The Rise Of A Dragon - Chapter 25: Start of the Journey

The immediate aftermath of Aerea being sent away...

If this had been any other time before this moment, Aerea would have been excited at the prospect of to be leaving King’s Landing and going further beyond the city than she had ever thought possible. 

But now, as The Fury cut across the churning waves, she felt no excitement, only an ache that hollowed her chest and made the world around her seem cold and lifeless. 

A few hours had passed, and the princess could no longer see the coast of Westeros, leaving nothing but the open sea and the soft, rhythmic creak of the ship. 

Aerea still stood at the railing, her hands gripping the smooth, seawater-stained wood, the wind whipping her hair into her face, although she could not be bothered to try and brush the strands away. 

She could feel the eyes of the ship’s crew on her back as they went about their business, within their gazes a mixture of pity and curiosity poorly hidden behind the respectful distance they kept from her. 

Aerea did not turn around, let alone acknowledge them as she found herself lacking the strength left to care about their opinions. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the horizon, only moving when a gust of wind tore through her cloak, and she shivered despite the sun bearing down above her. 

Her fingers were stiff and raw from gripping the railing, but she could not bring herself to let go, everything else had already taken from her grasp, her home, her family, her certainty that the world made sense, and so this rail quickly became the only solid thing she had left to hold onto. 

“Princess.” Came a gentle voice behind her, and Aerea turned to find Lady Cassana standing a few paces away; her thick brown hair bound with ribbons that fluttered in the wind. Her expression was kind, but her eyes were tinged with quiet sorrow. 

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” Cassana said softly, “You should rest, my husband and I worry that you’ll make yourself ill.” 

“I’m not tired.” Aerea murmured, turning back toward the sea. 

Cassana hesitated, then stepped closer, resting a warm hand on the girl’s shoulder, “You remind me of my own boys when they’re trying to hide their hurt. Stubborn to the bone.” 

Aerea’s lips twitched faintly at the mention of her cousins, though the attempt at a smile did not last, and she was soon reminded that they were in Westeros, where she should be too. 

“You will return home one day soon, princess.” Cassana said gently, though the certainty in her words felt more like a wish than a promise. 

“Everyone keeps saying that.” Aerea replied quietly, letting out a slow breath and watching the sunlight shimmer across the endless blue. “As if saying it often enough will make it true.” 

Cassana did not immediately answer. Instead, she leaned her forearms against the railing beside Aerea, gazing out at the sea with her. “When Steffon and I first sailed from Storm’s End, I cried for days. I thought the distance would swallow me whole, that I would lose myself somewhere between one shore and the next, and that a terrible storm would hit the ship at any moment, and the sea would take me thereafter. But after a while, I had become hardened, and the journeys taught me to endure. 

“But I don’t want to endure!” Aerea exclaimed, glaring at the woman, “I don't want to be here, risking my life to look for some stupid sword because of my father! I just... I just want to go home.” 

She did not need or want Cassana’s comfort, not when it all felt so meaningless and hollow. There was nothing she could say that could make any of this better. 

“I know,” Cassansa said softly, “And I won’t pretend that what awaits you will be easy-” 

“Lady Cassana, please... please just stop.” Aerea whispered, “I appreciate your kind words but I... I just cannot find it within myself to believe them.” 

Aerea looked away when she saw the sadness and pity in the woman’s eyes, unable to bear it any longer. 

Cassana inhaled slowly, “Very well, but if you change your mind… if you need company, my door will always be open to you.” 

She gave Aerea’s shoulder one last, gentle squeeze before stepping away, leaving the princess alone once more at the railing. 

Aerea tightened her grip on the railing as the wind surged again, tugging at her cloak and pulling strands of silver-gold hair loose from their braid, but she did not bother to chase them and put them back. 

Endure. Aerea thought bitterly. That’s what they want of me, to endure, to survive, to become something harder and sharper than I ever wished to be. 

Her gaze drifted eastward, toward the vastness of the Narrow Sea and beyond it, the lands she had only ever seen on maps, cities of strange tongues, deserts without mercy, and the endless grasslands of the Dothraki Sea. Somewhere out there, Aerys believed, was a sword that mattered more than her fear, more than her life. 

“If this is my destiny,” Aerea murmured to the wind, so softly that even she barely heard it, “Then it is a cruel one.” 

The Fury surged forward, cutting through the waves relentlessly, and all Aerea could think was that the ship was carrying her farther from Westeros with every heartbeat.  

And though Aerea remained standing, eyes fixed on the horizon, something within her shifted, and it felt as if a piece of herself had been left behind on the Westerosi shores that she was already missing.

~X~

For over a week, Rhaella had existed in a dazed and heartbroken state. 

She could not bring herself to put on her usual queenly mask of sweet propriety, she could not bring herself to express much emotion on her face other than deep melancholy, and there was nothing she could do to ease the ache that had settled in her chest. 

The Red Keep felt unbearably empty without Aerea’s presence; every corridor seemed quieter, every chamber colder. Rhaella found herself glancing instinctively toward doorways, half-expecting to see silver hair rush past or to hear the melodic cadence of her daughter’s laughter echoing through the halls, but each time she remembered the truth, the realization struck her anew, sharp and merciless. 

And as of late, Rhaella had taken to avoiding her husband more than usual, usable to stomach Aerys’ declarations of Aerea’s destiny, of her greatness, and of their family’s inevitable resurgence. All she could think of was a young girl standing alone on the deck of a ship, of her wandering a land foreign alone and scared, and of her dying in the gutter; her life taken far too soon. 

As she walked into the nursery, the Queen’s sorrow was only slightly abbreviated as she caught sight of her youngest child. 

“Mummy!” Viserys exclaimed as he ran away from his caretaker, clinging to Rhaella’s legs as he wrapped himself around her. 

“My sweet boy.” Rhaella said as she bent down and brush away a few strands of hair out of his face, “Were you good today?” 

Viserys nodded his head vigorously, “Yes, I was!” 

Rhaella looked at Viserys’ caretaker, seeing the tired look on the woman’s face and knowing that her son was not being truthful with his claim. This did not surprise her as Viserys was an energetic young boy, something that took some time to adjust to as his siblings had been almost the opposite at his age. 

“Mummy, when is Rea coming back?” Viserys asked, staring up at the Queen with his large, expressive pale lilac eyes. 

Rhaella flinched when she heard Viserys’ question, although this was not the first time this week that Viserys had asked this. 

On the day of Aerea’s departure, Viserys had almost cried himself sick, refusing to allow anyone to comfort him, begging for his sister to be the one to come and do so. Rhaella had been trying to explain to the two-year-old that his sister would not be back for some time, but he dismissed her attempts. 

“Viserys,” Rhaella said softly, lowering herself fully to the floor so that she could look him in the eye, “Your sister has gone away on a long journey.” 

“How long?” Viserys asked immediately, his brow furrowing in confusion, “She's not here yet.” 

Rhaella swallowed, “I don't know.” 

“But why?” Viserys whined. 

“Your father needed her to find something for him, something very important that he had lost. I don’t know when your sister will return, but she will do so as quickly as she can.” Rhaella said, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. 

Viserys considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly, “Rea always comes back.” 

“Yes, yes she will.” Rhaella closed her eyes, holding him tighter. 

The child relaxed against her, comforted by the certainty in her voice, and soon his attention drifted elsewhere, tugging at her sleeve and pointing toward a toy he had left on the floor. Rhaella remained where she was, unmoving; her arms still wrapped around him even as his caretaker gently urged him away. When Viserys was led back toward his playthings, she rose slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her. 

Her gaze lingered on the small, empty corner where Aerea used to sit and read aloud to her brother; Rhaella could still hear Aerea’s soft and animated voice as Viserys laughed at stories he barely understood. The space felt wrong now, too quiet and too still, and Rhaella pressed a hand to her chest as the ache threatened to overwhelm her once more. 

Please, Rhaella silently prayed, to any god that would listen. Bring her home to me. Bring her home before- 

Her breath hitched, the rest of the plea dissolving into fear she could not give shape to, and Rhaella pressed her forehead briefly against the cool stone of the nursery wall, steadying herself. 

When she finally left the nursery, the Queen carried with her the terrible certainty that this was only the beginning of her grief.

~X~

A Week Later 

Jon Connington walked with purpose as he left the rookery, carrying the important missive he had taken from the Grand Maester in his hands. 

Ever since the Defiance of Duskendale, Rhaegar had begun to carry with him a health suspicion of House Lannister and its supporters, unable to stomach the thought of just how much they were possibly interfering with his life and the lives if his family from the shadows, and wanting to do whatever he could to mitigate this. 

And this included no longer leaving any letters sent to him to remain in the rookery, where he was sure that Grand Maester Pycelle, a man who was known for his admiration of Tywin, was secretly reading them and feeding any information within them to Tywin. 

Jon usually felt ecstatic whenever Rhaegar sent him to the rookery, seeing the act as the prince placing his trust in Jon, especially as it was something that Rhaegar had never asked Arthur, Myles, or Richard. 

But right now, he could not find it within himself to feel anything other than concern as he thought about his prince. 

Jon did not have siblings of his own, but over the years he had seen with his own two eyes the bond between Rhaegar and Aerea was and knew that it was stronger than most. 

Rhaegar had always been solemn, had always moved through life as if he carried the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders, but he always seemed to soften in Aerea’s presence. When his sister was around, he could simply focus on being an elder brother instead of the Crown Prince. 

Rhaegar had spoken little of his sister since she was sent away, but Jon saw the way his prince lingered over maps of Essos, the way his fingers tightened around the hilt of his harp when he played, and how Rhaegar now spent most of the night awake, even as the castle had fallen silent. 

I wish that Rhaegar would allow me to console him; he need not keep me at a distance as he does everyone else. I can be everything he needs; I can ease every one of his burdens, wrap myself tightly around his bleeding heart. Jon thought to himself, shaking his head as a blush formed on his cheeks. 

It had been difficult for the heir to Griffin’s Roost to come to terms with the idea that what he had once thought was admiration for his silver prince was a passionate, all-consuming, and romantic love. And he hated that the only reason he had been able to realize his feelings for Rhaegar was because of Aerys’ declaration that Rhaegar would have a Volantenes wife. 

Just how could some woman from a city of slavers, who knows nothing of Westeros be a good enough bride for a prince of Rhaegar’s caliber? Just how could the King look upon his son and not see his greatness? How could he not look upon his son and think to do everything he possibly could for him? 

The thought made Jon’s grip on the letter tighten until the parchment crinkled beneath his fingers. He forced himself to slow his pace, to school his expression into something neutral as he passed a pair of guards, but his blood still burned hot in his veins. 

Rhaegar deserved better than this, better than a cruel father who decided on his future so carelessly and recklessly. 

When Jon reached the door to the prince’s chambers, he took a moment to draw in a steady breath before lifting his hand and knocking. 

Arthur had been the one to open the door, giving Jon a firm nod before stepping aside and allowing him to enter. The Kingsguard quickly closed the door and retook his position in front of it, facing the rest of the room’s occupants. 

Jon found the others just as he had left them, gathered in uneasy stillness around the chamber. 

Rhaegar sat near the window, a map of Essos spread across the table before him; its corners weighed down with carved stones. He had not changed his clothes since the previous evening; his silver hair was loose over his shoulders, and dark shadows lay beneath his eyes. And Myles and Richard sat in front of the hearth, staring into embers that had long since gone cold. 

Rhaegar looked up at the sound of the door closing, his gaze sharpening when it landed on Jon, “Do you have it?” 

Jon inclined his head and crossed the room, placing the sealed letter gently atop the map, “From Castle Black.” 

Rhaegar glided his fingers across the parchment before lifting it up and breaking the seal. 

Dearest nephew, 

When word had reached I and my sworn brothers of your father’s actions at Duskendale, I prayed that the worst of the storm had passed, but I see now that I was wrong. When I learned that your sister had been sent east, alone, on an insurmountable task, I could not stop myself from weeping, nor could I stop myself from wondering just where things went wrong with Aerys. 

I do not know what dreams plague your father, nor what voices he listens to in the dark, but I have known such dreams myself, and I beg you to remember this; prophecy is a sword without a hilt, grasp it too tightly, and it will cut you to the bone. 

You are not wrong to fear for Aerea’s life, nor are you wrong to question what is being done in the name of destiny. Love for one’s blood is not a weakness, no matter how loudly one may attempt to insist otherwise. 

And it is because of this love that I must implore you to turn away from this path that you are contemplating heading down. Your last letter worried me deeply, Rhaegar, and I hope that what you had written to me were simply the words of a young man hurt by the separation his father has caused within his family. For I know better than most the cost that comes when the title of King is brought into question and do not wish for you to experience the same, or for the realm to be thrown into uncertainty and chaos. 

For now, I must beseech you to focus on furthering our understanding of the prophecy and the coming darkness. And above all else, remember this: the realm does not need another king driven by visions of what must be; it needs one who understands what it, and what it costs to protect it. 

Guard your heart, my dear nephew, guard it more fiercely than any crown. 

-Your uncle Aemon 

Rhaegar’s hand tightened around the missive as he lowered it from his face, his face expressionless as he lifted his head and stared at his companions. 

“Rhaegar?” Richard asked, “Are you-” 

“I have obeyed Aerys my entire life,” Rhaegar said softly, interrupting Richard. “I have strived to be the perfect heir and yet, it has brought us to this point.” 

For years, Aerys Targaryen had been slowly worsening as a man, father, husband, friend, and ruler, and Rhaegar knew this reality better than anyone, telling himself that he needed to endure, to be patient, and that every injustice that Aerys heaped upon his family would be worth it. 

“Something must change.” Rhaegar continued, “I cannot continue to allow Aerys to rule as he has been.” 

Myles frowned, “But what exactly can any of us do? While none of us may agree with his choices, your father is the King, his word is law.” 

“And why should a King who cares for only himself be allowed to decide what is best for Westeros? Why should a man who has clearly lost all of his sanity be allowed to maintain such absolute power?” 

Silence fell over the chamber; Arthur’s jaw tightened as he moved to rest his hand instinctively on the pommel of Dawn, Richard shifted uneasily, Myles looked between them all, unease etched deep into his features, and Jon felt his heart hammer violently in his chest. 

“Rhaegar,” Arthur said carefully, “Those are dangerous thoughts.” 

“I know,” Rhaegar replied, meeting his gaze without flinching, “That does not make them untrue.” 

He turned back toward the map of Essos, his fingers hovering over the inked markings indicating each city. 

Aemon is not entirely wrong when he says that I should lose myself to my emotions, but he is wrong about straying from this path, Aerea being sent off to die for the sake of Aerys’ madness is proof enough that my cause is a righteous and necessary one. Who knows what other mistakes and tragedies could occur the longer Aerys wears the Crown. Rhaegar thought. 

“Aerys Targaryen cannot remain King of Westeros; he must be put aside so that I can ascend the throne.” 

Richard loudly gulped, swallowing the salvia that had built up inside his mouth, nervously meeting Rhaegar’s eye. “A-Are y-you suggesting that we... murder the King?” 

Richard almost felt his heart stop when Rhaegar stared at him expressionlessly, fearing that the prince would validate his question. 

After a tense few moments, Rhaegar sighed, leaning back in his seat, “No, I am not, Richard. I am angry with Aerys, disgusted with the decisions he has made and the man he has become, but despite it all, he is still my father. I do not have it within myself to take his life, whether that be by my own hands or by another’s.” 

“But how else would you be able to succeed the King?” Myles asked, glancing at everyone else in the room. “I know I’m not the most intelligent man around, but even I know that titles can only be passed when the person in possession of them is dead. Or do you think you can convince your father to become a maester, or a septon, or a damn black brother?” 

Rhaegar shook his head, “None of those options would be optimal for something like this, they would leave too much room for possible treachery.” 

Arthur straightened, his expression sharpening, “You speak of a Great Council.” 

“There have been multiple Great Councils since my house untied Westeros under the Iron Throne, convened when the uncertainty of the Crown threatened to tear the realm apart. My father’s rule is doing the same now, quietly, perhaps, but no less surely.” 

Richard felt a chill crawl down his spine, “And you would ask the lords of Westeros to judge the King unfit to rule? But such an idea is unprecedented, Great Councils have only been convened when the line of succession was unclear, one has never been held to remove the reigning monarch from power. How would that even...” 

“Should the lords vote true and realize that my father’s madness has progressed too far, then I will either be made regent for my father, lasting for the rest of his life or my father will be forced to abdicate.” Rhaegar explained, “Of course, in either case, he will need to be confined so as to protect from himself and others, and to make sure that Aerys cannot meet with any traitors who may desire to restore him to the throne.” 

“And if the lords vote against you?” Myles asked, “A Great Council is not something you can keep hidden, and especially not its results. The King would not tolerate what he would undoubtedly see as the greatest of betrayals. You would be risking your life and the lives of everyone who supports you in this endeavor were it to fail.” 

“I know that this is a risk, one that comes off as insane and foolhardy, but I can see no other way. I cannot continue to allow this farce to go on.” Rhaegar said.  

Jon felt his heart thunder in his ears, but he did not hesitate to step forward, “I will stand with you, my prince.” 

The lordling then kneeled in front of the Crown Prince, bowing his head low. 

Rhaegar leaned forward, “Jon, you do not need-” 

“My prince,” Jon said firmly, lifting his head though he remained on one knee, “You do not need to shield me from this choice, I know the risks. And I know what it means to stand where you stand now.” 

Jon would do anything for Rhaegar, and he would always be the person who held Jon’s loyalty and respect, not the King, not his father, not anyone else. 

If Rhaegar wishes for me to help him overthrow his tyrannical and insane father, then I shall do so happily. If it was anyone else, then I could see how this would come across as the desire of a power-hungry and selfish individual, but Rhaegar is no ordinary man, he stands above all others and is only thinking about what is best for the realm. If Aerys could do all he has to his own children, his flesh and blood, what else would he be capable of? Jon thought. 

Rhaegar stared at him, something raw and unguarded flickering across his face after seeing the way Jon was now looking at him. 

“You are-this cause is more than worth the risk, my prince. I would follow you until my dying day, I would sacrifice everything I have, everything that I am if it means seeing you on the Iron Throne.” 

Rhaegar could only stare at Jon, inwardly moved by his friend’s dedication and sincerity. 

“Damn, Jon, we get it, you admire Rhaegar very much. There’s no need to prostrate yourself so much, it's a little embarrassing to watch.” Myles teased, diffusing some of the tension in the room. 

Jon’s face turned bright red, and he turned his head to glare at Myles, who only smiled in response, unbothered by the venomous look. 

Arthur cleared his throat as he stepped away from the door, “I swore my vows to the King, Rhaegar.” 

“I know.” Rhaegar said softly, knowing that the man had dreamt of becoming a member of the Kingsguard for most of his life. 

Now he was asking Arthur to stand against the very oath that now defined him, to sully his name and his white cloak just as several other Kingsguard had in the past. 

“I swore my life to your father,” Arthur said at last, his voice steady but low. “To protect him from all enemies, without reservation or question.” 

Rhaegar inclined his head. “I know.” 

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Those vows were not sworn lightly. They are the reason I wear this white cloak, and yet… and yet before becoming a Kingsguard, I swore the knight's oath to protect the innocent and the realm as well.” 

Arthur knew he could not possibly be the first man to struggle with the contradictions that often came with one’s oaths, nor would he be the last. 

Can I live with myself regardless of what I choose? Will I still have my honor? Arthur thought, clenching his fists. 

But then Arthur started to think about everything he had seen since becoming friends with Rhaegar, and since becoming a Kingsguard. 

The righteous anger in Rhaegar whenever his father did something reckless and foolish, the fear in Rhaella's eyes whenever her husband touched her, and the injuries that would littering her body whenever she angered him, and the fake smile that Aerea wore, one that could never quite hide the anxiety and heartbreak in her eyes when she looked upon her father. 

And he could not ignore the memory of Duskendale, he could still remember the screams of the men, and the tears that their loved ones spilled over their deaths. 

Will there be a second Duskendale if Aerys remains King? Must we all live in fear that Aerys will turn his vengeance upon others for perceived slights? 

“I cannot pretend that I have not seen what has become of Aerys Targaryen.” Arthur spoke aloud, staring at Rhaegar resolutely, “I was naïve to what being a Kingsguard would entail, and I cannot continue to follow a man with such a cruel and blackened heart. Not when someone like you walks among us.” 

After listening to both Jon and Arthur, Myles exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Seven hells,” he muttered. “We have already believed you when you told us that you were destined to one day save the world, and if we’re damned either way, I’d rather be damned trying to stop the crazy bastard then letting him burn the realm to the ground.” 

Richard hesitated the longest, eyes flicking toward the door as if expecting Aerys himself to burst through it. Then, with a grim nod, he said, “If you walk this path, Rhaegar, you will not walk it alone. All of us will stand with you, no matter what comes after.” 

Rhaegar closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, a rare and bright smile formed across his lips, his eyes softening as he looked at the other four men. 

“Thank you,” Rhaegar said quietly, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of what had just been set in motion. “For putting your faith in me.” 

He rose from his chair and stood before them, no longer seated as a prince among companions, but as something closer to a King addressing the men who would help him shape fate. 

“Know this,” He continued, his gaze lingering on each of them in turn, “I do not seek the throne for glory, nor out of hunger for power. I seek it because I have seen what my father’s rule has already cost us, and what it will yet cost, if left unchecked. I will not allow my sister to be the first of many sacrifices offered up to my father's madness, nor will I stand idle while the realm bleeds in silence.” 

“If we do this and the Great Council is successful, this could create an entirely new precedent for the Crown and the line of succession.” Arthur stated, a frown appearing on his lips. “If the lords of Westeros believe that they have the authority to decide whether a King can rule, who is to say that they will not come up with arbitrary reasons to hold a council to remove them from the throne and replace them? This could dilute the power of the throne, and it could even be used against Rhaegar should certain men find him unpopular or unwilling to bend to their wishes.” 

Jon clicked his teeth. “Unfortunately, Arthur maybe making some sense.” 

“Thank you, Jon.” Arthur said dryly. 

Jon ignored the knight as he turned to Rhaegar. “The nobility of Westeros care only for themselves and their own, while being just as fickle and shallow. Just look at the nobles who rebelled against Daeron II and joined Daemon Blackfyre’s cause or those who rallied against the reforms Aegon V tried to make for the smallfolk. Or even nowadays with men on the King's council and how they vie for his attention, not out of loyalty, but for favor, gold, and proximity to power. If we give them a strong enough example, they will use it when it suits them.” 

Rhaegar listened without interruption, his expression thoughtful rather than defensive. When Jon finished, the prince nodded once, slowly. “You are right, power shared is power contested. I do not delude myself into thinking the lords of Westeros will suddenly become virtuous because they are asked to judge a King.” 

He turned back toward the map, resting his hand flat over the Narrow Sea; his fingers splayed across it as if anchoring himself. 

“But the alternative,” He continued quietly, “Is to allow one man’s madness to go unanswered because we fear what might come after.” 

Arthur studied Rhaegar carefully. “And you believe this risk is worth the cost?” 

“I do,” Rhaegar replied without hesitation. “All of this is a necessary risk, Arthur. And in any case, I do not plan on being the type of monarch that his subjects would wish to supplant; I will not be my father. Westeros will have nothing to fear from me.” 

Jon stared at Rhaegar with awe, the smile on his face growing. “We will show the realm the kind of King you will be.” 

“It could take years to do that; the lords of Westeros are numerous.” Richard stated. “Especially if we are trying to keep this plot as secret as possible.” 

Jon narrowed his eyes as he looked at Richard, “Then we better get stared immediately.” 

Richard shared a commiserating look with Myles, both already envisioning how intense Jon was going to be about this whole affair and dreading the immediate future. 

“Seven save us,” Myles muttered under his breath. “He’s going to have us memorizing half the noble houses in the realm by the end of the moon.” 

Jon shot him a sharp look. “If we are going to ask the lords of Westeros to judge a King, then yes, I expect us to know exactly who they are, what they want, and how best to appeal to them.” 

Arthur let out a faint huff of amusement, though it did little to soften the gravity of the moment. “Gods help the realm if you ever turn that focus of yours on other endeavors.” 

Rhaegar watched the exchange quietly, the faintest curve of a smile touching his lips. “We will need to move carefully and discreetly. First, we will need to discern those who already align themselves with us and will continue to do so no matter what, then we can identify those who have already suffered under Aerys’ rule, and those who fear what his madness may yet bring. They will be the easiest to sway and we can continue building from there.” 

Rhaegar looked at the others, committing their faces to memory, seeing them not just as companions, not just as friends, but as men who had chosen to stand beside him when the ground first began to crack beneath the Iron Throne, men who he knew would follow him in the deepest pits of the seven hells if he asked. 

For Westeros, for the world, for myself to have the best chance of standing against the cold and the dark, Aerys must be deposed. Rhaegar would not allow anything to deter him, not when so much was at stake.

~X~

“Where is Gurnar?” Aerys asked impatiently as he looked away from the Master of Whisperers’ empty seat and to the rest of his councilors. 

“Lord Gurnar has taken ill, Your Grace.” Pycelle explained timidly, “I and my fellow maesters are currently treating him to the best of our ability, but it will be some time before he will be able to leave his bed.” 

Aerys clicked his teeth, irritated by what he viewed as his councilor’s weakness. “Fucking pathetic!” 

The King’s disposition had been fluctuating wildly ever since his daughter and the Baratheons had left the city, veering sharply between brittle restraint and explosive fury, as his paranoia mounted in their absence. 

Only the sound of Aerys’ heavy and sporadic breathing could be heard in the small council chamber, as no one except for the Hand was able to meet his gaze. 

“Have we received word for Steffon yet?” Aerys asked, digging his long fingernails into the arms of his chair. 

“From the last letter that arrived, Steffon and his party have left Pentos and are making their way towards Tyrosh.” Tywin replied. “It will take them time to reach Mantarys and then circle back to Volantis to begin their search.” 

A wide smile appeared on the King's face. “Ah, yes, the search for Rhaegar’s bride. Things will be right again once my dear cousin brings back with him fresh Valyrian stock and my son’s own line is secured.” 

Tywin did not visibly react when Aerys said this, nor did he when Aerys turned to pointedly look at him, smirking as he did so. 

The Master of Laws cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention to him. “Your Grace, I just as everyone else here waits excitedly for the arrival of the prince's future consort and I know that Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana will choose the best possible candidate for this duty. But…” 

“But?” Aerys parroted, his eyes narrowing. 

Symond nervously looked down at the table. “But with the tensions that currently exist between Westeros and Volantis, not to mention the known treatment and fate of the few Essosi who have married into the royal family in the past, it may mean that you will have to settle for… for a woman of a less prestigious and wealthy lineage.” 

Aerys’ nail began to scrape against his chair, leaving jagged indentations in the wood, and slowly, he leaned forward in his chair, fixing Symond with a sharp stare. 

“Less prestigious?” Aerys asked, growling as he spoke. “Less prestigious? Are you suggesting that I would allow my heir to be wed to someone unworthy of my house?!” 

“N-No, Y-Your Grace!” Symond exclaimed. “I o-only meant t-that perhaps, perhaps circumstances may force compromise to be necessary, and that the pool of suitable candidates may be smaller than anticipated.” 

Aerys growled again, looking at the others. “Do the rest of you think the same?” 

“Of course not, Your Grace!” Lucerys quickly proclaimed. “It is impossible that the families of Volantis would refuse a marriage between their daughters and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Qarlton nodded his head in agreement with the Master of Ships. “Yes, Symond is simply speaking from an unfounded place of fear. I am sure that Lord Steffon will bring back the most suitable and vivacious of brides.” 

“I-If anything, Your Grace, the Baratheons may struggle to make a final decision from amongst all the countless women that are sure to be clamoring over this opportunity.” Pycelle added. 

Should I even be surprised that they will be so quick to step over me to endeared themselves to the King? Symond thought, clenching his fists under the table, keeping his head down. 

Aerys leaned back in his chair, placated. “Good, as it should be. Everything will fall into place guided by Steffon’s steady hand. My son will be wed, and the blood of the dragon will be strengthened through this union. Even the most middling of Volantenes wenches will be far superior to every other woman of Westeros as my wife has failed in giving me a living daughter.” 

No one corrected Aerys and told him that he already had living daughter, not wanting to risk angering him by reminding him of Princess Aerea's condition and having gotten used to the King making the mistake of referring to Aerea as his second son. 

It burned Tywin to hear Aerys say that no girl or woman in Westeros could compare to those in Essos, to know that his daughter was being lumped into this undeserved category by the fool they called King. 

The meeting went on for another hour before coming to an end, the chamber emptying quickly, leaving behind the King and his Hand. 

“Your Grace,” Tywin said. “There is something that I would like to speak to you about.” 

“And what would that be?” Aerys asked as he stood up, already suspicious of Tywin's intentions. 

Tywin stood up as well, but the moment he did so, the seven members of the Kingsguard tightened their formation around the King, their hand resting on the ends of their sheathed swords. 

This reaction pleased the King, knowing that should Tywin try to harm him, his men would cut the man down without hesitation. 

Tywin's expression tightened at this response, but he forced himself to look back at Aerys. “It concerns Gurnar, I believe Lord Mallery may not recover from his illness as the Grand Maester hopes that he will.” 

Aerys huffed. “And since when do you care about Gurnar? Or are you paying attention to his health in hope of becoming a maester?” 

“I care because if Gurnar were to succumb to his sickness, then we should be looking to replace him should the worst happen before we can be taken off guard.” Tywin explained. “I have already complied a short list of who-” 

“You have gotten ahead of yourself, Tywin!” Aerys spat, glaring at the other man. “Even ignoring the ease at with you speak of your fellow councilor’s possible death, I will be the one who will choose his replacement, not you. Do you understand me, Tywin?” 

“Yes.” Tywin said tersely. 

Aerys stared at Tywin for a few moments before leaving the chamber, still surrounded by his Kingsguard. 

Once he was alone, Tywin clenched his jaw tightly, and squeezing the edge of the table with his hands. 

If he wishes to choose a new Master of Whisperers on his own, then fine. Knowing Aerys, he will end up picking an egotistical idiot. I doubt they will be too hard to manipulate, just as everyone other man on this council is. Tywin thought as he stormed out of the chamber.