[128] Chains of Blood and Stone

Chapter 128: Chains of Blood and Stone

—

Trystane stood frozen at the window, his fingers pressed against the glass as three magnificent beasts shrank to specks in the vast blue canvas of sky. When they finally disappeared beyond the horizon, he let his hand fall, leaving smudged prints on the immaculate surface.

The Water Gardens continued their gentle symphony of bubbling fountains and rustling palms outside, but to Trystane, the sounds rang hollow, almost mocking. Everything beautiful suddenly seemed cruel in its indifference to what had just happened.

Myrcella was gone. His golden-haired love, torn from his arms by a conqueror with wings and the audacity to call himself king. And Arianne, his own sister, had gone willingly, looking incredibly excited atop the green beast.

The betrayal cut deeper than any blade.

He pressed his eyelids shut, the Targaryen's threat echoing in his mind. "I need the Lady to be pure." The implication made bile rise in his throat. The dragon king intended to take Myrcella as his own, to plant his seed in Lannister soil. It was all part of some vile game, and they were merely pieces to be moved across the board.

Just yesterday, they had whispered promises of forever beneath the orange trees. Now their dreams had been reduced to ash by dragonfire, scattered by the wingbeats of tyrants.

Trystane's hands curled into fists. The earlier bravado he'd tried to show Myrcella, his pathetic promises of rescue, now burned in his memory. What could he, a prince without power, possibly do against dragons?

Trystane turned away from the sky and began to walk.

"My Prince?" A hesitant voice broke through his dark thoughts, making him pause. "Prince Trystane? Are you... are you well? Where are you going?"

Dreyan, his loyal servant since childhood, stood several paces away, his face etched with concern. The young man's eyes darted nervously to Trystane's clenched fists, his taut posture.

Trystane straightened his shoulders, something cold and unfamiliar crystallizing in his chest where warm affection had once resided. There has to be a way, he told himself. The boy who had spent afternoons teaching Myrcella cyvasse was gone. In his place stood someone harder, someone desperate.

"To the dungeons," he replied, his voice low and stripped of its usual warmth. "I have matters to discuss with Father."

Without waiting for a response, he strode away, his steps carrying him not toward his chambers but toward the darker corners of Sunspear where his deposed father awaited.

Behind him, Dreyan watched, a shadow of foreboding settling over his features.

****

The dragons landed with ground-shaking thuds that sent clouds of dust billowing across the courtyard of Casterly Rock. Soldiers in Tyrell green scattered like startled birds, some dropping to their knees, others backing away with hands on their sword hilts.

I savored the sight as I dismounted Viserion with a leap that no ordinary man could manage, landing with catlike grace on the stone below. Beside me, Myrcella clung to the dragon's scales, her knuckles white, face drained of color after our journey through the clouds.

"Come, my lady," I offered my hand. "Your new home awaits."

Her Lannister green eyes darted around the courtyard, taking in the Tyrell banners that now flew where lions once reigned. With visible reluctance, she placed her trembling hand in mine.

I lifted her down easily, noting how light she felt in my arms. She stumbled slightly as her feet touched stone, her legs unsteady after hours astride Viserion.

Arianne dismounted from Rhaegal with the fluid grace of a woman accustomed to riding, though not typically beasts with wings. Her Dornish riding dress had hiked dangerously high during the flight, revealing bronze thighs that caught the eye of every male soldier in the vicinity. She pushed back her windswept hair, her silver eyes bright with exhilaration.

"Hah, Your Grace. That was..." she breathed, her full lips curving into a smile that promised sin, "incredible."

“It must have,” Daenerys said with a hint of apprehension. I could understand why she wouldn’t like a random woman riding ‘her’ Rhaegal. She approached, the sunlight catching on her draconic features—horns gleaming like polished ivory, scales shimmering with iridescent hues.

Her transformation still startled guards who hadn't seen her before, their hands tightening on their weapons before they remembered themselves.

"Brother," she acknowledged with a nod, her tail swishing behind her in a lazy arc. "The fortress seems more secure than the last time we saw it."

Ser Garlan Tyrell approached, bowing deeply. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, evidence of the endless work of securing a fortress the size of Casterly Rock. His armor, though polished, bore the scratches and dents of recent battle.

"Your Grace," he greeted, straightening. "We've maintained order as commanded. The remaining Lannister servants and soldiers await your judgment."

"Excellent work as always, Ser Garlan," I replied. "And Lady Margaery? Where is my rose?"

As if summoned by her name, Margaery appeared at the entrance to the keep. She descended the steps with measured grace, her movement enhancing the sway of her hips beneath her emerald gown. The dress hugged her curves like a lover's hands, the neckline dipping just low enough to suggest rather than reveal.

"My king," she curtseyed deeply, the motion causing her bodice to strain deliciously against her breasts. When she rose, her honey-brown eyes swept over our party, lingering momentarily on Arianne with barely concealed displeasure.

"Princess Arianne," she greeted, her voice sweet as poisoned wine. "How... unexpected to see you here. I thought you'd be busy ruling Dorne."

Arianne's smile widened, showing perfect white teeth against her copper skin. "Lady Margaery," she replied, matching Margaery's tone precisely. "I wouldn't miss this historic occasion. Besides, some matters require a personal touch." Her gaze flicked to me, laden with meaning.

Margaery's smile tightened imperceptibly. "How fortunate we are to benefit from your experience."

I suppressed a smile at their verbal sparring. Women fighting over power—and me—was a sight I never tired of. In another life, I'd watched this dance play out on a screen, the subtle barbs and veiled threats that defined courtly politics. Now I stood at the center of it all, the prize they competed for. Honestly, it didn’t feel bad.

I couldn’t blame them. The maesters say history is written by the victors, but they forget that before it's written, it's sculpted by blood and bone. He who holds the power over blood and bone, was naturally the treasure in everyone’s eyes.

"Later, ladies," I interrupted, turning to Ser Garlan. "Gather everyone in the courtyard. All Lannister servants, the soldiers who surrendered, and the smallfolk from the surrounding area. And your Tyrell men as well."

"At once, Your Grace," Garlan nodded, shouting orders to his men.

While soldiers rushed to obey, I led our small procession to a raised platform near the main steps of the keep. Once, Tywin Lannister had stood here to address his people, his cold authority absolute. Now I would stand in his place, remaking his legacy in dragon's fire.

Myrcella followed silently, her eyes darting to each face we passed, perhaps searching for familiar servants or guards. I'd planned this moment carefully, her formal introduction as Lady of Casterly Rock. The public would see mercy where I executed strategy. They'd witness compassion where I planted control.

Within the hour, the courtyard filled with people. Servants in Lannister crimson stood beside Tyrell soldiers in green and gold. Smallfolk from the nearby town huddled together, their weathered faces upturned with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

I looked around at the assembled faces. Fear and uncertainty were etched on many. Good. Let them understand the shift in power.

I stepped forward, pulling Myrcella gently beside me. The sun caught her golden hair, creating a halo that enhanced the illusion I was crafting.

"People of Casterly Rock! Westerlands!" My voice boomed across the courtyard, enhanced by the natural acoustics of the stone walls. "Your former lord has fled, his armies broken. But the Rock will not be without a Lannister to guide it."

I paused, letting the words sink in, watching relief mix with confusion on their faces.

"By my decree, as Viserys Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I present to you your new Lady!" I placed my hand on Myrcella's shoulder, feeling her stiffen beneath my touch. "Myrcella of House Lannister! She will rule this ancient seat in my name. She will ensure the prosperity of the Westerlands and its unwavering loyalty to the Iron Throne."

I turned to face the crowd directly, allowing a touch of purple flames to flash in my eyes, a subtle show of the power that stood behind my words.

"Serve her, and you serve me. Honor her, and you honor the rightful King!"

A moment of silence followed, then hesitant applause broke out, beginning with the Tyrell soldiers and spreading uncertainly through the crowd. Murmurs rippled through the Lannister servants, some hopeful to see a familiar name in power, others suspicious of my intentions.

In the game of thrones, the most dangerous pieces are those that appear the weakest.

I beckoned Myrcella forward. "Address your people, my lady."

Her eyes widened in panic, but to her credit, she stepped forward, her chin lifting in a gesture so reminiscent of Cersei that I nearly laughed. Despite her fear, the blood of lions ran in her veins.

"I..." Her voice faltered, then strengthened. "I am honored to serve as Lady of Casterly Rock. I will work tirelessly for the welfare of the Westerlands and for... for peace throughout the realm." She glanced at me, clearly uncertain how to proceed.

I nodded encouragingly. This public display of her submission was exactly what I needed.

"Lannister gold will flow again," she continued, more confident now. "And the Rock will stand proud as it has for thousands of years."

Another round of applause, more genuine this time. I was a little surprised at the sight. The girl had a natural grace that inspired loyalty. A quality I intended to exploit fully.

After the ceremony concluded, we proceeded into the castle. Margaery slipped her arm through mine, pressing her soft curves against my side as we walked.

"A masterful display, my king," she murmured, her breath warm against my ear. "The girl seems to understand her position well enough."

"She's her mother's daughter," I replied, "though hopefully with better judgment."

Behind us, Arianne and Daenerys followed with Myrcella between them. I caught fragments of their conversation; Arianne describing the wonders of Casterly Rock, Daenerys asking polite questions about Myrcella's childhood.

The three made a striking picture to look at—copper, gold, and silver, each beautiful in her own way.

As we toured the fortress, Myrcella grew increasingly distracted, her eyes darting down corridors, her responses to questions growing shorter. Finally, as we paused in a grand hall where servants were preparing for an evening feast, she approached me.

"Your Grace," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My mother... you said I might see her?"

The vulnerability in her eyes was delicious. I'd dangled the promise of reunion before her, and now she reached for it like a drowning woman grasping for rope.

"All in good time, little lioness," I smiled slightly, enjoying the play of emotions across her face. "First, let us ensure your new subjects understand who their mistress is."

We spent the next hours touring the fortress, introducing Myrcella to key servants and guards. I watched her carefully, noting how she remembered names, how she spoke with natural courtesy despite her circumstances. The few remaining Lannister servants brightened at her presence, hope kindling in eyes that had been dead with fear.

By midday, we paused for a meal in one of the smaller dining halls. Margaery supervised the service personally, making a show of her authority as Queen-to-be. Arianne lounged across from her, deliberately casual, her every movement designed to emphasize her exotic beauty. Each time she reached for her wine, her body arched like a pleased cat, drawing eyes to the swell of her breasts beneath her riding dress.

"The Reach's bounty," Margaery announced as servants brought in platters of fresh fruits and roasted meats. "We've already established trade routes to ensure the Rock lacks for nothing. At least, as long as you desire it."

"How thoughtful," Arianne commented with a dry smirk, tracing the rim of her wineglass with one elegant finger. "Though Dornish wine would complement the meal so much better than this... what is it? Arbor gold?" She sipped delicately, her face a mask of polite disappointment.

Margaery's smile tightened. "The finest in the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Martell. Though perhaps your palate prefers something spicier?"

The barbs continued throughout the meal, neither woman willing to cede ground. Daenerys observed with detached amusement, occasionally catching my eye with knowing looks. She, at least, remained above such petty squabbles. Perhaps the dragon transformation had given her perspective the others lacked?

Myrcella ate little, pushing food around her plate, her eyes constantly drifting to the door as if expecting—or dreading—someone's arrival.

Sometimes the cruelest tortures are the ones we inflict with patience.

After the meal concluded, I dismissed the others to their various duties and entertainments. Margaery needed to oversee the evening's feast preparations. Arianne wished to explore the famed gardens of the Rock. Daenerys expressed interest in the library, always the scholar despite her fearsome appearance.

"Come, Lady Myrcella," I said, offering my arm. "There's more of your new domain to explore."

Her eyes lit with hope. Finally, the moment she'd been waiting for had arrived. She placed her slender hand on my forearm, and I led her deeper into the fortress.

Toward the Lannister Slave.

**

**

**

Come find fellow fans on Discord and more chapters on !

: .com/Master4thWall

Discord: https://discord.gg/dQeu27jBvf