Taming a Dragon- Part 10

AN: Casting-

Rhaenyra- Marie Wildes

The journey back from the Kingswood was decidedly less pleasant than the one to it. The clouds above them looked heavy, ready to pour on them at any moment. The sound of creaking wheels, not from the wheelhouse, but from the wagon that Harry conjured to carry the two dead guardsmen, served as a constant reminder of the previous night’s attack.

Harry didn’t ride beside Rhaenyra, instead he had only Ser Erryk for company. The princess chose to join the women in the wheelhouse, in the hopes of offering some comfort in the light of trying events. Draped across the back of one of the horses that no longer had a rider were the last living men who attacked them.

They’d already emerged from the Kingswood and were making the final turn along the road to the River Gate. They could see it approaching in the distance. The silence of the late morning was broken by the knight beside him, “The king will be incensed.”

There was an attack on his eldest daughter, his heir. Harry had little doubt that Viserys would be furious when he learned of it, “I doubt the man will have a pleasant death.” He nodded over to their captives.

“No, he’ll be lucky if the King’s Justice makes it quick. Though his time with the Lord Confessor is sure to be truly terrible.” It almost felt as though Erryk was warning him about something.

“And who is the Lord Confessor?” Harry didn’t know the role of every man in the Red Keep and didn’t pretend that he did. It wasn’t his court, after all.

“Lord Larys, your Grace,” If Ser Erryk disliked the younger son of the Hand, he did a good job of hiding it, “If there’s any conspiracy to be found, he’ll find the truth of it. Or at least, whatever truth can be found in pain and torment.”

So that’s his concern, that the man will confess to whatever Larys insinuates just to make the pain stop. Whether that was because there was reason to distrust Larys or because Erryk simply didn’t trust the means necessary to extract the information, Harry didn’t share his concerns.

“I’m sure the Lord Confessor is quite skilled, but his services won’t be necessary.” At Erryk’s curious look, Harry explained, “I have my own ways of extracting information when necessary. They aren’t prone to the same pitfalls as torture.”

“Other ways?”

Harry offered a wry smile, “After what little you saw just last night, does that really surprise you?”

The knight shook his head, “No. Though it made me question how your war in the Stepstones took as long as it did, your Grace.”

That made him chuckle, “Magic or not, I’m only one man, ser. And the dragons demanded much of my attention.” He spent most of his war contending with the fires of Caraxes, Meleys, and Seasmoke.

“It must’ve been quite the sight… a man standing against the might of dragons.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice. As a man who dedicated his life to martial pursuits, Harry imagined Erryk lamented his absence from the battle more than anything.

“Half a dozen songs have been written about it from my last counting.” Each of differing quality, and none that he ever cared to hear. He wasn’t the sort who needed the glory of his own exploits recounted every time a singer struck up a tune, “So, it seems it was inspirational if nothing else.”

“Given what I saw last night, I can’t say I’m surprised. Few could’ve dispatched so many, so quickly.” Coming from one of the greatest knights in the realm, he doubted there were many greater compliments. Erryk snorted to himself, but didn’t seem ready to share the thought that caused it.

“What is it?”

The knight shook his head before glancing in his direction and answering, “Perhaps it would’ve been best if princess had Ser Criston accompany her. Had he seen you in action firsthand, it might assist in removing his head from his arse.”

Turning him into a ferret didn’t manage it, so I find that doubtful. Still, Harry couldn’t help but see the humor in the knight’s suggestion, “Wishful thinking, but anything is possible.”

They passed beneath the River Gate shortly after. The eyes of the city followed them as they went. People murmured amongst themselves pointing to both the fallen guards and their captive.

As they entered the Red Keep’s courtyard, Harry was confident that rumors had already spread halfway across the city even as rain started to fall from the laden sky. The stable master took the horses as Harry moved to the wheelhouse. The ladies within were already filing out, hurrying toward the shelter of the keep, as Rhaenyra emerged at the entrance he offered his hand.

“How are they?” He asked as she took it and stepped down.

“Shaken, but better than they were last night.” They walked together toward the entrance as Ser Erryk directed the men to deal with the fallen guards as well as their captives, “I doubt it’s something they’ll forget any time soon, but the shock of it has already begun to pass.” From the look in her eye, he thought she was talking as much about herself as she was about her ladies. Despite being a dragon rider, Rhaenyra lacked a good deal of worldly experience, and it was certainly her first time seeing men die screaming. An accident in the joust or the melee aren’t exactly the same as a death in battle.

In silent support, he rested a hand upon her lower back. As they entered the keep, they found themselves approached by Lord Lyonel, “Your Grace… Princess…” he addressed them in turn, a clear look of confusion written upon his face, “We weren’t expecting you to return until tomorrow.”

“Unforeseen issues changed our plans.” Harry replied, “Where is Viserys?”

“In his solar, your Grace.” He informed them. It was clear there were more questions on his tongue but Rhaenyra didn’t give him the chance to ask them.

“Thank you, Lord Hand.” With that she stepped around him, and down the corridor. Together they made their way toward the king’s private quarters to find Ser Harrold standing guard outside his door.

“Lord Commander, I must speak with my father.” A voice echoed from within the room, a clearly feminine voice, but the words were too muffled to make out clearly.

Luckily, the king hadn’t commanded Ser Harrold that he wasn’t to be disturbed. Opening the door, they could hear the words coming from within. The pair were too engrossed in their conversation to notice the intrusion. “It’s far from unconventional, Viserys… and it would most certainly quell any issues with the succession.”

Her back was too them, but they could still hear her every word.  Alicent, not for the first time if Rhaenyra’s stories were to be believed, entreated her husband with regards to the princess’ marriage prospects. No doubt trying to see her son married to his own sister so that he can see the throne.

“As you’ve said dozens of times, but my mind is no more moved by your arguments now as it has been in the past.” He sounded tired of the conversation.

She straightened her shoulders, and it looked as though she were ready to argue, but Ser Harrold’s baritone caused her to spin and snap her mouth shut, “Apologies, your Grace, but the princess has returned and says she must speak with you.”

Viserys stood from his seat, far sprightlier than he’d been just a few short days ago, “Come.” Alicent frowned at her husband, but didn’t try to interrupt him.

The pair came to stand before the king as he looked at them concerned, “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” He echoed Lyonel’s thoughts. His gaze flitted between them, wondering if something between them caused their early return. The fact they were there together was likely the only thing that kept him from making any unfavorable assumptions.

“Ideally, we’d still be in the Kingswood enjoying the beauty of it.” Rhaenyra assured her father, before diving right to the heart of the matter, “Were we not attacked in the night.”

“Attacked?” His surprise was understandable. Bandits and vagabonds were uncommon under Viserys’ rule, but far from nonexistent.  He looked at her more closely then, his hand coming to her face, “You’re alright?”

“Yes father,” She assured him with a soft smile, “Ser Erryk and King Harry dispatched them… though two of the guard lost their lives in the fighting.”

“May the Stranger watch over them.” Alicent said from behind Viserys, her hand clutching the Seven-Pointed Star around her neck.

Turning to his wife, Harry could see the fondness for her In Viserys even if they didn’t always see eye to eye, “They’ll be given all the proper rights.”

“I’ve already set the Silent Sisters to the task.” Rhaenyra informed him, regaining his attention.

Satisfied that she was truly unharmed, he hugged her, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I am.” She offered her father a beatific smile. The sort that no doubt had him wrapped around her finger since she was a little girl.

“There is more, Viserys.” Harry finally spoke up, “We slaughtered most of them, but two were incapacitated.”

“Excellent,” He turned his attention to Ser Harrold immediately, “Lord Commander, fetch Lord Larys.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry knew that he wasn’t the lord of this place, that in the Red Keep Viserys’ word was law, but he thought the king would want to hear what he had to say.

He took no offense to the correction, though from the scowl on her face, his wife certainly did, “Why? Surely you wish to find the reason behind this attack as much as anyone.”

“Of course, I do.” It felt unlikely that the attack was a simple coincidence, but he also doubted the bandits responsible were outright suicidal either. Meaning that they were misled, and I can’t help but wonder who would want to do such a thing.

“I’m sure Lord Larys is an effective confessor,” Harry hedged, “but I ask to be given time with the prisoners.” No one, not even those who served with him, knew anything about the mind arts he could use. And he was reluctant to tell the truth of them to Viserys either. Revealing the extent of his abilities in that regard could prove disconcerting. And lead to no small amount of mistrust within this fledgling friendship we’re building.

Should Viserys refuse, Harry could still secret himself to the dungeons and do what he needed, but he preferred to do things in the light where possible. Whether it was a show of good faith or in repayment for his healing, Viserys didn’t question his request, instead he agreed, “Of course, they’re yours do with as you please. I’ll have Ser Harrold escort you.”

“Yes, your Grace.” The Lord Commander bowed to his king.

Viserys returned his attention to his daughter, “You should find your bed, my dear. It looks as though you’ve hardly slept.”

“With good reason, father.” She gave him a weak smile, “Sleep was rather harder to come by after everything.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Alicent moved to Viserys’ side. Despite the animosity between them, she managed to put on a kind smile, “I could inform the grandmaester, if you like. I’m certain he’d be happy to give you some dreamwine.”

“Thank you, but no.” Rhaenyra remained cordial, “Sleep will find me quickly enough now that I’m home.”

Holding her at arm’s length, her father squeezed each of her shoulders, “Good, very good. I won’t keep you here any longer.” It seemed he’d wholly forgotten that it was them that interrupted him. Rhaenyra kissed her father on the cheek before turning and making her way from the room. Turning to his wife, he dismissed her as well, “We can continue our conversation later, my dear.”

“Very well.” Alicent gave her husband a kiss of her own before bowing her head to Harry and following after her good daughter.

“Has this changed your plans in any way?” Viserys asked him once the women had left.

“No, you can feast me tomorrow as planned and I’ll be away the following morning. Should this incident require more of my time or attention here, I’ll instruct one of my men on the matter.”

His brow furrowed as he frowned, “I have plenty of capable men who would be equal to the task given the chance.”

“I don’t doubt that, but you can’t blame me for wanting I know and trust handling the situation where I can.”

Mulling Harry’s words, he relented, “I can see your point.” With that he turned and moved toward his desk, “Now, I won’t delay you any further.”

Ser Harrold waited for him by the door, “This way, your Grace.”

They made their way through the Red Keep, down corridors he’d yet to explore in his time in the capital. The natural light of the world outside became sparce as they traveled further down, into the hill where the castle was built. Torches lined the walls as they came to the first level of the dungeons.

There was a man there sitting behind a desk. The quiet scratching of quill on parchment the only noise that greeted them. He had a long face, squashed nose and his copper hair was thinning at the front. It seemed that he didn’t notice their presence, but he was more alert than he let on. As they reached the bottom step, he asked without looking, “What business do you have in the dungeons?” His voice was deep and scratchy.

“Interrogation… of the newest prisoners that you’re no doubt processing, Benwin.” The unmistakable voice of Ser Harrold was enough to the pull the man from his work.

He looked up quickly as he placed his quill in its inkpot. Standing in a hurry, the man stepped around his desk over to them. He was short, almost a head shorter than Harry, “Of course, Lord Commander, I expected Lord Larys and his gate is unmistakable.” One of the many unpleasant realities of his clubfoot.  

“No harm done.” As far as Harry knew, the knight served in the castle longer than anyone else, and knew many of the others who served it as a result, “Now where are they?”

“Right this way.” They followed him down two more sets of stairs to the third level of the dungeon and on each level there was another under gaoler who watched over it. Another set of stairs led below. No light emanated from down there, just pitch blackness.

Ser Harrold notices his gaze, “The black cells, your Grace, reserved for only the most vile and dangerous prisoners… though whether that’s always true is hard to say.”

“And attacking a princess and a king doesn’t count?” Harry questioned. He still was growing accustomed to his station, and often thought far less of it than others, but even he knew that attacking a king directly would lead to death.

“Apparently not today, though harming them certainly would have.”

“If you think it appropriate, we can have them moved there immediately, Lord Commander.” Benwin hurried to interject, “We weren’t aware of the full extent of their crimes, you understand. We were only told that they were bandits in the Kingswood.”

“That’s for Viserys to decide.” Harry doubted they’d have their heads long enough for it to matter much.

They passed a dozen cells, more than half of them empty before they reached two, side by side, that had familiar faces. There was only one that he was interested in though, “This one.” The scarred man laid face down on the ground, his arm bent at a slightly awkward angle.

In the cell beside him, his compatriot pleaded, “M’ lord, I beg you… I didn’t know that we were attackin’ the princess! I swear it… I swear...”

“Silence…” Harry’s voice radiated with power. The man’s mouth kept moving but no sound came out.

Benwin appeared shaken by the casual display of magic. Fumbling with the keys, metal clinked against metal as he found the right one. Unlocking the door, he opened it for them, “We tried to wake him, but nothing seemed to work.”  

“No, nothing would’ve.” Harry stepped in before addressing the two men, “That’ll be all. You may leave me.”

The chief gaoler looked to the Lord Commander, willing to follow his lead in this unusual matter. Ser Harrold frowned but nodded, “If you’re sure, your Grace.” Turning on his heel, he marched back the way that he came without a backwards glance, Benwin following on his heels.

His wand appeared in his hand, a silent spell saw the man awaken with a gasp. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he frantically whipped his head about, eyes flitting around the room. He stilled as he realized that Harry loomed over him. His words echoed through the cells, “You had the gall to attack the princess… and a king.”

Whether it was genuine bravado, or stupidity turned bravery, the scarred man glared up at Harry, “Fuck you!”

A flash of bright red filled the darkness that flickered on the edges of the firelight. It hit him square in the chest, and he cried out as a fresh welt formed there. The man breathed harshly through his nose but continued to glare up at him, “Fuck… you…”

There was a small part of Harry that admired the man’s resolve, especially after he watched the utter destruction of his men the night before. There was another that bristled at his insolence. That part that knew he was now a king, and the most powerful magical alive. The part that allowed some small sliver of Tom’s pride to seep in.

“You’re under the presumption that I require your compliance to find what I need.” His eyes glowed an ominous green as he brought his wand up. For the first time, he saw fear in the man’s eyes, “That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Legilimens.” He cast the spell silently and found himself perusing the man’s mind. First came his name, Rennic

He tore through old memories, glimpsing the most significant moments of his life. The first time he successfully cut the purse of a noble lady on the street of silk. The first time he killed a man in slums of Flea Bottom as a crowd of children and adults alike watched on. He was only ten at the time, and it was where he earned the scar on his face. He only fought because the older boy had struck his sister. Dozens of run-ins with the city-watch, surviving the culling that occurred when Daemon Targaryen became their commander. It was in his flight that he burned his arm.

He made a home in the hovel within the Kingswood, and it was there that brigands and thieves came to follow him. The hovel grew to a small town by virtue of small scores carried out along the road on unsuspecting merchants. Never enough to draw the attention of the powerful, who might end their little operation.

Then, Harry found what he was looking for. Rennic sat around a table in what could generously be described as a pub, surrounded by the best of his ragtag band when the door opened and in walked a man. His tunic was simple, nothing to mark him out of a man of any import, but something about him looked too clean. He was well kept, his clothes freshly laundered, and he did nothing to hide his face.

He had auburn hair down to his shoulders and a neatly trimmed goatee. His eyes were light brown, and his nose was long, narrow, and too big for his face. He looked unassuming, of middling height and build.

One of Rinnic’s men put a hand on his shoulder to stop him as he approached, “I think you’re in the wrong…” He didn’t get the chance to finish as his head was smashed into the bar. He fell to the ground in a heap beside the same man that sat in the cell beside Rinnic’s. There was a breathless moment before weapons were drawn.

Holding his hands up placatingly, he spoke calmly for a man in such a dangerous situation, “I’m here with an opportunity, one that I’m sure you’ll find interesting.”

Rinnic waved his hand, dismissing his men. They were left alone at the table, “If I don’t, you won’t walk out of here.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. And I have every confidence I’ll be walking out of here.” The man took a seat across from him, “A little bird told me that there’s meant to be an entourage coming to the Kingswood on the morrow, where they’ll make camp.”

Snorting, Rinnic leaned over the table, his hand drifting toward the knife on his hip, “Only person allowed to do that sorta thing is the king… and I don’t need every knight in the kingdoms after me head, you daft bastard.”

“Except it isn’t the king. It’s merely someone that’s been given leave to use the royal grounds.”

“And somebody that important isn’t worth the risk either.” Rinnic snorted, “I like my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.”

“They won’t be nearly as well manned. You’ll outnumber them and have the element of surprise.” The man cajoled him.

“Not happening.” Rinnic picked up his flagon and took a drink of ale.

“Are you sure?” He produced a bag of coins, a considerable number of them from the size of it, “This is half of what you can expect, on top of the spoils from the raid.”

Rinnic opened the pouch and peered at the contents, “What’s to stop me from taking this and slitting your throat?”

The man smiled, a dangerous thing that promised retribution without a single word, “Nothing at all, save the fact that there are people, who you don’t know, that know I’m here. Should I fail to return… well, I doubt this little home you’ve made for yourself will stand for very long.’

“You don’t just want us to ransack a camp though, do you?” While his decision to follow through on this man’s suggestion had proven profoundly stupid, Rinnic wasn’t a fool. Watching his memory, experiencing his thoughts and emotions, Harry could tell he was rattled by this encounter.

“No, every woman should be taken captive, and the men should be slaughtered to the last.” It was an odd suggestion, but then, it was clear that this informant knew exactly who was coming to the Kingswood.

“And if I refuse?”

The man’s smile only became more predatory, “Oh, nothing unseemly will happen. I’m sure I can find others who can see the opportunity for what it’s worth.”

Rinnic tapped his finger against the table, his thoughts racing. His words and his demeanor promised two very different ends. If they refused, it would mean trouble, he had no doubt. The sort of trouble that would see most, if not all of them, at the end of a short drop and sudden stop.

Feeling like the proverbial nail on the anvil, the hammer poised to strike, Rinnic decided to take a risk, “How will I find you once the job is done?”

“I’ll find you. I’ve already done it once. It won’t be hard a second time.” With that he left the tavern, and a disconcerted Rinnic, behind.

Pulling himself from the memory, he couldn’t help but pity the man in front of him, “You poor fool. Seems you were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t.” Not that he was some innocent, but execution for a life of petty crimes was a harsh sentence to serve. And someone will be held to account.

All the fight left Rinnic as he stared up at him in genuine terror, “Who… who are you?”

“Harry, the King of the Stepstones,” he introduced himself. The man deserved to know who dismantled his men, at the very least.  With everything he needed, he made to leave.

Only to be stopped with a frantic plea, “Wait… please wait…” As Harry looked back, he gestured with his head to the cell next to him, “Take that one with you. He didn’t hurt anybody… didn’t even want to be there. He’s just a kid who turned to me when… when his mother died.” The thought of it seemed to cause him no small amount of pain.

“Your sister’s son?” Harry asked. He saw her, in the glimpses of memories.

He didn’t even think to deny it, just nodding his head sharply, “She’d never forgive me if he ended up on the executioner’s block.”

Looking to the other captive, it was the first time he took him in properly. His dark hair was cut short. His eyes were gray and slightly sunken, as though he’d been sleeping poorly. His ears looked slightly too large for his head. He stood nearly as tall as Harry but looked gangly, as though he’d yet to grow into his body yet. Probably no older than fourteen.

He ended the silencing spell on him with a wave of his hand, “What’s your name?”

“Emmett, m’lord… your Grace,” he corrected, “names Emmett.” His voice quavered on every word, his eyes flitting from Harry to Rinnic.

“You saw the man that visited your uncle?”

“Yes, I did. I swear I did. Red hair, neatly trimmed goatee, big old beak on ‘im.”

“You’d recognize him if you saw him again?” The boy nodded his head, “Then you might be of some use to me.” He opened the lock with a wave of his hand, “Come.”

Emmett looked to his uncle in the cell beside him. With a gesture of his head, he rumbled out, “Go… for your mum’s sake, lad… go. I’m dead either way.” Emmett swallowed heavily but listened to his uncle.

He followed behind Harry as they made their way from the dungeons, and to a conversation with Barbo.