Chapter 34
BAELOR TARGARYEN-212AC
Baelor Targaryen stood by the window of his solar and gazed at the smoke rising from the pyres of the Dragonpit and wondered if those fires would be his legacy. For more than two years now, such fires had become the norm as they piled up the dead in the Dragonpit and lit them on fire to protect the rest of the city from the spring Sickness.
But the sickness was brutal, and even with every precaution they could take. Thousands had been swallowed up by it just in Kingslanding alone, and it was not just the capital that was affected. No.
The disease had caused havoc all across the continent, and the situation was either no different or sometimes even worse in the other great cities of the continent. But even as this calamity neared its end, another lay waiting for him just ahead.
"Drought," began Brynden as Baelor closed his eyes and sought mercy from the Gods above in his heart.
"Already the records show a severe lack of rainfall across the lands, but if this continues, we might find ourselves facing another great calamity," and as teh Master of Whispers, it was Brynden's duty to keep him informed about the troubles that may lie ahead.
"But didn't we anticipate this?" spoke the new Hand of the King, and just as his own father had appointed him as Hand, Baelor had chosen to do the same with his own eldest son.
Valarr now wore the Hand's pin on his doublet just as he wore his father's Crown on his head. His eldest son may lack his brother's uniqueness, but he was no less competent as a lord and a Hand.
He had faced a calamity in the form of the Spring Sickness, and had not shied away from the responsibilities and decisions that fell onto his shoulders as Hand.
"Yes," Brynden agreed, and a part of him knew that Brynden did not quite agree with his choice. The Master of Whispers favored his other son and believed that he was more suited to a Hand's role than his eldest.
But Matarys had his own burdens to carry, and Baelor did not wish to add to them.
"But one can only prepare so much for one disaster while facing another," Brynden countered, and that was the truth of it.
Now, Baelor finally turned his gaze towards the two of them sitting beyond the table, and the weight of his newfound responsibilities was beginning to catch up with him. He had never felt so burdened when he had been his father's Hand, but now as all of the realm looked to him for guidance and leadership, he found himself withering under the weight of all those expectations.
"How bad is it?" he asked, as he looked his Master of Whispers in the eye.
"Considering everything. Not too bad," and that was some relief.
"Thankfully, the Master of Coin heeded our warning and bought the grain necessary to weather this storm before the Spring Sickness struck," and he had been the one to suggest this in the first place, and he knew well that the suggestion had come to him from someone else as well.
"Our granaries are full," and that was some solace.
"Still, we do not yet know how long this drought will last," and so they would have to be cautious with their stores.
"What of the rest of the realm?" he asked, and Brynden's sigh was answer enough.
"Most of the lords ignored our warning, and now with the streams and the lakes all dried up, they are begging us to help feed their men," and it was wrong of them to ignore the Crown's command, but they had little reason to.
No one had expected this drought.
"Use our stores," he ordered, as he turned towards Valarr.
"Help the lords that are most in need," and Valarr nodded.
"The Crownlands are rather vast themselves," Brynden countered.
"While our stores are ample. We cannot feed the entire continent," he countered, and he knew that.
"But as their King, I cannot abandon them either," and that was despite their faults.
"They ignored the Crown's command. Even now, most of them wag their tongues against the Crown, and its Princes," and the darker shade of his hair had long been a point of contention for the lord.
Baelor had inherited his mother's hair, and his sons lacked the Valyrian hair as well. It would not matter much, but with the Blackfyres plotting their return, many within the realm whispered and plotted treason as they refused to consider him as the true blood of the Dragon.
"I would say let them suffer," and Brynden had suggested a rather heavy-handed approach in dealing with these whispers and murmurs, but Baelor did not have the heart to see more people dead, all because of some whispers.
"We cannot abandon our people just because of some rumors," and he felt more weary than usual, as his Hand and Master of Whispers argued in front of him.
"They are not rumors, my Prince. It is treason," and Baelor felt an itch in his throat as he sipped some water to wet his throat.
"Valarr is right," he began.
"We cannot abandon them, but we can make a show of our intent," and it was time for the lords to realize that there are consequences for wagging one's tongue.
"Focus the relief efforts on the Houses most loyal to the Throne. Let the others learn the cost of their whispers and murmurs," and Brynden would probably have sought something more cruel, but this was all he was willing to offer.
GUGH. GUGH.
He coughed and took a sip of water again as Brynden nodded with a slight frown on his face.
"Even that will be a considerable burden," and he understood that well enough.
"We can always buy more grain from New Haven," Valarr suggested, and the new settlement was perhaps the safest place in all of the continent. His son's lands had continued to flourish despite the Spring Sickness.
His fields were lush, and his people well fed. New Haven's coffers were fuller than ever, and they were emerging as a significant power in the region.
"Do you really think that it is wise to burden such a place so much?" Brynden was quick to counter.
"Your brother is already fighting a war for us. We must not burden him or his lands more than we already have," and while teh Gods were testing him as King, he was truly blessed as a father.
The truth was that he could not have asked for better sons. Valarr was his Hand, and one of his most able and trusted advisors, while Matarys had never shied away from duty.
When Dagon Greyjoy had sought to challenge the Crown's writ in the Sunset Sea, many had thought them helpless as the continent found itself reeling from the pains of the Spring Sickness.
But Matarys had answered the call and was now leading some fifteen thousand men against the Reaver King and his men.
"I believe the war will be over soon enough," Valarr countered, and he agreed with that.
"Pyke is no Storm's End or Casterly Rock. It will fall by the end of the moon," and Brynden nodded.
"Maybe. But Dagon Greyjoy is not a man to be underestimated," and it was unusual for Brynden to speak in such a way of an enemy.
"He has been holed up in Pyke ever since his man, Erik, was slain by Matarys," and Erik Ironmaker was Dagon's right-hand man. Matarys had killed him with his own hands after trapping him in Lannisport.
"I may have a thousand eyes, but there are things and places that even I am blind to," Brynden nearly whispered, and it was warning that there were places where even his eyes could not reach.
"What do you mean?" Valarr asked, as Baelor nodded.
"I understand," he answered back.
"There is one more thing," Brynden added, and he began to cough again, and this time he felt pain in his chest as he frowned and sipped his water again.
"The lords have learned of the Crown's ambitions regarding the Iron Islands," and now Baelor was frowning, for these plans had only been shared with a select few.
"How?" he asked, a bit tersely.
"I am looking into it," the red-eyed man answered back.
"But the lords have learned of our plans, and they grow nervous over them," and the Iron Islands had committed treason, when Dagon Greyjoy had declared himself Lord Reaver and attacked the ports and lands across the Sunset Sea.
But this was not the first time the iron Islands had done something like this, and their customs had clashed with the Crown's laws too many times, and now there was an opinion that it was time to seek a more permanent solution to this infestation.
"Those plans were discussed in confidence. Only a handful of people even know of them," Valarr countered angrily.
"How did they even get out?" he asked, and Brynden did not have an answer yet.
'You will have your answer soon enough, my Prince. I promise," and they better.
"But we must deal with those lords now. They whisper about the Crown's ambitions to redraw the maps, and many fear that they could be next," and that was an exaggeration.
"The lords....," and he could not speak again, as coughs interrupted his words once more.
And the water soothed his throat, and he saw that sole red eye narrow as he continued.
"The lords have nothing to fear," and Brynden nodded.
"Maybe. Maybe not. But they are blaming it all on the same person they blame for the Sickness and the Drought," and his lips thinned at those words, as Valarr spoke the name.
"Matarys," and while his own father may have forgiven his son for his role in the demise of his brother, the realm was not so easily soothed.
Maekar had died by Matarys's blade, yet his son had not drawn that blade out of malice or ambition. He had drawn it in the name of justice, and even then he had no desire to take Maekar's life.
But the Gods wished to see his youngest tested, and it seemed to him that they were not done with him just yet. Once, he had been the pinnacle of knighthood and was the most loved of all the Princes. Now, he was scorned by the very people who had adored him once, for they saw him as a danger to the olden ways.
They called the Spring Sickness, and the drought retribution from the Gods. They blamed him for their misfortune, and now they blamed him for trying to protect them as well.
"This cannot be a coincidence," Baelor added, and this all seemed orchestrated.
"Indeed," Valarr agreed.
"I have had the same suspicion for a while now. I am now looking into the source of all these tales as we speak. If there is foul play here, I intend to find it and root it out of our lands," and he would demand nothing less.
"My brother fights a war to protect them. He offers them cheap grain and lye and soap to protect themselves from the Sickness yet for some reason they all name him the villain," and that was no justice.
"Superstitions carry a lot of power, my Prince. Superstitions emboldened by fear, gold, and treachery carry even more," and so Brynden feared foul play, and Baelor had been nursing such a suspicion for some time now.
"Find me the one's responsible, Lord Brynden. We cannot let this fester for much longer," and the man nodded, and as another bout of coughs tore at him Brynden rose from his chair.
"How long have you had the cough, my lord?" he asked, and he thought about it for a second.
"Just today," he answered, and he saw Brynden's eye narrowed before he slowly rose from his chair and began to walk back slowly.
"MY Prince, I believe we should step back a bit,' he suggested, making Valarr frown.
"What are you doing?" and he was surprised as well.
"Please, listen to me, my Prince," Brynden implored, and the realization dawned in an instant as he was reminded of his own father.
"Do as he says," he said, as he stood up and backed away.
"What in the Seven Hells is going on here?" Valarr asked in frustration, and Baelor looked his son in the eye.
"I am afraid that I may have caught the Sickness...."
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