Chapter 16 : Aerys II, The Mad King

The sky was dark and threatening as we approached King's Landing, a justified omen, perhaps, that we would be better off turning back. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the men around me, I wasn't alone in that sentiment. The city's walls, not particularly high or intimidating from a distance, grew even less impressive as we drew closer. If their purpose was to deter an attack, they were failing spectacularly. But if they were meant to reflect the declining grandeur of the Targaryens, then mission accomplished. The towers, blackened by time, and the poorly maintained walls perfectly mirrored a dynasty slowly crumbling to dust, yet still arrogant enough to believe itself untouchable.

I had the urge to pinch my nose, tempered only by the need to keep a firm grip on my horse's reins if I didn't want to fall off and lose my father's trust in my ability to ride an adult horse unsupervised. Even before we reached the city gates, a stench hung in the air, a 'delightful' mix of sewage, rotten fish, and countless bodies crammed into alleyways far too narrow for the ever-growing population, if I had to guess. I suppressed a grimace, knowing full well this was just the beginning of the unpleasantness. The smell intensified as we approached, as if the city itself was trying to repel us. I had developed a certain tolerance for foul odors after preparing my grandfather's corpse, and what I smelled now was far from that level. But still, no city should reek like this.

When we finally arrived at the King's Gate, one of the city's seven gates along its walls, it swung open, and two figures clad in white cloaks came to meet us. Ser Oswell Whent, Minisa's younger brother, and Ser Jonothor Darry, members of the Kingsguard and pride of the Riverlands, 'For now, at least.' I thought, knowing these two wouldn't survive Robert's Rebellion and that their reputations would suffer greatly when they will turn against their own region to support a dynasty whose monarch's cruel and disgusting actions would soon be known to everyone.

Oswell, in his mid-twenties, had a square face and a firm jaw. His dark, piercing eyes betrayed a sharp wit, and from what I knew of him from the lore and Minisa, he possessed a dark humor that survived even the most solemn moments, a trait that few could appreciate, but I was one of them. Shame he was doomed to die. His immaculate cloak moved with unsettling elegance, contrasting with his robust appearance, and tucked under his arm was his distinctive helmet, emblazoned with a black bat whose wings were outstretched in reference to his House's banner. Jonothor Darry, even younger by a few years, wore a perpetually serious expression. His smooth face hadn't yet acquired the hardness of veterans, but his gray eyes shone with intense focus, he appeared to be scrutinizing every detail around him with unwavering vigilance.

I might think differently when the Rebellion comes, but for now, there was something reassuring about seeing these men, our compatriots from the same land, holding such positions. Oswell, in particular, shot me a brief smile before bowing respectfully to my father, "Lord Tully, Ser Brynden, welcome to King's Landing." He said in a deep voice laced with that feigned politeness expected from members of the Kingsguard. I had hoped for a bit more familiarity from him toward his brother-in-law and my father. I prayed his coldness wasn't a harbinger of the King's mood.

Jonothor, focused on another task, kept his eyes fixed on the crowd beginning to gather around us. The Gold Cloaks, as useless as I had always imagined, proved me that they were more adept at extorsion than maintaining order, as they were clumsily attempting to contain the poor souls pressing forward to 'welcome' us, if you could call it that. They shouted and waved their arms, no doubt hoping for a gesture of generosity, "Lords from the Riverlands!" A woman yelled, roughly recognizing our banner with a mixture of hope and despair in her voice.

I remained impassive, trying to ignore the beggars who pleaded with their eyes, hoping for coins I had no intention of giving. King's Landing was a pit, a city that swallowed the souls and dreams of the downtrodden as easily as it rewarded the treacheries of the nobles. This conviction I had, present even before I arrived, was now further cemented.

As we entered the city, the scene intensified my aversion. Narrow, filthy streets filled with garbage, buildings so tightly packed one wondered how any sunlight could penetrate. Only the shops weren't dilapidated, likely under Tywin's influence, who probably focused on the city's economic aspect above all else. No doubt, as we got closer to the Red Keep, the streets would become wider and better maintained. But for now, there was none of the noble beauty some pretended existed here. Nothing grandiose. King's Landing reeked of decadence just as much as its streets stank of filth.

Oswell approached me as we walked, "Ever seen Harrenhal, William?" He suddenly asked with a sly grin that made me think he was testing a joke for his stand-up routine.

I looked at him with a grin even more mischievous than his, "No, but from what Aunt Minisa told me, it's even less well-maintained than this place. But at least it has to be more spacious and probably smells less like crap." I said, whispering the last part so my father wouldn't hear me swearing.

Oswell chuckled, clearly entertained, "Ah, sharp tongue and a keen eye. You remind me of someone ; Prince Rhaegar. He has a sense of humor buried under all that brooding. Perhaps you two would get along, despite the difference in age. I am certain he would appreciate that... perspective of yours." His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, as if already imagining the exchange.

I offered him a noncommittal smile, nodding politely, "Well, I would be glad to meet him." Internally, though, I wasn't so sure. Becoming friends with Rhaegar Targaryen could open doors, yes, but doors into what, exactly? It would be strategically valuable, no doubt, a shield of sorts from his more unpredictable relatives (one in particular in fact, I will let you guess who). Rhaegar's support could also offer invaluable protection for House Tully against our competitors, an investment all of my family would applaud.

But there was an undeniable intensity that clung to that silver-haired prince, a longing for something beyond the throne, a desire that ran deeper than titles. His hunger for meaning went well beyond any sense of reason, and the last thing I needed was to be swept into his ideals only to watch them collapse upon me. Rhaegar was a dreamer, and dreams like his were dangerous.

"Then I will make sure it happens." Oswell said, giving me an approving nod, "You might be surprised by him, William."

"Sounds like a plan." I replied, keeping my voice light and unaffected. I would wait and see what this prince was truly like before I decided whether he was worth the risk.

As our small delegation approached the Red Keep, we were greeted by an imposing, austere figure ; Tywin Lannister. His upright stature and severe demeanor left no room for frivolity. There wasn't a hint of warmth in his golden gaze, but he greeted us with that cold respect I expected from him. I knew that, despite his apparent indifference, he held a faint, if minor, respect for our House, not only for our status as Lords of the Riverlands and our newfound wealth but also because Hoster, my father, and he had once fought side by side in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. That memory, though old now, remained vivid in their minds, I knew that much.

Tywin stepped forward in his red and gold tunic bearing his house colors, casting a piercing look at my father and uncle.

"Lord Tully, Ser Brynden." He began in a deep, controlled voice, "I haven't forgotten what we accomplished together. Welcome to King's Landing." His tone was as hard as steel, but there was an unspoken acknowledgment.

I lingered on the man he was, observing the stiff exchange with my father and my uncle. Like Aerys and House Targaryen, Tywin Lannister and House Lannister had always inspired in me a sort of respect mixed with aversion, but leaning more toward respect for the latter. Tywin embodied the cold, relentless efficiency I sometimes thought necessary to govern, especially in a world as brutal as ours. His way of managing his House's affairs, consolidating power, and manipulating others bordered on genius. He was a man of principles, in his own way. However, I couldn't help but feel a certain unease toward him.

He wasn't blind to political reality, quite the opposite. But while I recognized his immense talent, I deplored his inability to see certain flaws, particularly those within his own family. His children were his greatest weakness, no doubt about that. First Jaime, whose service in the Kingsguard would ultimately destroy his beliefs and his own sense of identity. Then Cersei, whose relentless ambition posed a threat greater to their own house than to their enemies. As for Tyrion, Tywin had never known what to do with him except despise him despite his undeniable potential.

His hypocrisy, his inability to see the real threats within his own camp, made me doubt the man's clairvoyance. How could he claim dominance when he let his children self-destruct, gradually dragging the Lannister name into decadence and ridicule?

But that didn't change the unyielding truth ; Tywin Lannister was a man to be feared. He was ruthless, and where other nobles used words, he didn't hesitate to wield the sword. In a sense, I could only admire his pragmatism. He had managed to establish his power not only through brute force but also through meticulous, methodical strategy. He embodied authority, the kind few lords managed to impose with such discipline. Yet behind this mask of power, I saw a man imprisoned by his own illusions, too sure of his vision of the world and his place in it.

As he finally turned to me, his golden eyes pierced me with calculated coldness, "And you must be William. I heard you were seven name days, yet you seem closer to ten." He studied me for a moment, words hovering on his lips, but he seemed to reconsider, going silent.

I responded only with a slight nod, preferring to keep my thoughts to myself. 

We proceeded through the icy corridors of the Red Keep, guided by Tywin Lannister himself. The heavy silence that accompanied us was broken only by the sound of our footsteps echoing on the cold stone. I immediately noticed that Tywin, usually so quick to direct conversations strictly, remained unusually silent. The presence of the two Kingsguard members, Oswell Whent and Jonothor Darry, likely had something to do with it. Even a man as imposing as he knew when to measure his words, especially when approaching the King.

As we traversed the vast corridors, the tension was palpable. The golden decorations and richly woven tapestries lacked any warmth. Everything here exuded cold opulence, a display of power that, to me, had lost its grandeur. Each step brought us closer to the Iron Throne, and with it, to the man many, me included, feared ; Aerys II, the not yet Mad King.

When we finally entered the throne room, my eyes scanned the scene with growing disgust. Around us, courtiers were gathered, their faces poorly hiding their ambitions and hypocritical smiles. I already hated this masquerade, the court, a nest of vipers where every man or woman aspired to more power, ready to sell their soul for a few royal favors.

The throne room's decor added to my discomfort. Dragon skulls, silent witnesses of the former might of the Targaryens, rested in dark, menacing corners. These bones, once living and majestic, were now dusty reminders of a bygone era, reminding all that even the greatest powers can fall. Yet it seemed those serving the King had forgotten this lesson. They swarmed around the throne like insects drawn to a deceptive light.

The Iron Throne itself, a monstrosity of twisted steel, was more impressive from afar. Up close, you could see the rusty, sharp blades composing the seat. They said the throne was forged from the swords of enemies defeated by Aegon the Conqueror, but all I saw was a dangerous, uncomfortable relic, a reflection of the madness of the one who was sitting upon it. Aerys.

The King sat on the throne, his long silver hair and beard meticulously groomed. From a distance, he almost looked like a respectable figure. But for those who knew how to observe, it was obvious something was off. His eyes flickered with a dangerous gleam, like a predator ready to strike, though he still managed to conceal his madness behind a facade of grandeur. Aerys II was but a shadow of the man he once was, but for now, he managed to play his role, offering the court the image of a controlled king, 'An image that would totally collapse in a few years.' I thought, knowing the aftermath of the Defiance of Duskendale. 

"Lord Tully, Ser Brynden, and their followers of House Tully." Aerys began in a strong voice that echoed in the hall. He assessed us with his piercing gaze, but I could sense his impatience, "You wonder why I haven't approved funds for your roads. I will tell you here, before my court."

He paused, sweeping the room with his gaze as if to remind everyone he alone held power, "The Riverlands have benefited from many royal favors. You have asked for roads, trade routes. But why should I invest further in lands that, though loyal, have not proven their usefulness as much as they should have when it was needed?"

My father maintained a dignified silence, but I could feel the tension in his shoulders. I could guess what he was thinking right now, 'What a load of bullshit!'

"But I am not an unjust King." Aerys continued, a malicious gleam in his eyes, "I offer you the opportunity to convince me. Show me why the Tullys deserve my renewed attention to their lands, why the Riverlands deserve the crown's support more than others."

Kneeling before him, I couldn't help but feel a wave of disdain. Aerys pretended to be reasonable, but this was all a power play. The real question was ; What would we have to sacrifice to satisfy his whim?

Hoster stepped forward with serene dignity, but beneath that facade, I could sense he was carefully preparing each word. He knew that in this game with Aerys, finesse was required, and above all, he had to avoid bruising the King's fragile ego. The stakes were too high to give in to anger or frustration. As the court's eyes settled on him, he spoke, his low but firm voice resonating in the hall.

"Your Majesty, as you have rightly said, the Riverlands have always served the crown with unwavering loyalty. We have stood by Targaryen Kings through storms and wars alike, and your reign is no exception." He paused, allowing his words to settle.

"This project has but one goal ; Strengthen the realm. It's true that the Riverlands would benefit greatly from it, but I firmly believe this initiative would more broadly benefit all of the Seven Kingdoms." He subtly glanced at Tywin Lannister, who stood back, silent and observant, before continuing, "However, I fully understand that sometimes adjustments must be considered."

Hoster straightened slightly, his eyes returning to Aerys, a glint of understanding in his gaze, "Of course, we have been mindful of the crown's reservations about creating excessive connections between our lands and the Westerlands with these new roads." At these words, a faint shadow flickered over Tywin's face. It was well known by now that the best way to gain the King's favor was to undermine his Hand, and Tywin seemed to realize that this was precisely what Hoster intended even if he was trying to pin the blame on Aerys. 

"It would be entirely possible, your Majesty, to adjust the proposed road layout. We could reduce connections to the West and redirect our focus toward the East and South, linking further the Riverlands to King's Landing, the Reach and the Stormlands." He punctuated this statement with a slight respectful smile, offering Aerys exactly what he wanted to hear.

"After all, such a measure would ensure the roads primarily serve to protect and strengthen the crown's position, thus limiting any possibility of excessive enrichment of our neighbors." Those last words, carefully spoken, was a subtle jab, veiled enough that only the most attentive in the court might understand.

Hoster was playing a dangerous game. By proposing to restrict connections with the Westerlands, he gave Aerys a way to counter Tywin's influence while positioning himself as a faithful and pragmatic servant of the crown.

He concluded with a respectful bow, "If your Majesty deems this approach more favorable to the Realm's security, we, the Tullys, would be honored to adjust our plans and continue serving your vision for the Seven Kingdoms."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch into eternity. But in that moment of calm, I could almost feel the gears turning in Aerys's mind, weighing the implications of this proposal.

A strange smile stretched his lips. His eyes, so often filled with barely contained madness, sparkled momentarily with poorly concealed satisfaction. He seemed delighted by this suggestion, but I knew he wouldn't show his approval too quickly. The King leaned back slightly on the Iron Throne, absentmindedly caressing one of the throne's sharp arms, his fingers gliding over the old blades like a serpent slithering over a rock.

"Interesting adjustments." Aerys began, his voice dragging a bit, as if savoring each word before releasing it, "I see that House Tully understands what's necessary for the Realm to prosper. I hope you will understand why I initially expressed reservations. In times when the crown has wealth to spare, it is only prudent to weigh every investment, even roads." He paused for a moment, his smile widening like a predator playing with its prey before striking.

"These modifications... these changes... Yes, perhaps they are more judicious. After all, we must ensure every part of the kingdom benefits equally from the crown's favors." His eyes briefly settled on Tywin Lannister, who remained as impassive as a stone, "Not favor one region at the expense of another."

The King then focused entirely on Hoster, his tone almost softening, but not without a hint of authority, "I will, of course, consider this proposal. Yes... I will need time to weigh all the consequences of these adjustments. I am, after all, a King who makes no decision lightly." He inclined slightly on the throne, his fingers lingering on the sharp blades as if deriving some strange satisfaction from their touch.

There was a false hesitation in his smile, as if he wanted Hoster to believe he still had to convince him. But I could read in his eyes that he liked this proposal. He simply didn't want to grant victory too easily. The game of power always demanded a touch of suspense, even when the match seemed won.