Pre-Chapter A/N: So here we are back on our regular upload schedule. Sunday and Tuesday/Wednesday. I've put systems in place to ensure we don't fall behind again so yay. I look forward to stress-testing them as the madnesses of life stack up (We're two weeks in now and life is really hitting. We're still on schedule though, so things look good!). To celebrate the scale of our achievement, we've got a cheeky little discount for the whole month (code: MAY01) on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga). Next five chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
XXXXX- ICARUS JORDAYNE
He took a healthy swig from his flask as he rode at the head of a massive column of Knights and men-at-arms. His father could never have dreamed of being able to sustain so many armed and armoured men on retainer, and his father had never had to deal with the near beggaring that the former Prince of Dorne had imposed on House Jordayne. Icarus' agreement with the Velaryons had seen his House rise higher than ever. So high that he now fancied himself a Kingmaker.
But that was for when he arrived at his destination. And said arrival was far from guaranteed. The roads of Dorne had deteriorated to the point where a Great Lord needed to march at the head of an army, else he would find himself prey to the vultures who roamed the desert seeking who to devour.
He took another swig, relishing the taste of the sweet Reach wine before he cast his gaze around him. An ambush had the potential to be disastrous now. He had not been personally so vulnerable in years. Their numbers would deter the vultures, but he knew that quite a number of his fellow Lords would jump at the opportunity to claim his head. His betrayal of their previous monarch was still yet to be forgotten.
"Calm down. If there was anything, the outriders would have sounded the alarm already," Oberon said, riding up to his side. He had noted his worry. He smiled as he turned to his brother.
"If they lived long enough to do it," he said.
"You could have stayed at the Tor. You did not need to come," his brother and friend said.
"And miss the chance to see my only brother wedded? I would never do that," he said.
"Sure, pretend that you are making this journey to watch a wedding and not to see Yoren," his brother teased with a smirk. He looked at him. Really looked at him. Was that a joke or was it a threat, he wondered? Would his brother use his nature against him? He hoped not. But power could be a grave temptation.
"Just a jape, brother. I mean nothing by it," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence.
"Of course," Icarus said.
"Why can a journey not achieve two things at the same time? I get to see my first friend and watch you be wedded and bedded at the same time," he said. Oberon groaned.
"What? Don't tell me you're shy about the bedding? A sailor like you should have more than enough experience," he teased. Oberon groaned again, burying his face in his hands.
"Or are you worried that you'll be a bit shy to perform before an audience? Worry not--"
"No. I am not having this conversation with you," Oberon said, turning his horse around and leaving Icarus to his worries. He chuckled. His brother was nothing if not predictable.
XXXX- TYLAND
He sighed as he spotted the city in the distance. The call for land had gone out some time ago, but only now had he bothered to step out of his cabin and be greeted by the cool sea breeze. He tried to take in as much of it as he could now. It was a matter of hours before his nose would be assaulted by a smell that got worse each time he visited the city. King's Landing was not the smelliest city he had ever been in, but when compared to Lannisport and Bloodstone, it was by far the lesser.
Smellier than any of the Free Cities Tyland had been to as well. And an order of magnitude more boring as well. Entertainment here was court, and nothing else. The street mummers were little better than children playing with sand when compared to the true masters of the craft he saw in Tyrosh. The food was....well, it was edible, so there was that. He sighed once more. He would be here for at least a month. He was expected to attend the celebrations for his nephew's nameday in full, participate in the tournament, and then stay for some time beyond it as well. Expectations, expectations. He released the weight he bore into the wind.
Now he could no longer just be captain of the fleet that had been trading across the Free Cities. He had to be Ser Tyland Lannister, Castellan of Casterly Rock, brother to its Lord and husband to...
No, no need to think about that now.
"Prepare the cargo for searching," he said, turning to the man by his side, and then began to pace across the deck.
--
"Brother." His brother waited for him at the dock. His wife nowhere to be found, but the entourage he commanded was worthy of a King.
Tyland dropped to a knee. "My Lord," he said. It was a display of loyalty.
"I have missed you so," his brother said, stepping forwards and picking him up by the hands and capturing him in a hug. A display of love to match his own. Show the world that there was no rift between the Lannister brothers to be exploited. "The two of you will be all each other have when I am gone. Do not forget that," Father's last words played back in his mind as he inhaled his brother's scent. He had missed him so.
"You should have been here," Jason said when they finally managed to get a minute alone. They were sat within his quarters. The quarters that he quite pointedly did not share with his Princess-wife. Rhaenyra Targaryen was a distant partner, and while Tyland would have wished for better for his brother, he knew that this was precisely how Jason preferred things to be.
"Someone needs to handle the Westerlands," he said in his defence.
"You spend half your time at sea either way. And Cousin Gerold does a good enough job in our absence. This is where you should have been for the last year. Helping to shore up your nephew's claim to the throne," Jason said.
"He is the son of the King's chosen heir. What can I do to shore up his claim that would be more effective than that?" he asked.
"I am the husband to Princess Rhaenyra. I cannot move as I would like. But you would have freedoms that I do not. Whenever I speak to someone at Court, it is an event. You could be more discreet," he said.
"There is no guarantee that the Hightowers would act," he said, even if he did not truly believe it to be so. He hoped though. He really hoped. Because a war within the House of the Dragon would mean dragon fighting against dragon. Tyland knew that the grass suffered when elephants fought. What would happen to the realm if dragons did? Nothing good for sure.
"If I were in Otto Hightower's place, I would. Can you deny that the man is every bit as ambitious as I am?" he asked.
"He would not act without support. Rhaenyra is an adult who rides a fully grown dragon. Aegon and Aemond are children. Neither has claimed a dragon," he said.
"They will. Alicent has refused to let them try their hands at the hatchlings. Rhaenyra says the only reason she would do so is if she intends for them to claim older, larger dragons," Jason sighed.
"The Bronze Fury? What was the name of Alysanne's mount again?" he asked, wracking his brain.
"Silverwing," Jason supplied.
"Old, probably massive dragons. That changes things," he said. And it did. Somehow, the situation had become that the longer the King lived, the riskier their situation became. If he waited too long to pass, then Alicent's brood would age to become men in their own right. Men that would ride bigger dragons.
"It does, indeed. And I am sure you can guess as to the options open to us," he said, giving him a look. Tyland nodded. He would not be stupid enough to say what those options were out loud either way, even without his brother's non-verbal warning. Only a fool would speak of assassinating a King in his castle.
"Why does she still wait though? The boys are older than the King was when he claimed the Black Dread, are they not?" he asked.
"Aegon is. Like a mother, she fears. And that gives us another option," Jason said.
"Which is?"
"Baelon turns one in a few sennights," he said.
"You mean to put your son before a massive dragon?" Tyland could not quite be sure that his ears were working properly. In fact, he was almost certain that they were not. His brother was no lunatic so as to consider that kind of madness.
"Rhaenyra's idea. I cannot argue against it. She is right. If Alicent does not find her nerve soon, then Baelon will turn two and then three. He has the blood. He will be the next King. And Silverwing is a famously docile dragon," he said.
"In three years, I reckon that she would have put Aegon before the dragons already," Tyland said, stroking his chin. All this talk of dragons was not his expertise, but he was his father's son and he knew people. Whatever compunctions Alicent had now would die quickly if she saw her window closing.
"Yes, but not Aemond. Aegon claiming Vermithor might be a given. Silverwing is however an option. And depending on how things proceed, there are things we could do to prevent Vermithor from being claimed," he said.
"Things like what, brother?"
"The old dragons roost on Dragonstone. Rhaenyra does not dare deny access for now, but that is because Alicent has not tried either. Dragonstone is her personal fief. If she chooses not to permit the Princelings to come onto her island, there is little that Alicent can manage," he said.
"Then why is that not the first option?"
"Think, brother," Jason said, walking towards the pitcher of wine. Tyland followed, feeling some rising dryness in his throat.
"It would bring it to a head. Denying the boys the right to claim certain dragons would send a strong message," he said after accepting the glass goblet from his brother.
"Indeed. And not a message we would like. It would make it look like we fear them gaining power. Like there is any validity to their claim that we worry about," Jason added. Tyland himself nodded, taking a strong sip and swishing the wine around his mouth before swallowing. If Rhaenyra was not married to his brother, he knew how he would react to the news that she had pettily restricted her brothers from access to dragons to strengthen her claim.
"If it were guaranteed to work, we would do it either way and damn the message. But the King could lean either way in that situation. Restraining them and then being overruled would be disastrous," he said.
"I agree. So the only solution is to put your son in front of massive dragons before he can speak in complete sentences. Brilliant," he said.
"Where did you hear that from? Children of three namedays can speak in complete sentences," Jason quizzed, eyebrows furrowed.
"What? They can?"
"Not complex sentences, for sure. But complete ones, yes."
"Interesting. I wouldn't have thought that," he accepted the correction. Jason had always been the smarter one, after all.
XXXX- HOBERT HIGHTOWER
He hid his exhaustion with the ease of long practice as he finished his ascent of the stairs that connected his reception hall with his chambers. Moving his chambers lower on the castle had been a wise decision all those years ago. Apart from situations like this one, he never had cause to climb any higher on the high tower that his House took its name from.
"Septons, welcome. Please do not hesitate to make yourselves at home," he said as he walked into the room to join them. Four Septons of the Starry Sept here in his home before the sun had reached its apex. Something was going on, and their demand to meet discreetly and in private gave him the impression that it could only be one of a few things that had happened.
"We do not have the time for that, my Lord," one of them said.
"Indeed? And what brings you here with such haste and with so little time so as to forget your courtesies?" he said. The man who had spoken quite rudely did not look as chastised as Hobert would have liked, but he did not speak again, and that would have to do, it seemed.
"His Holiness has passed on. His soul now rests in the Heavens with the Seven," another said.
"Truly? I was under the impression that his condition had been improving," he said.
"It had been. But when the gods call, none can refuse their invitation. He was glad to go in the end. He went smiling," the same Septon said. It said something, the fact that the Septons who had come before him were not Septons he was familiar with. They could not have come of their own accord without backing, so they had been sent. And then that begged the question—why would Septons he had no affinity for be sent to him?
"I will say a prayer for his soul when I make my own prayers," he said. The four men nodded solemnly.
"He will be grateful for it." The leftmost one said. All four of the Septons were old men, but this one seemed older even than the rest. He stooped forward, his back bent at an angle.
"But we did not come just to inform you," he continued. Despite their ages, they spoke clearly enough. A trait the former High Septon had not shared as he advanced in years.
"I would assume so. A runner would have sufficed in that case. I take this to mean that you have a message for me. Your refusal to meet in my solar tells me it is not a message I will particularly like," he said, deducing the particulars. Why else would unknown Septons be sent to him? Those he favoured would not be sent when the request would be one that could offend him. They would be kept separate from this request so they could later on come in to assuage any hard feelings. The Conclave were not half as clever as they thought themselves to be.
"Nothing of the sort, ideally. It is a simple message, my Lord. The Conclave watched the latter years of His Holiness' reign pass with great concern as he engaged in actions that did not become the representative of the Seven on earth," another of the four said. This one's voice was notably higher pitched than the rest. Hobert decided he did not like it at all.
"And what is that simple message?" he asked, taking mental note of the latter half of that statement. What did the decisions of that fool have to do with him?
"You must leave the decision as to the next High Septon to the Conclave. Any attempt to interfere with our proceedings will not be tolerated," the one with the high-pitched voice spoke. Hobert had been right. It hadn't taken much for the voice and its owner to get on his nerves.
"Pardon you?" he asked, giving them the chance to reconsider their positions and words. Insulting a Great Lord in his own home was the kind of stupidity that Septons did usually try to steer away from. Especially those who managed to reach the level of belonging to the Conclave.
"I apologise. My colleague misspoke. You see, the decisions of the previous High Septon have not gone down well with many, and we as a Conclave see this as an opportunity to restrategise and change our approach. With that in mind, does it not make sense that we would like the chance to carry out the process without any external....influence?" the leftmost one spoke. He was clearly the one among them with the most working brains.
"That is no problem. I am not a Septon, of course. What business have I with the decisions your Conclave chooses to make? My job is merely to accept your decision and pray in the Sept when the time comes," he said, lying with the same ease he breathed with.
"My Lord, I must drive this home. Any attempt to influence our proceedings will not be looked upon kindly. While my colleague misspoke in tone, the substance of his words was broadly accurate. If the Conclave is to have reason to suspect your influence in favour of any of the candidates, they will be removed from the running and we will inform the realm of our findings," he said. Hobert changed his mind then. None of them had working brains. The Starry Sept was the Hightower, and the Hightower was the Starry Sept. Never had a High Septon been chosen with a sitting Lord Hightower having no choice in the matter.
"Are you threatening me? I would advise that you pick your next words carefully," he warned.
"Oldtown has not always hosted the centre of the faith. The Starry Sept is an institution more than it is a place. And institutions can be moved. We are of course grateful to House Hightower for the role it has played by harbouring the home of the faith for so long, but if this home you have given us turns into a prison, we will leave. The Starry Sept can exist elsewhere, and who will lose the most for that?" he asked, meeting Hobert's gaze. If Hobert had been merely a few decades younger, all four of them would have slept in his cells for the impudence. Now, he had the patience to make plans that would not ruin things for him in the long term.
"Your words are understood and will be taken into consideration. Now, if that will be all?" he asked, even as he gestured to the door, showing that they had worn out their welcome.
A/N: Yes, the Faith (and who they support) is going to matter in this story for its own reasons. Just wait and see. Next five chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early. Discount available with the code MAY01– have fun.