A Tale of Blood and Monsters Ch. 18

"We must take the fight to them, immediately! There is no other choice, after the atrocities dealt to our families, to Ned and I!"

Jon Arryn valiantly resists the urge to sigh, instead flaring his nostrils as Robert slams a fist into the table before him in an effort to make clear his intentions. Beside the young man sits an equally young man, but where Robert is fire and wroth made manifest over what has taken place in the past few weeks, Eddard Stark is quiet, introspective… icy. One should not mistake his silence as Robert rants and raves for fear or cowardice though. Jon has raised both boys, and he knows when Ned is angry. Ned is very angry at this point.

Still, the aging Lord Paramount of the Vale is beginning to wonder if he will have cause to regret putting forth Robert as a possible candidate for the throne. It was necessary, if their rebellion was to gain any traction of course, but at the same time, the young Baratheon Lord was not yet tempered by experience, nor by battle. He was ready and raring for a fight… and Jon could tell that the other Lords who sat around the room were split down the middle by age on how exactly to react to Robert.

Those who were older looked at him with some disdain, frowns on their faces. Those who were younger were just as eager to shed blood as Robert was, be it in the name of glory or in the name of decency… it was clear that they did not care. Regardless, this was the first counsel of this fledgling rebellion, and it was up to Jon to make sure it went smoothly.

Especially since it was taking place in HIS house, the Eerie decidedly the best place for them to meet and plan their next steps, given that the Targaryens no longer had dragons and thus the Vale was the most naturally defended place in all of Westeros. Because they were meeting in his hall, under his roof, Jon had some say in the proceedings. Of course, it helped that he'd also raised both Robert and Eddard from boyhood to manhood.

Standing from his seat, Jon rests a hand on his young charge's arm.

"The Mad King will pay for his actions, Robert. But I urge caution as we prepare for battle. Despite his actions, he is not alone. There are still those who flock to his banner. This will not be an easy rebellion, it will be a hard-fought war. And no one ever won a war by charging blindly into the fray without first considering the battlefield."

Luckily, Jon's words reach Robert's ears. The young Baratheon grimaces as if tasting something sour, but in the end, he nods and sits as Jon does the same. Looking around the room, Jon is well-pleased to see the older lords nodding approvingly, while the younger lords have considering expressions, as if weighing the merit of his words.

Grunting as if to calm himself, Robert speaks in a more measured tone, albeit one that is still gruff as he looks Jon's way.

"You are right of course, Jon. Still, what would you have me do? The Tyrells already march on Storm's End. Stannis will hold the castle for as long as he is able, but every moment that my Lyanna rests in Rhaegar's grasp, I grow weary of waiting. Ned deserves justice for his father and brother. I deserve justice for the theft and Seven knows what else of my betrothed. Both King and Prince mad… it is time that the Seven Kingdoms had a new family on the Iron Throne! The Targaryens have overstayed their welcome on Westeros!"

"Here, here!"

There's a general cry at that, and Jon can't help but smile a bit. When Robert calms down, he can certainly weave a phrase. He will make a good King, if it goes that far. For now, he is merely Lord Robert Baratheon. But in that moment, as both old and young lords alike raise their goblets in Robert's name, Jon can all but see the crown sitting regally upon the young man's head.

Of course, the next moment an inhuman, ear-splitting roar shakes the entire room, and pandemonium ensues. Jon's eyes go wide and he's on his feet only a second slower than his charges. Robert and Ned draw their swords, as does pretty much everyone else in the room as yet another screech rips through the air, the volume causing some of them literal pain.

A guard rushes into the room, eyes wide with terror and fright as he holds his helm to his head, as if afraid it will fall off of him.

"… M-milords!"

He's obviously searching for the words and not finding them, as he falls silent after that, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Robert is the first to reach him, grabbing the poor guard by the shoulders as he shakes him hard.

"What is it?! Speak clearly!"

Another ground-shaking roar splits the air and that seems to finally shake the guard free of his stupor, long enough to say what he's been trying to say.

"D-Dragon!"

And then he faints. Jon spares but a momentary thought to being ashamed and upset with the guard, considering he was dressed in Vale Livery, and clearly one of Jon's own. But then what the man says fully processes, as it does with everyone else in the room. In that moment, one of two reactions take place, and once again it seems mostly split down the middle by age. The Lords in the room either freeze in fright… or snarl and rush out the doors after Robert and Ned as they lead the charge.

Jon can't deny that he initially freezes, but when he sees his boys rushing from the hall, he moves after them. The older lords follow, and soon everyone is outside, staring up into the sky as they lay eyes upon the guard's claim, finding him to have been telling the truth. The dragon, for that is all that the massive, flying creature can be, lets out one more roar. Then, it wings about for a final pass, before landing on a large, open outcropping that's just one staircase up.

Robert once again leads the charge with Ned only inches behind him, but Jon tries his damnedest to catch up to the two boys, even pushing through some of the younger lords to make it to the top of the terrace only moments after they do. Everyone has stopped close to the top, leaving new arrivals to spread out in a wary half circle, all giving the living, breathing dragon a wide, WIDE berth.

But Jon's eyes barely linger on the dragon itself. Instead, his gaze quite quickly fixates on the rider. Dressed in a full set of glimmering plate armor, it's sheen almost unnatural, the rider is wearing a draconic-styled helmet, obscuring his features as he runs a gauntleted hand along the back ridges of his massive mount.

He ignores them for a moment, until Robert, so brash, so brave… so damn foolish, roars a question.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?!"

Even Ned covers his face with his palm as Jon finally lets out that sigh that he's been holding in for so long. The Lord of the Eerie lifts his fingers and presses the bridge of his nose together, the headache caused by the dragon's roars only building further, despite the beast's relative silence now. The armored man's head turns towards the gathered lords at around the same time that Ned elbows Robert and leans in to murmur to his best friend.

"Idiot, have you listened to anything Jon's taught us? There's only one man in the world who has dragons these days."

Robert glances Ned's way, his brow furrowed for a moment before a spark of realization finally settles in his eyes and he stiffens, looking back to the rider as said rider finally begins to dismount. Jon pulls himself to his full height as he considers the man before them, knowing who it is long before the rider reaches up to pull off his draconic helm.

The Emperor of New Valyria, hell, all of Essos certainly looks Targaryen enough, though he lacks the eye color and the thin face that was characteristic of most of the Targaryen Dynasty. His hair is also just a bit dirtier than the standard silver-white that the Targaryens boasted. But when backed with a dragon, these minor details seemed so… small.

The Emperor gives a short bow of his head. Nothing truly respectful, and his wicked grin shows just how little he thinks of his actions when he looks up again. Holding his helm in one hand, the armored man spreads his arms wide.

"Greetings, Robert Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Greetings, Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of the North. Greetings, Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale. Greetings… the rest of you. It is a pleasure to finally meet all of you in the flesh. And by all of you, I of course mean the three that I named. I actually have no idea who the rest of you are."

There's some mild outrage at that, but no one actually lifts their voice in the presence of the man's dragon. Robert very well might have, if he'd been ignored, but instead he'd gotten first billing, and Jon can already see that going to the young man's head as he puffs out his chest a little. Ned, meanwhile, is a bit more concerned, his brow furrowed. A glance from the young Lord of Winterfell to Jon tells him why Ned is so worried. Why did he and Robert deserve to be named before Jon, after all?

But Jon understands. He understands all too well. He can imagine why the Emperor is here, and he leans close to Robert, murmuring as quietly as he dares, never taking his eyes off of the smiling dragon rider.

"He knows of the rebellion, Robert. He knows of your position in it. He will try to use you."

If not for a slight nod from Robert, Jon would think the young man hadn't heard him, as he steps forward, leaving the 'safety' of the half circle of sword-wielding lords to stand apart.

"And what, pray tell, would an Emperor want with someone like me?"

Ah, that was good. Robert could do self-deprecating very well when he wanted to, even if all who knew him also knew that he truly thought the world of himself. Still, it seems to be the right tact to take, as the Valyrian Emperor gets right to the point.

"The Targaryen King has offended me. I wish to help you end him."

There are murmurs from the crowd behind them at that, and Jon presses his lips tightly together, even as Ned unknowingly mirrors the action beside him. Robert, meanwhile, plants his hands on his hips and lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

"Hah! What if we don't want your help?"

"You might not want it. But you will need it."

The Emperor makes a show of looking over the assembled lords. Even Jon finds himself bristling at the insinuation, despite it being somewhat true. This early in the rebellion, they were indeed small in number. There was no doubt that if the sum total of their forces were to meet the sum total of the Targaryens' tomorrow, they would not come out the victors.

But he had ideas for how to change that, alliances to call on and forge with the other Houses. Aerys had proved his insanity, and Jon knew he could use that, along with his reputation, to convince more lords to their side. Still… if they had a dragon on their side, the rebellion would be as good as over. And even Robert knew that.

"… What would you want for your help? I know you do not offer this out of the kindness of your heart."

The Emperor's lips curl upwards further into a wider smile, and he chuckles at Robert's words.

"You are not wrong. There are many things I want. Some of them are even here, on Westeros. But, I do not think you can afford to pay the price for all of them. For instance, if you wished the assistance of my dragons, then I would have to lay claim to the entire continent in recompense."

That gets a snarl from Robert, along with angry mutterings from the lords behind him.

"You think we would trade our Mad King for another dynasty of dragons?! Never! If you do not offer the use of your dragons, what could you possibly give? What could you possibly want in return? Speak plainly, man!"

Jon resists the urge to let out another sigh. Robert's patience had officially worn thin, and he knew that the only thing keeping the young Lord from escalating to violence was the massive dragon backing the Valyrian Emperor up. Still, said Emperor doesn't look to upset by Robert's outburst. He's still smiling, even now.

"Very well, to the heart of the matter then. I will help you with one of your largest problems, Robert Baratheon. I will rout the Tyrell army sieging Storm's End for you. In return, when this rebellion is finished, and you sit upon the Iron Throne, Dragonstone and all that lies upon it, will belong to me. That is all I require for my service. A fortress on a rock, filled with nothing but bones."

Robert barks out another laugh at that.

"A fortress on a rock at the entrance of Blackwater Bay! You wish a foothold for your eventual invasion of Westeros! Do you think me dim?"

Jon can't help but feel a moment of pride for his boy. While it WAS rather obvious, Robert should be commended for seeing through the Emperor's ploy. And judging by the impressed murmurings from behind him, there were some who did not see it as quite so obvious. Still, even now the Valyrian Emperor does not grow upset. He simply shrugs his shoulders, as he leans back against his dragon, emphasizing its presence.

"If I wanted Westeros, if I wanted to take this miserable continent from all of you, I already would have, Lord Baratheon. It took Aegon two years to conquer six of the Seven Kingdoms. I assure you, I could have all Seven within my grasp in less than one."

He speaks as if in boast, but the belief in his words is there. There is no doubt in the Emperor's mind that it would be possible. That alone sends a shiver down Jon's spine, and even Robert furrows his brow as he asks the most obvious question.

"Then why don't you?"

Shrugging his armored shoulders, the Emperor gives a far more genuine smile as he cocks his head to the side.

"Because that would be boring. Oh so very boring. Have you not figured it out yet? Westeros is my entertainment. All of you nobles, squabbling over this and that as you throw the peasants into battles, wasting their lives left and right. It's wondrously cruel, and so very monstrous of you all. And yet, none of you consider yourselves monstrous. This amuses me, I must admit. It amuses me greatly."

Before anyone can properly begin to formulate a reply to that, the Emperor seems to brighten, as if he's suddenly had an idea.

"Ah! Perhaps an oath then, hm? You lot are big on oaths. And I am an Emperor of my word. So then, Robert Baratheon, He Who Would Be King. How about this for a bargain? Same as before, I rout the Tyrells, you give me Dragonstone and all that lies upon it once your ass sits on that throne in King's Landing. And in return, I will also swear an oath, here and now, that so long as Robert Baratheon and his children remain on the Iron Throne, I will not invade Westeros. I will not so much as let my subjects raid your shores. There will be no provocation from me, so long as you and your blood rule Westeros."

Jon's eyes are wide by the time the Valyrian Emperor is done speaking. It is as much an endorsement of Robert Baratheon and his claim to the throne as it is an offer, made seemingly in good faith. When Robert looks back at Jon, seeming somewhat loss, there's only one thing the Lord of the Vale can do. He nods, ever so slightly, giving his support to this new plan.

And so, the assembled lords watch as Robert approaches the waiting Emperor, a mixture of confidence and understandable caution as he grows ever closer to both the man… and the dragon behind him.

"I accept your terms. And I'll have that oath of yours now."

Their hands clasp for a moment, before they release one another, and the Emperor straightens up, a wide grin still on his face.

"Of course. I, Emperor Vali of New Valyria and all that lies within it's domain, swear upon my life and my empire that in return for Dragonstone, I will not invade, nor even set foot in Westeros without permission from the King, so long as the Baratheon Dynasty sits upon the Iron Throne."

A simple oath, but one that felt altogether final nonetheless. Jon sensed no deceit from this 'Vali', even as the Emperor took a step back, and then another before climbing the side of his dragon to seat himself in its saddle. And yet, at the same time, there was a churning sensation in his gut. Perhaps it was the wicked, knowing look in the Valyrian Emperor's eye, right before he placed his draconic helm back on his head, as if this Vali knew something that none of them did.

The dragon's wings begin to beat, and Robert is forced to stumble back to avoid ending up flung off of the terrace by one of the massive things. Over the winds whipped up by the dragon slowly rising into the air, they all hear the Emperor call out one final time.

"Pleasure doing business with you, your majesty! I'll see you when this is all over! One routed army, coming right up!"

And like that, the Emperor was gone, and everyone was watching as the massive dragon he rode atop flew off into the distance. Robert was on his ass, looking quite undignified… but no one noticed. It was hard to pay attention to anything on the ground, when every survival instinct engrained into their genes over the last three centuries told them to always keep their eyes up when a dragon was near.

Still, Jon can't help but wonder if they've somehow made a terrible mistake, unleashing dragons on Westeros once more. So long as it was targeted at their enemies, perhaps all would be okay, but this… this did not feel right. Luckily for Jon, as the case might be, a certain Emperor had no intentions of re-enacting the Field of Fire. No, he had other ways of getting what he wanted.

-x-X-x-

As Tyrell whimpered and valiantly tried to avoid shitting himself, I gave him a wide smile and presented him with a quill already dipped in ink.

"Go ahead. Sign there, and all will be fine. Nothing to worry about."

Mace wiped the sweat from his rapidly perspiring brow with one hand, while the other shakily moved to the parchment. Still, even with the shaking, he managed to get his signature onto the document, followed by his seal in wax. Under any just system of laws, this document would have no basis in legality, given how I was coercing it out of him. But then, under this system of laws, the document still only had as much legal power as the physical power I could bring to bear when enforcing it.

Unfortunately for Mace, I could bring quite a lot of power to bear when I wanted to, as evidenced by the massive dragon outside that had flattened half his supplies and taken to roosting among the overturned wine barrels.

"I-It's settled, now?"

Taking the parchment and rolling it up, I give the Tyrell Lord a wide smile.

"Yes, it is. You may begin giving the order to your forces to retreat back to Highgarden with your tails between your legs. And when I so choose, I will come for the firstborn daughter promised to me."

In response to my words, Mace gives a tentative smile of his own. He must think he's gotten the better end of the deal. His life, for nothing more than a daughter? Heh, he doesn't even know that I'm banned from returning to Westeros until Robert's Dynasty no longer holds the throne. Oh man, he's going to be so very relieved when he finds that out in a few months.

But then, I know what sort of flower Mace manages to create in Margaery Tyrell. And I WILL be coming back for her when the time finally arrives. For now, as I exit Mace's tent and move towards Elijah, the massive dragon lazing about as it eyes me without a care in the world, I consider my next move. Truthfully, there's only one thing left to do now that I've done my part for Robert's Rebellion. Completely nullify the effect I've just had on the ongoing war, of course.

I make a show of flying Elijah away from the half-wrecked Tyrell encampment, even as they begin to pack up and go home on their Lord's orders. Tarly's already crisped dragon food, so no one else raises much protest over Mace's cowardice. Meanwhile, Elijah and I disappear off into the distance… and then, once we're out of range of human eyesight limits, I leap off of Elijah's back, following the thousands upon thousands of feet back to the earth below.

Angling myself properly, I land on one of Storm's End's towers, easily making my way into the keep from there. Avoiding detection is just as easy, and it's not long before I find my target. A young Stannis Baratheon grunts and then flails in panic as I push him up against a cobblestone wall. Then, he goes slack as my compulsion takes effect.

"Hello there Stannis. Sorry to bother you, but I figured I'd give you some advice. The Tyrells will be gone within days, thanks to little ole me. But you're not safe. You'll never be safe, not unless you maintain the garrison at Storm's End, keeping everything nice and tip top for your brother's eventual return. Understand? The best way for you to help Robert… is to not help him at all. Reinforce your family's seat and wait out the war. Otherwise, you fear you might die."

I see the compulsion taking hold in Stannis' eyes, and then I finish things up.

"You will not remember me, but you will remember my words as your own. Goodbye Stannis. Perhaps we'll meet again, though where Robert will put you instead of Dragonstone, I know not."

And then I'm gone. I have to be a bit stealthier to leave the keep behind and head off across the water to meet Elijah on one of Tarth's beaches, but eventually I'm there and back on the back of my lovely, lovely dragon. I'll keep abreast of the rebellion as it continues, but for now it's time to turn my sights homeward. The only question was, would I spend the next few months in Tyrosh or Lys before I headed over to Dorne?

Decisions, decisions…

-x-X-x-

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