Disclaimer: I disclaim.

Thanks to Oberon Sexton and Donroth who reviewed the first chapter.

A Veil of Prophecy

Chapter 2

A few years later…

The shaking that startled him awake was firm, agitated and very unfeminine but then, this woman was known to be very unwomanly when she wanted to achieve certain things. What these things were for today, Maekar was too sleepy to find out.

"Finally! I was starting to think I'd have to turn you over. I think you'll be able to sleep through an earthquake."

Maekar blinked to chase sleep away. His mother left the candle she was carrying on his nightstand and leaned over him, propping her elbow on his chest to have a better look at the bed and pressing the air out of his lungs in the process. Then, she drew back and knelt to look under the bed.

Maekar looked at her, the amazement of her actions waking him fully. "The servants here clean under the bed as well as everywhere else, I assure you, Lady Mother," he said dryly. "May I ask what it is that you are looking for?"

The Queen glared at him and opened the wardrobe, finding nothing. "You know only too well what I am looking for, Maekar. Where is she?"

Maekar would like to raise his eyebrows, the way Baelor did when he wanted to express amusement but he knew that with these silver eyebrows of his, the effect would be lost. His eyebrows and eyelashes were so pale that they were practically invisible. It was not fair. Instead, he had to rely on his voice alone, especially in this chamber full of shadows. The only light came from the two candles – the one his mother wore and the one he had left burning before he fell asleep. It was carved to mark the passage of time and right now, it showed him that the dawn was nowhere near. What was his mother doing at his bedchamber in this hour?

"I suppose you're asking about Aelinor?" he inquired. "I imagine she's fast asleep in her own bed, Lady Mother."

"Is she?" Myriah Targaryen's voice was icy. "I was left under the impression that she shared yours quite frequently."

Maekar sighed with exaggerated patience. "Do you see her anywhere near?" he asked. "And even if your ideas were true – and I am not saying that they are – Aelinor and I are going to wed, so why is it suddenly so important?" he asked.

The Queen looked away, knowing that she'd never be able to explain. Her children were Targaryens through and through, even Baelor who resembled her Dornish ancestors the most. They would never understand her secret joy when politics had dictated that Baelor married a lady who was not his sister. This kind of incest was revolting to her, although she'd never acknowledge it aloud. She had tried to argue with Daeron about this but even he, her so learned and intelligent husband, did not understand. So she had discreetly done all she could to thwart any plans for her daughter marrying one of her sons. She had never considered the idea of actual attraction between them.

"Since you are going to wed Lady Naeryne, I have no intention of having this conversation with you," she said. "Put something on. Something plain. We are going out."

Taken aback, Maekar complied. His mother looked aside, tapping her foot impatiently while he was putting on the plainest garment he could find in the haste. Then, they went in the yard where two shadows waited for them. Maekar noted that none of them was Ser Gwayne Corbray who usually accompanied the Queen everywhere. No, they were both people Myriah had brought with her from Dorne.

The Queen clasped Maekar's hand and headed for the nearest gate. Her attendants followed them close.

King's Landing was still sleeping and recovering from the night sprees. Skirting around piles of faeces and garbage, Maekar instinctively reached for the knife at his belt each time he noticed a human shadow. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Dornishmen doing the same. His mother squeezed his hand.

"Keep your hood down," she hissed. "With this head of yours, we can as well carry the dragon banner in front of us," she went on. "I want no one to know that the Queen has brought her son to a seer. Do you understand? It is true that many people seek Eliar for his gift but it is still officially frowned upon."

Maekar nodded, deciding that now, it wasn't the moment to claim yet again what he thought of seers and prophecies. His parents knew it only too well. The latest madness of these frauds was that he was to marry not Aelinor but a Naeryne Velaryon because someone who was apparently a Prince Who Was Promised would be born of their line… In the name of all gods! And his father, as smart as he was, actually believed this? His mother was easier to read: she simply did not want him to marry Aelinor because, while quite negligent about matters as virginity and decorum, Dornish were firmly against incest. She would proclaim she believed Daemon was the Warrior reborn – although gods knew that there were already too many of those who really thought so and Maekar did not like it one bit – if it suited her purpose.

Still, he knew that his mother really respected the famous seer and maester. Eliar was Dornish like her and he had been one of those she had sent for when her children had been dangerously ill. Maekar knew Eliar had been one of the people who had tended to him when he was fighting the speckled monster. But he did not remember him, just like he did not remember anything else about this period. Aside from this, he had never seen Eliar in person.

He was stunned at how shabby the house his mother finally stopped in front of was. Surely a famous seer like Eliar the Dornish could afford a better abode? Honestly, Maekar expected that the door would fall apart as soon as one of his mother's men started banging on it.

Inside, things were no better. The house was filled with shadows, the staircase looked as if it wouldn't hold them. Maekar hoped they wouldn't actually use it.

His mother took out a pouch of velvet and placed it in his hand. Maekar looked at her, not understanding.

"Go," the Queen said. "You must see him alone. When you're over, pay him."

Maekar hesitated. "Mother, I don't think…"

"Then don't think at all," she cut him off. "Don't be late. We must be back before dawn."

Maekar silently followed the boy who had opened the front door for them. He was about thirteen, just a few years younger than Maekar himself, and obviously scared of him. Many people were. Maekar did not care.

The house was full of a strange bitter smell that made his throat constrict. They did not go up the ruining staircase Maekar had first seen but another one, in the back of the house, even more ruined and creaking. The smells became stronger. It was strange but Maekar was reminded of the smells in training yard and forges – bittersweet and metallic.

"Seer!" the boy cried. "The King is here!"

Maekar's skin suddenly crawled.

The first thing he noticed in the study was the huge portrait. He did not recognize it immediately but when he did, he was completely taken aback. It was his maternal grandfather, the one he knew from the portraits in his mother's chambers – but here, he was young, much younger. In fact, he was Maekar's own age – broad-shouldered, imposing, a real ruler in the making, and still so young, so untouched by life. It felt strange.

"You resemble him," a voice said from the shadows behind him. "Put your hair and eyes aside, and you'll be the spitting image of him."

Maekar had often been told that he was a pure Targaryen despite his Dornish heritage. No one who looked at him, with this crown of a silver hair and violet shade of eyes, could doubt this. But now, he felt that he and the young man in the portrait could practically be twins.

The study was dimly lit by a few torches. Maekar could make out the lines of a few sofas and tables, as well as a few pots of… sand? He squinted.

"He was my benefactor, you know." The seer was King Daeron's age, tall and gaunt, black-bearded. His red robe caught the light. He stared at Maekar with a faint smile, completely unfazed by the Prince's lack of response.

"I won't be," Maekar said. "I don't believe in what you are doing."

The seer raised an eyebrow. "Sit down, Your Grace, if you please."

"I don't."

Eliar did not lose his serenity. "Very well. Tell me then, why are you here, Maekar of the House Targaryen?"

"I don't know. I suppose because my lady mother wants you to convince me that it is my duty to marry Naeryne Velaryon. To sell me a stunning story of a prophecy, I mean."

The man sighed. "Do you really think so?"

Maekar thought hard about this. "No," he finally confessed. "But her old nursemaid, she's been acting weird around me for a while, cowering and muttering nonsense. And I know my mother believes in her words and so called visions."

"OId Lelia does have the sight," the seer said. "Sit down, my prince," he said again and this time, Maekar obeyed without knowing why. It just seemed like the right thing to do, to obey this man who was so serene and composed. "What is she saying?"

"You are the seer." Maekar scowled. "Shouldn't you be the one to know?"

The seer sighed again. "As I said, you are just like your grandfather. No, my prince. I don't read people's minds. And I never claimed that I did."

Something in the calm way Eliar admitted that he did not know everything suddenly took all Maekar's defences down. Frauds were supposed to claim to be omniscient, weren't they?

"The boy who brought me here," he suddenly heard someone say and realized it was him. "He said, The King is coming. Why did he say this? I am glad my mother weren't there to hear."

In the dim light of the candles, the man's face suddenly looked more drawn, more troubled. "You don't want to be king?"

"No, I don't," Maekar said without any hesitation. "I'd rather leave it to my brothers. Fortunately, Baelor is just the man for the job."

Eliar was looking at him silently. Maekar barely suppressed a shudder. He could feel these dark Dornish eyes baring his entire being, up to the deepest recesses of his soul. It is only in my head, he told himself. It is the hour, the candles, the red robe… He knows how to create effects.

"I believe you," the seer said. "But there are not many of those who will believe you. I see in you, though… I see your hunger for glory. I see triumph and weaknesses… I see a great fear."

"I don't fear anything," Maekar snapped, although he knew it was not true. He feared many a thing, and the first of them was failure.

"But I don't see a longing for a crown," Eliar went on, as if Maekar hadn't said a thing. "And yet it will be yours…"

"No," Maekar said sharply and jumped up, knocking the nearest torch. The long fringes of the damask of a sofa immediately caught fire. "No! Do you realize that I can require your beheading for treason for this?" he demanded. "And do not think my lady mother will even try to save you!"

Ever so calmly, Eliar put the fire down. Then, he looked at Maekar. "Do you want to see the futures?" he asked, as if the Prince hadn't just made a death threat that he could make true. Again, Maekar's distrust went down. What is he doing to me, he asked himself helplessly.

"The futures? More than one?" he asked.

Eliar went to the nearest pot of sand, motioning for Maekar to follow. Took out a baking dish. "Take a handful of sand," he ordered. "Keep it in your hands. Let your blood warm it. Now, let it sift between your fingers and into the dish. This is for what could be. Stare hard."

Maekar did, feeling stupid. It was just sand. But in a few moments, when images started forming, his breath came short. It was darkness. He wasn't sure how he knew it but he did. It was darkness, and hopelessness, and failure that engulfed the entire world, and he wanted to scream, and couldn't. It should not come to pass. It should not.

"Take a handful of sand," the seer said. "Keep it in your hands, then let it sift. This is for what could be. Stare hard."

This time, it happened faster. As soon as the last grain of sand touched the dish, inside a fair face swam. And then the darkness again, but this time, it was pierced by a red star bleeding and a sword of light bringing hope and breathing life into everything. Maekar released the breath he had not realized he was holding.

"Take a handful of sand," Eliar said. "Keep it in your palms and let it sift. This is for what will be. Stare hard."

Now, Maekar was standing invisible among a crowd of people who were all weeping. He could feel the stinging in his own eyes but there was no wetness on his cheeks, for he had not cried since he was a child. In front of him, there was a bed with a canopy, and he immediately realized that there was something awful on this bed, something that he should not see, and he tried to stay where he was but his legs did not obey his will anymore and carried him to where the canopy was divided to reveal…

"Gods, no," he whispered and shook himself out of his stupor. He felt the seer's hand on his forehead, felt the goblet touched to his lips, and drank thirstily.

"What did you see?" Eliar asked.

Maekar did not answer immediately. But then he did. Everything he had seen burst from his lips, from the darkness, to Naeryne Velaryon and the sword of light, and the bed…

"Who was lying on the bed?" the seer asked. "Was it someone you know?"

Maekar shook his head. "I don't know. It was, and it wasn't… You see, I couldn't make out the face…"

The seer looked thoughtful, his hands folded across his chest. "I see. It was what scared you, wasn't it? You expected to see someone you loved… or someone you hated… and you didn't know which one. It was a man, wasn't it? With a mark of violence upon him?"

Maekar shivered again. "How do you know?"

The seer looked at the baking dish. "The sand arranged for you, Your Grace, but once arranged, it speaks to everyone who can read it."

"Then you can tell me what it means!" Maekar demanded. "You know it – you must know!"

But the Dornishman shook his had and helped him back to the sofa where Maekar drained another goblet of water. "No future is set in stone, Your Grace. You must find your own way for it to mean anything. I can only show – and show I did."

"I wish you hadn't." Maekar's voice was soft, subdued.

For a long time, there was silence. The torches hissed and crackled.

"I am sure you wish it," the seer finally said. "But your coming to me, it was also part of your destiny. Your fate will come true. It will not be the fate you wish for, Maekar Targaryen, but you will make it come true."

He gave him a look Maekar did not tolerate in anyone – a look of sympathy with a touch of pity. But now, he barely noticed. He stood up and at the last minute, remembered about the pouch. "This is for you," he said. "I won't visit you anytime soon."

"I don't expect it. May gods protect you, Your Grace."

His mother waited back where they had parted. Behind her, the two attendants looked around, tense and ready to jump at the slightest shadow of a threat.

"What did he tell you…" Myriah started and then gasped. "Gods! Just look at yourself! Are you well? What did he say?"

"Let's get out of here," Maekar replied.

"Can you walk?" the Queen asked worriedly. "Do you want some water? What happened? Oh why did it ever occur to me to bring you here!"

"I can walk," Maekar said. "Let's just get out!"

By the time they reached the Red Keep, he was shaking so hard that one of their companions literally had to keep him upright. He was saying something but Maekar, still captive to the visions the sand had showed him, did not listen; Myriah, looking at him, paler than him, did not hear.

But the night was far from over. In Maekar's chambers, someone rose from a chair and they all froze. Behind him, Ser Galend, one of Maekar's oldest companions, spread his arms helplessly.

"I've been waiting for you in hours," the King said. "Lelia told me where you were. What was this whim of yours, Myriah, to bring Maekar to the seer in the middle of the night… Just look at him!"

"I am fine," Maekar managed. "I'm going to bed."

But he was shivering so hard that when his mother's attendant stepped aside, Maekar swayed unsteadily. His father caught him before he hit the wall.

"That's it. I am calling a maester," King Daeron said.

Maekar looked at his friend and saw how Ser Galend firmly shook his head. "There is no need," he said. "Ser Galend will attend me just fine."

"You don't need an attendant," the Queen said. "You need a maester."

"Would you just leave me alone?" Maekar snapped though his clattering teeth. "Wouldn't you both just leave me alone, finally?"

He headed for his bedchamber, praying that he did not fall down in the process. Ser Galend followed him like a shadow, closed the door behind them and caught him as he was sliding down along it. They both held their breath until they heard the closing of the door announcing that the royal couple had retired.

"It was a close call," Ser Galend finally sighed and looked at Maekar. "What happened? Where did she take you?"

Aelinor appeared from behind the canopy. "What happened?" she whispered. "I have been here for no longer than a minute when Father came, so I couldn't even leave. Where were you? For god's sake, Maekar! You are as pale as ashes."

"I am cold," he breathed, and Ser Galend hurried for the fireplace.

"I'll stoke the fire," he said and did just that. Then, they started to undress Maekar who was not able to assist them too much. Aelinor was clad only in a nightdress that did not leave much to the imagination but she was so worried that she did not feel shy in front of Ser Galend.

"Come here," Aelinor said when they led him to the bed and Ser Galend discreetly left. "I'll warm you."

He looked at her. "Do I look like someone who… who can achieve anything of the sort right now?" he managed to snarl, and she rolled her eyes.

"I am glad to see you're getting better. Now, just come here."

He did and stayed close to her, absorbing the warmth of her body and trying to get himself under control because that was certainly not the way he intended to spend what might very well be their last night together.