A Feast for Dragons

Lord Tarly,” Ser Kevan reminded
him. “Stannis in the north, ironmen in the west, sellswords in the south. Defy
the High Septon, and we will have blood running in the gutters of King’s
Landing as well. If we are seen to be going against the gods, it will only
drive the pious into the arms of one or the other of these would-be usurpers.”
    Mace Tyrell remained unmoved. “Once Paxter Redwyne sweeps
the ironmen from the seas, my sons will retake the Shields. The snows will do
for Stannis, or Bolton will. As for Connington …”
    “If it is him,” Lord Randyll said.
    “… as for Connington,” Tyrell repeated, “what victories
has he ever won that we should fear him? He could have ended Robert’s Rebellion
at Stoney Sept. He failed. Just as the Golden Company has always failed. Some
may rush to join them, aye. The realm is well rid of such fools.”
    Ser Kevan wished that he could share his certainty. He had
known Jon Connington, slightly—a proud youth, the most headstrong of the gaggle
of young lordlings who had gathered around Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, competing
for his royal favor.
Arrogant, but able and energetic
. That,
and his skill at arms, was why Mad King Aerys had named him Hand. Old Lord
Merryweather’s inaction had allowed the rebellion to take root and spread, and
Aerys wanted someone young and vigorous to match Robert’s own youth and vigor.
“Too soon,” Lord Tywin Lannister had declared when word of the king’s choice
had reached Casterly Rock. “Connington is too young, too bold, too eager for
glory.”
    The Battle of the Bells had proved the truth of that. Ser
Kevan had expected that afterward Aerys would have no choice but to summon
Tywin once more … but the Mad King had turned to the Lords Chelsted
and Rossart instead, and paid for it with life and crown.
That was all
so long ago, though. If this is indeed Jon Connington, he will be a different
man. Older, harder, more seasoned … more dangerous
.
“Connington may have more than the Golden Company. It is said he has a
Targaryen pretender.”
    “A feigned boy is what he has,” said Randyll Tarly.
    “That may be. Or not.” Kevan Lannister had been here, in
this very hall when Tywin had laid the bodies of Prince Rhaegar’s children at
the foot of the Iron Throne, wrapped up in crimson cloaks. The girl had been
recognizably the Princess Rhaenys, but the boy … 
a faceless
horror of bone and brain and gore, a few hanks of fair hair. None of us looked
long. Tywin said that it was Prince Aegon, and we took him at his word
.
“We have these tales coming from the east as well. A second Targaryen, and one
whose blood no man can question. Daenerys Stormborn.”
    “As mad as her father,” declared Lord Mace Tyrell.
    That would be the same father that Highgarden and
House Tyrell supported to the bitter end and well beyond
. “Mad she may
be,” Ser Kevan said, “but with so much smoke drifting west, surely there must
be some fire burning in the east.”
    Grand Maester Pycelle bobbed his head. “Dragons. These same
stories have reached Oldtown. Too many to discount. A silver-haired queen with
three dragons.”
    “At the far end of the world,” said Mace Tyrell. “Queen of
Slaver’s Bay, aye. She is welcome to it.”
    “On that we can agree,” Ser Kevan said, “but the girl is of
the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and I do not think she will be content to
remain in Meereen forever. If she should reach these shores and join her
strength to Lord Connington and this prince of his, feigned or no … we
must destroy Connington and his pretender
now
, before Daenerys
Stormborn can come west.”
    Mace Tyrell crossed his arms. “I mean to do just that, ser.
After
the trials.”
    “Sellswords fight for coin,” declared Grand Maester Pycelle.
“With enough gold, we might persuade the Golden Company to hand over Lord
Connington and the pretender.”
    “Aye, if we had gold,” Ser Harys Swyft said. “Alas, my
lords, our vaults contain only rats and roaches. I have written again to the
Myrish bankers. If they will agree to make good the crown’s debt to the
Braavosi and extend us a new loan, mayhaps we will not have to raise the taxes.
Elsewise—”
    “The magisters of Pentos have been known to lend money as
well,” said Ser Kevan. “Try them.” The Pentoshi were even less like to be of
help than the Myrish money changers, but the effort must be made. Unless a new
source of coin could be found, or the Iron Bank