Thanks, VVSINGOFTHECROSS and pinke289, for staying with me till the end.

Pale Hand of Fate Aiming the Blade

Chapter 4

The pyre hadn't been her first wish. Everyone knew about her desire for a sea funeral – rowing a boat into the azure waters of the Summer Sea and lowering her body gently into the waves, disturbing the white foam and reaching the cobalt deep under, so the fish could have a feast as she had feasted on them all her life. But this plan had included a healthy body that would have been of some use. And anyway, she had talked about it years ago, when death had looked so far away and due to old age. There was no way for her ruin of a body to be transported this far and anyway, Maekar couldn't bear the thought of her suffering more bleedings and cuts, and maesters in death after she had suffered so many of those in life.

The silence was even more terrifying now. It wrapped itself around the castle, stifled any attempts of life to rise back from the ashes of her pyre. If Mariah had thought the silence before unbearable, she was soon dissuaded of this notion. Before, there had been the rustling of sheets, the low voices of maesters giving orders for yet another potion or bandage, the rush of softly-stepping handmaidens going to fetch what their lady needed, the barely audible noises of Mariah's grandsons trying to sneak into their mother's chambers against everyone's wishes, the younger children's innocent games and the babe's wailing, Maekar striding impatiently, even if soundlessly, into Dyanna's bedchamber, hoping to be informed of an improvement that never came. Now, there was only the silence of finality. There was no one needing quiet and attention. Even Aemon and Daella felt that something was going on and had stopped their usual loud games, crying for their mother from time to time. Those who had arrived to honour Dyanna one last time were gone now as well – and Mariah had been surprised by the fact that the grief of so many of those had looked sincere. Daeron had been right to send Maekar and Dyanna here. Dyanna's charm and alertness of mind had been a great asset to this ever restless region. What would happen from now on? Oh Mariah knew that her son would keep doing his best to be a good and fair ruler but somehow, it wasn't enough. It never was with him. Without Dyanna, the frail bonds ensuring the peace in the region and its loyalty to the Iron Throne would be severely compromised before they ever had the chance to go.

"She will be sorely missed," Jena murmured, confirming her goodmother's fears.

Anyway, Mariah's worst fears were not about the stability of the region. She was desperately worried about Maekar and her grandchildren. With the children, she could at least see them; when she managed to see Maekar, it felt like a great achievement, followed by a few words until he could make his escape. And even that stopped about two weeks after Dyanna's death as well.

"Listen," Maekar said, clearly spoken and direct as usual. "If you can needle or coerce any more of my people to grand access to my chambers, I'll evict them from Summerhall. You can take them to King's Landing or leave them to make their living in another way. But I won't suffer any disloyalty here, even for your sake."

As if I'm an enemy of yours, Mariah thought and willed her tears back because sobbing would solve nothing. As if I'm only trying to cause you harm.

After this, she, of course, accepted that meetings by chance or cornering him would have to do. Once or twice, he asked her to keep an eye over the children and she agreed. In fact, she was glad that he'd stay away from them. Seeing him like this was the last thing they needed. But she didn't think he included Rhae in his plea. It was as if to him, she simply wasn't there. That caused a new flow of tears that made him uncomfortable, clearly, so he spun back and left.

Of course, that didn't mean that she was unaware of what was going on with him. But it could hardly set her mind at rest. He woke up at dawn and read the first missives from King's Landing and the other regions of the realm as he broke his fast. Then, he summoned the main officials of the castle to inquiry as to their concerns and suggestions about Summerhall before turning his mind to the dealings of the very region which consumed much of his time, interrupted only by a ride that left the few seasoned men he took with him looking bedraggled and gasping for air when they would finally come back. Mariah's handmaidens who traded gossips with those in Summerhall who, in turn, were close to the grooms, informed her that everyone in the stables was now afraid of those rides. It was a matter of time before Maekar caused some horses harm that could not be repaired. And himself as well? Mariah wondered but of course, she couldn't say anything. She poured her concern in long letters to King's Landing that she knew would get Daeron even more worried than her but she couldn't help it. In those long years, she had become accustomed to share her worries with him before everyone else. And anyway, no amount of concern was unguaranteed. Of course, she also warned him repeatedly to not mention any of this in his letters to Maekar. Right now, no concern was welcomed. In fact, she expected that should she show any, Maekar would show her the door. Is it my fault, she often wondered as she paced the yards and gardens at night followed by Ser Willem Wylde. Once, I didn't have the time for him and he taught himself to do without me; now, he doesn't need anyone but he cannot get out of the trap he's gotten himself in…

She found great relief in her ever strengthening observations that the babe, for some unknown blessing of the Mother, had escaped the curse of the time spent in the near vicinity of the disease that had killed her mother. She could raisew her head a little and even turn it when a favourite toy was rattled. When Mariah moved her head, looking Rhae close in the eye, the little girl followed her grandmother's eye. But the only person Mariah could share her relief with was Jena. Most of her ladies felt uncomfortable with everything regarding the newborn and the wetnurse was clearly afraid of her. Despite all efforts to stifle the truth about Dyanna's agony, rumours had gotten out, exaggerating the actual severity of the situation and widening the disfigurement of Dyanna's breast to her lovely face. The babe was generally seen as a bad omen. Child of the Stranger, rumours called her, although Mariah vowed to have everyone she heard spreading those sobriquets flogged.

Two months after Dyanna's death, she was surprised and hopeful when Maekar entered her solar in the evening. "We're leaving for King's Landing in a week if that suits you," he said briefly and Mariah couldn't say if he suspected her hand in the last letter Daeron had sent him. The celebrations marking her king's seventeenth year on the throne were something that Maekar would not like attending but Mariah had already decided that everyone needed change, and she was aware of his likeliest reaction if she suggested that they go to King's Landing. He'd simply suggest that she went on her own.

Even the journey was riddled with darkness and rejection. Before, Mariah had always been able to convince him to keep her at least some company in the wheelhouse. Not this time. He rode before the party, came back, spurred his sand steed again, spending himself and Desert Wind to full exhaustion. At one point, even the stallion's famed endurance could not compete with the power of the rage still bubbling up in Maekar. Peasants and merchants were quick to jump out of his way and his face, stormier than the storms that didn't deter him, scared everyone into retreat. Where they left, the rumours about the harsh and cruel dragon were already building up.

"By the Seven!" was Daeron's reaction when they were first left alone after her return to the capital.

Mariah bit her lip. She'd been hoping to hear that she was exaggerating, that it wasn't this bad. But this was not to be.

"Is he this… angry all the time?"

Of course, Daeron had gotten to the core of it immediately. Mariah nodded. Maekar was furious that Dyanna had died. There was grief, of course, but fury was the leading emotion, filling the void that she had left. And fury could be much more soul-scorching than grief.

"Yes," she said. "He and Ultor Dayne started a horrible quarrel in the very day of her pyre. It came to… fists."

The last words came out in whisper, against her will. It had felt disrespectful to Dyanna. It still did.

Daeron stared at her and she felt a flutter of relief. At least this piece of gossip hadn't come out, although why not, she could not say. They had started it before a good deal of lords and ladies.

Daeron sighed and drew her close. "Come here," he said and she went readily. "He'll be fine at the end. He doesn't have a choice. And he's still twenty seven. He can't go on like this forever."

She wasn't convinced. "Can't he?" she asked and Daeron started rubbing her stiff shoulders. He didn't answer. If someone could cling to grim despair for a very long time, it was Maekar. He didn't have the gift of finding the bright things in life.

"He doesn't even look at the babe," Mariah murmured, so relieved to finally be able to say it to someone other than Jena.

Daeron's hands paused. "We will," he finally said. "Until he can finally do it."

"Yes," Mariah sighed and decided that the first thing she'd do would be finding Rhae a new wetnurse. Without telling Maekar, of course. Even if he noticed the change, he was likely to direct his anger at the poor girl whose only true fault was bearing witness to Dyanna's prolonged death, seeing the damaged cord and afterbirth and harbouring the entirely understandable fear for herself.

There were two days left till the beginning of the celebrations and the city was filling with lords and officials hurrying to show their respect. Maekar smiled sarcastically at seeing just how many of those had proclaimed for Daemon just a few years ago. Those were the most ardent ones, hoping that their treachery would be truly forgotten. The fact that they were treated like guests, accommodated and welcomed made him grind his teeth. It was disrespect to all those who had fallen – at least it felt like one. He said so to Baelor who didn't agree.

"They didn't die so that we can keep punishing the Seven Kingdoms for the sins of those who committed them," he said. "They died so their children could live in peace and prosperity under Father's rule. We cannot hold on grudges forever, Brother."

But something in the set of his mouth when he eyed Gormon Peake suggested to Maekar that it was himself that he was trying to convince, rather than Maekar.

"Aren't you going to be generous and forgiving now as well?" he asked.

"The Stranger take him," Baelor said without thinking and Maekar nodded. A few years ago, he would have been amused by this hole in the armour of the Perfect Prince Baelor was teaching himself to be, the one they had nicknamed him in their childhood. Now, he only felt some grim satisfaction that he wasn't the only one who still craved blood, although, of course, he wouldn't go for it.

"Not the only one," he could almost hear Dyanna's voice. "I also wish they could have gotten their due. But it can't be. That's the way of the world."

"And is the way of the world that you should die?" he wanted to ask. "Die like this?"

To this, she couldn't give him an answer. No one could.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he told Baelor, turning abruptly and leaving. In the courtyard, he met Lord Peake's eye and wondered how anyone could think that the man had repented.

The day was a grey and windy one. In the streets, men and women hurried home without stopping to exchange a few words with their friends in the open and Maekar entered the Great Sept of Baelor under a darkening sky threatening to crush the whole enormous city under its weight.

Desert Wind neighed and pressed his nose against Maekar's palm. He disliked being tended by people he didn't know and the young servant in the sept that took his reins clearly disliked the proximity of the dark flame of a sand steed, with fire in his eyes and derision in his snort. "I'll be back soon, Wind," Maekar promised but the stallion didn't look convinced. Lately, he'd been showing some decline in his love for his rider. Perhaps Maekar had been too harsh on him.

The Hall of Lamps was quiet, despite the crowd of worshippers. Maekar was quickly led into the living quarters, where the private sept of the High Septon was located. Not for the first time, he thought that the late King Baelor had given too much credit to matters of faith and not nearly enough to those of state. The splendour of the High Septon's chambers could put the King to shame. Maekar quickly reprimanded himself for ever letting such a thought creep into his mind. Especially when he had come to seek the man's advice.

In the glint of coloured glass, gilding, and bright candles the statues of the Seven were barely noticeable. The High Septon, though, would stand out in every crowd. Not too tall, extremely gaunt with fasting, with a head that was almost bald, he caught people's attention with the light of devotion burning in his eyes. He looked like someone who knew all the answers as he motioned Maekar down to a bench. "Why are you here, Your Grace? How can I be of any use?"

Maekar was an honest man and he went straight to the core of the matter. "You know that my lady died."

The old man nodded. "To the grief of the whole realm, I know. She was a lady of worth. Always generous, always charitable. Always ready to advocate for peace."

"She didn't find much peace at the end, did she?"

That sounded harsher than Maekar had intended, and the High Septon startled. By the Seven, now he had scared the man, too? His rage was getting out of control.

"She has surely found it now."

Oh this! He had known that at some point, he'd hear this, although his mother wasn't stupid enough to say so. Even Rhaegel, with his broken mind and gentle soul, knew what would not give him any comfort at all. No, I take that back. Especially Rhaegel. His brother might be the least fit of them to live in this world but he was also extremely empathetic which made him far wiser than many others. Rhaegel felt things that others struggled to comprehend. He was the only one whose presence Maekar could tolerate now.

"She didn't find it in life," he said again. "Why was this? Why did the Seven choose her to suffer so? And in such young age? You know that those who get this are old women. You must know this. What was the worth of it?"

For a long time, there was silence. The High Septon was trying to gather his thoughts into words and Maekar felt a soothing anticipation of a forthcoming relief. Soon, he would know, so he could find some peace, something to cling to… and then, the old man spoke. "No man can truly understand the workings of the gods, Your Grace. I am only their humble servant. It isn't given to me to say what roads they choose to impose their will but I know it's their will."

So it's their will that she died like someone coming from the black cells to be tortured and die of their wounds just because it was their will? Silently, Maekar rose and headed for the door. The High Septon said something after him, question in his rising voice but Maekar didn't turn back. At this moment, he dubbed the man of little use. Just someone who spoke beautifully but without saying anything when it mattered. Once again, Maekar was left with the burning question why. What justice was there in this world of silks and prayers, wars and words building bridges? What did the Seven do? Why had they not granted Dyanna even the mercy of seeing her child, hearing her voice, knowing that at least there was a reason that she'd die?

On the outside, the grey clouds had turned into a curtain of rain pressing the city with the weight of the world. Even going through the grassed yard was a struggle but Maekar spurred Desert Wind anyway and the faithful mount obeyed. They left King's Landing under the disbelieving stares of a few late men hurrying home and the paupers trying to find shelter in doorways and under bridges.

Later, Maekar couldn't remember this day fully. There were only flashes: the mud, the realization that no one could give him any answers, that he'd have to keep going only with what he could do for his own escape from this hell, the curtain of rain that sometimes obscured his view inches away from his nose, Wind straining beneath him to keep up with the furious rhythm that kept his rider going, his own angry retorts to his men's timid suggestions that they went back before any of them or the horses broke a foot… The tears streaming down his face and his shouted anger at the world that was such an evil and unjust place… The hands washing him with hot wet towels so he'd not catch his death from cold…

He woke up two days later, rubbed his eyes, looked around wondering how he had found himself in his own bedchamber in the Red Keep. In the light of the single candle, Rhaegel rose and came at his bedside.

"Welcome back," he said after giving him a long look and somehow, Maekar knew that his brother didn't mean just his recovery after the madness with the rain gallop.

It was still very early in the morning when he asked to be admitted to his mother's chambers. The fact that the handmaidens didn't even bother telling him that they'd check if the Queen was already awake but let him in immediately made him feel a twist of guilt.

Just as he had expected, his mother was sitting with a cup of tea, reading her letters. It was a habit that he had picked up from her, after all. Upon seeing him, surprise crossed her features and she quickly rose to meet him. He took her hand and kissed it, keeping it longer, feeling her relief.

"I knew you wouldn't be asleep, Mother," he said, looking at the door. "I suppose Father is gone already?"

She nodded, still not releasing his hand. "I'm so happy to see you, Maekar," she breathed. "I am."

He looked away, guilt rising. "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry for worrying you like this. But I couldn't help it. It was hell that I couldn't get out of."

This was the first time he spoke about his feelings so clearly. He was a firm believer that there was no need to state the obvious. He had never spoken about his love for Dyanna either yet she had known before he had.

"I understand," she murmured, drawing the fingers of her other hand along the arm she was still holding. "It was so hard for you."

"It was." He hesitated. "I'm afraid I made it much harder for the rest of you. But it's over now." He paused. "Would you show me the babe?"

She stared at him, her heart suddenly beating faster. But she managed to keep her calm. "Here, come with me."

Rhae had been installed in a chamber adjacent to Mariah's own bedchamber. That was where Maekar and his brothers had spent the first months of their lives as well, or at least those of them who had been born at King's Landing. A young girl was just reaching to place the child back in the cradle but hesitated when she saw the Queen. Usually, Mariah wished to hold her granddaughter if she wasn't asleep.

Mariah paused and looked at her son, unsure what to do, not wanting to push him beyond the limits that she still hadn't examined. For a moment, the three of them stayed in this awkward pose before Maekar stepped forward, reaching out to take his daughter. Without thinking, the girl adjusted Rhae in his arms, rattling out a warning. "She can already keep her head up, mostly, but she sometimes jerks like…"

Her voice faded when she realized that of course, the Prince would know that. To her, this was the second child she was taking care of but to him, it was his fifth, or was it sixth? Faint blush crept up her cheeks when she realized that she had been lecturing him.

Maekar didn't really listen. Instead, he was staring down into the eyes that held his own without looking away as the eyes of babies sometimes did. He had never seen the child before today. The occasions when he had come upon her with her nursemaid, his mother, or Jena didn't count. Rhae had creamy skin, wet lips, and a tuff of black hair. She'll look like Dyanna, he thought with some surprise. Just like Daella will. None of their sons had taken their mother's black hair. He was glad that his girls had. He touched the small face and Rhae immediately tried to suck on his finger.

He leaned over the cradle and placed the babe there carefully. The nursemaid made a motion to go over and cover Rhae but Mariah waved her back.

"Is it fine?" the young woman whispered nervously. She had heard the rumours that the Prince took no interest in his daughter – what, she had seen that they were true – and she was now following his movements with an anxious eye.

"It's fine," Mariah said, a sigh so deep that it too her whole lungs out shaking her. "It will be fine. At last."

The End