The private chambers smelled of damp stone and old smoke, the brazier's glow too weak to chase the chill from the corners. Rogar Baratheon stood by the window, its embroidered eyes catching the flicker of distant torches.
Alyssa Velaryon sat stiff in her chair, fingers tapping the armrest in slow, deliberate beats—each one a count of the seconds until the next disaster. "You saw how he looked at Jaehaerys," He said, voice low.
"Like a man humoring a child with a wooden sword." He turned, boots scraping against the stone. "The lords will whisper. They'll say the throne's ruled by a boy and his executioner." Alyssa jaw tightened. "The boy is a child. And lets give him time to adapt. He has his a whole alot of his sufferings already "
Alyssa's exhale was sharp. " and Vaelaris did what was necessary."
"Necessary?" Rogar's laugh was a dry crack. "He made a spectacle. A man's head rolling like a child's toy. The Faith won't forget that, they will make this as their way to start or parade a rebellion" He stepped closer, voice dropping.
"You saw how they looked at him. Not with fear. With awe. That's worse, Its basically destabilizing jaehaerys position as king and putting more fire to the andal law of succession" Alyssa's fingers stilled. "You fear him."
"I fear him ? I fear what his presence will do." Rogar's hand rested on his sword hilt, knuckles white. "The eldest son. The realm remembers. And now he stands at Jaehaerys' side, blood on his hands, a dragon at his back." His gaze flicked to the door, as if the shadows might part at any moment. "He won't be content to stay a sword. Not forever."
"You think gratitude or family bonds will bind him?" Rogar's voice was rough. "I think he remembers who his king is." Alyssa's words were steel wrapped in silk. "He's my son. And Jaehaerys is his brother and lets give him sometime to adapt."
Rogar said nothing. He paced before her, his steps heavy on the thick Dornish rug. murmuring "A knight of the Kingsguard, beheaded in the throne room, like some common brigand. And by Vaelaris, no less." He stopped, turning to face her, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the room. "Tell me honestly, Alyssa. What do you think the lords saw today?" He did not wait for an answer. "A young king seated upon the Iron Throne."
His jaw tightened. "And beside him stood an older brother with a dragon, a sword, and enough confidence for ten kings." The fire crackled. "Men are fools. They see strength and begin asking dangerous questions." Harrold Langward challenged the king's right and Vaelaris answered." He shamed the crown, even as he claimed to defend it.
Such a man is not fit company for a king, least of all a young one like Jaehaerys. He will poison the court, mark my words." Rogar's eyes, usually shrewd and calculating, held a glint of genuine fear, though he would never name it as such. He saw Vaelaris as a threat, not just to his influence, but to the delicate balance of power he had worked so hard to maintain.
"Enough." Alyssa's voice cut through the room. "You speak of him as though he were some sellsword fresh off a ship." Her violet eyes hardened. "He is my son." The words hung between them. "He bled for this family long before any of us knew he still lived."
For the first time, Rogar looked away. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Then—bootsteps in the hall. A knock. Alyssa turned. "Enter." The door swung open. Rhaena stood there, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her violet eyes sharp in the dim light. She looked at Rogar. "I need to speak with my mother."
Rogar's mouth twisted. He brushed past her without a word, the door clicking shut behind him. "I met vaelaris, I dont know how to approach him. how to understand him" said Rhaena.
"Rogar says he enjoys it," alyssa said. "The killing and the blood." Rhaena lips twitched. Not quite a smile. "Rogar is a fool."
"He is my husband and king's Hand."
"And he resents Vaelaris."
"Because he does not bow. Because he does not flatter. Because he does not pretend that his counsel is anything but what it is—self-serving." Alyssa stiffened. "He is serving our house."
"He is serving himself and his house. He wants Jaehaerys weak. An Easily led. A king who listens to him and do as he wishes, not to the realm, not for the realm" Alyssa said nothing.
"I talked with him and I can see he has no desire for it. I don't know what he went through for the past 15 years when he was lost but he genuinely cares to protect the house and family.
"Nothing more."
.
.
The Red Keep's scriptorium was a long, narrow chamber lit by the flicker of a hundred candles. Their wax pooled in golden rivers across the oak tables, where scribes bent over parchment, quills scratching like mice in the silence. Grand Maester Benifer moved between them, his chain of office clinking softly against the wood as he inspected each letter before it was sealed.
At the far end of the room, a brazier glowed, its coals banked low. A young acolyte stood beside it, a pot of black wax in one hand, a silver stamp in the other. One by one, the letters were brought to him—each folded, each addressed in Benifer's precise hand.
The wax hissed as it dripped onto the parchment, and the stamp pressed down with a soft *thud*. The sigil of the Iron Throne gleamed in the firelight: a three-headed dragon, wings spread wide. Messengers in the king's livery swung into saddles, their horses stamping impatiently. Ships creaked at their moorings, their hulls groaning as the tide pulled at them.
Lanterns bobbed along the docks, where sailors loaded crates and barrels with practiced efficiency. The wind carried the scent of salt and tar, the distant cry of gulls. Maester Benifer stood in the rookery of the Red Keep, his fingers stained with ink and wax, watching the birds take flight.
Each bore the same message, sealed with the dragon's sigil: "Submit or be judged a rebel."
*Castle Stokeworth*
The lord of Stokeworth read the letter by candlelight, his face growing paler with each word. The wax seal had already been broken by the time it reached his hands, passed from messenger to steward to his own trembling fingers.
Outside, the first light of dawn crept over the castle walls, but the lord did not notice. His eyes remained fixed on the parchment, on the words that might as well have been a noose. "Submit or be judged a rebel."
Steward hovered at the door, waiting.
"What of Massey?"
"No word."
"And Bar Emmon?"
"None."
The lord looked again at the seal. Three-headed dragon. The lord's voice, when it came, was hoarse. "Saddle my horse. And send word to my bannermen. We ride for King's Landing at once." bowed and hurried out. A galley, its sails furled, slipped from its berth with a whisper of oars, its prow cutting through the water like a blade.
The current carried it toward the open sea, where the horizon swallowed it whole. would spread like fire. By dawn, it would reach Stokeworth. By dusk, Massey's Hook.
Before the next moonrise every lord in the realm would know two truths. King Jaehaerys demanded obedience. And the name of the man who had struck down Ser Harrold Langward. One offered peace. The other offered fire.
The wise would understand the price of defiance.
------------------
JOIN THE DISCORD AS MANY NEW POLLS ARE BEING POSTED THERE. GUYS GIVE ME SOME NEW IDEAS ABOUT HOW AND WHERE TO TAKE THIS STORY AND SEE YOURSELF READING A MORE INTERESTING TWIST IN THE CHAPTERS UPCOMING.
LINK : https://discord.gg/3V3GRdbYZ5
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter of A Prince of Ash and Fire!
If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts—your comments and reviews genuinely help and are always appreciated.
⚔️ Want to read ahead?
Read advance chapters and support all my stories on Patreon:
https://cosmic-phantom-site.vercel.app/
Thank you for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter!
— Cosmic Phantom