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Viserys
"Tomorrow, you will sail back to King's Landing, and to forgive you. I don't think I can ever forgive you for what you did. But if you want to help me. Otto Hightower. Put Great Grandmother Alysanne as Hand of the King, and make sure the holy Brothers are no longer armed. Those rats are not and will never be our allies. Once this war is over. I will return to King's Landing, it might take years, but I will. When I do, you will approve, and marry me to Aenar Targaryen and Laena Velayron."
The words repeated in his head over and over as his ship sailed back to King's Landing. Viserys looked forward as they sailed towards the Red Keep. He could see it getting closer, and he could feel the waves crashing against the ship, but Viserys found it hard to think about anything else but his daughter.
Her words repeated in his head since the moment he sailed away from Dragonstone, for Otto to no longer be Hand of the King. Viserys didn't like the thought. While he loved his grandmother and knew she would be a good Hand of the King. Otto was his friend. He has been Hand of the King since Jaehaerys; he was sure his grandfather must have seen something special about him to make him a Hand of the King, yet his mind went back to his daughter. He wanted her back home. He had already accepted that his daughter would fight in this bloody war, and all he could do was hope she returned unharmed.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. He turned to see Alicent, bathed in the morning light, her green gown fluttering softly in the breeze.
Her smile was warm and welcoming. "Alicent," he greeted her with a tired smile, "Is the bed uncomfortable?"
"No, Viserys. But you left the bed, and I missed you," she replied sweetly, her voice soft as honey.
Viserys felt a swell of affection for his wife. He couldn't understand why Rhaenyra and Daemon despised her so. Perhaps he understood Rhaenyra's resentment—after all, he had married Alicent mere months after Aemma's death. But Daemon? His brother had barely known her. Maybe it was simply because she was Otto's daughter.
As they strolled toward the ship's edge, Viserys hesitated. An idea had been forming in his mind, one that tugged at him more and more with each passing hour. He glanced down at Alicent, wondering how best to broach the subject. "Alicent, may I ask your opinion on something? I find myself needing your counsel."
Alicent smiled, looping her arm through his. "Of course, my King. I am your queen, but I'm also your friend. You can ask me anything."
Her words reassured him, and he led her toward the stern, away from the sailors who bowed as they passed. "I'm considering naming a new Hand of the King."
The words hung in the air, and though Alicent's smile remained, Viserys felt her stiffen slightly beside him. She recovered quickly, her expression sweet and supportive, but he could sense the tension beneath it.
"Your Grace," she began carefully, leading him down to the more private quarters below deck. "Every king faces difficult decisions. Some of them may not please everyone, not even those we care for deeply. But we must always act in the interest of the realm." Her voice was diplomatic and evasive, but Viserys knew she was choosing her words with care.
Viserys nodded as the two sauntered towards their chamber. "You are right, so what would you have me do?" he asked, looking down at Alicent.
Alicent paused, her hand resting gently on his arm. "My father has served the realm for many years, chosen by Jaehaerys himself. Your grandfather saw something in him, something not everyone can see. Has he ever done anything to displease you, my King?"
Viserys frowned, her words sinking in. Alicent had a point—Otto had never failed him, never given him reason to doubt his loyalty. He had always acted for the good of the realm. But then again, there was Alysanne, his grandmother. She, too, had been a guiding light for him, and if he made her Hand, it could strengthen his bond with Rhaenyra. But deep down, Viserys feared that Alysanne's loyalty to Aenar might cloud her judgment.
Family and the Realm, his grandfather's last words echoed in his mind. Those two things are hard to balance. I failed my family. You must succeed where I failed.
His grandfather's last words to him echoed in his ears. Viserys wondered if this was a time to make a decision for his family or the good of the Realm. Then he remembered everything else Rhaenyra told him to do. Disarming the Faith's army and making sure she, Laena, and Aenar can marry together after the war in the Stepstones.
"Alicent," Viserys said, looking pensive as he opened the door and led her inside. He passed the threshold and closed the door behind him. His queen smiled sweetly as she got closer and helped him out of his royal clothes. "Rhaenyra told me that I should disarm the Faith, and when the time comes..." Viserys struggled as he let his coat slip out of his arms.
"What?" Alicent prompted with sharp eyes, but Viserys noticed nothing, his back turned to her.
"....She wants to marry Laena and Aenar after the war in the Stepstones is over." Viserys said with a sigh of relief. It felt good to open up to Alicent; she was his wife, after all. There was a long silence. When he turned to face her, Alicent's eyes blazed with anger, her composure slipping for the briefest of moments before she forced a smile back onto her face.
"Alicent?" Viserys prompted, his voice uncertain.
"I'm sorry, I was just... surprised, my King," she replied, her tone strained.
"Oh!" Viserys said before looking at her with expectations. "What do you think?"
"Your Grace," she began, her voice stiff before it softened again, "I understand your desire to fulfill your daughter's wishes. But a good king must always think of the realm first. The Faith of the Seven is beloved in Westeros. The common folk feel safe with them in the Red Keep. Disarming them could lead to unrest, especially with the Red Woman still on the loose. People are scared, and they need to feel protected."
Viserys nodded slowly. He knew she was right; he loved his daughter, but he knew when she was wrong about something, and he knew disarming Faith would be a very bad move, especially since he was the one that allowed them to have that power, if he decided to change his mind so suddenly. He would look bad in front of the realm, and it would make the Realm more angry with him and the Faith. He would risk ruining the bridge that his grandfather had managed to build with the Faith. The bridge was steady right now, but the legs weren't strong, and one wrong move could make the entire bridge collapse, and for everything his grandfather worked for to be for nothing.
"Your grace, I think I have a solution with Queen Alysanne becoming Hand of the King." Alicent chimed in sweetly, and Viserys sighed in relief. He needed someone to help him rule this bloody kingdom.
"I'm listening, Alicent."
"Queen Alysanne always gives you good council, and she is your family after all, and Otto Hightower gives you good council too. Smart people always say that a King should listen to two different sources with different minds. If the King only listens to one of them, he can grow to favor one side and not listen to the other. A king should always listen to each side before making a decision, if not, he risks favoring one side without his knowledge." Alicent said with a seductive voice as she helped him out of his white shirt.
"I don't want to favor one side over the other," Viserys said thoughtfully.
"Exactly, my King," Alicent purred, helping him out of his royal clothes. "It's important to keep both voices in your ear. Queen Alysanne will keep giving you good council even if she is not Hand of the King, but Otto Hightower cannot stay here if he is no longer Hand of the King; he will be forced to ride back home," Alicent said, trying to sound like she was taking no sides and simply giving the King good advice.
Viserys still weren't sure what to do. On the one hand, he knew Alicent only meant good, and she was right when she said that firing Otto meant that he would have to make Alysanne Hand of the King someone who would undoubtedly side with everything Aenar does in the future. On the other hand, if he doesn't make Alysanne the Hand of the King, his daughter will not be pleased, and she might not return home.
Viserys escaped his thought when he felt a hand over his cock; he stiffened for a moment when the green eyes of his wife stared back at him with what he thought was lust.
"Alicent?" Viserys mumbled before groaning. He wasn't sure now was the best time for this, but the smile she gave him made him weak to his knees.
"My king, you are clearly stressed. Let me take care of you," Alicent said in a sensual voice before kneeling before Viserys.
Viserys still thought this wasn't the time for this, but when he felt the pleasure, all thoughts went out of the window.
Later
Viserys strode into the Main Hall of The Red Keep. The keep was packed with lords, ladies, and the common people who had come to complain before the King, but the one sitting on the Iron Throne today was Otto Hightower. Since he was the Hand of the King, it was his duty to sit on the Throne while the King was away.
The moment Viserys entered, the herald shouted for everyone to hear.
"King Viserys of House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhyonar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." Viserys strode forward with a puffed chest, trying to appear like a proper king, greeting many lords and ladies as he walked past them, smiling at them in the process. Otto stood up from the Iron Throne, walking downstairs to greet him properly.
"Your grace, it's good to have you back. I hope the journey went well." Viserys, slightly irked by the reminder of his estranged daughter Rhaenyra's refusal to return with him, deflected.
"Where is my grandmother?" he inquired, scanning the hall.
"She had urgent matters to attend," Otto replied crisply, the silence hanging heavy with things left unsaid.
Viserys knew his grandmother wouldn't say what it was, not even to him, so after sharing pleasantries with Otto and Lord Strong, he climbed the stairs of the Iron Throne; the blades felt sharp against his hands as he climbed it. Sometimes, he wished his ancestor had built a smaller and less dangerous throne.
'A King should never sit easy.'
Viserys did indeed never sit easy on the Throne. Even on the first day, he found it hard to sit on it, and the blades felt like they were closing around him, trapping him in the throne.
Viserys spent the next hour talking with lords and ladies who had come here to complain about one thing or the other. Many were rich people of King's Landing, and some were important Lords of the City like Lord Rightonos, who held the most goods from Essos and some from Dorne. The man wore rich, he always wanted to show that he had a lot of gold in his pockets, each finger glittered with a golden ring, and his perfume could be felt around the hall, his clothes were of the best quality, one would think he was a Lord Paramount.
"My king, last night, I was robbed. The Red Lady stole from me," announced the lord, his voice quivering with indignation. The court erupted in shocked gasps, the assembled nobility clutching their jewels in terror, fearing they might be next.
"The Red Lady? Stole from you?" King Viserys retorted, his tone thick with disdain. Her deception, converting his people to worship a foreign god, was one thing. But theft? It seemed there was no depth she wouldn't sink to. He paused, contemplating the enforcement, before declaring, "The Holy Brothers will take care of this. They will be notified, and within a fortnight, your gold will be returned." His promise brought a relieved smile to the lord's face as he turned and strode away.
After enduring five more hours of grievances, one petitioner stood out. Cloaked in rags and caked in grime as if it were his second skin, a man from Flea Bottom approached, his stench causing ladies nearby to discreetly cover their noses.
"What brings you before us today?" King Viserys inquired.
"My king, last evening, I was mugged. After finishing my work, I was ambushed and stripped of my earnings," the man explained, his voice cracking with emotion. While some onlookers showed sympathy, others visibly recoiled.
"The Red Lady?" Viserys probed.
The kneeling man looked up, revealing a bruised face. "No, my king. It was the Holy Brothers who took my coins," he confessed, causing a fresh uproar among the nobles. The Holy Brothers were revered figures; such accusations were shocking.
"Are you certain of what you claim? Lying to a king can lead to death," Otto warned, his expression severe.
Despite the gravity of the threat, the man remained steadfast. "By the gods, I swear it's the truth," he pleaded.
"Guards, take him to the black cells. Perhaps confinement will loosen his tongue," Otto initially ordered as a guard approached the man, who defensively covered his head.
"No, please! I am not lying," the man begged, his voice filled with despair.
"STOP!" Viserys commanded, silencing the hall. The guard halted, and all eyes turned to the king. Otto looked bewildered.
"Your grace, this man—" Otto began.
"This man sought our aid," Viserys interjected sharply. "What sort of king would I be to dismiss him so cruelly?" He then addressed the man directly. "As ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, I pledge to recover your lost coins."
He motioned to the head of the Gold Cloaks. "Escort him home. Inquire about the thieves, and report back," he instructed.
Ser Jarran nodded, helping the trembling man to his feet. Offering quiet words of reassurance, he escorted him out, leaving the hall in a murmurous wake of contemplation and unease.
Later
As the last of the petitioners left, the grand hall echoed with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the quiet shuffle of departing feet. Soon, only King Viserys, Otto, and the Kingsguard remained. Rising from the Iron Throne, Viserys descended the steps with an air of solemnity, turning sharply to face Otto once he reached the floor. Disappointment was etched deeply across his features.
"Listen well, Otto. If I had wished the man arrested, I would have commanded it myself," Viserys said, his voice laced with a stern warning.
"Your Grace—"
"I don't want to hear your excuses," Viserys cut him off sharply, his gaze piercing. "Remember, I am the King of Westeros, not you. Do not forget your place again. Another mistake, and I will send you packing back to where you came from." His words were final, leaving no room for doubt that he would uphold his threat.
After asking her handmaidens about her whereabouts, Viserys walked into his grandmother's chamber. There she stood, sitting on her bed, reading a scroll and holding it with her old fingers. She looked away from the scroll when she heard the door open.
"Viserys, it's good to see you again," she greeted warmly, her eyes softening as he shut the door behind him.
"Is it? You didn't come to see me when I arrived, nor when I entered the Red Keep," Viserys replied, his voice tinged with bitterness.
"Forgive me, your grace, but I was busy praying in the Sept," she explained, her voice calm.
Viserys arched an eyebrow, taken a little by surprise. Showing his skepticism, he doubted that she was there to pray. She used to pray there a long time ago, he remembered, but after Saera disappeared and her children perished, with only Gael left, Viserys knew his grandmother no longer believed in the Gods, and sometimes, he knew she despised them for taking away so many children from her.
"Well, I'm a forgiving man, grandmother," Viserys remarked with a playful edge, moving gracefully across the room. His grandmother carefully set aside the scroll to give him her full attention as he pulled a chair beside her bed.
"How were my grand-grandchildren, Viserys?" she asked with longing in her eyes and tone. Viserys knew she missed them.
"They are doing fine. Rhaenyra...she is...she is fierce. Like a dragon." Viserys with a chuckle, trying to lighten up the mood, and his grandmother chuckled slightly, a grin growing on her old face.
"Rhaenyra was always like that. The first word she ever said to me was 'No,' as I tried to coax her to sleep," Alysanne said, and Viserys laughed at the memory. His heart swelled with joy, remembering the days when everyone was happier.
"Yeah, the first she told me was 'Dragon'," Viserys said with a look of longing before clearing his throat.
"Grandmother. I need your help with something, can I have your council?"
"Of course, your grace."
Viserys felt relieved to hear that and told her everything that happened in Dragonstone, his daughter avoiding him like the plague, and her wanting him to get rid of Otto, of the army of the Faith, and to bless her marriage with Laena and Aenar. Once he was done, he looked at his grandmother, waiting for her to say something.
"Your decisions to army the Faith was foolish, beyond foolish, but there's no turning back. My advice is to keep them around for a bit longer, and when you decide they are not needed anymore. You will order them to drop down their weapons, unless they want to face the wrath of the Dragons. If you were to order them right now to no longer be armed, people will mock you, people will mock the King." Alysanne said with a serius look. Viserys was their King, after all; he was the face of House Targaryen; if he was mocked, the whole house would be mocked with him, and Alysanne would never let that happen.
Viserys nodded slowly, looking pensive, before wiping away sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Anything else?"
"Lord Corlys and my granddaughter do not think fondly of Aenar. But I belive that this war will change Corlys's mind, and he will agree for a marriage between his daughter and Aenar, after all, he will want the best men for his daughter, and someone who is powerful, Aenar will convince him once the war ends." Alysanne said with a ghost of a smile, suddenly her face turned blank, but with anger in her eyes. "As for Rhaenys. I only need to say one word to her, and she will obey to me without questioning." Alysanne said cryptically in the end, with a tone that made even Viserys shudder.
Viserys felt a shiver run down his spine. "What word?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"That, Viserys, is a matter between Rhaenys and me," she replied, her tone closing the subject firmly.
Disappointed but not wanting to press further, Viserys shifted the topic. "And what of Otto? His tenure as Hand?"
A mischievous smile crept across Alysanne's face, causing Viserys unease. "Otto is precisely where he needs to be—for now," she answered enigmatically.
Viserys, growing weary of riddles, pressed for clarity. "What does that mean?"
Later
In the dark heart of King's Landing, rain fell in torrents, the streets turned into rivers, and the wind howled. The night was as black as the cloaks of the Holy Brothers who prowled the narrow, twisted alleys. Their heavy boots splashed through puddles, their lanterns casting eerie shadows against the crumbling walls of the houses they passed. They were men of the Faith of the Seven, strict and solemn, tasked with a grim duty this stormy night.
Brother Mallador led the group, his face as hard as the iron mace that hung from his belt. Next to him, Brother Oswyn carried a large, iron-banded book containing the names and addresses of suspected followers of the Red Faith—a religion that was slowly spreading through the city like a silent plague.
"Keep your eyes sharp and your hearts steeled," Brother Mallador grunted as they approached another line of houses.
At each door, the procedure was the same. Brother Oswyn would thunder his fist against the wood, and they would wait. When the door creaked open, invariably revealing a face pinched with fear, Brother Mallador would step forward, his voice booming. "In the name of the Seven Who Are One, we command you to answer truthfully. Do you keep faith with the Red God?"
At every denial, his scowl deepened, and the group moved to the next house.
As the night wore on, the brothers' patience wore thin. The rain soaked through their cloaks, chilling them to the bone. By the time they reached a new section of the city where buildings were half-constructed, skeletal frames against the lightning-streaked sky, their mood had soured further.
"This area is mostly workers and builders," Brother Oswyn noted, consulting his book. "Not the usual sort for heresy, but we must be thorough."
They came upon a house only partially completed, its wooden frame exposed like the ribs of a dead beast. The door, barely hanging on its hinges, seemed too weak to withstand the storm, let alone a knock. Brother Mallador pushed it open, and the group entered.
Inside, the house was barren, save for a small figure in the center of the room. A girl, no more than eight or nine, was sitting on the cold floor. In her hands, she clutched a necklace, running the chain through her fingers. The dim light from Brother Oswyn's lantern glinted off a pendant—a red, enameled sunburst, unmistakable symbol of the Red Faith.
The sight of it seemed to ignite a fire within Brother Mallador. He strode forward, his voice thunderous. "Child! Where did you get this?" He pointed at the necklace with a shaking finger.
The girl looked up, her eyes wide with fright, rainwater dripping from her hair. She stammered, clutching the necklace tighter, "My—My mother found it on the road."
"Your mother!" Brother Mallador's voice cracked like a whip. "And where is she now? Speak, girl!"
Before she could answer, Brother Oswyn stepped forward, his patience gone. He ripped the necklace from her hands and threw it to the ground. "Lies will not save you or her," he hissed.
The girl began to sob, her small body shaking. "She's gone. I'm alone."
Brother Mallador's face contorted with fury, and he raised his hand, striking the girl across the face. The slap echoed through the unfinished house, mingling with the girl's cries and the storm outside.
"We will find the truth," Brother Mallador growled, his voice low and menacing. "You will come with us. If you will not speak, perhaps the cells will loosen your tongue."
Brother Oswyn scooped the girl up, her cries piercing the night as they stepped back into the rain. The group moved silently now, their lanterns flickering, leaving the house behind. They marched through the muddy streets.
Brother Oswyn felt a searing pain in his shoulder and cried out, dropping to one knee as he clutched the bleeding wound. The girl who had attacked him jumped from his grasp and fled through the muddy streets, her footsteps swallowed by the sound of thunder rumbling ominously overhead.
"CAPTURE HER!" Brother Oswyn commanded, his voice booming over the drumming rain.
They chased after her for longer than they expected, but finally, the Seven favored them, and the girl got exhausted from running. She came to a halt in a plaza, a dilapidated fountain at its center, gasping for breath and surrounded by them.
"No. Leave me alone." The girl cried out, but they cared not to listen to her pleas, slapping her in the face again.
Brother Oswyn knew she had stabbed him with a broken glass on his shoulder; he would never let this slide. "I wanted to bring you to the cells, but first. I will have fun with you." He said with a sickening smile and the girl let out a cry of panic, thrashing against him, but he easily got hold of her limbs; his brothers came to help him when a new voice was heard.
"You dare call yourselves brothers of the Faith, and you attack and try to force yourself into a little girl." The holy brothers looked around, and they felt their hearts stop beating in an instant.
It was no longer just a secluded altercation; the clearing was now brimming with common folk—perhaps a hundred strong—eyes filled with anger and disgust. And suddenly, he realized the rain had stopped. Confusion swirled in his mind. "Where did all the rain go?" he pondered, barely registering the shift in weather.
"You saw it yourself what the Holy Brothers tried to do. The High Septon hires filth like them. I don't want to imagine what kind of a man hires them." Another voice boomed as the Red Lady stepped forward from the crowd, her garb as crimson as the torch she bore. Her presence ignited a roar of support from the crowd.
"You dare insult the Seven, you Red Whore. She is fooling you, she is using her magic. You should turn to the light, and kill her right now." Brother Oswyn spat, fury igniting his gaze, but the common people did nothing to the red woman. Instead, they showed they had weapons, pitchforks, knives, and some were using spoons.
"Let the girl go, and we will let you leave, " the red woman said with a sweet smile.
Brother Oswyn cursed under his breath before throwing the little girl against the ground towards the red lady. The girl ran away, hugging a woman who cried out in joy upon seeing her.
"Thank R'hllor, you are alive."
The woman's words to the Holy Brothers felt like a knife in the heart. No. They would never allow this woman to live another day. Even if they all die in the process.
"Lady Maria, what should we do?" The Holy Brothers suddenly sprang towards the Red Lady with fury in their eyes, raising their weapons, ready to strike her down.
"DIE!" Brother Oswyn roared, his weapon slicing through the air and landing with a gruesome thud against the Red Woman's head. Blood splattered his face as she collapsed to the ground. His shout of triumph turned to agony as a heavy blow struck him from behind, driving his face into the mud. The taste of blood and earth mingled in his mouth, but he was undeterred—they had succeeded.
"She is dead now. Let us Go. You are all Free From her Magic." Brother Oagnwn cried out as he felt the thick ropes around his wrists, the same for his three holy brothers.
But much to their confusion, instead of hearing cries of sorrow for the red woman from them, they heard laughter.
"Why are they laughing?" Brother Oswyn's heart pounded as unseen hands gripped his face, forcing him to look forward.
"Why don't you take another look?" a voice jeered. As Oswyn's eyes refocused, dread washed over him. The Red Lady was nowhere to be seen. In her place laid a man—a familiar figure from Old Town, a staunch supporter of the Faith, who had arrived with Otto Hightower.
"Nooo! This cannot be real!" Brother Oswyn wailed in disbelief, struggling against the ropes binding his wrists, tears streaming down his face in panic.
From the shadows, Lady Maria emerged, unscathed, bearing the flaming torch. Her hair, long and dark, cascaded in a loose braid over her shoulder, contrasting starkly with her porcelain-like skin. Her eyes shimmered a radiant gold, nearly glowing under the flickering light. Around her neck, an ornate necklace with a heart-shaped pendant of vibrant red gemstone framed by golden rays. Her red gown was flowing and elegant.
"It is truly unfortunate that the Holy Brothers have lost their wits and slain a noble lord of The Seven, Lord Graves," Lady Maria announced, her smile radiating a chilling charm that twisted Oswyn's stomach.
Turning to address the assembled crowd, her voice was somber: "Now, prepare them for the ceremony."
The holy brothers' pleas for help echoed into the night as they were dragged toward a towering pyre. Their cries went unanswered, swallowed by the darkness and the eager anticipation of the crowd gathering for what was to come.
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