Chapter 25: The Black Seeds, The Dragon's Funeral Pyre
The death of old King Viserys Targaryen was the cracking of a dam, releasing a torrent of ambition, resentment, and dynastic fury that had been building for decades. In King's Landing, the Greens, orchestrated by the Hightower queen and her council, moved swiftly to crown Aegon II, Viserys's eldest son, bypassing the declared heir, Princess Rhaenyra. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra, upon hearing of her father's death and her half-brother's usurpation, was consumed by grief and a cold, burning rage. She, too, was crowned, by her own loyalists, and the rival claims were thus irrevocably cast. The Dance of the Dragons had begun, not yet with open, continental war, but with the frantic sending of ravens, the mustering of banners, and the desperate scramble for allies among the great houses of Westeros.
Sōsuke Aizen, from his timeless sanctum within the Obsidian Spire, and through the intricate web of his agents scattered across the globe, observed this nascent storm with the keen, dispassionate interest of a master horticulturalist tending a garden of exquisitely poisonous blooms. The seeds of this conflict, sown by generations of Targaryen pride and folly, were now sprouting with predictable vigor. His role was merely to ensure the most bountiful, most soul-rich harvest.
His first tendrils of influence in this new Westerosi drama were, as always, subtle and multifaceted. Argent, his ageless Valyrian-construct lieutenant, operating from a heavily warded, mobile command center aboard the flagship Nyx (which now haunted the storm-lashed waters of the Narrow Sea like a phantom), began to orchestrate the Iron Bank's overtures. Envoys from Braavos, their faces impassive, their ledgers immaculate, arrived at both King's Landing and Dragonstone. To Queen Alicent and her Green Council, they offered substantial loans to secure the loyalty of wavering lords and to hire the vast mercenary companies of Essos. To Queen Rhaenyra and her Black Council, they made similar offers, enough to build fleets, equip armies, and counter the Greens' financial might. The terms, while seemingly stringent, were just attractive enough to be irresistible to factions desperate for any advantage. Both sides, Aizen knew, would bleed themselves dry paying for the means of their own destruction, and in doing so, become ever more dependent on his hidden hand.
Simultaneously, the Faceless Men, Aizen's silent blades, moved through the courts and castles of Westeros like whispers of death. Their tasks were varied:
* In King's Landing, a Faceless Man, perfectly disguised as a trusted, aging scribe in Otto Hightower's household, subtly altered the wording of ravens sent to neutral lords, transforming pleas for allegiance into arrogant demands, thereby alienating potential allies for the Greens.
* On Dragonstone, another agent, posing as a fervent Rhaenyra loyalist among her ladies-in-waiting, fanned the flames of the Queen's grief and righteous anger, subtly discouraging any counsel towards caution or negotiation, whispering tales (some true, some fabricated with Kyōka Suigetsu's aid through Aizen's remote influence) of Green atrocities and plots against her children.
* In the courts of powerful, undecided lords like Cregan Stark of Winterfell or Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Eyrie, Faceless Men, posing as merchants, minstrels, or hedge knights, gathered intelligence, assessed loyalties, and subtly spread pro-Black or pro-Green propaganda tailored to the specific prejudices and ambitions of each region, ensuring that neutrality would become an increasingly untenable position.
Aizen watched the tragic death of young Lucerys Velaryon at Storm's End with a clinical detachment. Prince Aemond Targaryen, one-eyed and consumed by a cold fury, astride the ancient, colossal Vhagar (the Targaryen beast, a pale shadow of Aizen's own emerald-fired titan), had hunted down and killed Rhaenyra's son and his small dragon, Arrax. This event, born of personal vendetta and youthful recklessness, was a gift to Aizen. It was the blood sacrifice that would irrevocably commit both sides to total war, the point of no return. He felt the potent, grief-stricken spiritual energy released by Lucerys and Arrax, a mere appetizer, but one that hinted at the richness of the feast to come. He noted Aemond Targaryen as a particularly useful catalyst for brutality, a being whose personal demons would serve Aizen's purposes well.
The Hōgyoku, now a seamless, radiant core of Aizen's divine being, thrummed with a quiet anticipation. The souls of dragonriders, infused with the blood of Old Valyria and bonded to their mighty beasts, possessed a unique, fiery intensity. The souls of dragons themselves were even more intriguing – primal, elemental, repositories of ancient, instinctual power. This civil war promised a veritable banquet of such essences.
With the first blood shed and vengeance sworn, Aizen decided it was time to pour oil on the nascent flames. He conceived a false flag operation designed to shatter any lingering hopes of reconciliation and to paint one faction in an unforgivably monstrous light, thereby driving the other to acts of unrestrained fury.
His target: the peaceful, prosperous port town of Driftmark, seat of House Velaryon, Rhaenyra's staunchest and most powerful naval allies. His instruments: a squadron of five of his lesser dragons, descendants of those bred in the Obsidian Spire, now fully mature and formidable. Their scales were naturally dark, but with subtle illusions woven by Aizen (projected through his deep Kido mastery), their silhouettes and flame patterns could be made to vaguely resemble those of known Green dragons, particularly Sunfyre, Aegon II's famously beautiful golden beast, or even the aging Vhagar (Targaryen), whose sheer size made it an easy scapegoat. These dragons were piloted not by sentient riders, but by advanced Sentinel constructs, their minds directly linked to Argent for precise coordination.
Under the cover of a moonless night and a magically-induced sea fog, Aizen's dragons descended upon High Tide and Spicetown. The attack was swift, brutal, and deliberately indiscriminate. They did not engage the Velaryon fleet anchored in the harbor directly, for Aizen wanted that fleet intact to serve Rhaenyra's war effort. Instead, they focused their varied flames – concussive blasts, searing blue jets, clinging crimson fire – upon the shipyards, the marketplaces, the homes of common folk. The Sentinels ensured the destruction was spectacular, terrifying, and appeared to be the work of reckless, uncontrolled dragonriders. Before a proper defense could be mounted, before any Velaryon dragons could take to the air, Aizen's squadron vanished back into the fog as silently as they had come, leaving behind a burning town, scores of dead civilians, and carefully planted "evidence" – a few scales of an unusual golden hue, a deliberately "dropped" (by a Faceless Man on the ground) Green-aligned trinket amidst the chaos.
The outrage across Westeros was immediate and visceral. Rhaenyra Targaryen, already grieving her son, was consumed by a new, terrible fury upon hearing of the "Green attack" on her allies. Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, bellowed for vengeance. Even lords previously neutral or leaning towards Aegon II were horrified by the apparent barbarity of attacking a civilian populace with dragonfire in such a manner. The Greens, of course, vehemently denied any involvement, but their protestations were lost in the tide of condemnation. Aizen, observing the psychic shockwave of grief and rage emanating from Driftmark, knew this single act of calculated atrocity had done more to escalate the Dance than a dozen political assassinations. The souls of the innocent victims were a minor, if regrettable, side dish; the true prize was the unbridled hatred and lust for revenge it had ignited in the hearts of thousands, ensuring the ensuing battles would be fought with a new level of savagery.
Aizen himself, ever the scholar of power, decided a more direct, if still disguised, presence in Westeros might yield further opportunities for manipulation. He did not revive "Lord Aerion Vaelaros"; that persona was too specific, too tied to a previous conflict. Instead, using Kyōka Suigetsu to weave an impeccable new identity, he became "Maester Valerion" – supposedly a reclusive scholar of Valyrian descent from a forgotten Lysene order, one who had dedicated his life to studying the arcane histories and dragonlore of the Freehold. His appearance was that of a man in late middle age, his silver hair streaked with grey, his eyes (their true cosmic depths carefully veiled) holding a look of profound, melancholic wisdom. He carried with him "ancient, priceless scrolls" (cleverly fabricated by Aizen, containing a mixture of genuine but obscure Valyrian lore and subtle, misleading information).
"Maester Valerion" made his way, through carefully arranged "coincidences" orchestrated by Argent, first into the periphery of Rhaenyra's court on Dragonstone. He offered his "unparalleled knowledge" of dragon tactics, Valyrian history, and even interpretations of prophecies that (conveniently) seemed to favor Rhaenyra's claim. His intellect, his calm demeanor, and the seemingly invaluable lore he possessed quickly gained him the ear of some of Rhaenyra's less martial advisors, and even the Queen herself, who was desperate for any advantage, any sign that the ancient powers of Valyria favored her cause. He would subtly misinterpret historical dragon battles to suggest riskier, bloodier tactics. He would "decipher" prophecies in ways that encouraged Rhaenyra to commit her full strength, including all her sons and their dragons, to decisive, all-or-nothing engagements.
Simultaneously, through other channels – perhaps a different Faceless Man posing as a disillusioned Green loyalist with "secret knowledge" – Aizen fed subtly conflicting advice and fabricated intelligence to Aegon II's council in King's Landing, ensuring both sides operated under flawed assumptions and heightened paranoia.
His attention was particularly drawn to the dragons of the Dance. He cataloged them meticulously: Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys, Vermax, Arrax (now deceased), Tyraxes, Moondancer, Stormcloud on the Black side; Sunfyre, Vhagar (Targaryen), Dreamfyre, Tessarion on the Green. Each was a unique vessel of draconic power, each rider a potent Valyrian soul. He analyzed their reported strengths, their temperaments, the nature of their bonds with their riders. He eagerly awaited their inevitable duels, the moments when these magnificent creatures would tear each other from the sky, releasing their fiery essences for his consumption. He even subtly influenced the assignments of dragonriders, ensuring that particularly aggressive or mismatched pairings were more likely to occur, leading to more spectacular and soul-rich confrontations.
Argent, meanwhile, expanded Aizen's operational capabilities. Hidden bases, far more sophisticated than the temporary coves used during the "Lord Aerion" gambit, were established in remote coastal regions of Westeros, magically concealed and defended by Sentinels. From these nexuses, Aizen's disguised Sentinel mercenary companies – "The Stormcrows Reborn," "The Obsidian Guard," "The Serpent's Teeth" – began to offer their services. These elite, Valyrian steel-equipped units, their true nature hidden beneath rugged mercenary guises, would fight for whichever side paid their (Iron Bank-facilitated) price, their true orders from Aizen being to ensure battles were prolonged, key enemy commanders eliminated (or "allowed" to escape if their continued presence served Aizen's plans), and that casualty counts on both sides were maximized. Their terrifying efficiency and discipline would become legendary, another unsettling mystery in a war already rife with them.
The Hōgyoku, the divine core of Aizen's being, pulsed with a vibrant, almost joyful rhythm. The constant, low-level thrum of fear, hatred, and strife across Westeros was a nourishing ambient energy. The larger battles, when they erupted, sent waves of potent soul-essence washing over him, each absorption a subtle but significant step in his evolution. He was not merely feeding; he was immersing himself in the very psyche of this kingdom at war, understanding its deepest flaws, its tragic capacity for self-destruction, its desperate, beautiful expressions of courage and despair. All of it was data. All of it was power.
The Dance of the Dragons was escalating precisely as Aizen had engineered. The atrocity at Driftmark had led to swift, brutal reprisals from the Blacks. Prince Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra's husband and a renowned, if reckless, warrior, was now unleashed. The event known as "Blood and Cheese" – the horrific murder of Aegon II's young son, Jaehaerys, in retaliation for Lucerys's death – was a tragedy Aizen observed with cold approval. While not his direct handiwork, it was the exact type of passionate, vengeful escalation his manipulations were designed to foster. It ensured there would be no turning back, no reconciliation. Only total war, until one side, or preferably both, were utterly annihilated.
Aizen, in his guise as the wise "Maester Valerion" on Dragonstone, offered Rhaenyra counsel that seemed to justify any measure of retaliation. "Your Grace," he would say, his voice filled with feigned sorrow, "the Greens have shown their true nature. They fight without honor, without mercy. To preserve your rightful claim, to protect your remaining children, you must meet their barbarity with an even greater resolve. The dragons of Valyria were not instruments of peace, but of absolute, unyielding will."
He watched as Rhaenyra, consumed by grief and fury, embraced this dark counsel. He saw the shadows deepen in Daemon's eyes. The stage was set for the most brutal phase of the Dance. The dragons would clash in earnest. The great houses would bleed. And Sōsuke Aizen, the hidden god, the architect of their doom, would preside over the feast, his divine hunger poised for the banquet of a kingdom tearing itself apart. The funeral pyre of House Targaryen would illuminate his path to even greater heights of power.