Chapter 41
BRYNDEN RIVERS
The Maesters called it a miracle, but he knew that it was no such thing. King Baelor had been on his deathbed, and for several days it felt as if the Spring Sickness would swallow him whole.
But Baelor Breakspear was not so easily defeated. The King fought for his life, and through sheer power of will, defeated the Sickness that had eaten away at men half his age. He was still weak, and the maesters suspected that he might regain his full health.
But he was alive, and it was all that mattered.
"So, he failed," the King lamented as he lay in his bed, as Brynden brought him the latest news from New Haven.
"The egg did not hatch," and Brynden had sent him the Dragon Egg on the King's order, for the King remembered his son's story of old. During Daeron's funeral, Matarys had insisted that they put a dragon egg in the fire.
To the other lords, they had explained it as tradition, but few knew that the whole thing was arranged to possibly hatch the egg. The attempt had failed, of course, but back then, the revival of dragons had been a dream.
Now, it was a necessity.
"The journey has taken a toll on him, and the Prince has fallen ill, but the Maesters are hopeful that he will recover once he rests," and the King was saddened by the news.
"Have Jena stay there to care for him," and with his wife gone, the boy would need someone to care for him and his castle.
"I will convey your message," he nodded dutifully, as the King handed him back the missive. The curse on Prince Matarys' bloodline by itself was a great tribulation for the Royal Family, but the truth was that it was just one of the many trials they faced.
Prince Matarys may have won them the Iron Islands, but they could not ask him to hold them for the Crown. Not when his own son was fighting for his life.
But handing the Iron Islands back to the Ironborn would be like undoing his sacrifice, yet taking them under the Crown's umbrella would invite war.
"Tell me of the Blackfyres," and Brynden did not have much to tell.
"There is no doubt now that they have infiltrated the Riverlands and have the support of many a lord there," and so they had an army hidden.
"I am scouring through the Riverlands as we speak, yet I have still not found a trace of Bittersteel," and if there was anyone who knew how to evade his 'eyes' then it was him, and he rued the day he chose to spare the life of that accursed bastard.
"Aegor Rivers," the King whispered, and he knew him well as well, for he had been the one to break the man's host in the Redgrass Hill. But that was years ago, and now the famous Breakspear had been dulled by age and disease.
"He is a cunning man," and Brynden agreed.
"He is," and the King looked up at him.
"You spared him once," he reminded him, "even when he took one of your eyes," and his fists balled.
"I will not make that mistake again," he promised the King, who nodded.
"Still, if the treason is limited to the Riverlands alone then we can put him down easily," and if only things were so easy.
"I am afraid it is not just the Riverlands that we need to fear," and now that he knew who the enemy was, he had spent quite some time looking into his past and what Aegor had been doing for the last few years.
"It seems like Aegor formed a sell sword company in exile. They are called the Golden Company," and while no sellsword company could face a proper army, the Golden Company was different.
"The Company is mostly made up of men whose families were exiled or killed during the Blackfyre rebellion. They have made a quick name for themselves, and though they are still smaller than the Company of Rose, we must not underestimate them." The Company of Rose was the greatest sellsword company in Essos, and what differentiated them was that they were held together by their shared history.
Most sellsword companies were held together by greed, but the Company of Rose had been made by Northerners who had refused to obey Torrhen Stark when he had taken off his crown and offered it to the Conqueror some two hundred years ago.
This shared experience unified them, and though the dream of Northern independence had died, this shared history still held the Company of Rose together. Bittersteel's company had the same soul, and that made them dangerous to deal with.
"You fear that they will attack us," and he did not fear that. He knew that.
"They began making preparations for a campaign some months ago. I fear that they will join the war the second we declare our intention of taking the Iron Islands for the Iron Throne," and the King's next decision would decide the history of their House.
"So, they have decided to attack us by both land and sea," Baelor whispered, and that seemed to be the plan. Usually, it would not matter much, but a considerable portion of the Crown's navy was tied up in the Iron Islands, and so they were quite vulnerable to an attack by the Sea.
"Prince Valarr has begun raising levies," and they were also reaching out to their most loyal Lords to do the same.
"We need the Lannisters and the Starks," and he knew that as well.
"The Lannisters will fight for us, but I am afraid I cannot say the same for the Starks," and the King seemed taken aback by that.
"The Starks have joined hands with the Blackfyres," and he shook his head.
"No," and House Stark was not one to break their oaths.
"The Sickness has hit them hard. The North is sparsely populated, and despite the recent storm, the drought has affected them greatly. But the man's reason is that they face a war of their own," and his eyes had trouble seeing so far up North, but he knew how the Starks were preparing for a war of their own.
"Some man has declared himself King Beyond the Wall once more, and now he marches towards the Wall with his armies. The North is now preparing to fight him and his armies," and so they had little to offer them.
"That is troubling news," and so they would have to fight this on their own.
"Then we must seek the aid of the Eyrie and the Vale. It is time that the Knights of the Vale show their valor," and that was a wise choice.
"What of the Stormlands?" and he saw the King stiffen at the insinuation.
"I believe Lord Lyonel still holds a grudge against our family from the Trial at Ashford," and Brynden's eyes narrowed.
"The Prince lost two of his uncles. You lost a brother. He has no reason to hold a grudge against the Crown," and the King shrugged.
"We cannot depend on the Stormlands," and that was quite a shame.
"As you say, your grace. As for the announcement of our plans for the Iron Islands," and they were able to delay it before, on the pretext of the King's ailment, but with King Baelor now recovering, they could delay it no more.
"I will make the declaration in two days' time...."
0000
AEMON TARGARYEN
There was a time when Aemon had loved his cousin, and then there was a time when he had hated him. But now, two years after the tragedy at Ashford, he neither hated him nor loved him.
He understood him, and that was enough. The love for knowledge had led to him and Matarys becoming fast friends. His whole family had looked down on him for his bookish nature, and he had thought that Matarys would be no different.
But his cousin had proven him wrong. He was younger than him, yet he was even more well-read than him. His mind was something he had never seen, full of strange and unique ideas. Ideas that refused to flourish or appear even in the minds of the custodians of knowledge walking the Halls of the Citadel.
He had learned more in the five years he had watched over his settlement than he had in his years at the Citadel. It was why he had already gained many of his links.
A true Maester must hold at least six links, and he already had four of them. He was close to gaining the fifth one, but his progress in that regard was now on hold.
The letter had come for him a few days ago, and it was only the second time Matarys had written to him ever since he had left New Haven. By then, he had already heard of the tragedy that had struck his family, and so he was rather surprised upon reading the details of what had truly transpired.
Magic. Curses.
He knew well that most of the Maesters within the Citadel did not think that magic was real, but he knew differently. He knew that magic was real, and so he did not doubt his cousin's word.
Matarys had sought his help, for he now needed to revive a Dragon to save his son. He had begged him for his help, and so Aemon found himself sitting in front of a pile of books on the subject.
From the histories of Valyria to Barth's extensive texts. The pile ran from one end of the table to another, and he would have to scour through them all in hopes of finding a solution.
Until now, he had never relied on his name or pedigree for much. But this time, he could not afford to waste any time. So, he had gone to the Archmaester with the request, and though he was no Prince here in the Citadel, the Maesters would never dare deny the Royal Family.
"Let us begin...."
.
.
.
It had been three days since the King had made his announcement regarding the fate of the Iron Islands, and the lords had not taken it well. There were whispers of treason and war as many a lord saw the Crown's actions as a great overreach.
The retinue around them had been expanded, and fifty men accompanied her and Lady Shiera as they made their way to the capital. But while they were on the road, suddenly they found themselves ambushed from all sides.
The men fought bravely, but the enemy had them outnumbered, and so she found herself on her knees along with Lady Shiera as a strange man with dark hair walked up to them.
He was the leader, obviously.
"It has been some time, my dear," the stranger greeted Lady Shiera, who answered impassively.
"Aegor...."
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