Chapter 81: First Blood
March 3rd, Owl Hour.
The male servant, as usual, came to feed the King milk of the poppy; the decaying King could only manage to sleep with this substance, and even then, the male servant had to administer the medicine periodically for him to sleep through the night.
After being searched by Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard, the male servant approached the staircase of Maegor's Holdfast, slowly walked to the King's bedchamber, and gently pushed open the door.
"Your Majesty, it's time, Your Majesty… Your Majesty?"
The male servant tiptoed closer to the King lying on the chaise lounge.
Clang.
The male servant ran out of the bedchamber in horror, not even having time to pick up the medicine pot that had fallen to the floor. He stumbled down the stairs, preparing to report to Ser Rickard, who was on duty tonight, but as he passed the Queen's bedchamber on the next floor, the male servant suddenly stopped.
He suddenly remembered what the Hand of the King and the Queen had told the servants before, and the bag of silver stags he had hidden at his old flame's house in Flea Bottom.
The male servant resolutely walked toward the floor where the Queen's bedchamber was located. He ran straight into Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, dressed in white robes and silver armor.
"What happened?" Criston recognized the male servant as the King's servant and immediately realized something might have occurred.
Queen Alicent Hightower also came out.
"Do not rush, speak slowly," the Queen said gently.
"The King has passed away," the male servant said tremblingly. "When I went in, the King was already without breath."
Queen Alicent immediately felt a dizzy spell, almost collapsing, but Criston supported her, allowing her to stand steady.
"Does anyone else know about this?" Ser Criston asked gravely.
The male servant quickly shook his head.
Queen Alicent then awoke from her daze and rushed up the stairs, the white-cloaked Lord Commander pulling the male servant along behind her. As soon as they reached the King's bedchamber, Queen Alicent, with tears in her eyes, gripped the King's hand.
"The King has been called by the Stranger."
The Queen's voice was choked, but Criston immediately grabbed the male servant who was trying to sneak away.
"You have rendered great service, but you cannot leave now."
Criston pressed down hard on the servant, making him unable to move.
"Good ser, do not be so harsh on him," Queen Alicent wiped away her tears. She plucked a green emerald from her garments, thought for a moment, then removed a gold ring set with a ruby and slipped it into the male servant's hand.
"I apologize for the trouble. You may have to remain in the dungeons of Maegor's Holdfast for a while. Do not worry—you will be released soon."
"Thank you, Your Majesty, thank you, Your Majesty," the male servant said repeatedly as he was dragged away by the guards Criston had just summoned.
"Your Majesty, we must act immediately," Ser Criston Cole whispered. "Success or failure depends on this one move. The Hand has made all preparations."
Queen Alicent nodded.
"Summon the Small Council—and speak of this to no one else."
Criston nodded and immediately rushed out of Maegor's Holdfast, called Ser Rickard, who was on night watch, and hurried to the White Sword Tower, waking the white-cloaked brothers still within the Red Keep.
Owls gave off harsh, unpleasant hoots from the branches. It was the Owl Hour.
Lord Larys Strong woke with a start from his bed and looked out the window of his chambers; a Kingsguard knight was riding swiftly toward his residence. Larys immediately rang the bell beside his bed. Two servants pushed open the door at once and rushed in.
"Go to the Spice Wine Tavern and the Dragon's Head Tavern immediately. Tell their owners that something grave may have occurred at the Red Keep—possibly the King's death—and leave through the back door," Larys whispered, then laboriously climbed out of bed, limping toward the window.
"Yes, my lord."
The two servants immediately departed.
The white-cloaked knight, Ser Arryk Cargyll, saw Larys standing by the window, immediately dismounted, and raised his hand in signal. Larys nodded and limped away from the window.
Almost at the same time, aside from Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, who arrived immediately outside Maegor's Holdfast, the residences of the various ministers in King's Landing were disturbed by the Kingsguard. The knights tacitly avoided alarming the common folk; they only escorted away the members of the Small Council.
Maegor's Holdfast, the Queen's Bedchamber
Otto stood beside the Queen, observing each councillor who entered and bowed.
The Master of Ships, Tyland Lannister, was even wearing silk nightclothes. The aged Master of Coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury, though advanced in years, appeared in surprisingly good spirits, whether from sleeplessness or habit. Grand Maester Orwyle was much the same. The Master of Laws, Lord Jasper Wylde, looked somewhat disheveled, as if he had only just risen from bed.
Criston Cole, clad in white armor, stood stern and silent.
Larys Strong, however, was fully dressed, his expression grave as he looked toward the Queen.
"The King has passed away," Queen Alicent said, tears still glistening on her face.
The councillors bowed their heads and mourned the late King briefly before Grand Maester Orwyle, trembling, spoke first:
"Your Majesty, we must summon Septon Eustace to preside over the King's last rites, and immediately send a raven to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, informing her of this tragic news. Your Majesty, I humbly suggest that this letter be written in your own hand—your grace and sincerity will surely move the Princess. Oh—and we must toll the bells to inform the people of the passing of their beloved King. It is too sudden, truly too sudden…"
The Grand Maester sighed repeatedly.
"Your Majesty, we must also prepare for Queen Rhaenyra's coronation, and summon the Silent Sisters to tend to the King's body."
"Grand Maester," Otto Hightower finally interrupted, "all of this is premature. The question of the King's heir is the matter at hand. We must determine our new monarch at once."
"It is the new Queen, Otto," Lord Lyman Beesbury interjected sharply.
"The new King, Lord Lyman," Alicent wiped away her tears.
"By the laws of gods and men, the Iron Throne passes to the King's eldest trueborn son—not his daughter."
"By law and by the King's own will, Princess Rhaenyra is the heir," Lord Beesbury refused to yield.
"You all swore oaths to her—to defend her rights. Has it only been a few years, and already you forget?"
"Twenty-four years, my lord," Tyland Lannister replied.
"It has been twenty-four years. Many who swore that oath are long dead. Lord Boremund Baratheon has passed, and so too Lord Rickon Stark. As for me—I swore no such oath. I was but an infant at the time."
"You—!" Lord Beesbury pointed his cane at Tyland in fury.
"My lord, do not forget," Lord Jasper Wylde said coldly, "the King's own claim came through male-preference succession. The Great Council denied women the right to inherit. That is the very foundation of his legitimacy. His personal decree cannot supersede that law."
Jasper continued:
"This is not without precedent. King Jaehaerys I Targaryen named Prince Baelon the Brave his heir over Princess Rhaenys, proving that the laws of succession favor the male line."
"Moreover," Jasper added, "if a firstborn daughter may inherit, then why not Queen Visenya Targaryen or Princess Aerea Targaryen? Lord Beesbury, would you have your daughter inherit before your grandson?"
"Let us not forget Prince Daemon Targaryen," Otto said coldly.
"If Rhaenyra takes the throne, Daemon will hang every man in this room. He will turn King's Landing into another Flea Bottom."
"We are discussing Rhaenyra's claim!" Lord Beesbury struck the floor with his cane.
"This has nothing to do with Daemon!"
"And what of me—and my children?" Queen Alicent suddenly cried sharply.
"That brood of bastards! If she sits the throne, the first she will kill are me and the King's trueborn sons—because our claim is stronger than theirs! Do not forget—one of those Strong boys took my son's eye! Bastards are born monsters!"
"Or would you see the Iron Throne defiled by bastard blood?" Criston Cole added coldly.
"Do not forget what Rhaenyra and Daemon truly are. They would turn the Red Keep into a den of sin. Even the sons of noble houses would not be safe. Remember Laenor."
"Are you seeking to start a civil war?" Grand Maester Orwyle looked horrified.
"The Princess has dragons—more than one."
"She also has many supporters," Lord Beesbury said stiffly.
"Prince Dragonzel stands with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince Valarr stands with Prince Lucerys Velaryon, and Prince Aegon stands with Prince Ray. They share one household. House Varezes commands no fewer than ten thousand elite soldiers—and six dragons. Vermithor alone rivals Vhagar."
Lord Beesbury looked around the chamber, especially at Otto and the Queen.
"Do not forget—there are still those who honor their oaths. They will not abandon their vows to the King and his chosen heir—Queen Rhaenyra. I am old, but not so old as to watch you commit treason in silence!"
He struggled to his feet.
"You are rebels! This is treason!"
"Enough, old man."
Criston Cole stepped behind him—and slit his throat.
Lord Beesbury clutched his neck in disbelief as he slowly collapsed, blood spreading across the rich Varezes carpet beneath him. The silver dragon sigil darkened, stained black with blood.
"The stance of House Varezes is indeed critical," Larys Strong finally said.
"If they support the Princess… we have no chance."
Larys looked at everyone in the chamber.
"Are you prepared for the Princess to arrive at King's Landing with five grown dragons—one of them no less fearsome than Vhagar?"
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