Shadows of War

Chapter 3 - Shadows in the South

The royal procession wended its slow way down the cobbled streets of King's Landing, flanked by banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. But the proud standards whipped and snapped in the grim, mourning winds gusting through the city instead of heralding victory or joyous celebration.

Within the craggy confines of the Red Keep atop Aegon's high hill, unrest was growing like a spreading rot. Tales of madness afflicting the king were whispered like curses in every shadowed corner. And in the swelling crowds lining the boulevards, fear and uncertainty churned behind every mask of pleasantry offered the passing riders.

At the head of the column, Cregan surveyed all with a guarded gaze. His mail still bore scuffmarks from the strange happenings in the North, mysteries yet unsolved though some inkling of greater goals was emerging. By his side, Jacaerys' noble features betrayed nothing though unease lurked in restless fingers running ceaselessly over the pommel of Dark Sister, the Valyrian blade once wielded by their lost kin.

Within those silent emotions, their inner thoughts paralleled. They had ridden hard on suspicion of further clues emerging here, though none could have foreseen the depths of madness awaiting them. Banners still flew at half-mast, tolling bells echoing their dolorous dirge as a reminder of recent loss in this city which thrived on lies and intrigue.

What secrets now festered behind those sombre drapes of mourning?

Heavy gates ground open, admitting the direwolves Shadow and Shiera close behind their riders. Within the outer walls, a hive of frenetic activity bespoke further darkness festering at the core. Gold cloaks raced amongst the shadowed colonnades, armed and mailed as if preparing for war instead of maintaining peace.

At the stables, the master took their mounts with hushed gratitude, eyes downcast. Evidently whatever evil plagued these halls held even the hardiest in thrall of deepest fear. Exchanging nods, Cregan and Jacaerys left their escort to rest and made directly for the Tower of the Hand, hoping Lord Mooton yet maintained composure amidst the spiraling chaos.

But within, only madness greeted them.

Lord Mooton's solar was in disarray, furnishings overturned, papers strewn as if caught in a wild maelstrom. At its epicenter, the Hand himself raved and spun aimlessly, clutching at unseen assailants with bloodied nails. His eyes rolled wildly beneath a lank fringe of grey hair, spittle flecking anguished cries for mercy from some terrible enemy only he could see.

Jacaerys caught the shuddering man in a steadying grasp, calling his name calmly until recognition sparked amidst the delirium. My prince...the shadows...they come... He choked, sinking nervelessly into Jacaerys' supportive arms. His unfocused eyes found Cregan's grim stare, pleading. Hide...before they take you too...

Maester Gerard arrived then, face grave as he examined the broken lord. A terrible affliction, my lords...all attempts to rouse him prove futile. His mind is lost.

"How many others suffer likewise?" Cregan queried brusquely, tone masking unease as pieces began falling into grim alignment.

Too many, came the grave reply. The entire royal household is collapsing into this madness. Only the smallfolk seem untouched thus far... Though fear and frenzy spread like wildfire through every lowest rank.

Jacaerys straightened, dark indigo eyes flinty with resolve. We must rouse the king, and demand answers. Lead on, maester.

Their lord's broken form was borne away for care as the trio strode toward Maegor's Holdfast at the keep's heart. Within the royal apartments, more turmoil and panic reigned. Gold cloaks raced amid howls from behind ornate doors, some collapsing into their own hysteria right before chilled onlookers.

Cregan took the stairs three at a time, pushing past overwhelmed servants until at last flinging open the oaken doors of the royal solar with a resounding crash. Within, a small crowd milled around the windows, faces masks of naked terror staring fixedly outside while muttering disconnected fragments.

Queen Alicent stood amongst them, aging features haggard with cares beyond her years. But her eyes sparked with relief upon seeing Jacaerys. Thank the gods...they've come at last. Perhaps you can rouse some sense from my son.

Turning, Cregan beheld the king slumped senselessly in his ironwood chair, head lolling weakly. But his eyes told the harrowing truth - within their depths swirled utter darkness, an abyss that devoured all light and sanity, reflecting only some hellish otherworld crawling with inhuman malice.

From that gaze spilled words in no language of men, guttural croaks and clicks in rhythmic patterns that scraped against the mind and soul like obsidian claws. The sounds burrowed deep and took root, blossoming a numbing chill that stole across the room, seeping into the bones of all in utter violation of nature itself.

Jacaerys caught the king's fevered stare, seemingly unaffected. What darkness is this? His soft question rang with a power that resonated agelessly, as if from one who commanded more elemental forces than mortal ken. At his words, the abyss within those light-stealing orbs quailed for a fleeting instant.

Recoiling sharply, the king's head snapped back as if struck. His lips drew back in a rictus to issue a chilling, ululating wail before convulsing violently in his chair. Darkness billowed across the stone floor, wreathing the mad monarch and those nearby in shifting tendrils of utter night that stank of the grave.

The shadows thickened with terrifying speed now fully encroaching reality. Yet Jacaerys stood unmoving before the whirling oblivion, ancient sword glittering keenly between clenched fingers. Softly, melodiously, words of power vibrated the very air itself – and Dark Sister blazed with reflected Daylight born anew, banishing the clutching evil.

With tortured screams, the shadows dissipated, retreating through cracks and crevices like some viscous malefic ichor. The mad King remained, reduced to whimpering sobs as awareness returned momentarily. But his eyes were now ordinary - the abyss had fled, suppressed for the time being.

Breaths rushed from tightened lungs in the stunned quiet following. What horror was this, that could violate both mind and world so utterly? And what of Jacaerys, who stood unscathed before a force that had shattered kings and realms? Deeper mysteries were unfolding, of ancient enmities reforging themselves amidst the churning tides of change.