Lord Roboute Tyrell

- 258 AC -

King Aegon V Targaryen sat at the head of the table, cloaked in the royal red and black attire. His silver hair had thinned, his frame stooped with age, and the crown seemed to have gotten heavier, but his eyes still held the same restless intensity they had the day he'd taken the throne as a second son made King by chance. The reforms he had once fought for so fiercely had slowed in recent years, dulled by noble resistance, court fatigue, slower thought processes, and the pains of age, as well as dragons that refused to return to make his House great again.

To his right sat his eldest surviving sons: Prince Jaehaerys, composed, satisfied and grave, already bearing the weight of expectation as heir to the throne; and former Prince Duncan, the eldest and former heir, ever his father's son in will, if not in politics, leaning back with a half-amused expression already creeping across his face. He seemed to feel lighter, or freer, after what happened. 

In 237 AC, Prince Duncan had been betrothed to a daughter of Lyonel Baratheon of Storm's End, one of several advantageous betrothals arranged by his mother, Betha Blackwood, at that time. However, two years later in 239 AC, while travelling in the Riverlands, Duncan encountered and fell in love with a "strange, lovely, and mysterious" peasant woman known as Jenny of Oldstones. He didn't need to think about it long and married her shortly afterwards. 

Even though King Aegon had married Betha out of love, and was a friend to the smallfolk, having practically grown up with them, he could not approve of the marriage of the heir to the throne to a commoner, and did all he could to have it undone. It was politically important to him and his plans that his son would marry a daughter of House Baratheon, his daughter, Shaera, to House Tyrell and his son Daeron to a daughter of House Tully. 

But Duncan stubbornly refused to put Jenny aside, loving her truly and deeply. Even when the High Septon, Grand Maester, and Small Council joined together to insist that he choose between the Iron Throne and his wife, they pressured him to do what they wanted. But Duncan was not weak or ambitious in that sense, so rather than give up Jenny, he abdicated as Prince of Dragonstone and gave up his claim to the throne in favour of his brother Jaehaerys. 

Behind the King stood Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, silent and broad-shouldered, a statue of white and steel and the personal friend of the King. He had guarded the King for decades, and though age bothered him too, no man in the realm would question his strength, skill with the blade or his loyalty. He would protect his former squire-turned-king with his life until his dying breath. 

At the table's other end, Grand Maester Pycelle, newly appointed and still fresh, unfurled a scroll bearing the broken seal of the Free City of Tyrosh. The chamber was quiet but for the scratch of dry fingers on waxed paper. It was said to be an important message which the Grand Maester had received, and the King was not excited about it. He wanted to achieve his goals, but he couldn't. The other members of the Small Council sat quietly, waiting for someone to start. 

"A black seal from Tyrosh, Your Grace. The message was relayed through Tarth and then delivered by a fast courier to the city. I have verified its authenticity," Grand Maester Pycelle said in a slow tone. 

"Read," Aegon commanded without raising his eyes. 

"The Free City of Tyrosh has been attacked by a new group, calling themselves The Band of Nine. Nine ambitious men, warlords, kings in exile, and sellsword captains who met beneath the Tree of Crowns and made oath to see each other enthroned in their desired realms. Among them: Maelys Blackfyre."

A low hum travels through the Small Council. Even Ser Duncan, silent at his King's back, tightens his jaw at the news. He knew about the Blackfyres. Seeing that the King didn't say anything, Pycelle continued. 

"Maelys, called the Monstrous, a half-giant, they say, holds command of the Golden Company. He took that mantle after slaying his cousin Daemon, the last of Daemon Blackfyre's line, by his own hand."

"He's no king. He's a butcher playing at banners. It suits the Blackfyres to kill one another," Prince Jaehaerys said sternly. 

"Apparently, they're selling crowns nine a penny in Essos these days," Duncan jested. 

A few low chuckles escaped the Small Council members after that, perhaps the relief after the strain their nerves were under after hearing the message. Pycelle frowned, hearing it, not used to the way of politics in King's Landing yet. Aegon lifted his head slowly. His eyes sparkled with cold ire. Not only had his two eldest sons gone against his wishes and married whoever they wanted, but he was also fighting against the nobles and their politics, and now an old mistake of a whoremonger Targaryen came to haunt them once more.

"Daemon Blackfyre wore a crown, too. So did Daemon's sons. So did Bittersteel's steel in their name. This is not a game or a joking matter. If Maelys the Monstrous holds the command over the entire Golden Company, this is a serious threat Westeros may be facing in the coming years."

"The Golden Company was forged for this, Your Grace. Bittersteel made them in order to put a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne eventually. If Maelys commands them now... I fear you are right, he is more than a simple butcher, and his claim may be legitimate," Ser Duncan spoke finally. 

"And yet he's just one of nine. The rest want kingships elsewhere. Tyrosh, the Basilisk Isles, even the Stepstones. Surely, a group such as this can't last, can it? Let the Free Cities deal with them," Jaehaerys suggests. 

"Perhaps. However, the message refers to alliances with exiled Myrish and Volantene factions. Some claim Maelys seeks ships... others that he plans to carve his path west by blood," Pycelle said. 

"They always do. These men have no crowns, no birthright. Just swords and dreams," Ser Duncan said. 

"So did I, once," the King said silently, "However, there is no doubt that Maelys at least will come to Westeros. Either soon, or after the other eight have gotten their kingdoms. This could be larger than the Free Cities can handle."

"Your Grace, I am not certain this would happen any time soon. As Prince Jaehaerys stated, a group of ambitious men like these 'nine' will have a hard time coming to an agreement. Should Maelys help the others get their share, then they would unlikely be willing to go out of their way to help him invade Westeros," Lord Tarth, Master of Coin, said. 

"If I may, Your Grace... it is the opinion of some in Oldtown that this alliance will not last. Nine crowns make for nine ambitions. Discord is inevitable. In that I agree with the Master of Coin," the Grand Maester said. 

"That's what they said about the First Blackfyre Rebellion. Discord and pride. Still, they bled us for a generation," Aegon retorted. 

"The Golden Company has never broken a contract," Ser Duncan added. 

"I doubt we are their contract," Prince Jaehaerys said. 

The chamber grew quiet as the King looked out the window pensively. His thoughts raced, and the idea he had had became necessary. House Targaryen needed a strong reason and support again. Dragons had to return. 

"Send word to Duskendale, Greenstone, Rain House and Storm's End. The garrisons are to be reinforced. I want the royal fleet in Blackwater Bay fully manned and prepared by the end of the year. Quietly. And dispatch ravens to Sunspear and Oldtown, if Maelys comes west, we meet him in the Narrow Sea," Aegon told them. 

"You think he will?"

"He must. He has nowhere else to go. A Blackfyre without Westeros is just another exile. And the Golden Company would not support him for any other reason."

"And what of the name? The Ninepenny Kings?" Pycelle asked. 

"Let it stick. Better we call them fools than heroes," Duncan grinned. 

"Fools with swords are still dangerous."

"Then let us prepare for fools, and the wise behind them. The Seven Kingdoms will not be caught unawares again. Not while I still wear this crown. The council is dismissed. Jaehaerys, stay for a moment."

The Small Council members all left, except Ser Duncan and Prince Jaehaerys. 

"We've more to speak of than Maelys," Aegon told his son. 

"Wasn't the meeting we had enough?"

"You're still here, aren't you? Being a King is more complicated than you can imagine."

...

"You remember what happened with the Tyrells," Aegon started.

"You mean when Daeron humiliated Olenna, and I married Shaera against your will, throwing the Tyrells and Tullys both into outrage?"

"You speak with venom, son, but remember who you're talking to. We mustn't allow anything to go wrong this time."

"The boy? Robo-what's his name? You truly think he's worthy to wed my Rhaella and get some of our Targaryen blood?" Jaehaerys asked. 

"He's not a boy. Not like most. You've heard the reports. He's twelve now, just like Rhaella, and already he's achieved great changes in the Reach. A school. Innovations. Discipline. Influence among bannermen. The smallfolk of the Reach speak of him like a prince."

"And that's not a concern?" Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes. 

"Of course it's a concern, which is why we need him. Better to bind him now than have him as an enemy later. So forget your Targaryen purity idea."

"You already promised Rhaella to him. Isn't that enough?"

"Words are wind. The Tyrells have heard our promises before. We offered Olenna to Daeron and broke it. We offered Shaera to Luthor and broke that, too. They won't trust another raven. They need proof."

"What sort of proof?"

"Let them meet," Aegon says. "Let Roboute look into her eyes and see he's not being handed a lie. Let Rhaella see the boy she'll marry, gods know she'll be better off with someone like him than some Dornish peacock or drunkard from the Vale. I have heard good things about him."

"And what if they don't like each other? What about what I think? He is not a Targaryen."

"Then they'll learn to. Or not. It's not about affection. It's about unity. Stability. The Reach is growing too independent, too wealthy, too... unpredictable. Roboute may be the future of that kingdom. And my granddaughter must stand beside him, not against."

"You would marry your granddaughter to a boy who might rival her for power?"

"I would marry her to the one boy in Westeros who might protect her when both of us are gone. Better a strong ally than a weak husband."

After a long pause, Jaehaerys answers. 

"You really believe in him?"

"I don't trust him or the Tyrells, not anymore. But I believe we can bind him this way. More so than any other, unless we go to war, and we can't have that at the moment. Not with the Ninepenny Kings at work and about to expand their power and influence." 

"So where?"

"Have them meet at that new place... Macragge. It's not Highgarden, nor is it neutral ground, but it will give the appearance that we are making an effort. We'll send Rhaella with a proper escort and a letter from me. If Roboute is a boy, Rhaella will make him swoon."

"And what will you do then? Didn't you say you wanted to go to Summerhall with the family?" Jaehaerys asked. 

"I did. It is of major importance for our House. Should I succeed with my plan, we will see the return of Dragons and the quick rise of Targaryen power, to the times of Aegon I."

"Have you found a way to do it finally?" 

"I have a good idea on what to do. Fire and blood, remember?" Aegon asked. 

"Yes, fire and blood. So, I could follow you later, then?" Jaehaerys asked. 

"Of course. I see nothing wrong with that. You could take Rhaella with you and then come join us at Summerhall. I still have a lot of things planned for the realm, son, and I need you to be ready for the time when I'm no longer around. The world is far too dangerous, and with the rise of those miscreants in Essos, we will need all the men and tools we can have to face it."