Chapter 28: A Tournament's Spark and a Promise Kept
The reign of King Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King, grew increasingly volatile. His paranoia tightened its grip on the realm, and the once-golden dragon dynasty began to tarnish under his erratic rule. As the years wore on, whispers of his cruelty spread like wildfire, reaching even the tranquil, ancient borders of the Leywin lands.
A Royal Wedding and a Familiar Face (279 AC)
The realm briefly set aside its anxieties for a grand celebration when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the Crown Prince and a figure of great charisma and skill, wed Princess Elia Martell of Dorne. Their union was meant to bridge the old wounds between the dragons and the sun, a hope for future stability.
Years later, at the Great Tourney of Harrenhal in 281 AC, the last grand gathering of the Seven Kingdoms before the storm, the tension was palpable beneath the veneer of chivalry. Nobles from across the realm attended, their varied ambitions and loyalties simmering just beneath the surface.
Elia, now Queen and a mother, moved through the crowds with quiet grace, her kind heart evident to all. She was overseeing her children, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys (named after the conqueror queen), when her eyes, amidst the bustling crowds, caught sight of a familiar presence. Standing calmly, observing the festivities from a slight distance, was a man whose golden, cat-like slit eyes held an ancient recognition. It was the same man who had gently guided her home when she was lost in the streets of Dorne decades ago.
Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them. Elia remembered the strange warmth, the mended knee, and the curious feeling of absolute safety she'd felt as a child. She gave a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment of her long-ago saviour, a private knowledge held close amidst the public spectacle.
The Spark of Rebellion
The tourney, however, ended not in joyous unity, but in a calamitous unraveling. The disappearance of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark ignited the embers of rebellion, fanned by the Mad King's escalating paranoia and brutal demands. Lord Rickard Stark and his son Brandon were executed in gruesome ways, and the King demanded the heads of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. The realm plunged into chaos.
Sanctuary and a Stern Warning (283 AC)
As the rebellion escalated, the Targaryen loyalists found themselves fighting a losing battle against the combined might of the rebel forces. King's Landing, in the throes of Aerys's madness, became a place of unimaginable terror.
When the city was sacked by Tywin Lannister's forces, the bloodshed was immense. Queen Elia Martell and her children, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, found themselves in mortal peril. In the heart of the chaos, a desperate plea, a familiar call, reached me. Elia, remembering the pact and the ancient connection, desperately invoked the sanctuary.
I intervened. Not with a flash of light or a roar of thunder, but with a ripple of aether that subtly bent the threads of fate around them. In the midst of the chaos, as the Lannister soldiers surged through the Red Keep, Elia and her children found an inexplicable, momentary pathway to safety. They were guided, unseen by their pursuers, away from the bloodshed, towards a secret passage leading beyond the city walls, and towards the secure, inviolable borders of the Leywin lands. They arrived, exhausted but unharmed, finding refuge within the Grand Castle of Leywin, their sanctuary honored.
News of their survival, though initially hushed, inevitably reached the ears of the victorious rebel lords. Robert Baratheon, now claiming the Iron Throne, was consumed by his hatred for the Targaryens. Upon learning of Elia and her children's asylum, his fury was immense.
"They must die!" Robert roared, his voice shaking the newly repaired throne room. "Every last one of them! The dragon's spawn must be rooted out!"
But then, the wise and weary lords who had marched with him, particularly Eddard Stark, and those who had served in the long, peaceful reign of Jaehaerys, intervened. They spoke not of armies or dragons, but of a power far older, far more formidable. They spoke of the Immortal Lord of Leywin, the Bane of Andal and Ironborn, the ageless guardian who had sheltered Jaehaerys himself from Maegor the Cruel. They recounted the chilling tales, passed down through generations, of the pact Aegon the Conqueror had been forced to make, of Maegor's terrifying encounter, of the inviolable nature of Leywin's domain.
"Your Grace," Ned Stark explained, his voice grave, "no one who has ever faced the Immortal Lord has lived to tell of defying him. His lands are untouched. His word is absolute. To demand those under his protection is to invite a wrath that even a united realm cannot withstand."
Robert, for all his rage, understood power. The legends, the fear in the eyes of his staunchest supporters, made him pause. The Targaryen children were safe, for now.
A Brother's Resolve and a Future's Glimmer
Soon after securing King's Landing, Eddard Stark made a quiet journey north, not just to his home in Winterfell, but first, to the Leywin lands. He was a man of honor, and he sought to understand the truth of what had happened to Elia and her children, and to speak with the legendary Lord.
He found me, as many had before him, amidst the ancient Weirwood trees. He was a man burdened by duty and sorrow, yet possessed of a deep, unyielding strength. His eyes, though weary, held a clear sense of justice.
"Lord Leywin," Eddard began, a slight bow of respect. "I thank you for your protection of Queen Elia and her children. They are innocent in this war."
"They are under my protection, Lord Stark," I affirmed, my voice resonating with an ancient certainty. "The pact is honored, as it always will be."
Then, a flicker of something in his eyes, a familiar flicker of the Old Gods' magic. He knew of the true burden of the North. I sensed his deep integrity, his moral compass, making him a worthy recipient of further truth.
"Lord Stark," I continued, my gaze fixed on him. "There is another. A child of the dragon, yet also of the North. A secret kept in the shadow of war." I paused, letting the weight of my words settle. "When this child reaches seven years of age, I will come for him. He, too, will require protection. He will have a great destiny, tied to a darkness that eclipses all mortal conflicts. You will know him when the time comes."
Eddard's eyes widened, understanding dawning on his face. He said nothing, but a solemn nod conveyed his acceptance. The last true heir of the dragons, the child of prophecy, would be under my watchful eye. The Dance of the Dragons was over, replaced by a new reign, but the ancient threads of fate continued to weave, guided by unseen hands and unyielding pacts.