8 Chapter 8-Consequences!

Chapter 8

She found herself once more in Slavers Bay, where human flesh was cheaper than bread and wine. Where chains were common and slaves commoner still. The city had seen a great shift in her eyes, though even she had not seen a King arise, for even throughout her long life, the city had been governed by its Wise Masters. And how wise they were.

Meeren, the city was the crown jewel of Slaver's Bay, the Northern city was the largest and most populous of the three centres of slavery, with its wonderous pyramids and adventures pits, the City was a sight to behold. And it was in one of these pits that she found herself in, her eyes focused on the ground below as men fought and bled to their deaths.

She had feared the worst when she had heard exactly where the Prince was, and a small whisper inside her had spoken of the Prince's demise. Yet she had travelled in hope and desperation, and her belief was answered as she found a man down below fighting with a blade in his hand, drenched in scarlet blood, as he stared down his opponent. His face was now gone, covered by a thick metallic mask, one that showed little else apart from his eyes, which gleamed in the burning Sun as he stood dyed in red.

The fighting had been brutal, he had been hit, cut, and slashed many a times. Some of his wounds were egregious yet he fought as if he didn't feel a thing, even as he bled away he refused to feel any pain as he avoided a slash from his opponent, before cleaving his head straight off with a simple swing.

He had won, and she watched as the crowd cheered, loudly shaking the whole pit yet the victor didn't celebrate even as he was showered in gold. He picked up his blade and walked back, leaving behind only a trail of blood. And just like him she left the stands as well.

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"You will die at this rate," he heard as he sat in the room beside the pit. It reeked of blood and sweat, much of it his own, as he bled away from the various cuts and scars from his battle earlier, yet he didn't feel a thing. He hadn't since the burning, at least after the skin had healed and congealed into the mess it was.

He looked up and found Melisandre standing there, and his eyes narrowed.

'Who had let her in?' The door was closed behind her as she walked in and stood in front of him regally. His blood began to boil at the sight of her.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone curt, and yet it didn't affect her.

"You know what comes for humanity, know of the danger that approaches, yet you defy my God's offer and sit here fighting with reckless abandon," she began, and at the mention of her God, he snarled.

"I need nothing from your God or from you," he snarled in rage, for they had destroyed his life. Them and his own father, and he would not forget that. Never.

"You would deny his favor, deny to serve the true lord of the light..."

"I serve no Master," he cut in before she could begin her sermon. He had had enough of her and her little order. He would see to it that one day they burnt for what they had done to him, burnt in a pyre just as he had.

"I am Daemon Targaryen. The blood of the Dragonlords flows through my veins. I was born a free man and shall die as one," he answered. He would not enslave himself to a God for parlor tricks.

"The Red God could grant you anything, my Prince," she began as she closed the distance between them. The red ruby around her neck gleamed as her form shifted. The red hair was gone, replaced by a river of black, and so were her face and eyes. He watched as, in the blink, she turned into a figure so familiar, one that plagued his own dreams.

It was Ashara, and even the smile was similar and so easy to get lost in. He felt his body relax as her hands wrapped around his face, and a flicker of a smile appeared on her face.

"You have suffered enough," the tone was so familiar, one he had dreamt of since the day he had been hauled outside the city. And as her robe dropped off her shoulders, she leaned closer her face inches from his own, and she lifted off her mask. And in her eyes he could see a reflection of himself, one from before, the reflection of a Prince blessed with the beauty of the Valyrain freehold.

She leaned in, and their breaths touched each other's bodies. His blood gushed through his body as he found himself lost in her eyes, and he leaned closer, inching towards her ear as he had a dozen times before he slowly whispered.

"You shouldn't have done that," and then bit down, with all his might at her neck, as the taste of metal filled his mouth and a scream filled the room.

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KEVAN LANNISTER

The brother to the Lord Paramount of the West found himself in his brother's tent as he watched him glance out of it into the clearing as the men worked to bury the dead bodies. The stench of rotting flesh and blood still hung in the air and would do so for some days. Tywin's face stood impassive as always, yet he hadn't missed the small frown that had erupted on his forehead since he had seen the piled-up bodies.

In the end, Kevan decided that it was time to break the tension.

"I don't believe this was part of your plan?" he questioned. For while, his brother could be callous and cruel, and losing five thousand men as such would be in no man's plan.

Tywin's green eyes turned towards him as he drawled out.

"It was not, yet this whole ordeal did serve its purpose," he added. Kevan frowned, unable to see the point. His confusion must have shown as Tywin continued.

"What do you think those bodies represent?" suddenly Tywin questioned and he looked out the tent at the pile of bodies and the men that buried them, their faces were shrivelled and pale as they dug the ground and then it hit him.

"This was a message," he ventured, and when Tywin lowered his head slightly, he knew that it was right.

"Indeed it was. From our new King," Tywin began.

"I must say Daemon's actions have taken me by surprise," he added, and Kevan turned towards his brother.

"So, you believe that the letter from the Crown was the truth, that Prince Daemon has indeed returned from the dead and sits on the throne," he questioned, and Tywin nodded.

"Of course it was real, it would be the height of idiocy to try and carry out such a big ruse," Tywin answered emphatically.

"The letter was real. We have a new King on the throne, a rather able King if I could say," Tywin added, and there was a hint of respect in his tone as he said those words, his eyes glancing outside.

"The Prince could have huddled himself inside the city and tried to use Jamie to negotiate. Yet he chose to decimate the vanguard to show me that he would not beg for my support, yet the fact that Jamie still lives shows that he understands that he has enough enemies already. The Prince has shown us his martial prowess and political acumen with that single battle," spoke Tywin and Kevan frowned as he tried to make sense of that.

"So, we are to declare for the crown?" he questioned as Tywin turned to face him.

"They have my son," and that was answer enough. Tywin needed Jamie as his heir. He had refused to marry after Joanna's death, and Kevan knew that he would die before accepting little Tyrion as heir. Jamie had to be the heir, and that heir right now was draped in a white cloak and stood beside their new King.

"So, you believe the King will be amenable to deal with us, even after this," he questioned as he pointed towards the sight of the massacre.

"If my understanding of him is right, then yes, King Daemon will accept my offer of parley," and Kevan frowned at that.

"You have already sent the letter?" and at this, his brother nodded.

"But what of the men? We have lost five thousand men just to get a measure of the King. It seems rather wasteful," he spoke up, it was a criticism and the way Tywin's skin tightened, he saw it for what it was.

"The plan wasn't this. The men were to retreat after getting a measure of the King's prowess," Tywin answered.

"However, it seems I had underestimated our King," Tywin began, and Kevan understood that the King had used their overture to send a message. For some reason, it reminded him of Tywin's own actions in the past, from when he had put down the Reyne Terbeck rebellion.

"But what of Robert Baratheon? He has the support of four great Houses, and the man slew Prince Rhaegar in open battle. What if our new King fails to fell down the Baratheon lord as well," Kevan questioned for it would be foolish to underestimate Robert Baratheon, the lord of the Storms' End was the giant of a man, and wielded a hulking Warhammer with ease.

Tywin didn't answer at first, as he gazed at his lips, thin as those green orbs looked at him as if daring to ask that question.

"Prince Rhaegar's host was half-filled with men who had begun to doubt the man. His unthoughtful actions were what began this war, aided, of course, by Aerys's stupidity in burning down a Lord Paramount. Prince Daemon holds none of that baggage over him, and he will have Dorne's support. If Princess Elia's acquiescence of the throne was any indication, the Crown lands would rally to him along with all those who stood by the side, for they know Baratheon will give them no favour," Tywin answered, leaning forward.

"And what of the martial prowess?" he added, their new King might be able to field enough men and have the support of all those lords which had been scorned by King Aerys. Yet still, what would happen if he came face to face with Rober Baratheon?

"Do you know how our new King looks?" Tywin suddenly questioned, making him frown, for he didn't. And so he shook his head.

At this, Tywin reached into his pockets and handed him a scroll. He took it and began to read it.

'He wears a mask, a mask of steel that covers his face leaving open slits for his eyes, which are of the Targaryen color. The clothes cover much of his skin, yet a glimpse of his hand showed skin burnt and congealed mass.'

Yet that was enough. No, in truth, the first line had been enough as his head snapped up towards Tywin.

"Could it be, he questioned?" and Tywin nodded.

"Indeed," and at that, his gaze turned to outside once more.

"I believe he is the Liberator of Meeren."

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OLENNA TYRELL

Olenna Tyrell had seen much in her life. These old bones had seen the rise and fall of Kings, war and peace, and everything in between. Yet she had yet to see a man come back from the dead, though she could not say that anymore.

For by now, the whole realm knew that just because a hundred or so people had watched you burn in a pyre that touched the ceiling of the Red Keep didn't mean that you were dead.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, once she had hoped a match could be made between the King's younger son and one of her daughters, the Prince was of the handsome sort much like his father in his youth, though thankfully he showed no evidence of having his madness.

Highgarden had been filled with whispers now, and she knew it wasn't the only castle in such a state. The letter had come as a surprise for them all, a declaration that had shaken the very foundation of this Kingdom. Not only was the younger Prince alive, but he now sat on the throne of his father and wore his crown.

"You called for me, my lady," spoke her nephew twice over. The newly minted Lord of Redwyne, Paxter, had ridden hard at her command, for she had wished to discuss with him the role of their House in the war to come, a war they had thought ended after the death of Prince Rhaegar.

"Yes, I did. Come and have a seat, Paxter. We have much to discuss," she said as the Lord of the Arbor sat down in a chair opposite her on the balcony overlooking the gardens below.

"I believe this pertains to the letter about our new King," he reasoned. She wished that her own son had at least half his mind, yet alas, it was a folly. He had taken after her dear Luthor and lacked the finesse to govern these lands.

Thankfully, Willas was showing signs of having not taken after his father's intellect, the boy seemed sharp enough but she would have to wait until he was old enough to render her full judgement.

"Yes, and at what fortune time did it arrive," she said.

With Prince Rhaegar's death, the Royal cause was lost, and with that, their House was set loose any chance of Royal favour in the future. She had been about to write to Mace to break the siege at Storms' End to curry favour with their new King, yet the missive from the capital had changed the game and given her House a new life.

"So, you believe it to be true that Prince Daemon still lives and now sits on his father's throne?" Paxter asked, and she nodded.

"I do. This is a lie too big. And my own little sparrows from the capital sing the same as well. King Aerys is dead, and now a new King sits on the Iron Throne, and he was crowned by the Princess of Dorne herself. That leaves little doubt in my mind that the words in the missive are true," she finished as she glanced at her nephew, who had a grim look on his face.

"Do you believe he could shift the tides of the war? The Royal host was shattered at the Trident, and even now, the Usurper marches towards the capital with nearly fourty thousand men. Even if this is Prince Daemon, what could he do in so little time," Paxter questioned, and his question was a sign of his intellect; he was not blabbering like her own son would. Her father had raised him well.

And he was right. The odds were against the Targaryen regime, though with the death of King Aerys, they were rid of his madness, a wretched thing that had put them in this precarious situation in the first place. Their new King had little time to acclimate himself back to running the empire, let alone lead an army against forty thousand men.

Though the Prince seemed to be much more in control of things.

"Well, it seems our new King knows much more than we think," and with that, she passed on the second missive she had received, this one addressed to her specifically, and that showed that the Prince was acutely aware of just who held power in these lands.

Paxter frowned as he picked up the scroll and began to read it, his brows furrowing as he read the contents of the letter.

"How could he know this?" he questioned a similar thought that had erupted in her own mind when she had first read it.

"That I do not know yet, but he somehow knows that a smuggler named Davos has been smuggling food to the Baratheon, evading your blockade and wishes for you to capture him," she reiterated.

"That's rather ominous," he reiterated, and it was, indeed.

"Though not as much as coming back from the dead, I would say," she reiterated as Paxter pocketed the missive.

"I shall see this done," he said and turned towards her.

"What else does the King demand of us?" he asked.

"He wishes to have our men storm the Baratheon Castle as well and wishes for us to capture Robert's brothers," she replied.

"Storms' End has not fallen in a thousand years," Paxter repeated. And she scoffed.

"It would have if my son wasn't the one leading the siege there, and it seems our new King agrees with me on that. He has decided to give this task to that sullen Tarly and has summoned my son to the capital to serve on his Council," she replied smiling, for she saw through the ploy rather easily.

The King was smart, and she would give him that. This way, he would have the man of his choice leading their armies while also honoring House Tyrell with a position on the Council.

She thought again that it was a shame that she had married both her nieces. Perhaps if one of them were unwed, a match could be explored between their new King and House Tyrell. Yet perhaps all was not lost, for if not the King, they could explore a match between Margery and Aegon.

An interesting thought as her mind began to plan ahead.

"And what of the Lannisters? Has there been any word? From what I recall, Tywin Lannister marched towards the capital with twenty-five thousand men?" Paxter asked, her lips thinning at the mention of the man.

He was the biggest throne in their side at the moment, and he had yet to pick a side in the war. Tywin Lannister was playing a shrewd game, though from what she had heard, the man's schemes had not turned up as he had expected.

"It seems the Lannister lord has met a match and had his vanguard decimated by our new King and his men," she began as she recalled the word she had received from one of her little sparrows.

"Five thousand men he sent ahead to attack the city, yet the King met them in the open field in the dead of the night. Ambushed them on the Kings road before they could reach the City Walls," she continued as she took a sip of her tea. She could tell Paxter was intrigued by the tale.

She enjoyed the sweetened tea and let it skid down before she finished.

"Five thousand against a hastily gathered host of a little over three thousand men. They clashed in the darkness of the night, and they say when the Sun rose up the next day, the ground was dyed red with the blood of Tywin's men, all five thousand of them," she spoke emphatically and saw Paxter's eyes widen at her words, for it was an impressive feat.

"King Daemon killed all of them, putting the Lord of the Westerlands in quite a dilemma. They should be having a parley of their own as we speak," she finished with a smile, trying to imagine the Lion lord face to face with their new King.

Oh, what an interesting spectacle would that be!

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