“He is across the bay, Your Grace, because he is afraid,” Rhaena said, her voice clear and ringing through the silent hall.
“He is an old man who watched his entire family bleed for a cause that is now dead and defeated.”
A low wave of murmurs and bitter ridicule rippled through the Great Hall.
The lords of the court sneered at the humiliation of it, the legendary Sea Snake, the greatest mariner the world had ever known, had gambled his life’s work and lost.
The pride of House Velaryon had crumbled, leaving the grand old man across the bay to send a young girl to beg a dragon king for his life, his lands, and his legacy.
“It is not defeated,” Aegon said, leaning back against the throne.
“He is free to take his ships and support the Rivermen or the Northmen. Truth be told, I would have felt guilty burning his entire fleet while it sat helpless in harbor across the bay. But burning him and his fleet while they fight against me? That is another matter entirely.”
“Cousin” Rhaena said “He knew the sight of him might move you to anger before reason” Rhaena said softly.
“He sent me, his own granddaughter, to stand before your throne. He wanted you to look upon your own blood before you decided the fate of House Velaryon. If you command him to spend his final days beneath the Red Keep, he will come. But I ask that you take House Velaryon’s vaults, our harbors, and my own person as your hostages… and leave an old, broken man to die in the peace of his own home.”
“Keep your gold, sweet cousin. Keep your empty harbors. I will build my own fleet, one forged in loyalty, answering only to their King.” Aegon said.
“Go back across the bay to that treacherous old snake. Tell him he may keep his head, his lands, and only half his precious fleet, but I want Moondancer bound within the Dragonpit before this day ends. And when you stand before him, tell him his king commands to die as quickly as he can. I never wish to look upon his face again, nor catch the scent of his venom in my realm. Let him wither into nothing on that burned, blackened rock.”
A heavy silence fell across the hall at the pure venom dripping from the King’s words, lasting only a beat before roars and cheers exploded from every corner of the room.
Who in that hall didn’t despise the high and prideful Sea Snake?
Every last lord in attendance did.
Seeing the grandest mariner in the realm reduced to such a pitiful, helpless state was a spectacle beyond compare, for the court, a glorious day couldn’t possibly get any better. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Oh, cousin…” Rhaena whispered.
“How did it ever come to this?
One wrong choice… and all these years of blood turned to sea water.
Since before the Conquest, since the very fires of Old Valyria, House Targaryen and House Velaryon stood side by side.
We were two wings of the same dragon.
Your fire rode upon our ships.
We shared our cradles, our blood, and our crowns.
My mother was a Velaryon, your father a Targaryen, we are woven so tightly together that to bleed one is to bleed the other.
I shall carry your hatred across the bay so my grandsire may die on his rock.
But as you watch him yield, remember… when you break the Velaryons, you break half of yourself.”
“It is a rotten half, one that should have been burned a long time ago,” Aegon answered.
“Though, Rhaena… you would do well to remember that your name is Rhaena Targaryen, not Velaryon. Whatever your father did to me, there is no blood on your hands. I will always welcome you with open arms.”
Rhaena offered a low, graceful curtsy and turned to leave.
“Your Grace,” Larys called softly into the silence that followed.
“The other Crownland lords have chosen not to attend in person, though they have sent representatives. They wait outside the hall.”
“Throw them out,” Aegon said without hesitation.
“And tell them one thing.”
“What would that be, Your Grace?” Larys asked, leaning slightly on his cane.
“Fire and blood.”
Meanwhile, Lady Jenna Tyrell, Regent of the Reach, sat in the sunlit gardens of Highgarden, forced to listen to the rising panic of her closest advisors.
“My lady, I beg of you, reconsider,” Steward Clifford pressed.
“It is not too late to ride for King’s Landing. We have committed no treason! King Aegon is not entirely without reason, and we are no weak Riverlords to be tossed aside or threatened from afar. The power of the Reach stands behind you and your son!”
“And do what, Clifford?” Lady Jenna asked.
“Ride to the capital to swear oaths of fealty while half my damned bannermen are in open rebellion against the Iron Throne? Even if I wished to make peace, my hands are tied. I am a regent, not a queen. Every single decree must drag through a regency council whose very members are actively at war with the Crown as we speak!”
“Your bannermen will reap what they sow, my lady,” the old steward said.
“For you, it is time to sow seeds of your own. Send a letter. Send a rider under a white flag. Distance Highgarden from these traitorous lords before it is too late, so that the King’s wrath falls on them alone, not upon these walls, and not upon your son.”