Chapter 16: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 4
125
King Viserys Targaryen
The King smiled under his gold filigree mask as he witnessed two of his children communicating with each other without the use of words, a form of trust and experience that he shared with their grandfather, and more painfully, his dear and departed friend, Lord Lyonel Strong. He chalked it up to another example of the magic of Dragonsreach, and the Blue Keep.
If someone told him it only took him ninety days to complete his grandest achievement, in raising the Keep and its surrounding accompaniments, he'd believe it, so enchanted with the process of building it all that things like costs and schedules meant nothing to him, and according to Lord Beesbury his trusted Master of Coin, meant nothing to the treasury. That same enchantment that so captured him extended to all of Westeros, and he let his son know it as he rested in the small throne his servants carried over to the pavilion.
"Aegon, my son," he addressed the host of the event, "This is the greatest tourney of my life. Little else I've ever seen has ever brought the Lords of Westeros together in such numbers, and never in such good cheer. I hope you've prepared some music to share with us at the feasting, for surely bards will try to memorialize this great event for many generations to come."
His son, whom many consider the greatest warrior alive and the most handsome man of the age nodded in easy acceptance of the compliment, "And I thank you, father, for the Crown's aid in putting this spectacle on."
His eldest daughter's face soured at the reminder of the expenses. Though she largely withdrew from courtly life as she focused on raising her children and ruling their ancestral seat, Dragonstone, Viserys and her kept up a frequent correspondence, and the King felt greatly relieved for the separation as even with the benefit of ponderance in written communication his daughter made her ire quite clear on the large expense, as if the treasury, fat from decades of peace, was already hers, and not his. Viserys appreciated her will to power, but strongly admonished her for the presumption. There is little more wretched than an heir who shirks and shies away from duty, but an arrogant entitled overreaching heir ranked among them.
Gold comes and gold goes, but the King is not long for this world. He'd long since come to terms with his death, and in fact, welcomed it. His body failed him long ago, and only his dignity as King kept him from simply succumbing to despair and allowing his spirit to waste and rot like his flesh. He endured as is his duty, but duty weighs heavily, more heavily on him than perhaps any of his forebears, for at least they had hale bodies to rely on, even in their darkest days. Viserys Targaryen lives only in dark days, and it is up to him to foster and bolster any light against the ever encroaching ever consuming blackness.
His daughter scorned him for creating such an event as to provide him fond memories, fuel, with which to mete out his final days with as much grace and strength as he can muster, for she does not understand, and more than anything else he wishes her to never understand his pain, and his struggle. His fate he only wishes upon his enemies, and thus he wishes upon no one, for he has no enemies. Many men may wish him death, harm, disaster, they may gloat about his sickness, about his many dead babes, about the fate of his sweet Aemma, but they are all beneath him, none are on his level, and none shall ever rise to it. It is all the vileness of lesser men, and their lesser hearts. Viserys needn't rise above them and their petty perversity, for he is above them.
"Aemond, my son," he addressed his second born son who paid him rapt attention, "Well rode, be proud."
He kept his words measured and short to preserve his voice throughout the day. How he longed for the days of his youth, days filled with singing and revelry, and easy joy. Days his younger children never got to enjoy with him. How he wished he could show them his true self, and not this pathetic wretched form.
"Thank you, father." Aemond politely answered the praise.
It felt sinful to end the young man's days in Dragonsreach, the fruits of which obvious to all with eyes to see. Aemond grew strong, tall, and greatly in strength and skill under his brother's tutelage, but his second son deserved a chance to show the world his own greatness outside the shadow cast by Aegon. After the tourney, Kingslanding becomes his home once more, where he will take up a position studying under the Master of Laws, Lord Jasper Wylde. A natural appointment as any given the consistent reports of Aemond's orderliness and conscientiousness. One day he'd serve well on his sister's Small Council.
Though he suspected Aegon would never serve on Rhaenyra's Small Council due to the demands of his own lands and family, in the last two years he'd built himself a fine claim to the title Master of Ships. Though initially thought of as a vanity project and mocked with claims that soon the Manderlys would plate their ships in silver and the Lannisters theirs in gold, the Bronze fleet quickly emerged onto the scene as both a powerful and viable force on both the Summer and Sunset Seas. While Lord Beesbury expected Aegon to soon beg for tax relief due to the expense of building ships and lavishly plating the hulls in bronze, that never occurred, and instead the fleet began generating tax revenue from interkingdom trade upon inception, with some transactions recorded as far north as Bear Island. The Master of Coin explained that the Bronze Fleet filled a niche in seafaring trade, transporting raw materials and resources between the Reach, Westerlands, Riverlands, and the North at fair prices, prioritizing slow and steady trade over the more typically focused on high value options, betting the fleet's future on the sturdiness of the the vessels and the consistent work for the sailors. Considering the way Aegon seemed to be friends with seemingly every important lord on the west coast, the Bronze Fleet must render good service to all save its master, who seemingly operates it for the sake of the fleet itself rather than for base profit.
He felt assured seeing his son living out the lessons to be learned from his own reign. A man can only accomplish so much, but a man and his friends can accomplish anything. He provided decades of peace for the realm at great personal effort. Peace is not germane to life, it is in fact unnatural. Chaos is natural, chaos is easy, the gods know chaos attempted to assert itself over and over all throughout his reign. A man by himself cannot bring order to chaos beyond his own threshold, but a man and his friends can bring order to kingdoms, and few in the world had more friends than King Viserys Targaryen, and none can honestly claim better friends, for it is only in performance that such things are proven, and King Viserys Targaryen and his many friends have more proof than any of their quality. He felt quite aggrieved for every hole time rent in the tapestry of his companions, but better to grieve and to have had, than to never have had at all. The times they shared, the best, and the King's appreciation far outweighed his aggrievement.
He certainly hoped Aegon's friends proved to be of matching quality as his own, for the King did not feel the same about those whom rallied around his daughter. Gossipers at best, two-faced seditionists at worst. His wife trucked in the same, such disgusting people drawn to courtly life in the capital, proclaiming themselves servants while doing all they can to avoid proper service. He'd place his reputation right alongside Maegor the Cruel's if he ever treated these folk as he impulsively wished too.
Viserys had far too little capacity for focus to deal with both their acidic games veiled in insipid speech and judiciously rule over the Kingdoms. Though his heart longed for the company of his daughter while he awaited his death in Kingslanding, just being around the vile mixture of Rhaenyra's followers existing in proximity to Alicent's almost soured his enjoyment of the Blue Keep and the fabulous event planned by himself and his son. If he brought her to court what little happy wine remained in his life would soon turn to vinegar in his mouth.
Rather than dwell on it, he diverted his attention to his youngest daughter.
"Helaena," he began as his limited vision assessed the woman, "I've never seen a woman more blessed by the Mother. Six babes in three years of marriage, all healthy and well. I thank the gods that I have lived to see my bloodline flourishing so."
"Thank you, father." she responded appropriately, "I'm glad to bear the children in the castle you've built for us. There is no better home in the world than the Blue Keep."
The well deserved compliment of his work tugged up the corners of his lips. There was a time when Viserys lived in fear of his children by Alicent. He feared the look in their eyes when they realized that their father, the pillar of their lives, rotted away more and more each day. Bitter anxiety at their reaction to his affliction caused him to real away from them instinctually, but his steadfast relationship with Aegon allowed him to overcome his fear, to be the brave father his younger children deserved.
His eldest son never looked at him with eyes filled with revulsion, disgust, fear, or hate, even as a child he kept his company with nothing worse than pity in his purple gaze. Aegon treated him with a kindness and wisdom seemingly impossible from a boy who'd never been sick a day in his life. His words and actions overbound with the empathy of someone who'd suffered long debilitating disease. That care reached out like a lifeline across a dark chasm of self isolation, and guided him to a proper relationship with his family.
His younger children did not disappoint. Helaena also possessed a deeper wisdom than others her age, and unique perspective. She never needed teaching to know her place in the world, and instead of lamenting the inconveniences of her status like her sister before her, the girl existed in a state of near perpetual gratitude, as if she'd lived a life of far lesser station and understood the great privileges she enjoyed as a princess.
Aemond followed in his brother's footsteps, instead of cursing his father's infirmity, he took it as a badge of honor, believing the King's dignity enhanced by his capacity to endure such great hardship. Rather than shy away from his illness, his second son took it as an example he needed to live up to, and worked tirelessly to uphold his duties without excuse, for if the King can shoulder the burden of rule in such a state, how could he with his able body shirk away from any hardship.
Daeron never feared his father's withering form. He knew no other, and the support and acceptance shown by his elder siblings guided him into a virtuous and brave boy. With Aemond's upcoming knighting, Daeron's stay in Old Town comes to an end and he shall replace his brother as Aegon's squire. Viserys eagerly awaited the day when his youngest earned his spurs and joined hands with his brothers as their equal man.
Though he'd married their mother out of duty - required by the dwindling of his family to only a single female heir and at the time an out of favor and suspected impotent brother - Viserys relished the outcome of their affection. For all the hassle Alicent caused him squabbling with Rhaenyra, she'd blessed him a thousand fold more with their four children. Obedient, disciplined, valorous, virtuous, quick to reconcile when wrong, quick to support those in need. A dark and shameful part of his heart felt some gratitude for Aemma's death in the light of the quality fruit of his second marriage.
The quality of his children allowed him to pay no mind to the nay-sayers and doom-speakers. Those who spoke in fear of Aegon's risen star, yet pay no mind to how he faithfully followed his father's will, always correcting himself with every misstep into the fine man before him. He should cut the tongues from every mouth that speaks against Faithful Aegon, Kind Helaena, Dutiful Aemond, and Caring Daeron. With children like these, he need not fear the future of House Targaryen, for such bright stars shall shine on even through the darkness of his closing hours.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Its funny. I finally have all the details for this story planned out to its conclusion and a rough outline of the sequel, and some important scenes planned for the one after that. I'm locked in ready to execute the plan, then boom.
Oblivion.
The single most important video game of my middle school days gets an unexpected and unwanted remaster. I'd heard about it from a friend, and dismissed it. Bethesda lost my loyalty years ago with Fallout 4.
Then I check out the release announcement and see that Bethesda outsourced it. All of a sudden I'm sold. I go onto Steam and buy the game, and have spent the last week with my oldest son in my lap as we adventure across Cyrodil, Oblivion, and the Shivering Isle. He cries whenever we finish an Oblivion gate as he loves fighting bad guys, and that's where the bad guys live, unable to process that we killed all the bad guys along the way and a quarter mile away there are three more gates just waiting for us to crusade against.
I've spent alot of time just playing games. It's honestly given me anxiety as I'm an adult know and have responsibilities. I often find myself fantasizing about writing an Oblivion Isekai, but curb my enthusiasm in light of my writing goals. I've little time to finish my commitments, let alone begin a new venture.
My apologies to those authors currently writing Thrones fics for the sarcastic detractions left in the comments sections and critical reviews. I normally avoid Thrones fics due to my vast investment in researching the setting and inspiring period, but I needed to dunk my head in the pondscum you people produce to provide myself with the motivation to get back to writing the objectively best Thrones fiction available.
You can support me and my family at
ko-fi.com/jmanm