Red Keep ― Black Cells...
Otto remained trapped within the confines of the foreboding black cells, where those who refused to bend the knee and swear allegiance to the Caltrops were thrown without mercy. The Red Keep's dungeons were a place of darkness and despair, where the glimmer of hope was a rare commodity. The former Hand knew that time was running out, but he and his fellow prisoners were not without information. Word had seeped into the dank confines of the prison that something was brewing outside the castle walls and that time was of the essence.
Suddenly, a faint yet distinct commotion could be heard from the upper levels of the fortress, drawing the attention of one of the jailors. Minutes passed, and the noise grew louder, followed by the sounds of shouts and blows being delivered. The tension in the air was palpable, and the jailors and prisoners alike could feel something significant was happening. Before long, three jailors came tumbling down the steps and fell heavily to the ground, unconscious. The sudden events stunned everyone in the dungeon, wondering what would happen next.
"Guard? Guard!" Talya shouted.
"Who's there?" another servant asked.
"Please! Someone! Please, let us out!"
Otto was suddenly alerted by the sound of hasty footsteps descending the stairs. As he turned to investigate the source, he was taken aback to see that it was none other than his own grandson, Jaehaerys. Otto was perplexed as to how Jaehaerys had managed to find his way through the Red Keep and into the black cells. However, it was evident from the determined look in his eyes that Jaehaerys had made it his mission to rescue them first, despite the potential risks and costs involved.
"It-It's Prince Jaehaerys," one of the lords muttered.
"Please, let us out!" a noblewoman pleaded.
Jaehaerys approached the bars. "Shhh! Refrain from making any loud noises," he shushed before examining the cells. The undergaoler who held the keys was nowhere to be found, so the prince had to think quickly. He pulled out a small, handmade kit containing a nail file and some wire from his pocket. "Please step back. I'll have this taken care of in just a moment," he knelt. Jaehaerys skillfully inserted the pins into the lock, expertly maneuvering his tools to unlock the door without the use of a key.
"Oh, good boy," Talya praised.
Otto observed his grandson; he couldn't help but admire his determination to pick the lock without a key. Jaehaerys was just as tenacious as Aeonar was at his age. The task proved to be quite challenging, but the young lad seemed to be progressing. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps grew louder. "Get out of here if you value your life," he warned.
"Hush, grandfather. Your fate will be the same as mine," Jaehaerys felt a sense of unease creeping up on him as he stubbornly refused to abandon his task. His brow furrowed, and he couldn't help but notice the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. His fingers were sore and tired, but he persisted, determined to pick the lock. His heart raced as he heard the faint sound of the mechanisms inside the lock beginning to give way. With each passing second, his anxiety grew, but he remained focused on the task at hand. Finally, he felt the satisfying snap of the lock, and he let out a deep breath of relief. "I got it!" he exclaimed.
Jaehaerys acted boldly, swiftly throwing open the cell doors and freeing the prisoners who had been unjustly held captive. In doing so, he also released the loyal supporters of the Blacks, showing his unwavering commitment to fairness and justice.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Bless you, Prince Jaehaerys! We'll never forget this!"
Jaehaerys exhaled. "Come with me. There's a secret entrance that leads to the outside. Don't worry; it's not too far from here. Stay close. I'll keep you safe or die trying," he took charge, ready to assume the leadership role. He beckoned for the prisoners and his father's loyal followers to trail behind him as he navigated through the cramped passageway.
As their eyes met, Otto and Jaehaerys found themselves face to face with two vastly different perspectives - one rooted in an unrelenting sense of duty, the other steeped in an unwavering commitment to protecting one's kin. Despite Otto's best efforts to persuade him otherwise, his grandson remained steadfast in his resolve to stand by his side and weather whatever unforgiving circumstances lay ahead.
Jaehaerys assumed a steady and commanding stance; his longsword clutched tightly in his hand as he focused his unwavering gaze upon his grandfather. He cocked his head ever so slightly, sending a silent signal to his elder to accompany him with the others.
Silently, without uttering a single word, Otto motioned towards his grandson, signaling him towards a concealed path that was hidden within the walls of the imposing Red Keep. With a sense of urgency, they made their way down the dimly lit corridor, their hearts pounding in their chests as they tried to escape with the others. Jaehaerys deftly reached for a lever that was cleverly disguised as a torch on a wall sconce and pulled it down. A secret passageway was revealed within moments, leading the way to safety. The captives were quickly ushered down the escape route, with Jaehaerys and Otto following close behind. The prince made sure to seal and conceal the passageway behind them, ensuring that their pursuers could not find it.
As Otto and his grandson made their way along the dimly lit path, illuminated solely by the flickering beam of Otto's torch, he couldn't help but take note of the state of Jaehaerys' clothing - it was tattered and noticeably soiled. It was clear to Otto that his grandson had encountered some of the queen's guards on his journey to reunite with him and had likely fought his way through the Caltrops to get to him. "Are you wounded?" he asked.
Jaehaerys shook his head. "No, grandfather," he replied. "But Ser Criston, he... he killed Lord Lyman."
"He did what?"
"It's true. I saw Ser Criston slamming Lord Lyman's head on the table in the small council chambers so hard that his skull fractured on impact. Lord Commander Harrold and Farrier told me to run, and Ser Erryk helped me find where the queen's men had taken you."
"We'll ensure they're rewarded for their service. Right now, we must leave this place and warn your father."
Jaehaerys was ready with a plan. "I have Vermithor stationed near the Dragonpit, out of sight for now. He can provide us with a more secure means of transportation. Besides, dragons can fly much faster than ravens. Once we reach Vermithor, we'll make for Dragonstone. But we'll need to find another path to the Dragonpit. It's pandemonium out there," he turned to Otto. "I already lost one grandfather to illness, but I do not intend to lose the only one I have left."
Otto couldn't help but feel proud of his grandson's quick thinking and bravery. Together, they made their way toward safety, ready to face whatever lay ahead. He's got your kindness, Viserys. But he'll need to steel himself to be prepared for what's to come.
Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...
"I don't understand! How could you let this happen?!" Beatrice seethed with anger. "How could you all have let a mere boy, an old man, and a lowly peasant slip right through your fingers? They were all right in front of you, and you just let them get away like sewer rats!" The sound of the uproar outside only added to her fury. "Do you hear that? That constant noise is driving me insane. And all because you couldn't do your job properly, our carefully crafted plans are now in utter disarray!"
Unwin's expression turned sour as he mulled over their situation. He wished he had more time to solidify their influence before making a move. "It's time we relocate to a more sophisticated environment," he declared, determined to stay one step ahead.
Beatrice gave a firm nod to her father. "Yes, father," she replied. Her gaze then shifted to the trembling Grand Maester Orwyle. "You know what to do. Release the ravens and gather the 'items' from the royal archive," she commanded, her voice unwavering.
"Y-Yes, Your Grace." Without delay, Orwyle scurried away like a startled roach, leaving Ser Criston to deal with his anger towards Ser Harrold and Farrier. However, before he could take any action, Beatrice's sharp voice cut through the air.
"Ser Criston, hold your horses. There will be time for revenge. First, gather your sworn brothers and our loyal household knights. Make sure my family is safe, then meet us at the rendezvous area."
Ser Criston put his pride aside and nodded in agreement. "Yes, my queen," he acknowledged.
With that, the Caltrops of the small council left the room, leaving behind the lifeless body of Lord Beesbury.
Upon recognizing the imminent danger posed by Jaehaerys's escape and the riots taking place on the city streets below, Beatrice took it upon herself to confront another Targaryen who was being 'confined' within Maegor's Holdfast. It was none other than the Queen Who Never Was, Princess Rhaenys, and Beatrice ensured that Rhaenys would not be allowed to leave the Red Keep under any circumstance. As a valuable highborn prisoner, she was isolated in her guest room due to her status as a royal and held for ransom, serving as political leverage to be used against House Velaryon. Since Beatrice was responsible for the safety of her followers, she worked tirelessly to ensure that none of them would harm Rhaenys in any way.
As Beatrice opened the door to her room, she found herself standing in front of Rhaenys. It was a tense moment, with both women being among the most politically influential female figures in the realm.
"I will do you the considerable courtesy of assuming there is a good reason for the outrage of my treatment here this morning," Rhaenys said coolly. "Or are you really going to remain oblivious to the fact that House Peake chose this moment for their black sheep to attempt a coup now that my cousin is dead? Come. Let's dig into the reasons behind their sudden move. We both know you're smarter than that. You cannot be this delusional."
Beatrice clenched her hands and bit her teeth. Up close, Rhaenys was an intimidating figure. "You've mistaken the lack of ceremony for another round of powerplays. An infantile gesture made up many years ago," she said.
"And yet here you are. Trying so hard to usurp the throne... and failing, if I'm not mistaken."
"Call it what you will; it is of no consequence. However, the reality remains unaltered despite any opinions or beliefs. Aegon will be king. So I'll be asking you one last time to bend the knee."
"Well, I must credit you for your boldness."
"Which is more pitiful, princess?" Beatrice approached. "House Velaryon has long allied itself with Prince Aeonar for many years, but what has it gained you? Your daughter is dead... alone in Pentos. Your son was cuckolded by Princess Rhaenyra, whose heirs are none of yours. It is your husband who grasps so heedlessly for the throne." She smirked. "And even he has abandoned you: gone these six long months to fight a meaningless battle, only to return grievously, if not mortally, wounded, leaving the Lady of Driftmark to chart her course... alone. With no one to hold her hand."
Rhaenys, being an astute Targaryen, was fully aware that this untried and self-serving brat was attempting to provoke her. However, the queen did not seem to comprehend that Rhaenys had earned a reputation as the Queen Who Never Was and therefore possessed more political experience than her adversary. "The word of my house is not fickle," she said.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. 'Fire and Blood.' We all know the words of House Targaryen. But were you not wed to Velaryon? You have been for many years. 'The Old, the True, the Brave.' Do you continue to hide from the truth just like the others? The men in power placed themselves above us women and used us as pawns for their own gain for thousands of years." She brushed her hair. "In a way, I admire you, Princess Rhaenys. It would be best if you were the queen. The Iron Throne was yours by blood and by temperament. You were King Jaehaerys Targaryen's eldest grandchild, the firstborn of his eldest surviving son, Prince Aemon, unlike your uncle, Prince Baelon, or his son, Viserys. No, Viserys would've lived his days a country lord, content to hunt and study his histories, but... here we are. We do not rule, but we may take back our rightful place from the men that do."
"Ugh," Rhaenys scoffed. "Is it in the name of peace that you've imprisoned me? And what of my dragon?"
"It's clear that you care deeply about Meleys, but I can't help but wonder if you're overlooking someone else who needs your attention. Hmm? Yes, your granddaughters... Baela and Rhaena. They're both such lovely-looking young women. I'm told they bear a striking resemblance to their mother, your daughter Lady Laena. I've noticed how you look at them and can tell you care about their well-being. If you want to protect your dragon and whatever remains of your family, you'll do what needs to be done. And if it's Driftmark you want, you shall have it for you and your granddaughters to pass on as you see fit. Bend the knee, here and now, and swear allegiance to my son, and all of our past histories will be swept aside."
Rhaenys couldn't help but let out a small chuckle under her breath at the audacity of Beatrice's actions. Seeing her venture into uncharted territory and threaten her granddaughters like that was quite amusing. One couldn't help but wonder what drove Beatrice to take such a bold and risky move. "You think you are wiser than most... but it is the exact opposite, Beatrice Peake. It's important to acknowledge one's own limitations, a lesson you have repeatedly failed to learn time and again," she retorted. "I don't trust you because you're a woman. We distrust you because you're not as clever as you think you are."
"What?" Beatrice felt insulted.
"Here you stand, a small, bitter little girl who, for the past twenty years, toiled in the service to men: your father, your husband, your brothers, your sons. You don't desire to be free. You mean to abuse the gift that has been granted to use and poison the water's wells with such toxins. To make us all your prisoners use and toss aside for your own benefit. But tell me..." Rhaenys leaned in close. "Have you never imagined yourself... on the Iron Throne?" she whispered into her ear.
Beatrice's heart raced with unease as she thought about the Queen Who Never Was. The very mention of her name sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that was slowly creeping up on her. With each passing moment, she grew increasingly uneasy, and she couldn't help but shake her head in an attempt to clear her mind. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. I'll leave you to your thoughts... to reconsider my offer," she cleared her throat.
As Beatrice exited the room, she couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh. The encounter with Princess Rhaenys Targaryen had been more intense than she had anticipated. Her mind was razor-sharp, and her wit was just as dangerous as Aeonar himself. But the Queen Who Never Was relied on cunning words and political maneuvering to inflict heavy damage. Beatrice's heart was pounding so fast she thought it might burst out of her chest. She tried to calm herself down by placing a hand over her heart, but instead, she felt something wet. To her horror, she realized that she had peed herself! Rhaenys had made her lose control and embarrass herself in front of everyone. Beatrice's face flushed with anger, humiliation, and embarrassment. She turned to look at her handmaidens, hoping to find some solace or support, but all she saw was pity in their eyes.
"NOT A WORD!! Now go find my children and bring them to me at once!"
"Y-Yes, mistress!"
King's Landing ― Rhaenys' Hill...
As they cautiously navigated through the labyrinthine streets of the city, Prince Jaehaerys and his companions were acutely aware of the chaos that had engulfed the area. With the City Watch near the East Barracks in disarray, some of its members turning against each other in a desperate attempt to restore order, and the common folk taking advantage of the situation by looting local businesses and brothels, the group had to be quick on their feet to avoid any potential danger. Nearby, a group of Lykirī Mēre descended upon the Caltrops, swiftly applying their deadly trade to use. Even though they took down their fair share of adversaries, a few inexperienced acolytes were caught in the crosshairs and violently torn apart limb from limb. Nevertheless, they were resolute in their determination to survive through the slums of Flea Bottom and escape the turmoil that surrounded them before reaching Rhaenys' Hill. Despite the obstacles that lay ahead, Prince Jaehaerys displayed an impressive level of agility, akin to that of a nimble rabbit, as he deftly maneuvered around the various obstacles that littered their path.
"By the Gods," a woman gasped in horror.
"This is hell. We're in hell," a septon trembled.
Jaehaerys' mind was in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as he fled alongside his companions. It was difficult to accept that his grandfather, with whom he had spoken the night prior about their plans for their model city, was now gone. "Find a place to hide! Quickly!" he warned the others. The reality of the situation seemed unfathomable. Jaehaerys secretly hoped that this was all a terrible dream and that he would awaken from it any moment. However, deep down, he knew that this was not the case. He was living in a harsh reality where his grandfather had passed away, and he could not dwell on it for too long. There was no time for mourning. He had to reach Dragonstone as soon as possible to alert his father of the coup before it was too late.
And to get there he needed to reach Vermithor. Which meant he needed to get to the Dragonpit. The stable for the royal dragons of House Targaryen was the tallest structure in the city. It loomed tall and proud. But even as Jaehaerys approached it, he knew that something was wrong.
"Hold your positions!" Otto called out with a warning.
Upon reaching the great iron doors with his grandfather, Jaehaerys came to an abrupt stop and sought refuge behind a nearby stone pillar. His intuition had kicked in, warning him of the abnormality that lay before him. Normally, a group of dragon keepers would be present to oversee and guard the entrance. However, what they saw instead was a group of menacing-looking knights donning the colors of black and orange - unmistakably Peake men-at-arms. It was an unexpected and concerning sight. Upon arriving at the Dragonpit, Jaehaerys was disheartened to discover a small group of lifeless Dragonkeepers. Their broken staves lay scattered around them, and the ground beneath them was stained with their blood. It was evident that they had valiantly attempted to defend the Dragonpit from the Caltrops, but were ultimately overpowered. As Jaehaerys surveyed the scene, he couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the heavily armored soldiers and the plain-clothed Dragonkeepers.
"How many soldiers are there?" Otto asked.
Jaehaerys took a moment to assess the situation. "I'm seeing somewhere between fifteen to twenty of them," he replied.
"Feeble old men," one of the Peake troops muttered, staring at the corpses. "Relics of a bygone age that should long be left forgotten."
"Find the other dragons!" another ordered.
"*GRUUUUUUURRRR!*"
"I hear one!"
Jaehaerys found himself in a dire situation. He urgently needed to reach Vermithor, his trusted dragon, to fly him to Dragonstone. His family's safety was at stake, and he knew that time was of the essence. The Blacks were in dire need of reinforcements, or else the mighty walls of King's Landing would fall to the Caltrops. He knew that he had to act swiftly and decisively to avert impending disaster. "Hey!" he called out, hoping to distract them from finding his dragon. I've got to keep them away from Vermithor.
"Well, well, well. Look who it is, boys," the Peake soldiers recognized him. "Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Young Dragon's son. Quite the long way from home, aren't we, boy?"
« As we... sit here, building models and playing with toys, it's easy to forget that one day you, Jaehaerys, will bear the weight of being king. It's a daunting task... filled with hard choices that one day may lead to regret. But always remember, your first duty... as a king... is to the people. »
With his late paternal grandfather's wise words echoing in his mind, Jaehaerys made a solemn vow always to uphold honor and integrity in his decision-making. As he drew his sword from its sheath, he knew that the path ahead would be strewn with obstacles, but he was determined to face them head-on. After all, he was a prince of House Targaryen, with the blood of Old Valyria coursing through his veins! He knew that someday, the fate of Westeros would rest on his shoulders, but he was ready to meet any challenge that lay ahead. "Lay down your weapons, and I shall grant you mercy." His words promised peace, but his tone conveyed an unyielding resolve. "I have no desire to harm anyone, but I will not hesitate to act if you leave me no choice."
"Ha! Take a good look at your surroundings, young man. You're facing insurmountable odds!"
A sudden interruption broke the silence. "Not if he had a little help," a voice called out.
Jaehaerys turned in recognition. "Ser Harrold! Farrier! Thank the gods you both made it out," he said with relief.
"It was a close call, but the White Worm told us where you were going," Farrier informed him.
"You've done well leading those people to safety, lad," Ser Harrold said to his former apprentice. "But I promised your father and mother that I'd look after you-and I intend to keep that promise," he declared, unsheathing his sword. "Stick close to me; my experience will keep you safe during this battle."
Jaehaerys nodded. "I'll do the same, Lord Commander," he promised.
"Be ready. Here they come!"
As the Peake soldiers marched forward towards their target, they were suddenly ambushed by a group of Lykirī Mēre who had concealed themselves on the upper hillside. The surprise attack threw the soldiers off guard, and the battle ensued. Jaehaerys, accompanied by Ser Harrold and a small band of Targaryen loyalists, quickly sprang into action to engage the enemy. For the young prince, this was no mere practice round - it was his first real battle. However, all his years of training had equipped him with the necessary skills to defend himself against any who would dare to threaten him.
As the commotion grew louder, a sense of unease settled over the crowd. Suddenly, the ground began to shake with thunderous footsteps, and the sound of a terrifying roar echoed through the air. Looking up, they saw a dark silhouette blotting out the sun, rapidly growing larger and larger until it almost engulfed them all. Jaehaerys quickly sensed what was coming and swiftly retreated to a safe distance.
"Dragon!" one of the Peake soldiers called out.
Before anyone could react, Vermithor landed beside the Dragonpit, nearly crushing one of the marble pillars with his powerful feet. His scales were bronze, his wings great with tan, and his eyes and horns blazed with burning gold. "*GRRRRRRRAAAAAA!*" the Bronze Fury roared menacingly. With keen instincts, Vermithor sensed that his rider was in danger. Without hesitation, the elder dragon arrived at the scene. With a powerful lash from his massive tail, Vermithor fearlessly struck down any potential threats that dared to approach him from the rear. Those who stood before him were unfortunate enough to be ensnared in his powerful jaws and bitten in half without mercy. Even those who stood on either side, to his left or right, were not safe from his wrath as he mercilessly stepped on them without hesitation. "*RRRRRRRUUUU!*" Living up to his reputation as a fearsome beast, the 200-foot-long dragon unleashed a fiery blaze from his powerful jaws, engulfing the unfortunate Peake soldiers who had crossed his path in a sea of fire.
Otto, Farrier, and Ser Harrold shielded their eyes from the searing heat of the dragon's fiery breath. Jaehaerys, on the other hand, appeared unfazed by the intense flames. "Kelītīs, Vērmithari! Dohaerās! Lykirī! Lykirī. (That's enough, Vermithor! Serve! Calm down! Be calm.)" the prince commanded in High Valyrian, raising a hand to his dragon.
"*Guuuuuuuuuurrr!*" Vermithor growled. As soon as his rider called out to him, the Bronze Fury obediently bent down, allowing Jaehaerys to climb onto his back effortlessly. Once his rider was settled into the harness, they were ready to soar through the skies together.
"Jaehaerys," Otto approached.
"Come on!" Jaehaerys called out. It was clear to him that Vermithor had the capacity to carry multiple individuals. However, he couldn't understand why his maternal grandfather wasn't making any moves.
Otto looked back at the carnage behind him. "I'm not going," he revealed.
"What?!"
"You've witnessed the deceitful actions of the Caltrops. Unfortunately, their kind exists in many other places as well. Unless a strong leader emerges, this city will crumble under its own weight."
"Your grandfather is wise, lad," Harrold agreed. "We'll hold our ground and form a resistance movement to fend off their attacks."
"And we'll spread the message far and wide," Farrier chimed in. "But let's not forget, it will take much more than that to secure our victory."
"Jaehaerys, all our hopes, and dreams depend on you," Otto said with a serious tone. "I know it's hard for you to leave, but the legacy of King Viserys the Peaceful, as well as that of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator, is at stake. The realm will not accept a bastard taking on the Targaryen name. War will follow suit with the Caltrops' blatant act of treachery. Hurry on to Dragonstone and tell your father to come back as soon as possible." He then pulled out a rolled sack and threw it toward his grandson. "And make sure to give this to your mother. You know what to do."
Despite his reluctance to abandon the innocent people of the capital, Jaehaerys ultimately conceded that Otto's assessment was correct: without outside intervention, the city would surely fall to the Caltrops. With a heavy heart and a sense of duty weighing upon him, the young prince reluctantly nodded his agreement. "I'll come back for you! And I'll bring every dragon if I have to!" he replied. "Until then, stay alive... grandfather." He turned to Harrold. "Lord Commander, good luck."
"You too, my prince," Ser Harrold nodded.
In light of the current situation in King's Landing, Otto and Harrold have taken on the responsibility of leading the Blacks' resistance movement. To ensure that their efforts are coordinated with maximum efficiency, Farrier has made the decision to stay behind and head up their intelligence network. This will allow for more effective communication and strategic planning between the various factions within the Blacks' movement, ultimately leading to a greater chance of success in their endeavors.
"Sōvēs, Vērmithari! (Fly, Vermithor!)"
"*RUUUUUUAAA!*" Vermithor roared in response. The Bronze Fury stretched his wings out wide and flapped them hard, picking up speed as he swept over the rubble, and the sound was like a clap of thunder, and suddenly the white marble and cobblestones were falling away beneath him.
Jaehaerys looked down from his dragon's saddle towards the sprawling city of King's Landing below. His grip on the pommels was tight, his heart racing with a sense of urgency. He knew he had to make haste to Dragonstone and warn the rest of his family of the impending danger. With every beat of Vermithor's wings, he hoped and prayed that they would arrive back in time to save their beloved city from destruction.
Little did he know, a fellow Targaryen and her fierce dragon were ready to make their move.