The morning sky hung heavy and grey over the city.
The oppressive weather mirrored the weight resting upon everyone present.
A slow melody drifted through the air, played somewhere in the distance.
It was a gathering of blood.
Only the family had come to say farewell, though the grey rat and the nun were noticeably absent, Maekar thought as he studied the faces around him.
He preferred it this way.
Gael stood close beside him, silently offering her comfort.
She was good at it, having had far too much practice.
Maekar did not truly need the consoling, but he remained curious about his young aunt.
Her eyes were red and swollen, having wept for his father.
They all stood in a half circle before a grand pyre built of dark wood, set just outside the towering walls of the Red Keep.
Baelon the Brave would be sent away the ancient Valyrian way.
The massive form of Meleys rested heavily on the ground just behind the pyre, waiting in stillness for her rider to give the command.
The ocean wind tugged sharply at Maekar’s black doublet and whipped at Gael’s dark mourning veil.
King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne stood at the very front.
The old king looked completely still.
Daemon and Viserys stood right beside Maekar.
Viserys kept his head bowed, his eyes shining with unshed tears, while Daemon stared straight ahead with a clenched jaw.
“Angos, Meleys.” Rhaenys called out the High Valyrian command.
She too was clad entirely in black.
The great red dragon rose.
She loomed over the wooden pyre, slowly opening her massive jaws.
Red and orange fire collected deep within her throat.
It shot forward in a stream, igniting the pyre in an instant.
Maekar could feel the heat on his skin even from a distance.
It was comforting.
“The Brave…
you will not be forgotten,” Maekar whispered to himself.
They stood there in heavy silence for a moment longer.
Maekar was the first to turn away.
Rhaenys followed shortly after, and then the rest of the family.
“Those who harmed you will be remembered equally.
Remembered until they burn.
Just like you, father,” Maekar promised under his breath as he walked.
The great fire raged strongly behind him, casting long shadows across the grass.
For a moment, he stopped and turned his eyes toward the dark sea.
“The time has come, my friend,” he muttered.
A deep, thundering roar echoed somewhere in the far distance.
Or perhaps he had only imagined it.
Septon Barth knelt on the cold marble floor.
For a moment, he looked at his own reflection in the polished stone.
Tired.
The wrinkles, the eyes.
He looked tired.
“Oswin,” he sighed quietly, his voice dry.
He raised his head, looking toward the high ceiling of the Great Sept.
He tried to convince himself that he had acted for the greater good.
That the poisoning of Baelon was a harsh necessity.
He told himself that he was a victim of circumstances, a man trapped between his duties to the King and the Faith.
He also told himself that he felt the crushing weight of his sins.
That was what he told himself at night, to make it easier to close his eyes.
A lie.
One that could have been the truth on some day.
But Maekar had shattered every bit of honesty within him.
Barth lowered his hands.
The weary, slumped posture he had held for decades vanished in an instant.
The sorrow on his face melted away, leaving behind a cold, absolute stillness.
He slowly rose to his feet.
The frailty in his old limbs, the slight tremble in his hands, it all disappeared, his shoulders straightening until he stood tall and imposing beneath the towering statue of the Father.
He felt no guilt anymore.
Not a shred.
Baelon was dead, and Jaehaerys was weeping in the Red Keep.
Good.
Let the old king weep.
For forty years, Barth was the wise advisor, guiding the realm with a soft hand.
He had built this peace, and he knew exactly how to dismantle it.
A thin, hollow smile crept onto his face.
He would not make the mistake of attacking the Targaryens directly.
That was for fools.
He would be the shadow that blocked Maekar’s light.
Maekar Targaryen had butchered his son, and he would pay for it.
Barth would use every spy, every whisper, and every ounce of power he held to turn the prince’s own life against him.
He would be the architect of Maekar’s ruin, slowly and methodically.
The good, wise Septon was gone.
Only the Father remained.
And he was ready to watch the world burn for his son.
KNOCK
KNOCK
The sound echoed through the empty hall as Barth turned around.
The massive wooden doors opened and the sound of armor clanking filled the sept.
“No…
please!” A young man’s voice echoed as a young grey-robed man crawled through the door, his back toward the hall, looking at what was stepping through.
A sword tip followed him closely as he dropped the morning star in his hand.
A small figure stepped through the door.
It was clad in dark armor.
Maekar glanced at the young Faith devotee before him, cowering on the floor.
“Stay, will you?” he asked as he stepped past him.
The young man nodded slowly as he cowered into the corner.
Daemon joined Maekar’s side, also clad in similar armor, his hand on his hilt.
Behind them walked two Kingsguards.
Ser Clement and Ser Steffon Darklyn, whom Maekar had arranged for this day.
The latter still owed him something since Dragonstone.
Both knew the danger of what they were doing.
Criston walked behind them, clad in City Watch armor.
“What is this!” Septon Barth called out as a few other grey robes gathered in the middle of the sept, having heard the commotion.
Ser Clement and Ser Steffon pulled their swords, and Criston followed with a slight delay, standing behind the two princes.
“Disarmed,” Maekar laughed lightly.
Daemon joined in as they watched the small group of men holding morning stars.
For a moment, they just stood there, while more and more men joined the Septon’s side.
“Septon Barth!” Maekar called out, stepping forward, his voice echoing through the hall.
“I ask again, what does this mean?!
You are under the roof of the gods.”The Septon called out.
Maekar looked around for a moment.
“Under the roof of the Gods, I, Maekar Targaryen, accuse you of treason, Septon!
I accuse of conspiracy.
I accuse you of murder.” he called out, raising his sword and pointing it at the old man.
“Treason!?” Barth shouted as the men around him grew tense.
“You are acting alone, are you not, Prince?” Barth asked, tilting his head.
Maekar stepped forward once more, descending the steps.
“Alone?”
“I am never alone.”
A loud roar shook the sept.
No, probably the entire city.
For a moment there was silence.
The grey robes were breathing audibly, then suddenly the ground underneath their feet shook.
They could hear the distant shouts and screams of the people of King’s Landing.
Behind one of the tinted windows, a dark shadow appeared.
Barth widened his eyes.
Then the glass shattered, countless shards fell from above, and everyone raised their arms to shield themselves.
When they looked up again, a massive black dragon’s head was looming inside the hall.
From the door, another shrieked roar came.
Caraxes stretched his long neck through the door, towering above Daemon and the others.
A massive smile appeared on Maekar’s lips.
“Septon.”
It was a realisation of pure shock and anger.
“The hour is late, and my dragon is hungry.”
“So, will you come willingly, or shall I burn down this sept?”
Septon Barth shook his head violently.
“You wouldn’t dare!
You would be a second Maegor!”
Maekar only smiled.
“Decide now.”
The Cannibal’s jaw opened slightly, spit hitting the marble floor.
One of the grey robes froze, as the marble melted.
“The King will hold you accountable for all of this!” the Septon shouted, seeing the resolve of his men wavering.
“Take him.”Maekar ordered, leaning on his sword.
Jaehaerys leaned back against the Iron Throne and immediately regretted it.
The blades dug into his back once more.
They always did.
He shifted forward, with an angry expression.
“Lord Corlys.” His voice carried through the throne room.
“What is it that you want from me?”
The Lord of Driftmark stood tall at the center of the hall, Rhaenys at his side, a group of lords standing behind him in support.
“Prince Baelon’s death saddens me deeply, Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head.
“But the question of succession is now more pressing than ever.”
Anger moved through Jaehaerys at once.
He had buried his son today.
And already the hall was full of men who had come to plunder the corpse.
Vultures.
He suppressed it somewhat.
“My son is not yet cold in the ground, Lord Corlys,” he said.
“And you wish to discuss this now?!”
“I wish for a Great Council,” Corlys answered without flinching.
“One that determines fairly and openly who shall inherit the throne, since there are others with a claim.”
“Surely you don’t mean your wife?”One Lord joked, laughter erupting in the room.
Another stepped forward as well.
“What you suggest could set a dangerous precedent!”
Corlys turned to answer him, with a clenched jaw, the humiliation visible on his face.
Then the great doors opened.
Not quietly.
They opened with force.
The herald’s voice cracked as he announced.
Everyone turned towards it.
“Prince Daemon of House Targaryen!”
“Prince Maekar of House Targaryen!”
Daemon entered first, his gaze dark and his hand resting firmly on the hilt of Dark Sister.
Behind him, half a step back, came Maekar.
Small in stature but radiating a dangerous presence.
And behind them both, moving slowly with heavy iron chains around his wrists, walked Septon Barth.
His face was pale and weary, but his eyes held a spark of defiance.
Jaehaerys rose from the Iron Throne.
“What is this?!” he demanded, his voice rising.
“Daemon, Maekar, explain yourselves!”
Daemon stepped forward and bowed lightly.
“Your Grace,” he said, his voice carrying through the hall.
“This man,” he pointed at the elderly Septon, “has killed my father and your son, Prince Baelon!”
A loud murmur erupted among the lords.
Jaehaerys widened his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts.
“You surely have evidence for this heinous accusation?!” he called out, his voice growing more agitated.
Just what was going on?
Have his grandsons gone mad or…he did not know.
Maekar turned his head and gestured for another man to step forward.
One Jaehaerys had not yet seen.
A beaten and bandaged man.
“This man here,” Maekar said, stepping forward as well, “is named Lorris.
A smuggler from the port.”
Another murmur rippled through the hall as the lords whispered among themselves.
Lord Corlys appeared pleasantly surprised by the development.
“And how is this of any relevance?!” Jaehaerys asked, while looking at Barth, who had been trying to speak for some time now but was always silenced by Daemon.
“Tell the King what you told me, smuggler!” Maekar ordered.
Lorris lifted his head toward Jaehaerys, his voice trembling.
“I… The Lord Hand came to me a few weeks ago.
He tasked me with smuggling something for him.”
Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow.
Barth suddenly erupted.
“Liar!
He is lying!
I do not know this man!”
Jaehaerys raised his hand and continued to listen.
Something within him turned sour.
“What was it?” Maekar asked.
“Remains of a corpse,” Lorris answered.
“Charred bones… and some personal belongings.”
Maekar nodded and stepped past Lorris.
“Your Grace,” he continued, addressing the entire room, “Septon Barth tasked this man with recovering the body of Ser Oswin, the former castellan of Dragonstone.
Traitor to the crown, poisoner of Prince Baelon and…”
Maekar paused, turning his gaze directly toward Barth.
“…bastard son of the Septon!”
Chaos.
Chaos erupted throughout the hall.
It was the one thing Jaehaerys hated most.
“Everyone!” he shouted.
“Anyone who is not connected to these events is to leave the hall at once.
However, no one is to leave the Red Keep!
The Lord Commander is to see that my orders are carried out!”
Maekar watched the last of the lords leaving the hall.
Only a few remained, including Corlys and Rhaenys.
“Your Grace!” Septon Barth suddenly erupted.
“The princes have stormed the holy sept by force!
They brought their dragons!
They abducted me brutally and towed me here!
The faith will not tolerate this.”
Maekar glanced at Jaehaerys.
“Is that true, Maekar?” Jaehaerys asked, his voice low.
Maekar knew why he had been spoken to.
The Cannibal was something Jaehaerys had wished to hide from the realm.
Now the entire city had seen it, and it would not be long before they connected the dots.
Not to mention the Faith’s outrage.
“The city is in turmoil, Your Grace!” Septon Barth added in a desperate tone.”The city watch had to restore order.
Our believers will not tolerate this!”
Maekar shook his head and laughed.
“What is so funny, grandson?!” Jaehaerys asked, his tone growing threatening.
“I asked what is so funny!” he roared.
The two Kingsguard in front of him drew their swords.
They probably had never seen Jaehaerys so angry before.
Maekar’s smile vanished as he met the concerned eyes of Rhaenys and the ever calculating one of Corlys.
“Your Grace seems more preoccupied listening to the man who is a traitor than to his own grandsons,” Maekar said.
“Your Grace would also rather focus on the fact that I revealed my dragon or the outrage of the faith, which should be of no concern if we reach a fair verdict…”
Maekar looked around the hall, addressing the few remaining lords.
Those that did not know looked shaken and confused.
“Yes, my lords, a dragon.
I am tired of being told to cower in fear while the realm is being played with by men like him.
Rats and pests crawling through this city nowadays!” he roared.
Then he turned to face Jaehaerys again.
He could not take it anymore.
“Everything he just said is true,” Maekar said.
“That is what is funny.”
Jaehaerys met his gaze for a long moment before raising his hand, having collected himself.
You will be judged after him!
You and your brother!”
“Septon Barth, explain yourself.
Respond to these accusations!”
Maekar watched as the Septon limped forward.
“Your Grace,” Barth began, his voice trembling but trying to sound steady.
“I have served you faithfully for decades.
The man the princes brought here is completely unknown to me.
I have no connection to Ser Oswin.”
He continued muttering for some time until Maekar interrupted him.
“His screams…”
Barth and Jaehaerys turned towards him.
“they were full of agony, haunting everyone present.”
“He was torn apart.”
“His intestines were spilled out on the floor.
His flesh—”
“You son of a bitch!” Septon Barth screamed, losing all control.
“You monster!
You devil spawn!”
The hall fell into shocked silence.
Ser Clement and Ser Steffon grabbed him and forced him down onto his knees.
Maekar stepped closer to the kneeling Septon.
He leaned down so only Barth, Daemon, and the two knights could hear his words.
“He died alone, without his father.”
“It was a feast for my dragon, but even more so for my eyes.
Seeing your bastard son torn apart brought me more joy than a thousand grey robes burned.”
Tears of rage and agony rolled down Barth’s face, as he met Maekar’s gaze.
“Your father suffered as well!” he spat.
“He died slowly, painfully over weeks!”
“Trust me,” Maekar whispered, “yours shall be similar.”
He stepped back and looked at the old king, who sat slumped on the Iron Throne.
“Barth, do not speak anymore,” Jaehaerys said quietly, sadness heavy in his voice.
It seemed the betrayal had shaken him deeply.
But Barth did not stop.
His eyes were wide and wild, as if something inside him had gone mad.
“Baelon, that worm, would have ruined the kingdom.
I acted entirely alone.
The Faith had nothing to do with this!” he shouted, looking at Maekar with a mad smile.
That bastard was trying to sabotage him even at the end, Maekar thought, his hand lowering toward his sword.
Then his expression changed.
“For this reason I will make right of the one divine right I am entitled to.”
He looked straight at Jaehaerys.
“I demand a tri—”
The sound of steel cutting flesh echoed through the hall.
Maekar looked down.
It was Septon Barth’s head.
His hair, his face, and his wide, shocked eyes.
Daemon spat on the corpse as the entire room gasped in horror.
“Do not sully our father’s death,” he growled, sheathing his sword as the chaos around them erupted.
His brother had been faster than him.
“Hah.”
He glanced at him, proudly, as the Kingsguard pinned Daemon down.
Jaehaerys was shouting something.
Maekar was grabbed as well.
He did not listen as he was forced to his knees.
“Have you gone insane?
Both of you!
Such cruelty, such horror!
Do you even realise what you have done?!”
Jaehaerys shook his head as Maekar slowly raised his gaze toward the hand pinning him down.
It was Ser Clement, not bothering to use even a part of his strength.
“He had received what he deserved.”
Jaehaerys met his eyes with a ghostly gaze.
Maekar saw something he had never seen in the old King before.
It was hate.
Jaehaerys stood up.
“Maekar, you will be banished from the Red Keep for the next ten years.
You will foster somewhere else.”
Maekar nodded as he watched Jaehaerys’ hand trembling.
Ten years?
Not likely.
“Daemon!
You will be sent to the Vale to finally consummate your marriage with Lady Royce, and you too will stay there for the time being!
You will be stripped of Dark Sister!”
Maekar slowly rose, noticing that the little force Ser Clement had used had vanished entirely.
“Lord Corlys will surely take me,” he said.
“I will, your grace.”Corlys said to Jaehaerys, who only dismissed him with his hand.
Daemon meanwhile protested loudly, but it was of no use.
Then the old King announced something else in his fury.
“Ser Clement.
Ser Steffon!
You have aided the princes in their arbitrary actions, which is akin to treason.
I will show mercy.
Both of you are dismissed from the Kingsguard and sent into exile.”
Maekar laughed inwardly, tilting his head, as he walked towards the door.
He met Ser Clement’s eyes.
The man did not seem particularly angry.
He gave him a nod before walking through the double doors opening before him.
He walked through the Red Keep, blood plastered on his doublet, stemming from Barth.
He was looked at with whispers and wide eyes.
Some stepped aside.
Others greeted.
Then he exited toward the courtyard, reaching the wall.
For a moment he turned around, expecting no one.
His grandmother was exiting the keep in the distance, meeting his eyes, rushing in his direction.
She seemed angry.
He placed one boot against the wall, then pulled himself up onto the red stone.
In the distance, he could hear the shouting of guards and Alysanne who had spotted him on the edge.
He stood there for a moment then a gentle voice suddenly appeared behind him.
“Maekar?”
Maekar tilted his head, his hair fluttering in the wind.
It was Gael.
He had not noticed her before.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving,” Maekar answered, looking at the horizon.
“Why?” she asked, as the group came closer and closer.
“I am sick.
This city disgusts me.
You should leave it as well, aunt.
You could use your Dragon.”
Gael did not seem very surprised by the last sentence, as she looked at him for a long moment, then she nodded.
Maekar smiled as he turned his back toward the gaping cliff below.
“Tell Grandmother I am sorry,” he muttered, unsure why he felt like saying it.
Then he tilted.
His arms raised as he fell.
Gael quickly rushed to the edge, looking down.
An enormous black dragon rose, shooting upward past Gael and Alysanne, past the wall and past the Red Keep.
“Morghul,” Maekar called out to his dragon, directing him toward the city.
He looked down at the small dots rushing out of their homes, pointing upward.
He circled the entire city three times.
Then he turned east.
“Ao ēdruta se nyke ao valot, hen sagon ānogar hen syt iksos ziry jorrāelagon.”
Your name shall herald the end of what they call the Age of Conciliation.
End of Volume I with a massive chapter.
How will the Faith react and, more importantly, what will Jaehaerys do now?
We will see…