Chapter Text
Maester Tanner’s legs creaked as the servants lowered the old shriveled man into the seat. I’ve lived to count seventy namedays and still, after all these years, I must rely only on myself alone to keep Harrenhal in order. It’s clear the thick headed fellows that believe they run this seat won’t do so.
Lord Manfred Lothston flashed into Maester Tanner’s mind. He had served the Lord of Harrenhal for near two decades and his father Old Lord Lothston before that. Manfred himself was a good lord, no-correction–a great man Maester Tanner thought. He raised several children to be capable young nobles and kept his household lively and well taken care of. However the day to day duties of actually running the castle weren’t his strong suit, and these duties often fell to Maester Tanner. A duty he did proudly in the name of the Citadel.
Maester Tanner combed his hands through his wispy white curls as he attempted to make himself presentable for their soon to arrive guest, The Dragon Prince. No. He’s now a King if my lord has his way. If only I was given more notice than this morning I could have attempted to counsel Manfred out of such an idea. Tanner looked around Lord Lothstons private dining chambers in Old King Harren’s Tower. Standing all around the table were various important men to the alleged King. Towards the end of the table stood Ser Quentyn Ball and Ser Mark Reyne laughing, master at arms of the Kings Court and heir to Castamere respectively. Ser Quentyn threw a glance at Tanner as if he knew something he didn’t, but surely the red haired fool couldn’t hope to have the slightest idea of what he had planned. Ser Quentyn’s white cloak fluttered softly from the wind passing through the dreary castle walls.
Looking elsewhere he saw his Lord, Manfred Lothston, sharing hushed whispers with Lord Orin Frey, a weasely man in his looks with his narrow face and whiskered jowls. With them stood with arms crossed Lord Gormon Peake, rigid and unflinching as he stood listening to their conversation but not speaking himself.
The head of the table remained empty, however, as the dim lighting progressively got brighter as servants began lighting more of the torches that lined the walls of the hall. In unison trays of decadent food were brought out for the assembled men to enjoy. The only food that concerned Tanner in this moment was the trout stuffed with herbs and breadcrumbs, a treat he had always enjoyed since boyhood. Before being sent to Oldtown, earning yourself such a meal took days of hard labor, but now that he served such high lords it was had whenever Maester Tanner requested it. Being the wise mind of this dreary castle does have its perks.
As Maester Tanner picked at his food and tasted the first bite of flaky goodness of the trout, a light bell was rang and all the assembled lords stood and turned their attention to the entrance. All of those assembled that was, except Maester Tanner. My old knees struggle much enough in sitting down, let alone standing up for some self proclaimed King. Maester Tanner felt eyes drilling into him from around the room but paid them and “King” Daemon no mind other than a cursory glance at the entrance. While it may reflect poorly on his good Lord Manfred Lothston to stay seated, his pride couldn’t help itself.
Daemon entered the room in a fine red doublet embroidered with a silky black dragon on his chest, as well as a dark steel band around his head and a lavish fur cloak that dragged on the ground behind him. Daemon was handsome to be sure, looking every bit as kingly as Aegon the Conquerer supposedly did so many years ago. High cheekbones and pale skin with shoulder length silver hair and purple eyes on a well defined body. All those years spent in the yard seem to have served him well. To add to his impression of the conquerer it seemed he also wore Aegon’s sword, Blackfyre, at his hip. In Tanner’s brief glance he noticed Daemon displayed the barest hint of annoyance at seeing himself seated for the royal arrival, but Daemon's focus quickly came back as he began smiling and offering polite nods to the assembled Lords and Ser’s who were now themselves kneeling.
The man that stalked at Daemon's side looked eerily similar to another historical figure of the Conquest, that being Orys Baratheon. Like Orys, the man at Daemon's side was of large stature and dark eyes and even darker hair tied in a high knot. The cold predatory eyes of the man, known to all as Aegor Bittersteel, never left Maester Tanner as he stalked beside his King. Only when Daemon Blackfyre finally sat at the head of the table did the other men rise from their knees and find seats accordingly. Aegor at Daemon’s right and Lord Peake at his left. The rest of the lords, including some even some Maester Tanner didn’t recognize, took seats where it pleased them best. Meanwhile Ser Quentyn Ball paced around the hall, presumably to protect Daemon. It seems as if Quentyn has forsaken his vows to King Daeron. Breaking his promise for a white cloak gifted to him by a traitor.
Before the other courses of meals began to flood out it seemed as if Daemon thought it wise to speak to the assembled lords who all watched in bated breath as Daemon so openly wore a crown. Treasonous actions if word reached the throne. Daemon stood from his seat and waited for all eyes to be his. Servants brought each man at the table a tankard filled to the brim with what smelled to be pear brandy, likely courtesy of Daemon’s goodfather from Tyrosh.
Lord Manfred Lothston, always having been a superstitious man, decided to take the momentary calm to honor the ghosts of Harrenhal. While it was a ridiculous practice, Lord Manfred insisted that the daily toast to the castles original owners kept the bad spirits at bay. If Harrenhal’s kind Lord wishes to indulge himself in this however, I just hope the assembled Lords won’t think less of his Lord as a result. “I’d like to call a toast to Old King Harren and his builders for giving us such a grand location to conduct such business. A seat truly fit for a King!” A raindrop fell through a crack somewhere within Harrens tower and landed promptly on Manfred’s brow, causing an irritated expression to spread across his creased face.
All assembled raised their glasses and drank, likely glad to have an excuse to settle their nerves. As Maester Tanner drank he had to admit that the Kingspyre Tower was quite finely decorated considering the short notice. Large silk banners depicting the bat on yellow and white were brought from other areas of the castle to decorate the dining halls walls, representing House Lothston proudly. Additionally Lord Manfreds fine myrish carpets were gathered from the families private chambers to ensure the room was finely decorated for such an occasion and a few portraits of old lords of Harrenhal or even a particular rare painting of Good King Jaehaerys were brought in to line the walls. As Maester Tanner finished appraising the room, it seemed as if Daemon was finally ready to speak as he rose a hand to call for silence in the hall.
Daemon unsheathed Blackfyre and sat it, blade first, towards the assembled lords. Even the servants stopped ferrying dishes about to listen to the man speak. He at least commands an audience well enough, too bad the throne will never be his. “Dear Lords and Ser’s, being of great nobility in Westeros is no small task. Many generations ago Lords faced the tough task of deciding to fight my ancestor Aegon the Conquerer, or wisely bend the knee. A few generations ago their decision was whether to support an older daughter or a younger son who both vied for the throne, leading to the Dance. Men of Westeros have always answered these calls to duty valiantly, and justice and righteousness have always prevailed.”
A smattering of timid applause enraptured the hall. Daemon then ran his fingers through his long silky hair and took an audible breath of frustration. “But my Lords and Sers, these conflicts were not without loss to achieve the betterment of the realm. A task I will now ask all of you to assist me in… For too long, the accursed Dornish have held my brother, King Daeron, by his balls. They hold seats on the small council, demand the most favorable marriages, and are continually allowed to harass the Reachman and Stormlords with their impunity. Hells Daeron even beds his Dornish whore and expects their dirty Dornish ilk to sit the Iron Throne one day. Well I tell you this men… No more.”
Daemon slammed his fist on the table. He certainly does have a flare for the dramatic. Surprisingly interrupting Daemons moment came a snide remark from his left, courtesy of Lord Gormon Peake. “And if the rumors are true Daeron Targaryen is in truth Daeron Waters. Not fit for the throne if he wasn’t born from the Kings own loins, instead from his traitorous brother's loins, The Dragonknight!”
Treason, they’re committing treason against King Daeron! By the gods this is beyond talk of treason, this is open rebellion. They will pay dearly, such rumors of the Kings parentage were ruled false amongst gods and men, yet Daemon seeks to profit off of his late fathers lies.
Whispers rose in the room for but a moment before as if on cue, Daemon built upon Lord Peake’s claim. “Lord Peake speaks true. On my fathers deathbed he told me the truth. That Daeron should never be able to claim the Iron Throne. He asked me to ensure that this was seen done or die in my attempt. That is when he decided to have me and all of my siblings legitimized, to ensure there were plenty of people capable of ousting Daeron as he knew needed to be done. It just so happened he believed in one more than the rest…” He placed his hand on Blackfyre to show who this savior would be.
Silence followed. Men around the table began to look at one another in shock at this revelation. Don’t tell me these fools truly believe this nonsense! Daemon raised Blackfyre then and flicked the blade gracefully through the air before then sheathing it at his side. “I will achieve this result with or without you gentleman, the true lords and people of Westeros will rally to my call when it is given. But I give you all the opportunity to embark on this journey with me, and to lay claim to all the honors that go with being a good friend to your monarch. So I ask you men, who stands with me? Who will help me tear the pretenders from my fathers throne? ”
The sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor of the dining hall echoed throughout the tower’s high ceilings. And voices began to rise up, the first of which being Aegor Bittersteel and Gormon Peake, followed by others. Now is not the time to be concerned with my knees, my purpose is more important than my health at the current moment, or my pride. Maester Tanner was one of the last to stand as Daemon’s name was shouted by the onlookers, only to eventually culminate in the group chanting Blackfyre, in unison.
Daemon nodded his head “I knew I chose the right folk to rally to my cause. Sure such discussions of my Kingship have been in talks for some time, but to officially have all of you wise men confirm me in that right is most reassuring. But now, I suppose now that I know I have your support, it’s high time I give you my plans. But first” Daemon leaned over to Aegor and spoke lowly. “Brother, please go and ensure no ravens leave Harrenhal and that every gate is held under sharp watch, I mustn’t have news of my plans leave this keep before everything is prepared.”
Aegor rose and marched out of the hall with alarming speed. This complicated things, how am I supposed to inform the Grand Maester if…
Daemon then snapped his fingers and Ser Quentyn Ball produced a map of Westeros and motioned for all assembled to watch his finger as he pointed out areas of interest. “Luckily I have been able to keep my plans discreet since their inception and some of these schemes are already in motion. For example” Daemon reached inside a bag that sat upon the dining table and produced various wooden carved figures and placed them in various spots in the Reach. “To best rally the commons to our side, I’ve recruited several chivalrous young warriors to join my group of “Chosen” warriors to act as ambassadors for our cause. Many are already out and about spreading word of our cause to the small folk and rallying lords with their valiance. A few of which even have Valyrian Steel to show their valor, might I add.” He chuckled “And who better to lead such fine blades than the greatest warrior of all, myself. Knowing how much the singers hold sway over the people of Westeros I’m sure tales of King Daemon’s chosen knights wielding legendary steel will inspire faith in our ability to win the coming battles.”
The ego on this bastard.
The gathered Lords seemed to nod their heads at Aegon’s every word, a few even smashing their tankards together at the mention of Valyrian Steel or tavern songs. I’m surrounded by brutes and lickspittles. “A few of these chosen men of mine are already beginning to head to rallying points to gather hosts, such as in Starpike” Daemon placed two figures on Lord Peake’s castles. “Hightower, as well as Standfast. And this is only the Reach, our influence spreads even farther. My agents have been speaking with other lords for some time about where their loyalties would side, and we seem to share a common mind with many lords. Especially in regards to ridding the realm of the Dornish vipers” He placed more figures in the mentioned positions and all about the map of the Seven Kingdoms. If Daemon has already secured the Hightower’s support, then perhaps his cause is more dangerous than I thought. Daemon placed more figures in Gulltown, Saltpans, Three Sisters, Yronwood, Castamere, Pyke, and even Storm’s End. By the Seven this is unthinkable, how could Daemon have schemed so thoroughly without drawing the King’s Eye? Brynden Rivers is perhaps too inexperienced to..
Daemon brought his hands together crisply and had a smugness about his face as the lords excitedly spoke about taking the field leading their own forces with great haste. This whole announcement feast was a farce to boost the man’s ego. If he tells the truth, he’s been King in the eyes of many of Westeros’s lords for some time now as they’ve schemed. For Storms End and Pyke to supposedly be for Daemon already is cause for great concern.
“Alongside these armies I’ve shown you, I also have the support of my goodfathers Tyroshi swords, and sellswords courtesy of his coin landing in Saltpans within the moons turn. These forces as well as many of your own will form the backbone of the grand host I will lead to attack Kings Landing directly. Seven willing I will take the city before too many of our other misguided nobility suffer many casualties.” Daemon then pulled several more figures out and placed them near the Boneway with great force, causing a loud clack against the table. He spoke his next words slow and forcefully.
“As every warm body in Westeros will be needed to oust the Martells from Sunspear to face judgment for their machinations. They will pay for all the grief they’ve caused our Kingdom” The lords roared and ale sprayed the table and all assembled as tankards clashed once more with great fury. Daemon chuckled and clapped his hands lightly at their joy. Gormon Peake to the Kings left stood with arms crossed and grinned slyly watching the events of the dinner unfold.
While not very detailed in nature, Maester Tanner made sure to commit every figure's location to memory to make sure he didn’t fail in his sacred duty. Or as best as this old mind can. Only when Maester Tanner’s eyes finished analyzing the plans did they rise and see his Lord, Manfred Lothston staring at him with great sadness, perhaps even teary eyed.
Was Lord Manfred as hesitant to these plans as I? While Brynden Rivers' intelligence told me not to tell anyone of my true purpose, perhaps I should inform my lord to ensure I can safely ferry information to Kings Landing. With Aegor locking the castle off, it will be incredibly difficult to get any such messages sent out.
While Maester Tanner‘s mind sprang into action trying to scheme as to how to navigate his service to Lord Lothston with his service to the Citadel and the Crown, he felt a hand with an ironclad grip slam down on his frail shoulder. The Maester’s eyes flew to his left where he saw Ser Quentyn Ball teeth bared like an animal at him. The hall quieted as Tanner spoke.
“What is the meaning of this? Your Grace, have this brute unhand me! I am a man of the Citadel!” He tried to struggle out from under his grip but with the addition of the other large hand onto his other shoulder he felt the knight's body weight pressing him down into his seat, his back almost creaking under the pressure.
“I beg your pardon my King, but I couldn’t stand to see this weasel take pleasure in his deceptions for any longer” The blasted traitor Quentyn said. Oh Seven Hells, how do they know?
Daemon raised his hand as if to excuse Quentyn “Yes Fireball, think nothing of it.” Daemon then turned to stare at Maester Tanner “The hospitality of Harrenhal was extended to you Maester Tanner, so long as you were loyal to the castle's Lord. And the second you chose to take letters in secret from that accursed Brynden Rivers is when you lost any shred of protection your position offered you. Remember that the consequences you are about to face are a mercy, for if Aegor knew of your friendship with Brynden, you would have been tortured to your last breath.”
Maester Tanner looked over to Lord Manfred to see his head hung downwards in sadness. He knew. My Lord Manfred knew I was to be caught and did nothing.. For all my years of service..
Suddenly, the table before him exploded into Tanner’s face as his head was slammed by Quentyn Ball. The savory trout and herbs from his plate now covered his face, Tanner’s once loved meal now ruined. The Maester’s mind spiraled as he felt his face and now shoulders rise from the table once more, only to be crashed again into his dinner with bone shattering force. The Maester’s vision blurred as he felt his body go limp and be lifted effortlessly by the knight, and carried somewhere. His lips sputtered words of apologies on their own volition. To no avail. After a few steps Tanner felt the wind on his back and the Lords assembled clapping at his punishment.
Tanner’s eyes opened just enough to see the figure of Ser Quentyn steadying his frail body on the ledge of a window high atop Harrenhal’s Kingspyre Tower. Daemon Blackfyre joined Ser Quentyn at the window and spoke to Tanner, his violet eyes burning with hatred as he spit venom from his lips. “Let the traitor fall Fireball, before he pisses himself all over the fine Myrish rug. The mildew of this wretched keep already ruined them enough. The fool of a Maester doesn’t even know how to properly decorate.”
Years of dutiful service to House Lothston, and this is my reward?
Ser Quentyn grinned and pushed with both hands hard into Tanner’s chest. He felt the air whipping his back and robes upward only to turn in the air to see the ground quickly rising to meet him.
Seven have mercy on my s-