(Collab with [@Abefroeman])

[i]The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros stand at a crossroads. The once united and peaceful realm of King Aegon the Tenth have fallen into chaos and uncertainty with his untimely death, and the destabilizing events that would follow. Prince Daenys Targaryen, Lord Tyget Crakehall, Lord Hand Garland Tyrell, and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen all laying claim to the Iron Throne one way or another, be it through marriage, right of succession, or in order to protect it from usurpers. In the end though, it would be the son of Prince Daenys Targaryen that would ascend the throne to become King of Westeros. Sadly, fate had other ideas. 

In the chaos for the scramble for the throne, the Iron Islands have risen up in defiance, declaring their independence from the Seven Kingdoms. The Westerlands and the Reach are at open war with one another, pitting Houses Crakehall and Tyrell against one another. The Vale, the North, the Riverlands, and Dorne have yet to become involved with the fighting, their Lords and Ladies waiting to see who they shall support in the fight for the Iron Throne. The Stormlands support the forces of House Tyrell, but are currently contending with an open rebellion threatening to overthrow House Baratheon. The Iron Islands now bide their time, with House Greyjoy's near-destruction, House Harlaw now commands the Ironborn, ready to remind the mainlanders "What is dead may never die, But rises again harder and stronger."

To the far North, the Night's Watch remains ever vigilant, defend the realms of men. And while the world's eyes watch who shall sit upon the Iron Throne, those very eyes have ignored the letters and signs from the Night's Watch proclaiming the return of the White Walkers, the return of the undead hordes that were supposedly vanquished millenia ago. To the East, a new kingdom has arisen from the ashes of a long forgotten one, the Kingdom of the Stepstones. And the leader, Quee-[/i]

The maester stopped writing as the floor creaked behind him, Daenys smiled as he strode into the room and pulled out a knife, hiding it behind his back. The maester turned slowly, his eyes wide for a moment, before closing in a scowl, the corners of his mouth turned downwards as Daenys came closer. Daenys wanted to slash his throat then and there, but he felt like it would be more fun to torment the man.

He was dressed as a Tyrell, so he knew the maester would answer to him, but first he had to work his charms.

"What is it? You do understand I'm working on a history don't you?" The man aggressively questioned. Daenys chuckled and walked up to him.

"I just was wondering why your study is so disgusting." He joked.

"I'm actually here with a notice from Commander Willas, he has made it clear that the commission will be late, as King Aerys will not be available to sign for it." He grabbed his hands together behind his back, pushing the knife's handle with both palms.

The maester sighed and turned back to his writing, only turning to give a near silent recognition of Daenys' statement. Obviously he didn't wish to be disturbed. Instead of disturbing him, which would have been rude, Daenys simply stood in the doorway, thinking about how his blood would flow and paint on the ground, how he would gurgle and sputter before expiring and being silent, how Daenys wanted to paint his final moments.

The maester looked over his shoulder for a second and then looked back to his work, another second later he turned back to Daenys with a growl.

"Is there anything else? I'd prefer not to be disturbed." He questioned in a tired manner. Daenys moved slowly into arm's reach of the man, smiling and turning near-drunkenly. The man leaned back in confusion as Daenys placed a hand under his chin.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your way soon." Daenys spoke, moving the blade from behind his back. 

[hr]

"Back in line." Daenys chuckled to himself, the words tasting like wine on his lips.

"Back in line." He tossed off the borrowed helmet with a flick of his wrist.

Daenys had finally found himself alone, no small feat with the size of King's Landing, and especially when one was dressed as a Tyrell man-at-arms. He cursed the golden rose that hung from his neck, before pulling 'his' gauntlets off and dropping them. He rotated his wrist a few times, allowing it to crack.

How Daenys enjoyed saying those words, "Back in line." the power he had over those who feared for their lives, he could say them and men would obey, all of them would, for fear of becoming one of his victims. 

[i]And they all will obey, from the Starks in the North to the Martells in Dorne, even the Crakehalls will eventually be forced to yield.[/i]

Daenys twisted at his neck, placing a thumb and a forefinger into his mouth and whistling loudly over the hills.

[i]Men obey, they obey Tyget because they were born into his lands, Garland for the same reason, but they continue to obey the wrong people, for they were all born into my domain, my lands, my crown, my throne.[/i]

His dragon crashed into the hill just in front of him, crying out it's deathly shriek as dragons were like to do. The beast reared back and flapped its wings again, blowing Daenys' hair away from his ears.

"Back in line, I will bring them all back in line, with you, my sweet Bloodfyre, with fire and blood I have returned..." He stopped and stared off in the direction of the huge city, sprawling brown over what was at first a green hill.

Garland Tyrell still lived. Daenys bemoaned the man's absense, for the knife that misses once always returns the second time. Garland still claimed the throne for Daenys' son, stealing the crown out from under his nose, and using his own blood as a puppet as well?

Daenys had seen it, what they had done to him, took his mind and half his head with it, no man deserved that, no less a boy half-god. The red god was a lie, he had proven it himself by defying the "will" of a priest broken by torture and upjumped on his own nobility. A god obsessed with flames and sacrifice? Daenys would show them the greatest sacrifice of their time.

But enough silent boasting, he hadn't murdered two gold-cloaks and a Tyrell soldier just to get disappointed by Garland's absense, he had heard of Lord Velaryon's purchases in the stepstones, and the ownings of his cousins Rhaenyra and Baela. From what had been said, Garland had already taken the younger sister's virginity, though rumors were always exaggerated and told one too many times.

Holding out a hand, Daenys beckoned his beast to him. Daenys had never quite gotten over his fear of the beast, large enough to crush him in it's jaws and devour him piece-by-piece, a fate that Daenys had not yet inflicted upon someone, hopefully one of the Lord Paramounts would end up fighting him, other than Garland of course, he had something special planned for him. Mayhaps invite Lord Stark to King's Landing to pay him for his inability to answer the call of his liege. Or, he could pick Lord Valaryon apart for daring to provide troops to the pretenders.

[i]That would be exceptional.[/i] Daenys grinned at the thought, it would have to be so, he would have to do it.

Of course, he couldn't ignore the Arryns of the Vale or the Tullys of the Riverlands, he would collect a payment from them as well. Lord Tully still held on to his belief in his own superiority, the thing about beliefs, they are shattered just as easily as a glass in the hand.

Of course, he knew that he couldn't just kill Lord Valaryon yet, he still needed the man's levies, perhaps once the war was won, or perhaps he would have to take the Reach first, force their forces to raise and take Driftmark for his own.

Of course, the throne would be his, there was no doubting that, but intrigue seemed not to be the way forwards, so he'd have to raise something, and he needed Dragonstone for that.

Dragonstone, gods he hated Dragonstone, Dragonstone was rocks and bastards and maritime winds, bah, ugly horrid place, but, no matter that, he would have to go, killing more King's Landing folk would only get him caught again, and that was not a chance he wanted to take.

Mounting his dragon, Daenys scoffed and ripped the Tyrell flag from off his chest and stared at it for a few moments.

Westeros would remain in chaos until one strong enough to bring it back arrived, and that one would have to be him, for there was no one as powerful as he, there were no gods behind them, and he himself was the god. It was true what they said, wasn't it? That he was the mad servant of the Stranger.

Chuckling, Daenys pushed his dragon to flight.

He loved flying.