Capítulo 5: debt will be payed
———-
Red Keep's walls, towering and cold, loomed with a severed heads mounted on the spikes for all to see. Among them were the heads of Lords Hayford, Merryweather, Harte, Buckler, Caswell, and Lady Fell were displayed.
Hayford's head had an expression of frozen dead, his eyes wide and vacant, staring in to nothing. Merryweather's face seemed almost to follow one with its hollow gaze, while Harte's face was mark by an unsettling, empty stare.
Buckler's head, his eyes pecked out by crows, now bore hollow sockets where the eyes had been, the blood around his severed neck dark and congealed, much like Caswell's.
Lady Fell's head, like all the others, was mounted on the spike. Her once beautiful hair was crudely hacked off, leaving jagged, bloodied clumps. The blood had darkened into a blackened crust, matted into her scalp. The wind stirred the disheveled remnants, making them flutter like a banners.
Blood dripped slowly from the spikes, leaving a grim streaks on the walls. Mice scurried along the base of the wall, nibbling at the darkened blood that had pooled and dripped down, while crows pecked and clawed at the heads, tearing out the eyes and eating them.
Lords, servants, highborn or lowborn, traitors were traitors. Each met the same end : beheaded.
Even in death, these traitors still served the realm, their heads a grim warning. Their decapitated faces cast a dark shadow over the courtyard, a reminder of the price of treason.
———-
My father, King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, stood firmly reached out his left hand. He had to use it after slicing his right hand on shattered glass. He claimed it was an accident, but I doubted his words. I asked Lily, my companion in the Red Keep, for the truth, and she revealed that father had indeed cut himself, but it was in a fit of rage when Otto dared to defy him.
Before him was a beast, a vicious creature with tabby fur stained in the hues of flame. Its massive eyes, blue like the deepest ocean, stared at him with a fearlessly, unyielding before the king.
"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave." His hand moved from its right to its left. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just." Back to the right. "In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent." The left. "In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Smith, I charged you to be diligent. I charged you to fulfill these oaths until the Stranger comes for you." He spoke.
"Meow!" The beast roared.
.
.
.
It was a cat.
Jaehaera had taken to calling him "Little Andal" a name soon shortened to Andy, and she thought it was a brilliant idea to have father knight him.
And he did just that…he knighted a cat.
King of the Seven Kingdoms had just knighted a cat.
"Arise, Ser Andy, knight of…um…this room?"
The King was just knighted a kitten.
"Meow!" Ser Andy, knight of this room, the first kitten to ever been knighted by king of the Seven Kingdoms, meowing in return.
"Yay! Can I name him my sworn shield?" Jaehaera exclaimed as she played with him. She dangled a piece of string, laughing as Andy leaped and swatted at it with his paws. He tumbled and rolled, catching the string and then releasing it.
Andy was a bundle of restless energy. He'd dart around the room, chasing shadows and hunting rats, only to flop into Jaehaera's lap with a tired little purr. He had this endearing way of nudging her hand for attention, like he was gently reminding her he was there for her.
"Yes, dear, you can." Aegon answered with a light smile on his face, clearly amused by the scene.
Jaehaera giggled, cradling Andy in her arms and stroking his soft fur. Andy purred contentedly, licking her hand.
She turned to me with a bright smile, holding Andy out to me.
Her smile, always so warm and genuine.
"Look, brother! I have a sworn shield now!"
Jaehaera said proudly, flourishing the cat in her hands.
I groused, feigning sadness. "But what about me? You don't need my company anymore?" leaning toward Andy, I added.
"Even so I trust you, Ser Andy, guard my sister well. She will need your protection more than I ever could."
After all, you're the one who always cheered her up.
Jaehaera, sensing my words, released the cat and protested.
"That's not true! You are still needed!"
She then hugged me tightly, her embrace warm.
In return, I wrapped my arms around her, and the scent of flowers filled my nose, a cruel reminder of Helaena.
Helaena had left a bruise on my throat, dark and tender, a mark as deep and enduring as the wound she inflicted on my shattered heart. The bruise on my throat may have healed, but the scars in my heart may never.
Jaehaera looked at me with the warmth and light in her indigo eyes.
Like Maelor's.
Then a vision flashed through my eyes.
I saw her lying down, impaled from behind on the jagged spikes of the dry moat.
Her body was twisted, her legs and wrists bent in unnatural angles, barely holding on as she cried in pain.
Her gown was soaked with blood that poured in a relentlessly cascade, forming a dark pool beneath her. Blood gushed from her mouth in a horrific spurts, spattering and staining her pale cheeks. Her beautiful face twisted in agony, and her indigo eyes were opened wide, filled with terror.
No
The scene gripped my heart and ignited a fierce, burning anger within me. The painful memories of Maelor's fate only intensified my rage.
I failed Maelor, but I won't fail you.
I won't fail again.
A debt is owned.
———-
Ser Arryk disembarked from the small boat onto the rocky shore of Dragonstone. The dragon-carved stronghold towered above him, its black stone walls rising imposingly from the volcanic rock of the island. The fortress, with its steep towers and narrow battlements, stood out against the overcast sky. The island was a grim place, with waves constantly crashing against the shore.
From the boat, Ser Arryk blended with the smallfolk, donning a disguise that allowed him to move among them unnoticed. He kept to the shadows, avoiding the gaze of curious onlookers as he made his way through the bustling docks. Once away from prying eyes, he hid in a secluded spot to change into his true guise.
Carefully, he stripped off his smallfolk disguise and put on the white Kingsguard armor he had bought, becoming Erryk.
As he approached the gates, the castle's defenders watched him closely from the battlements. Their eyes were hard and suspicious. The gatehouse was a formidable structure, reinforced with iron and thick oak, flanked by dragon statues carved from dark stone, their eyes seeming to follow his every movement.
Ser Arryk reached the gates and was met by a pair of stern-faced guards. He removed his helmet, revealing a visage identical to that of Erryk.
"I am Ser Erryk." He announced.
"The Queen has requested my presence."
The guards exchanged a glance, then nodded. One of them signaled to the gatekeeper, and with a groan, the heavy gates began to open, revealing a courtyard filled with the clamor of soldiers.
Ser Arryk took a deep breath, the smell of salt and smoke filling his lungs as he walked into the courtyard, his heart was heavy as he recognized the two brown-haired princes practicing with their silver-haired little brothers with wooden swords.
And they recognized him as well.
"Ser Erryk!" Prince Joffrey exclaimed. The prince's brown eyes locked onto him.
But Arryk's eyes locked onto the seven-year-old prince with silver-gold hair.
He looked at Viserys Targaryen.
Arryk had been ordered to kill the prince, born of Prince Daemon.
He didn't know why, but if he had, he would have been surprised to learn that this order came from the young prince Jaehaerys himself.
—-
"Kill Viserys." Jaehaerys spoke for the first time in the council, surprising everyone.
His voice was cold and raspy, and his indigo eyes looked far too calculating for a child.
"My Prince?" Criston was confused by what the young prince meant.
"Kill those born of Daemon." Jaehaerys clarified, making everyone question the same thing
Why?
"Why, son?" Aegon spoke for everyone.
"Who would think of killing my brother in such a cruel, twisted way? I can only think of one person." He said.
"A son for a son"
The prince paused. He took a deep breath before looking at his father.
"He own a debt."
His words left everyone speechless, knowing the prince had took the same path as his father.
Vengeance
"I understand, My Prince." Criston nodded in understanding.
"But we will do more than that." Jaehaerys declared, drawing all eyes to him.
"We will announce the Strong boys as bastards and recognize the trueborn as the rightful heirs to Driftmark and in line for succession."
Jaehaerys said, leaving everyone confused. Announcing the bastards was understandable, but why recognize others? After all, they would be wiped out in the end.
"Then, we will denounce their betrothal to the trueborn as illegal and declare that if Baela or Rhaena inherits Driftmark, they will have to change their name to Velaryon."
Tyland Lannister, Master of Coin, began to realized what the prince was up to.
"Then we will demand justice for Laenor's death."
Now everyone understood.
"You want to divide them." Tyland exclaimed.
Jaehaerys nodded.
"This is brilliant, son! I am so proud of you!"
Aegon pulled his son into his arms.
Everyone had a question that day…
Did this really come from a six-year-old?
Well, everyone except Aegon, who was proud that his son was so wise.
And of course, Arryk didn't know this, nor did he need to.
—-
"Ser Arryk?" Viserys noticed that he was being stared at.
The innocence in those violet eyes made Arryk feel guilty.
A voice echoed in his head.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent."
Do your duty. Ser Arryk reminded himself.
He drew his sword, the weight of his mission pressing down on him.
"I am sorry, My Prince." he said with a heavy heart. The boy's eyes widened as he shielded himself with wooden sword his little hand.
Arryk lunged at Viserys, his blade severing four of the prince's fingers, leaving only the thumb. The sword then slashed through Viserys's face, creating a hollow gape where flesh had been. The blade cleaved through soft tissue, tearing open his cheek and cutting down to the bone. The exposed bone of his cheek was stark white against the blood soaked crimson of his flesh, and his tongue was sickeningly visible through the gaping wound.
Someone yanked the boy away before the blow could be fatal.
Blood spurted from the stumps of Viserys's missing fingers and the raw gaping wound on his face, splattering onto the ground and soaking his clothes. The severed fingers, slick with blood, lay scattered around him.
The shallow cut on his face bled profusely, and Viserys, in a desperate attempt to stem the flow, tried to hold his mutilated face together with trembling hands, but the effort was futile as blood continued to pour and drip uncontrollably.
The split wound on his face looked like the form of a dragon's maw, with the bone exposed like the fang. Amidst the horror, Viserys looked almost like a dragon himself.
The little prince screamed in agony and fear, his cry piercing the air louder than any dragon's roar. The stark red of blood on his pale skin, and the sheer terror in his eyes deepened Arryk's guilt to an unbearable level.
Then Arryk's heart grew even heavier when he saw the man he least wanted to encounter.
"Brother."
———-
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