Chapter 46 Ravens
I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
_________________________________________
Chapter Forty-Six: The Storm of Ravens
The ravens took flight at dawn.
Hundreds of them, black wings cutting through the grey northern sky, carrying the truth across the Seven Kingdoms.
Each one bore a copy of a letter written by Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, a declaration that would shake the realm to its core.
"To the Lords and Ladies of Westeros,
"I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, write to proclaim the true name and lineage of my son, Jon Snow. He is no bastard. His true name is Daeron Targaryen, the son of my sister, Lyanna Stark, and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. He was born of a lawful union, wed in both the customs of the Old Gods and the Seven."
"House Stark and the North stand united in support of Daeron Targaryen's claim to the Iron Throne. We will not bend the knee to the Queen's bastards nor to those who would steal the crown from its true heir."
"Let it be known: The North Remembers."
The letters spread like wildfire.
And across the realm, kings, queen, and lords took their first steps toward war.
---
The Westerlands – Tywin Lannister's War Camp, Near the Golden Tooth
Tywin Lannister read the letter once. Then again.
Then, without a word, he set the parchment down on the table before him. His face was impassive, unreadable—but his fingers drummed once, twice, against the wood.
His commanders stood in tense silence.
Across the tent, Gregor Clegane grunted, his thick fingers twitching near the pommel of his sword. Kevan Lannister's face was grave, his hands clasped behind his back.
Jaime Lannister sat lazily at the table, his hand tapping idly against his knee. "Well," he drawled, "that was unexpected."
Tywin's cold gaze flickered toward his son. "This changes everything."
Tyrion, sipping wine in the corner, smirked. "Indeed, Father. The North has never been so bold." He swirled his cup thoughtfully. "Perhaps this is a good thing. The boy's claim might weaken Stannis and Renly's positions, split their supporters—"
"This complicates matters," Tywin cut in, his voice sharp as a blade.
Kevan nodded. "The North was already marching. Now they march with purpose."
Tywin exhaled through his nose.
"The Starks are making their move," he said, his voice cold. "We must counter it—before the realm begins to believe this boy is truly a Targaryen."
Jaime smirked. "Whether he is or not, the Starks will fight for him like he is."
Tywin did not answer immediately.
Instead, he turned his gaze to Tyrion.
"You will go to King's Landing," he said.
Tyrion blinked. "Me?"
"Yes," Tywin said. "Cersei will act rashly. She will make mistakes. You will ensure that does not happen."
Tyrion let out a dry chuckle. "Ah, of course. Who better to temper the Lioness than her beloved brother?"
Tywin's stare hardened.
"You are my son," he said, "and I will not leave my legacy in the hands of a foolish queen and a spoiled boy. You will go to King's Landing as Hand of the King."
Silence fell.
Jaime sat up slightly, surprised. Kevan remained still.
Tyrion's smirk faded.
At last, he inclined his head.
"Well then," he murmured. "I suppose I had best prepare for the vipers' den."
---
King's Landing – The Small Council Chamber
Cersei's nails dug into the wood of the council table.
Her eyes, burning with fury, moved from face to face—the gathered members of the small council sitting in stunned silence.
The letter sat before them, its words taunting her.
"The North dares," she hissed. "They dare to name this—this bastard—as the rightful king?"
Varys, ever unreadable, tilted his head. "It seems they do, Your Grace."
Pycelle stroked his long white beard, looking deeply troubled. "This is dangerous," he murmured. "The North is vast. Their armies—"
"They are still far from King's Landing," Cersei snapped. She turned to Littlefinger, who had only just arrived from the Westerlands. "What does my father say of this insult?"
Baelish face was grim. "Lord Tywin is preparing to deal with the matter."
"And what of Joffrey?" she spat. "My son is king. And yet, this—this Targaryen—this Stark bastard—dares to challenge him?"
Baelish leaned forward, his fingers steepled. "The question is… will the realm believe it?"
Cersei turned her venomous glare on him.
"It does not matter," she said through gritted teeth. "I want this… bastard and his false claim burned from history. Every man who swears to him is a traitor."
Varys smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "War it is, then."
---
Dragonstone – Stannis Baratheon's War Room
Stannis read the letter with a clenched jaw.
He had not sat when the raven arrived, nor had he touched the meal before him. He stood rigid, his face betraying nothing.
Davos Seaworth shifted uneasily at his side.
"My Lord," he began carefully. "This… complicates things."
Stannis's blue eyes burned as he looked up. "Complicates?"
Melisandre stood in the shadows, watching with quiet intensity.
"House Stark has declared for this Daeron Targaryen," Stannis said slowly, as if tasting the words. "They name him the rightful king." His lip curled. "I am Robert's heir. The throne is mine."
"Yes, Your Grace," Davos said cautiously. "But if what Lord Stark says is true—"
"It does not matter," Stannis snapped. "I am Robert's rightful heir."
Davos hesitated, then nodded.
Melisandre, silent until now, stepped forward. "The flames have spoken of a dragon reborn," she said. "But only one man can be king."
Stannis's eyes flickered.
"We march," he said at last.
---
Highgarden – Renly Baratheon's Court
Laughter filled the halls of Highgarden—until the letter arrived.
Renly read it slowly, his easygoing smirk vanishing into something more serious.
"This… is an inconvenience."
Margaery Tyrell, seated beside him, said nothing. Her brother, Loras, looked unimpressed.
"This changes nothing," Loras said.
Renly exhaled. "It changes everything."
The Reachlords murmured among themselves.
"Do we still march?" Randyll Tarly asked.
Renly's grip tightened on the parchment.
"We do," he said. "The game has not changed. Only the players."
---
White Harbor
The ship rocked gently against the waves as the docks of White Harbor came into view.
Rhaella Targaryen stood at the bow, her silver hair hidden beneath a hood, her grip tight around the railing.
Daenerys and Viserys flanked her, their eyes wide as the city came closer.
Arthur Dayne stood behind them, ever watchful.
Rhaella's heart pounded.
They have arrived in the North.