"Yes Grandmother," I murmured.
"Laena would be proud of the woman you are becoming," she added softly, mentioning my mother, her voice thick with emotion.
"I miss Mother," I confessed, seeking solace in her arms.
I held faint memories of her, recalling how she would regale us with tales of Old Valyria and its majestic dragons, of Aegon and his conquests. Baela cherished those stories, and so did I.
The sun dipped low on the horizon as we prepared to depart.
I was to ride alongside Joffrey on his dragon our journey to the Vale, while Jacaerys flew on his dragon.
I watched as Jacaerys and Joffrey bid farewell to their mother, while Father approached me.
"I hated the Vale when I was there, too many damn sheep," he remarked with a grin.
I offered a small smile. Since Mother's passing, Father and I had grown distant. Though I knew he cared, our relationship had strained, especially after his marriage to Queen Rhaenyra.
"I've brought something for you," he said, producing a box. Opening it, I found three dragon eggs nestled inside.
"If you pray to the Fourteen Flames, perhaps one might hatch," he suggested.
Genuine joy lit up my face as I embraced Father. "Thank you, Father," I said, holding him close as he gently ran his hand through my hair.
"I will miss you, Rhaena," he said softly.
"And do not worry about your siblings, I will keep them safe," he assured me, his eyes sincere.
"I trust you, Father," I replied as he kissed my forehead.
Then Baela approached me.
"The next time I see you, I will have a dragon of my own," I promised her.
"And the next time you see me, I will be soaring through the skies of Dragonstone," she replied with a smile, and we both shared a laugh as we embraced.
"I love you, sister," she said to me.
"I will miss you as well," I replied.
"Remember to write me letters," she reminded me, and I nodded in agreement.
With that, I climbed onto Joffrey's dragon as we set off for the Vale, the sun setting on Dragonstone.
-----
129 AC
Twenty-fifth Day Of The Fifth Moon
The Eyrie
Two moons had passed since I arrived in the Vale of Arryn. Our reception in Gulltown was warm, and from there, we soared to the Eyrie, the mighty stronghold of House Arryn.
Unlike the stifling atmosphere of Dragonstone, life here was vibrant and invigorating. I reveled in the comfort and privilege afforded to me – maids tending to my every need, composing odes to my beauty, and fulfilling my every whim.
Lady Jeyne Arryn's hospitality knew no bounds. The sunrise and sunset painted the landscape in hues that left me breathless, perched atop the Eyrie.
Each night, I fervently prayed to the gods, beseeching them to grant me the miracle of a hatching dragon egg.
A gentle knock disrupted my thoughts, and Joffrey entered, his excitement palpable.
"Rhaena, Lady Arryn summons us," he announced before darting away. Joffrey thrived in this environment, where respect and deference were freely given with the fact that he was not being overshadowed by his older brothers
As we entered the High Hall, Lady Jeyne Arryn greeted us with a regal air. The hall itself was a grand spectacle, stretching long and austere, its walls crafted from blue-veined white marble. Rows of slender fluted pillars adorned the space, leading the eye to a striking blue silk carpet that ran its length. At the far end stood two imposing thrones, one carved from weirwood, serving as the high seat of the lord, and the other, a smaller counterpart for a consort.
Lady Jeyne sat gracefully upon the high seat, her presence commanding respect, while her companion, Lady Jessamyn Redfort, stood beside her.
As we approached, the nobles in attendance offered brief bows, their gazes shifting as they acknowledged our presence.
The court buzzed with activity, filled with a diverse array of lords and ladies from various houses, adding to the vibrant atmosphere of the Eyrie.
"Lady Jeyne, we have mustered seven thousand men-at-arms in support of the true Queen of Westeros," declared Ser Corwyn Corbray, his voice resonating with authority. As the wielder of the ancient Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn, he stood as the epitome of strength and honor in the Vale.
I had conversed with him on several occasions, each time feeling a flutter in my heart, especially when he gallantly kissed my hand. Yet, I couldn't ignore the weight of my betrothal to Lucerys.
Despite the tranquility of my life here in the Eyrie, it was evident that troubles brewed for the Queen beyond the lands of the Vale.
Lucerys's journey to Storm's End ended in disappointment as Lord Borros Baratheon rebuffed him. Baela informed me that upon his arrival, Lucerys found himself amidst the grandeur of the marriage feast between Prince Aemond Targaryen and Lady Cassandra Baratheon, a clear indication of House Baratheon's allegiance to the Greens.
Although troubled by the Baratheons' support of our adversaries, I found solace in the fact that Lucerys encountered his uncle Aemond rather than the uncle he harbored the most resentment towards.
The Seven only know the consequences had he crossed paths with his other uncle.
Baela wrote that the queen was incensed when Lucerys returned and told her what had happened. Grandmother too was quite angry as well.
As Lady Jeyne concluded her speech, her words resonated with unwavering conviction.
"The words of House Arryn are As High as Honor," she proclaimed.
"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen rightfully claims the Iron Throne, while the usurper remains a mere pretender. Though the Tyrells, Lannisters, and Baratheons have strayed from their sworn oaths, the Lords of the Vale remain steadfast," she declared, eliciting cheers from the assembled lords.
"Ser Corwyn, you will lead our forces to the Bloody Gate, and from there, march to the Riverlands to lend support to Prince Daemon," she commanded with authority.
Despite the lack of support from major lords, it seemed inconsequential, for my father had already seized Harrenhal, and the Riverlords had begun to bend the knee, their fear of him evident.
As Lady Jeyne made her way to her solar, we walked alongside her.
"Lady Jeyne, have you received any news from my brother?" Joffrey inquired, his expression marked by worry.
"Prince Joffrey, I have already informed you that the last raven I received from your brother hailed from White Harbor. He relayed securing the support of the Manderlys and the news of your betrothal to the youngest daughter of Lord Desmond Manderly," she replied calmly.
"As Jacaerys should have reached Winterfell by now, he should have sent word. I am worried for him," Joffrey murmured with concern etched on his features.
"Do not fret, my prince. Your brother is surely safe," Lady Jessamyn reassured him.
"How about you take a ride on your dragon, my prince?" Lady Jeyne suggested, her voice gentle. Joffrey's face lit up instantly at the prospect. Riding his dragon was one of his greatest joys.
"Yes, I will do that," he exclaimed happily before darting off.
After Joffrey departed, a shadow of worry clouded the faces of Lady Jeyne and Lady Jessamyn, their hands clasped in a display of solidarity. Rumors among the servants hinted at their close bond.
"What troubles you, my lady?" I inquired, noticing the concern etched upon Lady Jeyne's features.
"Is it Jacaerys?" I asked softly
"Yes, but it extends beyond him," she sighed, her gaze troubled. "Despite Queen Rhaenyra's rightful claim, the lords seem more inclined to accept the Usurper on the throne."
"They would sooner crown a pig than a woman," she added with a bitter edge to her tone.
"I fear for the realm, Princess," she admitted, her voice tinged with anxiety.
"The latest news I received was from the Westerlands," Lady Jeyne revealed with a somber tone. "Prince Daeron has wed Lady Cerelle Lannister, daughter of Lord Jason Lannister."
"With this marriage, the Lannisters and Baratheons are now firmly allied with the Greens," she continued.
"Meanwhile, the Tyrells have thrown their lot in with the Usurper, and Dorne remains aloof from the conflict," she lamented.
"As for the North and the Iron Islands, their stance remains undecided," she concluded with a heavy sigh, painting a bleak picture of the realm's alliances.
"What worries me most is the lack of information regarding the youngest son of the late king," Lady Jeyne confessed with a furrowed brow.
She continued, her voice laced with concern, "The Usurper resides in King's Landing with his dragon, while Prince Aemond has been dispatched to secure the Baratheons in the Stormlands, and Prince Daeron has journeyed to the Reach before making his way to the Westerlands for his marriage to Lord Lannister's daughter."
"My spies have reported that the Usurper's wife and children, along with the former queen and Princess Alyssa, are in Oldtown," she added.
"The Silent Prince remains the elusive figure, the one we have no information about," she concluded, her worry palpable.
"What if he was sent to the North?" Lady Jeyne's speculation hung heavy in the air, casting a somber mood over our conversation.
"It might explain why we've heard nothing from Jacaerys yet," she pondered aloud, her voice trailing off into the silence that followed.
"You do not mean to suggest that Prince Jaehaerys would harm his own nephew?" I interjected, a note of disbelief coloring my words.
"Kinslaying is a grave sin, Jeyne, and I highly doubt Prince Jaehaerys would stoop to such depths," I insisted, though even as I spoke, doubts nagged at the back of my mind, memories of his past actions in Driftmark lingering ominously.
"My own cousin would have cast me from the Moon Door, Princess, had his rebellions succeeded," Lady Jeyne countered sharply.
"Do not be naive," she cautioned, her words cutting through any lingering illusions of familial loyalty.
"Currently, the Queen's support remains limited to the Velaryons, the lords of the Crownlands, a handful of houses in the Reach, and the majority of the Riverlords," Lady Jeyne informed me, her tone tinged with concern. "Your father, on the other hand, is occupied with making the troublesome Riverlords to bend the knee."
"But is not the Vale firmly on the Queen's side?" I inquired, seeking reassurance.
"It is, but I harbor concerns about House Royce," she confessed, her worry evident.
Recollections surfaced of my father's past marriage to a Royce, a union devoid of affection according to my grandmother's accounts.
"House Royce is the only other house comparable to House Arryn in terms of strength and prestige," Lady Jeyne continued. "However, they have not responded to the ravens I dispatched, and I fear for the situation in Runestone."
"My cousin Arnold was once a ward at Runestone," she said.
"Rest assured, Jeyne, we have your cousin secured in the sky cells, and there's no chance of him attempting to usurp your rightful place again," Lady Jessamyn interjected, attempting to assuage Lady Jeyne's concerns.
"I know, but my worry still persists," Lady Jeyne admitted softly, her unease lingering despite Lady Jessamyn's words of reassurance.
A loud noise pierced the air, the sound of a horn of some kind, and everyone fell silent.
I rushed towards the balcony of Lady Jeyne's solar, and from there, I saw the banners of House Royce unfurling below.
"See, I told you there was nothing to worry about, Jeyne," Lady Jessamyn said cheerfully.
"I don't know why I still doubt you, Jessamyn," Lady Jeyne replied warmly, their hands clasped together.
Our vantage point afforded us a clear view of the Gates of the Moon, where the knights and men-at-arms who had gathered in the past moon were encamped.
From the balcony, I surveyed the formation of the Knights of House Royce, sensing that something was amiss.
For a moment, there was complete silence until suddenly, a roar shattered the quiet. I recognized it immediately as the roar of Tyraxes, Joffrey's dragon. Then, horror engulfed me as I witnessed the ghastly figure of the dragon plummeting from the sky, its body torn in half. Beside it, I saw Joffrey's body, missing half of its form, falling helplessly. Lady Jessamyn's piercing scream echoed through the air, a chilling testament to the tragedy unfolding before us.
"What in the seven hells?" Lady Jeyne exclaimed, her voice laced with shock and horror.
As if in response to her words, a deafening roar ripped through the sky, drowning out all other sound. I watched in terror as a bronze dragon descended upon the Gates of the Moon, where seven thousand men at arms and knights were encamped.
"The Bronze Fury," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the chaos unfolding below. The dragon spewed forth flames, engulfing the men near the gates in a torrent of fire. Their agonized screams pierced the air, sending shivers down my spine.
Lady Jeyne hastily left the balcony, her footsteps echoing in the sudden silence that followed. But I remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the horrifying spectacle unfolding before me.
The men loyal to Lady Jeyne attempted to fight back, arrows flying through the air towards the rampaging dragon. But their efforts were futile, the arrows melting away before they could find their mark. The Bronze Fury continued its onslaught, relentless and merciless.
I watched in horror as the flames consumed everything in their path, reducing men to ash in a matter of seconds. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, thick and nauseating.
With a final, devastating blow, the Bronze Fury ceased its attack, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation. The men of House Royce descended upon the survivors, their weapons dripping with blood as they ruthlessly slaughtered those who dared to flee.
But amidst the carnage, my gaze remained fixed on the carcass of Tyraxes, the once majestic dragon now nothing more than a lifeless heap of flesh and scales. And beside it lay the broken form of Joffrey, his body torn asunder by the dragon's fury.
The sight was gruesome, the memory of it etched into my mind like a nightmare from which I could not awaken. Blood stained the ground beneath my feet, a grim reminder of the brutality that had unfolded before me.
I stood there, paralyzed by shock and grief, unable to comprehend the horror of what I had just witnessed. And as the screams of the dying echoed in my ears, I knew that the nightmare was far from over.
A single messenger had arrived at the Eyrie, and a palpable sense of dread gripped everyone in the High Hall. Lady Jeyne Arryn's hands were clenched tightly around the throne, her knuckles white with tension.
The messenger began to read the message aloud, his voice echoing through the tense silence.
"Before the sun sets, the Eyrie must surrender. If not, then I have no qualms about creating another Harrenhall. - By Prince Jaehaerys," he announced.
A hushed gasp swept through the hall, followed by a moment of stunned silence. Then, the lords present erupted into chaos, their voices raised in a cacophony of fear and uncertainty.
"We should surrender, my lady," some advised, their voices tinged with desperation.
"We will fight till the end!" countered a group of young knights, their determination shining through despite the looming threat.
Amidst the chaos, Lady Jeyne's voice cut through like a blade. "Enough!" she commanded, and the hall fell silent once more.
"What assurances will I be given that we will be spared?" she demanded, her eyes fixed on the messenger.
But the messenger remained stoic, his expression betraying his own apprehension. The weight of Prince Jaehaerys's threat hung heavy in the air, leaving little room for hope.
With the majority of the Vale's lords and ladies gathered within the Eyrie's walls, surrender seemed inevitable. Lady Jeyne knew that the safety of her people outweighed any pride or defiance.
"For the safety of my people, I surrender," she declared to the messenger, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her heart.
The messenger departed in a hurry, leaving behind an unsettling silence that hung heavy in the air. It wasn't long before the thundering hooves of House Royce's men echoed through the corridors of the Eyrie, heralding the arrival of doom.
As they rode up to the Eyrie, their figures cloaked in shadows, a chill swept through the fortress. Like silent specters, they descended upon the High Hall, their faces obscured by the darkness, their intentions ominous and foreboding.
In a swift and calculated motion, they bound the lords and ladies of the Vale in chains, their once-proud forms now reduced to helpless captives. Even the knights of Lady Jeyne, stalwart defenders of the Eyrie, were forced to relinquish their weapons, their swords and shields now mere symbols of a lost cause.
The clinking of chains and the sound of metal hitting stone echoed through the hall, a haunting melody that sent shivers down the spines of all who bore witness. In that moment, the Eyrie, once a bastion of strength and resilience, became a prison of despair, its inhabitants at the mercy of their conquerors.
As the lords and ladies of the Vale were put in chains, their faces etched with fear and resignation, a sense of impending doom settled over the fortress.
I watched as a man, adorned in the colors of House Arryn, approached Lady Jeyne, who was bound in chains.
"It is good to finally see you, my lady," he sneered.
"Eldric," she spat out, and I realized that this man was none other than Eldric, the son of Arnold Arryn, the cousin of Lady Jeyne who had rebelled against her twice before.
Then, a giant of a man, clad in bronze armor, stepped forward.
"Lord Gunthor Royce, where has your honor gone?" Lady Jeyne seethed.
"What would Lady Rhea say about you if she saw what you have done?" she challenged.
"My niece was killed by the cunt who calls himself the Rogue Prince, and I was helpless to do anything, to get justice for my niece while you turned a blind eye towards the injustice done to House Royce," he retorted.
"You had grown too complacent, my dear aunt," Eldric chimed in, his voice laced with glee.
"Did you really think the 'Strong boys' would keep you safe?" he taunted.
Then, a deafening roar shook the air, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of wings beating. It seems that the Bronze Fury had landed.
After a tense moment, the man who had murdered Joffrey strode confidently into the High Hall. He was clad in bronze armor adorned with dragon scales, a chilling symbol of his power and ruthlessness. His gaze swept over the room until it settled on me, sending a shiver down my spine as I caught the calculating glint in his eyes.
Turning his attention to Eldric, the man gave a subtle nod. Eldric, emboldened by this silent approval, approached the High Seat and took his place, while the other lords and ladies stood in fear, their eyes downcast, unwilling to meet the gazes of the men who held their fate in his hands.
"Since the age of the First Men, it has been tradition that a man comes before a woman in inheritance," he declared, his voice echoing through the hall.
"After the late Lord Arryn fell in battle against the mountain clans, it should have been my father who ascended to the seat of the Eyrie," he continued.
"But now, with the assistance of King Aegon II Targaryen, who sent his younger brother Prince Jaehaerys to aid me in claiming my father's rightful seat," he asserted.
"Due to the torment that Lady Jeyne inflicted upon my father, he has not been in a right state of mind. Therefore, I will act as his regent until he regains his senses," he proclaimed.
Silent murmurs rippled through the gathered lords of the Vale, their faces betraying a mix of uncertainty and apprehension.
"My father and I are deeply grateful for King Aegon's support, and it is our duty to fight for him," he declared, his tone resolute.
"As there are currently two claimants for the Iron Throne, with King Aegon rightfully holding the crown and his sister Queen Rhaenyra seeking to usurp his birthright," he explained.
"House Arryn stands firmly behind King Aegon in the war for the Iron Throne. We will not rest until the usurper is vanquished," he proclaimed with conviction.
"I offer clemency to all the lords and ladies of the Vale if you bend the knee to my father, the true Lord of the Vale, and to the one true king," he concluded, his words carrying a weighty ultimatum.
In the face of impending consequences, most of the nobles begrudgingly complied, bending the knee in submission, their actions fueled by fear of what was to come.
The tension in the hall was palpable as Lady Jeyne, Lady Jessamyn, and Ser Corwyn Corbray remained defiant, standing tall amidst the sea of kneeling nobles.
"Anyone who does not bend their knee will lose their heads," Eldric declared, his voice laced with menace.
Ser Corwyn, undeterred by the threat, spoke out boldly. "This is utter nonsense," he proclaimed, his voice carrying the weight of defiance. "You and your father are nothing but greedy cunts," he spat out with fiery disdain.
"Especially that whoremongering bastard who sits on the throne and calls himself the king," he continued, his words dripping with venom.
But before another word could escape his lips, Prince Jaehaerys moved with lightning speed, his dagger flashing in the dim light of the hall. With a swift and decisive motion, he cut Ser Corwyn's throat, silencing him in a spray of crimson.
The suddenness of the attack left the hall in stunned silence, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the shock of betrayal. Lady Jeyne and Lady Jessamyn recoiled in horror, their faces pale with disbelief, while the other nobles watched in mute horror.
"Insulting the king is punishable by death," Prince Jaehaerys said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. With a casual flick of his wrist, he wiped his dagger clean on the cloak of Ser Corwyn, the fabric staining a deep shade of red.
The sight of Ser Corwyn's lifeless form crumpling to the ground sent a shiver down my spine, the brutality of the act leaving me breathless with fear. In that moment, the true nature of the prince's ruthlessness was laid bare, and the hall was consumed by a chilling realization of the depths to which they had descended.
"The Regent Ser Eldric is quite generous," Jaehaerys remarked softly, his words hanging in the air like an ominous whisper, each syllable dripping with calculated malice.
"But there are some crimes which cannot be forgiven," he continued, his voice a cold echo in the silent hall. With deliberate steps, he approached Lady Jeyne, his presence casting a shadow over her as he seized her roughly and dragged her towards the Moon Door.
"Kneel," he commanded, his tone devoid of mercy, as Lady Jessamyn cried out for forgiveness, her pleas falling on deaf ears.
"Go on, beg," he taunted, his voice a cruel mockery of compassion.
With defiance burning in her eyes, Lady Jeyne spoke out, her words a damning condemnation of the prince's tyranny.
"All my life I have lived with honor and carried out my duties in a way that would make my ancestors proud. You are nothing but a cruel man who has killed his own nephew. You are a kinslayer," she spat out with venomous contempt.
"You are a monster, and I hope that the fucking king that you call your brother dies a miserable death," Lady Jeyne spat defiantly, her words dripping with venom and despair.
But before another syllable could escape her lips, Prince Jaehaerys's response was swift and merciless. With a vicious kick, he sent her hurtling towards the gaping void of the Moon Door, her screams blending with the chilling winds that swept through the High Hall.
As Lady Jeyne plummeted to her death, the echoes of Lady Jessamyn's horrified cries reverberated through the fortress, a haunting lamentation for the loss of honor and humanity.
"I did tell her that insulting the king is punishable by death," Jaehaerys remarked softly, his tone devoid of remorse, as he turned towards me and began to advance, his footsteps echoing ominously against the stone floor.
The distant cries of Lady Jessamyn served as a grim backdrop to the prince's approach, a chilling reminder of the price of defiance in the face of unchecked tyranny.
"You are my hostage now," he declared, his voice cold and devoid of mercy.
"Do not worry, you will be safe as long as you do not try to run away," he assured, his words dripping with sinister intent.
"The death of my nephews was just the beginning. Two nephews down, three more to go," he added with chilling nonchalance.
As his ominous words hung in the air, a shiver ran down my spine, and a sense of dread settled over me like a suffocating fog. I couldn't help but fear what horrors lay in store, knowing that I was now at the mercy of a man whose cruelty knew no bounds.
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Last_Quincy
Last_Quincy I hope you guys loved the chapters until now. This story is pretty fast-paced and there will be close to fifteen chapters. And I have already written close to seventy percent of it thus the speed at which i am releasing the chapters is pretty fast
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