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After The Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 10. Rescue
🕑 Added 2024-10-14 09:00:00 +0000 UTC20th Day, Eighth Moon, 131AC | Lys
THE NORTHMAN, THE DRAGON’S TOOTH | ELDRIC UMBER
“Faster!” Edric beckoned the squire who was pulling the latch to tie the breast-plate to his body, anger clear in his voice. The boy was a lazy one, and Eldric would ensure left his service as soon as they had returned from this mission. Edric Umber was not one to tolerate such blatant sloth.
It was the darkest hour of night; with no moonlight due to the cloud cover, only the scant light of the never-sleeping city would illuminate their mission. The inn they were staying at was especially busy; it was full of pillow-house slaves moaning in false pleasure as their masters rutted into them with abandon. The city was bracing itself for war, it seemed, and many of its inhabitants intended to spend the last moons of their lives in debauchery. Eldric sneered at the thought.
Soon after his incompetent squire was done, he looked over at the bed to inspect his quiver. There were supposed to be twenty four arrows in each quiver; only that number to ensure that the weight on their bodies was as light as possible. Silently and quickly, he counted those arrows. Then he grabbed the bow with his right arm, before squeezing the bowstring taut to test its viability. He would not tolerate his bowstring snapping in half tonight, not for this mission at least. He looked over at his comrades. There were only ten of them in the moderately luxurious inn they were staying in. Both prepared their weapons as well. Bows were tested, quivers were checked, swords were put into their scabbards before the belts they were strapped to were tied around their waists. Once all was done, Eldric dismissed the squire attending him. He did not need to instruct him to get himself to the harbour, where a Velaryon ship would be waiting for them for departure, once their mission was done.
Turning to his nine comrades who had formed up in a straight line, he paced the room with all the air of authority he could muster. “Men!” he commanded, his voice causing all nine of them to form up and stand at attention, “Tonight we right an injustice done to House Targaryen. We shall be the sword arm the Old Gods use to avenge our princesses, to avenge our dragon queen.” He paused for effect before continuing, his brusque Northern accent echoing the small room they had been staying at for the past fortnight, “remember, Strike Hard and Strike True!”
“With Fire and Blood!” the nine of them chorused in unison. Eldric smirked, despite himself, before pulling the mask over his face, leaving his eyes being the only part visible through the narrow slits of the mask. They were dressed in all black tonight, black armour with no cloaks, to make them discrete, at least as discreet as they could be. The armour they chose was common in the streets of Lys, they had killed ten sellswords to seize them after all. Eldric took three deep breaths, willing his heart to calm itself.
Without much flourish, they made their way from the back door of the pleasure den they were staying in. They walked quickly, through the wide streets. No alarum would be raised because of them, there were many men patrolling the streets these days, preparing for war. Tyrosh and Myr were preparing to invade them, and Lys was taking precaution in its defences.
In less than an hour, they had reached the destination, the Bazzane Manse. It was resplendent, made of pale stone that stood out in the night, the same pale stone he had heard that could be found in the Eyrie. It was secluded somehow, from the rest of the city, with a perimeter wall surrounding it, men patrolling atop them. He counted ten men patrolling the side of the wall directly ahead of him, just as they had for the past fourteen days. They were pacing from left to right to left again, crossbows clutched in their hands, ready to retaliate against any threat that reached them.
They would not see them. As one, the ten members of his squad for the mission, knocked their arrows, and without the need for him telling them to lose, ten arrows flew and found purchase at either the throats, heads or any other point on their foes that their armour left vulnerable. Without much flourish, the ten bodies fell to their side of the wall. The manse’s compound was large, therefore they had time before the guards patrolling the rest of the manse would spot their missing comrades. That time would ensure their demise.
Quickly, they scaled the wall. They were Northmen, climbing was second nature to them. Their ascent did not take long, before they descended the other side. Crouching, they moved as quickly and as silently as they could. There was no moon in the sky, and only the torches surrounding the compound lit the scene for them.
They split up their forces as they had planned and rehearsed over and over again. Five of them would go towards the back entrance of the castle, while the other five would go to the front. Best to take out the entire garrison before they were alerted to the danger that was coming for them. Eldric crouched as he creeped towards the front gate.
He knocked two arrows and loosed them at the men standing guard at the front gate of the castle. Without needing to look, he knew that the two of them fell. The rest of his squadron followed him, losing the arrows at the other eight. Eight bodies tumbled to the grass silently. Eldric knew the man who watched over the gatehouse was probably asleep or with a whore on his lap, as he was wont to do. He would not be a problem. Should he wake up, he would only find the rest of his garrison dead.
Looking up, they saw the eight that were patrolling the front side of the wall, all looking outwards, not thinking that the threat could come from the inside. Quickly and silently, eight more arrows flew, and eight more sentinels silently fell. Eldric spotted the other five of his men coming from the other side. He knew that the entire outer compound garrison had fallen, there was no need to crouch now, the only threat left was the men inside.
They had watched the movements of the men inside using far-eyes, gifted to them by their princess. He knew that every corridor had three men. Those would be the hardest to dispatch. He hoped that there was none who had seen them from the windows. If they had, there was no other way but to fight. The ten of them ran towards the great door made of oak. Five of them knocked the arrows on their bowstrings, while the five worked to loosen the bolts of the hinges of the door. After long arduous moments, the door fell, revealing five men looking straight at them, their faces contorted in shock. Those would be the expressions they wore when they went to the old gods. Twenty arrows were left in Edric’s quiver, More than enough.
Those men who fell at the entrance were not as silent when they hit the ground as those in the courtyard when they had dispatched them. The marble floor met their armour with loud clangs. Good. They had anticipated this. They arranged themselves in a circle, no blind spots would be entertained by their squad. There must have been almost twenty men who emerged, Eldric could not remember. Their fates were all the same. Arrows in their skulls.
As they had planned, they split up into groups of two. They knew that the one they came for lived in the western side of the castle from what they had seen in their weeks of watching the manse. Nonetheless, that was not their only objective. They were to also obliterate all the inhabitants of this castle. The entirety of the Bazanne family was to go extinct. Eldric himself decided that their heads would be mounted on the spikes that lined the gate of their manse. A warning to all who come looking for this wretched family. He would not fail his princesses, he swore the oath of service he had made all over again under his breath. By earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire.
THE LOST PRINCE
The sound of a body falling lifted him from his slumber. His years in captivity, no matter how gentle said captivity was, had made him an extremely light sleeper. There was a certain ever present buzz and noise that was woven through the very fabric of Lyseni nights. Unlike the storms and brimstone air he had grown up with on Dragonstone, he fell asleep to the noise of revelry and debauchery of his host captor and the rest of the city. It was not strange for Bambarro Bazanne to entertain the numerous pleasure slaves he owned in a night. The sounds of pleasure ringing out from the other side of his manse eventually became a lullaby for him as time went on. It was what had lulled him to sleep tonight, until he heard the sound of bodies falling.
He shot out of his bed, grabbing the dagger that he had hidden for the past year and a half. It was Jacaerys’ dagger, first given to his older brother, Aegon, just before they travelled to Pentos. He had recently learnt that said brother had been crowned king. Aegon had given it to him as he climbed on Stormcloud to seek Jacaerys’ help against the assailants that had fallen upon their ship. He had never returned. The dagger was the one of the two things that had given him comfort this past year. That, and the dragon’s egg in his possession. It had never hatched, but still radiated the heat of life. He was not sure whether Bambarro knew of him possessing both or not, he had never bothered to ask about it.
He braced himself as he grabbed the lit candle that rested at the periphery of his feather-bed, using its scant light to illuminate the darkness in front of him. Someone was invading the manse. He immediately squashed the fear that was rising from the pit of his stomach to his throat. Slowly, he walked towards the door, blade in hand, ready for any foe that might burst through.
A foe did, dressed in the black armour that was customary of the garrison of those who served on the manse and had his face covered by a black mask. His captor had finally decided to do away with him, he thought. He would not be that easy to kill, he promised as he immediately flung himself at his foe with all the force and speed that his nine year old self could manage. It was all for nought, however, as his assailant quickly shrugged off the dagger, holding him where he stood.
“My Prince,” his enemy called out, in an accent that was certainly Westerosi, Northern if he could place it rightly. Looking at him closely, he noticed that his armour and the sword in his hand was bloody, “I am Eldric Umber, I have been sent by your sister, Princess Rhaena. I am here to take you home.”
Viserys wanted to believe him, but suspicion and hope warred in his mind, “How do I know you speak the truth Ser?”
“The Princess told me to give you this,” he said, handing him a small box while taking off the masks that covered his face. Outside his suite, he heard more chaos. The clanging of swords and the screams of the dying. Whatever was inside the box immediately quelled the suspicion he had.
His father’s ring. He could recognise it anywhere. A remarkable piece, made entirely of Valyrian Steel, with the three-headed dragon of his house welded onto it. Each of the dragon’s heads had a different-coloured gem in its eye; one was an amethyst sapphire, another was a red ruby, and the other was a shiny black onyx. There was none else like it in the world. His father had used it to knock his head whenever he got into trouble or mischief, which was a lot. He always had it with him until the day he left for Harrenhal, to fight for their mother’s cause. He had taken it off his finger and handed it to Rhaena with Viserys listening in from a hidden spot in the corner of her chambers. ‘This was your grandmother’s,’ he had told her, ‘you may not have a dragon, but I need you to know that you are as Targaryen as any of us. Let this remind you of that.’ Then their father had hugged her, tears shining in both their eyes before he left to do his mother’s bidding. Rhaena had let him play with it soon after words. It had always mesmerised him how the light gleamed off each eye.
“Alright Ser, I believe you, lead the way,” he responded, before grabbing his dragon’s egg and the dagger, putting them in a leather pouch, wearing his boots, and following Eldric Umber out of his suite.
Blood bathed the Bazanne manse, blood of his captors. He arrived at the main hall to find Bambarro and his entire family chained to the walls; his wife, his four wastrel sons and his three daughters, one of whom was a bastard. They were afraid. It was the first time he had seen them afraid. They were always so arrogant, so full of pride, especially at the notion of having captured a Targaryen Prince.
“Your family will never know where you are,” Lysarra Bazanne had told her once, a scowl painted on her face, her fat greasy hands stroking his chin roughly, “we can do anything we want to you and there is nothing you can do, Targaryen brat or not. Perhaps we shall sell you to the fighting pits in Mereen or one of the pillow houses my husband owns. Or perhaps I shall take you for myself, teach you how to please a woman, and have you serve me for the rest of your life.” She did not look so imperious now, Viserys thought, as he watched her naked form writhe against the cold marble wall.
“My Prince,” Eldric said, as nine other men, bloodied and bruised, joined their side, “The heads of all your captors are to be staked on the spikes of their castle gate. I would have you identify them.”
Viserys wasted no time, quickly pointing out the fat form of Bambarro and the rest of his family. Eldric dragged them forward, one by one. He then unsheathed his sword, going first to Bambarro. He did not look away as his head rolled to his feet. He did not look away at all of them finally losing their lives, their screams and shouts echoing throughout the grand main hall.
Viserys, adopting his most princely tone, then spoke to the thirty or so slaves that served the Bambarro family, “You shall not be harmed. Some of you might not know me, but I am Prince Viserys of House Targaryen, brother to Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of Westeros. You have been kind to me during my imprisonment here. Some of you have instructed me on the way of the sword, in governance, in etiquette and other pursuits. If you wish it, I would have you come with me. I promise you shall be given a place of honour in my household, a prince’s household. If you do not, you may stay, and seize for yourselves the wealth of House Bazanne and make new lives for yourselves.”
Most of them ended up choosing the first option, particularly those Viserys knew were bed-slaves to Bambarro. He was glad of it, it would be good to have those loyal to him when he returned to his brother’s court that he knew was always a cesspit of intrigue. Once the head of the last members of House Bazanne had been staked to the spikes that lined the gate of their manse, Eldric, his men, the newly freed slaves, and himself stole their stabled horses and rode at once to what Viserys guessed was the harbour.
It was about an hour's ride to the harbour with their horses at full gallop. The sun had begun to rise in the East. As they boarded the cog that certainly belonged to Westeros, judging by the mast with the Seahorse of House Velaryon painted on it, Viserys took his time to admire the pink morning hue that the sun painted the clouds that were in the sky. Sunrises were always beautiful, even when he was held captive; Even more so now that he was free.
“Are we travelling to King’s Landing?” he asked, as he settled in his cabin.
“Not yet My Prince,” Eldric answers, “the Princesses seek retribution from the Free Cities for the part they played in the war. They have set up camp at the Stepstones currently, and that is where we shall sail first.”
24th Day, Eighth Moon, 131AC | Bloodstone - The Stepstones
BAELA
“Checkmate!” her sister shouted with an imperious tone. Sure enough, Baela looked at her face to see a smirk, so much their father’s, plastered on her face. Baela punched her sister’s arm in equal parts humour and exasperation.
“Come on Baela,” she told her, in a playful tone, “you beat me senselessly everyday in the training yard, it is only right that I beat you in at least one thing.”
“Yeah,” Baela countered, “only you would consider beating me at a game you invented with pride.” Baela sported a smirk of her own as she watched the one her sister wore with such haughtiness fade.
“Whatever,” Rhaena reconsidered, rolling her eyes, “I won the game nonetheless. You have been sword training with our father since we were toddlers, and you have no compunctions about battering me to the dirt while I am a novice with the sword. I will have the pleasure of beating you Baela.” Baela could not argue with that. She found this strange game interesting. So many strategies, an infinite number of ways to win. She would master this strange game soon enough, and she would beat her twin sister at it, just as she did in so much else.
“Very well,” Baela conceded, “victory is yours Rhae. ”
“Princess,” the guard who stood sentinel outside the tent in vigilance said to them, “Commander Eldric has just made land, and he is on his way here.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “we shall be out in a moment.”
Finally, Baela thought. They had arrived on Bloodstone two days ago, after getting the raven from their cousin that the Velaryon and Royal Fleet, (at least the remainder of it after the war) had docked and their armies had made camp. A moon’s turn earlier, during the wedding celebrations of his brother, Rhaena had sent Eldric Umber with a squadron of men to Lys to find and rescue their lost brother. They had been instructed to return with him to Bloodstone once the task was done.
Baela’s patience was running out. Rhaena had urged patience, giving them at least ten days after their arrival for Viserys’ rescue. If those days elapsed without their return, they would attack the city with Silverwing and demand his return. Baela almost preferred that, she wished to turn these cities to ash. She wished to mount Silverwing and make sure only ruins were left in their wake. However, they were to first have their brother in hand safe and sound, before she could finally exact retribution for what these slaver scum did to Jacaerys.
They exited the tent after a few moments to be greeted by the sight of Silverwing, with Morning on top of her head, both dozing in lazy satisfaction after hunting three rather large whales in the sea, off the coast of the Bloodstone.
The winds of winter howled across the island as the morning tide rose, winds that would chill her if not for the warmth of their garbs. Alyn joined them as they walked towards the beach, his silver hair framing his face handsomely. “Good morrow princess,” he greeted both of them, “finally this prize that you have made us wait for has arrived.”
“Yes,” Rhaena replied, “once that is done, we shall proceed with what we came here to do.”
They arrived at the coast to see one of the Velaryon cogs docking at the primitive harbour that had been set up by various pirate bands on the island through the centuries. There were houses and stone shelters all over the islands that they could reside in, but they had chosen to set up camp near the shore, as they were not sure of the safety of those structures yet; they had only just begun clearing the islands of the bothersome pirates. Eldric, the commander of the army, was already disembarking, followed swiftly by his knights. All ten of them stood at attention as was their wont, respectfully saluting them. Their loyalty to them in these scant few months was surprising to Baela. Some at court had coined a name for them, the Dragon’s Teeth, a name she found particularly amusing. She would make sure the name stuck.
Following them, there came a boy, dressed in a black cloak holding a leather pouch over his shoulder. Immediately the boy saw them, he unveiled the hood and ran to them, all rules of propriety be damned. Viserys.
“Baela, Rhaena!” he shouted, while barreling towards them, his load long forgotten. He had gotten taller, Baela noticed. The second thing he noticed was the dark gaze in his eyes, the innocence of childhood already stripped away from him.
“Brother,” they chorused in reply, tears already glistening in their eyes.
“I thought I would never see you again,” Viserys said, tears flowing down his ruddy cheeks.
“We are here Viserys,” Rhaena replied, “we are here.”
Comments
Neyra
You're correct, lemme change it
Neyra
Special ops indeed
Archivist
Targaryen special ops, I see. "Lysarra Bazanne had told her once" - I think is supposed to be "had told him once".
Lictor Magnus
The dates for this chapter and the following ones are off a bit. Chapter 8 is listed as being in the 9th month of 131.
