The King of Winters

Chapter-100

Rhaegar

The messenger's doublet was blackened with smoke and dirt. A smear of bloody trail marred the golden glitter of the rose against the deep green of his tunic. The King received him in the small audience chamber in Maegor's holdfast rather than in the Small council chamber as the matters of war was always done. It would've been just a bother to walk all the way to the small council tower to receive the news there in the empty hall with none of the members present in the capital. Jon Connington had already left the city for the Riverlands to battle the rebels, Lord Tyrell was in the Reach, Baelish had gone to Braavos to win the Braavosi. Only Pylos, Aurane Waters and the eunuch still remained in the city whilst the others were away on the King's missives. He met the messenger with them in the audience chamber with the remaining lords that were still in the city sworn to the Red Keep and Dragonstone. Lords Celtigar, Sunglass and Rosby stood up as he entered, along with Lords Tarly and Rowan and Beesbury. Oberyn had made good with his promise in delivering the prisoners he had released from Robert's camp. He greeted each with a curt nod, spoke a quiet word to Varys, and seated himself in the king's place at the head of the long table, between grand maester Pylos and the eunuch.

The messenger had claimed the place at the foot of the table, standing wearily clutching his bandaged arm against his chest. When called to bring in the news he had carried in front of the king, the man came forward. The man was a shambling skeleton, limping heavily as he stepped forward. Just looking at him was enough to tell the king what might have transpired in Oldtown. He gazed at him as he started with his story.

The others groaned and complained as the messenger said his story: Lord Celtigar, aged and sour, wore a mantle patterned with red crabs picked out in garnets. The handsome Bastard of Driftmark chose sea-green silk, the white gold seahorse at his throat matching his long fair hair; pious Lord Sunglass wore moonstones at throat and wrist and finger, muttering a prayer whenever the messenger spoke about the casualty of a lesser lordling. The eunuch was wearing nicest of his purple and lavender silks. Even the recently freed captives looked fierce in their leathers and mail, having regained their strength with their freedom. Only the young maester was poorly dressed, in his black robes of the citadel and his chain along his shoulders.

The war was tearing the Seven Kingdoms asunder and half the smallfolk are groveling for bread crumbs in the streets and here are my proud lords covering themselves in gold and gems.

Oh, the lords had been courteous and gracious enough, lending whatever they could for this war though he could tell how uncomfortable it made them to do that. "How could that be?" Lord Rosby said in a grievous tone. "We had more than enough men to threaten and even occupy High Tower, especially with that dragon."

"I don't know what happened, your grace," the messenger said. "Hell awaited us that day in Oldtown, my lords. Nothing more, nothing less. There was naught but death and fire in the city."

"What of the princess?" Aurane Waters asked, strangely calm. "And the dragon?"

The messenger shook his head sadly. "Princess Daenerys fought bravely with that black beast of hers," he said. "The last I saw of her was when she was leading an attack on the High Tower itself. Lord Commander Gerold was with her as well. They never returned back. None of those who followed them returned."

"Ghosts, wolves, gods, now what, the hell has risen up against us as well with its demons." The master of ships scoffed.

"This is the gods' doing," pious old Guncer Sunglass muttered. "These are demons and destruction are sent to chastise us for our sins."

If the gods were to chastise men for their sins they would start it with the people of this city, Rhaegar thought bitterly.

Instead the king regarded the man warmly with a slight look and then turned towards the messenger. "Where has Lord Mace turned to?"