Chapter 75: A Tale of Blood Monsters Ch. 19
I have to give them both credit. It's not many men who will draw steel and approach with the intent to protect their charge when faced with a massive, fully grown dragon with myself as it's rider. I can't help but chuckle a little bit, even as I bring Elijah in for the landing with a grin on my lips. To be perfectly fair, neither Arthur Dayne nor Gerold Hightower are like most men.
Still, even the last remaining members of the Targaryen Kingsguard are wary, and rightfully so. They stop well away from me and Elijah, far enough back to move if a spout of dragonfire was sent their way… or so they hope. As it is, neither man is going to survive this day, unfortunately. They're dead men walking, they just don't know it yet.
Slipping off of Elijah's back, I land with both feet planted firmly on the ground, taking in a deep breath of air and letting it out in a contented sigh as I look, not to the Kingsguard, but to the tower behind them… the Tower of Joy. My grin takes on a somewhat hungry edge, though any hunger I feel is easily controlled. I'm not some newborn whelp after all, I'm over four thousand years old. The blood does not control me, I control IT.
Even still, the scent of blood in the air is damn strong, that much is undeniable. And all of it comes from the tower behind the two swordsmen who are currently trying to do their duty even now. It's almost sad really. Two of the best that Westeros has to offer, the Sword of the Morning himself… and in the end, they're nothing but men. It's so very easy to make eye contact with both as I walk forward, the words already on my lips.
"Now, now boys. You don't need to fight me. Save your strength for when Ned Stark arrives, yeah?"
Their stances almost immediately relax under the compulsion. In the end, they're just sacks of meat, bone and blood. The best swordsman that Ned Stark will ever see, and he lets me walk right past him, even as I pat him condescendingly on the shoulder.
"Do be sure to give them all a good fight, yeah? Ned Stark though… he lives."
Both Arthur and Gerold's clouded eyes look back at me as the two Kingsguard give slow nods of understanding. With a chuckle, I step past them both and in a moment I'm up within the Tower of Joy itself, faster than any mortal eye could possibly hope to track. My sudden appearance causes quite the shriek of fright from the two handmaidens within the tower attending to Lyanna Stark. Though from the woman in question herself, there's barely a jolt. She just looks at me with tired eyes, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"… The Emperor of Essos?"
I chuckle at that, even as I move to her side, at a more human speed this time. Looming over her, I look upon Lyanna Stark and I find her to be quite the beautiful she-wolf. Even having recently given birth, even lying in an expanding pool of her own blood… she is gorgeous.
"Indeed, my dear. You aren't hallucinating. I've come to take you away from this place. I've come to save you."
Lyanna's face scrunches up, and then she snarls, an impressive display made in spite of her exhausted state.
"Save… me? You helped them k-kill him."
Humming, I shrug my shoulders at that.
"I sided with the rebellion, yes. They offered me quite a lot in terms of compensation. But I wasn't at the Trident, my dear. You could put as much blame on those two Kingsguard who've been protecting you as you could me for our combined inaction."
Rather than sputtering her fire, it only seems to ignite Lyanna's anger even more as she spits out her response weakly.
"I have! They should have been there… a-and you should have sided with Rhaegar, w-with your Valyrian Cousin!"
Her love for Rhaegar certainly does run deep. It makes me wonder how much of it is Lyanna, and how much of it is prophecy, fate, destiny working its wiles. Not that it really matters in the end, I've never been a fan of any of those things, nor have I adhered to them. It might be Lyanna's fate to die here today after giving birth to Jon Snow, but I'd already decided I wasn't going to let that happen. Speaking of…
"Where's the boy?"
I look about at that, the question directed as much to the handmaidens as Lyanna herself. Not that I need any of their help, now that I'm searching for it, finding the crib with a sleeping baby inside of it is child's play, the sound of a quiet heartbeat reaching my enhanced ears. Lyanna, of course, has the strongest reaction to this question, even managing to prop herself up on her elbows as I turn my gaze towards her baby.
"D-Don't you touch her! Don't you dare!"
That causes me to blink in mild surprise. Her? Despite Lyanna's protests, I slowly make my way over to the crib. The handmaidens try to stop me, but a simple silent compulsion sends them stepping aside. Finally, I come to a stop over the crib of a beautiful, sleeping baby girl. It takes me a moment to comprehend what must have happened. My benefactor, known to mortals in this world as The Almighty One, had very clearly interfered here. He'd made what would have become Jon Snow… a girl.
A strange change, to say the least, but one that didn't really effect what I was planning to do in the first place. Humming, I look from the crib to the handmaidens and Lyanna, sizing all three up. The Stark girl's breathing is starting to get rather rough, despite the fact that in canon she was still alive when her brother finally arrived. He's at least an hour away at this point, I made sure of that before I came… and yet, she's on her last legs now. That's probably my fault, I've agitated her and sped up the blood loss, from the look of things.
Fast stepping over to Lyanna's side, I don't bother wasting time with any more pleasantries. Cutting open my wrist with a nail, I bring the blood to her lips and compel her.
"Drink."
She does as she's told of course, and immediately her complications from childbirth begin to heal, all of the internal injuries and other tearing she's suffered fixing themselves right up thanks to my oh so special, magical blood. I grin wickedly as she comes out of the compulsion and stares down at herself in wonder.
"Wha-!"
CRACK!
Her neck snaps rather easily, and the two handmaidens in the tower scream in horror at the sudden death of their mistress. I silence them both with another compulsion, before beckoning them over to me. As the two vacant young women stand there, I size them up while eyeing my freshly made corpse. In the end… one is closer to Lyanna's size and shape than the other.
"Apologies, darling. It must be so challenging, being a minor character…"
The handmaiden in question doesn't get much time to wonder about what I mean. The handmaiden who gets to live doesn't get much time to remember what truly happens. By the time Ned Stark arrives an hour later and he and his bannermen slay Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower, he'll find his 'sister', dead and disfigured beyond recognition in the bed, and a handmaiden who will tell him that Arthur lost his mind in rage when he found out that Lyanna gave birth to a girl instead of the boy Rhaegar thought he was promised.
Ned will take the girl home with him without making any sort of promise to Lyanna, but I imagine he'll still put his all into raising the child. Perhaps he'll let Catelyn know this time around, or perhaps she at least won't be as threatened by a girl as she was by a boy. In the end, it's no matter, because I have my prize.
-x-X-x-
As Robert sits upon the Iron Throne, he can't help but feel like he's gotten the crap end of the stick somewhere along the way. It'd been much more fun rebelling. But then the Targaryens had gone ahead and folded like a fucking stack of cards and everyone had made him King and now he was stuck sitting on this throne rather than swinging his war hammer, and truth be told, it was driving him a little crazy. He could see how Aerys had gone mad sitting on this stupid thing.
Maybe if it felt less like he'd personally lost, he wouldn't mind it so much. But Ned had returned a week ago with the worst news imaginable. Lyanna was dead, killed by Arthur Dayne of all people. Apparently, if Rhaegar couldn't have her, no one could. Ned had avenged his sister's death and would be returning North post-haste… and honestly, Robert wished he could go with the man he considered his true brother.
It would be better than dealing with all of this shit day in and day out. It would mean he wouldn't have to constantly be reminded that his true younger brother was a coward who sat hale and hearty in Storm's End, locked up nice and tight even after the Valyrian Emperor did his part and sent the Tyrells packing back to Highgarden.
Stannis Baratheon had a lot to answer for, and nothing but excuses so far. If he weren't his brother, Robert would… as it was, he was already confident that he'd be giving Storm's End over to Renly rather than Stannis, now that he was going to be King and have to stay in King's Landing all the time. Couldn't have a yellow-bellied pissant as a Lord Paramount after all. Or at least, couldn't have too many of them. Mace Tyrell was going to get to keep his position it seemed, so he could fill their quota for cowardly Lord Paramounts well enough.
Meanwhile, Jon was talking about betrothing Robert to Cersei Lannister of all people. He didn't like it, of course he didn't, even if the lessons Jon had hammered into Robert's head while he was the older man's wards let him know why it was a good idea. The Lannisters had been Targaryen Loyalists right up until the end, when the Kingslayer had killed the Mad King and the Lannister Armies had been let in to ransack the city.
To have King's Landing just handed over to him and his forces, rather than there being some great epic battle… well, as Jon kept saying, it wouldn't have been that great or epic. It would have been a long, arduous siege more than likely, with untold suffering on both sides. The Battle at the Trident had been the fight Robert was truly looking forward. It'd been oh so satisfying when he'd slammed his Warhammer into Rhaegar's chest plate, caving in the man's chest and sending those rubies scattering. If only everything that had happened since then was even half as satisfying.
Still, at least Tywin Lannister's nose had been bloodied a little bit. Even if it was as much a problem for Robert Baratheon as it was for the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. Princess Elia Martell and her dragonspawn… had somehow escaped. Lord Lannister couldn't explain it. He'd send his best to apprehend the woman and Rhaegar's children, supposedly. But at the end of the day, The Mountain lay headless in the nursery, dead as can be, with Ser Amory Lorch dead beside him, a somewhat unnatural hole in his chest, like a fist had been punched through it.
All three were in the wind now, which was a massive problem. As was the fact that Aerys' pregnant Queen and his second born son still lived as well, fortified on Dragonstone. Robert would need to see about besieging the island and killing those dragons as well before a certain Emperor from Essos came around to collect his due.
The doors to the throne room are suddenly flung wide open, and, as if Robert's mere thought has made it a reality, the Valyrian Emperor strides in, followed by a somewhat harried attendant.
"A-Ah, w-wait! I have to announce you at the very least!"
At that, the Emperor stops and gives a condescending smirk to the herald.
"Then announce me."
The herald, a young man clearly new to the job as so many positions were filled by these days, the rebellion having been a rather violent one, pales at realizing he's now got the eyes of the entire throne room on him, watching him. In the end, he decides that discretion is the better part of valor and bows low at the waist, slowly backing out of the room. Robert resists the urge to snort, even as he clutches at the arms of the Iron Throne.
The Valyrian Emperor on the other hand, is not so reserved, letting out a chuckle that resounds through the otherwise silent room.
"He probably would have missed a few titles anyways."
Turning his gaze towards the new King of Westeros, Vali's eyes light up and he strides forward, spreading his arms wide.
"King Robert! Congratulations on your hard-fought victory! I knew you could do it!"
The reformed Kingsguard, not fully remade quite yet, steps forward as the Emperor approaches, but he stops well short of making them draw their blades. Leaning forward on his throne, Robert grunts.
"Emperor Vali. What do you want?"
Still grinning, the Valyrian's eyes nevertheless flash as he shrugs his shoulders.
"I'm here to discuss Dragonstone. Now that the conflict is ended, I assume you're fine with me taking my due, yes?"
There's some murmurings around the court at that, as not everyone there knew about the deal Robert had made with the Valyrian Emperor. Oh sure, by this point most knew that Vali had sided with the rebellion, and that he'd broken the siege of Storm's End and completely taken the Reach out of the war altogether, somehow. But not many beyond those who had been there that day in the Eerie knew that Vali had been promised Dragonstone.
Gritting his teeth, Robert slowly nods his head as he responds.
"You will be given Dragonstone… as soon as it is ours to give. Targaryen Loyalists still occupy the island fort. We will be sending a fleet to destroy what remains of the Royal Fleet and take Dragonstone. At which point, I will be happy to hand it over to your forces."
"That won't be necessary."
You could hear a pin drop, as Vali waves his hand dismissively. He continues on with a wicked sort of grin on his face.
"Leave it to me, won't you? After all, King Aerys is dead, you sit on his throne, the rebellion is ended. I get Dragonstone and everything that lies upon it. That was the deal. I don't need your lot ransacking the place first… that wouldn't be very fair."
Robert's nostrils flare and he grits his teeth even harder.
"Aerys' Queen and son are on Dragonstone. Until they lie dead at my feet, I cannot-!"
"Dead? But I don't want them dead. They're part of the prize after all. I've heard such wondrous tales of how beautiful Rhaella. Killing her now before I've had the chance to sample her flesh would be pure tragedy."
There's some outrage at that, and a lot more mutterings around the court. Many had heard of the Emperor's proclivities. Robert himself had, and as a man who'd always boasted of completing the Seven, he could admire another man who enjoyed women as much as he did. Or he would be able to, if the Emperor wasn't such a condescending bastard that reminded him of the Targaryen Prince who'd taken his betrothed from him.
As it was, it was one thing to be a bit of a whoremonger. It was another entirely to be talking about bedding a Queen in a similar fashion. Rhaella had to die, just as her children and Elia's children had to die, but that did not mean Robert wanted her raped first. Unfortunately, even someone like Robert Baratheon was well aware of who he was dealing with. Something that the Valyrian Emperor standing before him makes very clear with his next words, spilling secrets not meant for others to everyone in the court.
"We had a deal, King Robert, First of Your Name. I help you win your little war; you give me Dragonstone and all that sits upon it… and I don't invade Westeros so long as your bloodline sits upon the Iron Throne. New Valyria spans all of Essos now, as I'm sure you're well aware. While you lot have been settling this petty squabble, I have finished bringing the Free Cities firmly under my banner. Please… do not test me."
He's not wearing armor. He is armed, with a Valyrian Steel Sword at his side that glitters in the torchlight. And yet, as he leans forward just a tad, a palpable wave of dread passes over the court, spreading throughout the throne room. In that moment, the Emperor of Valyria seems more than human… more than all of them.
Robert is glad he's sitting down, because while his Kingsguard manage to remain standing, a few of them do buckle slightly at the knees, and some of the weaker members of the court end up actually on their knees, as if the Emperor's mere presence has forced them into supplication.
And then it's over, just like that, and Robert finds himself able to breathe again as Vali leans back, a benign, mundane smile on his lips. In the end, as much as Robert is raring for a fight… he knows better.
"… Very well. Dragonstone and it's dragons are yours. However! Know that if a Targaryen ever tries to land upon our shores with an army ever again, Westeros will take it as an act of war!"
It's full on bluster, and they both know it. Even still, Vali bows his head in acknowledgment of Robert's words and even goes a step further.
"But of course. I assure you, the Targaryens are done being Kings. I'm glad we could reach this understanding, Your Grace. Have fun ruling your Seven Kingdoms."
As soon as he's done speaking, a dragon's roar shakes the Red Keep, causing every pair of eyes to look up to the ceiling, wide with terror. When they look back, the Valyrian Emperor is nowhere to be seen, gone in a flash, or like he was never there at all. Slowly, over quite a long period of time, spanning hours even, Robert relaxes. At least Dragonstone and the last Targaryens are no longer his problem. It's all out of his hands, now.
Still, that sensation that he's gotten a raw deal, that dissatisfaction with how everything has turned out… it doesn't leave him. If anything, it's only gotten worse now. He should be on top of the world, he's King of the Seven Kingdoms after all! But why does it feel like he's just beginning to comprehend how in over his head he is?
-x-X-x-
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