Ride the Storm

Robert

The ship could not enter the port – there were too many vessels as it was and this one was big enough to meddle with the normal use of the port by anyone else, let alone the fact that once it entered, it would have too little time for maneuvering. Rhaelle Targaryen, granddaughter, daughter, sister, and now grandmother to kings, stood on the deck, looking covertly at her grandson. Stannis' love for ships and the sea life was well known, but was he truly prepared for being given a command of a rank such as this one? This was only a small part of the fleet he would be heading after never having assumed the command of anything bigger than a fishing ship. His face betrayed nothing but Rhaelle knew he was not ready for such a responsibility – and she knew that he knew it as well.

Before he could feel her eyes on him, she looked away, to the huge building soaring towards the sky, and her heart started beating faster which surprised her. In over forty years, she had never dreamed of King's Landing with anything resembling homesickness. The fondness had been there, yes, but not this deep. She had built her happiness elsewhere despite her unwillingness to live there. And yet she recognized the Red Keep, Baelor's Sept, the sharp silhouette of Visenya's Hill with deep feeling that resonated within her. She had come here many times by sea and she had never experienced anything like this. Never. What was going on with her?

They climbed down into a boat, Stannis wisely refraining from suggesting to lower her into a net. Both of them – and their companions – were now recovered enough for their arms to hold tight onto the ropes and when she seated herself in the boat, she was not even tired.

The quay was overcrowded and her first thought was that something had gone wrong again. That these men and women, most of them old, were waiting for some news to arrive by sea but no…

"Grandmother, this throng is because of you, it seems," Stannis said. "I hear Princess Rhaelle and King Aegon repeated often."

She listened intently and he was right. These old people who had recently suffered a horror had made it here to see the daughter of the King beloved by the smallfolk. As the boat drew closer to the shore, Rhaelle recognized more than a few of the now old servant-maids at her parents' court. She found it hard to contain her sudden turmoil but it was equally hard to reach the litter waiting for her because from all around, hands were reaching for her, trying to touch her or at least her clothes before the gold cloaks sent to escort them formed a cordon keeping the men and women away. This was their duty and she did not try to prevent this. When one of them tried clumsily to close the curtains of her litter, though, she refused. This was not part of her duty and her suspicious mind immediately leapt to the thought that there was something that they were trying to hide from her.

They were trying to hide everything from her. Even if she had stayed curtained off like a docile little old lady, the silence would have warned her. No street vendors praising their goods. No screams after urchins who had just nicked someone's purse. No clatter of swords against armour save for the one coming from her own guards. No friendly exchanges between people who had met in the street and come to stay.

"What have they done?" Rhaelle asked angrily and her lady companions recoiled at the low rumble of her voice. Somehow, in her learning to adapt to Storm's End, she had taken some of Lord Lyonel's manners as well. "What have they done to my city?"

The streets were empty, except for the burly men scrubbing away what looked like stains of pools – pools! – of blood. And the Silent Sisters. They were everywhere, coming in and out, and when the road started weaving between less official and more residential parts of the city, Rhaelle could hear the wailing, see the black cloths hanging from windows and terraces. It seemed to her that there was not a house in which there was not someone to mourn.

"Curse be upon you, Tywin Lannister!" an old woman was wailing, tearing both her clothes and her hair out. Her eyes were red and dried up already, her face bloated with past weeping. "My husband died at the Stepstones and where are my two sons now? Curse be upon you, Lannister butcher, I have no tears left…"

Rhaelle heard the sound of a sword being taken out. "No!" she screamed and one of the gold cloaks was quick enough to understand what she meant and caught his comrade's hand. "We don't kill people for telling the truth," she said coldly. "If Lord Lannister has any problem with your inactions, refer him to me."

She reached in her purse for some coin and realized that the ones she had were too big – someone bigger than the poor woman would take them from her in an instant. One of her ladies produced some copper ones and a gold cloak gave him to the woman who looked up at Rhaelle with no gratitude in her eyes.

In the Red Keep, she was met by laughter and vibrant life, a contrast that only fueled her rage. The situation did not improve when near the second gate, she met Tywin Lannister himself, immaculately dressed and not bothered by the slightest pangs of conscience… or anyone around. Indeed, he strode as if he owned the world or at least the Red Keep, although he at least had the decency to bow deeply when he saw her. Rhaelle felt a flicker of dark delight at the opportunity to walk straight past him without acknowledging him in any way.

His Grace awaited them, they were informed; somewhat to Rhaelle's relief, he had chosen the chamber of the Small Council, sans the Council. She did not know how she would feel when she saw her grandson in the seat she had seen so many men of her blood sit. So many Targaryen men. And despite her feeling of justice finally having been served for her House, in a way, she could not shake another feeling – a dark premonition because she was not sure that Robert had what was needed in a King. In fact, she was sure that he did not have it – and she was not entirely sure he could be taught it. Still, she felt profound satisfaction at seeing the stag banners hanging all over the place despite the discomfort the very newness of it gave her.

The shock on Robert's face when he came to greet them jolted her to sharp awareness how they must both be looking. In Storm's End, she had lost any idea of just what a terrifying picture they made – it was not as if she had anyone not starving to compare to. "By the Seven," he whispered. "How are you?"

"Fine," she said, giving him a quick look. The wound that she heard about still kept his right arm rigid but this would pass, she realized with great relief. How had he been able to keep fighting with this arm and win? Change the world? "I see you're better as well. I'm glad to see it."

He nodded. "It was a quick thing. But the two of you… Is Renly alive?" he suddenly asked and his face changed somewhat. Rhaelle wanted to slap him. He had not meant to sound this uncaring – in fact, he had spoken only because he cared but this way of saying the first thing occurring to him, though appealing to some people, wore on her when a child reached their, say, tenth nameday. And in a King, it was unforgivable.

Of course, Stannis was bound to take this the wrong way. As an insult to himself, namely. "Why shouldn't he be?" he asked, bristling.

"Because the two of you look like corpses, that's why!" Robert retorted. "Did you eat before coming to me? I said I wanted to see you immediately and not that I wanted to starve you."

"We aren't hungry," Rhaelle said quickly before Stannis could retaliate. Couldn't these two stay an hour in each other's company without quarreling? Just an hour? But it was true, they had eaten before disembarking and despite Robert's obvious determination to feed them some more, it would be no use if they returned it. A normal portion was too much for them now, as Rhaelle had learned the hard way the day after Eddard Stark's arrival.

"I'm glad to see the two of you," Robert said when they all took a seat. "It's been a nightmare here."

"I saw," Rhaelle said. "But I also saw the master of this nightmare walk around with his head held high."

Robert looked uncomfortable. "Yes, about this…"

"Yes what?" she demanded.

"He became our ally at the end. We can hardly afford to alienate the westerlands. We've experienced enough divisions already."

Rhaelle drew a deep breath to compose herself. "Do you realize that by letting him walk around completely unpunished and preening, as if he's… as if he's… as if he is Aemon the Dragonknight casts a shadow over your own honour? By the gods, Robert, the man had half of the people in King's Landing put to the knife or raped!"

"Now, let's not exaggerate…" he said, his awkwardness with the situation becoming more visible. "It's hardly half of the people…"

"A third, then!" Rhaelle conceded. "What does this change? Only the Great Spring Sickness has ever wrought more death outside of a war!"

"We were in a war," he reminded her.

She waved this away with an impatient hand. "With unarmed people? With peaceful traders? With women and children? Is this why you killed Elia of Dorne and her children?"

"I didn't kill them!" he shouted, his face turning dark and thunderous. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, he lost control.

"I would have thought else if your reaction to their bodies is something to go by," she snapped back. "Now that I know war on women and children is just like war on armed men…" She gave his arm a pointed look. "It makes sense."

"You think I wanted this?" he asked, incredulous. "You think I let Lannister know that the way to my good graces was to have this woman and her children murdered – and in such a way? Do you think, then, that I gave the order to have her raped before her death – why wouldn't you if you believe me capable of the other thing?"

"Did you?" she asked and he gave her a blank look before understanding dawned upon him and he landed on the table a fist that immediately started bleeding.

"No! To the seven hells, I didn't! I might have gotten… carried away with my words because I was still so angry with Rhaegar but I would have never let anything happen to them, never!"

"As strange as it sounds, I'm inclined to believe you," Rhaelle said. "But no one else will. Not if Tywin Lannister proceeds to be part of your court and… don't tell me you want to put him on the Small Council, will you?" she pleaded, horrified.

His discomfort returns. "I have no such intentions," he said, "despite Jon's insistence that I …"

Ah, I see, Rhaelle thought. Jon Arryn! What a fool I was. Why had she not thought of the one who enjoyed the greatest influence upon Robert and whose honour was as self-serving as it was vaunted? Of course Jon Arryn would only see the practical uses of having Tywin Lannister on their side. Rhaelle, though, could see the losses – starting with the loss of faith in the very foundation of Robert's throne. He might enjoy the support of a powerful lord but the world would see it as rewarding a murderer and a slaughterer – just as it was. But it was not just what the world would think. Deep in her Targaryen bones, dragon bones, First Men bones, Rhaelle felt that a reign starting with neglected blood of innocents could not end in any other way but tragedy. This first wrong would lead Robert to another, until he lost the way and had no light to guide him through and only Jon Arryn's voice to steer him further down the path of convenient overlooking and forgetting. I have to deal with Jon Arryn first thing of all, she thought. Neutralize Arryn, and Lannister will fall on his own. She could hear the Lord of the Vale's voice in Robert's words but underneath, he was not comfortable with what he was allowing to happen. Without Jon Arryn's influence, he would not let Tywin Lannister become something like a damned self-proclaimed hero!

It would not happen. Not as long as Rhaelle drew breath.