Raventree Hall, The Riverlands.
The rain had fallen for three days, soaking the roads of the Riverlands into a mire of mud.
Inside the Great Hall of Raventree Hall, the seat of House Blackwood, a fire roared in the hearth, yet it failed to dispel the damp, penetrating chill.
Daemon Targaryen stood by the window, watching the leaden sky. Rainwater streaked down the glass like tears.
"Prince."
Mysaria, the Spymaster, entered and whispered into Daemon's ear.
"News from Dragonstone. Princess Rhaenyra remains in a trance-like state. The Maesters say her spirit has suffered a severe shock."
Hearing this, Daemon's heart sank since the Battle of Dragonstone, where two of her sons were killed and a third crippled, Rhaenyra had been on the verge of a mental breakdown.
She drifted between moments of lucidity and delirium, at times screaming for vengeance, at others weeping over the clothes her lost children once wore.
He knew his wife was crumbling. But the war needed her; the Blacks needed her to remain their banner.
"What else did the letter say?" Daemon asked, his voice steady.
"Only that she wishes for you to conclude your business in the Riverlands as quickly as possible and return to her side."
Daemon fell silent. He wanted to fly back to Dragonstone immediately to comfort her and tell her everything would be fine.
But he couldn't. Not yet. The Riverlands were the key, the throat connecting the North and the Vale. If the Greens took control here, the Black armies would be severed.
"The situation in the Riverlands," Daemon turned to face the gathered Lords.
"What say you?"
Marq Piper, a young noble with a sharp gaze, spoke up.
"Though the old Lord Tully leans toward the Greens, it doesn't mean all Riverland Houses support him. House Piper, House Blackwood, the Freys, the Mallisters... we all stand for Princess Rhaenyra. But the problem is..."
"The problem is internal," Lord Samwell Blackwood finished.
"Our liege Lord Tully and House Bracken support the Greens. Their strength is not to be trifled with. Specifically, Elmo Tully, the heir to Lord Grover Tully. Elmo isn't as pro-Green as his grandfather; he prefers Riverrun's independence. But if we push too hard, he might defect to the Greens."
"Then we don't push him too hard." Daemon walked to the map, his finger landing on Riverrun.
"Give him a choice: either support us openly and be rewarded, or remain neutral and keep his lands after the war. But he must allow the Black armies free passage. Otherwise... he becomes my enemy."
"And if he becomes an enemy?" Marq asked.
Daemon looked at him. The gaze sent a chill down the backs of the young, bellicose nobles.
"The fate of Harrenhal," Daemon said calmly.
"If Tully chooses to be an enemy, I don't mind seeing Riverrun burn."
The hall fell silent. Mysaria broke it with a cough.
"Tactically, the Riverlands are vital. Control this region, and the North and Vale can march south to unite. If the Riverlands stand with the Greens..."
"The North and the Vale will be cut off," Daemon finished.
"So, we must take the Riverlands. Use both the carrot and the stick. For those who support us, rewards; for the hesitant, pressure; and for the defiant..."
The door was suddenly flung open. A messenger, drenched and caked in mud, burst in clutching a raven.
The message cylinder on the bird's leg was black, emergency intelligence.
"My Lord! A raven from King's Landing!"
The messenger presented the tube with trembling hands.
Lord Blackwood took it, broke the wax seal, and unfurled the parchment. As he read, his face grew increasingly grim.
"What is it?" Daemon asked.
The Lord handed the letter to him, giving Daemon a look of complex pity.
"My condolences, Prince..."
Daemon took the letter. At the first line, he frowned.
At the second, his hand froze. At the third, he stopped breathing.
Viserys was dead. Poisoned. The Greens had accused Rhaenyra and Orwyle of being the kinslaying, regicidal culprits.
Aegon was to be crowned today. The Faith and the Citadel supported the Greens.
Every word was a needle stabbing into Daemon's eyes.
Viserys... his brother... was dead. The brother he had grown up with, played with on Dragonstone, and trained with in the Red Keep. The brother he had once resented, later understood, and finally reconciled with.
"The meeting is over," Daemon said, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion washing over him.
"Everyone out."
"Prince?" Marq asked, confused.
"GET OUT!" Daemon roared.
No one dared ask again. The Riverland Lords hurried away, and the doors slammed shut. Daemon was left alone.
He stood there for a long time before slowly walking to the high seat and sitting down. He smoothed out the letter and read it again.
'To Lord Samwell Blackwood:Viserys I, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, passed away two days ago. The cause of death was acute poisoning; Grand Maester Orwyle is the prime suspect and is currently missing. The Iron Throne suspects Princess Rhaenyra conspired with Orwyle to commit regicide. Aegon Targaryen will be crowned King today. The Faith and the Citadel have publicly declared for Aegon II. Lord Blackwood is requested to travel to King's Landing immediately to swear fealty to the new King.'
Daemon's hand was shaking. He tried to control it, but he couldn't.
When was the last time he saw Viserys? Roughly a year ago? They had negotiated as brothers, about Rhaenyra, about the succession, about the future of the House.
And now Viserys was dead. They would never have the chance to argue again. This brother who had suppressed him, yet always protected him...
Daemon felt a void opening inside him. He closed his eyes.
The sound of rain drumming against the window felt like a thousand tiny hammers.
The door opened softly. Benjicot Blackwood, who had just rushed back, entered breathless, carrying a wooden box.
"Prince?" Benjicot whispered.
"Did I not say for everyone to get out?!" Daemon turned, his eyes flashing with a murderous light.
"Benjicot?"
"It's me, Prince." Benjicot wiped the mud from his face.
"I've just returned from King's Landing. I have major news..."
Benjicot cautiously opened the wooden box.
"Grand Maester Orwyle gave me this... the crown, and a letter."
Daemon looked on in disbelief as he saw his brother's Valyrian steel crown and a roll of parchment.
He snatched the letter and read it word for word, unable to stop himself from cursing.
"Aemond, you damned bastard..."
Finally, his eyes narrowed as he noticed a peculiar detail. He could tell this letter was not written by his brother.
The handwriting was a near-perfect imitation of Viserys's, accusing Aemond and Alicent of conspiring to poison him and declaring Rhaenyra the sole legitimate heir.
But Daemon knew the letter was a forgery. As a brother, he knew Viserys had a specific habit: whenever he wrote the word "Sole", his pen would always hesitate slightly on the first stroke.
This letter lacked that hesitation.
"What did Orwyle say when he gave you this?" Daemon asked.
"Orwyle said... the King knew Aemond was poisoning him, so he wrote this letter in advance and entrusted it to him," Benjicot recalled.
"At the time, Will Royce of the Vale also thought the timing was too convenient, as if someone were handing us a blade."
Daemon's mind raced. He thought of Orwyle's affiliation... the Citadel.
If someone was intentionally stoking the fires of this war...
Daemon's expression darkened. He could not lose this war.
The Greens had already struck first, pinning the crime of regicide and parricide on Rhaenyra. If they lost, Rhaenyra truly would go down in history as a kinslayer.
A cold light flashed in Daemon's violet eyes.
'Rest easy, Viserys. I will get to the bottom of this... and anyone who harmed you... I will see them suffer a death worse than yours.'
"Prince?" Benjicot said excitedly.
"We can use this letter. If we spread word of it, the Realm will suspect Aemond of parricide, and the Greens will lose their legitimacy."
"As long as the Faith and the Citadel stand with the Greens, the letter's effect will be limited," Daemon shook his head, folding the letter and tucking it into his tunic.
"But with this letter and the crown, it is enough. We can raise our banners with a righteous cause."
He stood up and walked to the window. The rain was still falling.
"Will House Blackwood support us?" Daemon asked without turning.
"We will," Benjicot said firmly.
"My father told me to tell you that the Blackwoods stand firmly with the Blacks. However, the situation in the Riverlands is delicate; we cannot openly mobilize our army yet, or the Brackens will take the opportunity to strike."
Daemon nodded. He understood. The blood feud between the Blackwoods and the Brackens had lasted for thousands of years. If one moved, the other followed.
They viewed each other as mortal enemies; even in times of peace, they were in a constant arms race. Both Houses held military power that rivaled their liege Lords, the Tullys.
If you support one side, I will support the other, even if it costs me dearly, as long as it makes you suffer.
"Then we make it so the Brackens cannot move." Daemon turned around, cold light in his eyes.
"I will pay a personal visit to the Brackens. And while I'm at it, I'll make sure Lord Grover Tully understands what happens to those who do not stand with us."
"Prince? What do you intend to do?" Benjicot asked.
Daemon smiled, his violet eyes narrowing. That smile reminded Benjicot of what his father had said: in his youth, Daemon was as charming as he was deadly.
Daemon smiled.
"The castle of House Bracken is about to catch fire."
Benjicot's eyes lit up. Daemon patted his shoulder.
"Go and prepare. Tomorrow, we go to give the Brackens some... warmth."
-----
A/N:
If you are enjoying the start of the story.
Drop some stones to help this book reach higher.
You can read upto 20+ Chapters. + Images
You can also read "+2 Free Chapters".
www.patreon.com/
LastDreamer