4
Richard
"Depravity!" the septon roared to the crowd. "That is what King Rhaegar intends to subject us to. Brother wed to sister in holy matrimony, in the Great Sept of Baelor, by the High Septon himself! It is a mockery, brothers and sisters, a mockery of decent, gods fearing people like you and I, a mockery of the Great Sept, a mockery of the Most Holy and, most importantly, a mockery of the gods Themselves! For it is made clear in The Seven-Pointed Star that brother shall not be wed to sister, nor father to daughter, nor mother to son."
The grey robed septon was a man of excessive fatness, his chins wobbling with every exclamation. He jabbed a thick a finger towards the Red Keep sitting high atop Aegon's Hill. "Yet for centuries, the Targaryen kings have flown in the face of the laws set down by the Seven and we have allowed it. Why, I ask you?" He paused, allowing his question to settle over the crowd. "There will come a day, brothers and sisters, when you stand before the Father for judgement, and on that day he will ask you why you stood by and did nothing while King Rhaegar made a mockery of the gods and their laws. And when he finds you unable to answer, he will send you screaming down to seven hells where you will burn for eternity!"
Another pause, the crowd waited with bated breath. "Will you burn in hell for the sins of your king?"
The crowd, not insignificant in size, answered with a resounding, "No!"
Further up the street, Ser Richard Lonmouth, Commander of the City Watch, watched and listened from atop his horse as the septon continued to proselytize. He was a hard looking man with piercing, light blue eyes set in a rough hewn face
"You said there are others?" Richard asked of Jacelyn Bywater, who sat next to him atop his own steed. Bywater served as the captain of the Mud Gate, a post which Richard had elevated him to just two years past. Tall and square jawed, he had the look of a knight, but coming from a poor house he had never been able to afford his knighthood, even after two years of officer's pay.
"A dozen, at least, all over the city. We think he's the ringleader. He's the most popular by far, none of the others can draw a crowd like him."
"And how long has this been going on?"
"I first heard of it two weeks past the announcement of the royal wedding. I discussed it with the other captains and they didn't think it a big enough problem to bother with. I deferred to their judgment."
"Septons openly denouncing the king and you all thought it not worth bothering with?" Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. Curse you for saddling me with these dullards, Rhaegar. Curse you a thousand times over.
Bywater at least had the decency to look ashamed. "As I said, I deferred to the judgement of my superiors. Only recently have the septons started to attract such large crowds, which is why I thought it prudent to bring it to your attention."
"The prudent move would have been to bring this to my attention weeks ago," Richard growled. "Gather some men, as many as you deem necessary, and break up these crowds. Drive these septons off the streets and make it clear anyone caught disparaging the king or the royal family after this day, septon or otherwise, will find themselves on the wrong side of a cell."
Bywater hesitated. "The smallfolk won't be happy to see gold cloaks chasing septons off the streets, nor will the men be happy to do it."
The royal wedding was weeks away, already lords and ladies had traveled to the city to attend, with many more arriving in the coming weeks. What would they think of the city, of the Watch and it's commander, of the king himself if they saw septons and smallfolk openly voicing dissent in the streets? He had no time to worry about the worries of the smallfolk or his men.
"The smallfolk have the attention span of a fly. They'll be mad at us today, tomorrow they'll be mad at the fishmongers and the day after that they'll be mad about something else. As for the men, remind them it's not the septons who pay their wages." He turned his horse about, intent on returning to the barracks. "Once it's all done, escort the fat one to my quarters."
He didn't look back, but he heard the sound of Bywater hurrying to obey.
Later, in his solar in the Watch's west barracks, Richard went through his ledger with a goblet of Dornish red at his side. Rhaegar had given him command of the City Watch three years past, after the former commander had been proven to be embezzling gold. Richard's task had been made clear by the king: to purge the City Watch of all corruption. He had taken on the task to the best of his ability, cutting corrupt men from the Watch's roster until he was satisfied the corruption had dropped to acceptable levels; he wasn't fool enough to think himself capable of eliminating it entirely.
Pruning the Watch of corruption had left him with less than fifteen hundred men, enough to see that order was kept under most circumstances, but with the royal wedding approaching and people flocking to the city - lords and ladies and smallfolk alike - his men were being stretched thin. He had brought his concerns to Rhaegar a week past and the king had promised to talk to his master of coin about securing funds for new recruits. He had heard nothing since, so he turned now to his ledger, hoping to find some area where costs could be cut to make funds available. What he found was he barely had the coin to pay the men he had.
A knock sounded at his door, thankfully providing distraction from the discouraging ledger. His squire announced the arrival of Jacelyn Bywater and Richard allowed him in. Bywater came to stand before his desk and took off his helm, holding it beneath his arm. His forehead shone with sweat, yet he seemed no more worse for wear.
"Everything went well, I hope?" Richard asked.
"The crowds dispersed with little trouble. The septons were more stubborn, but we got them off the streets without having to resort to violence."
"And the fat one?"
"He waits without. He was the most agreeable of them all."
"Send him in." Bywater turned to obey. "You did good work," Richard added. The captain stopped at the door, gave a brief nod and left the room, returning only to usher the fat septon in and shut the door behind him. The rotund man looked about Richard's solar with a placid smile on his face.
"Is this what the City Watch has come to, commander, harassing and threatening men of the Faith? I thought the Watch was due for better days under your guidance." The septon ponderously made his way to the seat before Richard, the chair creaked beneath his mass.
"Most men of the Faith don't preach insurrection against their king."
"Insurrection?" The septon feigned shock. "You do me a disservice, ser. I seek not to incite, only to make the truth plain. The laws of the Seven were set down millennia ago, and they are as clear now as they were then: to wed brother to sister is a sin most foul."
"The Targaryens have wed brother to sister for centuries, King Rhaegar is the product of such a union."
"And do you not think the Faith protested that union, as they have protested every incestuos union for centuries?" The septon looked down on him as if he were a child. "Always the nobility has turned a deaf ear to our protests, so we have instead turned to the commons, in hopes that their voices will join ours in voicing our displeasure."
Richard took a long drink of his wine. "Would you like a drink, Septon…?"
"Martyn," the septon provided. "And, I must decline. Temperance is a virtue, you know."
"And gluttony is a sin."
Septon Martyn laughed, a rich, hearty sound. He slapped his hand across his wide belly. "We all have our vices. I pray to the gods every night to forgive me mine. Every sin can be forgiven, we need only ask."
"Even the sin of incest?" For the first time, the septon's smile faltered. "The High Septon himself, the gods' voice on this earthly plane, has blessed the union of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. Who are you to question his divine wisdom?"
"The High Septon is not infallible." Martyn's tone became defensive. "He is only a man, after all."
Richard fought to not roll his eyes. It's clear this is not an argument to be won with words. He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a bag of gold. He dropped it on his desk. The septon's smile returned, taking on a more dastardly appearance.
"Is this what we've come to, commander?"
"We all have our vices, as you said." Richard poured another cup of wine. "I imagine it takes coin to stay that fat, more than the sept provides, I'm sure. So, you take to preaching on the street, and the smallfolk throw copper pennies at your feet, mayhaps the occasional stag. The more inflammatory the message you preach, however, the larger the crowd that gathers, the more your purse bulges at the end of the day, the fatter you get."
The septon's smile grew. "You believe you have it all figured out, commander?"
Richard was growing tired of this man with his fat face and his smiles. "Make no mistake about it, Martyn. I'm offering you a choice. Take the gold and tell your brothers to keep their thoughts about the wedding off the streets. If my men catch you or any of your ilk on the streets again, it won't be me they'll drag you to, it'll be a cell."
"I suppose I'd be doing you a favor, keeping such inflammatory speech off the street." Martyn weighed the gold in his hands. "A large favor."
This time Richard did roll his eyes. Does the man ever intend to stop playing coy? "And I'd be doing you a favor letting you walk away with a bag of gold instead of a blackened eye."
The septon laughed again. "You've made yourself more than clear, commander." Without another moment's hesitation, he secreted the gold away in his sleeves. "And I suppose my vices extend beyond gluttony."
Richard wished he could say he was surprised, but he had known the septon's character the moment he'd watched him on the street. He was a crook who didn't believe his own words, but was good at making other people believe them. Now his talent would serve Richard's purposes by keeping his cohorts - some of whom might have been genuine in their protests - off the streets. It was one of the first lessons he had learned on the job: threats went a long way but gold went farther.
"You can let yourself out," he said to the fat man.
Martyn didn't wait to be told twice, scurrying out the room as if afraid Richard would change his mind.
Once again alone in his solar, Richard took another long drink of wine.
Later that evening a summons came from the king and Richard rode to the castle with all due haste. The Sword of the Morning stood guard outside the king's solar, looking as if he had been chiseled from marble in his brilliant white armor, the hilt of his legendary greatsword Dawn jutting over his shoulder. If only we could all age so well, Richard mused. Ser Arthur's jaw line and ebony locks were the envy of men half his age and he cut a figure that would make the Warrior Himself jealous. Richard felt shabby in comparison, his hair stringy and brown, his mail dull and without flair.
"He's expecting you," Ser Arthur said, opening the door to let Richard pass and pushing it shut behind him.
Rhaegar's solar was near dark, the only source of light a sole candle burning on his desk. The king sat behind his desk, bathed in the light of that candle, hunched over a book. With a sigh, Richard strode across the room and set about lighting a fire in the hearth. Once the room was filled with the soft, flickering glow of firelight he sat opposite Rhaegar, satisfied. Near two decades since I was his squire and I still live to serve the man. For his part, Rhaegar had not once reacted to Richard's presence or the new source of light.
After several long moments, Rhaegar marked his place in the book and closed it. His indigo eyes rose to meet Richard's for the first time. "My apologies, Richard. Thank you for your patience."
"You shouldn't read in such poor lighting, you know. It's bad for the eyes."
The king's lips curved in a brief smile. He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "There was more light when I started. I suppose I lost track of time."
"A good read then?"
"Fascinating, in fact." He rose to return the book to his bookshelf, which Richard knew comprised only a small portion of his vast collection. At a glance, Richard caught the title of the book along its leather bound spine: On the Faith of the Red God R'hllor. He frowned. He had been at court with his gold cloaks the day the red priestess had preached to the king about his destiny. It seemed the woman had bothered the king more than he had let on that day. When confronted with something he didn't understand, Rhaegar's response was always the same: to educate himself on the subject to the fullest extent. It seemed the red woman had presented him with a quandary he intended to solve.
"How fares the city?" Rhaegar asked as he retook his seat behind his desk.
"There are septons in the streets denouncing you for marrying your son and daughter together."
The king frowned. "I trust you handled it."
Richard nodded, sparing Rhaegar the details. The king often balked at the sordid details of life as the City Watch commander, such as bribing silver tongued septons to keep their mouths shut. He had given Richard the job with the aim of clearing the Watch of corruption, ignorant to the fact that it was impossible. Richard had been ignorant at first too, but he had learned quickly.
"I'll talk to the High Septon besides, with the wedding approaching the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms will be on King's Landing. I can't have septons denouncing my children and I in the streets."
The current High Septon spent his days knelt in prayer and his nights knelt between a whore's legs. Richard had spied him more than once at Chataya's brothel, fooling no one in a hooded cloak. Richard doubted the Most Holy would spare much thought for Martyn and his ilk.
"Aside from treasonous septons, you've nothing else to report?" the king asked.
"Nothing worth wasting your time with, save my desperate need for more men."
"I brought the issue to Lord Tyrell, but as I suspected the crown can't afford new recruits at this time." Rhaegar at least had the good grace to look apologetic. "Lord Tyrell posed an alternate solution to your problem, however. His son Garlan is journeying to King's Landing for the wedding. At Lord Tyrell's orders, he will bring five hundred Highgarden men with him to temporarily bolster the Watch's ranks."
More roses. The last thing this city needs. "Thank you, Your Grace, and send my thanks to Lord Tyrell, as well."
His sarcasm gave Rhaegar cause to frown. "I already have my wife and her brother filling my ears with disparaging words about Lord Tyrell, must I bear the same from you? Speak plainly, ser."
"You allow him too much," Richard said. "And the more you allow the more he seeks. How long do you imagine it will be before he's whispering in your ear about how it was his son who maintained order during the wedding, his son who should be commander of the City Watch?"
Richard had little love for his post, but he would be damned if he would allow a rose to replace him.
"And do you think me so feeble minded as to be so easily swayed by the whisperings of Mace Tyrell?" asked the king. "Lord Tyrell is ambitious, that I'll not deny, but all my lords are ambitious. Lord Tyrell, at the least, has long been a valuable ally. Without him, the war would have been lost."
Richard bristled. "Mace Tyrell sat beneath the walls of Storm's End feasting with his knights while men fought and died to keep the Seven Kingdoms out of Robert Baratheon's hands."
Rhaegar held onto his placid facade but years as the man's friend had given Richard a knowledge of his moods. Anger lurked beneath the surface. "Tell me, Richard, to whom should I show favor if not Lord Tyrell? The Stormlords, half of whom still revere Robert Baratheon as some kind of god? The Westermen, who sat idly in their castles throughout the war's duration? Mine own good-brother, who sent only half his strength to the Trident?"
"Prince Doran had reason to be wroth with you."
"I suppose he did, but think on the consequences had the battle been lost. What would have happened to his beloved sister then? To his niece and nephew?"
"Robert Baratheon was many things, but he did not lack for honor. He wouldn't have harmed your wife and children."
Rhaegar stared at him for a long moment. Few would dare speak positively about Robert Baratheon in the king's presence. He spoke quietly. "You shared a few drinks with the man and you think you know his character? You didn't see him on the Trident, spitting and raging, swinging that great warhammer of his. The man was a beast, a monster, and he hated me more than anything. He would have stopped at nothing."
"I saw him on the Trident," Richard said, offended. "I was there, if you'll recall."
"Yes, you were. You and thousands of others, for all it mattered." The king's voice took on a faraway quality. "In the end it came down to the two of us, circling each other in the waters of the Trident, like something out of a song."
The battle had been the farthest thing from a song Richard could imagine. The press of stinking, sweating, bleeding bodies, the shouts and the screams. He remembered cutting his way to the ford, the sloshing grey waters tainted red and teeming with men - some living, some dead. In the center of the ford they clashed, Baratheon with his great warhammer, clad in grey plate, his helm adorned with a rack of antlers and Rhaegar in his armor as dark as obsidian, the three headed dragon of House Targaryen studded across his chest in rubies. Men fought and died around them, but none dared interfere with their duel.
"It was a close thing," Richard said, because the silence had lingered too long and he felt the need to say something.
Where other men might have taken offense, Rhaegar nodded. "Closer than anyone likes to admit. Had I been a second slower that warhammer of his would have caved in my chest."
Richard had been one of the few to see the prince deliver the final blow. Rhaegar had taken a fierce blow to the shoulder from Baratheon's warhammer and sagged in his saddle, his grip on his sword loosening. Baratheon, sensing his impending victory, raised his warhammer in both hands to deliver the killing blow. In that moment Rhaegar struck, regaining his composure and thrusting his sword in the gap in Baratheon's armor under his arm. Baratheon's body went rigid and for a moment he sat in his saddle as still as a statue. Then, the warhammer slipped from his hands and fell to the waters of the ford. He slid from his saddle not a second later, the prince's sword still embedded in his side. He struck the waters of the ford with an impact which sent reverberations throughout the entire battlefield.
"I still see him in my dreams," the king said, voice barely above a whisper. "Every night he comes for me. I had never known cause to fear a man before, but I feared Robert Baratheon that day."
Richard said nothing, even as the silence stretched on.
After a long while, Rhaegar spoke again with a half-hearted smile. "I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you. Not to open old wounds, certainly. I need you to escort me outside the castle."
"That sort of thing usually falls under the purview of the Kingsguard," Richard said, thankful for the change in subject. He disliked thinking about the war and liked talking about it even less.
"I need to be inconspicuous; the Kingsguard attracts too much attention." The king rose and went to his chest. He rifled through its contents for a moment before pulling out a drab cloak. He threw it on. He pulled out another cloak and tossed it to Richard.
Richard discarded his gold cloak and replaced it with the drab one. "Can I ask the purpose of this secretive evening excursion?"
Rhaegar pulled his hair back and pulled up his hood. "Not everything can be learned from books. Sometimes we have to go about in the world to find the answers we seek."
Richard shook his head and pulled up the hood of his cloak. He knew better than to press further, Rhaegar would have given him a plain answer if he had wanted to. The king walked to the door of his solar, but hesitated before opening it. He knocked three times, softly. Three knocks came as a response and the door opened to Ser Arthur.
"Make haste," he said as Richard followed Rhaegar out into the empty corridor.
The king followed the words of his most trusted knight, leading Richard through the least trafficked corridors in the Red Keep. Their path lead them to the stables, where Richard placed a silver coin in the palm of a plump, young stable boy and sent him on his way. He quickly prepared horses for himself and the king and before long they were at the castle gates. A gold coin and the guard on duty let them pass without any questions. Rhaegar kept his head down all the while, the shadows of his hood swallowing his face.
Once out of the castle, Rhaegar took the lead again, guiding Richard toward Rhaenys' Hill, where the decrepit Dragonpit sat. The Dragonpit proved not to be their destination, instead the king lead him to an old stable where they stopped and tied up their horses. The king went to the back of the stable and, after a moment of poking around, moved a half empty barrel and dusted off the floor beneath to reveal a trapdoor. Without a word, he took a torch off the wall and climbed down into the trapdoor. Richard followed, closing the door behind him and climbing down the ladder into a slanted earthen tunnel.
He was brimming with questions as he followed the king, but he dared not ask. He knew Rhaegar would enlighten him when he felt it necessary. Their journey through the tunnel was brief, it ended at another ladder. Richard followed the king up and they found themselves faced with a wooden panel. Rhaegar moved it aside to reveal a set of tall double doors. He opened those and they stepped out into a large circular room. The room was mostly dark.
Richard looked behind them and saw it was not a doorway they had passed through, but a tall wardrobe. A large, canopied bed sat in the middle of the room and the smell of incense hung heavily in the air. The muffled sounds of carnal pleasure came from the floor below.
Richard had been in Chataya's brothel - both as a customer and in his duty as commander of the City Watch - often enough to recognize his surroundings.
Has he brought me to see a whore? Though he knew Rhaegar and Elia's marriage was strained, Richard had never known the king to seek out another woman's bed. Not since the northern girl.
A large fire burned in the hearth and a woman sat before it. She rose and faced them. She was tall and shapely and beautiful, but she was no whore. She bowed deeply.
"Your Grace," said the red priestess. "I have been expecting you."