Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast…
The following day, a kind of shadow and gloom held sway over the Red Keep. Viserys rarely left his solar, instead busying himself with his model of the Valyrian capital, which grew ever larger and more intricate. Rhaenyra was confined to her apartments in the Red Keep, with only Grand Maester Mellos and a few septas coming in and out of her quarters. Two guardsmen, hearing the personal heraldry of Aeonar stood constant guard outside of her door rather than a member of the Kingsguard.
Lord Unwin Peake, having journeyed to King's Landing from Starpike at his daughter's request, was the first of many lords to arrive in preparations for the upcoming wedding between Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon. Word arrived of Otto's departure, leaving the Hand of the King post vacant. Beatrice advocated for her father to be named as Otto's replacement and for a moment, House Peake soon grew with the anticipation of acquiring more prestige.
"The realm needs a strong Hand. And without a Hand, everything will fall to pieces," Beatrice informed her father. Together they walked through the halls of the Red Keep towards Viserys's chamber.
Unwin hummed. "Still, I must give it to Ser Otto for holding out as long as he did. However, there are potential repercussions for fabricating certain key findings in the report you mentioned." He spoke. "Are you certain you and your 'acquaintance' have taken the necessary precautions before informing the rest of us back home?"
"Yes, father. My partner made certain to take the attention from us and more toward Viserys's Hand, though 'twas a close call. Now, I've already arranged an audience with the king to recommend you for the post. All we must do is explain why you would make a more suitable replacement for Otto. Our main concern, however, is his heir."
"The Young Dragon has many powerful allies at home and lurking in the shadows."
"If it comes to that, I'll take care of my stepson. That way, given the infighting, we'll soon have the path opened for Aegon's inevitable ascension."
When Unwin and Beatrice finally arrived at their destination, expecting Viserys, they did not expect Aeonar and Lyonel Strong to be with him as well. Not only that but Grand Maester Mellos and his new young aide Maester Orwyle were in the room too. Since returning to Driftmark, Viserys has been slightly recovering in a bathtub while being tended to for his ailments. Since the disease was made aware to the Young Dragon, merely amputating the two fingers on the king's left hand only slowed the advance of the persistent infection, and now after several more years, it has once again continued to spread along much of his left forearm.
"Rest now, Your Grace. I will bring the leeches," Mellos assured him.
"Uh, if I may, Grand Maester," Orwyle objected, "I took the liberty of preparing a fresh set of herbal poultices that might be more… effective."
"Hmph! That will not be necessary, Orwyle. The leechings have always brought His Grace relief." Mellos scoffed and struggled to try to stand, the elderly Grand Maester grunted and groaned with age.
Aeonar, folding his arms, noticed it too. Soon. It won't be long before you keel over, old man. And not a moment too soon.
Beatrice and Unwin permitted Mellos to leave but immediately returned to Viserys, Aeonar, and Lyonel remaining. The queen then noticed the Hand's pin attached to Lyonel's tunic before turning her gaze to the Young Dragon who met hers with a smug sense of satisfaction in his cold eyes.
ooOoo
Moments earlier…
In the council chamber, Aeonar stood gazing out the window. His arms crossed behind his back. The only other person in the chamber was the Master of Laws, Lord Lyonel Strong.
"There have been some missives from Driftmark and Dragonstone," Lyonel said. He opened the one from Driftmark. "Lord Corlys enclosed a list of potential dates for the wedding with the king in person." This did not seem to gauge any kind of response from Aeonar, so he opened the next message from Dragonstone. "Your personal maester, Alwyn, has informed us that your contact, Prince Reggio Haratis, has agreed to host your uncle Prince Daemon. He also writes that… he… writes that the Cannibal had stirred from its lair again. It killed two Dragonkeepers and attacked Silverwing but fled when Vermithor arrived."
Aeonar shuddered. "So… he is escaped from his 'confinement.' The Cannibal is a wild, yet extremely dangerous beast. I'll reiterate exactly why the inhabitants and anyone else near Dragonstone are to stay away from the Rhúqo region." He glanced over his shoulders. "A pity about Otto. While I haven't always agreed with my father-in-law, I respected his capabilities as Hand. The man is as intelligent and methodical as he was ambitious."
Lyonel pursed his lips together; he had never been fond of Ser Otto Hightower. He found the statesman's subtle but ever-present ambition tiresome. However, the man had been the Hand of the King for fifteen years, it would not be an easy task to replace him. "I can only assume that you, my prince, desire the post?"
"Tempting, Lord Strong, but no. From the outside perspective, that kind of political maneuvering would be seen as a coup. My father will need a replacement or the realm's stability would be threatened. I believe it would be in the crown's best interest if you became Hand."
Lyonel seemed taken aback. He had never desired the post of Hand of King; he had been more than content to serve House Targaryen as Master of Laws. "Are these the wishes of His Grace?" he asked when he had overcome his initial shock.
"You've shown loyalty, fair judgment, a clear conscience, and more importantly – no ambition to get in the way. Even your heir, Ser Harwin, agreed. I'll even vouch for you because you would be good at it… just as Septon Barth had."
"Thank you for your generous words, my prince. Now, if I am to speak freely and offer advice."
"By all means, Lord Strong."
"I understand that your actions are well-intentioned and done for the greater good, but what has happened has created scores and scores of rumors. The most ignorant of the smallfolk think you have murdered your father and seized power and taken your sister as a second wife." Lyonel paused as he could practically feel the aura coming from the Young Dragon. He knew that he needed to choose his words very carefully. "The majority of the people of course do not heed such lies. However, it would be better I think if you and the entirety of the royal family appeared together. To show the strength and unity of House Targaryen."He explained in a calm tone as he continued."Such a demonstration will go far to reassure the people and House Velaryon. I-In regard to the princess, what has been said I will not repeat, but it exists. Her marriage to Ser Laenor will help keep things quiet but I fear it will not go away until the matter of Ser Criston Cole has been dealt with. We can say that Ser Criston was found abed with a nameless wench when he should have been on duty. He was placed in the black cells for dereliction and gelded for violating his oath. If we sent him to the Wall, he could tell tales that should not be told. If we executed him then it could only spark further stories. But if he is kept alive, he can parrot what we tell him, and he can be watched very closely to ensure he does not deviate again."
Aeonar listened closely to Lyonel's words, paying close attention to detail. There would be risks, there would be benefits… others more blurred than most. "If that's your recommendation, then it's best that we begin making such preparations. I'll ensure Lord Corlys and House Velaryon come to the capital for the necessary arrangements. He will understand if the message comes from me. As for the rabble… the royal family will be making a public appearance to show all is well despite what malcontent decided to spread such baseless stories conjured out of thin air. As for Ser Criston Cole, the king will have to decide his fate. Whatever it may be, such a violation of a Kingsguard's sacred oath is not something to be taken lightly. If it were up to me, I would've swapped his white cloak for a black one and THEN had his tongue cut out. But alas, there are times when one must make a difficult choice… for the greater good. Do what you believe is best, Lord Strong. I'll go speak to my father and put your name forward as a candidate for Handship."
"Whatever the king decides, please know that I remain a loyal servant to House Targaryen and shall serve as needed."
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With that, Aeonar paid a visit to King Viserys. Of course, he wasn't expecting Beatrice and young Aegon to be there as well, nor did he plan to see a fussy infant Helaena as well. "Ahem!" Aeonar cleared his throat. "I must speak with you about important matters." He glanced at Beatrice. "Alone."
Beatrice gave Aeonar a cold stare for a moment, before smiling at Viserys, gently kissing the crown of his head she exited the room with the toddling Aegon clutching her hand and a maid carrying Helaena.
Viserys who had been brushing a miniature stone dragon looked up from his work, there were dark lines under his eyes, and it was clear he had not been sleeping well. "Has there been more trouble? It seems all I hear lately is unwelcome reports of some kind, would not be surprised if Dorne invaded," he said without mirth.
"Lord Corlys requested an audience with you to discuss the wedding of his son Ser Laenor and Rhaenyra. I suggested he come to the capital. With your leave, of course." Aeonar held a marble carving of an Old Valyria tower. "Moreso, our family ought to at least make a public appearance to demonstrate to the masses that despite our past misgivings and differences, House Targaryen still remains a unified front. Leave too many tongues wagging and you are asking for more political headaches. And one more thing, you will need a new Hand. I recommend Lord Strong for the position."
"Lord Strong is a good choice. Loyal, ethical, and pragmatic. And you are certain about this?"
"You are the king. But you will need a Hand to help govern the realm effectively. Our family has already endured enough hardships and scandals. Those vultures out there mock and belittle you behind your back. I won't subject the House of the Dragon to more, but I can't do this by myself. So go out there and assert yourself as an effective king just like our great-grandfather, not a passive one."
Viserys was left in a position, but it did present an opportunity for him to bargain with his heir. "You are the last person who would throw this family into a scandal. Your sister and I seem to have handled that much on our own," the king said as he pulled himself up, so he was sitting straight. "If I accept Lord Strong as my hand, will you agree to return… be my Master of Whisperers once again?" he asked as he looked at his son expectingly. "I would like to have you back at court… with Alicent and my grandsons."
Aeonar raised an eyebrow. Did his father ask him to return as Master of Whisperers and Lord Confessor? Ordinarily, he'd refuse but Beatrice and her ilk have been rampant for far too long. "If that's what it'll take… Tsk! Fine. Very well," he conceded. Without Otto, the Young Dragon would have to step in and take care of the matter personally.
Viserys realized that with Aeonar accepting his terms, his heir would return to the small council as his spymaster. Feeling somewhat confident, the king tried to press his luck further. "And… if we truly wished to appear united as a family, why not a secondary announcement… a betrothal between Jaehaerys and Helaena?"
"Don't push it."
ooOoo
Internally, Beatrice was fuming. Unwin, however, was wise enough to know they were outmaneuvered. "Your Grace," the Lord of Starpike bowed. "House Peake sends its regards for the upcoming wedding. I take it this was an inconvenient time?"
Viserys, weary as he was, waved him off. "No, I… I am just not used to sea travel," he explained.
Orwyle picked up a vial and gave the new medicine to the new Hand. "To help him sleep," he whispered.
Lyonel acknowledged and graciously accepted it, popping the cork before handing it to the king.
Aeonar, redirecting his gaze to his father's infected arm, looked at the maester. "Do whatever you can for him and keep us updated on his condition," he instructed. I have bigger fish to fry. Much bigger.
"Will do, my prince."
With that, Orwyle turned to leave. Aeonar moved to follow, but he heard a voice call out to him.
"Wait."
Aeonar stopped to turn around. It was Lyonel who spoke out.
"It's good to have you back, Aeonar. The small council wasn't the same without you."
"It'll be good working with you again, Lord Strong."
Aeonar turned and closed the door behind him. Unwin simply left Beatrice and Lyonel alone and went as well. The tension in the air was thick; Beatrice, certain she could make her move, now stood before her husband and his new Hand of the King.
"My love," Beatrice walked over and gently kissed the top of his head and rubbed his shoulders. "What troubles you?" she asked.
Viserys shook his head, "Family matters… Every time I take one step forward, I somehow take two steps back."
"Oh, my beloved dragon. Neither Aeonar nor Rhaenyra understands all the burdens you bear upon your shoulders. What you have sacrificed for them."
"They have sacrificed a great deal themselves, even more than I have. I know… I know you wanted your father to be Hand, Beatrice, but… Aeonar is right about this one. Lyonel has served me well as Master of Laws and offered good and wise counsel for many years now. He is already familiar with state affairs and is respected in court. He will serve as my Hand. Now that Aeonar is the crown's spymaster again, it shall be good to have the entirety of the family under one roof once more."
Grubby little…! Though Viserys didn't see it, Beatrice frowned for a moment. "I-Indeed," she bit her tongue. Graciously bowing before the two men, she hurriedly left the room. A knot formed in Beatrice's stomach at the idea of Aeonar being reinstated as Master of Whisperers. You little brat! How dare you humiliate me like this?!
Viserys, still disoriented from sickness, glanced up. "Well… That went as much as… as I expected," he remarked before drinking the vial.
"I know it wasn't easy, Your Grace," Lyonel replied.
"Will I be remembered as a good king, Lyonel?"
"Your Grace?"
"What will they say of me when the histories are written? I have neither fought nor conquered, nor suffered any great defeat. And my son… my children… I've made so many mistakes, yet they're the ones paying for my sins."
"Some might call that good fortune."
Pained, Viserys smiles. "It hardly makes a good song, does it?" he chuckled lightly. "To be sung at feasts in a hundred years… five hundred."
"You have carried King Jaehaerys's legacy. And kept the realm strong," Lyonel pointed out. "Is it not better to live in peace than to have songs sung after you are dead?"
"Mmm… maybe. But perhaps… Perhaps there was once a time in my life when a part of me wished I had been tested. I often think that in the crucible, I may have been forged a different man. Maybe things might have been managed differently." Viserys felt frustrated by his own passivity, the sense that he had done little to alter the flow of history around himself.
Lyonel listened to the king's words. What-if scenarios, how things might have been if he were the one who was thrust into the fires of war like Baelon, Aemon, Daemon, and Aeonar were. If he had been, Viserys might have been a different man. Battle-hardened and sterner, but the Lord of Harrenhal knew that some people were not meant to endure such hardship or cruelty. "Many that are tested in times of a crisis, only wish to have been spared it," he cautioned him.
"Another lord might assure me that I would rise like Aegon the Conqueror given the chance."
"Your Grace, that is―"
Viserys sighed. "I know, Lyonel. You are right. You are right as always. Perhaps it is best not to know," he said with a hint of resignation. "I only wish… that my family had been spared from it. I never wanted any of this for them. But I cannot undo the past. I've got to live with that for the rest of my life… The only thing I can do is… is to try to set things right." Aemma…
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Alicent tended to her crying twins, Aegon and Viserys. Her eldest, Jaehaerys, was still well-behaved as the princeling kept his curious eyes focused on the pages of his book. Her handmaidens were helping with her sons' tantrums. Talya offered to take Aegon the Younger in her arms to relieve the burden of her mistress. Raising three sons was challenging, but Alicent did not waive her duties as princess consort. Even so, six Lykirī Mēre stood guard at each corner of the room and by the windows. Although there were assurances the ancient order of assassins was present to guard the Young Dragon and his family, they still made Alicent feel incredibly nervous. They just stood there, as still as statues with their cold, lifeless eyes watching them. When the doors opened, she glanced up to see another one of her handmaidens approaching.
"The prince is here to see you, my lady."
Alicent nodded. "That will be all," she replied as one of her senior maids took the crying Viserys away whilst her younger colleague took Aegon.
"Okay. Come on, munchkin," Talya beckoned Jaehaerys. The little princeling stood up and took his mother's hand before being escorted out of the room.
"Mama?"
Alicent gave a little wave to her son. Once everyone was out of sight, she saw Aeonar enter the room. "Ah, darling." Curtseying, she kissed him. "Congratulations on your return to the small council, husband," she said.
"It was a small price to pay," Aeonar replied.
"But it was a compromise worth paying for."
"Indeed. Now, we have the means to keep the malcontents in check."
"I understand you had a part in Lord Strong's ascension as Hand. Do you think he can pull it off?"
"Lord Strong may not possess the skills as your father, Alicent, but I've worked with him. I know how he functions. Lyonel is no fool. Intelligent and well-learned. He'll get the job done."
"Then that means there will be a vacancy on the council. His Grace will need a new Master of Laws and Lord Justiciar, if I'm not mistaken." Alicent presented him with some documents. "I've taken the liberty of recommending a few candidates subject to review."
Aeonar looked at the list. "Hmm. Lord Teagan Garceford, Ser Elrin Blackwood, Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Colton Lychester, Ser William Royce… I'll have their backgrounds checked, but it's a start. We'll need every advantage we can get." He looked up at Alicent and the Lykirī Mēre. "I'll translate for you."
Alicent knew what her childhood sweetheart was referring to. Still, these assassins made her spine tingle. "Ahem! Prince Aeonar has asked to extend an invitation to Lady Meredyth Darklyn and recruit Ser Elmo Tully. I imagine his brother Oscar will follow. We'll need some familiar faces at the wedding as well. Send word to my uncle, Lord Hobert Hightower, and have him bring his family from Oldtown… along with a cask of Arbor red."
"Dài shàng Méiruìdísī Dákèlín fūrén hé āi Āiěrmò Túlì juéshì. Yě yāoqǐng tā de xiōngdì Àosīkǎ. Yě gěi Huòbótè Gāotǎ xūnjué hé tā de jiārén sòng qù xiāoxī… liántóng tāmen zuì xǐhuān de yǐnliào."
"Shì de, wǒ de wángzǐ. (Yes, my prince.)" Five of them replied.
Only one remained.
Aeonar gave a cold stare. "Spryjatan tindas. (Begin the purge.)"
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That night everything went into action. Aeonar, trusting no one, instructed his followers to purge the Red Keep of Peake followers under cover of night. One by one, those who followed the Young Dragon swiftly moved to apprehend or kill any who resisted.
Ser Harwin, using his authority as Commander of the City Watch, ordered his men to arrest those who were proclaimed as traitors to the realm. The gold cloaks received anonymous tips throughout the city of people embezzling funds from the royal treasury for personal use, trading classified secrets to hostile nations in exchange for favors, abuse of power, and conspiring to plot against the king. More than a dozen arrests were made, and servants loyal to the queen were hauled away to the cells. However, the ones who put up fierce resistance soon met a brutal end when Harwin 'Breakbones' introduced his fists to their skulls, caving in a few with a single blow.
The Lykirī Mēre, lurking in the shadows, lived up to their reputation as well-trained, cold-hearted assassins ― slitting throats, strangling household guards to death, drowning them, poisoning them, or throwing them over the edge of the castle battlements 'til they hit the rocks below.
When the night was over, the Blacks worked to cleanse the Red Keep of Queen Beatrice's devoted followers and replaced them with men of ability to the politics and military of the Seven Kingdoms, not worthless, incompetent sycophants who corrupted the realm. All the imbeciles who stood in the way of true progress and polluted the capital were swiftly introduced to the Young Dragon's wrath. Even Queen Beatrice made herself scarce.
And as Aeonar watched his systematic purge of the castle take shape from his private manse, he would remind the world of the Targaryen dynasty's power from the shadows. Smallfolk and courtiers whispered that a mad dragon stalked the halls of the Red Keep; in the wine sinks and ale houses, Aeonar was being referred to as the 'Black Prince' who now ruled King's Landing in all but name. He would not forgive Queen Beatrice for her insolence or her desire to seize power. With his stepmother's power base severely weakened, the Blacks would become the dominant political faction within the capital.
« Aegon the Conqueror forged the Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood.
This land belongs to the House of the Dragon! These backwater pretenders are not worthy of anything. We shall hone our talents and remind these malcontents of the punishment they shall receive for challenging us for the right to rule. The fools believed they could enter the dragon's lair; only to be put in their place. From the ashes shall arise a new order that will shake the very foundations of the world.
This is the hour…
…of the Blacks. »
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Ser Criston was bruised and bloodied. From the looks of him, he looked like he was brutally tortured and interrogated to such excruciating lengths. An oath to the Kingsguard meant not inheriting any lands or titles, fathering no children, and taking a vow of chastity. But that vow has been broken. Aeonar had confronted him in the garden moments earlier returning from Driftmark for betraying his trust… and punished him severely for it.
ooOoo
The Kingsguard knight patrolled the area, still reeling from the rejection and disgust of dishonoring himself further than he already had. Criston shook his head, punching a tree to release the pent-up frustration. Why? Why did he allow himself to fall prey to temptation?
"Was it worth it, Ser Criston?"
Criston looked up to see Aeonar emerging from behind the shrubbery. How did the prince know where he was? He did not even see or hear him. Chances are he already knew what happened. "Aeonar… listen. I can explain…" he began.
"I know what you did. Did you think you and Rhaenyra would believe I would look the other way?"Aeonar frowned deeply. "That really hurt, Criston. What you have done… I thought we were friends. I trusted you. And you spat in my face. Was it worth it? To fuck my sister's pussy? Disgrace the white cloak? Was it worth it?!"
"I… I am sorry, Aeonar. I know I shouldn't have done it, nor could I take it all back. I've, I have broken my sacred vow. I, I have committed it. I, I have dishonored myself. I deserve no consideration. Only to be… be given the option of merciful execution."
"In that case, I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate reports. No, actually… that is a lie. I'm reveling in it."
"Aeonar?"
"Your apologies simply aren't enough. Whether it was intentional or not, you forgot your place and sullied my house's honor. So before proper punishments can be meted out, you're going to have to kneel before me and beg for my forgiveness."
Criston, sensing a dangerous aura emanating from the Young Dragon, cautiously placed his hand on the scabbard. "Take it easy, Aeonar. Just, just calm down now―"
"I said KNEEL!" Aeonar roared.
Without warning, ten Lykirī Mēre acolytes sprung an ambush – catching Ser Criston completely by surprise. No matter how hard he tried to fight them off, they grabbed him from everywhere from his arms, his legs, and around his neck trying to pin him down. Despite being outnumbered, Criston surprisingly held his own until a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his thigh forced him to his knees, allowing the Lykirī Mēre to restrain him. One of the acolytes had a knife and cut his hamstring. Criston gritted his teeth before noticing Aeonar's feet in front of him.
"If you'd been able to think closely, it would have been obvious you were walking into a trap," Aeonar said coolly. "Take a look at yourself now. I bet that pisses you off, doesn't it? Fool. You don't even know the depths of shame and humiliation."
Criston strained. "Then I… then I wish had never accepted Rhaenyra's offer of-of donning the white cloak. I wish I'd never joined the Kingsguard! If I hadn't met any of you, none of this would be happening!" he struggled against his captors.
"Well, you're right about that much. But you brought it upon yourself regardless. And you gave up the right to make such a request the moment you've forgotten your place. But I'll make so you remember not to do it again. Ser Criston Cole, as Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, I deny you death." Aeonar turned to the Lykirī Mēre. "Ziry najikatas. (Take him.)" He turned back to Criston. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you… yet." He presented a hooked gelding knife. "As I said, I'll make it certain that you never do it again."
ooOoo
Ever since being castrated, Criston was more hardened. Without any physical attractions or lustful desire for anything, the Kingsguard knight from being the staunchest defender of Prince Aeonar and Princess Rhaenyra to feeling nothing but loathing and disdain.
"Life's not fair, is it?" Beatrice approached.
Criston snapped out of it. "My queen?" he asked solemnly.
"You are sworn protector and rightly loyal to Princess Rhaenyra, were you not? The night of Prince Daemon's return… there's been a rumor… or rather, a lapse of morals that may have occurred between… I'm sure you're aware of this, Ser Criston, are you not?"
"I know what you're going to say, Your Grace, but I'll admit it was me. The sin you allude to. It was I who slept with the princess. At her instigation, it is true, but that should… It is no excuse. My oath has been broken. I have dishonored myself. I deserve no consideration. But if… as a clement queen, you are inclined to pity…"
Beatrice held a hand to her mouth. "Oh, ho ho ho! Ser Criston were you about to inquire if I were to decide to have you executed?" she said haughtily. "Oh no, I believe you are mistaken. I only approach because I know you too have suffered from Prince Aeonar's unfair treatment of you. I know how it feels to be treated with such blatant disrespect by the man you once considered a friend. But I'm here to tell you that it need not be the case." She looked him in the eyes. "I appreciate your honesty for having the courage to admit it, Ser Criston. So, I grant you immunity from punishment. But dark days lie ahead. And I'm in need of a champion to defend the innocent and uphold the righteous values of a true knight." She extended her hand. "Are you that man, Ser Criston?"
Criston looked at the queen. No matter what was said, he was still a knight of the Kingsguard. But to be granted immunity in exchange for fighting for what he initially believed in. What more did he have to lose at this point?