The Emancipation of Rhaegar

Chapter 63

Brandon's Demands

Kingslanding

"The North to be taken away from the Seven Kingdoms, after which we shall live as we once had lived, as Kings in the North – from this day for the rest of our days. Meet this demand and I will call off my men," Tywin readout.

Rhaegar looked down from the city's battlements into the dark forest in front of them. They were awaiting Brandon's arrival, and judging by the sounds of shouts and chants that neared them – they were close. He held on the rampart, his hands growing sweaty and heart beating fast.

It suddenly dawned on him, watching as the archer's readied their crossbows, some with a bow and arrows strapped to their backs, that he held the weight of many Houses on his shoulders. Brandon hadn't laid siege to many castles, there wasn't any to take a hold of that were important, but there would need to be some grovelling done in the form of gold and titles, this Rhaegar knew.

What if I don't win? He repeated in his head, his helm making him feel as if the world was closing in on him. He had many people to answer to if he made it out alive, many people he did not want to answer.

His mind began to race. What would happen should anyone find out of his killing his father? He was not a murderer and wished to dispose of him after the war. He wanted to bring him from the Throne slowly. He was a Kinslayer, something taught to every child as being a vile act. And here he stood, his father's blood on his hands–

Rhaegar couldn't take it anymore, he lifted his helm and bent over the ramp to retch what little dinner he had eaten a few hours ago.

"Ignore it," Tywin said, unsure why the young King was feeling so sickly. Sure, he was never one to fight or lust for war but there was no reason to worry. "They will not make it past these gates, they will not last a moon waiting for them to open either."

Rhaegar squinted his eyes, looking down at the men who had run out in front of the trees. Their dark clothing making their numbers hard to count, but it had to be below five thousand. Some marched, ladders on top of their heads as they slowly made their way to the gate. What was Brandon up to? Their party had been spotted making its way to Kingslanding, this couldn't be it. There were thousands of them. "If it is a butchering, he wants I can give it to him." He pushed past Tywin and those who had surrounded him to watch those below them fight. He was their King for god's sake, what was cowering on the walls going to do for him.

"Your grace," Tywin called after him.

Rhaegar ignored him, jumping from the steps and onto the sandy muddy floors of Kingslanding. He struggled passed those awaiting by the gates quietly and tapped who he knew was Julian on the back. The Tyrell, in his golden armour, turned and was surprised to see his friend, who wore his signature black armour, behind him.

"What are you doing!?"

Julian turned back around, the cries of the Northern rebels had come right at their doorsteps, with hammers and swords hacking into the gates and the thuds of ladders being lifted.

...

Arianne could not bear the stress and worry anymore. She stood from the prayer circle that had she had formed, breaking away from Alyse's hands, and went to sit by a secluded area of the cellar room.

It was quiet, so very quiet for hours and she had taken up to pacing the room as a way to manage her nerves. Without Nymella nor Penelope there, she had no one to lean-to, other than Olenna, who seemed to drown herself in wine.