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64: The Son of Ice and Fire, Love and Other Things
🕑 Added 2024-09-10 00:34:15 +0000 UTCMaekar and Lyonel faced each other, their breath visible in the cool morning air. The training yard of the Fireguard Barracks was empty except for the two men, surrounded by the quiet clatter of armor and the muted thud of boots on the packed earth. Maekar held his warhammer in a steady grip, his eyes locked on Lyonel, who stood across from him with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.
The match began with Lyonel advancing first, his shield raised, his sword held low but ready. Maekar braced himself, gripping his warhammer tightly as Lyonel moved in with quick, precise strikes. Lyonel’s shield work was impeccable, blocking each of Maekar’s heavy swings while slipping his sword past Maekar’s guard, forcing Maekar to step back several times.
Lyonel pressed the attack, his sword a blur of steel as he deflected Maekar’s warhammer and countered with swift, measured strikes. Maekar grunted as Lyonel's blade glanced off his pauldron, and he retaliated with a powerful swing that Lyonel barely managed to block, his shield ringing with the impact.
For a moment, it seemed Lyonel had the upper hand. He was faster, his movements more fluid. Maekar's warhammer, though powerful, was slower in comparison to Lyonel’s blade. But Maekar had improved. He had been training with Lyonel for months, and today, he was determined not to lose.
With a sudden shift in strategy, Maekar ducked low, swinging his warhammer in a wide arc aimed at Lyonel's legs. Lyonel leaped back just in time, but the dodge left him slightly off balance. Maekar seized the moment, charging forward with a brutal overhead strike. Lyonel raised his shield, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling.
They circled each other again, both panting from the exertion. Lyonel lunged forward, aiming for Maekar’s exposed side. Maekar stepped into the blow, deflecting it with the haft of his warhammer, and with a swift twist of his body, he brought the hammer down on Lyonel’s shield. The force of the strike sent Lyonel sprawling to the ground, his sword clattering from his hand.
Panting, Lyonel lay there for a moment before rolling onto his back and looking up at Maekar, a grin on his face. “Well fought, my prince.”
Maekar offered a hand, pulling Lyonel to his feet. “This is what happens when iron sharpens iron, Lyonel,” Maekar said, breathing hard. “You’ve made me better.”
Lyonel nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Maekar’s expression turned more serious. “I need you to bring your best to the tourney, Lyonel. I want you to be in contention for the Kingsguard.”
Lyonel blinked, clearly taken aback. “The Kingsguard? But... I’m just a bastard—not even a noble one.”
Maekar clapped him on the shoulder, a smile playing on his lips. “You only need to make a name for yourself in the tourney. I will be the one who ensures you’re made a Kingsguard.”
Lyonel’s brow furrowed, confused by Maekar’s confidence. “How can you be so sure?”
“Follow me,” Maekar said, turning and walking toward the barracks.
Maekar and Lyonel arrived at his solar. As they entered, Maekar gestured for Lyonel to take a seat, but Lyonel remained standing.
Maekar turned toward Lyonel, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Tell me, Lyonel, what do you think of me?"
Lyonel straightened, meeting his gaze with respect. "You are a great man, my prince. You’ve done good for the people, brought order to the city, and you’ve always treated me fairly. I hold you in high regard, as do many who serve under you."
Maekar nodded, a slight smile on his lips. "I appreciate your honesty, Lyonel. But I didn’t bring you here just to hear praise." He paused.
“The ghosts of Robert’s Rebellion are stirring again, Lyonel, and there will be war once more after my father dies."
Lyonel’s face tightened, his mind racing as he tried to understand the implications of Maekar's words.
"My brother Aegon," Maekar continued, his tone darkening, "he hasn’t been well since his capture by Euron. You’ve seen it too, haven’t you?"
Lyonel’s eyes met Maekar’s, and he nodded slowly. "I’ve noticed it, my prince. There’s something... wrong about him."
"Exactly," Maekar said grimly. "Aegon is heading down a dangerous path, one that mirrors the madness of my grandfather, King Aerys. I fear that we are heading toward conflict, Lyonel. A civil war that cannot be avoided."
Lyonel’s eyes widened at the revelation, and he murmured under his breath, "Another war..."
"Yes," Maekar said, his voice steady but filled with a sense of inevitability. "I’ve tried to steer him away, but it’s too late. The realm will soon be torn apart again."
Lyonel swallowed hard, trying to process the weight of what Maekar was telling him. "Is there no way to avoid this?"
Maekar shook his head. "No. It’s inevitable now. Aegon’s condition, the division in the realm, the lingering resentments from Robert’s Rebellion—it’s all coming to a head. And I need loyal men like you, Lyonel. The kingdoms will be thrown into chaos, and I plan to bring order to them once more."
Lyonel thought of the suffering he had seen in the Stormlands—the hunger, the broken roads, and the countless struggles of the smallfolk. The misrule of Lord Paramount Connington.
He knelt, placing his fist over his heart. "You have my loyalty, my prince. To the death, under the Old Gods and the New. I will stand with you, no matter what comes."
Maekar smiled, reaching out to clasp Lyonel’s shoulder. "Thank you, Lyonel. Your loyalty means more to me than you know."
As Lyonel rose to his feet, Maekar added, "Oh, I almost forgot. I might need you to guard Princess Daenerys. I believe her association with me may put her in danger. you are one of the few I trust with that task."
Ghost had always been a fierce guardian, a silent shadow always by Daenerys' side, but even the direwolf might not be enough.
Lyonel considered the request for a moment, his brow furrowing. "I can do that, my prince, but... I have another proposal if you’ll allow me."
Maekar raised an eyebrow, curious. "Oh? What is it?"
"There’s a warrior, my prince," Lyonel said, his tone filled with pride. "A person I’ve fought alongside, someone as skilled as me—perhaps even better. She’s strong, brave, and honorable. I think the princess would prefer her protection."
Maekar leaned forward, intrigued. "Who are you speaking of?"
"Brienne of Tarth," Lyonel said proudly. "One of the best warriors I’ve ever fought. She would be honored to serve the royal family."
"Ah, Lord Tarth’s daughter," Maekar mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I’ve heard of her."
"She’s fierce, and her loyalty is unwavering. She would protect Princess Daenerys with her life," Lyonel added, clearly confident in his suggestion.
Maekar considered this for a moment. "Perhaps she will come with her father to Dragonstone. Perhaps we can meet her then."
"I believe she will," Lyonel said.
Maekar nodded, his decision almost made. "Very well, Lyonel. I’ll make the final decision after meeting her. If she’s as skilled as you say, she may be just what we need."
Lyonel bowed his head, feeling a sense of relief and pride. "Thank you, my prince."
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Maekar stood in his chambers, his eyes fixed on the large map of the Stepstones spread out before him on the table. The map was intricate, showing the jagged, broken chain of islands that lay between Dorne and Essos—a notorious haven for pirates and raiders. Basil stood beside him, pointing to various locations on the map where the most dangerous pirate lords held sway.
"The Black Baron rules here," Basil said, tapping a cluster of islands near the southern edge of the Stepstones. "He controls the eastern trade routes, exacting heavy tolls on any ships that pass through. He's ruthless, and his men are well-armed. Over here, on Bloodstone, is Red Orys. He's more of a raider than a lord, but he commands a significant fleet. And here"—Basil pointed to a smaller island to the north—"is the last of the major threats, Old Pyke. He’s been a thorn in the Reach’s side for decades."
Maekar studied the map in silence for a moment.
“It will take some time to root them out my prince” Basil said with concern, lacing his voice.
“No basil it will only take a day or two and i won't even need a fleet” Maekar replied he was going to be gaining a dragon in a few days and when he did he planned to use it against the pirates first he needs practice after all.
“We can discuss the Stepstones later,” he said.
“Have you confirmed it was Qoherys?” changing the subject.
Basil hesitated briefly before answering. "It is confirmed. He’s the one who removed our spies from the Red Keep."
Maekar clenched his jaw but said nothing for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the map. Quenton had made it clear that he would not allow anyone to infiltrate Aegon’s inner circle. But Quenton’s sabotage had its limits. He may have removed the spies, but Maekar had something even more valuable—a far more dangerous edge.
His lessons with Bloodraven had given him a gift that Aegon, and indeed most others, could never comprehend. He could easily slip into the skin of ravens, cats, or other creatures and listen to conversations meant to be private. He already knew of Aegon’s plans, the whispers behind closed doors. He had learned that his brother intended to have him killed at the tournament, and that was something he planned to turn to his advantage.
Aegon was also growing increasingly paranoid about his movements. The fact that Maekar had announced his departure for Driftmark had caused a ripple of anxiety in Aegon’s camp. Aegon had been berating Quenton, demanding to know why Maekar was going to Driftmark and what alliances he was planning to form there. Quenton, of course, would have no answers—because Maekar wasn’t going to Driftmark at all. That had been a carefully placed deception.
His true destination was Dragonstone, where several key lords from the Crownlands and Stormlands, whose loyalty he sought, would be arriving in secret.
His thoughts then turned to Rhaenys He had come to the realization that he needed her for the war. If he could bring Rhaenys to his side, the war could end swiftly, and he could shape the realm in the way he needed to, preparing it against the others. Winter was fast approaching, and with it came the ancient enemy.
Turning Rhaenys to his side meant marrying her. But then, there was Daenerys.
He was conflicted. He had fallen in love with her, truly. He wanted her by his side. But the Faith would be a problem. He hoped to use the dragon he planned to claim to impose his will, though that hadn’t worked out well for Maegor.
There was another way as well.
If he was indeed the Prince That Was Promised—no one would care if he married both Rhaenys and Daenerys. He would be a living legend, the one who brought fire to fight the coming cold. Perhaps people might even start worshiping him if he defeats the others and end the long night.
He chuckled at the thought.
One way or another, he would get what he wanted.
.
.
.
Maekar stood on the elevated deck of the ship, his eyes fixed on the dreary island of Dragonstone as it loomed closer. The ancient stronghold of his ancestors, built by them before the Doom, had always felt imposing, but today it seemed different. Today, it was the key to everything.
Down on the lower deck, Daenerys and her handmaidens were gathered in a small circle, their laughter carried up by the sea breeze. Ghost, his loyal direwolf, lay stretched out beside them, his thick white fur standing out starkly against the dark wood of the ship’s deck. Daenerys reached out, running her delicate fingers through the direwolf’s fur, and her handmaidens—Valaena, Naerys, Alysanne, and Myranda—followed suit, giggling as they took turns petting the massive beast.
Ghost, silent as ever, seemed content under the attention, his red eyes half-closed as if enjoying the affection from someone other than his master.
Every now and then, Maekar’s gaze drifted toward them, catching Daenerys in a moment of ease. Sometimes their eyes would meet, and each time, Daenerys would give him a soft smile before returning to whatever conversation she was having with her handmaidens. The sight of her, so at ease with Ghost and her companions, brought a faint smile to his lips, but something gnawed at him—she was planning something, he could sense it.
"My prince," came a voice from behind him.
He turned to see Melisandre approaching, her red robes flowing around her like molten fire. Lyonel, ever alert, moved to intercept her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, but Maekar waved him off.
"Give us privacy," Maekar commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Lyonel nodded and gestured for the nearby crewmen to step back. The deck quickly cleared, leaving the two of them alone under the gray skies.
"You must be wondering what weapon I intend to claim here, Melisandre," Maekar said, turning back toward the island.
Melisandre’s eyes gleamed with fervor, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. "Yes, my prince," she said.
Maekar glanced at her, remembering the prophecy of the Prince That Was Promised. He took a deep breath and said, "I intend to wake dragons from stone, priestess."
Her eyes widened at his words. "A dragon..." she whispered, her breath catching.
"Yes," Maekar continued, his voice steady. "A dragon to fight the coming darkness... and to defeat my brother, if it comes to that."
Melisandre’s expression was one of wonder, but there was also a deep hunger in her gaze. "How did you know?" she asked, her voice soft, almost reverent.
Maekar turned fully to her, his expression serious. "The red god is the only one on the side of the living," he said. "All the gods must work together, even if they have their own designs. Even the gods can’t ignore what is coming."
For a moment, Melisandre was silent, her eyes studying Maekar as if seeing him anew. Then, her expression shifted, realization dawning. "Your mother’s blood... the blood of the First Men," she said softly, almost to herself.
Maekar nodded. "The Old Gods may be fading from the world, but they are still here," he said.
Melisandre took a step closer, her eyes burning with the certainty of her faith. "You are my lord’s chosen, my prince. Azor Ahai reborn. I believe your words."
Maekar gave her a nod and turned back to the sight of Dragonstone, his heart beginning to pound faster as his gaze settled on the looming shadow of the Dragonmont. Fear prickled at him, but he pushed it aside. The unknown was always terrifying. He wouldn’t lie—he was afraid of what he was about to do. But the time had come, and there was no turning back.
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As Dragonstone loomed closer, the castle's blackened spires rose against the dreary sky. The seas churned below, crashing against the volcanic rock of the island. Maekar stood at the bow, his eyes fixed on the ancient Valyrian castle, his heart beating faster as they approached.
Once they docked, Maekar watched as Daenerys descended the gangplank with her handmaidens in tow, the wind catching her silver hair, making it shimmer. As they stepped on to the dock, one of her handmaidens—the dark-haired girl named Alysanne—quickly turned to him and approached with haste.
"Your Grace," she said softly but urgently, glancing over her shoulder as Daenerys moved toward the grand staircase that led up to the castle. "The princess requests you meet her at Aegon’s Garden by evening."
Before Maekar could question her, Alysanne dipped into a quick curtsy and hurried after Daenerys, joining the rest of the handmaidens as they climbed the grand stairs.
‘What was that all about?’ Maekar thought, his eyes lingering on Daenerys as she disappeared into the castle.
For the rest of the day, Maekar busied himself in conversation with Melisandre. They discussed the Stepstones and the growing danger there, but more importantly, Maekar sought answers about something that had long lingered in his mind: the ring that Viserys had sent him. Viserys claimed it had come from a priestess, and he needed to know its significance.
When he mentioned the ring, Melisandre’s red eyes narrowed with interest. "Show it to me when we return," she said, her voice low, a hint of curiosity creeping in. "It is possible another priestess has had visions from R’hllor. I must see this for myself."
The afternoon passed quickly, the hours slipping away as Maekar mulled over his plans. As the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, casting the sky in shades of gold and orange, he remembered Alysanne’s message and set off for Aegon’s Garden.
The garden had always been a place of beauty, nestled behind the castle with a view of the sea. Tall, ancient trees lined the paths, and the sweet fragrance of flowers filled the air, a rare pocket of serenity in the harshness of Dragonstone. As he walked along the stone path, memories of the last time he had been there with Daenerys came flooding back.
It was there, in the soft light of the setting sun, that he found her.
Daenerys stood by the fountain, the water gently flowing behind her. Her silver hair, caught in the light of the fading sun, seemed to glow like fire, cascading down her shoulders in waves. She wore a simple yet elegant gown, the soft material clinging to her slender frame, and as Maekar approached, her violet eyes met his, filled with the same warmth that had always been between them.
Maekar’s heart skipped a beat as he stopped in his tracks for a moment, unable to tear his gaze away from her.
"Dany," Maekar said as he approached, his voice soft but filled with warmth.
"Maekar," she replied, her smile lighting up her face. "I thought we could spend some time together."
"I’ve been wondering what you were planning," Maekar teased as he took a seat across from her at the table nestled in the garden.
They spent time talking, catching up on the moments they had missed during the past week. Maekar found himself relaxing in a way he hadn’t in days, his worries fading as Daenerys’s laughter filled the air. He watched her, marveling at how easily she made him feel at ease, how her presence alone seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders.
As the evening deepened, they found themselves walking through the garden, the sky now a mix of purples and deep blues. Stars began to twinkle above them, casting a faint glow on the path ahead.
"We should go inside," Maekar suggested, noticing the darkening sky.
Daenerys glanced around, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I didn’t realize how much time had passed."
"Time passes quickly when you're having fun," Maekar said, smiling.
"Yes," Daenerys agreed, meeting his gaze. "Yes, it does."
Their eyes locked. Daenerys held his gaze for a moment longer before she spoke, her voice quieter now. "About that moment we shared in the Kingswood…"
Maekar’s smile widened as he stepped closer. "Before we were rudely interrupted?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Yes," Daenerys breathed, her voice soft but charged with emotion. Her heart raced as she found the courage to confess. "I’m drawn to you, Maekar, in a way I can’t explain. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t.”
"I’ve felt the same way for a while now."
He looked at her, his expression softening. "I feel the same way," he admitted, his voice low and sincere.
"Then kiss me," Daenerys whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
Maekar didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, closing the distance between them. But Daenerys met him halfway, surprising him with the intensity of her kiss, fiery and full of passion. She pulled him down with unexpected strength, her hands gripping the front of his tunic as their lips met in a deep, heated kiss.
Maekar was taken aback for a moment by the force of her desire, but he quickly melted into the kiss, his hands finding their way to her waist, holding her close.
Daenerys pulled back, gasping for breath. Maekar looked at her, seeing the happiness and relief in her eyes, mixed with a burning lust that mirrored his own. Her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.
"Wow," Daenerys whispered, her voice breathless.
"Wow," Maekar repeated, his own breath ragged, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
Before either of them could say another word, Daenerys pulled him in again, her lips crashing into his with even more fervor than before.
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