Once again, thanks for the lovely reviews, Oberon Sexton and soso-lacks-imagination. You keep me inspired.
Live to Love
Chapter 3
The documents on the table were stacked in piles that were too high for the King's liking. Ships, taxes, building works… and they all waited for his attention. And that was even without taking the Iron Bank into account. The inundation that had ravaged Lannisport and its great sea walls in the last year of his father's reign had cost them the last payment due to the Iron Bank and since it had been immediately followed by a new Blackfyre Rebellion, Maekar's death, and the upheaval that was to be expected of it, they had not managed to pay the debt in full. And they were now being reminded of their obligation, quite clearly.
And now, he had to make another decision. A political one, yes, but personal, as well.
Two of the men he expected arrived shortly after each other. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard loomed over them even when they were all seated, although not as much. His white cloak gleamed; amused all of a sudden, the King remembered the times when the man had not owned a garment that was not threadbare. Even cleanliness had been a problem for them, let alone keeping their attire immaculate.
The other man was older. His right arm stood rigid, almost immobile, deep lines gathered around the corners of his eyes and mouth but his manner betrayed careful attention, although he didn't say anything except for the formal greeting. Once again, Aegon realized the calming effect Ser Galend Highhill had on him. It was no wonder why Aegon's father had preferred him to all other members of the court.
"Well?" Ser Duncan the Tall asked. "Shouldn't we start?"
The King shook his head. "I'd rather wait for Alor…"
The newly appointed Hand of the King appeared shortly after and bowed. For a moment, he stood silhouetted against the window, his black doublet and breeches even darker against the newly fallen snow. His lithe figure kept the illusion of youth and he was every bit as strong and skillful as the man Aegon had first seen on that fierce Dornish sand steed of his twenty years ago when he and Rhae had been running from their pursuers. Alor Gargalen and his party had appeared out of nothing and defended them. Alor Sand, he had been then. In that day, Aegon had had no idea that a few years later the young Dornishman would wed his sister and become a beloved member of the family. Even Maekar had come to appreciate his goodson.
Time had left lines where the skin had once been smooth, and reason where there once had been fierceness, although that hot Dornish blood of his still roared thunderously when provocations reached the limit of his patience. Aegon trusted him as he did few others.
"Take a seat," he invited, taking notice of his friend's pallor. Those with Dornish blood did not fare well in winter. Lack of sunlight made them ill, it seemed.
Next to each man, there was a bowl of dried fruit and a goblet of wine. They all drank.
"How fares Daella?" Aegon asked. "I haven't seen her lately."
Alor shrugged. "As well as she could be expected. She can barely eat but she can growl and bare her harmless teeth at everyone. She can't wait for the babe to arrive."
For a while, they were silent before the King finally started. "I've summoned you here because it's time to discuss something of great importance."
They all listened.
"It's a family matter, as well as a political one," Aegon went on. "It's time to think of Duncan's wedding. He has seen twenty namedays already. Rhaelle has seen eighteen… When I was their age, I already expected Jaehaerys."
Alor and Ser Duncan nodded affirmatively. Until now, Duncan and Rhaelle had showed no great hurry for the wedding and the King had respected their wishes. But the Seven Kingdoms could not wait indefinitely.
"This trick of his on the tournament…" Aegon murmured. Sure, a crown of flowers was just a crown of flowers… in the eyes of the populace. In the King's eyes it was yet another sign of Duncan's lack of desire to do his duty. He should have crowned Rhaelle and started talking about their upcoming wedding… but no, not Duncan Targaryen. "I am done with him. I've been indulging his whims for long enough… and the same stands for Rhaelle. They will be wed in three moons. I am tired of waiting for them to turn responsible."
He pretended not to notice the others' looks. When he had eloped with Rhae, he had been still seventh or eighth in the line of succession, not the Prince of Dragonstone.
"What do you think?" he asked. "My lord Hand?"
"I think it's time for the Prince to wed," the Dornishman said without hesitation. "The realm loves him but it won't last long. We need stability and certainty in the succession."
Aegon had expected it and took it stoically although it pained him to hear the truth spoken so bluntly. Alor Gargalen would have never told Aegon that people doubted Jaehaerys, that they didn't approve of him, that they waited for him to die – but the Hand should tell the King the truth as he saw it. Aegon was surprised by the resentment that overwhelmed him all of a sudden – anger just as hot as Alor's own, fury that could set the sands of Dorne afire. He went to the window and stared at it to hide his emotion and for the first time he wondered whether their friendship would survive Alor's new position.
"My Lord Commander?" he asked and turned back to look at Ser Duncan.
The one-time hedge knight had progressed far from the first year when he had looked terrified each time he had been expected to counsel the King. Now, he nodded in confirmation. "If we keep waiting for the boy to come around, his hair will turn white before he does. But I believe that once wed, he'll grow accustomed to it and the responsibilities he has to the succession of this House."
That was exactly what Aegon himself was convinced in. And yet… He looked at the fourth man in the room, the one who had yet to say a word. "And what about you, Ser Galend? Do you agree?"
"No," the old man said, without hesitation. "I don't."
The relief surged through Aegon like a great wave. The piercing dark eyes staring at his showed him that Ser Galend realized why he had been summoned. So, it hadn't been just a fear of Aegon's. There was someone else who was against the idea. He felt that now, he might finally find out what the grounds for his own reluctance to the idea were.
He turned back to the window, both to hide his expression and see the source of the din echoing off the walls in the courtyard. In a cloud of dust, a riding party arrived. The rider in the lead jumped from his lathered horse and took the bridle, then looked up, as if he knew he was being watched. On his tanned face, the purple eyes shone like amethysts. He swept his hat off with a flourish and bowed, his silvery-white hair now streaked with gold, no doubt thanks to the blazing Dornish sun. Aegon smiled and waved at him. Then, he turned to the others. "Mikkel," he said.
"Mikkel?" Alor repeated and went to the window. From below, his son waved at him, too. Alor returned the gesture. "He was supposed to arrive tomorrow. He must have spurred Lord Qorgyle's sand steeds to death. If so, he'll be training new ones for him in person and I don't care how he finds the time. "
Aegon held his smirk back. He didn't think it was possible for a sand steed to be spurred to run to death and even if it were, Alor surely must have killed at least a dozen in his youth. But of course, with his son it was different. For a few years, his idea of raising his eldest when he was home had seemed to be, the less free time Mikkel got, the less follies he could commit.
"He's brown now," Aegon said, unnecessarily. "He looks… weird."
Behind him, the Lord Commander laughed. "You looked even weirder when we came back from Dorne," he said. "At least the boy has hair."
Aegon laughed. It was true, he supposed. He had looked weird when he had had the chance to see his reflection in the pools and rivers they had passed by.
"A strange boy, your Mikkel is," Ser Duncan went on, addressing the Hand. "The maesters sing his praises, yet he doesn't take their ramblings all that seriously. Since he could read, he's been spending lots of time in the library, yet he manages to take part in every thrashing that's more serious. And he doesn't care whether he deals with the High Septon or the King's Hand – if he feels he's in the right, nothing can move him."
"Especially with the King's Hand," Alor muttered. "It's your lord father's fault," he told Aegon. "I am sorry but it is."
"Don't I know it," Aegon sighed. King Maekar had been a hard man and he'd been in constant conflicts with his sons – but he had spoiled his grandchildren to no end. They had only needed to ask something of him to get it – often something that their parents forbade, unless it was outright dangerous. As a result, they had started thinking that they were allowed to do whatever they liked. Alor at least had raised objections. Aegon hadn't bothered – he had figured that there would be little use of it. Of course, Maekar hadn't paid any attention to his goodson's protests but lately, Aegon had started to realize that those hadn't been entirely useless. Mikkel and his brother had seen that their father did not agree and that sometimes had made them stop and think, letting Alor establish some control. Jaehaerys had never been demanding but Duncan… even now, he was little inclined to listen to his father about things that really mattered.
The boy disappeared into the castle and Alor returned to his seat. Aegon shivered with sudden cold and closed the window before turning to his father's old friend. "Ser, you were telling me why you didn't think it was a good idea?"
"Was I, really?" Ser Galend muttered. "Well, I think that it isn't the moment to further isolate the dynasty into itself. Times aren't as good as to allow further estrangement with the rest of the Great Houses."
Aegon almost reminded him that there was no 'rest' of the Great Houses. House Targaryen was above everyone else. But he held his tongue: he knew what Ser Galend meant. And he really wanted to hear his opinion. Because it was not only the political aspect that scared him.
"On a more personal level," Ser Galen went on with his calm voice, "I do think the brother-sister marriages House Targaryen practices are detrimental."
Aegon was struck dumb. He hadn't quite expected such honesty, not when he was in one of those detrimental marriages.
Someone shouted something in the courtyard. Somewhere down the hall, a harp sounded. Ser Galend gave Aegon a steady look. "It isn't just my opinion," he said. "It was your father's, too."
"My father's?" Aegon repeated, the irony of the situation not lost on him. Ser Duncan snorted. Alor's eyes widened – he had got it.
The other man nodded. "I know what you're thinking. He knew it, too. To him, it was the only possible way of action. He loved Aelinor, always had. They were good for each other. They were as happy as they could be in this horror around them. But you remember what kind of man your father used to be before she died. And what he became after." He shook his head. "To him, losing her was losing both his sister and his companion in life. And I think it wouldn't have been much better if he was never in love with her in the first place. Living together creates bond, especially if there is any kind of love involved. For the life of me, I can't see why anyone would want to put his children through this unless there is absolutely no other choice."
That was it. The answer Aegon had been looking for. The real reason for his reluctance to bind his children to each other. The memory came back, as clear as the day it had been created.
"Won't you come and dine with us? Rhae and the children will be thrilled."
"No."
Aegon looked around to make sure that there was no one around as they made their way back from the armory of the Red Keep. All around them there was a bustle of activity – blacksmiths, knights, and kitchen maidens running around with weapons and provisions. Loud voices shouted orders on the top of their lungs. King's Landing was preparing for stifling the latest uprising in the realm.
"It's been six weeks already. Rhae and Daella are worried. I am, too," he added.
"You're wasting your time, all of you. None of you can help. Just leave me alone and focus on your own lives before we leave. I'll be all right, at the end."
Aegon gave him a long look. His father could have told him that he intended to bring the moon down, and he'd have given his words just as much credence. Maekar did look like a ghost sent in the Red Keep to scare people away. He forced himself to eat but he couldn't force himself to sleep – unless he took a sleeping draught which he considered a sign of weakness.
All of a sudden, the King lost the last vestiges of his patience. "I would think that of all people, you'd be the one who understand but it seems I've overestimated you," he spat. "Think, Aegon, think! It's been six weeks already, you say. Actually, it's been only six weeks. Six weeks compared to my whole life. That's how long she's been in my life. Since I was born. And you expect that I'd get over her in six weeks?"
Aegon stopped dead in his tracks. His face went white. "That wasn't what I meant at…"
"I know it wasn't," Maekar snapped. "Of course it wasn't what you meant. I wonder whether you know what you meant. I am afraid you'll get to know how it is only when you're in my shoes. Because that's where you'll be one day. You know it, don't you?"
The young man could only stare, shocked. For all his harshness, Maekar had never been cruel to him. Not like this.
"We tamper with the laws of the Seven," Maekar went on, his voice dripping ice. "Once, we tampered with magic, we Targaryens. And we pay for it, always. You'll pay, too, Aegon. Believe me, you will pay. You won't get away with it any more than I did… Just wait! You'll lose Rhae, too."
The shudder tore the veil of shock. Aegon made a step backward, disbelieving to what he had just heard. "And you wish it upon me?!"
"Of course I don't! But that's what will happen. You'll lose her, or she'll lose you one day. That's the order of things. That's what you did to yourselves, just as we did. One day, your children will have the same thing happening to them… until someone breaks this accursed cycle of ours."
Aegon kept retreating. His pride was the only thing that kept him from turning back and running away as fast as he could from his father's severity and the fear that he could not put down.
All this flashed in the King's memory for no longer than a moment. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten it. Surely such ugliness, such despair could never be forgotten?
He took his goblet to his suddenly parched lips.
"All right," he said. "What alliances do you have in mind?"
