Prologue: Seeds of Fire, Roots of War
“Who do you reckon has this match in the bag?”
It was a crisp sunny morning at Harrenhal as the tourney, hosted by the gluttonous Lord Whent, went underway with the match between Ser Garth of House Malthus and Ser Dorian of House Umbria. Layne Bentley glanced toward Colum Struwan as the latter asked him about his thoughts on who would appear victorious in this bout of the joust. Besides the two young Northmen, who had accompanied their liegelords, the Starks, to the Riverlands for Lord Whent’s tourney, Gryff Grypon and Alyx Hedgeworth, who were sitting quietly viewing the jousting matches until now, turned their attention to their fellow Stark bannermen, curious to hear Bentley’s response to Struwan’s question.
“Mmm, I’d have to say Ser Malthus as the Stormlands knight possesses more experience than the Westron knight.”
The young fair-haired Grypon nodded his head. “Aye, I concur with that.“The dark-haired Hedgeworth lad also nodded his agreement to that.
“How interesting,” Lord Struwan mused. “My bag of coins are in favor of the knight with the black and grey emblem with the waxing crescent on his shield. Ser Dorian of House Umbria may hail from the Westerlands, but his reputation precedes him. He fought in the skirmishes along the Crag against ironborn raiders—held his ground against three at once, they say, and slew two before reinforcements arrived. That kind of grit is forged in fire, not merely taught in training yards.”
Layne Bentley raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “True, Struwan, but Ser Malthus has seen battle as well. They call him ‘Stormbearer’ for a reason—he held the breach at Estermont during the skirmish with the sellswords of the Disinherited Company and the Lost Sons. Held it alone for nearly an hour while his men regrouped. That takes more than courage; it takes steel and skill. And he’s no stranger to the joust. Remember, he unhorsed Lord Connington’s heir at last year’s tourney in Storm’s End.”
Gryff Grypon tilted his head, his fair hair catching the morning light. “A knight hardened by the sea and storms against a knight tempered by ironborn blades. Mmm, I’d say that’s an even match, I’d wager.”
Alyx Hedgeworth, ever the pragmatist, added quietly, “The question isn’t just who has the better tale, but who will keep their head clear under the weight of armor and the heat of the sun. Nerves have undone finer men.”
Struwan chuckled, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Aye, perhaps we’ll see if experience or instinct reigns supreme this day.”
The distant sound of hooves pounding against the earth signaled the knights taking their positions, and the conversation gave way to the growing anticipation in the air. The crowd leaned forward, breaths held, as Ser Garth and Ser Dorian,loyal bannermen to the Baratheons and the Lannisters respectively, faced each other across the list, the sunlight gleaming off their polished armor. From the corner of his eye, the young griffin noted that Benjen Stark, the youngest son of Lord Rickard, was dripping wet, drenched in a colorful liquid. Seeing his sister Lyanna’s laughter, Gryff deduced that the Stark girl had poured her drink over her younger brother’s head as retaliation for mocking her earlier for her teary reaction to Prince Rhaegar’s singing performance to open the tourney.
The sounds of wood splintering and gasps drew him out of his thoughts. The black and white-clad knight, Sir Umbria, lay on the grass as he was unhorsed by the blue and gold knight. The crowd went wild as Layne Bentley turned to Struwan with a victorious smirk.
“What did I tell you?”
The young lord wearing a navy blue tunic of wool with a golden sea dragon his family’s sigil, plastered on the front just huffed. “It was pure luck. ”
The other northern lad with the white yeti on his ice blue fur doublet chuckled. “I am sure it was. Sir Umbria had no chance against the knight of the Stormlands with his experience against against pirates and sellswords. Now I expect you to pay up 20 golden dragons by the end of the tournament. ”
Gryff and Alyx watched as the humiliated knight was assisted by squires and led off the list field to make way for the others partaking in the joust. As the day wore on, the northern boys watched Walter Whent’s sons get unhorsed by Ser Malthus, Brandon Stark, Ser Aguilyn of the Riverlands, and Ser Guntor of the Vale. Rhaegar would end up unhorsing three of those men, robbing them of their chances of victory before securing the win against Ser Barristan Selmy, a member of Aerys’s Kingsguard who had defeated Yohn Royce, Ser Malthus, and Ser Arthur Dayne only to fall to the dragon prince’s lance. The prince had once again proven himself a formidable and unbeatable opponent in the joust and melee.
“Is there anyone who could actually unhorse the Targaryen lad?”
“I’d have assumed the Morning Sword or Ser Barristan the Bold would have been ideal,” the Grypon boy responded to Alyx. “Though they were unhorsed before our eyes.”
“The wild wolf seemed like a worthy contender, but he ended up on his back as well,” Colum added. “Perhaps the Lannister boy who was inducted into the King’s Guard had a chance, but he left the list. It is said that he was summoned by the king himself."
“I guess we will never know.” Layne’s icy blue eyes then went back toward the lists where the winner of the tourney was being awarded a crown of blue roses. “Rhaegar is going to give that to his wife Elia seated over there. ” The white-blonde northerner motioned at the dais where the Dornish princess sat, surrounded by members of the royal guard. Not far to her left sat King Aerys himself, with Oswell Whent to his left. His advisors, among them Varys the bald eunuch, who he had heard rumors of that made him uneasy. He wouldn’t want to be vulnerable before someone they referre to as the “spider.” Everyone watched in peaceful silence as Prince Rhaegar bore the crown of roses on his lance and trotted his horse to where dais as expected. However, no one expected him to bypass the royal dais and go upto the Stark place of honor, complete with the dangling Stark banner, and place the crown on top of Lyanna’s head much to the shock of the attendees. Judging by their looks, Rhaegar’s wife and father felt no different from the boys.
“Gods,” a member of the Manderly family breathed. “What in the Seven Kingdoms is happening?”
“It appears that the prince has chosen to crown another princess,” Alucard Bolton, Roose’s brother and Royce IV’s other son, noted. “Who would have thought? Though I suppose it matters not. The fact remains that he stays undefeated in the tournament. ”
What’s the purpose of that?Gryff wondered.Is this some eloborate royal prank to poke fun at us Northern Houses? As insipid as it is, that must be the most logical explanation. Just a harmless prank by the Targs.
“That was peculiar, ” Colum Struwan murmured. “Though I must say it was the royal’s way of showing gratitude to us Northerners for keeping the peace in the North. We haven’t had a major incursion from beyond the wall since Raymond Redbeard.”
“That’s thanks to the Night’s Watch,” Bentley muttered.
“I am going to fetch myself some mead from the stands. Anyone want to accompany me?” Alyx Hedgeworth offered.
Grateful for the chance to rise and walk, Gryff and the other Northern boys rose to accompany their compatriot. While what transpired at the end of the tourney seemed like a innocuous stunt, no one was prepared for the ramifications of the Dragon Prince’s actions that were to follow.
---
“Halt! What brings you to King’s Landing?”
As they approached The Old Gate, Lord Rickard Stark and the Stark men-at-arms accomanying him faced the commander of the Gold Cloaks as he inquird about their business in the city. Undaunted by the armored guards with golden cloaks, chainmail covering their lower faces, the warden of the North, flanked by his loyal vassals like Ethan Glover and Olsen Scaryff, spoke to the City Watch leader and demanded to be led to the Red Keep where his son Brandon and several of his friends who accompanied him when he went to request the release of his sister were imprisoned.
“Let Aerys II know that Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, requests an audience with him.”
Sharing looks with his lieutenants, the Gold Cloak commander turned to the fur-draped Northerners and motioned for them to follow. As they were escorted to the Great Castle through the bustling streets of Flea Bottom, filled with merchants hawking out their wares and children scurrying around like rats, Lord Scaryff felt something wintry was about to occur. The sight of Gold Cloaks everywhere as well as archers on the roof of the larger establishments greeted them before they made it to the Red Keep. As archers trained their bows upon the visitors, the Gold Cloak commander conversed with Ser Gerold Hightower, the broad-shouldered hulking knight with shaggy dirty blonde hair, before the latter motioned for the Stark group to follow them into the castle.
Inside the dimly lit halls, what Lord Scaryff presumed to be the skulls of the Targaryen’s long-dead dragons were perched on every wall and vault as they were led to the Throne room. The largest one was perched on a large platform in the great hall, enclased in glass. The Northern Lord,a bannerman of House Bolton, who was allied with the Starks, felt a shiver run through his spine.
That beast must have been the Black Dread himself before death. It clatters my bones to think what the knights of Westeros must have faced during Aegon’s conquest of the 7 Kingdoms.
Once they passed the rows of the skulls of the long-dead winged firewyrms, they came upon the throne room, complete with a throne made of melted swords and colored glass windows. Perched upon the throne guarded by the Kingsguard , their white cloaks dangling on their armor, was the Mad King himself, Aerys II Targaryen. Seeing the paranoid tyrant upclose for the first time, the stories he had heard about the disheveled oppressor of the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t done his appearance any justice. In fact, the king’s silver beard was tangled and matted, his shoulder-length hair unkempt, while his fingernails were long enough to be considered claws.
Aerys II beleives himself to be a dragon? I fancy him more of a shrivelled up bear who has gone must.
Upon arrival, Ser Hightower stood at attention, bowed before his king, and announced the arriving retinue of Northern Lords. Gazing at the guests, the Mad King himself began to cackle, a sound that resembled a malovolent raven. Having those bloodshot purple eyes rake over him really made Lord Scaryff uneasy. Beside him, Lord Glover looked like he was suppressing a shiver. It only made it worse when their evil king began to address them.
“Lord Stark, Warden of the North. Tell me what brings you the pleasure of visiting. You don’t expect me to believe you trekked all the way from your cold and bleak perch to break bread with me and share some wine, though I do believe you need to try some of the Arbor Gold they serve here. I can’t imagine they have anything of that stock in the cold winter hell of yours?”
Lord Rickard Stark, undaunted by the lunatic monarch’s taunts, stepped forward and knelt down on one knee.
“Your Grace, I apologize for arriving without preamble. I am grateful for your reception, but I come with a request and I beseech you to hear it out.”
There was tense moment of silence as the Mad King contemplated the Northern Lord’s request, his lilac-eyes wide with increasing madness. Lord Scaryff, Lord Glover, and the rest of the bannermen who had accompanied their lord to King’s Landing noticed the newest addition to the King’s Guard, Lord Tywin Lannister’s son, glanced downward, his face impassive. Then, King Aerys’ eyes narrowed as he glowered at the Northmen.
“Speak.”
Lord Rickard Stark then explained the reason for his arrival to his king.
“Your Grace, as you are probably aware, your son Prince Rhaegar had taken my daughter Lyanna and has yet to release her to us. My lords tell me that my son Brandon had ridden here the other day to ask you the same favor yet I have heard nothing of him since. Would you happen to be aware of his whereabouts? It would ease my burdens greatly to hear that my eldest son and heir is safe.”
For a moment, Lord Scaryff felt as if King Aerys was going to shout at them, have them arrested, or escorted out. However, once the crazed ruler of Westeros started to laugh as if his court jester had performed for him, the Stark loyalist felt even more uneasy. Deep within his very being, he had a feeling that their visit to the Red Keep would not end well for them. He could only pray to the gods that they would at least make it out of the castle alive.
“Lord Rickard Stark, you wildling wolf! You think I just allowed you in my court? In fact, I was planning to send a summons to Winterfell for you, only you spared me the trouble of having the maester send a raven. I have you where I want you.”
The Northmen exchanged flabbergasted expressions before Lord Stark replied to the king.
“May I have the honor of knowing why you intended to summon me? Did it concern my son and daughter?”
Aerys II Targaryen cackled, a truly dreadful sound. “I wouldn’t say you are wrong there.” The disheveled tyrant then turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the White Bull himself. “Bring out the prisoner, but let his brothers-in-arms rot in the cells.”
As Ser Hightower and Ser Darry left to fetch this ‘prisoner’, Lords Glover and Scaryff exchanged glances to acknowledge that they were on the same page. More than likely, the wild wolf himself was Aerys’ prisoner. They could only hope and pray that he was treated mercifully during his tenure, though they both knew that mercy under the Mad King’s captivity was considered cruel enough by many. Sure enough, the knights of the Kingsguard escorted Brandon Stark out onto the throne room. The young lad looked like the Mad King’s jailers had all taken jabs at him as the castle knights placed him between the lords and the throne. Aerys let out an ominous cackle before addressing the Northerners.
“Here is your son, Lord Stark. He was detained for treason against his king for the audacity of coming into my halls uninvited and making demands of me, charges which will apply to you as well. Seize him!”
Lords Glover and Scaryff let out gasps of disbelief as two Whitecloaks arrived to seize the leader of House Stark. This was what Olsen considered a brash but foolish move as the king could alienate his Northern subjects as well as his honorable ones, but when had someone known as the ‘Mad King’ seen any sense? The Northern retinue, consisting of the few lords, but along with their troops with various banners including the flayed man, the Umber giant, and the Manderly mermaid prepared to either retreat or go defend their lord, but Glover and Scaryff glanced around the keep and noticed that they were surrounded by Targaryen palace guards. An escape attempt or even raising their weapons against the knights arresting Lord Stark would be tantamount to suicide.
As the Kingsguard dragged Lord Stark beside his eldest son and heir, the Warden of the North came up with a bargain for his release.
“Your Grace, I would like to request a trial by combat. I am familiar with the customs of the South and I believe that the accused has a right to demand a trial by combat with the accuser. Will you grant my request?”
The Targaryen king raised a hand and his knights of the Kingsguard lightened their hold on the prisoners. He seemed to mull it over for several seconds before replying.
“I shall grant your request, my Warden of the North. ”
Rickard Stark bowed in appreciation. “I thank your Grace for this opportunity to prove my innocence in this accusation of treason. Would I be allowed to choose my champion?”
An malicous smirk passed upon the disheveled king’s lips. “Ah yes, the selection of our champions. I will start by choosing mine. Then you will have yours.”
Lord Rickard gazed over at his beaten son, who was glaring at the king, before nodding. “As my king wishes. If the gods decide we are innocent, my son and I get to walk free. At least, I would be content if Brandon is freed since he is supposed to get married to Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter in a fortnight.”
The Mad King’s eyes then narrow as he gripped the sharp edges of his pointy throne. “I have selected my champion already. Never has it failed House Targaryen for centuries.”
Wondering what he meant, Olsen and Ethan glanced around before a flash of green flames rose from the small pit before the king as the Alchemists’ Guild, clad in their crimson cloaks, lit the wildfire. Everyone in the room felt the intense heat many feet away. A look of horror crossed Brandon Stark’s face as he was seized by Ser Hightower while Ser Darry placed a noose over his head. Rickard looked dumbfounded as his son was tied to a hanging hook in full view of the throne before he himself was taken to the fire pit. He glanced at King Aerys II, who only sneered at him, as he was suspended above the firepit.
“Lord Stark, meet House Targaryen’s ancient and formidable champion - fire!” The crazed monarch cackled maniacally before glancing at Brandon. “You, young wolf, will have a chance to rescue your sire from the flames. I am not without mercy. Only, it will fall upon your shoulders to reach your blade.”
Lord Scaryff felt his fists clench as the young wild wolf tried to reach his blade while his father was cooked alive in his armor like chicken on a spit. This twisted and sick game the psychotic Targaryen king was playing held no honor or justice. The Northerners could only watch, frozen with trepidation as their Lord was burned alive. The screams of Lord Stark as he was burned alive would stay with Ethan and Olsen for the remainder of their lives while seeing their liege lord’s son’s face twist in a grotesque manner as he died trying to reach the blade that the Mad King promised would rescue his father. Was this ‘trial by combat’ another sick joke by King Aerys II?
“There we have it.” The king gloated. “It appears fire won the trial once more. ” His wild purple eyes then fell on the Northmen. “Seize them!”
Despite knowing that they were surrounded by Kingsguard and Targaryen soldiers, Lord Ethan and Lord Olsen both drew their blades, the soldiers that came with the Stark doing likewise. They would either fight their way out of the room or they get captured or killed by the castle guards at worst. Either way, they would die defending their honor, if not their Lord.
---
“My lord, a raven from Winterfell has arrived, bearing a message for the young wolf.”
As the maester, a gangly Maester Coleman with thinning hair, arrived in Jon Arryn’s solar at the Eyrie, the highest castle located atop the Mountains of the Moon in the Vale of Arryn, where the lord he served, as well as his two wards, were staying. A frown purse upon his lips, the older man, with mangy gray hair and a bit of the hair between his lower lip and chin, took the letter from the maester and perused it. As Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon watched him, a slight frown formed upon Lord Arryn’s lips. Robert glanced at his friend with a wary expression.
“This doesn’t sound promising, brother.” The Stag Lord placed a hand on his fellow ward’s arm. “Have no fear, though. I’m here to see it through with you. Together, we can overcome whatever the gods hurl at us, both Old and New.”
Young Ned felt his apprehension ease up a bit . “Your support is much appreciated, my dear friend. My Lord, pray tell what is troubling you?”
As the two young men turned to their ward, Jon Arryn cleared his throat and started to speak. The troubled look on the Lord of the Eyrie was a giveaway about the dire nature of the news. Young Ned braced himself for what he was about to hear, knowing he wasn’t going to like it one bit.
“Young Ned, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I am afraid that is what the raven from your family’s stronghold bears for us. Your father Rickard as well as your brother, the wild wolf Brandon, have been put to death by the Mad King Aerys II himself.”
Upon hearing the dreadful news, the young Lord Stark felt his knees go weak. Regulating his breathing, he attempted to process what he had heard. Ever since the end of the tourney at Harrenhall and the beginning of the False Spring, the Targaryen prince had abducted his beloved sister and had taken her south to King’s Landing. While there were rumors that he could have taken her as far south as Dorne, his father and brother had went with a sizable Stark force, large enough for an escort, but not large enough to be intimidating for the Mad King. It wouldn’t do be seen as a threat to the paranoid king of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet despite their measured response, Aerys II Targaryen treated his father and older brother as condemned traitors and had them executed.
“The Targaryens have no honor. My father and brother only intended to demand the king to have his son release my sister from captivity. He responds by immolating my father alive and brutally murdering my brother. This cannot go unpunished.”
His friend, the Baratheon chap, clapped a hand on his back. “Seven Hells! Those who think we would leave this heinous act to go unpunished are fools. Who does Rhaegar think he is, taking away my bethrothed, the fairest maiden in all the seven kingdoms? If the Targaryens won’t release her to us, we will have to wrest her back ourselves. You are not alone in this, my brother. We will raise the banners and go after Rhaegar. Damnation to all! I will even tear down the Red Keep myself if I ought to in order to get my Lyanna back. We will not be alone in this once we send word to the kingdoms of the treachery of the thrice damned Targs! We will send ravens at once to Stannis and Renly!”
Their mentor also nodded his assent. “Indeed, my young friends. Westeros will not stand for an oppressor who abuses his power. I am certain that the rest of the Kingdoms will back your revolt. My bannermen are yours to command as well.” Lord Arryn turned to his paige, a bald man with a Dornish accent and olive skintone. “Send ravens to every house in the Seven Kingdoms. They will join the direwolf and the stag in the fields of battle. The seeds of fire have been planted and the roots of war will now grow.”
