Chapter 84
"We need to attack Westeros!" Jon screamed at Strickland and the dwindling remnants of their allies. The campaign was losing men by the hour as sellswords and magisters all abandoned them in quick succession after the death of the rebellion's pillars.
"We need to avenge Aegon's death!" he claimed, and the pain from holding his dead and burnt body in his arms still tore at his heart as he held Rhaegar's dying legacy in his arms, and saw it breathe its last.
"With what men?" Strickland spoke angrily, and the Captain of the Golden Company had sustained injuries in the blast as well, yet he could not understand his pain.
No one could.
"With these men," he spoke, pointing to the room, as Strickland scoffed.
"All of our allies are either dead or have chosen to turn sides. With Aegon dead, we have no cause to rally behind." his words struck hard as he rose from his chair.
"This is a war that we cannot win," Strickland finished.
"Have you forgotten your roots! Have the men of the Golden Company forgotten their homes? Have they forgotten the promise of their ancestors!" and Strickland shook his head at those words.
"That promise died with their ancestors. None of us even remember what Westeros is like, what those lands and fields and castles look like. We remember tales and legends, and even those linger on in but a few minds," and at that moment the former Lord of Griffin Roost realised that Strickland's mind was made, and the Golden Company followed its captain's mind.
"This battle," Strickland looked him in the eye as he finished.
"We lost it years ago, we just did not know it," and with that, the decision was made.
"You cannot do this to me Strickland! You cannot!" he screamed in pain, yet the man simply rose from his chair.
"It is over, Griff," and he stilled, for Strickland did not stand alone. Others followed his example and rose along with him until nothing remained of the rebellion as defeat and helplessness began to tear apart his heart.
"You....you," and betrayal left him tongue-tied as Strickland left the room, and the rest followed after him, offering him weak codolences for his loss, until he remained alone in the room.
Alone. Tired. Broken.
The weight of his failure struck him, for he had not just failed Rhaegar; he had failed his son. He had failed his legacy, and with his entire world now taken from him, he saw no purpose in living.
"AGHHHHH!" he screamed as he began to tear up the room and smashed the glasses.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
He threw the goblets, and the sofas, and all that he could get his hands on, as he took out his anger until he had no energy left and found himself plopped down on the floor, as a bottle of wine rolled towards him, and he was reminded of his time from before he had met Aegon, and gained a purpose.
And so he put it to his mouth and let the spiced drink drown his throat, and after the bottle was finished, he picked up another and then another, until night had fallen and he found himself sitting on the edge of shore, as he looked at the starry sky.
"I am sorry, Rhaegar." And with that, he took a step forward, as his body fell into the water, yet he moved no arm or leg and let the water drag him down until suddenly he heard a splash above him, as arms wrapped around him and pulled him back up.
"Who?" he gasped out as the stranger pushed out the water from his lungs, and the last thing he saw was an eye as blue as the skies, as the answer came in a whisper.
"The drowned god is not yet done with you..."
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MYRCELLA BARATHEON
The pains and the weakness from the childbirth still lingered, yet she suffered through them all as he travelled down the thin halls, with her slew of guards and maids as she was led to the Black cells at her request.
Cregan was against her coming here. He was against her meeting Jaime Lannister at all, but Myrcella was not one to give up easily, and was perhaps amongst the very few people who could match her lord husband in his stubbornness.
Given that she had just given him a daughter, Cregan would hardly deny her anything, and so here she was traversing these dark and damp halls all to meet a man who had tried to kill Cregan not once but twice.
To Cregan, he was a traitor, but to her, he was more than that.
Much more.
"He is here," the Kingsguard told her as he opened the door for her, and the stench from the room was nauseating, yet she held in her bowels and reached for the torch.
"I will be going in alone," and the Kingsguard became nervous at that.
"Your grace...."
"I will be fine," she told him strictly, for Cregan was not the only one who could command them.
"Isn't he chained and half dead already?" The Black cells were notorious for breaking even the most vicious of men, and as a traitor, Jaime Lannister was no vicious criminal.
"If anything happens, I will call for you," she told them, and then she grabbed the torch out of his hands and walked into the dark and damp room, with only the light from the torch to guide her.
The floor was wet and she could hear the scithering and scattering of insects as she stepped forward, and saw a man sprawled on the floor with chains wrapping his arms and legs.
His luscious golden hair had become brown, and his clothes were wet and in tatters, and the whole cell reeked of death, dirt, and bowels as she saw those green orbs so similar to her own turn towards her.
"Cersei," the name slipped out of those raspy and broken lips as Myrcella stood there on the edge of the cell.
"Myrcella," she answered.
"My mother is long dead," yet he continued to look at her in a daze, and for good reason, for everyone who met her always mentioned how she looked so much like her own mother.
"I know," he whispered back after some silence, as those eyes fell to the floor.
"Why have you come here?" he asked, and Myrcella had no answer for some time.
"To see why would you try to kill me," and he shook his head.
"Is that what your lord husband has told you?" he asked.
"I would never let any harm come to you. Never," he answered as his chains rattled.
"But that monster. He has to die. He must die, for he is the person who killed Cersei. He is the one who ruined our lives, all of our lives," and her heart ached as she saw him like that.
"You speak not just of the King, but also my Lord Husband," she countered, and he scoffed.
"I speak of an opportunistic bastard who married you only for your name and power," and this was not the first time someone had levelled such allegations against Cregan.
"Do you really think that the rebels would have spared my life or that of my children?" she asked, and the man had no answer, for he could not be so naive as to think that.
"I would have protected you," he countered, and that was a lie. That was all a lie.
"I came here to see if you had any semblance of remorse over your actions, but I was wrong," and as tears welled up in her eyes, she turned away from him and made for the door.
"You deserve exactly what Cregan has plan...."
"Has anyone ever told you that you look so much like your mother?" Her feet halted at those words, as she turned towards him once more, as the former Kingsguard motioned for her to come near him.
"Yes, almost everybody," she answered.
"Yet you look nothing like Robert Baratheon. Not in your cheeks, and eyes, and hair. Nothing," he whispered as her heart leapt in her chest at those words.
"Have you ever wondered why?" he asked, and of all the things she had hoped to hear from him, this was not it.
"Why don't you ask your lord husband that question?" he taunted, and she closed her eyes as she answered in a whisper.
"I did," and the air became still at her words, and she saw those eyes widen at the realization as Jaime Lannister found himself taken aback.
"And when he told me the truth, I wanted nothing but to claw away my skin. I wanted to do nothing but end my life, for the abomination that I was," and her voice quivered as he remembered those dark days, and those painful nights.
She remembered how Cregan had held her for days and nights, not letting her out of his sight so that she would not do something stupid.
"He told me the truth, about you, about mother, and about Robert Baratheon," and it was a painful truth, one that still haunted her sleep.
"Yes, I know that I have your blood running in my veins," and that fact still tore at her heart every day.
"But you are not my father. You did not hold me in your arms and tell me stories of war and battles. You did not come to my room to soothe my fears when the thunder clapped. He did. Robert Baratheon did," and while it pained her to think that her mother had betrayed him, she could do little now.
"If you know that, then you must also know that you have no right to sit on that throne," he whispered, and she did.
"I do not sit on the throne because of a right, and neither does Cregan," yet they still sat on it for one reason.
"He sits on the throne because of duty, something that you will never understand," and she had hoped to find a remorseful father, yet she had found a bitter man filled with hate and anger.
"Cregan's burdens are far greater than anyone knows, and I share those with him," and with that, she walked away.
"Goodbye, Ser Jaime Lannister," she spoke, trying her best to keep the quiver out of her tone.
"May the Seven have mercy on you, for I have none to offer you...."
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DAENERYS TARGARYEN
Daenerys found herself questioning her choices, as doubt and fear crept into her heart as she sailed alongside Oberyn Martell and the rest of the crew for more than two moons. They sailed through a few storms, but after so much waiting, the journey came to an end and the Fury docked on the shores of Dragonstone, the seat from where Aegon the conqueror had launched his conquest.
The place of her own birth.
She walked down the stairs, with Ser Jorah behind her, and she had hoped to find some semblance of familiarity with the place, yet all she felt as her feet hit the rocky shores was nothing but dread and fear.
"Do you still distrust the King?" the Martell Prince asked her as he led her to the carriages waiting for them on the shore, and she would be a fool not to.
"She would be a fool not to," Ser Jorah answered for her, and the Martell Prince raised a brow.
"Even after everything I have told you about him," and House Martell and the King had never been much fond of one another, yet even the Prince had admitted to the King's just nature, and how he was a man of his word.
He had assured her of her safety on these isles, yet she knew that words were wind in this world and that in abandoning Illyrio and Varys she had put her life in his hands.
"Don't," the Prince assured her, again.
"If not his vow, trust his pragmatic nature," he advised as she saw people step forward from the retinue, four women all clad in what seemed to be traditional Dornish garments of differing fashions.
"If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn't have brought you to Dragonstone," and that was true, and she saw his face shift as he saw the women step forward, each of whom was different than the other.
"You are a sight for sore eyes, Ellaria," and the Dornish Prince picked the eldest woman up in his arms and spun her around as they began to kiss right then and there, caring little about propriety.
The other three girls all seemed to be rolling their eyes at them, and one of the three girls stepped forward, clad in pink silks and robes, with her hair tied in an intricate braid.
"Welcome to Dragonstone, Princess Daenerys," the girl bowed to her, as she frowned.
"Who are you?" she asked, and the girl smiled.
"Nymeria Sand," she answered, and she glanced to Ser Jorah, who came to her aid.
"She is one of the Sand Snakes," and she had heard about them.
"They are Lord Oberyn's daughters," and hence their rolling of the eyes.
"Do not mind them," the girl said, pointing towards the Dornish Prince and the woman named Ellaria, who could hardly keep themselves away from each other and were entangled like coiled snakes around.
"We Dornish are hot-blooded," and she gave a stiff smile at that.
"These two are my sisters, Obara and Tyene," and the two girls bowed as well, as one of them stepped forward with a plate of bread and salt.
"As per the wishes of King Cregan, we offer you Bread and salt," and she took a bite of the bread, and her worries eased a bit, for guests' rights were considered sacred, and even a King would fear breaking them and incurring the wrath of the Gods.
That was if the Gods existed at all.
"Come, let us take you to the castle," and they led her towards the carriage.
"What about Prince Oberyn?" she asked, as the carriages began to move and the Prince had yet to leave, and it was Nymeria who spoke.
"He will find his way back to the castle," she said nonchalantly, as she gazed at the scenery outside, hoping to find any sense of familiarity at all.
The carriage descended into silence until the girl spoke.
"I am glad that you took the King's offer," whispered Nymeria Sand as Daenerys frowned.
"Why?" she asked, and the girl leaned forward and crossed her legs.
"Because the world would have lost a great beauty if you had died an unnecessary death...."
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