Dragonstone ― Chamber of the Painted Table...
To many, the island of Dragonstone was just some damp and dreary rock in Blackwater Bay. But to those who lived there, it was more than just home, it was a place of mystery and wonder. The Dragonmont, the only volcano in Westeros loomed tall and at night a faint orange glow could be seen at the top, caused by the fire that swelled within. On the sides of the mountain, there were caves, some were home to the mighty dragons while others served as a hatchery for eggs, heated by the fire from the Dragonmont. Chunks of dragonglass could be found everywhere, in dazzling colors of green, black, red, and purple. Smooth the touch and sharper than any steel.
Small fishing villages dotted the island, occupied by men, women, and children whose blood, though diluted, was that of old Valyria. Silver hair and purple eyes were the norms among the people of this island, like those on Driftmark and Claw Isle.
But truly, the island fortress of Dragonstone was a remarkable sight. Built by sorcery and methods that were lost with the Doom of Valyria, its very presence was generated by fear and awe. Made entirely of jet-black stone, everywhere one looked, dragons dominated the architecture. Fierce beasts of every shape and size were carved into them. One could spend a lifetime there and never get a proper total of how many there were.
Dragonstone had been the last outpost of the Valyrian Freehold in the west and had thus been the only one to survive the cataclysmic Doom that had consumed the greatest empire in the world. It was to hear that Aenar the Exile had brought his family, his servants, and his Dragons. From here the last Dragonlords had rebuilt themselves and thrived until little more than a century ago, Aegon the Conqueror had set his eyes on greater glory. From Dragonstone he and his allies had turned the dream of a United Westeros into a reality. Now, while the heirs of Aegon ruled from King's Landing, their heirs resided on the island fortress as Prince of Dragonstone.
However, now, the Prince of Dragonstone was not present. And instead, governance of the castle, the Island, and all the people therein, fell to the castellan, the steward, and the maester. And at that time, the maester of Dragonstone, Alwyn was on Sea Dragon Tower. The mighty tower was shaped to look like a dragon gazing out calmly at the sea. In the topmost tower, just below the rookery, were Alwyn's chambers. The chamber was large and comfortable, though it was cramped, due in part to the many shelves that lined the walls. These shelves were crammed with books, scrolls, and maps. There were beakers and vials of various potions and medicines. Many more objects and materials filled the spaces on the shelves, each one with a specific purpose. A telescope specially modified stood by a window. There was a bed in the corner, carefully made but unoccupied. At another corner, sitting at a desk was Dragonstone's maester.
When one thought of a maester, they instantly thought of a stooped old man, with deep wrinkles and a long white beard. Alwyn was only 25 years of age, with sandy blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He had come up as the third son of a merchant in Gulltown, gone to the Citadel at the age of eight, earned his maester's chain, and was assigned to Dragonstone. His chain hung around his neck, the links clicking whenever he moved. Among the links was one of Valyrian steel, indicating his study of the higher mysteries at the citadel.
At his desk, his quill scratched on parchment. Alwyn was transcribing a book from the castle's library. It was written in High Valyrian and covered the history of the fourteen flames of Valyria. Though he could read, speak, and understand High Valyrian, many could not. He translated texts into the Common Tongue and sent them to the Citadel to be copied. He had been so engrossed in his work that he almost did not hear the knock at his door. Setting down his quill he called for the knocker to enter.
Maude, a heavy-set serving woman, entered. Her face was red and sweating from climbing the twisting steps of the tower. "Begging your pardon, but there are men here."
Alwyn cocked a brow, "Men?" He asked
"Aye, men from the capital, bearing the crest of the Hand of the King. They are in the Chamber of the Painted Table and are demanding to speak with you."
Alwyn pursed his lips together for a moment as he thought and then nodded. "Well, then I had best not keep them waiting," he said as he left his quarters. "Feed the ravens please while I am gone," he asked politely as he descended the stairs. He could guess why the Hand's men were here, news of what had happened in King's Landing spread faster than wildfire. Everyone had been gossiping and whispering about what was to happen next. Some had even suggested that war would soon follow. Alywn entered the Chamber of the Painted Table to find a group of men at arms standing there, all of them wearing the personal sigil of Otto Hightower, an open hand over the tower of Oldtown. "Gentlemen," he bowed his head "You requested to see me?"
Considered a man of great learning in his time, Ser Otto Hightower was a haughty, blunt, and domineering man famous for his knowledge. Having served under two kings as Hand, he was King Viserys's right-hand man and the second most powerful man in the realm tasked with coordinating and conducting plans for the crown.
"Maester Alwyn," Otto's voice was commanding, "the crown has issued an investigation into the whereabouts of the king's heir, Prince Aeonar Targaryen. Witnesses who claim to know him informed us that he was rumored to be residing somewhere in these halls since the tragic passing of Queen Aemma. We searched through every floor in this castle, and still found nothing. His Grace is beside himself ― losing his wife, his second son and his only surviving heir has refused to see or speak to him. But when we learned Aeonar disappeared, King Viserys sent out a search party to bring him home. You have been assigned to Dragonstone as its maester. Do you have any idea of the whereabouts of Prince Aeonar?"
House Hightower were the rulers of Oldtown and had strong ties to the Faith of the Seven and Order of Maesters. But Alwyn had not seen Aeonar set foot on Dragonstone nor was he ever present in the capital. If the Prince of Dragonstone disappeared, it appeared evident that he covered his tracks very thoroughly – as if he did not want to be found. No one, not even King Viserys or Ser Otto, knew where he went.
Alwyn spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders, "I can assure you, my Lord Hand, that the prince is not on Dragonstone." He then gestured to the painted table, even after one hundred years it was perhaps the most detailed map of the country that had ever been crafted. "And if the prince is on dragonback then I doubt you will find him since he could indeed be anywhere. I am sure that he will return though when he chooses to." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes though, for a man of great learning, he wondered if Ser Otto had any common sense. If the Prince did not wish to be found, did they think he had come to the most obvious place in the realm to hide? "Perhaps you might try Driftmark, Ser Otto. I could write to Maester Gerardys to see if the prince has traveled through there." Alwyn offered, though he was certain Aeonar would not be there either – or else word would have already reached Dragonstone.
Otto, however, was less amused. "We have already made inquiries to Driftmark. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys reiterate that Prince Aeonar is not there as well. The Sea Snake, especially, said it in more colorful terms." He then stood. "Pity. But should you discover his whereabouts, you are required to inform the small council without delay."
With that, Otto and his men soon departed from Dragonstone.
Dragonstone ― Beneath the Dragonmont...
Alwyn had walked with them to the harbor, having needed to pick up some supplies from the fishing village. After watching them depart and picking up his supplies from the village, which included pufferfish venom, concentrated sea salt, and squid ink, he headed back toward the castle. However, as he did, he heard a roar and flapping. He turned his head up to the sky and through the clouds, he saw a figure emerge, a dragon. And Alwyn immediately recognized the dragon, with its long body and crimson coloring it could only be one creature... Caraxes the Blood Wyrm, personal dragon to Prince Daemon Targaryen. The creature roared as it circled the castle and descended to land. Alwyn, his eyes widening at this sudden arrival, ran back towards the castle as fast as his feet would carry him.
But as soon as Alwyn managed to reach the Gateway, he was quickly intercepted by a private army of gold cloaks from the City Watch.
"On the ground! Now!" yelled one of the gold cloaks.
Another gold cloak led his comrades to round up the Dragonstone staff. "Get down! On your knees! All of you!"
"Stop resisting!"
"Kneel before the prince, old man!"
Standing before Alwyn was the king's brother, the Rogue Prince - Daemon Targaryen. Like his family, Daemon was tall and powerful, with the classical silver hair and violet eyes of his house. An unparalleled battle commander and seasoned warrior, he wielded Dark Sister and was a frightening opponent.
"My, what an understaffed castle," Daemon mocked. "What's your name?"
Alwyn knew Daemon Targaryen by reputation alone, dashing, and dangerous, but the man was mercurial and quick to take offense. He was also one of the finest warriors in the realm, so much so that his grandfather, the Old King Jaehaerys had gifted him Dark Sister, reserved for the chosen champion of House Targaryen. He knew that he had to watch his words and speak carefully, lest he'd lose his tongue and his head. "I am called Alwyn, a maester." He bowed. "Forgive us, my Prince, had we known you were coming we would have prepared a proper reception. Though I regret to say that your nephew Prince Aeonar is not here."
"I know," Daemon smirked with confidence. "Which means the heir's seat has been left vacant. My brother cannot simply replace me for long."
Mysaria, Daemon's Lysene lover, stood beside him. "Everyone's been gathered into the courtyard," she informed.
"Good. The realm has its rightful Prince of Dragonstone once more. And King's Landing will soon be rid of those self-serving cunts, purge the capital of corruption, and restore order." Daemon then unsheathed Dark Sister from its sheath and pointed it at Alwyn's throat. "Now... you will sit down and write this message for me."
Parchment and ink were thrown at Alwyn's feet.
"If you know what's good for you, try anything stupid and my men will hunt you down, I'll kill you myself, or... or I could have Caraxes make it painful."
Alwyn realized Prince Daemon was not acting out of concern. He was usurping his nephew's seat!
King's Landing ― Small Council chambers...
"What new madness is this?" King Viserys asked of his councilors as he read the document that had just arrived. Six months have passed since his late wife died and his heir left the capital unannounced, and already new trouble was brewing on his watch.
One of the Dragonkeeper elders stood before the small council, urgently requesting an audience to inform the king of recent events that took place in the Dragonpit three days ago. "Atroksio sȳndrorro massitas, āeksīs ñuhis, Masso Jēdunna. (It occurred in the blackness of night, my lords, during the Hour of the Bat.)" the elder spoke in High Valyrian. "Laodikio īlot upȳdas. (The thief eluded our pursuit.)"
Otto, having just returned from Dragonstone, was called to this emergency meeting of the small council by Princess Rhaenyra. The look on his face expressed surprise and caught him off-guard to see her in her brother's seat acting as Mistress of Whisperers until her brother's return. Although the Hand tried to convince Viserys to act otherwise, Rhaenyra presented a heavily worded decree that Aeonar chose her to act in his stead otherwise and that none of Aeonar's spy network would answer to anyone else other than their spymaster.
And, of course, considering no one else in attendance other than Viserys, Rhaenyra and Corlys understood High Valyrian - the king took the initiative to function as the council's main interpreter. "Skorkydoso zaldrīzo drōmon tōmēpsa urneroti rȳ laodikson kōttas? (How is it possible that a dragon's egg was stolen out from beneath more than fifty Dragonkeepers?)" Viserys inquired.
"Dārilaros Daemon sikio sīdas, Eglivys Aōhys... Ziry ōdrikagon īlōnde umbitti. (It was Prince Daemon who was the culprit, Your Grace... We were loath to do him harm.)"
"Daemon." First, my son leaves the capital, and now this?
"Zaldrījudiri pirtrirzi majēptas, sepār yne baeliō idakotas. Tubissa korzīlzi iā taoba giēnilus. (He entered the Dragonpit under false pretense, then attacked both myself and my Acolyte. It will be some time before the boy recovers.)"
"We just received a missive this morning," Otto informed, "which I believe might explain."
"I think I would rather do it myself, Ser Otto," Rhaenyra interjected as she turned to Mellos. "Grand Maester, if you would," she handed him a scroll from Farrier, one of Aeonar's chief agents.
Mellos unveiled the parchment. "It is the pleasure of Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Iron Throne'," the Grand Maester read the message, "'to announce that he is to take a second wife in the tradition of Old Valyria. She is to assume the title Lady Mysaria of Dragonstone. Her Grace is with child and is to have a dragon's egg placed in the babe's cradle in the custom of House Targaryen.'" He turned to Viserys. "The prince has invited you to his wedding, Your Grace. It is in two days' time."
"Utter nonsense! How dare he..." Lyonel objected.
"Gods be good," Lyman bemoaned.
This has gone too far. First mother, then Aeonar, now this? Damn it, brother, why would you have to make your headaches mine?! Just come home!
"Who is this... Lady Mysaria?" Corlys asked, confused.
"Daemon's whore," Otto replied calmly and plainly. "It is nothing short of sedition."
"I strongly agree, sire," Lyonel nodded.
"And this announcement that he is to take a second wife―"
"The marriage would not be seen as legal and would be condemned by the High Septon. Per the tenants of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, the rites of Old Valyria are only protected in terms of incestuous marriage among members of the Targaryen family, but it does not cover polygamous unions. King Maegor the Cruel tried it nonetheless, and it led to the Faith Militant uprising spiraling further out of control."
"This is simply nothing but a murmurs farce; Daemon is simply looking to provoke a response, but his actions cannot go unpunished."
Daemon... damn you! Haven't you done enough already? "My brother wishes to provoke me," Viserys said. "To answer to give him what he wants."
"The realm is watching closely, Your Grace," Corlys implied. "And without Prince Aeonar―"
"I know, Lord Corlys. My son is missing, and my brother is already seeking to take advantage by attempting to usurp Aeonar's position as my heir. What would you suggest I do? Send Daemon to the Wall? Or perhaps I could put his head on a spike."
"Skorior drōmon, Uēpys? (Which egg, elder?)" Rhaenyra spoke under her breath. Before she knew it, all eyes were focused on her now. Steeling herself with the task Aeonar assigned her, Rhaenyra rose from her seat. "Skorior drōmon Daemon lāettas? (Which egg did Daemon take?)" she asked the Dragonkeeper elder.
"Drōmon Ēdrurzo īles, Dārilaros (The egg was Dreamfyre's, princess.)" The elder answered. "Dārilaro Baelo mazumbille iderēptā hēnkon luon. (The same one that you chose for Prince Baelon's cradle.)"
Rhaenyra and Viserys shared an equal glance at each other. The egg from the Dragonpit originally meant for the late Prince Baelon was the one Daemon stole and absconded with to Dragonstone. The mere mention of Baelon's name brought back nothing but bitter memories of the tragedy that occurred six months ago. Both felt their anger rising to new levels, the time to act was now.
"Assemble a detachment, Otto," Viserys ordered angrily. "I will go to Dragonstone and drag Daemon back to face justice myself!" he rose from his seat and tried to leave.
"Your Grace," Otto objected. "My apologies, Your Grace, but I cannot allow it. It's too dangerous."
"Send me instead, father!" Rhaenyra volunteered. "That egg was the one I picked for our brother. Let me get it back!"
"No, princess," the Hand objected again. "Daemon is without limit. You will stay here."
"You're in no position to start giving me orders―" Now I get why Aeonar's been so frustrated with this man.
"Which is why I will go to Dragonstone myself in your father's place, princess." Otto turned to Viserys. "We cannot risk jeopardizing your safety, Your Grace, nor that of your daughter. And until we learn the whereabouts of your heir, we cannot ignore the fact that Daemon has seized Dragonstone, surrounded himself with an army of gold cloaks, and has now stolen a dangerous weapon."
"You simply being there given your personal histories will not help, Ser Otto, but will only add fuel to the fire," Rhaenyra objected again. "Father, please―"
"Just get it done," Viserys conceded. "Return with the egg intact and get Daemon off Dragonstone immediately."
Otto nodded and left the chambers to arm himself in the Tower of the Hand. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, stewed in absolute frustration at being sidelined. Now she was realizing what Aeonar had to go through since his appointment to the small council as Master of Whisperers. With the secret decoding system and instructions laid before her, Rhaenyra tried to make use of every one of her brother's resources as possible to get the job done as acting spymaster. But puzzles, riddles, and languages she could not understand riled her.
Aeonar, you'd better get your royal ass back here. The situation is more precarious than you initially led me to believe.