The Bells of Westeros

Disclaimer: none of the characters are mine, but belong to their respective owners.

Across the multiverse…

One

The bells are ringing all over King's Landing, even as the sky grows darker and more overcast with clouds. The pallbearers are bearing the pall, or rather – the coffin, an ornate affair, traditional to the Westeros' kings.

An epoch has ended.

Aerys Targaryen, the Second of that name, has died.

Long live the king!

Everyone's relief is palpable. There are no celebrations, there are no overt celebrations, of the event in question, (though there are rumors that the smallfolk have their own views on the matter and are expressing them amongst each other and the other low-rank citizens rather…riotously, but who cares about the smallfolk?), but the atmosphere, while not exactly celebratory, is certainly not mourning.

Aerys Targaryen, the Second of that name, has died.

Long live the king!

(And good riddance!)

Courtesies must be made, customs must be obeyed, protocols must be followed, and so the funeral procession of Aerys Targaryen II (the Disliked, if not the outright Hated) is solemn, silent affair, with the Lords Paramount and other high-ranking nobles taking the front, (right after Rhaegar himself – all hail the king! – and his lady mother, and his lady wife, and are those Dornesmen next to them, he really should ask prince Lewyn afterwards?), and the younger people – closer to Rhaegar himself, not that it matters – further in the back. All are solemn, all are in the black or in any other appropriate mourning clothing, and all are silent.

At least the ones in the front, where the late Aerys' immediate family can hear them. (In the back it is another story, even now the winds are bringing echoes of whispers from the back, half-formed rumors and half-baked words and phrases. Aerys cannot hear them fully, they dissipate into the damp air before they can reach his ears properly, but he knows they are there. He should really talk to Varys as soon as possible – and where is Varys?)

Rhaegar looks around. He sees their destination, where his father is going to be laid to rest after a long life. Ironically, but his casket he looks nothing like himself – the first thing that his lady mother did after everyone, including the Kingsguard, realized that the king had died from some ailment of old age, (cough), was to order have his hair cut and his beard trimmed, his nails clipped and his body washed so that 'he would look like himself for his final journey', as she said. Rhaegar cannot blame her logic, he remembered as to how his father looked lately, ever since the entire Duskendale fiasco – he began to look wondrous and strange, and in a bad way, as the smallfolk, and the nobles, and everyone in-between began to give him a wide berth – they began to give all the Targaryens a wide berth.

Father ate it up like sugar, claiming that that was the proper respect for the king and the royal family; Rhaegar was not so sure. Neither was his lady wife, and there she is, his Elia, walking right next to him, supporting him, even though her condition is beginning to show – right. Screw that. Next time someone important dies, Elia and the rest of them will ride a horse instead. Horses, because several people on one horse does not work.

Elia is mouthing something silently… what is it? Ah, yes. They are finally here, after all the dampness, the ominous sky, and the muddy and uneven cobblestones underfoot. It is time for him to say a speech.

And overhead, the funerary bells are ringing.

/ / /

Two

The bells are ringing all over the King's Landing. Their ringing is loud and joyous, as warm and mellow as the spring sun itself – the latest winter is over, spring is here. The air is crisp and warm, neither cold as it is in winter nor sweltering hot, as it is in summer, but is just perfect.

The swallows and swifts that are flying overhead agree with it, as do all the trees and other plants in the royal gardens – they are all opened wide and are blooming happily in the sun, as it shines happily from the freshly-washed spring sky, set in a frame of clouds.

"I see that you're in a poetic mood, my husband," Her Grace, queen Elia of the Seven – actually, Eight – kingdoms sashays merrily over to him, her mood finally improved after the birth of their son, (and heir, but Rhaegar is not going to tell Elia that – not here, not now), even though the extra weight that she had picked up during her second pregnancy hasn't vanished, (and probably never will, as lord Mace Tyrell has 'tactfully' suggested), but this is better than her first pregnancy, from which she has barely recovered.

And Rhaenys was born as a girl.

Not that there is nothing wrong with women, they have ruled Dorne as often as it was by men, but the Seven – right, Eight now – kingdoms – are a different story. If Elia and her brother, Oberyn, Rhaegar's Lord Hand – want Rhaenys to rule, then Rhaegar will give her Dorne and be done with it, all of the Martells' serpentine tangles be damned.

The Martells are liars. They make too many clever rings, when they lie curled up, waiting for the next sucker. Those clever rings result in their clever tales. But Rhaegar is a dragon, he is a Targaryen, and he is better than all of them combined – and there are a lot of Dornesmen in his court these days.

Yes, on one hand that is natural – his lady wife is from Dorne, his Lord Hand is from Dorne and so on – but nevertheless. A balance must be kept. People from other parts of his kingdoms must have positions and places of power in his court.

There is Mace Tyrell, his Master of Coin, and the Lord Paramount of the Reach. True, there had been some rumors about his bad relationship with his mother, Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, back in the south, but while Rhaegar has never appreciated any man who had an ill will towards their mother, after some personal experiences in keeping his own mother away from 'the steering wheel of the ship of state' given him an understanding of Mace's situation – it's never easy being a king, or even a Lord Paramount, when your mother is constantly undercuts you, now is it? Of course not, so good for Mace in resolving the situation without any civil unrest.

There is Brandon Stark, the eldest son of the Old Wolf, Rhaegar's Master of Ships, and eventually the next Lord Paramount of the North. True, there is open dissent in the North – some lords are clamoring for him, and some – for his brother, Eddard Stark. Some people blame the Lannisters for this – ever since Jaime Lannister married Lyanna Stark, he kept some interest in the North – but others are blaming Dorne, since Brandon has married Ashara Dayne, one of Elia's ladies-in-waiting over Catelyn Tully, the younger daughter of Lord Tully.

Hoster Tully… now there is a thorny matter of contention. The man was instrumental in bringing the Iron Islands into the fold, (and making Seven Kingdoms into Eight at last), and his relationship with the now Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands – Balon Greyjoy – is certainly intense and deep, but though Rhaegar is loath to agree with Jaime Lannister on anything, he has to give him that: Hoster Tully isn't a likable man, and neither is Balon Greyjoy. He – endures both of them, for such is the lot of kings, but nothing more. There will be trouble there, neither the Riverlands nor the Iron Islands had been the most content of places, ever since Lord Tully's elder daughter, vanished, (as did his ward, Petyr Baelish), but regardless of what his goodbrother and Elia advise them, Rhaegar will not make the first move. There must be proof first.

…And there must be proof first as well in that the Lannisters really are planning some mischief of their own alongside Rhaegar's lady mother, as opposed to the fact that his Elia and lady Lyanna Lannister seem to dislike each other in some irrational way. Rhaegar vaguely remembers Lyanna from his father's funeral and his own coronation – a shy, savage girl that was clearly overwhelmed by the show and spectacle of the capital, nothing like his Elia, and yet his Elia seems to dislike lady Lyanna; such is the oddness of women…

"My lord husband?" Elia asks softly, smiling sweetly – this means that she wants something, but Rhaegar knows how to handle her: he hugs and embraces her. It is easy, even – spring is in the air, and all is beautiful and fresh.

Go, dragons!

Outside of the palace, the bells are ringing. Winter is finally over, spring is finally here!

/ / /

Three

The bells are ringing, and they are ringing in alarm. The Ironborn are here, they are down in the south, and they are back to being, well, themselves.

It has been several years since Aerys' funeral, since Rhaegar's coronation, since Balon Greyjoy – apparently via Hoster Tully – has approached the now-king Rhaegar Targaryen and asked, (quite humbly, supposedly), to join the Seven Kingdoms properly, 'for the time has come'. Rhaegar – already flush with happiness from his new crown, his new freedom, (like all fathers, Aerys II Targaryen had been a hard man when it came to his sons, especially his eldest), his new relationship with his wife, (Elia too has blossomed after Aerys II was gone… perhaps too much and too literally, but it doesn't matter now) – was quite willing and eager to agree, to do what no Targaryen proper – not even Aegon I Conqueror – has done in a while, and so the Iron Islands were joined to the Seven Kingdoms, all 'right and proper-like', as one of Balon's brothers has commented back then.

…A lot of time has passed since then, a lot of water has flown since then, a lot of changes have come since then. The North is divided between the two elder brothers of the Old Wolf, as Brandon angles for the Dorne and east, and Eddard – for the Westerlands. Neither of the brothers has the clear majority of the Great Houses of the North, as neither Brandon's wife lady Ashara nor their sister lady Lyanna is very popular up there.

The South is divided in itself, this Mace had to admit, as he charges with, well, his mace, to the Highgarden's walls – where are the Ironborn?

(Out there, in the sea, going for Oldcastle first, it looks like).

Mace isn't ignorant, he knows that many people, smallfolk and noble and everyone in-between, disagree with how he has handled his mother, but what could he do? He saw how their king, Rhaegar Targaryen, has handled his own mother, the queen mother, even though he was younger than Mace was, and the queen mother was even more formidable than lady Olenna was. How could he remain under his mother's heel when their king didn't? And he made Mace his Master of the Coin, so obviously he saw Mace's true potential, did he not? Of course he did, and Mace did his best to live up to the royal expectations, for the king Rhaegar was just that sort of a man that even a Lord Paramount of the Reach can look up to, you know! Mace could not let His Grace down…and so he did not, even though not everyone in the Reach approves of that. But then again, this is the Reach; ever since the Tyrells became Lords Paramount, there had always been grumbling and discontent from the other houses. Tyrells have always dealt with them, (in no small part by being always loyal to the Targaryens instead), and Mace's generation should be no different – and it is not.

…There are also rumors that Mace got his role as Master of the Coin by Her Grace's whim and plotting; that is nonsense. Dorne and the Reach have never been the best of friends, in no small part because they were neighbours; Dorne's reavers have done their best to bring the Reach down, but the Reach has always endured. There might be some truth about Her Grace bringing Brandon Stark and some other people into His Grace's Small Council, but not Mace, not a Tyrell!

…Frankly, Mace feels that Her Grace is getting the bad end of it; yes, her feud with the Lady Lannister is annoying, but nothing more. Like many people of Dorne, she talks more than what she has, but…

…But frankly, this is not the time nor the place for such thoughts: Oldtown is burning, as the Ironborn reavers, well, reave. Clearly, the years of peace hadn't softened them any, and-

Mace frowns. So far, the Ironborn are not moving inland, preferring to limit themselves just to the Oldtown. It is not exactly a good thing, certainly not for any of Oldtown's people, but for the entirety of the Reach, it could have been worse. As it is, people, especially the Tyrells' bannermen, and knights, and men-at-arms, are getting their act together and are about to launch a counterattack. The Ironborn might consider themselves to be the superior sailors, but in a proper naval battle? They are no match for the Tyrells; they will rue the day they have crossed the Reach and delivered this insult to the Tyrells and this injury to Oldcastle, and-

A raven arrives, bearing grim news: a much larger force of the Ironborn has come through the Riverlands into Westeros proper. There is no sign of the Tully family – either they are all dead or have turned tail and thrown their lot with the Iron Islands and the Ironborn. In either case, looks like the Oldtown attack, and the others, (there were others), were just diversions from the main event…

Mace Tyrell looks at the burning and smoking mess of the Oldtown and realizes that his optimism was premature…

Overhead, the bells warning of the Ironborn attack are still ringing.

/ / /

Four

The bells are ringing.

The day is typical of an autumn, cold and dark and rainy; the sky is overcast with low clouds that are just full of autumnal rain, ready to burst out of the clouds dark flanks and bellies and rain down upon the good (and not so good) people of Westeros. It suits the mood of the aforementioned people of Westeros just fine, as the king of Westeros, Rhaegar Targaryen, the First of the Name, is dead.

Dead, slain by the traitous Ironborn and their Riverlands' lackeys, it looks like. Certainly, no one is pointing their fingers at anyone else, not that there is anyone else to point their fingers at, as everyone else had (sort of) set aside their infighting and turned onto the traitors and common enemies instead.

Just in time too, though this is not thought by everyone; some claim, for example, that the Lannisters have delayed their supposedly-timely rescue just long enough for the reavers to reduce the Great Sept of Baelor to coals and embers, for supposedly Jaime Lannister hated septons and septas ever since lady Joanna died a long time ago… but then Robert Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, pointed out, not unreasonably, that his good-brother, (as well as lord Robert's own wife, Cersei), disliked the maesters instead, and had nothing against the Seven, so try again, would you? His fingering of his now-infamous war hammer reinforced his words, so no one was foolish enough to take lord Robert on his word, but some resentment regardless remained.

(It could be noticed that the mention of the maesters could have set-off lord Mace, regarding the sacking of Oldtown, but somehow it didn't; then again, ever since the abovementioned man resolved his issues with his mother regarding just who is in charge of Reach, his position regarding Robert Baratheon has changed some).

The queen – now the queen-mother, Elia Targaryen, clears her throat, and everyone turns to her, (some might say upon her – her husband the king Rhaegar was as liked as his father Aerys II was feared, but Her Grace herself was always treated more ambiguously: not everyone liked the influence of Dorne at Rhaegar's court, and blamed the Martells for this state of affairs. Now that Rhaegar I was dead, change was in the wind, maybe?)

"Lords Paramount and high lords; knights, bannermen, noble men and women," Elia goes on bravely: the years may have changed her looks, Elia hasn't aged all that well, as compared to some other women, such as lady Catelyn, the wife of Eddard Stark, but she is still the same Elia on the inside, still the same formidable lady who had helped Rhaegar to… manage his mother, the queen mother, back then, and who remained the number one woman in Rhaegar's court ever since, until now. "We have gathered here to mourn the passing of our lord and king, and to choose his successor. Are you with me now?"

The answer is 'Yes', and while it is not very orderly, it is still orderly enough for Elia's liking: she knows that she, her brother, his wife and the rest of their people aren't very popular in the rest of Westeros, and if she's not careful, they will turn upon the Martells even now, before Rhaegar is even fully interred. Thus, she will take the discordance and work with it.

"I would like to nominate my daughter, Rhaenys, first," she says slyly.

"Done!" This time the roar is unanimous, as everyone agrees with the – candidacy of Rhaegar and Elia's firstborn, catching Elia flat-footed, (maybe for the first time in her life, maybe not). "In the name of Seven Kingdoms, we recognize Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, the First of her name!"

"What the fuck-" speaks prince Oberyn Martell, Elia's brother, and husband of Danyeris Targaryen, sister of the late king Rhaegar, and his last surviving sibling, (no one is entirely sure what has befallen young Viserys, but everyone is certain that it is the Blackfyres' fault, or someone else's. Period).

"Shut up, Oberyn," Dyran of Dorne, the elder brother of Oberyn and Elia cuts off Oberyn before the Red Viper can work himself up to his usual state of being. "You and Elia and the rest of your party have intrigued and manipulated long enough. It's time for something new."

"Brother," Oberyn chokes, "shouldn't you be back in Dorne?"

Dyran gives the Red Viper a flat look, rather reminiscent of Tywin Lannister, when the latter was the Targaryens' Hand and the Lord Paramount of Westeros; now it's his oldest son Jaime, who's the latter, and as for the former… this remains to be seen – clearly, Oberyn Martell is done.

For her part, Elia Targaryen just sputters something ineligible, as she is clearly doing her best not to collapse upon herself.

"Elia," lady Lyanna Lannister walks over to her long-time rival…just rival. (No one is certain how the animosity between the two women began. Maybe it just did. Who knows?) "Don't worry. It will be okay from now on-"

Elia just grabs the other woman by the collar and begins to splutter something still ineligible into her face instead.

"And on this note," Theon Greyjoy speaks up suddenly, "can anyone tell me as to why I am here?"

"You're the new Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands," the now-queen Rhaenys Targaryen, the First of her Name, says dryly, but everyone falls silent and listens. "Yes, your family proved to be rotten to the core, given how they've kidnapped and held hostage Lysa Tully and Petyr Baelish all these years, but your actions, as well as those of your sister and Lord Edmure did much to fix that damage. Therefore, congratulations, Lord Theon – you got the job. Anymore questions?"

Surprisingly, there are not any, or maybe – it is not so surprising, as somehow the still uncrowned queen already sounds every inch a queen and a force onto her own.

"Let's get Her Grace crowned," Edmure Tully, now the Lord Paramount of the Trident and the Riverlands, (despite his father's perfidy and treason) speaks up into the sudden silence. "Does anyone know a passable candidate for a High Septon, too?"

This breaks the silence, as the members of the Great Council begin to discuss the latter – ever since the Great Sept has fallen, High Septons are much harder to come by. Life in Westeros begins to return to its' normal self, (even though the late Rhaegar has not been interred yet).

And overhead, the bells of Westeros are ringing.

End