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Aerys Targaryen, The Citadel Ruins – Oldtown

“Do we have a damage report?” asked the monarch solemnly while looking toward the shattered atrium of the Citadel with mixed emotions.

Not because he felt any sort of sympathy for the pathetic fate of the grey rats, but genuine sorrow for all the knowledge lost during the attack.

The Iron born had been...merciless.

The Starry Sept had been burned to its foundations, the gold they had guarded so jealously had been looted, dozens of septas had been murdered, violated or taken captive, while the septons and apprentices had all been executed.

It had been...

A complete massacre.

“The filthy pirates did not attack as they usually do, it was obvious they were led by a competent commander, those damned ships brought down the gates and the bridges, leaving the city defenseless” reported Captain Hightower to the king.

Aerys nodded slowly, observing impassively as his soldiers cleaned the devastated atrium of the Citadel.

“Do we know who commanded the squids?” asked the king in an icy voice.

The captain nodded.

“Among the dead we found several minor Lords from the Islands, the most notable being Victarion Greyjoy, or what remains of him. We were able to identify the helmet and the ring on the body, but the fire did terrible damage to him and his personal guard. They fought to the death” said the captain, evidently not feeling the slightest shred of pity for the dead Ironborn.

Not that Aerys could blame him.

“How are the rescue efforts proceeding?” asked the king as he began walking toward where his soldiers were arranging the crates recovered from the lower levels of the structure.

The captain walked one step behind the king like a faithful shadow, a loyalty cemented in blood, a sentiment shared by every soldier and citizen of the city.

Because everyone knew that had it not been for King Aerys Targaryen and Rhaegal, the Emerald Fury, the Ironborn would have looted everything and burned Oldtown to the foundations.

And there would have been nothing they could have done to stop it.

“As ordered, rescue operations have been carried out aboard the ships stranded at the harbor. Mostly women and children, beaten and terrified, but relatively unharmed. I also relayed your orders for all wine within the city to be confiscated and used to treat wounded soldiers and smallfolk”

The monarch nodded before answering.

“Take inventory of the gold seized from the ships in the bay, it shall be used to rebuild the city. Send a message to the Hightower, Lord Baelor is to dispatch riders to Honeyholt and Blackcrown. By order of House Targaryen, all timber, stone and clay shall be sold directly to Oldtown for the next three moons. Reconstruction of the city takes priority. Half the costs shall be covered by House Hightower. I shall personally discuss the details with Lord Leyton” said the king firmly.

The captain nodded with determination, visibly relieved and encouraged by the king’s orders. Bowing respectfully, he took his leave and departed the ruined Citadel, more than willing to carry out Aerys’ commands.

The king watched the man disappear from the shattered building at remarkable speed before turning his full attention toward Miles, one of the knights who had accompanied him since the disaster of Duskendale and now one of his most trusted captains.

“Speak, Miles” said the king while frowning at the crates filled with books and scrolls.

And to the monarch’s surprise...

Also filled with gold.

Not merely Westerosi golden dragons either.

The king recognized Braavosi coinage, Pentoshi currency and even coins from distant lands such as Myr.

“Tell me everything” said Aerys.

“We have at least fifty more crates like these, Your Grace, we caught the Iron Dogs in the basement, all the acolytes executed, the more feminine ones being...” Miles could not finish his words before shaking his head, his face full of disgust at merely remembering it.

Aerys frowned, pleased that the damned animals were dead and quickly began issuing orders.

“Load all the treasures onto our oldest ships, you will send all the gold and books to Sunspear, Princess Myriah shall be responsible for transporting them safely to Dragonstone” ordered the king, making Miles nod, though his face showed he had more to say.

“Is everything alright, Miles? You seem worried” said the king with curiosity, watching the man sigh heavily and, stepping closer to the king, whisper.

“We found...more things, Your Grace, but...Gods, it is better if you see it with your own eyes, in the basement” said Miles, drawing Aerys' full attention.

“Then lead me there, Miles, let us not waste time” said the monarch, at the same time both men began descending toward the basement of the Citadel, leaving the rest of the soldiers arranging the spoils of war.

Aerys and Miles descended the bloodstained stairs, the bodies had already been removed, but the stains of blood, shit and urine still remained.

This had been a total massacre, many innocents...

Slayed like dogs.

Upon descending, Aerys observed that the basement was filled with different vaults, all of them open, while his soldiers removed gold, books and scrolls.

Rhaegar would have a field day in this place, thought the king with amusement, before arriving at the most distant vault, and evidently the oldest.

“We found this chamber empty, normally we would not have paid it any attention, however, one of my men noticed something peculiar, if you look closely, there is no dust, there are no cobwebs nor dirt, why would they bother cleaning it if it stored nothing important?” asked Miles, looking toward the king, who in turn looked at him with satisfaction and pride.

“Very clever on the part of your soldier, Miles” said Aerys, as the knight spoke again.

“We investigated the place for several hours, until we found this” said Miles with solemnity, while walking toward a torch embedded in the wall at the back of the vault.

And to Aerys' disbelief, the sound of a metal lock disengaging echoed through the chamber, revealing a hidden entrance within the vault itself.

Well, well...

Thought Aerys with interest.

Miles pushed the heavy false door with considerable effort, revealing before the incredulous gaze of the king a kind of...

Workshop.

Or laboratory.

His captain looked rather disturbed for some reason, avoiding the king's gaze.

“It is...better that you see for yourself what is in there, Your Grace, we did not touch anything until receiving your orders” he said, making Aerys' alarm increase even further at those...specific words.

The king walked toward the mysterious entrance, crossing the doorway and being greeted by a peculiar stench, a mixture of...

Alcohol.

And many herbs.

A rather unpleasant smell for the king, one that made his eyes water in discomfort, until arriving at a second door, this time made of wood, heavy and enormous, partially open.

And having a bad feeling, the monarch inhaled deeply and proceeded.

The door yielded with the characteristic creak of ancient and worn wood, revealing a chamber that seemed to belong to another world. It was not a crypt or a torture chamber, much less a temple dedicated to some mystical deity.

It was something far more disturbing, far more human.

A laboratory.

A massive dissection table dominated the center of the room, built with thick planks blackened by time and covered by a chaotic mountain of journals and yellowed parchments. From this distance, he was able to glimpse scribbles and hurried annotations.

Thousands of words filled the grim pages, anatomical diagrams, incomprehensible formulas and observations written with almost obsessive precision. There were no prayers nor symbols.

Only numbers, measurements and conclusions.

On both sides of the chamber rose shelves reaching the vaulted ceiling. Dozens of glass jars rested upon them, illuminated by the dying light of oil lamps. Within them floated organs, bones and tissues, all of different sizes and labels.

The air was saturated with the stench of alcohol, preserving herbs and rusted metal, a mixture as clinical as it was disturbing.

“By the Gods” whispered the monarch, his hand unconsciously resting upon the hilt of Dark Sister while observing his surroundings with growing horror.

What in the seven hells were the damned grey rats hiding down here?

Then, he saw the first jar.

Inside, suspended within a yellowish liquid, floated the fetus of a dragon. Its tiny malformed wings remained folded against its body, while small pearly scales, barely formed, covered its translucent skin.

With a frown of fury, the monarch read the label attached to the shelf.

“Recovered Specimen, Year 7913 After the Illumination”

The surprises did not end there, this “specimen” was the first of hundreds, all of them meticulously archived with annotations hanging from their respective containers, recording measurements, growth and anomalies.

They were not trophies.

They were...

Test subjects.

And though disturbing, this paled compared to what he saw next.

“You soulless depraved bastards!” spat Aerys, feeling a fury unlike any other as he observed another jars.

This ones were bigger and...more disturbing.

And the damned labels.

They were large, filled with the yellowish and unknown liquid, with a...newborn child inside and though that alone was cruel enough to invoke the monarch’s wrath...

The label was the final nail in the sentence of the damned grey rats.

“Baelor Targaryen – Father: Viserys I, Mother: Aemma Arryn...”

A prince, these damned animals had the body of a newborn Targaryen prince preserved like a damned trophy.

And to the monarch’s horror and fury, it was not the only one.

“Aegon Targaryen – Father: Baelor Targaryen, Mother: Alyssa Targaryen”

“Visenya Targaryen – Father: Daemon Targaryen, Mother: Rhaenyra Targaryen”

And they were not the only ones, Aerys watched with growing horror as various fetuses and even mutilated children appeared upon the damned shelves, not only princes, but also members of powerful and ancient families.

Families that, historically, possessed clear records of magical talents, such as the First Men and the Rhoynar.

This place was very dark, cursed even, but it was a cold darkness, rational and clinical.

The king shook his head and headed toward the central table, ignoring, for the moment, the grim discovery.

Aerys picked up one of the journals with caution, fearing what he might find in this cursed place.

“Operations Journal, Maester Orwyle”

The man who had served in King’s Landing during the Dance, if Aerys remembered correctly.

“The poison was extremely efficient, the disgusting foreigners fight among themselves, exactly as we planned. By exploiting the paranoia of the Hightower bitch, we managed to place our agents among the Dragon Keepers. The moment approaches, I shall ensure that all the dragons of the Dragon Pit are unable to defend themselves when the time comes”

Aerys could not believe what he was reading.

It was a gold mine and frankly, all he needed to exterminate this fucking order once and for all.

The records continued through the generations of his ancestors, detailing with immense pride everything they had done.

The assassination of Daeron I who, to Aerys' surprise, had negotiated an alliance with Dorne on his own initiative. The damned rats murdered him to prevent it from happening ahead of schedule.

The rise of Baelor the Blessed, to weaken the Targaryen Faith and allow the Andals to gain more influence within the capital.

The death of Queen Naerys.

The frustration of hundreds of assassination attempts against Aegon IV.

The Blackfyre Rebellions, financed by these rats in order to eliminate specific Lords.

The death of Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen...

The tragedy of Summerhall.

And most recently...

“The poisoning of Aerys Targaryen” he spoke to himself, reading the words of Pycelle, who since his youth had made certain he consumed lead.

The dragon within the king was furious.

More furious than it had ever been before.

And the blood of the king demanded only one thing.

Retribution.

“MILES!” roared the king, dropping the journal and beginning to walk toward the exit.

The captain entered and opened his mouth to answer, but Aerys did not allow him to speak.

He simply gave his orders.

“Have your boys empty this place completely. The notes and books are to be sent to Dragonstone personally. You will carry them yourself and place them into the hands of my son, together with the bodies of the Targaryen princes and the dragons. All of them shall be cremated and laid to rest in their ancestral home” ordered the king, leaving the room while Miles nodded with determination at his side.

“Your wishes are my command, Your Grace” said the captain.

But Aerys paid him no attention.

Dark Sister rested in his hand and his mind focused on only one thing.

Vengeance.

He would eradicate this fucking plague from the root.

Quickly, the king returned to the main atrium, where his soldiers were speaking with a group of elderly maesters who, apparently, had locked themselves in the highest section of the Citadel in order to avoid execution.

And as he approached, the king heard.

“The orders are simple, all of this will be moved to King's Landing by order of His Grace Aerys Targaryen. There is nothing you can do to prevent it” said Willem, causing the maester, an old and more than obviously cowardly man, to respond with fury.

“This is outrageous! These manuscripts, books and treasures are property of the Citadel! We will not allow this to happen! We have the right to...”

The old man's words were interrupted by Willem, who ignored him completely and, looking toward Aerys, shouted.

“Commanding officer present!”

Making every soldier look toward the king and strike their chests, awaiting orders.

At those words, the old man, an idiot wearing an immaculate robe and a pretentious golden chain around his neck, turned and looked toward the monarch.

“Your Grace! We...”

However, the king was far too furious to listen to reason.

With one swift and precise movement, he drew Dark Sister from his waist and, with complete coldness, performed a horizontal slash across the old man's neck, separating his head from his body in a single instant.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

The terrified maesters and their acolytes stared in shock and absolute fear at what had just happened.

And Aerys' next order would make their day considerably worse.

“Willem, the Iron Born attack on the Citadel left no survivors” said the king.

The implied message was more than clear, a message his captain understood instantly.

Swords were drawn and, without a shred of mercy, they began massacring the survivors. Acolytes, initiates or maesters, the dragon did not discriminate in his fury.

Cruel?

Perhaps.

Necessary?

Absolutely.

The monarch watched impassively as the little sheep tried, unsuccessfully, to beg for mercy or flee. The arrogance they had displayed only moments before had vanished completely.

And yet, Aerys watched it all with indifference, remembering what he had read.

What he had seen.

These damned rats wanted to destroy his family.

His legacy.

He would not allow it.

The struggle lasted only a few minutes, until the last of the damned grey rats lay dying upon the shattered floor of the hall.

One...

Less problem for his family.

Looking toward Willem, Aerys, visibly affected, gave another order.

“Have the entire Citadel searched. Take all the time and men you require. These damned rats have wrought havoc for centuries, I want each and every one of their secrets” he ordered.

Willem nodded calmly and proceeded toward the upper floors of the complex, followed by his soldiers.

Leaving behind a thoughtful king staring at the corpses with a single feeling.

Guilt.

Not for the rats in general, but because he was aware that among the traitors there had also been innocents.

A difficult decision.

Like all the decisions a monarch must make.

And he would carry the consequences until the end of his days.

He would meet with Rhaella soon.

He needed to inform his wife about what had happened tonight.

As well as the secrets they had uncovered.

The war continued.

Next destination.

Casterly Rock.