The Burnt Prince- GOT SI Ch.21 (Patreon)

Chapter 21

Darius Pahl watched as his manse burnt down and smoke littered the skies, yet he was helpless to do anything. The richest and most powerful man in Meereen was helpless to do anything as his life neared its end, and for the first time in many years he felt helpless as he stared into those unwavering amethyst eyes.

SMASH! BOOM!

Sounds of men screaming and walls and trees falling filled the manse as he stood there, helpless and shaking as his most trusted companion, Enias Galare, bled out in front of his eyes, the blood from his headless corpse reaching up to his sandals.

“Stop this. You have made your point. We must not have come after you the way we did!” he roared angrily.

“Let me go, and I shall grant you whatever you wish!” he offered desperately, yet the masked man was unmoved as he stood infront of the door, unbothered by the fires that raged on around them.

“I will have you named the King of Meereen. You would have unimaginable wealth, women, and power. Just let me go!” he shouted as he saw the fire reach into his room.

“DAMN IT! WILL YOU KEEP STANDING THERE! IT WILL BURN YOU AS WELL! WE CAN TALK THIS OUT!” he shouted, and the man spoke up for the first time.

“It will not,” he answered making him frown.

“You see, I am not like you,” and with that, the man reached for his mask and removed it from his face.

“After all, haven’t you heard the legends about my House...” and when he took it off, he was forced to evade his gaze at the sight.

“Gods!” yet his words still rang in his ears.

“A Targaryen, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I am afraid I do not waste my breath on a dead man,” and he felt the fires grow closer and closer as he began to step back towards the balcony, his eyes still closed.

“I can give you anything—money, power, anything you desire—and I could even help you rule over these lands like a King,” he pleaded as he dared open his eyes and forced himself to look at the charred remains of a face.

“Just let me live,” he pleaded as he saw the man walking towards him, wading through roaring flames as if they meant nothing to him as he stared with fear and reverie at that display of inhuman powers.

“The thing is that I have no desire to rule over these lands,” he said as he walked up to him, and he was forced to the edge of the balcony.

“Then why do this? Why kill us! KILL ME!”

“The same reason you and your ilk kill and torture the slaves!” he said, and he shuddered as he stood face to face with the man.

“Because I can,” and then the man pushed him, and Drius Pahl could only scream as his body fell down from the tallest pyramid in all of Meereen.

On that day began the true liberation of Meereen. After the rapid deaths of the city's elite, the Wise Masters would do atrocities on their slaves to find out who was responsible, flaming the fires of open rebellion. Infighting would spread, and many would flee to the other cities of Slaver’s Bay as the Slaves would take control of Meereen, led by this infamous masked figure called the Liberator.

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DAEMON TARGARYEN

Daemon had spent a lot of time mulling over the punishments for offending lords, and it had taken him much time and deliberation to decide on the things he had. In the end, he had gutted the Stormlands and the Riverlands, expanding the Crownlands correcting one of Aegon the Conqueror’s biggest mistakes.

The Vale lord shall be his page for years and would marry into a House loyal to the Crown, hence assuring him that the Vale would offer him no trouble for at least a decade, yet the truth was that he was not truly concerned for the Houses who had lost.

Hostages and economic strife would keep most of them in line, and now, with the new lands that he had acquired, he could strike at the heart of either Stormlands or Riverlands with his armies easily. His true  worry lay with the Houses who had stood with him, already Dorne and Lannisters were clamouring, and the others were eying appropriate rewards as well.

And all that politicking made his head hurt, yet he could not avoid it.

That brought him to the House with which it had all begun, and many spoke of how he had been lenient on the Starks and had been surprised by the Queen’s intervention on their behalf. It was partly true. He had been generous to the Northern lord, yet it was more out of necessity than any pity he had for the man.

“I hope you have met with your sister,” he asked, and the Lord Paramount of the North nodded.

“I have, and I am thankful to you for saving his life,” he said, and he had the face and tone of a broken man, for in the last few days, he had lost both his friend and his mentor in the form of Jon Arryn.

“Now I have summoned you here because your brother has accepted the terms and is riding to Kingslanding as we speak. He shall be here by the end of the week, and you shall be allowed to leave along with the other lords after the hostages arrive,” he said, seeing the man nod even as his fists balled up.

“What will become of my sister?” he asked, and it was a credit to the man that even after what had happened, he still cared for Lyanna.

“She will not be harmed and shall be afforded safe and secure manse,” he assured the man.

“She wishes to go back home,” the man said after a minute’s pause.

“And I wish that this war had never happened, but we cannot all have what we may wish for. She should be thankful that I am affording her the mercy I currently am,” he said scathingly.

“Why?” the man questioned.

“Why what?”

“Why have you spared me?” he asked again tiredly.

“You killed Robert and have gutted both House Arryn and House Tully, yet you have spared me. Why?” he asked.

“Because the North needs you,” he spoke the truth, surprising the man with his words.

“Your brother is too young to govern the North, and after the war, it would be a challenge to rule over those lands, a challenge he is not quite ready for. You are spared only because you are useful to me, both now and in the future,” he began as he leaned forward.

“What does it matter to you whether the North survives or not?” Eddard asked, and how could he tell him just how much it mattered to him. Yet that time would come.

“I do not have to explain myself to you, Lord Stark?” he replied with a wave of his hand as he leaned forward.

“Now let us talk about the real reason I have called for you in my solar,” he began, making the man frown.

“The whole realm suspects that the North will be angry with me, and I believe there are certain people who would wish to utilize that hate and anger,” he began.

“The Stark will not betray you,” Eddard roared before suddenly realizing the futility of his own statement.

“...if not for our oaths, then for our blood that you keep,” he added with gritted teeth.

“But that is a problem, Lord Stark?” he uttered as a smile blossomed on his face underneath the mask.

“What do you mean, your grace?” Eddard Stark questioned, perplexed by his words.

“You are going to accept that offer whenever it may come...” and he saw the realization dawn on Eddard.

“You wish to use us as bait,” the Northern lord realised.

“I do,” he agreed.

“But what about the other Houses? What if they get an offer?” Lord Stark asked.

“Off, they will. And some of them might even be tempted to accept,” he said with a chuckle.

It was one reason he had arranged it all so that he could keep a close eye on these Houses.

The North was too far and too complex to do the same thing, and its geography made it the perfect place to land an army without much interference from the Crown, a fact which would not be lost to his enemies from across the Narrow Sea.

“But you should not be concerned with these Houses. I am trusting your House with a task, one that you must carry out in complete secrecy. Do this, and your House shall be richly rewarded,” he said, and the man nodded.

“But who will make such an offer?”

“Let us just say that I was not the only Dragon hiding across the Narrow Sea.”

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DAEMON TARGARYEN

The end of the war had been messier than he had expected, it had been more than a week since the war had ended yet he was still stuck in the capital sorting out things waiting for the arrival of hostages, and dealing with a thousand other courtly matters.

His little tirade with Elia was not helping much in the matter either, nor was the literal stream of ladies vying for his hand doing him any favors. There was a celebratory mood in the capital as the sad affair—the rebellion—reached its conclusion, and now, once more, the people of the continent began to feel safe. The lands were ready to farm, and ale houses and brothels were filled with gold-laced levies.

Yet he could not celebrate. The dread of what he may face in the future as he may come face to face with his biggest regret haunted him every night, gnawing away at him as he planned his eventual trip to the castle on the Torrentine, Starfall.

Yet before he could do that, he must sort out some other matters. That was why he found himself walking into one of the more ornate gardens of the Royal keep. Even here, the area was littered with giggling ladies and girls eyeing him like a piece of meat as an old creaking voice recalled memories of her own youth to these impressionable young ladies.

Lady Olenna Tyrell was one of the oldest people alive today. At first glance, she appeared as a harmless old woman with a loose mouth, yet to those in the know, she was one of the most astute political minds of the Empire and one who was also rather well-informed.

“Ah, our King has finally deigned to greet this old woman,” she remarked as she shooed away the horde of ladies around her.

“I did have a messenger sent that I wished to converse with you,” he added and saw her nod.

“Yes, yes, a messenger did arrive, but you know I am old, and often matters seem to skip my mind these days,” she added as they were left alone except for his Kingsguard and a small number of servants.

“I highly doubt that,” he added as he sat opposite the Older woman and the mind behind the power of House Tyrell. As he sat down, he could see her eyeing him down with a sharp, piercing gaze, her brown orbs going up and down before her lips turned up slightly.

“You truly area sharp one aren’t you,” she complimented him and he smiled as one of her servants served them tea and cake.

“I would offer you, but I have heard that you prefer to eat and drink without prying eyes present,” and he did.

“That is true, but I am here because I have yet to receive your answer,” he began, and she began to sip her tea.

“I have heard that you have offered Lord Tarly a position in your council,” and he was surprised that she had fished that piece of news out.

“I do not see how this would concern you and your House,” he asked.

“Oh, you know full well how it concerns my House,” she answered with a smile, and of course he did.

“You are not denying it,” she added, and he shrugged so the cat was out of the bag.

“I have offered him a position,” and he did not elaborate any further that it was a new position.

“I will be blunt then, the Tyrells won you the war, yet you offer us paltry things,” she complained.

“No one won me the war, Lady Olenna,” he cut in sharply.

“From what I remember, the Tyrells were bust laying siege to a castle with all their men as my brother was killed,” he added, and her lips thinned.

“It was a sound strategy. We did not think the Prince would be bold enough to cross the Trident,” she added.

“But regardless, the war is over, and the Tyrells have yet to share in the Crown’s prosperity,” she asked.

“One would say that two seats on the Council are a share aplenty,” he rebutted, and she was quiet for a minute or so.

“House Tyrell has stood by your House for centuries, and even in its most trying time we stood by the House of the Dragon, I believe it is time that House Targaryen grants us a boon worthy of our leal service,” she drolled on.

“And what boon would that be?”

“A Tyrell Queen,” she answered as he had expected.

“From what I know, the Tyrells have no lady to offer,” he answered.

“I have a granddaughter,” she answered and he frowned underneath the mask.

“Any match with Prince Aegon Targaryen would have to be discussed with Elia,” he answered. She was already angry enough with him, and he would not anger her more by promising her son’s hand to the Tyrells.

“Who said anything about Prince Aegon,” she answered with a scoff, making him halt with surprise.

“You have to be joking,” he answered curtly.

“I am not,” she answered, making him shake his head.

“She will be a woman grown in half a decade, and you seem like the patient type,” she added, and he had no need to think before he answered.

“No.”

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