Chapter 39
Duncan watched as the Prince emptied out his guts, and he would be lying if he said that he did not have the same urge. They had been riding for four days straight now, and he did not even know how he was still awake.
He could not even feel his hips now, and they had run through two pairs of horses in the journey. He feared that at this rate their bodies just might give up on them before they had even reached their destination.
The storm had begun to simmer down over the last half a day, and the Prince emptied out a flagon of water over his head before he turned towards him.
"Are you ready to continue on, Duncan?" He stumbled as he tried to push himself off the ground.
"Ugh," he grunted as he hit the ground.
"You don't have to do this," the Prince whispered.
"I have only half a day's riding ahead of me. I will be fine on my own," and Duncan was quick to shake his head.
"No," and he knew of the whispers of treason, and how many a lord loathed the Prince for his actions. He could not let him ride on his own.
"I will be fine, my lord," Duncan countered as he rose again, but with a much steadier step.
The Prince saw through his false bravado, but offered him only a nod as he walked towards his horse.
"Let us leave then...."
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VALARR TARGARYEN
The news reached them first. The letter was written by his own wife, and he could notice the tear stains on the paper as Lord Brynden handed it to him. Kiera had long cursed herself for not doing her duty as his wife.
Valarr was the heir, and yet he had no child of his own. It was not for a lack of trying, though, and three times Kiera had taken to the birthing bed, yet each time the Gods had cursed them with a stillbirth. Each time, the pain felt greater than the last.
So, when word came of Lady Gwin being with child, Kiera had been happy. She was not the kind of woman to envy his brother's family, for she knew how Matarys loved her like a sibling.
She was quick to rush to New Haven along with the Queen, especially as word came of his brother leaving for his campaign, and it had been far too long since their family had celebrated the birth of a child.
All of them had been looking forward to the birth of Matarys's son, yet it felt as if tragedy clung to their family. They could have no celebration without suffering twice as much pain.
Matarys's wedding had been followed by Dagon's rebellion, and now his victory in the war was followed by the death of his wife.
"You told me that the curse was for Matarys's bloodline," and though Lady Gwin was his wife, she was not of his bloodline.
"Yes, but Lady Gwin sacrificed herself," Lord Brynden told him, making his head snap towards him.
"What?" he asked, and even for them it was not well suited to discuss matters regarding blood magic and all in letters, but he knew that Lord Rivers had his own method of sending and receiving messages, so he told him what was left unsaid in his wife's letter.
"Shiera could not stop the curse. No. But she was able to transfer it to Lady Gwin, and now she was dead, and her son was alive.
"So, Maekar?" he asked, with some hope.
"He will live," Lord Brynden answered, and that was some relief, but the thinning of his lips told him that it was not truly joyous news.
"But I am afraid this has all but delayed the boy's demise. Lady Gwin's death has only bought us time," and so the curse still lingered, and her death was meaningless in a way.
"How long?" he asked.
"A year," Lord Brynden answered as he shook his head in defeat.
"Perhaps a bit more," and that was not enough time at all, and Valarr cursed the Gods for testing his brother like this.
"No mother can bear the sight of a dying child," Brynden whispered, and he knew that better than most.
"Lady Gwin believed in Matarys. She sacrificed her life because she believed that Matarys would find a way to save their child," and Valarr bit his lip as he thought of his brother, who was still riding towards New Haven like a madman.
"My brother is strong," Valarr whispered, and Brynden knew that better than most. This was exactly why their enemy had chosen to target him, but he was facing too many demons at once.
"But I fear that even he is not strong enough to bear this all," for it was not just the loss of a wife that he had to face. No. The maesters were surprised by the King's resilience and where the Sickness swallowed giants in, but a few hours later, King Baelor Targaryen continued to fight the disease for days.
He fought and fought, and he was fighting still. But the disease was unrelenting, and his condition had deteriorated greatly over the night. The Maesters had told him to prepare himself for the worst, and he feared that the Stranger was not quite done with their family.
"He will have to be," Lord Brynden whispered as he put a hand on his shoulder.
"So will you," and Valarr's brows came together at those words, as his face hardened.
"I am afraid there is a war coming," and so his fears had proven themselves to be true after all.
"Blackfyre," and Lord Brynden nodded.
"They used the Spring Sickness to hide themselves, but I am certain that they are here and they are gathering support for their cause," and so treason was afoot.
"They are waiting for the Crown's declaration over the fate of the Iron Islands to launch their campaign. I believe they intend to use the Crown's intended plans to turn the Lords against the Crown," and now all of the slander and whispers made sense.
"The slander. The whispers. They were behind all that," and Lord Rivers nodded as he looked down in shame.
"Indeed, and as your Master of Whispers, this is entirely my failure, and I am yours to punish for this failure. But before that, let me make it up to you for my failings," and he looked into his eyes.
"I will not let you down," and he had failed them; that much was true. But punishing him would accomplish nothing.
For all his faults, Brynden Rivers was a master at his craft. He was also undeniably loyal to their family, especially Matarys, and finding a replacement for him was easier said than done.
"I know," Valarr answered back, but now they faced a crucial dilemma. The Crown's plans regarding the fate of the Iron Islands had already been leaked, and with the war over, they could not wait much longer to declare their victory.
They could back away from their intended plans, but that would signal weakness, and with the smell of treason in the air, any sign of weakness could spell their doom. But if they were to go through with it, then it would alienate the lords as well and push them into the arms of the Blackfyre.
"We must decide on the fate of the Iron Islands soon," Lord Brynden had probably made the same calculations in his head.
"The Crown's silence will be perceived as silence as well, and we cannot have that," and he understood that well enough.
"I know, but I cannot make this decision," he answered a bit weakly, and Lord Brynden's face softened.
"I fear it might just become yours," and initially they had hoped to give the Islands to Matarys, but with Matarys facing all that he was, Valarr knew that he could not burden him any more.
Valarr could already feel the weight of kingship on his shoulders, and it was greater than any burden he had borne yet. Their father was on his deathbed. His brother had just lost his wife, and the Crown was set to face a rebellion.
He turned away from Lord Bryden and walked towards the window, and gazed at the city in front of him. He considered going to his father, but he had his own demons to conquer. He had made him his Hand for such a day exactly.
He was the heir, and their father had spent the last few years training him for this very thing. He had to do this himself. He could not turn to Matarys or anyone else.
"Perhaps I could consult with your fath...."
"Uncle Aerys," he whispered as he turned towards Lord Rivers.
"What of him?" the Master of Whispers asked.
"He will be the one to govern over the Iron Islands," and he was no Matarys, but his uncle was as well-read a man as any. He lacked the martial abilities of his father, but he was a Prince nonetheless.
He would hold onto the Iron Islands in their name.
"Matarys..." lord Rivers began, but he did not let him finish.
"I have burdened my brother enough," Valarr declared, as he resolved himself for war.
"We have asked too much of him, but now he is needed by his son, and so we must spare him the Crown's burdens," and Lady Gwin had given her life for she believed in her lord husband, and so he would give him all the opportunity he could to make that possible.
"So you intend to take control of the Iron Islands as intended?" and Valarr nodded.
"Matarys won us this war at great personal cost. Handing back to those loathsome scum will make his sacrifice meaningless," and so even with the threat of war, he intended to go ahead with their plans.
"The Crown will take control of the Iron Islands," he declared, and Lord Brynden nodded.
"This will invite another war," the red-eyed man warned, and Valarr shrugged.
"So be it." he had already made up his mind.
"Let those Blackfyre scum reveal themselves. I will deal with them myself," and he was the heir to the throne, and it was time for him to live up to that title.
"Start gathering levies. Reach out to only the most trusted of our allies and ask them to do the same," and this time he would accept no excuses.
"But disperse these gatherings so as not to make them obvious. New Haven, Summerhall, Kingslanding, and the Iron Islands. We will have the Riverlands surrounded," and according to him, the Blackfyres were somewhere in the Riverlands.
"We will crush them the second they show their head," and Lord Rivers nodded, but just then a servant ran towards him, and his heart sank as he heard him utter.
"My lord. It is the King...."
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In New Haven, the cries of a boy filled the Godswood while he held the lifeless hand of his mother, who had long breathed her last. Shiera stood at the side, her face marked with blood as she stared at the aftermath of her actions and wondered once more about the rightness of what she had done.
The clouds above her began to shift, and she felt the storm die down as the Aegor's curse began to simmer away with Gwin Ashford's life. With the rain gone, she stepped forward and slowly reached the crying babe, who clung to his mother and put a palm on his head.
The fever, which had once threatened to burn him alive, was now gone.
"No...," the voice was a whisper only, but she heard it nonetheless. A chill ran down her spine as she turned her head and found herself looking at a haggard man. He was covered in dirt from head to toe, and his eyes were sunken in from sheer exhaustion.
"Noo," he whispered as he stumbled forward, as Shiera slid out of his way as he walked up to his dead wife and crying child.
"NOOOOOO!"
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