Hugh Hammer (ASOIF/SI)

 "What is he doing here?" her son Aemond, Lord Protector of the

 Realm asked as she entered the Small Council room with her father.

 "Lord Otto is my father, your grandfather, a former Hand of the King,

 and he brings much wise council and experience, in the absence of

 his Grace from this council I feel it would be wise to have a man with

 my fathers' abilities to advise us."

 "My brother, the King sacked this old fool for his timidness and

 caution, what can this old maid advise us of, maybe to open our legs

 to that bitch on Dragonstone and her cunt of a husband?" snapped

 her son Aemond, fury written plain across his face. Aegon and

 Aemond had always been quick to anger and quick to find fault with

 anyone to gainsaid them, a regrettable trait she should have done

 more as their mother to curb. She had thought it a sign of strength

 and courage when they were younger, but she had only realised in

 adulthood that her two eldest sons were far too prone to wrath.

 She sighed internally, water under the bridge as they said, and she

 felt she had to offer her son's her advice and experience, and that of

 her father, who Aegon, may the Seven bless him and speed his

 recovery, had so disastrously spurned. He father's campaign of letter

 writing had been starting to gain momentum, more and more Lords

 were committing to her son's banner, it would have only been a

 matter of time before the rebels on Dragonstone would have been

 forced to surrender. If only due to sheer weight of numbers, and

 never mind that they had a superiority in dragons. And speaking of

 which, the Master of Whispers apparently had some news on that

 and the recent defeat of the Three Daughters, more bad news and

 news sure to enrage Aemond ever further and provoke him to more

 rash actions. Hence why she had asked for her father to accompany

her, even if he held no office, he was still a major supporter of the

 King and his opinion deserved to be heard.

 "Lord Protector, my daughter, your mother and the Dowager Queen

 requested my presence here, I am aware that I hold no title on this

 council but would remind your Grace that after House Baratheon

 House Hightower has the most swords committed to the cause of his

 Grace King Aegon, second of his name."

 "Do you now? Fat lot of good your swords have been doing so far, it

 was my brother Daeron who won the battle on the Honeywine!"

 Her father said nothing in reply to this outburst, but she could feel the

 tension and anger in him, and she worried if her father would stay in

 the face of such insults from her son.

 "Anyways, that is not why we are here, I believe that Lord Strong has

 interesting tales to tell us, is that not so Lord Strong?" asked Ser

 Criston Cole, seemingly eager to reduce the tension rising in the air.

 "Indeed, your Grace, my Lords and Ladies, my spies have delivered

 a veritable treasure trove of information on the traitors and the

 dispositions of their forces."

 "The dragonseeds Strong! I want to hear about those accursed

 dragonseeds!" Aemond cut across the Master of Whispers, his face

 beginning to flush with anger, the skin around his eyepatch

 tightening and straining.

 "Ah yes, of course your Grace, I will start with them. After the victory

 that we won above Rooks Rest and the resultant death of Princess

 Rhaenys Targaryen and her dragon Meleys, Prince Jacaerys, with

 his mother's approval, called for the for anyone who believed that

 they had the blood of Old Valyria to try and claim the dragons

 roosting on Dragonstone, both wild and those previously ridden.

 Over a hundred answered the call, more than thirty died in the

 process, burned, eaten, torn apart, crushed when their prospective

 mounts rejected them, among them Ser Steffan Darklyn, Lord

Commander of Rhaenyra's Queensguard. He tried to mount

 Seasmoke and was burned alive and eaten for his troubles. Nigh on

 seventy more were wounded to various degrees, with only four

 dragons successfully claimed."

 "And what do you know of these so called 'dragonseeds'? demanded

 Ser Criston Cole, his face set and hard, he was a man of action was

 the current Hand of the King, seeming to Alicent to be ever straining

 to slip an imaginary leash and do violence to whomever he wished

 to.

 "Firstly, there is Addam of Hull, allegedly a bastard of Prince Laenor,

 though based on what we all know of Prince Laenor's proclivities this

 seems highly unlikely."

 "That pillow biting sword swallower could not be this bastard's father,

 I think we all know that!" Aemond barked out with a laugh "the

 question is do you know who this lad's father is?"

 "I believe I do your Grace. The Sea Snake petitioned successfully for

 the lad and his younger brother to be legitimised as a Velaryon, their

 mother is the daughter of a shipwright from Hull, from a yard oft

 frequented by Lord Corlys himself, indeed the very yard where the

 Sea Snake herself was built."

 "The randy old goat!" quipped Aemond "So the Sea Snake is the

 father of these bastard boys, eh? No wonder he waited for his wife's

 passing before he asked for them to be legitimised, never mind that

 one of them is a dragon rider! Princess Rhaenys would have cut his

 stones off with a rusty blade if she had ever found out!"

 "Quite your Grace" replied Lord Strong, before continuing "the lad

 has claimed Seasmoke and is to all accounts an accomplished rider.

 A baseborn girl from Driftmark, who goes by the outrageous name of

 Nettles, has claimed Sheepstealer, the girl's mother is a dockside

 whore from Spicetown and her father apparently was a Summer

 Islander sailor. The girl herself is apparently small, filthy of body and

mouth, has had her nose slit open for thieving and is hideously ugly

 to boot!"

 "A slit nose would improve nobodies looks" muttered her father,

 probably more to himself than to anyone else.

 "The third dragon rider is one Ulf the white, who has the features of

 the Old Blood, he was a Man at Arms on Dragonstone, like his father

 before him apparently. He rides Silverwing, though not at all well

 according to my spies, though he was instrumental in the defeat of

 the fleet of the Three Daughters. He seems to spend most of his

 time drunk and whoring and appears to be shunned by the other

 dragonseeds."

 "This one might be useful" her father interjected "he might be

 amenable to turning his cloak?"

 "A drunken smallfolk curr who thinks to ride a dragon?" blustered

 Aemond at her father's suggestion.

 But before Aemond could say anything further the Master of

 Whispers interrupted "this Ulf the White is apparently very

 disappointed with being made a just Knight, and the attendant lands

 he was awarded on Driftmark, he appears to be pining after

 something greater, a Lordship."

 "Does he know, the jumped-up little shit!" hissed Aemond in

 response.

 "That could be arranged, if he turns his cloak" her father remarked

 smoothly.

 "NO!" shouted Aemond "I'll not allow it, my brother the King would

 never allow it!"

 "What could be arranged is the promise of a Lordship your Grace,

 and should it become necessary to actually grant this drunken sot

 one, well we would have to explain to the lad after he turns his cloak

that due to the war such arrangements cannot be made. Monies

 could be diverted into his hands sufficient for the title we would grant

 him, but not the lands or the castle itself. Then at the end of the war,

 when we are victorious, why a tragic accident would befall the poor

 man, and he would sadly never get to take up his new seat."

 Alicent kept her smile hidden, she knew her father's mind was sharp

 and that he had lost neither his touch nor his ruthlessness, despite

 what her son Aegon had thought. It was a pity she had replaced her

 father with Ser Criston Cole, she felt much safer with her father as

 Hand, he was a steadying influence on affairs. Cole, Cole was not

 such a steadying influence, wont to see every problem as a nail and

 thus the solution always a hammer. It might be time for Ser Criston

 to leave the capital and go back into the field again, where his talents

 would best be utilised. And if possible, her father returned to his

 rightful post as Hand of the King.

 "Huh…. treachery, I like it. Lord Strong, see to it that suitable

 entreaties are made to the Ulf the White."

 "Of course, your Grace" the Master of Whispers replied smoothly.

 "That leaves us with one dragonrider yet?" Alicent asked, deciding

 that this was a rather benign way to lead the conversation along,

 trusting that she would get further opportunities to steer the meeting

 to a more productive outcome. She feared that all this reporting by

 the Master of Whispers was doing was just enraging her son

 Aemond further and would likely lead to him doing something rash.

 "Indeed, your Grace, the last is arguably the most problematical, one

 Hugh. A former blacksmith and like Ulf he shares the look of the Old

 Blood. A bastard of unknow parentage he now rides Vermithor, the

 largest after the death of Meleys of the dragons on Dragonstone"

 here Lord Strong noticed Lord Protector Aemond about to say

 something and he beat him to it "excepting Caraxes, the mount of

 Prince Daemon Targaryen."

"Go on" intoned her father, when the silence after this threatened to

 lengthen uncomfortably at the mention of the Rogue Prince, Alicent

 feeling the slightest of heat come to her cheeks at the mention of the

 Rogue Prince, uncomfortable memories swimming over the surface

 of her mind. He would have to be, he would have to be removed with

 as much haste and, and prejudice as was possible. The lies he

 would spin about her, the slanders that would fall from his lips if he

 were captured, could not be tolerated. His tongue would have to be

 removed if he was captured, of that she was certain, but hopefully it

 would not come to that, neither of her sons would countenance

 Daemon Targaryen alive she was certain, so the Rogue Princes

 death was certain in that respect. These thoughts stilled her

 momentary panic, and she returned her concentration to the meeting

 at hand.

 "This Hugh is a giant of a man, seven foot tall and well-muscled from

 his former trade, apparently he has his letters and numbers, though

 all speak of him appearing to not have had them before he rode the

 dragon. He and Addam Velaryon have struck up something of a

 friendship apparently, the former blacksmith also appears to be

 friendly with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

 "Your bastard nephew probably likes consorting with other bastards"

 Aemond quipped, no doubt thinking himself possessed of a great wit,

 but Alicent quailed at her son's foolishness, for one did not so

 casually insult such a man as Lord Larys Strong. She resolved then

 and there to visit more frequently with Aemond, to calm and mollify

 the boy, and to see if he could be persuaded to be less prone to

 these sorts of outbursts. For had it not been Aemond's foolishness in

 taunting Lucerys Velaryon, and in listening in turn to the taunts of

 that ugly harlot Maris Baratheon that had set what should have been

 a bloodless, or at least relatively bloodless assumption of Aegon's

 rightful place upon the Iron Throne into the war that they now faced.

 And a war which looked likely to be longer and more fraught than

 they had originally assumed. Hah! 'Assumed' was it, no, they had

 foolishly believed that Rhaenyra would have accepted her

impossible position soon enough. And that maybe even the men

 surrounding her would have seen the sense and rightfulness of

 Aegon's ascension to the Iron Throne, and advised her so, or maybe

 they would even have taken Rhaenyra into custody, for her good and

 for the good of the realm. But instead that bitch had not seen the

 obvious peril of her situation and the men surrounding her had

 forgotten their vows to the Iron Throne and the King who sat upon it.

 It was frustrating in the extreme, she had done everything she had

 needed to do, she had made sure that everything would be in place

 to install Aegon on the Iron Throne with as little bloodshed as

 possible, and now they were facing untold levels of death and

 destruction, with the terrible prospect that Rhaenyra might even

 triumph, given her superiority in dragons. It was unacceptable,

 simply unacceptable that this, this bitch might triumph over her son's

 rights, and over the natural laws of Gods and men. She needed to

 confer with her father, the Faith of the Seven needed to be more

 tightly bound to her Son's cause, and the Septons needed to preach,

 nay they needed the thunder out from every pulpit the justness of her

 Son's cause and the wickedness of Rhaenyra's cause. It was high

 time that the smallfolk and their Lords needed to be reminded that

 they went against the very will of the Seven if they supported

 Rhaenyra.

 Lord Strong ignored the taunt from Aemond, or at least appeared to

 as he continued "Hugh trains every morning with Squires and

 Knights, what he lacks for in skill he more than makes up for in

 strength, speed and determination. He flies his dragon more than all

 the other dragon riders combined and is regarded as something of a

 prodigy when it comes to handling Vermithor."

 "Yes, yes, you have been singing this bastards praises, what of it?"

 asked her father, impatience clearly evident in his voice.

 "I would recommend that he be assassinated as a matter of urgency"

 came the Master of Whispers response.

 "Could we not make a similar approach as we plan to make with this

 UIf fellow?" Asked Aemond, his face betraying the slightest distaste

for the option of murdering Hugh.

 "I fear such an offer might be rebuffed your Grace."

 "Nonsense, he's a smallfolk lad, never seen much coin in his life,

 offer him a Lordship!" Aemond paused for a second "offer him Rooks

 Rest, its ours now, or maybe even Duskendale. If that won't tempt

 him, I don't know what would! See to it Lord Strong. And just like with

 his comrade this Ulf fellow, we can deal with him once I have the

 heads of that bitch, her husband and all her spawn adorning the

 walls of the Red Keep!"

 "Yes, your Grace" replied Lord Strong, though he clearly disagreed

 with the orders the Lord Protector of the Realm had given him.

 "Now if there is nothing else?" Aemond asked, clearly impatient to

 take his leave of them. Given the late hour probably to take himself

 away to the Street of Silk and into the arms of a whore or two Alicent

 thought bitterly.

 Maybe she should reach out to Lord Baratheon and make the

 necessary arrangements, the oldest girl would be best, as she would

 flower soonest.

 "In addition to the information on the dragonseeds I have received a

 more detailed account of the Battle of the Gullet."

 "Oh? You wait till now to tell us Master of Whispers?" scoffed

 Aemond "getting secrets from you is like pulling teeth! Out with it!

 Out with it!"

 "It seems that three of the dragonseeds and Prince Jacaerys

 confronted the fleet of the Three Daughters first. They attacked very

 cautiously, slowly whittling down the numbers of ships at no cost or

 little harm to themselves. This they did over several hours as the

 fleet of the Three Daughters continued on its way, but in the late

 afternoon, and with the dragons showing no signs of ceasing their

 attacks, they turned around and decided to flee. Just as the fleet of

the Three Daughters had started to withdraw a fifth dragon attacked,

 its attacks wilder and more uncoordinated. This final dragons' attacks

 seem to have caused mass panic and disorganisation, a rout if you

 will. The Velaryon fleet caught up with the flees galleys of the Three

 Daughter in the twilight and added to the butchery. From reports the

 Three Daughters lost over half of their fleet, and we may have to

 count them out as potential allies."

 "Why?" asked Aemond "so they lost some ships? Their armies are

 still intact, they can build more ships surely. Or are they cowards

 who turn and flee at the first whiff of dragonfire?" his last words

 exiting Aemonds mouth around a sneer.

 "Your Grace, the Three Daughters is an alliance of three city states,

 which have been traditionally hostile to each other, and the

 arrangement is, shaky at best. A set back like this will cause political

 repercussions, I cannot predict what exactly, but I am warning you to

 discount any future support from the Three Daughters, to be on the

 safe side."

 "Pah! Perfumed merchants and slavers scum, that's all they are

 anyway, we are better off without them!"

 "And the Riverlands? What of the armies marching hither and thither

 across that realm?" asked her father, a scowl on his face at the

 comment of Aemond.

 "The Lannister host continues to advance, Prince Daemon sorties

 from Harenhal regularly, though he has not brought the Blood Wyrm

 into battle as of yet."

 Aemond studied the large map spread over the table before them

 "the Riverlands are aflame with rebellion and treason, and Prince

 Daemon roosts with Caraxes in Harenhal, acting as a locus for all

 these traitors! He must be rooted out and destroyed, then these

 Riverlander curs will either be destroyed or bend the knee, though I

 am loathe to allow that….."

"We must be mindful of the threat from Dragonstone your Grace"

 interjected Lord Strong, his voice and his body language urging

 caution.

 "If we destroy or drive off Deamon Targaryen we will remove a major

 threat to us and to our allies in the Westerlands, whose march to

 support us could be blocked by the Riverlanders with support from

 Caraxes."

 "And what of the Northmen, these so called 'Winter Wolves' that

 have entered the Riverlands in support of Queen Rhaenyra?" asked

 her father, his anger at her son's line of thought evident to her but

 she suspected well-hidden enough from Aemond that he would not

 notice it was there.

 "Two thousand grey beards? They are no threat at all, a charge by a

 few hundred knights would see them off, if the sight of Vhagar does

 not have them pissing themselves in fright and fleeing back to their

 frozen homeland!" Aemond announced, with a barked laugh.

 "Ser Criston!" Aemond asked after a few seconds of thought,

 seemingly oblivious to the concerned stares of her father and her

 Master of Whispers.

 "Your Grace?" the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Hand of

 the King replied crisply.

 "Ready as large a force as you can, we march on Harenhal, no later

 than seven days from now! I will end this scourge that plagues the

 Riverlands once and for all, and if the Gods are willing, Daemon

 Targaryen as well!"

 "Yes, your Grace!" Cole replied, giving a small bow to her son.

 "You will leave Kings Landing defenceless your Grace!" her father

 growled, tension gripping him tightly, she could see he was

 struggling to keep his temper in check.

"We are sitting here doing nothing, the fighting is elsewhere in the

 realm, as the King is unable to lead the defence of the realm it must

 fall to me instead. My brother Daeron and his dragon will continue to

 support our armies in the Reach, inform Lord Ormund that I want him

 to clear the Reach of the traitors to my brother with all necessary

 haste. Inform Lord Baratheon that I want the Stormlands ready to

 assail any Houses on their borders with the Reach that are not loyal

 to my brother. The Strom Lord has so far sat still in Storms End and

 done little of note. And tell him to send his eldest daughter to the

 capital, I'll wed the girl as soon as I return from crushing the

 Riverlands. Every Castle, every town, every village, every pissant

 hamlet that does not bend the knee to the King I will bring fire and

 blood down upon them! Let that bitch stew on her island with her

 common folk dragon riders, I'll crush her support here in Westeros.

 We shall see what she can do when she has no lords left to support

 her!"