Chapter 10: X: Let Misery and Horror My Heart Transform to Stone

X: Let Misery and Horror My Heart Transform to Stone

He was riding home when they came, horses galloping, hoofs thundering. He wondered what could incite in them such a hurry, but he did not wonder long.

Ser Arlan nudged his house in the front and spoke with him:

"My prince, I bring ill tidings. Lady Aelinor was riding in the woods to pick flowers with her handmaidens when they were beset by brigands. Their leader wore a helmet shaped like a vulture's head. The guards were able to beat them back, but…"

Dawning horror was on Aerys' face when he spoke:

"Has my wife been hurt?"

"No," answered Arlan with a grim face, "but the fright she was given has troubled her so that she has begun her labours early. We were sent after you, so I know not if she had trouble in the birthing bed or not."

Aerys suddenly jabbed his spurs into his horse's flesh, riding with great speed towards the castle, and the rest of the party could hardly keep up with him.

Once in the inner courtyard, he dismounted with great speed and ran towards his wife's chambers. He found his way barred by the maester, intent on having his say. About what, Aerys could not fathom, since he had expressly ordered that the care for his wife's health be left solely to the Red Hands from Braavos.

"My prince," maester Glaive said, "I tried to enter the birthing chamber, so I might practice my arts so that I would ensure the child is born alive, but I was denied entry by those foreign hacks, and I fear the babe has died courtesy of their failure."

"The babe is dead?!" cried out Aerys. "But my wife - does she live?"

"Aye," said the master and kept speaking, unknowingly digging his grave. "But if I had been allowed there, I could have cut her and ensured that the boy would have been born alive, and you would have now a living heir."

Aerys stilled and a cold look descended upon his face, as the maester buried himself with every word coming out of his mouth. Then he spoke:

"I gave explicit orders to the Red Hands, that in case anything happened, the life of my wife comes first, not of the babe."

You could see realisation upon the man's face, but not for long. For fingers soon grasped his throat, their grip tightening and tightening. The maester's face grew white, his breath laboured, his feet and arms swung wildly, grasping at life, and failing. Soon his breath stopped, the light in his eyes dimmed, the hand released his throat and the unfortunate master's body fell limp and lifeless to the ground.

Aerys looked at his corpse, spit on him, and kicked him once, for good measure. As the servants and guards stood around, their mouths agape, he spoke again:

"Fucking grey rat!... Now where is my wife?!"

Aerys spent three days by his wife's side. On the second he managed to get her out of the house, and they went into the gardens. On the third they buried their son. Their son, who should have lived, should have lived and grown and loved and fought and one day should have died old as Prince of Summerhall, surrounded by children and grandchildren. But it was not to be so.

At the end of the third day, Aerys summoned his council by his side. The maester was dead, so one of his acolytes came to the meeting, trembling on his feet.

Aerys' face was cold, with rage and grief writ upon his face. He gave his order curtly, with a tone that permitted no delay and no contradiction:

"You, send a raven to the Citadel and tell them to send me a new maester, since I strangled the last one. And yes, I want you to write those exact words."

"There's two missives on the table. One is to be sent to the Old Man in the Hightower, and the other to Erich Penrose, at Parchments. You are not to read their content."

"To others - my neighbours, envoys must be sent, delivering a single message: "The Prince of Summerhall invites you to a hunt, so that you might feast on vulture's flesh."

It took some time for Aerys' guests to show up at Summerhall. And once they did, they were quickly ushered in the council room. Of them, only Lord Penrose knew the whole tragic affair, but the others were soon to find out.

"My wife was beset by brigands led by a man wearing a helm the shape of a vulture, and the fright she got led to the loss of our son in childbirth," said Aerys.

The lords started speaking, muttering, and yelling, but amidst them Pearse Caron made himself heard:

"Another of those damn Vulture Kings again? It has been but five decades since the last one, but the Dornish can not hide their perfidy for longer, it seems. Have you sent word of such to the king, my prince?"

"I have not," said Aerys. "I wish to handle my own vengeance, and between us, we have enough men to bring the brigand to heel. One question needs answered though."

"Tell me, milord Dondarrion, how could a villain such as this, and his men, sneak trough your lands, for they can not be anything else but Dornish, and come into mine, and attack my own wife?"

Lord Dondarrion tried to protest against the accusation, but he knew the truth was truth – the brigands had traversed his lands and somehow he knew not about it. What excuse he could have – that his smallfolk sheltered and hid them from his eyes? It could not be, for he had no Dornish scum amidst his folk, and if he, or his forebearers knew of any of that sort, they would have surely driven them from his lands.

The truth was evident, and it stared him in the face. As did the prince, his eyes not rimmed with tears of grief, but filled with a grim glint that promised vengeance, bloodshed, and death. So he did not deny it, and hung his head, ashamed.

"I was not vigilant, my prince, and for that I must ask your forgiveness," said he. "I shall gather my men and hunt and slay this Vulture King to wipe my shame."

"You shall not. I will lay my vengeance upon him. I shall strike down upon him and his confederacy of malefactors with great vengeance and furious anger. It is me and mine he has wronged, and no one provokes me with impunity," answered the prince.

"I will burn him from the Red Mountains. I shall hunt for him even in the very sands of Dorne and even beyond the Summer Sea if I have too. I'll hang and draw the lot of them and judge them afterwards."

"I am in need of your men, and by your men I mean the swiftest riders, the best huntsmen, mountaineers that know every goat path like the back of their hand. I need to find his every track, find out every place he took shelter in, apprehend every man that gave him aid and succour."

"If I shall have to ride in my uncle's lands to do so, I shall do so without waiting for his permission. If any of his subjects are found to have aided him – by giving tidings to them of any exploit intended against them by myself, or by selling victuals, weapons, or mounts to them, I shall strike them down. If he has been given hearth and harvest in any village, I shall burn it to the ground."

"If any man of noble blood joined to his cause, in however small a degree I shall tear down his castle, and any who wishes to raise it anew shall set its foundations with the price of his firstborn and shall erect its gates with the price of his firstborn."

"If you wish to abide by these terms, then I ask you to join me in this Vulture Hunt. If you do not, then go back home and may the Seven prove as good to you as you have proven yourself good neighbours to me."

The Marcher lords gathered in that room stood as one, and each in his turn drew his sword and offered his aid. They bound and obliged themselves to set forth and hunt down the Vulture King and his brigands, and punish any who gave him succour, and deliver said outlaw in the hands of the Prince of Summerhall, so he might avenge the grievous wound done to him.

When they left, Ser Arlan, taking care not to rouse the prince's anger once more, had his say.

"While I approve wholeheartedly of what you have set to do, the king surely must desire to know the news of a new Vulture King rising, with Dorne now joined to the realm."

Aerys stubbornly refused to dignify him with an answer, but the former hedge knight did not budge, remaining stuck to his seat, awaiting a reply.

"Fine then," the prince spoke at last, "sent a messenger with the lamest horse to the Red Keep. Have him share the news and excuse the lack of a raven on my master's sudden death. But by the time my father and mother shall know of this, I shall be in the Red Mountains, and this Hunt shall proceed only according to my will alone. I need no meddling in it, from King's Landing or Storm's End alike."

"For I will gladly burn those who strike at my blood! And if innocents will in error be struck at my hand, let their kin pray in gratitude – for I have sent them to their eternal reward from this gloom and cruel world. But those who have done this evil deed, or provided aid for this, shall find that my vengeance will be more grievous than whatever awaits them in the Seven Hells."