Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

The timing was brilliant, almost too brilliant to have been planned by mere mortals. Varys was unrivaled as a spymaster, none could contest that fact. Yet even the Spider and all his little birds had been caught unawares.

By the time the Iron Throne knew of the approaching fleet—sellsails mainly, a conglomeration of vessels from all different ports and cultures all flying the banner of the Golden Company—it was much too late to recall Lord Stannis.

The tall, stern Lord of the Stormlands had taken almost all of the Royal Navy from Dragonstone and King's Landing and sailed down the coast to deal with the cursed Ironborn. The Krakens hadn't let up, sacking Fair Isle and putting nearly all of House Farman to the sword. Only one, a young squire named Albar serving with her husband at the Wall, was left of the ancient line. They Greyjoys had kept mainly to the coastline of the still-weakened Westerlands, though a few sorties inland had been made. One such had been crushed beneath the walls of Crakehall by Roland and Lyle Crakehall, another had taken and burned Cornfield and captured Ser Harys Swyft. Feastfires was embroiled in a vicious melee of a siege, the bulls of Prester refusing to yield their castle to the squids who were just as adamant about getting in and pillaging her treasuries.

The Reach was in slightly better condition, though not much. The fourth and final of the Shield Isles had fallen to young Theon Greyjoy, though the reavers at Blackcrown had been pushed back. Old Oak was still in Greyjoy hands as well, and Dunstonbury was threatened. Oldtown and the Arbor remained unmolested, but Paxter Redwyne and his fleet were still playing a cat and mouse game with the larger Iron Fleet. Despite the breadth of the Greyjoy attack, there were always enough longsh.i.p.s supporting one another that the Lord of the Arbor couldn't engage one numerically weaker foe without others arriving in the midst of battle and driving him back. Meanwhile castles and towns burned, innocents died by the score and women and children were carried away as salt wives and thralls.

It was hell on the western coastline of Westeros. It seemed it was about to be hell on the eastern coastline as well.

Alysanne Lefford was as well-educated as any other on the history of the Golden Company and their ties to the dynasty she had married into. Founded by Aegor Rivers, one of King Aegon the Unworthy's Great Bastards who was better known as Bittersteel, their purpose was to subdue the Targaryen dynasty and place a Blackfyre, a house spawned from another of the Great Bastards, on the Iron Throne. Their ranks were swelled with exiled Westerosi Lords men who had lost their lands and titles fighting for the black dragon and who had joined their best means of regaining them. Their sons served in the company, then their sons after them. Five times these mercenaries and the 'nobles' among them had tried to return home, and each time they had been thrown back. The Blackfyre line had ended alongside that fifth attempt, snuffed out by a young Barristan the Bold, but now it seemed these men had found another way to justify their invasion. Thousands of men were sailing towards a suddenly undefended King's Landing under the golden skulls banner.

And the golden dragon's.

For all her efforts, she had never been able to form the relationship Alysanne had with Aegon and Rhaenys with Viserys. Part—well, nearly all—of that had been the boys fault. He was surly and unpredictable, even as the six-year-old, grief-stricken little boy he had been when Alysanne first met him. He was inflicted with Targaryen madness even at that tender age, it was true, and the death of his mother while birthing Princess Daenerys had further unglued the unstable child. Regardless, Alysanne and Aelor had provided and loved for Viserys as best they could. Though he had turned into a notorious rake, as evidenced by the two bastard little girls here in King's Landing, and his obsession with Dany was both fierce and fiercely disturbing, Viserys had turned out far better than he could have. While Viserys had never returned the affection Alysanne showed him and by no stretch of the imagination was close to any of her children, he did seem to care greatly for the Targaryen name and those who bore it.

Which made this betrayal all the more confounding…and painful.

Part of her mind still argued that it was a ploy, the banners sighted by the fishermen and ambitious merchants who had reported them only an attempt by the Golden Company to rattle the Targaryens in King's Landing, but in her heart Alysanne knew. Viserys had disappeared months ago, neither Aleqou Garantis or Varys' little birds able to find him in the Tyroshi tavern he had made his home. Wherever the boy had gone, he had done a marvelous job of covering his tracks. Many—even Alysanne herself—had just assumed the Prince of Summerhall had gone rogue, taking the time of his exile to explore more of the Free Cities.

Now it seemed he had joined a rebellion and was sailing to attack the family that had loved him. As if Alysanne's hands weren't full enough.

Each member of the small council looked as harried as she felt, eyes bloodshot and jaws clenched. Word had arrived the night before of the approaching fleet, and while a ship had been sent to chase down the weeks-gone Lord Stannis and ravens were sent to call the banners, all knew those efforts were in vain. The bulk of the crown's forces were in the North, King Aegon haven taken the levies of Duskendale and Harrenhal in addition to his own sizeable retinue and the retinues of most of the Lords in King's Landing, including Aelor's band of killers. The Riverlanders and many of the Valemen were amassing at Seagard, the Reachmen were swarming to Highgarden and the Westerlanders were covered in Ironborn raiders. The North was also embroiled in whatever the hell was going on at the Wall, with the remnants of her strength distracted by the potential for Ironborn raiders off her shores. The Dornish were moving to assist the Reach, and the Stormlords—those that hadn't sailed with Lord Stannis—were lacking a strong central figure to unite them, as Renly Baratheon was who the hell knows where. Not to mention, several still held hatred for Aelor and by default Aegon for both Robert's nearly successful Rebellion and House Rogers' doomed one.

That left the capital mighty shorthanded, even with the levies of the Kingswood and Blackwater Rush called and the presence of the strong City's Watch. It was unfathomable how nearly seventeen years of strong, capable rule had so quickly gone to utter shit.

One of the only positives—perhaps the only positive—of the situation was Tyrion Lannisters brilliant mind. The halfman had leapt into action before the shock of the situation had even sunk into the others, having nearly emptied the extensive rookery with sent orders. "There are thousands of bloodthirsty men knocking at our door. They will not show us an ounce of mercy; nor should we show any to them."

Bronze Yohn Royce was grim and irritable, having spent all the previous night overseeing the defenses his goldcloaks had hastily begun constructing, but he kept his tone even as he responded. "The Lighting of the Lions was one thing; this is another."

Tyrion's mismatched eyes flashed. "Do not tell me of the Burning of Lannisport, Lord Royce; unlike you, I was there. I watched from the windows of my old chambers in Casterly Rock as Aelor Targaryen burnt down my family's city and nearly all of my kinsmen with it. It was undeniably effective; the type of effectiveness we need now."

"The loss of life at Lannisport was astounding," pointed out Colmar the Grey to which Tyrion had an instant rebuttal. Then again, Tyrion always had an instant rebuttal; matching wits with Tyrion Lannister was an undertaking few could boast of.

"The loss of life here in King's Landing will be astounding if we do not use our only advantage. At most we have four thousand men defending a city of half a million innocents against perhaps ten thousand professional soldiers. No help is near enough to arrive in time to be of use; half of the country is preoccupied with defending their own borders."

Alysanne spoke up, the men growing quite as she did so. "I understand that the Ironborn are clearly allied with Viserys in this, but what does he hope to gain from this? He is horribly outnumbered."

"I agree, Lady Alysanne, but those armies are spread far and wide. Some in Westeros will rally to Prince Viserys to elevate their standing, or in revenge against your husband for the wars of the past. Despite my name I am loyal to the Iron Throne, but there are many in the Westerlands who want nothing more than to see Aelor Targaryen dead."

"And, my lady," Colmar cut in; "You and your children are here. There is nothing on this earth that matters more to Aelor and Aegon than their family. If he captures you, he holds a major card in getting what he wants."

"And we all know precisely what that is," Varys finished, the Spider having approached her with information before the meeting that Alysanne prayed they wouldn't need to use.

Manfred spoke, harsh voice grown harsher in light of the new complications. "Then let them leave. Slip them out, send them north to the King or South to the Dornish. Prince Oberyn will protect them like his own children."

Royce nodded. "And his daughter Elia is already in the capital as a handmaiden to Princess Rhaella, strengthening that bond." Bronze Yohn grunted. "Though I've never saw the girl act anything like a lady in waiting; she's always in the stables."

Tyrion looked to Alysanne, ignoring the Lord of Runestone's final comment. "That may well be the best course of action, my lady, though I would hear your thoughts on the matter."

Alysanne pondered a long moment, bloodshot eyes on the parchment in front of her, before looking up. "Where would we go, my lords? Highgarden is dangerously near the reavers, my father's castle is in the middle of a maelstrom of fire, and we would be tracked down and captured long before we reach Sunspear."

Royce blinked in slight confusion. "Your husband is Lord of Duskendale—"

"And two thirds of Duskendale's population came from Lannisport, after my husband burnt it to the ground. While they have prospered there, it is no secret that many still hold hatred for Aelor for forcing them from their homes and businesses, even after nearly two decades. While we were always safe there before, Aelor was always present when my children and I were there, and the only thing they feel more for Aelor than hatred is fear. With a realm at chaos and my husband hundreds of miles away…"

Varys nodded. "Lady Alysanne has a valid point. My little birds have rooted out many conspiracies from former Tywin Lannister smallfolk over the years."

Manfred's hateful eyes turned even more hateful. "Yet they missed a f.u.c.k.i.n.g army massing to invade."

Varys was unimpressed by Manfred's threatening voice. "My birds sing in the east and they sing in the west, but their songs can be silenced. It was a concentrated effort to hide the Golden Company from my view, one helped by some here in Westeros, though their names are unknown to me."

Manfred lowered his head to glower across the table at the eunuch, like a bull preparing to charge. "Or you are that assistant."

Varys chuckled in his tittering way. "If I had wished to replace Aegon Targaryen with Viserys, I would simply have let the boy die during Robert's Rebellion. We both know I did no such thing, Ser Manfred; you were there when I saved the King's young life."

The brutish knight of the Kingsguard grunted in annoyance, but he raised his head a touch in deference. The exchange and Varys' words brought up a point Alysanne wished to make, concerning the information Varys had given her before the meeting. "Lord Varys has informed me of how Princess Elia and her children escaped the Sack of King's Landing. That option should be available again, should Lord Tyrion's plan fail."

Manfred shook his head quickly. "Viserys escaped the same way; the little shit caused quite the ruckus. He'll know about that secret passage, and at the very least he'll have a ship waiting in the bay to capture any who exit it."

"There are other paths, Ser Manfred," Varys insisted. "Several were built in recent years under the command of Lord Aelor himself. I trust if King's Landing falls I can evacuate Lady Alysanne and the royal family, the same as I did years ago with the King and his sister."

"And the children of important families," Tyrion cut in, having kept his silence for much longer than the halfman normally did. "Margaery Tyrell, Elia Sand…Myrcella. We can't have the children of vassal lords dying while the Royal Family escapes."

A pang went through Alysanne at the mention of the last name. I'd nearly forgotten about that particular issue.

Alysanne loved her eldest son, but she would strangle him with her b.a.r.e hands when he returned from the Wall.

Myrcella had arrived back in King's Landing in tears a little over a month after the King—and Renlor and Alaric—had gone North. To Alysanne's utmost surprise, her mother had been with her. Cersei Lannister was a cold, unforgiving woman, but she cared deeply for her children; deeply enough that she had traveled to the city where her father had made his gravest mistake to talk to the wife of the man that had brought him low and asked—in her demanding, Cersei Lannister way—that they pull off a deception for the sake of her blonde-haired eldest.

Myrcella Langward had been married to Renlor Targaryen in a private ceremony the day before the march north. At least, that was the belief of the nobles in King's Landing. The child growing in her w.o.m.b was a legitimate future lord or lady of Duskendale, not a bastard conceived of two young noble's rash decisions on the eve of one marching away to war. Alysanne had promised both Myrcella and Cersei that the union would be truly carried out as soon as her eldest son returned, no matter what objections her l.u.s.tful son might have. She meant to carry that promise out, even if she had to turn her much-larger-than-her son over her knee like he was a toddler again.

Only a few outside the three women involved were aware of the truth—Daenerys and Rhaella, as they were old enough to know that there was no possible way they would not have been informed of the match, Colmar the Grey and Varys because they knew everything that happened in the Red Keep, and Tyrion, because he was much too smart to deceive when it came to his favorite niece. He'd been crucial in the success of the plan so far, covering for the gap between the 'marriage' and the revelation of it to the nobles in a way only his brilliant mind could. He'd also made sure no letters of congratulations were sent North to Alaric or Aelor or, Seven forbid, Renlor himself, claiming Myrcella didn't want word of her condition distracting her 'husband' or father. It was thin and it was doubted by several, but with the influence of Varys it had been maintained.

Thank the Seven for it, too. If Aelor doesn't kill our son for disobeying his orders to not seduce Myrcella, Alaric will. I only pray Cersei can convince her husband it was a mutual decision between Myrcella and Ren, or there will be Seven hells to pay.

All of that ran through her head in a matter of moments, Bronze Yohn speaking again. "That is all well and good, my lady, but I still disagree with Lord Tyrion's plans. Lannisport was a horrifying thing that my eldest son still has nightmares about, despite his bravery; I shudder at the thought of another."

"This is a war, Lord Royce. The men approaching our city will give no mercy to either you or I; why should we show any to them?"

"The galleys we have—"

"Are not enough." Tyrion took a long gulp of wine, clearly irritated. "This is their best use. It may not be honorable, but it may keep our heads on our shoulders a while longer. I don't know about you, Lord Royce, but I am quite fond of my own."

Colmar interrupted then, booming voice gone quiet as it so often did when he mediated arguments between the council. "Aelor once told me that honor is the first casualty of war. He sacrificed his own, and by doing so he brought the realm nearly seventeen years of peace, only undone by the greed and l.u.s.t of a few powerful men."

Royce stared at the Grandmaester, eyes twitching, before cursing under his breath. "Fine."

Tyrion nodded in thanks to Colmar. "I will make preparations immediately."

Before another word could be said, a Targaryen man-at-arms burst into the chamber. "An army approaches from the South, my Lords, my Lady."

Alysanne's heart soared with hope. "What banner? Is it Prince Oberyn?"

The man-at-arms' face was as confused as his voice. "No, my lady. They bear the black stag of Baratheon."