Chapter 45
MYSARIA—The Lady Mysery
Mysaria was not one to give up without a fight, yet this time the truth became more and more apparent with every passing day, as more and more lords spurned their missives and swore their loyalties to the chosen heir of King Baelon Targaryen, the Queen Gael.
Daemon had reached out to all of the lords, major and minor, to have them come and bend the knee, yet only a few had chosen to answer the call. The Tyrells had accepted the call, along with a few Houses from the capital, but most of the lords had simply rebuffed his claim.
Many had declared for Gael Targaryen openly, while others had simply ignored the missives as Daemon's grip on the city grew weaker by every passing hour. Daemon himself had not taken it well and had recused himself from the court as the city fell out of their control with every passing day.
Still, as his Hand, it was her duty to inform him of the situation, even if they highlighted her own failings. She found him in a field outside the castle, standing alone at the edge of the bay as two pyres burned inf rot him.
His dragon stood beside him as he stared ominously at the two funeral pyres, as she slowly walked towards him. His dragon darted its eyes towards her, and even after years of being in its proximity, she still could not stop her heart from racing as she walked towards its rider and came to stand beside Daemon himself.
"Another failure?" he asked, and she could only hang her head in shame as the bodies of late King Baelon and the Dowager Queen burned in Ceraxes' fire.
"Forgive me, my Prince, for I have failed you," and she had failed to spot an entire plot being hatched against him from this very city, and now the entire kingdom was lost to him.
"That you have," Daemon began after a moment of silence, as those eyes darted towards him, and she felt a hot breath of air hit her back, and her heart beat heavily as she prepared herself for the worst.
"But I have come to realise that your failure is no fault of yours," and for a second, she could not believe it.
"What?"
"It is true," he said as he turned towards the raging pyres.
"How can I blame you for failing me when my own kin chose to plot against me," and there was a painful chuckle in that voice, as Prince Daemon looked to the skies.
"My own blood. My own kin chose to betray me," and it was obvious now that all this had been orchestrated by the Dowager Queen, who had long set her mind on replacing Daemon with her daughter.
It was impossible to know the extent of her actions, but it was obvious enough that she had played a major role in the demise of Daemon's challenge.
"I knew of their hatred and their jealousy. I knew of them, and yet I never expected them to stoop to such a level," and for years now he had ignored the pains and the insults, but now the facade was beginning to crack.
"They call me Maegor," he whispered as his head snapped towards her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt fear as she met his eyes and saw a madness dance in those purple orbs.
"Yet I have burnt no men, nor have I stolen any wives. But still, I am Maegor, and they are the saints," and Maegor's crimes were greater than that.
"I have stolen no throne. It is mine by right, law, and precedence. I claim nothing more than what is owed to me, by virtue of my blood and my status, and yet they CALL ME MAEGOR!" and now he was shouting, and Mysaria did not know what to say.
"What are your orders, my lord?" and by now she was fresh out of ideas.
"None," he said, much to her surprise,
"We have pleaded enough," he said, and a strong gust of wind blew, and for a second, she felt a chill run down her spine.
"We have spent enough time trying to remind these petty lords of their paths," and with that, he walked back, and she noticed how he was nearly in full plate armor.
He began to tie up his boots, and a few guards stepped forward to help him with the steel and the war armor she had never seen before.
"We have done enough to remind them of their oaths," and suddenly her intentions became obvious.
"You intend on going to war," she gasped, and Daemon nodded.
"But we have no army," and the host she had managed to scrap together numbered at some five thousand.
"We have no need of an army," Daemon answered, as the men finished helping him put on his armor.
"It was dragons that helped Aegon bring this land to heel, and now dragons again shall take to the skies and remind these petty lords of the laws of men and god," and so he began to mount the Blood Wyrm, who gave a ferocious roar as if foretelling her rider's rage.
"They call me Maegor, don't they?" and she gasped as gusts blew up sand in her face, as Ceraxes took to the skies infront of her.
"Perhaps it is time I become Maegor for real...."
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GAEL TARGARYEN
The lords had begun to gather at Harrenhall, and a substantial host had begun to form. Lord Harwin had managed to escape the city as well and had taken command of the hosts.
With the Crown now resting on her head, Gael had to make a Council of her own. She had appointed Lord Caswell as the Master of Coin, and planned on naming Lord Mooton as her Master of Laws.
The Starks had pledged her their support, and Lord Cregan Stark walked South with a host of ten thousand greybeards, while Lady Jeyne of House Arryn had pledged another ten thousand men to her command and had sent them to her under the leadership of her cousin Joffrey Arryn.
It troubled her greatly to see all these lords and ladies putting their trust in her, and she felt wholly unsuited to the troubles ahead, and yet, amidst all these shadows of doom and gloom, there was a glimmer of hope.
Five years she had waited for this day, and now it had come at last, and when word came to her about Galen's landing she had rushed forth on her dragon at once towards the shores of Maidenpool.
Vermithor was young, and she pushed the Bronze Fury to its limits and reached the shores just as Galen's ships had docked. The ship was easily recognisable because of its purple sails, common to all Bravosi vessels, and as Vermithor roared, the men parted ways as they made way for their future queen.
Guards rushed to make room as she landed on the ground with a quick thud.
They all looked at Vermithor with sheer awe and fear, as none dared to come up to her. She saw one man push forward from the crowd, as he came and bent the knee to her.
"Your grace, I am Manfryd Mooton. I apologise for the lack of preparations, but we did not expect you..."
"Where is he?" she asked, and he must be Lord Mooton's brother.
"Who?" he asked, with a frown, and before she could name him, a familiar voice answered from behind.
"She speaks of me, Lord Mooton," and her head snapped back as she saw a person step out from the crowd, and he wore a large white robe with gold margins. The hood of the cloak covered half his face, and as he removed his hood, she could not help but gasp.
The years had removed all the childish features from his face, and he was now two heads taller than her. His face was clean shaven, and et the most haunting thing for her was the missing arm that was hidden behind his loose robes.
"Galen," she gasped as he gave her a smile, and if there was ever any doubt that this was him, then that smile wiped it all away.
"You should have waited," he said, but she was not listening as she ran forward and wrapped her arms around him, and began to cry. She had waited too long for this and cared little for the people as she let herself loose in his arms.
Much had changed for her over the last few days, and amidst all these turbulent changes, Gael had felt more alone than ever. Her mother was dead, and she had been forced to flee her own home, and now the lords of the realm intended to Crown her as their Queen while Daemon hungered for her blood.
It was tragedy after tragedy, and she had faced it all by herself.
"I missed you, I missed you so much," she whimpered as his shoulder grew wet.
"I know," and the tears that she had held back for years now flooded out as Galen slowly pushed her back and wiped them away with his hand.
"A Queen should not cry," he advised with a smile.
"What will the people think?" and she shrugged.
"They have seen nothing yet," and years ago, she had hesitated, and that hesitation had put five years between them. Now, she would hesitate no more as she pushed herself up, wrapped her hand around his head, and crashed her lips onto his.
He seemed a bit surprised, and yet, unlike before, he did not pull back as their tongues met, and they parted only when their bodies yearned for air.
"Your grace, the castle is ready..." Lord Manfryd whispered slowly.
"I am afraid we must leave now, Lord Manfryd," she said, turning towards the Mooton lord.
"We shall visit your lands at a more peaceful time," she added, hoping to not cause any unnecessary offence.
"As you wish, your grace," and he did not insist, as she turned towards Vermithor, who lowered his head.
"Come, I owe you a ride," she added, as she dragged him towards the saddle.
"You have changed," he added, and she slowed down.
"So have you," she countered as she stared back at him.
"My mistake cost us five years of pain," she added, as her eyes welled up with tears.
"I have no intention of repeating it," and the lords and the throne be damned.
He turned towards his men.
"Luthor will lead you to Harrenhall," he ordered, and the men nodded at once.
"As you say, Lord Galen," and with that she jumped on the saddle and offered him her hand, as he followed suit.
"Hold me," she ordered, as his arm wrapped around her, as she met Vermithor's gaze.
"Soves," she ordered, and with a deafening roar, the mighty beast flapped its wings, and the wind hit her face hard, as Vermithor took to the skies.
.
.
.
.
And just as the Bronze Fury rose into the skies, another dragon made its way to Harrenhall, where the lords and ladies rushed out in panic, as the beast flew around the castle before it landed on the ground.
The men unsheathed their blades as two figures jumped off the dragon and shouted.
"Help...."
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