Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 61: Death of a King
3rd Moon
107 AC
Sunset Sea
Harlan Pyke looked out over the vast sunset sea from the starboard side of his ship. He could feel his connection with the kraken that swam beneath the waves, could sense the turbulence of the sea as the Drowned God raged in the depths. Even before Captain Farwynd arrived with the latest report, the fury of the waters alone told him everything he needed to know about the Ironborn's latest failure against the Lannisters and the Mormonts.
The sporadic skirmishes of the past few years had turned into an unofficial war, and the Drowned God had been a harsh taskmaster ever since the Mormont girl had claimed Silverwing. The god despised the fact that a dragon now flew over his waters, hunting within them and making the sea its territory.
Harlan sighed before glancing toward his most trusted advisor and follower, Lord Farwynd, who had arrived and taken position one step behind him to his right.
"So," Harlan asked, "the Greyjoy boy has lost again?"
Farwynd grunted. "Yes, my captain. More than that, the fucker actually ended up burning in dragonflame."
Harlan snorted at that, noticing Farwynd's uncertainty over whether to be pleased or furious.
"Captain, the sea has been rougher than at any time I have seen until now," Farwynd continued with a frown. "The Greyjoy line now has only a child named Dalton Greyjoy and no one else. I think the time you have waited for has finally come, and your masterful plans have come to fruition."
Harlan shook his head. "Not only my plan, my friend. The plan to enrage Greyjoy and his supporters into fighting the Lannisters and the Mormonts worked only because the Drowned God willed it. The Drowned God hates that more and more non-believers are sailing through his seas without paying the iron price. The drowned priests told all the lords as much, and their pride is the only reason they threw themselves again and again against the Lannister and Mormont fleets. Still, the problem is not handled or anywhere close to being handled. I hoped some mundane method will be available to deal with the dragon."
Farwynd shrugged. "Captain, even when the least talented Ironborn attacks, the enemy has lost men and even a dozen ships. Of course, we have lost at least a hundred ships, but more than sixty of those were to the dragon, where the fuckers actually tried all your clever ideas. I say that when we, The True Ironborns, finally enter these seas, the Mormonts will be tortured in the halls of the Drowned God after we send them there. We know it is the fucking wargs that make our ambushes worthless. The only thing remaining is the dragon and the bear bitch."
Harlan snorted. "You forgot the bitch's father and the dragons of the royal family. The only reason I am even thinking about killing a dragon is because my god commands me. He also made me wait to enter this hunt, bidding me that he would reveal the perfect time. Now he has said that the time is quite near. Still, he has said nothing regarding the other dragons, and now I must come up with a plan to make them stall and negotiate with us. What about the rest of the lords? Will they declare for me as Lord Reaper over Greyjoy?"
Farwynd replied, "The drowned priests have told me that everyone is ready to follow you if you deliver them results and deal with the Mormonts. I say that even without it, the moment they realise you have a kraken under your control, they will bend the knee."
Harlan smiled at that, knowing that leadership was finally returning to the true royal house of the Iron Islands—House Hoare.
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6th Moon, 107 AC
King's Landing
The Bastard King II
I, along with Gael, looked on in silence at the cooling body of King Jaehaerys. We had been present in his final moments as he drank the sweetsleep that would end his life, and we remained beside him until he drew his last breath.
Gael turned to me with unshed tears in her eyes, and I gave her a small nod. Without making a sound, we moved toward the concealed opening in the wall that would allow us to return to our chambers and wait for a servant to discover that the King had died in his sleep. A servant would usually enter after midnight to tend the fire in the presence of the Kingsguard, and I knew he would be found then.
We lay upon our bed, and I held Gael as she wept. She seemed more saddened now than she had been even when the Queen died.
"It is surreal, Daemon," Gael finally said with a deep sigh.
I shrugged. "It is natural, my love. We were meant to be king and queen. The only difference is that it has come far earlier than I expected, and with far greater strength in our House and realm. For all that I hated the bastard at the time, your father was quite correct in saying that inheriting a kingdom after fifty years of peace is far better than building upon a war-torn one."
Gael nodded sadly. "Now what?"
"In two days we will burn him at Dragonstone, which he deserves as his final resting place. Two days after that will be our crowning," I said.
"That will be too soon," Gael replied in slight surprise. "Are you rushing because of your feelings of doom that have been growing stronger?"
"That is one reason, but not the only one. We do not have the luxury of waiting, Gael. Already, the trusted lords have been quietly arming and training their forces without knowing why. The only reason Dorne does not know that the Tarlys of Horn Hill, the Carons of Nightsong, and the Dondarrions of Blackhaven are prepared to fight two wars is because of my sons' warging and greenseeing prowess. With a little help from Aethan, they killed any spies and fed false information through three prisoners whose networks we now control," I said with obvious pride in my sons' work.
"That should limit the bloodshed on our side," Gael agreed, a hard smile forming on her lips. "Dorne will find a prepared army instead of the innocent smallfolk they expected."
=====================
"Dracarys," I ordered loudly, and Vermithor breathed fire upon his rider's pyre at Dragonstone.
I saw Gael wipe her face as a single tear escaped her eye while the flames consumed the pyre with unnatural speed.
"End of the greatest king that ruled the Seven Kingdoms," someone muttered from the sidelines, my sharp hearing catching the words.
I snorted softly and whispered, even though I knew he would not hear me. My pride would allow nothing else.
"No. This is the beginning of the greatest king these lands have ever seen."
==============================
6th Moon, 107 AC
King's Landing
Ser Otto Hightower
Ser Otto woke with a start at the continuous sound of bells ringing beyond the castle walls. For a moment, confusion clouded his mind before realization struck.
"Finally, the old King is dead," Otto whispered with a pleased smile that quickly faded into irritation as he thought of the clear successor, the bastard from the North. Otto, more than anyone else, had observed and served the Targaryens, and he knew that no dragonrider would challenge Daemon for the throne. All were either cowardly or too greedy, and Daemon had managed to charm them to his side through unmistakable magical means.
Otto rose from his comfortable bed and looked around the chamber. It was nowhere near his old quarters at the Hightower, but as the quality of his service had increased over the last few years, so had his situation. More gold dragons, more comfortable chambers, more servants, even though he could not punish them himself. It was a comfortable stay, and those with any ambition would be content and satisfied.
And that was the true danger of Jaehaerys and Daemon. They understood the hearts of men and knew how to make them believe that they had earned what they possessed through valuable service to their King. Even Otto had been tempted to abandon his true goal because of how comfortable his position had become. Prince Viserys had asked him to bring his family to King's Landing, and his daughter Alicent had become a close companion to Princess Rhaenyra. Otto hoped that his brother, Lord Hightower, had continued Alicent's education regarding their ambitions, because Otto refused to discuss any plans against the Targaryens while he remained in King's Landing. At least he did not have to worry about his immediate family ever suffering from disease, since they are staying in Red Keep and Otto unlike others has noticed that ever since the bastard arrived diseases has started to vanish slowly.
Otto dressed in black and finally stepped out to help where he was needed. Even though he held no official position, he had become the perfect assistant to every member of the Small Council, and all knew that anything delegated to him would be handled flawlessly, because he had no choice but to be extremely competent in his service.
Otto was passing through one of the outer corridors when he saw something that made him freeze. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent stood near the edge of the godswood, with clear signs of tears upon their faces. Rhaenyra sat at the base of a tree while Alicent lowered herself beside her in an embrace. They were not dressed according to his standards, with only hastily thrown gowns covering their sleepwear. It was evident that the news of the King's death had struck Rhaenyra deeply, and she had not wished to remain in the keep while Alicent tried to console her.
What made Otto freeze was how the new King stood over them, dressed as a King should be. There was nothing hastily thrown about his attire, which made Otto realize that the bastard had known the King would die, or that something would happen that very night. There was no other reason to be dressed so well near midnight.
The new King held his seven-month-old daughter, Daenerys, in his arms, and the girl did not appear tired or distressed. Otto immediately searched for the black direwolf that Prince Gaemon had gifted her upon her birth. The animal had grown to be the runt of its litter, while the other direwolf had grown large enough to rival a horse, this one was merely the size of a large hunting dog. Otto didn't know why this wolf was stunted in growth while the other three are still growing, but nothing like the monster that gave them to the bastard king before vanishing for last several years.
Still, it was quite ironic that Otto had never seen such callousness or paranoia, regarding a baby from anyone else. Princess Daenerys was carried everywhere by Lyanna and even the bastard Benjen. Once, Otto had seen Gaemon, still a little boy, carry the princess and vanish from the castle in a game of hide and seek. The black direwolf followed the young princess everywhere, and for Mother's sake, Otto had once seen the creature pick up the princess by her dress when she escaped from her chambers after learning to crawl. Even the servant was terrified to actually take the Princess from the direwolves mouth as she was carried by it.
To Otto's amazement, neither Gael nor Daemon ever scolded anyone for treating such a delicate child in this manner, and Otto found himself wondering how much physical enhancement the girl had received from her father, that her parents were not worried in the slightest.
Otto watched as Daemon handed Princess Daenerys to Alicent, who handled the baby with familiarity, and finally sat beside Rhaenyra. The princess immediately reached toward Rhaenyra, who wiped her tears and smiled sadly as the baby cooed at her.
Otto saw Daemon's gaze pass over the girls' exposed skin without comment. Suddenly, Otto was struck by inspiration as he remembered the number of bastards the bastard King had claimed to sire among the smallfolk. Unfortunately, Otto knew that Daemon had not slept with anyone other than Gael for years and had rejected all proposals from noble ladies for reasons unknown. No smallfolk even dared to lie and claim that Dameon has slept with them.
Otto's thoughts were broken as Daemon turned and looked at him with a smirk. The heir began to walk toward him, while the black direwolf lay upon the ground beside Rhaenyra, watching Princess Daenerys carefully.
Otto immediately bowed as Prince Daemon approached him. "My Prince," Otto said, wincing before correcting himself. "Apologies, Your Grace, my King."
"Is it?" Daemon asked with a knowing smile.
"Your Grace?" Otto replied cautiously like he was confused because whatever answer he gave may set off a hidden trap.
As expected by Otto, Daemon's heterochromatic eyes were filled with mirth and mockery.
Daemon waved his hand dismissively. "I am yet to be officially crowned, Ser Otto. Thus, I am yet to be King."
Otto bowed in acknowledgment, hoping the Prince would leave him alone. Every moment spent in the Prince's presence increased his tension and stress, because a single misplaced word could mean the end of both himself and his family. Fortunately Daemon just nodded at his word's and turned to walk away. He even sighed unconsciously and relaxed slightly when he immediately cursed internally knowing how the Bastard Prince could sense all of it.
To his dismay, the Prince walked forward a few steps before speaking again without turning back.
"Walk with me, Otto."
Otto sighed internally before stepping forward, making sure to remain one step behind the Prince in deference and respect. They walked in silence until they reached the Tower of the Hand, where Prince Daemon's current office was held.
Prince Daemon vaulted over the large table without any visible increase in momentum before the jump and seated himself gracefully upon the throne-like chair. Ser Otto hid his slight surprise behind a respectful expression. It was small things like this that had made Otto realize, early on, how much of a physical monster the new King was.
"Sit down, Otto. Let us have a chat," the Prince said.
Otto bowed and followed the order. "Your Grace?"
"Do you know why you are still alive, Otto?" Daemon asked, to Otto's absolute horror, as he began to sweat in panic.
"I do not understand what you mean, Your Grace. I have been a loyal servant of the Iron Throne for years," Otto replied without emotion in his voice. Unfortunately he couldn't do anything regarding his body's signs regarding panic.
Daemon snorted and laughed for several heartbeats before shaking his head to clear the mirth.
"That you have, Otto, that you have served well. Even now, I could feel your emotions, your heart is full of repressed anger and hate towards the royal family and your heart is determined for some other goal, yet there is nothing to be seen outside. Your body and your words are filled with complete respect and loyalty to the Crown," the Prince said, shocking Otto into tense silence.
Otto knew he couldn't show outward panic and gave away the truth, so he chose indignation.
"Your Grace, please do not accuse me of things I have not done. I am a loyal servant to the Iron Throne, even when I am a hostage in all but name," Otto said, his voice filled with outrage.
Otto saw the prince actually looking impressed and smiling in enjoyment.
"There it is, the consummate politician. Since you insist on playing your charades, I will be frank. You are alive because you are still useful and competent. In fact, you are more competent than even some of my more loyal council members. You know your place, and you know that if you make even the slightest mistake, it will be the end of your life and your daughter's. If you were even a little more honest, I would have made you a member of the Small Council once I am crowned, as there will be changes made. Yet you remain a stubborn idiot, clinging to whatever agenda you serve. I need competent men for the smooth operation of the court and its duties, because we will be quite busy in the future."
Otto merely bowed his head. "I do not know what to say, Your Grace, to change your view of me or prove my loyalty."
Otto could see the disregard and scorn in the slight smug grin upon the new King's face. It was the same expression that seemed to say he knew far more than Otto could ever guess.
"Anyway," Daemon continued, disregarding Otto's words, "the fact is that your service has been good and correct. I prefer to reward those who serve me well, and many have noted how faithfully you have served House Targaryen. A reward is necessary before there is any disgruntlement over the matter."
Otto's eyes widened as he heard this, knowing that whatever this reward would be, it would likely prove disastrous for him. There would be no avoiding it. The Prince would reward him.
"I am grateful to hear that, Your Grace, and would humbly accept whatever it may be," Otto said, maintaining his façade.
"As you saw," Daemon said casually, "I just met Alicent. She is a beautiful girl, and it is no wonder Aegon took a liking to her. So, what say you? Let us betroth Alicent to Aegon. Of course, I expect a generous dowry from House Hightower."
For a moment, Otto's usually calculative mind froze. Marrying into the royal family, to a Prince and a dragonrider, was something no sane man would refuse, yet Otto remained deeply suspicious of why Prince Daemon had proposed this.
If not for the bastard prince not having any subtlety because of his overwhelming strength, Otto would have suspected that this marriage was a way to take over House Hightower and oldtown.
Otto bowed in deference. "Your Grace, I am not worthy of such an honor, and I cannot promise anything without the approval of Lord Hightower, my brother."
The Prince snorted in derision.
"Really, Otto? I hear that House Hightower has been ostracized by the other lords of the Reach because of how the maesters stole from them. Many still believe Hightower profited from it, and I hear that marriage offers for your House have been lackluster. Would your brother deny this opportunity, even if he must provide a very generous dowry? That would include the complete use of the Hightower fleet in the coming conflict, along with the expense of the Reach fleet when the time comes. Speak to your brother when he arrives, but ensure that Alicent is protected until my proposal is officially accepted."
Otto gritted his teeth, knowing that his brother would accept, unaware that there must be a reason behind the King's offer. He tried to determine what conflict Daemon referred to, and unease settled within him as he recalled the happenings of the past moons. Infrastructure had been completed with unusual haste, even through the night. Gold and supplies had been hoarded, and Otto had heard of many lords preparing for something after a recent tour by the dragonriders across the Vale, Stormlands, Riverlands, and the Reach. Even the Lannisters had been preparing for some time due to the Ironborn.
Otto finally cleared his mind and bowed again, accepting the order from his new King, knowing that any argument would only worsen his situation.
Fortunately, he was promptly dismissed after that.
======================================
Four days later
Otto watched in quiet helplessness as Daemon Targaryen walked towards the Iron Throne, dressed in the finest silks and royal garments with Blackfyre at his belt. Even without opulence, the man looked and acted as a king should.
The Great Hall was filled to the brim with people of every station. Even smallfolk had been allowed entry so that they could witness the coronation. Yet only a fraction had managed to enter before the hall was filled and the lines were cut off at the Red Keep gates themselves. A line of guards kept the smallfolk and the nobility separate.
Otto stood near the front, as all members of the Small Council and their aides had been afforded the closest places after House Targaryen and the King's personal invitees, which included his friends and his bastard sons.
Yet something felt wrong.
Otto watched Daemon approach the throne as the seven Kingsguard escorted him. His gaze shifted to the base of the Iron Throne, where Gael and Rhaenys stood to the right and left. Rhaenys held the pillow upon which rested the crown.
To Otto's horror, it was not the crown of Jaehaerys. This crown had been built in the likeness of the old Winter Kings' circlet, with nine pointed heads. Each point bore a different symbol, and each had been forged from a different metal. The base of the crown was not metal at all, but black and pale white.
It took Otto a moment to understand what he was seeing. The black was dragonbone, while the pale portions were weirwood, carved and set into place to reinforce the structure and fill the gaps within the curved bone. Otto found himself wondering which part of a dragon's skeleton could have yielded such a near-perfect circular structure
The thing that was missing or perhaps wrong was not the crown.
Otto looked around the hall once more, his gaze sweeping across the gathered lords, ladies, knights, and courtiers, searching for the source of the unease that had settled into his mind from the very beginning of the ceremony. His eyes passed over banners, armor, and the ranks of the Small Council before stopping on a single figure wearing a crystal coronet, and in that instant his attention fixed upon the High Septon.
The man stood among the members of the Small Council instead of at the foot of the Iron Throne, and realization struck Otto with quiet certainty. The coronation had always been performed by the High Septon ever since Aegon the Conqueror, yet now his great-great-grandson was setting aside that tradition entirely.
The High Septon's jaw was clenched, his teeth grinding in restrained displeasure. Otto could see that the man was far from content with the proceedings, yet he remained silent and watchful, offering neither protest nor blessing.
Daemon went to his knees before the Iron Throne with his back turned to the assembled crowd. The murmuring of hundreds faded into silence as a single dragon's roar echoed from beyond the walls of the Red Keep.
Gael took the crown from Rhaenys and held it above Daemon's bowed head. Otto saw her take a deep breath before she spoke, and the words carried through the vastness of the hall with unnatural clarity.
"By will of my father King Jaehaeryes Targaryen and the blessing of Old Gods as well as New
Gods, Daemon Targaryen has bent his knees as a true son of House Targaryen, and now he shall rise as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.
She placed the crown upon his head and finished her proclamation with a firm declaration of, "Long live the King," before dropping to her knees the moment Daemon rose to his feet facing the Iron Throne.
The entire hall followed without prompting, kneeling as one while the cry of "Long live the King" spread from voice to voice in Gael's wake.
Otto noticed that many kept their heads bowed as a pressure spread through the hall the instant King Daemon stood. It took only a few heartbeats for him, watching the newly crowned king ascend toward the Iron Throne, to realize that the source of that pressure was Daemon himself and deliberately done by the King.
The King walked up the treacherous steps as though the jagged blades beneath his feet posed no threat, and when he reached the apex he turned in a single motion and seated himself upon the throne. The moment he faced the hall, the pressure upon the gathered crowd peaked, forcing even the proudest among them to bow their heads under its weight.
For several heartbeats the unseen force continued to mount before vanishing all at once, drawing quiet sighs of relief from those present.
"Rise."
The stern command echoed through the hall and brought everyone back to their feet.
Otto paid little attention to the oaths that followed, offering his own when required and allowing the ceremony to proceed as expected. It had already stretched long enough that he assumed the King would soon dismiss the assembly, yet instead of bringing the occasion to a close, Daemon called the Grand Maester to stand before the Iron Throne.
The Grand Maester paled as he stepped forward, memories of recent purges among his order no doubt rising to the surface, though he obeyed without hesitation.
"Grand Maester, send ravens to all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, from Sunspear to the Wall, from south to north, that King Daemon Targaryen has ascended the Iron Throne and calls upon his lords to come to King's Landing and bend the knee, swearing their vows of fealty to me and mine directly. Any lord who does not come within two moons shall be considered an oathbreaker and a rebel to the Iron Throne, and I will deal with them personally."
The Grand Maester bowed at once.
"Yes, Your Grace. Your order shall be followed immediately."
Otto noticed the hesitation that lingered nonetheless, and he would later curse himself for failing to understand it even as the young maester clearly did. The King seemed to notice it as well and gestured for him to speak.
"My King, I hesitate because of Dorne," the maester said with another bow.
"Dorne? What of it, Maester?" Daemon asked with a careless wave, and Otto caught the faint curve of satisfaction forming upon the King's lips.
"Dorne has never bent the knee. We hold only a peace treaty." The Maester said and even Otto nodded from his spot. Murmurs spread through the hall.
The king laughed softly. "Grand Maester, what is the title with which I was just crowned? The title my grandfather, his father, and his father before him were crowned with—the same title used in every peace treaty or agreement signed on behalf of the Iron Throne?" the king asked in an exaggeratedly instructive voice.
The Grand Maester looked confused before answering, "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm."
"Exactly, Maester," the king said. "I am king of the Rhoynar as well, and I am Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, including Dorne—not six. Our trade agreements and peace treaties bear the same title, and if Dorne has signed them, then they have acknowledged it too. So send the ravens. The lords of Dorne shall come and bend the knee as is proper. If not, they shall forever be known as rebels and traitors—as they should already be, considering how many of the peace treaties they have broken until now. The last rebellion was ended by my own grandfather when he burned their armada in 83 AC."
Otto could not believe what he was hearing, though he was not surprised by the cunning of King Daemon Targaryen. The king had casually begun the next war while placing the blame for the coming bloodshed upon Dorne. The people who had enjoyed peace for the last six decades would blame them, not the new king. The king's precious image as the Healer Prince would be preserved while he finally conquered the land, all the while displaying his strength to all.
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Author's note: all hail King Daemon Targaryen and his blood thirsty ways..
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