104

Chapter 104: Interlude: Legio VIINotes:

Here we are folks, the last chapter before the epilogue.

I'll try get this fic done by next week, but no promises. I'm rather busy at the moment preparing to move back to the UK.

I should be flying to Cambridge by the end of the month, and I dunno how busy uni life will be, but based on the complaints from Yuuki, Pamela and Alice… well I better get that epilogue up now, or it'll never come up.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"I name you Redemption; A promise that one day, you shall walk as free men."

-King Rhaenyra I Targaryen granting the Seventh Legion their Cognomen

115 AC, Oldtown,

With the return of House Targaryen's dragons, it was easy to gather all of the most prominent highborn to Oldtown.

Daena had been pressed into her old duty as designated driver, constantly flying to and fro from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms, bringing back skycart after skycart of nobles to the largest city in the Reach.

Ferrying them all, to the coronation of King Rhaenyra I Targaryen.

The city had been bedecked in black and red. Banners baring the three-headed-dragon rising high above every watchtower and bastion.

Over the past month since Operation Towerfall, Rhaenyra had been swift in dispensing justice to all of the Greens.

The Stormlords were allowed to kneel, and return to the fold peacefully, keeping their lands and titles. Minus a few of the more unruly lords being hung.

The Westerlands were also allowed to kneel and hold onto their lands and titles, though many of the rebel houses were stripped of their treasuries as reparations for the war. Once more, a few unruly lords were hung.

House Tarbeck, as Lady Cerelle's foremost loyalist and lieutenant, were decimated. The children were spared, but all of their men were executed, and their women given a choice between the Silent Sisters or the gallows.

Similarly, a dozen lesser branches of House Lannister were pruned by the Dragonqueen, for their support of the traitor Cerelle. And while the children were spared, it was one of those unfortunate accidents that saw Cerelle's son Tybolt be caught up in the purge's crossfire. As such, Jason Lannister now sat as undisputed Lord of Casterly Rock.

In the Riverlands, House Strong too was pruned mercilessly by Rhaenyra. Old Lord Lyonel had been hung, and with him died the last of House Strong. 

The Reachlords had received the worst punishment of the lot though. 

Apart from the turncoat Lord Chester, all of the rebelling Green Houses had been purged much like House Tarbeck. Houses Redwyne, Florent, Mullendore, Fossoway and more were now ruled by children, with handpicked Blacks as their regents, until they came of age.

House Tyrell had been spared, mostly because of Lucille Tyrell's aid. None of the lords were particularly sure what to make of Lady Shaera, given her drastic shift in personality after her defeat. Rumours and speculation abounded as to her fate, for she now walked her castle, neither chained nor punished in any manner.

Most repeated was the theory that Rhaenyra had performed some dark ritual and reduced the Lady Tyrell to a mere puppet, controlled by the magic of Daenys, whom had yet to even leave Shaera's side for more than an hour.

For their high treason, Houses Peake had been brutally purged by Rhaenyra, with no survivors, not even children. And in a fit of irony, Rhaenyra had given House Peake's three castles to their ancient rivals House Manderly. Restitution and usury in a single stroke.

House Hightower was the most guilty of the lot, and thus the most punished. It was thus that by the time the coronation rolled about, there were only five people in the Seven Kingdoms left with Hightower blood; High Septon Ceril Hightower, Prince Aegon Targaryen, Princess Helaena Targaryen, Prince Aemond Targaryen and Prince Daeron Targaryen.

Rhaenyra had killed everyone else.

———

It would happen on the steps of the Starry Sept.

The wide marble plaza before the center of the Faith was the largest and most expansive space within Oldtown, and it was crammed to the brim.

Just about everyone whom was anyone in the Realm had been summoned to the oldest city on Westeros. They stood, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, in the great marble plaza before the Starry Sept.

And with them stood the commoners. Smallfolk of Oldtown, turning up in great numbers.

Hate her or love her, the crowning of a king was a great historic event, particularly when this king was the first woman to rule. It was the type of historic event many would kill themselves for voluntarily missing out on. The type of events one could tell tales of to their grandchildren decades later, boasting about their presence in the moment that defined an era.

But it was neither the highborn nor the lowborn whom had pride of place. That honour belonged to the Legions, six ruler-straight lines of matte steel cutting across the square.

The Legions surrounded a group of some six-thousand or so men. Stripped of their arms and armour, fed minimal rations and clapped in chains, the surviving Green soldiers were a far cry from their previous glory and splendour. The smallfolk conscripts Rhaenyra had let go, but the knights, men-at-arms and the sellswords? Those she'd been adamant her Legions capture.

It was here in this square that Aegon the Conqueror had been coronated, a tradition that had been repeated for his two sons and successors, Aenys and Maegor. Jaehaerys too, had repeated the tradition, though Viserys had chosen to be crowned in King's Landing. 

A subtle jab that power was shifting from the Faith to the Crown.

Laena was surprised by that little detail. She didn't think Uncle Viserys had the subtle acuity for such a gesture.

But though Rhaenyra would be crowned in the Starry Sept, it would be the height of folly to assume her the supplicant, for Oldtown was no longer the domain of the High Septon, but the site of Rhaenyra's greatest triumph.

After all, none whom arrived could miss the fact that the Hightower no longer dominated the skyline of Oldtown.

It's absence was like a wound in the world, an unnatural sight that almost hurt to perceive.

In some ways, the sundered tower cast a greater shadow than when it was whole.

House Hightower was gone now. Gone like their titular tower.

The Hightower had been sundered before, of course. Cast down, only to be rebuilt by the survivors, taller and stronger than ever. Rising up once more, like a phoenix from the ashes.

But this time, there would be no rebirth. No reconstruction.

Only five members of House Hightower still lived and breathed, and they did so solely at Rhaenyra's mercy.

Four of the five were the kids, and they were young. Too young to truly understand what had happened. It would take some work, but eventually Rhaenyra would be able to sway them to her side. Mould them into loyal kinsmen whom would never step out of line.

The last of the five was the High Septon, and he too was in no position to rebel.

When the Legions had taken Oldtown, the High Septon, Most Devout, and the better part of the most influential clergy had been rounded up and arrested.

Rhae had some plans of brainwashing them via sorcery, and breaking them to her will. Reducing the clergy into puppets, and the Faith into yet another tool of the Royal Government.

But then they'd run into some… technical difficulties.

Turned out the vestments and regalia of the priesthood granted them divine protection from sorcery. Not to the extent of the Paladins' prayer-carved armours, but enough that sorcerous compulsions were ineffective.

Worse, it was retroactive protection, which meant that every time the High Septon put on his crystal crown, all of the mind control magic Rhaenyra and Daenys had painstakingly applied onto him was washed off like ink.

"This, is a problem." Rhaenyra had rather eloquently put it.

They'd tried over a hundred different methods to circumvent or cheat the protection, but success was limited. Very limited.

Things had actually gotten bad enough that Rhaenyra was genuinely considering killing the priesthood and replacing them with body doubles created via face-changing surgery, which would have brought about its own litany of problems and complications.

But thankfully they found a solution at the eleventh hour.

Truth be told, Laena didn't think Naerys had it in her.

Green-eyed girl always was the sweetest and most idealistic of them all. Her newfound willingness to take the hard and ugly road was jarring, and honestly creeped Laena out a bit.

The girl Naerys had been before this costly war had kicked off would never have condoned coercing the clergy, not even in the most oblique and subtle of manners. She'd have wept and balked, turned her eyes away and hid from the world.

Now, Naerys had personally reprogrammed the High Septon and all seventy-seven members of the Most Devout into blindly obedient and jingoistic supporters of Rhaenyra and her regime. And she'd shed not a tear the whole time, face utterly stony as she went from priest to priest.

Laena wasn't too sure of the specifics, but whatever Naerys had done to the High Septon was clearly effective, for Ceril Hightower was the perfect picture of a loyal Black, zealously crowning Rhaenyra and proclaiming her the herald of a new age.

"Thank you, High Septon. And I also thank my loyal subjects, for making the journey here." Rhaenyra begun, voice laced with sorcery, ringing across the entire marble plaza.

As one, the entire crowd seemed to straighten their backs and face the newly anointed king. None daring to ignore her, hanging onto her every word as though their lives depended on it.

"This victory is not mine alone, but a triumph for womenkind everywhere, from Hardhome to the Arbor. 

In this historic moment, we have shattered a glass ceiling that once seemed impenetrable. My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror once said that he saw in Westeros a new land, one filled with opportunity and untapped potential.

And today, in this historic moment, we have proved his words correct. Today, we have proved that this truly is a land of opportunity.

A land where the sky is the limit for every individual, regardless of their gender."

Many of the highborn in the crowd looked sceptical at the King's words, but most quickly schooled their features back into neutrality, for all six Legions were present in the inauguration crowd, and they'd earned their reputation the hard way.

"I stand here today, as King, not as an individual, but as a representative of a truly exemplary organisation. One which truly stepped up in House Targaryen's darkest moment, and served to the Greens Fire and Blood, in the absence of our dragons."

None of the legionaries cheered or spoke a word, iron discipline holding firm. But the entire square seemed to thrum in approval, hard grins spreading like fire in a barn full of kindling.

"The Legions of Westeros are the wave of the future. They stood there, unflinching and unafraid, dauntlessly facing down four-to-one and dragon's worth in this campaign. Lesser armies have failed to withstand even one, but the Legions took both on and triumphed! The Legions outplayed the commanders. Outflanked the armies. Outmatched Oldtown's finest. And made the Hightower fall."

The Dragonqueen jerked her thumb at the bay, towards Battle Isle. Such a small gesture, yet the entire square seemed to shiver at her words. Flinch as though she'd struck them.

Particularly the surviving Green soldiers. There was more than one wail of despair from that lot.

"The Legions have shown us that together, there is nothing we cannot do. No enemy we cannot surpass, and no castle we cannot crush."

Rhaenyra paused in her speech, sweeping her gaze across the crowd.

"It was said that in Old Valyria, when a Legion distinguished itself in battle, they were given an honour. A cognomen. An honour long overdue, for you have all proved yourself thrice over.

"To the First Legion, you were the first of my Legions. The first army I ever truly raised, and the first I truly thought of as my own. There were no standards I set that you have not exceeded. No foe I declared that you were unable to break. No problem I encounter that you were not able to overcome.

You all set the gold standard upon which all other legions were measured on. The shining example for the rest to emulate.

This is not just praise, but a reminder of your duty. As the metaphorical oldest child of the family, you must always strive for perfection. You must never let your siblings outshadow you, and in turn, your siblings must strive to outdo you nonetheless."

The entire square seemed to pause, rapt in attention. Practically sitting on the edge of their seat, eagerly awaiting what would come next.

"I name you Firstborn; First and greatest of the Legions."

Applause, cheers. Swords banging on shields and boots stomping on the ground. The First Legion screamed themselves hoarse in approval.

Rhaenyra let them celebrate, but before long raised a hand once more, and the noise petered out obediently.

"To the Second Legion, what can I say that your enemies have not already spoken? The First Legion is respected, but it is you whom are feared.

Death can be fought, on open field and pitched battle. But when it comes riding in the wind? Sliding in under veil of night? Some might deride you for not giving a fair fight, but I spit on anyone whom thinks that fights should ever be fair. There's nothing fair in love or war, and I know that I love your irregular warmaking.

Your cataphracts tied down a force over ten times your size, brutally whittling away over a tenth of the Hightower host before even a single pitched battle. And to cap it off, you slew a dragon! What other armies in the world can boast of such a feat?

I name you Tempest; Swift death riding fast as the wind."

Another round of cheers, and Laena could not help but find her eye drawn towards young Princess Aemma, cradled with a surprising delicateness in Bell's steel hands. She was staring out at the huge crowd, eyes wide as she watched them cheer for her mother.

"To the Third Legion, you are the stalwart shield of our Realm, the true backbone of the Legions of Westeros. Never before has this continent ever seen such unbreaking discipline and steadfast valour, and quite possibly never again.

In the Battle of Rosewood, you snuck through the trees to hit the Greens in the back, braving the dangers of a forest at night. That forced march would have weakened any conventional army, and yet you all did not let your exhaustion affect you. You fearlessly attacked a host ten times your size, with neither castle walls nor dragons to protect you. Even as the Greens rallied and counterattacked, you stood tall against overwhelming odds. You held the line through sheer refusal to die, long enough that the rest of the Legions could come relive you.

I name you Rampart; The unyielding wall upon which our enemies break themselves upon."

Spears on the ground, the Unsullied backbone of the Third Legion drumming their approval as their fellow legionaries roared their approval to the sky.

"To the Fourth Legion, I will be the first to admit that my expectations for you lot were not high.

Your creation was mostly politics. House Arryn was weak under my cousin Jeyne, and her opposition was growing ever stronger. As such, I asked General Arryn to raise an army from the troops of the opposing Houses, to weaken their military might and give their young men something more productive to do than agitate for a war."

Self-depreciating laughter, a couple of rueful murmurs.

"But you have proven yourself. You may have started out as unruly troublemakers, but now I have never seen a more brave or loyal army. It is said that we find our true friends on the battlefield, and that is why I am honoured to call you all my friends.

The Greens had raised a formidable defence along the Mander. Three defensive lines, with three well-fortified castles as their linchpins. Garrisoned by ten thousand men, this was a barrier meant to hold off the full might of four Legions long enough for the First and Second to be crushed at Highgarden.

And yet, you broke through them all. Smashed through all three lines with impunity, taking all three castles with minimal help. And best of all, you did it all in the span of a single night! Three castles, in one night. This is an unprecedented feat. Never before has history seen such a swift and decisive breakthrough.

I name you Breakthrough; The tip of the spear, thrusting straight into the hearts of our foes."

Cheers now. The Fourth Legion yelling their support for the truth Rhaenyra had said. They may have once been the troops of Jeyne's opposition, but it was clear that they were now firm Black loyalists, and proud to call themselves such.

"To the Fifth Legion, I know what they call you all. Barbarians. Wildlings. Savages. The Southron lords sneer at you as 'uncivilised' or 'brutish'. Animals in human skin."

Hisses, low growls of anger. The Fifth Legion was always the least disciplined of them all, and they did not like such insults. It was at this time that many of said Southron lords suddenly realised that there were a whole lot of angry legionaries, many of which were wielding razor-sharp weapons. 

"Base calumny, I know. The First Men have wonderful traditions and nuanced culture. You are a proud folk, and who are the Andals to mock or judge you for being different? Who are they to call you inferior?

You the Fifth Legion have rebuffed all of their insults and mockery. You have proved in this war that the ways of First Men warmaking are still relevant in this modern age. Your raiders and skinchangers bled the Greens ferociously in the leadup to the Battle of the Rosewood, exhausting them and leaving them right open for the Third. Your berserkers, giants and mammoths shredded the last of the Greens in the climax of Operation Towerfall, leaving nothing behind but shallow graves and weeping widows.

I have nothing but the utmost respect for your ferocity in battle, for your sheer savage might. If your primal power makes you called barbarians, then wear that moniker with pride. You are what you are, and let nobody tell you otherwise.

I name you Savage; May our enemies quiver in their boots at the sight of you."

Wolflike howls of approval reverberated through the square, as the Fifth Legion threw their heads back and roared with animalistic approval. Many of the Andals shied away in fear at the sight, and even Princess Aemma onstage looked as though she was about to cry, her face utterly fearful.

"To the Sixth Legion, your reputation precedes you.

I can boast of your resilience, of your determination. Shower praise upon you all for battles won and castles conquered. But actions speak louder than words, and your actions truly do speak for themselves."

Rhaenyra did not gesture at the sundered tower, yet a shudder ran through the crowd once more. Paradoxically, the Hightower cast an even greater shadow while destroyed than when whole.

"I name you Towerfall; For reasons which require no explanation."

Aegon and Aemond looked fearful as the men whom brought the Hightower crumbling down began to cheer, the two princes backing away in fear. Even Helaena, normally so detached from the world, looked rather perturbed at the Sixth Legion.

As the celebrations wound down, King Rhaenyra turned her indigo gaze onto the captured Green soldiers, and fear rippled through the crowd.

These men weren't those whom fought at Oldtown and Highgarden. Those were all to a man buried in shallow graves. Laena had read the Legion report on the prisoner composition.

Most of these men came from the Arbor, Shield Islands, Old Oak, and the Mander. The former two had seen little fighting and thus their armies were largely intact. The latter two— like Highgarden—had fallen to Legion blades too quickly to mount significant resistance and thus their garrisons were captured with minimal casualties. After the war ended, Rhaenyra had pardoned the smallfolk conscripts and let them depart without strife, but she'd kept the career soldiers.

In addition to the professional knights and men-at-arms, there was a significant minority of captured sellswords. Mostly those once belonging to Lady Cerelle's host, whom deserted after the Rosewood. They'd turned to banditry after deserting the Green cause, only to be rounded up and arrested en masse by the Second and Fifth after the Rout at Highgarden.

"After my Legions took Highgarden, I made an offer to the surviving Tyrell garrison. They could choose Option One, and be hung as traitors to the Crown. Or, they could take Option Two. They could put on the uniforms of the Legions, and fight under my banner. And in exchange I'd pardon them all once the war was over."

The Faux Legion. A surprising number of them had actually chosen to remain in the Legions even after the war ended, and the freshly-instated General Rowan had seemed amenable to adding them to his Seventh Legion.

"Their performance in battle was genuinely impressive, and I am not a woman prone to waste. Even in this hour of victory, there are still battles that need to be fought, wars that need to be won."

Pentos. Last Laena had heard, the Prince of Pentos was gathering a massive mercenary army, intent on sending them aboard the Pentoshi Fleet to sack and burn King's Landing in reprisal for Mother burning the House of Bought and Sold while chasing Aerion.

"And as such, I shall offer you all a similar deal."

General Thaddeus Rowan stepped forwards, and thrust a banner into the ground. The Valyrian numeral seven in red, on a background of pure black.

"You may refuse, that is your right. But I must caution you against such a choice, for the courts have been convened over your crimes. And it is a near-certainty that the tribunals will see you all executed for treason."

Shouts of anger, protests. A few tried to struggle against their bonds, but the Legionaries forced the prisoners back in line with liberal use of cudgels.

"Those whom join the Seventh Legion will be given a stay of execution. You will be shipped off to foreign battlefields, and fight enemies of the Realm. You will fight, and keep fighting, for however long it takes. But one day, your exile will end, your past crimes will be expunged, and you shall return to Westerosi soil pardon in hand."

The sullen anger had simmered out a bit now, and there was a degree of contemplation in the air now.

One more push, and they'd inevitably go rolling down the hill. Laena could see that, which meant that there was no where her girlfriend missed it either.

"It is not the tradition of the Legions to hand out accolades before the battle is won, but I hold faith in your ability succeed. To prove to the entire Realm that everyone deserves a second chance.

I name you Redemption; A promise that one day, you shall walk as free men."

They knelt, and with that, the last embers of the Greens died.

So begun the reign of King Rhaenyra I Targaryen.

Notes:

I don't ask for a lot, but can I get some encouragement?

I've had a pretty rough few weeks, and I could do with some moral support. A little bit will go a long way for me.

Thanks.